I held my British Airways online ticket squarely in my hand as I walked through the sliding glass door of the Ben Gurion International Airport. It was nearly 4:00 AM. My flight would not leave for another 3 1/2 hours.
Vivid memories of my last experience at this particular airport whirled through my mind as the first security checkpoint came into distant view. I began to scoot my luggage forward with reluctant optimism, as the airport appeared vacant of aspiring passengers.
“Excuse me, Miss!” a voice called from behind. I turned around to see a young Shin Bet officer smiling at me through thick-framed Harry Potter glasses. He proudly exhibited a shiny new badge on his chest with the word “Trainee” printed in bold English and Hebrew letters. “My name is Yoav. If you don’t mind, I’m going to practice asking you some procedural questions before your flight! Is that okay?” His voice rang with enthusiasm, something I had not experienced during my previous encounter with the Ben Gurion Shin Bet unit. I was flattered to have attracted the attention of a mere trainee. I must look innocent.
I glanced to the side to see a large Shin Bet officer, bearing a large shiny badge that read “Supervisor” in big letters, hovering over Yoav. Supervisor wore a scowl reminiscent of Professor Snape, sinister and judging, awaiting Potter’s inevitable screw up. Oh great, I thought to myself. This is so not going to be a pleasant experience.
So the questioning began. “Why were you in Israel?” “What were you researching?” “Who do you work for?” “Who paid for your trip?” “What is your occupation?” “Where do you go to school?” (and the characteristic *gasp* that follows after I say “The American University in Cairo”) “You study in Egypt?” “What do you study there?” “WHY are you studying the Middle East?” “So you LIVE in the US but you STUDY in Egypt?” “Why?” “Why are you interested in the conflict?” “Why this conflict and not other conflicts?” “How did you conduct your research?” “Do you have notes?”
“Where in Israel did you go?” “How many times did you go to West Bank?” “Where did you go?” “Who did you meet there?” “Why were you in Hevron?” “Who did you meet there?” “Where did you live?” “How many buses did you take?” “Have you been to Tel Aviv?” “What is the bus number from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv?”
“Did you make any friends in Israel?” “What are their names and where do they live?” “So you have Jewish friends in Israel, but do you have any Arab friends?”
“Why were you in Egypt for so long?” “Who are your friends there?” “What are their names?” “Who did you live with?” “Who did you travel with?”
You get the idea. This went on for a little over an hour, and I was shuffled between four different officers, sometimes more than one at once. It went considerably better than last time, though I encountered a few problems explaining to Shin Bet why I had tear gas in my duffle bag (its a Christmas present for my sister). We went through my camera, and I pointed out each person individually, and gave a brief description of each photo.
Shin Bet also insisted on viewing my research notes and my blog. All of my notes save for the random scribbles in my books were on my laptop, which was briefly confiscated and had to be shipped separately to Philadelphia. After an item-by-item search of all three of my bags and a slightly invasive pat-down (executed by two female Shin Bet officers in a four foot by four foot dressing room), I was able to successfully board my flight with exactly three minutes to spare.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
"A Stone's Throw from Civilization"
by Laura Logan
http://dartmouthindependent.com/site/world_detail/a_stones_throw_from_civilization, for pictures
A chilly winter breeze stung my face as I stood on the edge of the Palestinian village of Bil’in. I stood there in solidarity with the villagers, scanning the square kilometer that lies between the village and the wall. What would become of this land? To whom does it belong?
It was a typical Friday for the citizens of Bil’in. The noon prayer had just ended, and the village began to gather for a non-violent protest against the “separation wall” – a 760 kilometer fence built by the Israeli government in 2003. The men, women, and children of Bil'in were joined by human rights activists of every ilk: Palestinian, American, Israeli. This particular week, I was among them.
Since that day, several people have asked me why I would protest something that has been instrumental in preventing Palestinian militants from entering Israel. Why don't I support the wall?
