hong kong and calcutta

i'm quickly learning that nothing here is ever as simple as you expect it to be.

on my second visit to jerusalem, the bethlehem checkpoint was closed to palestinian travelers for the day, two days before the last friday of ramadan (an important day of prayer for muslims). i approached the checkpoint to find no less than 150 people waiting to go through, some sitting on the pavement, others pacing around anxiously, others heading for home in disappointment. i had heard of another road to jerusalem through beit jala, a nearby town, so i decided to try a new route; i had heard that the beit jala checkpoint was not nearly as stringent as bethlehem, anyway.

just outside the beit jala town limits, the road came to an intersection where we waited for a bus. an israeli military base - more like a bunker, actually- loomed nearby, hung with nets and camouflage, surrounded by barbed wire. five minutes out of town the bus pulled over and we were all told to climb down to have our papers inspected. we lined up on the side of the road, and two soldiers moved slowly down the line, staring blankly at our passports and work permits, never uttering more than a grunt or unfurrowing their brows. we climbed back onto the bus, and two older women were asked to climb down again. i figured they would simply show their papers again and climb back on - i couldn't imagine them walking back up the steep hill we had just descended in the midday heat. still, the door slammed shut behind them and we continued to jerusalem.

the difference between bethlehem and west jerusalem is shocking. the two are so distinct in demographics, appearance and WEALTH that it is difficult to believe they are so geographically close. fatima, an employee at the french consulate in jerusalem, and one of my new acquaintances (there are so many these days, it is sometimes hard to keep them straight), described the contrast as "hong kong on one side, calcutta on the other." the comparison is a bit extreme, but it serves its purpose. i sat in a cafe on jaffa street, (i think) one of the main drags in west jerusalem, and sipped an iced coffee amidst tables full of families and couples, some loners hovering over laptops or newspapers - i might as well have been in new york again. for a moment i felt like i was back at hungarian - the crowd, though slightly less self-involved, was certainly similar. physically, i fit in. still, i didn't feel comfortable knowing that life is so different and so much more difficult so close by.

i haven't been writing as much as i'd like to, because i'm having trouble deciding how to best convey my experiences here. i didn't intend for this blog to be inherently political, though i'm slowly learning that the politics are unavoidable. today a friend compared palestine to a prison - the people are not free to travel as they wish, cannot attend school, cannot send or receive mail, cannot even visit jerusalem, without the constant struggle and reminder that what was their land is somehow no longer under their control. my life is no where near as difficult as theirs is - my biggest problem these days is that i speak arabic like a six-year old and can't figure out how to say no when someone heaps more food onto my plate. but every day i see a little bit more of the reality that is living in palestine, whether it be a personal experience or a story told.

so consider my writing here not a political statement (though i suppose in reality that is what it is) and not a diary of my experiences, but a small view into a reality that in america we cannot otherwise access.