Birzeit, Ramallah and Back II

Yellow taxi vans run back and forth from Birzeit to Ramallah from early morning until evening. For three shekel one is speedily transported from the peaceful and studious unversity atmosphere to the hustle and bustle of Ramallah's center.

Sitting next to me on the first bench of the taxi were two male students, Salim, tall, dark and thin, and Ashraf, shorter, blue-eyed and fair. Not knowing how much was the fare I asked Salim, could he tell me if the taxi went to the bus station?

Salim answered, "Three shekels. Yes. Where are you from?"

"Los Angeles," I told him.

"You are welcome," he replied.

Salim asked me what I was doing at Birzeit, if I was a student and what I studied. I explained to him my situation and asked him similar questions. In his third year of university, Salim studies psychology.

The rest of the short ride was quiet save for all the information swimming in my head from the meeting with Sonia. Pulling to a quick stop, the taxi door opened in Ramallah amidst produce trucks, vans filled with goods and cars. Narrow streets and tall buildings surrounded me. Hopping out from the taxi after Salim and Ashraf, I asked Salim if the bus station was nearby. As he was on a phone call, he motioned for me to follow him, covered the phone's mouthpiece, and told me he and his friend would take me there.

Jewelry, clothing, house supplies, shawarma, Palestine souvenir, book and tobacco stores were packed together, one after the other. Men wearing keffiyeh and more women in hijab than East Jerusalem hurried about their business, pushing past one another to the next errand. Street level nargile and tea shops looked out onto the activity, men sitting relaxed, water pipes in hand.

Downtown Ramallah sits around a traffic circle with a sort of monument in the middle, with a tall pole bearing the Palestinian flag. A cafe with green and white decor, called Star and Bucks Cafe sits at the highest point around the circle. My escorts walked left at the traffic circle, past colorful and overflowing shops, and uphill again. I saw green and white-striped bus number 18, the Al-Quds (Jersualem)to Ramallah bus, and prepared to thank Salim and Ashraf.

Ashraf, speaking to me for the first time said, "Do you have time for coffee? It is our tradition to invite visitors for something."

Sonia's parting words proved to be an accurate prediction.

I accepted. We turned left from the bus station and walked up a quieter road. The tall buildings cast a shadow onto the street, making the air quite cool in contrast to walking beneath the shining sun. Here there were furniture stores, electrical gadget shops and the occasional empty storefront. Once again we turned left. This time into a building with shiny marble floors and headed towards the elevator.

On the seventh floor the elevator opened directly into a sun-filled restaurant with large green plants and trees, a rather unattractive fountain in the center, a bar spanning one entire side of the venue, and tables and chairs similar to the those found at the Place St. Michel in Paris.

A server asked us to choose our table. We sat at a round one by the window in front and to the right of the bar. Outside were hills spotted with buildings whose rooftops were peppered with black water tanks and satellite dishes.

From the bus station to the restaurant I established that both Salim (21) and Ashraf (24) study psychology, but Ashraf also studies sociology. Most likely after graduation, both will continue university and pursue a masters degree. Ashraf and Salim's families come from Ramallah.

Sitting to my right, Ashraf asked, "So, what do you think of our state?"

"Well, I think you need a state," was my response.

Chuckling, they both smiled at me with tired eyes. Again they asked me what exactly I'm doing in Palestine, if I had ever been, that I am welcome, and if I need anything to call them.

A server approached the table, bringing with him a a dish of Cheetos, Fritos and pretzels. We ordered three Turkish coffees and resumed our conversation.

Salim and Ashraf seemed very defeated. Their words revealed a sadness and a helplessness for the situation of their people.

"Fatah represents the United States and Israel, Hamas does what Iran and Syria want," Salim said.

They both felt that the political parties in power fail to represent them and the needs of their people. And I felt as though they were asking me for the answers. I've never felt so useless in my life!

Ashraf continued, "America and Israel make us promises, but they never keep them. We continue to live under the occupation and it's a hard life."

"One of my brothers is shahid (martyred) and the other is wanted by the Israeli police for being a patriot," Salim said.

Ashraf continued, "there are two losers here, Israel and Palestine."

I agreed with this statement but added (and feel) that on a day-to-day basis, "there are two losers but the Palestinians are the bigger loser."