The short answer is that I do. I believe that Israel has every right – in fact, a duty – to protect its citizens from militant threats. The construction of the separation wall is not only legal, but practical, to ensure national security. It's not the wall that I oppose. It's where the wall is.
Before Israel approved the construction of the wall in 2003, that rugged kilometer of terrain in Bil'in was Palestinian land – well within the boundary enumerated by the 1949 Armistice Agreements, U.N. General Assembly Resolution 181, and every major peace agreement since Camp David (commonly known as the “Green Line”). In fact, only 20% of the separation wall follows the Green Line. The remaining 80% cuts deep into the West Bank, annexing some of its most resource-rich lands and over half of its water supply. The land between the separation wall and the Green Line has been declared a “closed military zone”: any man, woman, or child who enters it risks being gassed, stunned, or shot by riot control agents of the Israeli Defense Forces.
Approximately 12% of Palestinians in the West Bank (around 375,000 people) are now trapped inside this zone. They live in a state of political limbo – lacking the rights of Israeli citizens, yet separated from their fellow Palestinians. And without proper permits, their houses may be bulldozed.
A surprisingly large number of the West Bank Palestinians I’ve spoken with – as well as a fair number of the Palestinian refugees I've encountered in Egypt and Jordan over the past year and a half – share my opinion. The citizens of Bil'in aren't protesting the wall; they're protesting its route.
In fact, very few Palestinians I've spoken with have denied Israel’s obligation to protect its citizens. Many have even acknowledged and praised the wall's effectiveness at decreasing attacks against innocent Israeli civilians. One Palestinian I spoke with went as far as to hail the wall as “vital to the peace process,” noting that decreases in extremist violence allow for better negotiating conditions. Sadly, the “security wall” has evolved into something more like a “temporary border,” de facto annexing 46% of what was once the West Bank.
As the wall stands today, multiple Palestinian villages are literally encircled by an eight-meter electric fence. The Palestinian city of Qalqiliya (population 45,000) is not only completely encircled, but also cut off from a third of its water supply. A similar situation exists in Bethlehem. For these unfortunate victims of circumstance, the only path to the outside world is through an IDF-controlled checkpoint. In order for a local villager over the age of 12 to return home, he is required to possess a permit as evidence of land ownership.
For a Palestinian to legally live in his own (often pre-1948) home, on Palestinian land, he is required to possess an Israeli-issued “temporary residence permit.” All houses not properly documented are subject to demolition, courtesy of a “clearing operation.” For the Palestinians who live close to the wall, a permit still might not be enough: if their houses fall within one of Israel’s planned “buffer zones,” they can legally be bulldozed without compensation.
Other Palestinian homes are subject to demolition if they are built on property needed by the Israeli government, or if a family member is believed to be a security threat. According to the Israeli human rights group B’Tselem, twelve innocent families lose their homes for every person the IDF believes to be engaging in “militant activities” (a designation which includes stone throwing) against Israel. Nearly half of the homes demolished are never even suspected of housing militant activity, according to B'Tselem.
In response to these allegations, the IDF claims that it gives prior warning in all but the most extenuating of circumstances. B’Tselem says otherwise: according to their figures, prior warning is given in less than 3% of all cases. A 2006 report by the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Aid (OCHA) states, “To date, more than 3,000 Palestinian-owned structures in the West Bank have pending demolition orders, which can immediately executed without prior warning.”
According to OCHA, the typical family in a house demolition is only able to salvage a few prized possessions, as demolition squads allow, on average, between two and thirty minutes to evacuate. When no prior warning is given, the consequences can be even more severe: in addition to rendering a family homeless and ridding them of their possessions, the element of surprise often produces “heat of the moment” confrontations between tenants and the IDF. Many of these result in injuries and deaths.
