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Testing the Waters— Palestine & Israel, 2006 |
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Journal, April 13 & 14, 2006 (edited April 22-25)—HaifaPhotos: Akka Haifa journal—Part two (Peasach & Akka)By Skip Schiel Why is this Pesach night different from every other Pesach night? —The Shalom Center PESACH (PASSOVER) Today [April 13] is Pesach, pronounced, pay-sa, Passover. Last night around the world, Seders, the preparatory meal reminding Jews of the good luck their ancestors had when the angel of god passed over their houses marked by blood and destroyed much of Egypt. Elias informed me that the word Seder means order, but he has no idea what the connection is between order and the meal. Near the end of my walking tour yesterday, along Ben Gurion Boulevard, near the Baha'i gardens, I stopped in a building thinking it was the bookstore I'd visited with the Steps of the Magi group [organized in December 2005, from Jordan to Bethlehem]. But no, a shul or school. A pleasant young man wearing traditional Jewish clothing approached me, welcoming me, and invited me in to see the rather banal interior and photograph it. He explained they were holding a Seder later that evening and I was invited. This was indeed tempting. I've been to Seders before, and would like to honor this week of holiness—Palm Sunday to Easter and Pesach—but I decided not to attend. The logistics would be too complicated. It was 4:30, 3 hours away from the Seder, nowhere for me to hangout. Walking home is uphill all the way; the buses have stopped because of the holiday. I'd have to walk home, return to the shul, and walk home again, a total distance of some 6 km, not much by itself if on the level, but up and down hills, no thanks. So I resided comfortably at home, snacking on humus and pita bread thanks to Elias, becoming skinnier I might add, and put in another solid 2-3 hours of computer work, downloading photos from the camera and sorting and processing from the Salfeet batch. Also, I'm less tempted to be at key holy sites during festivities than when I first arrived in Israel-Palestine. With my experience last year at the Xmas mass in Bethlehem, jammed in with hoards of rude, shoving, anything but prayerful folk, complete pandemonium, finding next day sitting alone in St Jerome's cave to be much more meditative and respectful, I'm not eager to exert significant effort to join events on the big days. This might be rationalization but it allows me to be easier with myself when rejecting opportunities for seemingly timeless experiences. April 13, 2006, Thursday Warm weather, cooling slightly in the evening, a clear sky last night in which to see the glorious and radiant full moon. This over Akka, thanks to Ala who brought me there. ALA & AKKA Ala is a young man I met at Baladna. He was born in a small stone house in Akka's Old City (Akka spelled Acre in English, pronounced Akka in Arabic and Akko in Hebrew, meaning something like beautiful port (CHECK). His family, working its way out of poverty, now has a very elegant apartment near the Old City but outside. His father was born a few months before the war of 1947-48, his father, Ala's grandfather, died in the fighting, and he, Ala's father, was raised as an orphan. He is now a house painter. Ala's mother teaches kindergarten. He brought me to Akka because of his love for the city, and to tell me the story of Israeli conquest. By various means they have tried to confiscate most of the property of the old city. Now all or most all of it is under municipal jurisdiction which means Israeli. Although most shop owners are Arab, and the largest share of profits goes to Arabs, they do not own their own shops. Some tout Akka as a place where Jews and Arabs coexist--the same is said to be true of Haifa, but Ala feels the reality of coexistence is much different. Arabs might serve as police, but they are under the authority of Jews. Ala feels Arabs suffer from two sources: in Israel generally, thru national policies (like discouraging or preventing them from joining the army, thus rendering them ineligible for veteran benefits) and thru specific municipal policies (such as greater funding for Jewish schools and physical infrastructure like trash collection, roads, water services) and a gradual removal of Arabs from desired property (more about this later from me, about the various wadi developments in Haifa). Jews and Arabs do sometimes share neighborhoods, but the tendency is usually for Jews to move out when Arabs move in. Environmental racism is active in Akka--A showed me where the city trash compactor is sited: next to a Muslim cemetery. Ala explained that of his 7th thru 12th grade classmates at a Franciscan school, he was the only one reaching the Master's degree level. Most have settled for lesser ambitions. The boat owner's son, for instance, trained in civil engineering, worked in a related job for a few years, but then he decided to work with his father in the tour boat business. Partly for the better money--job discrimination is real. But also because of reduced aspiration. This, said Ala, is a result of the occupation, at least partly. The Franciscan church was open, a first, Ala claimed, so we went in. He noticed a priest preparing to enter the main area from a side room and whispered to me--Let me tell you something about that priest when we get outside. Ala then outlined the general situation with Christian churches. Non-Arab ministers and priests usually lead them. Some might be fluent in Arabic, but most are ignorant of Arab culture--and highly racist, deriding Arab traditions and capabilities. Some priests separate the Muslims from the Christians, giving the Christian kids special privileges like trips to the Vatican. I asked Ala what distinguished him from his peers. His parents, he said, who always valued education and pushed their children to aspire. The parents did not have the opportunities they wanted their kids to have. Over lunch at Ala's home, I noticed his father seems largely uneducated. Ala's mother, also growing up in poverty, late in life earned requisite teaching credentials. All the siblings are strongly motivated. But there is more to Ala that I can't quite understand. He represents Baladna in international gatherings, traveling to Spain, Italy, Germany, and other European countries talking about Baladna. He is articulate and well read. He has a deep analysis politically. He's curious and quick to learn. How has he come to be this way? And what will this person, in his early or mid 20's become? Ala also mentioned the brain drain problem among Arabs that leave the country for advanced studies. This must be a constant unintended consequence for such programs--offering opportunities for people living in oppressed conditions and then discovering they are no longer willing to return to those conditions. Rather than returning and fighting to change them. Altho some funders, like the Fulbright program, require recipients to return to their country of original after a limited period abroad, little prevents them from eventually emigrating. Among Christian Arabs, both in Israel and the territories, this is one reason for the precipitous decline of their population. A highlight of our visit, surpassing the harbor and the city walls, and even the short boat tour, was the main mosque. Partly because of its enormity and grandeur, but mainly because we viewed it in prime light--sunset--it showed itself off in splendor. While Ala explained the symbolic presence of the various plants, such as olive, jasmine, and palm, I photographed from various angles. He also told me about the cistern which was under our feet in the courtyard. This, he said, a pasha (Egyptian governor) built to store water in case of siege. An aqueduct brings water from a source some 6 km away. It is now dry and unreachable. But as a boy he could get into it and play. He waited seven more days and again sent out the dove from the ark. When the dove returned to him in the evening, there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf! Then Noah knew that the water had receded from the earth. —Genesis 8: 10-11 April 14, 2006, Friday LINKS |
