SOLIDARITY NETWORK
By Matt Davis
My biases are simple, really. I do not believe in terrorism: state-sponsored or that of individuals. I do not believe in colonialism or �God-given� land rights �- and I never thought such doctrines could still exist in the 21st century. Furthermore, I believe in multilateralism, the use of dialogue over force, international law and universal human rights.
Hebron is a unique city in the Occupied Territories. Most Palestinian towns and cities we visited, regardless of their size, were either flanked or surrounded by large settlement blocs, which are basically subsidized civilians living illegally inside Palestinian land. Hebron, however, is the only city where the settlers have taken control of the very center of the historic downtown area. This closes the downtown to outside Palestinians and cuts the city in half. Because of its religious significance to Christians, Muslims and Jews, the city has been a city with much fighting on both sides for decades, and it is the site of several historic massacres.
In 1929, after mounting tensions between Muslims and Jews over access to the Western Wall in Jerusalem, a violent mob of Arabs began massacring Jews in Hebron. They killed 67 and forced others to hide in the homes of their Arab neighbors for safety. The surviving Jews evacuated the town, and by 1936 there were none left. They came back after the 1967 war, however, led by Rabbi Moshe Levinger. They dressed up as tourists and then took control of the Hebron hotel and refused to leave. Soon they established the Kiryat Arba settlement, and continued taking over buildings, notably the hospital in 1979. The Israeli government started supporting their cause, and the expansion has continued to this day.
Our trip to Hebron started late. I don�t recall if it was Gabe or Fuad who was running behind this particular morning, but I do know that from the very beginning we were in a rush. Dr. Nabil wanted us to see the city very well and have time to meet with students, without jeopardizing our meeting with Arafat later that afternoon. Getting into the town was relatively simple. We passed easily through the checkpoint with our yellow license plates (Israeli) and blue passports (American), then we headed to Hebron University for a quick bathroom break. Walking through the archway entrance to the school, my surroundings looked very much like a typical college campus, though I did notice that the student population seemed to be vastly female. I could feel many people staring at us, but they all seemed to be primarily just curious about us.
After about 10 minutes, we piled back into the van and headed towards downtown, being told we would come back to the university in the afternoon. A few minutes later, we unloaded in the center of the city. The atmosphere was rather cheery, with merchants coaxing us to survey their products and children waving at us. We were obviously walking along a main street, and I heard one fruit merchant call out �Welcome!� in a cavernous voice as we walked by.
One man selling t-shirts called out to me �From what country come you?� �America,� I replied, and when he looked confused I added �Florida.� �Ahh� Florida�. Welcome to Hebron!� he replied. Then, as an afterthought while I was turning to walk on, he yelled out �Bush not good!� I turned back to him. I laughed and agreed and then waved once more before continuing on. Now we were in the very center of the city, and, though the mood was still light, it took just a glance upwards to see abandoned buildings that has been shot up in gunfire exchanges at some point. There were two giant rectangular boulders in the street blocking off all vehicle traffic, and a small memorial we were told was for a Palestinian taxi driver who was killed by Israeli snipers. There was trash and a large iron frame of some sort wedged in front of the memorial.
We were getting close to the settlement now. Dr. Nabil wasn�t sure which entrance we would be able to use, but within a minute we were standing in front of a desolate and intimidating checkpoint, for pedestrians only, covered in camouflage and barbed wire. A large red sign in Arabic and Hebrew was translated for us: �You are entering an Israeli occupied area. Be careful.� Three international observers were standing by the entrance, in front of an abandoned Palestinian shop. We passed them with greetings and after showing our passports walked immediately into the settlement.
I have spent the last two weeks since returning from this trip searching for the right words to describe what I felt next. There are no words that will do it justice. Right behind us, beyond the checkpoint we had just passed, was the main street full of shops and people. On this side, however, it was completely empty. There were lines of closed Palestinian shops running down both sides of the street as far as I could see. Many of the stores had graffiti of large stars of David on their closed green doors. Overhead hung rows of small Israeli flags back and forth across the street. There were no people that I could see.
It was the mood change that was the most overwhelming, however. The best way I can describe it is by comparing it to an experience I had in middle school, which I attended in South Korea. One afternoon, a friend and I were in-line skating to a video game store nearby my house, but to get there we had to pass by the entrance of Yonsei University. As we approached the entrance of the university on the main six-lane street, we realized there was no traffic going either direction. In a city with 15 million people, silence is eerie, but that�s what we experienced. Looking towards the university, we saw hundreds of students standing together. Looking towards the street where we were headed, hundred of police in full riot gear were standing. Everyone was silent. All was calm. Then within four or five seconds, both sides charged at each other. The students unleashed a giant barrage of rocks, Molotov cocktails and other homemade weapons. The police released rubber bullets and tear gas and made full use of nightsticks. My friend and I were shredding pavement as we headed behind the police line and then tried to outrun the expanding cloud of tear gas that followed us up the street.
For years, those few seconds of calm before the riot have come back to my mind. Crossing into the Hebron settlement was a very similar eerie calm, but it was sustained. It was like that moment playing in slow motion. Within five seconds of entering, my first comment was �Wow, this is creepy,� followed a few seconds later by a sincere question: �How safe are we here?� I was assured, but not convinced, of my safety.