The 34 fortified checkpoints (3 main terminals, 9 commercial terminals, and 22 terminals for cars and workers) that divide the West Bank today greatly restrict freedom of travel, leaving hundreds of thousands impoverished and living in ghetto-like conditions, as they are unable to find stable work. In order to accommodate the 1,661 kilometers of private “Israeli-only” roads and the other 634 checkpoints (which include military trenches, roadblocks, and metal gates), 44 underground tunnels are currently being constructed to connect 22 isolated Palestinian villages inside of 3 adjacent jurisdictions.
Several international bodies, including the International Court of Justice (the judicial arm of the United Nations), have declared the route of construction illegal. “The construction of the wall and its associated regimes are contrary to international law,” the 2004 ICJ ruling read. It went on to remind Israel that it is “bound to comply with its obligations to respect the right of the Palestinian people to self-determination and its obligations under international humanitarian law and international human rights law.” According to the ruling, Israel can build a wall for security purposes, but only on its side of the Green Line.
Even Justice Thomas Buergenthal, the American judge who cast the only dissenting vote, recognized the Palestinian right to self-determination, reiterated Israel’s obligation to international humanitarian law, and conceded that there were legitimate questions as to whether the barrier, given its route, qualifies as self-defense. The United States itself has denounced the route as an impediment to the peace process: in a July 25, 2003, remark to Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, President Bush stated that “the wall is a problem.”
In response to these concerns, the Knesset has maintained that the separation wall is only a "temporary" measure, to be reversed as soon as the Palestinians and Israelis reach a successful peace agreement. This position would be more convincing if the construction of ethnically-exclusive settlements on the disputed land between the wall and the Green Line hadn’t begun almost immediately after the wall was approved.
The original Israeli settlements in the West Bank (which have also been declared illegal by multiple ICJ rulings and UN resolutions, as a breach of the fourth Geneva Convention) were also called “temporary” at first. They began as military outposts and evolved into civilian settlements. Eventually, they were regarded as “facts on the ground” during negotiations. It's reasonable to wonder whether these new settlements will follow suit.
Israeli courts, though ruling in favor of a slight route revision in the Ramallah district, have opted not to accept the ICJ’s decision, even though they have acknowledged that Israel controls the West Bank in a “belligerent occupation” and that the “law of belligerent occupation…imposes conditions” on the occupying military, even in security sensitive areas. Bil'in was one of the villages in the Ramallah district that the courts approved for rerouting. Regardless, construction continues as planned.
As I stood on top of that hill in Bil’in, I observed a sandy dirt road that paved a clear path through the wild goat grass, dodging the occasional sabra cactus, toward the edge of the separation wall. A chaotic fusion of village noise consumed me: a child crying, a mother consoling. The sound of Israeli riot dispersal techniques reverberated throughout the village. The deafening boom of a 44mm rubber bullet echoed from a sister protest in the nearby village of Na’alin. Tear gas canisters hissed through the air.
Despite the non-violent nature of the weekly protests in Bil’in and Na’alin, 18 demonstrators have been killed. Of those, ten were children under the age of 18. 15 were killed by live ammunition, a method of riot dispersal banned by the IDF following the second intifada because of its highly lethal nature.
Thirty minutes after the noon prayer, we began to march toward the wall. Some chanted, others simply held signs. As soon as we stepped into the “closed military zone,” which extended far into the village, IDF riot control began to shoot tear gas into the crowd.
Some protesters fled, visibly suffering from tear gas inhalation. Others continued toward the wall, where they would plant a Palestinian flag in symbolic expression of their resistance. They were met with rubber bullets.
At no point did I witness any significant stone-throwing. This was, in every respect, a non-violent protest. I wondered how “threatening stone hurling” had become such a staple justification for violent IDF behavior in Israeli newspapers. I stuck around to find out.
A few hours after the protest ended, I re-entered the "closed military zone" to find a number of Palestinian boys hurling rocks at the IDF riot control. The most aggressive hurlers wore kifayas and sported large sling-shots. They hid behind rocks to shield themselves as the IDF returned fire with tear gas, stun grenades, and rubber bullets.
How old were these rock-hurling militants? Probably somewhere between 8 and 12.