Ashraf and Salim were curious to know what I hear about Palestinians in the United States. They mentioned their concern for the media and how it directs the conversation in the United States, or lack thereof, about Palestinians.

I shared with them that it depends on which media one chooses to read. Some is very pro-Israel and some very pro-Palestine and that I try to read as much as I can to get a more full picture of the situation. However, dissatisfied with even that, "That's why I came here, to see and hear for myself, what is going on," I told them.

I got this general sense that these two boys were genuinely interested in what I could report to them from the world outside of their own. We discussed preconceived notions of Palestinians and Israelis for one another, the stereotype of all Palestinians being terrorists, and all Israelis as agressive settlers and abusive soldiers, and how these boys have never really interacted with Israelis. A curiosity to know came across from them to me. From this I was able to cultivate a morsel of hopefulness that these young would have the opportunity to make their society better, some may. Maybe that's part of my job to help figure out, or not, or something in between, I don't know yet.

In the opportunities that I have had thus far to speak with Palestinians, I am open and candid about my background and intentions. To me it is important for them to know that I am a Jew. Inevitably, this comes up when I am asked what I do for a living. As the answer to that question is that I am a second grade religious school teacher and a Hebrew tutor, this offers the perfect opportunity to divulge my religious background.

In the political discussions, I am sure to state my belief that there must be a Jewish state for the Jewish people because historically, the world has tried to disappear the Jews. I share that my grandfather is a Holocaust survivor and so I have a very personal connection to this belief and steadfastness in the present and future of the Jewish State of Israel. Usually I finish this spiel with the my heartfelt truth that because of my people's success (Baruch Hashem) in securing a state of their own, it is my obligation as a Jew and a human being to play a just role in seeing that my fellow human beings of different peoples enjoy that which I have privilege to enjoy: security and freedom of religion, language, culture and expression.

Ashraf and Salim appreciated this, although it didn't solve any problems and I still didn't have answers for them. Even now when I write this, I feel tired, a heavines settle over me. For now, it appears that power to make change does not rest with these young men who were children in the First Intifada and young adults in the Second. I suppose that to some extent their being at a loss for knowing what to do is encouraging. This signals they don't believe the violence is working.

The only thing I can do for now is stay in touch, learn more about them and offer them my views and my support as a friend. Also, I offer the distraction or excitement of a foreigner willing to listen, learn and work with them.

After coffee, cigarettes and cheetos Salim and Ashraf escorted me back to the bus station and verified with the driver of Bus #18 that I'd be delivered back to East Jerusalem via the Qalandya checkpoint. Once again they reminded me that I am welcome to Ramallah anytime and they'd be happy to answer any of my questions.

Boarding the bus I felt a sense of relief that I would soon return to the office, sit behind a computer, work and not have my emotional reserve further depleted.

Ten minutes from Ramallah I arrived on the other side of the separation wall at the Qalandya checkpoint. As a foreigner, and in possession of a U.S.passport, I did not have to get off the bus and walk through the checkpoint.

"You have a U.S. passport? You don't have to get off the bus, unless you want to see," said my bus driver.

With the rest of the passengers I descended from the bus, crossed the parking lot and followed those before me to the checkpoint. On that Tuesday afternoon the checkpoint was not crowded. The easiest thing to compare Qalandya to-- for me-- is an entrance to the New York subway system, sort of. As I walked toward the tall, bar columned-turnstyles, behind me was a covered area with metal benches. In operation were two lanes with approximately twenty people in each line. Voices over loud speakers were shouting instructions. I joined the line closest to me and watched those before me go through the turnstyle which revolves as long as the green light above is lit. Red indicates the turnstyle is locked. This went off and on every few people or so and without warning, stopping people short who tried to enter as the light switched.

After passing through the turnstyle I passed through a metal detector, an x-ray conveyor belt and two soldiers sitting in an office behind glass.

Everyone showed their identity cards. I was asked to slip my passport through a slot beneath the glass. After approval, I walked out another turnstyle and to the other side of the checkpoint, along a walk way, and into another parking lot where the bus waited. Once the bus was full, the driver continued the short ride back to Jerusalem, but only after a soldier briefly boarded the bus during which time the passengers once again pulled out their identity cards and held them up for the soldier to see.

As the sun descended onto the horizon and the scenery turned golden, I pushed the stop button and disembarked on Salah-a-Din Street and returned to the office.