We walked on into the settlement. We passed shop after empty shop. I noticed a bumper sticker placed on one shop that read �No Arabs, No Terror.� I felt sick. We were walking towards the Church of Abraham, a holy site for Christians, Muslims and Jews. We started passing some settlers now. They looked like very normal and reasonable people. We were told some 200-500 settlers lived in the area, protected by 2,000 IDF forces. The only cars that passed us on the streets were IDF jeeps and giant settler SUVs adorned with bumper stickers and Israeli flags. Even where there were people, it still felt like a ghost town. Some IDF soldiers stopped us and made us wait while they radioed someone. They told us it would only take a moment. Two international observers were nearby, and they greeted us and welcomed us to Hebron. I watched as a group of Palestinian children walked silently home from school. Soon we were allowed to continue on.
The path we took towards the Church of Abraham led us into some back alleys, where some Palestinians were still living. All up and down the alleys were ruins of buildings that had been destroyed, some time ago from the look of them. As we passed two young sitting Palestinian boys, one spoke to me in Arabic. I slowed down and asked Fuad to interpret for me. He conversed with the boy, and then told me, �He says you have a beautiful face.� I don�t think I reacted the right way; I was so jolted by my surroundings and the general atmosphere of the settlement that this act of unmitigated kindness was deeply jarring. All I could do was stammer out a thank you and take a quick picture. Dr. Nabil was urging us ahead.
Further up the same alley, we neared the entrance to the mosque used by Muslims. But it was closed off, and an old Palestinian man who ran a juice shop informed us that it was Sunday so only the entrance for Christians and Jews was accessible. The same man, with a giant smile on his face, urged us to stay for a moment and enjoy some fresh orange juice. We tried to object as Dr. Nabil was rushing us onwards, but the old man immediately started slicing oranges in half and shoving them into a large metal juicer, holding a glass underneath. Such vigor this man had. I think Dr. Nabil must have told him what a hurry we were in because he pumped out five or six glasses of juice within probably two minutes. We paid him and shook hands warmly, then headed back the way we came.
Getting to the other entrance to the Church involved passing through another checkpoint, and one of our guides with a Palestinian passport was forced to wait while we went on. The IDF soldiers watched us closely as we observed a bus full of worshippers unload and Dr. Nabil told us the story of why they split the church into two. In 1994, a settler from New York named Dr. Baruch Goldstein entered the church and opened fire on worshipping Muslims. He killed 29 and injured many more. Since then the church has had two entrances, but it was the Muslims, we noticed, that were forced to go through metal detectors.
Leaving the church and heading back towards our original entrance, we met several settlers and talked with them about various aspects of the conflict. One 18-year-old settler, walking with a slightly younger friend, went into an extended explanation of his religious beliefs as they pertained to the situation. He believed �in peace ... but only when the Palestinians move far away.� He claimed that �from the Bible � Israel was only for the Jews, not for the others, the Christians and the Muslims.� Continuing, he said the Palestinians in Hebron should �take their families � and move to Jordan, or Syria.� He said this while agreeing with us that this land had been historically majority-Arab for hundreds of years. Only this mentality, it seems, could possibly make a Jewish civilian from the U.S. want to move into the middle of a war zone and live inside Palestinian territory.
Eventually we crossed back through the checkpoint leading us out of the settlement, walked to the van and piled in. We headed towards the university. There was no downtime for us to deal with all we had just experienced. We walked straight into the university and upstairs, where a giant feast -- and the university administrators -- was awaiting us. I didn�t really speak to anyone at lunch. I ate hurriedly. I was full of emotion and adrenaline as I tried to somehow hear myself think over the loud clamor of maybe forty people sitting around a table. Dr. Nabil informed us that the students were going to put on a traditional music and dance performance for us and that we should head downstairs. The auditorium looked like it hadn�t been refurbished in a decade or two, but it was sufficient.
The songs were intense, and from the bits and pieces I got translated, they seemed to mostly be about the struggles of the Palestinian people. It seemed only natural that their generation-long struggle against occupation would have infused every aspect of their culture by now. I talked with a student sitting next to me who spoke English and offered me a cigarette. Remembering what I was doing later that afternoon, I asked him what he thought of Arafat. He hesitated as soon as I asked the question. He seemed to be searching for a well-thought response. Paraphrased, he told me that Arafat had great respect because his entire life he had been at the center of the Palestinian struggle. He said this man�s entire life had been given for his people. At the same time, he felt that after Oslo, Arafat had let himself be used and marginalized by the Israelis and Americans. This man said Arafat still had his support, but that he wasn�t sure he could ever be effective in bringing any positive change for the Palestinians again.
After the performance ended, we were urged onstage so that the students could ask us a few questions. They asked mainly about U.S. policy and our media, as well as what were doing to try and alter these things. I didn�t answer any of the questions but gave the final words of thanks before we left. I wish we could have had more time with the students, but already we were going to be tight on time getting to Arafat�s headquarters.
Before we left the university, we were given gifts, and several people from our delegation exchanged email addresses with students. We piled back into the van and headed towards the city�s exit. We were confronted with an obstacle, however, as two giant cement blocks had been moved by the IDF into the middle of the street. They blocked off all vehicle traffic. It was the same road through which we had easily passed a few hours earlier. I watched as several Palestinians piled out of a taxi, grabbed three or four large boxes of electronics, then hauled them across the roadblock and piled into another cab. It didn�t seem like it was the first time they�d had do perform such an operation. We drove around looking for another exit, and managed to get out only because of our American passports and a long explanation to the IDF from our van driver in Arabic. Suddenly we were back on a bypass road -- where only yellow license plates were allowed -- speeding back towards Ramallah.
Related links:
Great linked-up encyclopedia article about Hebron
Website of Jewish Hebron descendents who are outraged at the setters� actions
Site of the international observers we encountered
One Israeli�s interpretation of the 1994 massacre
Zmag Article about Hebron