I felt like I was caught in the middle of a paintball game. The possibility of getting nailed by a rock or high-velocity tear gas projectile provided me with an adrenaline rush I hadn't experienced since my days playing high school soccer. It was exciting, but it didn't feel real. It felt like a game.
I watched in shock as a smiling 8-year-old boy jumped over a bouncing tear gas canister like it was a dodgeball, whirled around, and returned fire with his sling-shot. He fell short of his target by about 20 meters. Another grinning boy came up behind him, and they exchanged a high-five.
What better way to play Cowboys and Indians than with a real, live enemy? An occupier. What a great way to prove one's “manhood.” It was very difficult to take seriously. Immediately after the tear gas stopped, the kids went home. Khalas. It wasn’t exciting for them anymore.
by Laura Logan
http://dartmouthindependent.com/site/world_detail/a_stones_throw_from_civilization, for pictures
A chilly winter breeze stung my face as I stood on the edge of the Palestinian village of Bil’in. I stood there in solidarity with the villagers, scanning the square kilometer that lies between the village and the wall. What would become of this land? To whom does it belong?
It was a typical Friday for the citizens of Bil’in. The noon prayer had just ended, and the village began to gather for a non-violent protest against the “separation wall” – a 760 kilometer fence built by the Israeli government in 2003. The men, women, and children of Bil'in were joined by human rights activists of every ilk: Palestinian, American, Israeli. This particular week, I was among them.
Since that day, several people have asked me why I would protest something that has been instrumental in preventing Palestinian militants from entering Israel. Why don't I support the wall?
The short answer is that I do. I believe that Israel has every right – in fact, a duty – to protect its citizens from militant threats. The construction of the separation wall is not only legal, but practical, to ensure national security. It's not the wall that I oppose. It's where the wall is.
Before Israel approved the construction of the wall in 2003, that rugged kilometer of terrain in Bil'in was Palestinian land – well within the boundary enumerated by the 1949 Armistice Agreements, U.N. General Assembly Resolution 181, and every major peace agreement since Camp David (commonly known as the “Green Line”). In fact, only 20% of the separation wall follows the Green Line. The remaining 80% cuts deep into the West Bank, annexing some of its most resource-rich lands and over half of its water supply. The land between the separation wall and the Green Line has been declared a “closed military zone”: any man, woman, or child who enters it risks being gassed, stunned, or shot by riot control agents of the Israeli Defense Forces.
Approximately 12% of Palestinians in the West Bank (around 375,000 people) are now trapped inside this zone. They live in a state of political limbo – lacking the rights of Israeli citizens, yet separated from their fellow Palestinians. And without proper permits, their houses may be bulldozed.
A surprisingly large number of the West Bank Palestinians I’ve spoken with – as well as a fair number of the Palestinian refugees I've encountered in Egypt and Jordan over the past year and a half – share my opinion. The citizens of Bil'in aren't protesting the wall; they're protesting its route.
In fact, very few Palestinians I've spoken with have denied Israel’s obligation to protect its citizens. Many have even acknowledged and praised the wall's effectiveness at decreasing attacks against innocent Israeli civilians. One Palestinian I spoke with went as far as to hail the wall as “vital to the peace process,” noting that decreases in extremist violence allow for better negotiating conditions. Sadly, the “security wall” has evolved into something more like a “temporary border,” de facto annexing 46% of what was once the West Bank.
As the wall stands today, multiple Palestinian villages are literally encircled by an eight-meter electric fence. The Palestinian city of Qalqiliya (population 45,000) is not only completely encircled, but also cut off from a third of its water supply. A similar situation exists in Bethlehem. For these unfortunate victims of circumstance, the only path to the outside world is through an IDF-controlled checkpoint. In order for a local villager over the age of 12 to return home, he is required to possess a permit as evidence of land ownership.
