El Dorado Explosion

After Najat showed me around my new neighborhood, we parted ways at the corner closest to my hotel. She advised I go inside and put some real shoes on as the clouds were gathering once again, threatening rain. Of course I was too excited to take this good advice, bade her farewell and went to explore on my own, to be sure that I knew my way around without a helping hand.

Najat tells me that there is no way to get lost here as the streets are nothing but circles and no matter where you start you always end up there, again. I wonder if that's how she feels about the situation of her people. I'm certainly feeling that way about Israel.

I found the fruit vendor Najat suggested and purchased two tangerines, one avocado and a handful of Jordan dates. The kind owner laughed as we counted together from one through ten in Arabic. I'll have to visit him again for the next lesson. I also stopped by the bakery for some bread and other delectables both sweet and savory. Amazing how a few words in Arabic curries great favor and big smiles from most everyone. I hope to be able to say more than, hello, thank you, a thousand lights of day, praise be to God, etc...I myself am becoming weary of my limited vocabulary.

I decided that in order to really feel at home in the neighborhood I needed to plant myself at a cafe awhile. Anyone who knows me is well-acquainted with my cafe-sitting habits and so why would I be any different here?

The El Dorado Cafe is a beautiful shop on Salah-ah-din, around the corner from my house. There are literally walls of chocolates from the world over, wrapped in brightly-colored cellophane and foil, orange, red, yellow, green, blue, pink, magenta. Needless to say I feel that I am in good company in the El Dorado.

Two young men were running the counter and suggested I take a seat upstairs where there were tables. I ordered a cafe Americano and much to my joy and ease, Omar, the barista was familiar with the beverage. In East Jerusalem he has been the only one acquainted with the Americano. Other baristas are definitely considering me an idiot when I explain, Americano-- espresso with hot water. What do I get? An espresso. They must be thinking, what does this woman take us for? Of course an espresso involves hot water.

I took my seat upstairs as close to the window as possible. No sooner had I pulled out my book and journal than my coffee arrived. I have to admit it's difficult to read right now when my head is swimming with thoughts and the complicated, mind-whirling stories I have heard in the hours I've been here in East Jerusalem. Sort of reading, sort of thinking, sipping coffee and chewing on the inside of my cheek I looked outside the window and noticed an Israeli Police SUV with blue lights twirling and flashing.

For about a second I considered staying put but my hands started to put my things away and I went downstairs. Israeli police had closed the road and they were pushing people into stores and closing doors. I peeked outside to see what was happening and a soldier started yelling, I assume telling me and the others to stay inside, close the door. Omar the barista was laughing and kept opening the door so the soldier had to continue to come by and close it. He said to me, "are you ready to go now? because you can't, they 've closed the street."

I asked what was going on and the response was "bullshit, they think something is a bomb and they're going to explode it."

Hmph. What news. Sure enough, a soldier suddenly appeared across the street from the shop. He had a helmet with a glass visor and he wore a vest. Some contraption was in his hand that was cylindrical in shape, green and black in color, a wire connecting the machine to something else I couldn't see as I was stuck inside the shop and I felt it inappropriate at this point to open the door and step outside.

Moreover, I felt that torn feeling I get right now about living and working amongst Palestinians and seeing Israeli soldiers randomly frisking men on sidewalks and patrolling the nearest gate to the Old City, guns and helmets. So recently I befriended an incredible group of soldiers that joined my birthright trip. I keep seeing their faces and it's confusing and haunting. I'm trying to wriggle into the minds of all the people I see, to understand how they feel and what different symbols on the streets mean to them, like the symbol of an Israeli soldier about to explode a suitcase against a garage door next to a dress shop on Salah-ah-Din.

A medium-sized black suitcase was carried by the soldier to the garage door and the device was hooked up to it. Once again the soldier made sure no one was in the way or nearby. I looked to the roof of the building across from me and saw three young boys half hanging over the roof, smiles of excitement, entertainment, amusement...

Maybe ten feet away from the suitcase the soldier kneeled next to the exlposion device that was no more than a foot high. He pushed the button and the blast happened. It was probably a second-long, the suitcase inflated with air, lifted off the ground and fell back down, strips of material now hanging off like straggly, wind-torn banners.

I saw the whole thing happen and still the blast made me jump. Tears filled my eyes. I don't think with fear but just discomfort and dread. Everyone else around me was wildly amused. This was the afternoon show. The soldiers were laughed at for their seriousness and urgency.

After the explosion the soldier detached the contraption from the suitcase, shook out the bag a few times, dropped it and walked away. The police cars rolled out and the street traffic resumed. Groups of boys collected around the bag and kicked it around. But simply, life continued.

I paid for my coffee, took a deep breath and walked outside to photograph the suitcase and the blast-hole the explosion left in the garage door next to the dress shop.

What if there had been something in that bag? Why did they explode it amongst all those people, next to so many beautiful shops? Was there another option? Like an explosion truck. Is it significant that this suitcase was exploded in plainview for all to see?

When I accompanied Najat to the doctor the other morning she pointed out the dilapidated state of the hospital building. She said the owner wants to renovate but they live in fear that all will be destroyed so why invest, as long as it's safe?

What if the blasting device had a stronger impact and shattered the glass of the dress shop next door or the El Dorado across the street? What kind of society can possibly formulate around the constant threat of destruction?

I rememberd my final errand to find toilet paper and continued down the street.