For a Palestinian to legally live in his own (often pre-1948) home, on Palestinian land, he is required to possess an Israeli-issued “temporary residence permit.” All houses not properly documented are subject to demolition, courtesy of a “clearing operation.” For the Palestinians who live close to the wall, a permit still might not be enough: if their houses fall within one of Israel’s planned “buffer zones,” they can legally be bulldozed without compensation.
Other Palestinian homes are subject to demolition if they are built on property needed by the Israeli government, or if a family member is believed to be a security threat. According to the Israeli human rights group B’Tselem, twelve innocent families lose their homes for every person the IDF believes to be engaging in “militant activities” (a designation which includes stone throwing) against Israel. Nearly half of the homes demolished are never even suspected of housing militant activity, according to B'Tselem.
In response to these allegations, the IDF claims that it gives prior warning in all but the most extenuating of circumstances. B’Tselem says otherwise: according to their figures, prior warning is given in less than 3% of all cases. A 2006 report by the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Aid (OCHA) states, “To date, more than 3,000 Palestinian-owned structures in the West Bank have pending demolition orders, which can immediately executed without prior warning.”
According to OCHA, the typical family in a house demolition is only able to salvage a few prized possessions, as demolition squads allow, on average, between two and thirty minutes to evacuate. When no prior warning is given, the consequences can be even more severe: in addition to rendering a family homeless and ridding them of their possessions, the element of surprise often produces “heat of the moment” confrontations between tenants and the IDF. Many of these result in injuries and deaths.
The 34 fortified checkpoints (3 main terminals, 9 commercial terminals, and 22 terminals for cars and workers) that divide the West Bank today greatly restrict freedom of travel, leaving hundreds of thousands impoverished and living in ghetto-like conditions, as they are unable to find stable work. In order to accommodate the 1,661 kilometers of private “Israeli-only” roads and the other 634 checkpoints (which include military trenches, roadblocks, and metal gates), 44 underground tunnels are currently being constructed to connect 22 isolated Palestinian villages inside of 3 adjacent jurisdictions.
Several international bodies, including the International Court of Justice (the judicial arm of the United Nations), have declared the route of construction illegal. “The construction of the wall and its associated regimes are contrary to international law,” the 2004 ICJ ruling read. It went on to remind Israel that it is “bound to comply with its obligations to respect the right of the Palestinian people to self-determination and its obligations under international humanitarian law and international human rights law.” According to the ruling, Israel can build a wall for security purposes, but only on its side of the Green Line.
Even Justice Thomas Buergenthal, the American judge who cast the only dissenting vote, recognized the Palestinian right to self-determination, reiterated Israel’s obligation to international humanitarian law, and conceded that there were legitimate questions as to whether the barrier, given its route, qualifies as self-defense. The United States itself has denounced the route as an impediment to the peace process: in a July 25, 2003, remark to Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, President Bush stated that “the wall is a problem.”
In response to these concerns, the Knesset has maintained that the separation wall is only a "temporary" measure, to be reversed as soon as the Palestinians and Israelis reach a successful peace agreement. This position would be more convincing if the construction of ethnically-exclusive settlements on the disputed land between the wall and the Green Line hadn’t begun almost immediately after the wall was approved.
The original Israeli settlements in the West Bank (which have also been declared illegal by multiple ICJ rulings and UN resolutions, as a breach of the fourth Geneva Convention) were also called “temporary” at first. They began as military outposts and evolved into civilian settlements. Eventually, they were regarded as “facts on the ground” during negotiations. It's reasonable to wonder whether these new settlements will follow suit.
Israeli courts, though ruling in favor of a slight route revision in the Ramallah district, have opted not to accept the ICJ’s decision, even though they have acknowledged that Israel controls the West Bank in a “belligerent occupation” and that the “law of belligerent occupation…imposes conditions” on the occupying military, even in security sensitive areas. Bil'in was one of the villages in the Ramallah district that the courts approved for rerouting. Regardless, construction continues as planned.
As I stood on top of that hill in Bil’in, I observed a sandy dirt road that paved a clear path through the wild goat grass, dodging the occasional sabra cactus, toward the edge of the separation wall. A chaotic fusion of village noise consumed me: a child crying, a mother consoling. The sound of Israeli riot dispersal techniques reverberated throughout the village. The deafening boom of a 44mm rubber bullet echoed from a sister protest in the nearby village of Na’alin. Tear gas canisters hissed through the air.
Despite the non-violent nature of the weekly protests in Bil’in and Na’alin, 18 demonstrators have been killed. Of those, ten were children under the age of 18. 15 were killed by live ammunition, a method of riot dispersal banned by the IDF following the second intifada because of its highly lethal nature.
Thirty minutes after the noon prayer, we began to march toward the wall. Some chanted, others simply held signs. As soon as we stepped into the “closed military zone,” which extended far into the village, IDF riot control began to shoot tear gas into the crowd.
Some protesters fled, visibly suffering from tear gas inhalation. Others continued toward the wall, where they would plant a Palestinian flag in symbolic expression of their resistance. They were met with rubber bullets.
At no point did I witness any significant stone-throwing. This was, in every respect, a non-violent protest. I wondered how “threatening stone hurling” had become such a staple justification for violent IDF behavior in Israeli newspapers. I stuck around to find out.
A few hours after the protest ended, I re-entered the "closed military zone" to find a number of Palestinian boys hurling rocks at the IDF riot control. The most aggressive hurlers wore kifayas and sported large sling-shots. They hid behind rocks to shield themselves as the IDF returned fire with tear gas, stun grenades, and rubber bullets.
How old were these rock-hurling militants? Probably somewhere between 8 and 12.
I felt like I was caught in the middle of a paintball game. The possibility of getting nailed by a rock or high-velocity tear gas projectile provided me with an adrenaline rush I hadn't experienced since my days playing high school soccer. It was exciting, but it didn't feel real. It felt like a game.
I watched in shock as a smiling 8-year-old boy jumped over a bouncing tear gas canister like it was a dodgeball, whirled around, and returned fire with his sling-shot. He fell short of his target by about 20 meters. Another grinning boy came up behind him, and they exchanged a high-five.
What better way to play Cowboys and Indians than with a real, live enemy? An occupier. What a great way to prove one's “manhood.” It was very difficult to take seriously. Immediately after the tear gas stopped, the kids went home. Khalas. It wasn’t exciting for them anymore.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
"These boots are meant for walkin'..."
NOVEMBER 3, 2009
Jerusalem, Israel
“...and that's just what they'll do."
I went shopping today. I now look fabulous in my highly fashionable black jacket (with a black fleece-collar), complete with a set of highly fashionable black boots. They’re tall, with a four-inch heel, but they’re NOT “hooker boots.” They’re a specific type of boot that appears to be very popular among Israeli youth. Even orthodox girls wear them. If orthodox girls are wearing them, they’re definitely not hooker boots. But they ARE very warm, which is kind of what I need, since it’s still raining outside and I still can’t seem to find my shoes.
So it looks like I've finally finalized my travel plans to the "forbidden land." Unless something very important comes up, it'll be the of week the 15th. I’d prefer to be back in Jerusalem for Thanksgiving dinner at Mike’s Kitchen. Delicious. You know, I’m thinking Thanksgiving may very well mark the end of my “vegetarianism.” I’m practically salivating at the thought of freshly baked turkey.
Jerusalem, Israel
“...and that's just what they'll do."
I went shopping today. I now look fabulous in my highly fashionable black jacket (with a black fleece-collar), complete with a set of highly fashionable black boots. They’re tall, with a four-inch heel, but they’re NOT “hooker boots.” They’re a specific type of boot that appears to be very popular among Israeli youth. Even orthodox girls wear them. If orthodox girls are wearing them, they’re definitely not hooker boots. But they ARE very warm, which is kind of what I need, since it’s still raining outside and I still can’t seem to find my shoes.
So it looks like I've finally finalized my travel plans to the "forbidden land." Unless something very important comes up, it'll be the of week the 15th. I’d prefer to be back in Jerusalem for Thanksgiving dinner at Mike’s Kitchen. Delicious. You know, I’m thinking Thanksgiving may very well mark the end of my “vegetarianism.” I’m practically salivating at the thought of freshly baked turkey.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Where is Laura's Ark?
NOVEMBER 2, 2009
Jerusalem, Israel
It’s raining outside. I’ve taken refuge in a cute little bookshop-café in West Jerusalem, where I am sipping delicious ginger tea (with lemon and honey) and thawing out my toes. I don't know where my shoes are. Not that it's really going to matter if G-d is trying to flood the world again, which is kind of what it looks like outside. There aren't a lot of drains. Who knew Jerusalem could get so cold? Seriously, this weather is intense. I was nearly blown over by one particular gust of wind on my way to Ichikidahana Indian Restaurant in the Makhane Yehuda shouk. Why can’t it be like California everywhere?
Sometimes I wonder whether I should just give up on the Middle East and become a food critic. I really like eating and I wouldn’t mind writing reviews in exchange for free meals. Then again, there aren’t very many foods I don’t like so I probably would not be doing a lot of critiquing. But I’d still get free meals!
Jerusalem, Israel
It’s raining outside. I’ve taken refuge in a cute little bookshop-café in West Jerusalem, where I am sipping delicious ginger tea (with lemon and honey) and thawing out my toes. I don't know where my shoes are. Not that it's really going to matter if G-d is trying to flood the world again, which is kind of what it looks like outside. There aren't a lot of drains. Who knew Jerusalem could get so cold? Seriously, this weather is intense. I was nearly blown over by one particular gust of wind on my way to Ichikidahana Indian Restaurant in the Makhane Yehuda shouk. Why can’t it be like California everywhere?
Sometimes I wonder whether I should just give up on the Middle East and become a food critic. I really like eating and I wouldn’t mind writing reviews in exchange for free meals. Then again, there aren’t very many foods I don’t like so I probably would not be doing a lot of critiquing. But I’d still get free meals!
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Church of Many Names
SEPTEMBER 25, 2009
Jerusalem, Israel
I have seen many impressive buildings in my lifetime. There are few that can compete with the historical and religious magnificence that is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Also known as “Golgotha” (the Hill of Calvary) by many Christians, or the “Church of the Resurrection” by Eastern Christians, it is venerated as one of Christianity’s most holy sites. Christian pilgrims have flocked to the Old City since the 4th century CE to pay homage to the site at which Jesus Christ, son of God, was stripped of his clothing, nailed to a cross, and crucified by the Romans. It is also, according to tradition, the burial site of Jesus Christ (the Sepulchre) as well as the place at which the Resurrection occurred.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, originally a temple for Aphrodite, proudly overlooked the Old City for over eight hundred years- from its construction in the second century CE, to its destruction at the hands of Fatamid caliph al-Hakim in 1009. Al-Hakim, supposedly, “was aggrieved by the scale of the Easter pilgrimage to Jerusalem, which was caused specially by the annual miracle of the Holy Fire within the Sepulchre.” (Christian writer Yahya ibn Sa’id) Still, the destruction of the church “was only part of a general campaign against Christian places in Palestine and Egypt.” Other major churches damaged in the raid include the Church of St. George. Little did al-Hakim know that his precious slash-and-burn fest would be cited by Pope Urban II, in 1095, as one of the foremost “justifications” for the First Crusade.
Reconstruction was funded by Byzantine Emperor Constantine IX and the church was completed, though not nearly to its original splendor, in 1048 CE. It stood untouched through the Crusades, conquered by Salah al-Din (Saladin) in 1187, and later became the seat of the first Latin Patriarchs.
Now, here I am, a thousand years later, in 2009 (exactly one millennium after al-Hakim’s little raid), sitting in a quiet corner next to “The Prison of Christ.” Just upstairs is the “Calvary,” where one can view the approximate place at which Jesus is believed to have been 1) stripped of his clothing, 2) nailed to the cross, and 3) raised to the cross and crucified.
(where Jesus was nailed to the cross)
(where Jesus was crucified)
(the Edicule at the center of the church)
(Church of the Holy Sepulchre from the outside)
One of the first things I noticed upon entering the church is the solemn atmosphere. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, marking the place of Jesus’s death, is most certainly a place of mourning. The constant unmelodious hum of monastic chant pervades throughout the interior as pilgrims light candles as a symbolic gesture of lifelong dedication to Jesus Christ.
(the Stone of Anointing- marks where Jesus was prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea)
This atmosphere was much different from what I had witnessed at the Church of the Nativity (which was allegedly built upon the birthplace of Jesus Christ) during my visits to Bethlehem last December and January. The Church of the Nativity is a place of rejoicing, of celebration. I recall walking in on a sermon directed to a large group of Nigerian pilgrims that ended on a melodious note with a group rendition of “Silent Night.”
Jerusalem, Israel
I have seen many impressive buildings in my lifetime. There are few that can compete with the historical and religious magnificence that is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Also known as “Golgotha” (the Hill of Calvary) by many Christians, or the “Church of the Resurrection” by Eastern Christians, it is venerated as one of Christianity’s most holy sites. Christian pilgrims have flocked to the Old City since the 4th century CE to pay homage to the site at which Jesus Christ, son of God, was stripped of his clothing, nailed to a cross, and crucified by the Romans. It is also, according to tradition, the burial site of Jesus Christ (the Sepulchre) as well as the place at which the Resurrection occurred.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, originally a temple for Aphrodite, proudly overlooked the Old City for over eight hundred years- from its construction in the second century CE, to its destruction at the hands of Fatamid caliph al-Hakim in 1009. Al-Hakim, supposedly, “was aggrieved by the scale of the Easter pilgrimage to Jerusalem, which was caused specially by the annual miracle of the Holy Fire within the Sepulchre.” (Christian writer Yahya ibn Sa’id) Still, the destruction of the church “was only part of a general campaign against Christian places in Palestine and Egypt.” Other major churches damaged in the raid include the Church of St. George. Little did al-Hakim know that his precious slash-and-burn fest would be cited by Pope Urban II, in 1095, as one of the foremost “justifications” for the First Crusade.
Reconstruction was funded by Byzantine Emperor Constantine IX and the church was completed, though not nearly to its original splendor, in 1048 CE. It stood untouched through the Crusades, conquered by Salah al-Din (Saladin) in 1187, and later became the seat of the first Latin Patriarchs.
Now, here I am, a thousand years later, in 2009 (exactly one millennium after al-Hakim’s little raid), sitting in a quiet corner next to “The Prison of Christ.” Just upstairs is the “Calvary,” where one can view the approximate place at which Jesus is believed to have been 1) stripped of his clothing, 2) nailed to the cross, and 3) raised to the cross and crucified.
(where Jesus was nailed to the cross)
(where Jesus was crucified)
(the Edicule at the center of the church)
(Church of the Holy Sepulchre from the outside)
One of the first things I noticed upon entering the church is the solemn atmosphere. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, marking the place of Jesus’s death, is most certainly a place of mourning. The constant unmelodious hum of monastic chant pervades throughout the interior as pilgrims light candles as a symbolic gesture of lifelong dedication to Jesus Christ.
(the Stone of Anointing- marks where Jesus was prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea)
This atmosphere was much different from what I had witnessed at the Church of the Nativity (which was allegedly built upon the birthplace of Jesus Christ) during my visits to Bethlehem last December and January. The Church of the Nativity is a place of rejoicing, of celebration. I recall walking in on a sermon directed to a large group of Nigerian pilgrims that ended on a melodious note with a group rendition of “Silent Night.”
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