Each year, eight days before their Independence Day, Israel dedicates itself to the remembrance of the Holocaust. So I thought I might share a few of the experiences of my day. In many places, there are signs with the word "eezcor" which means "Remember". At 10am, a loud siren sounds across the country which stops everyone in their tracks. Cars stop driving, people stop walking, speaking, or eating and sit for two minutes. Throughout the day there are ceremonies in many places which continue on into the night. In the center in which I volunteer, they held a two hour ceremony singing songs and talking about the history of the Holocaust. At the University, a second generation Holocaust survivor spoke of her parents' experiences before they came to Israel and started a family. A large crowd of students gathered to listen to her speak and ask questions. Her father had been placed in a work camp and was in the death hut with terrible dysentery when their camp was liberated by the Allies. He nursed himself back to health before making his way to Romania and then later to Israel where he lived on kibbutzes for the remainder of his life. In one particularly horrific anecdote, the speaker told of two SS guards who were captured by the Allies and interrogated by her father because he was the only one around who could speak German. The Germans had been guards at a death camp where the rest of her father's family had been killed. He asked the Allied troops what they planned on doing with the Germans and then he asked if he could have them to kill for himself. The troops complied and he marched the two Germans out and shot them. Years later, when a reporter asked him how he felt about this act of revenge, he said he felt nothing. Nothing because it was so small, so insignificant.
Later, back in our apartment, my roommates were nice enough to tell stories from their own families past. Shai, a descendant of Polish immigrants, had many stories to tell as three of his grandparents were in camps or ghettoes at some point. One grandmother was in a Polish ghetto with the rest of her family for several years as a small child. On the night before the camp was liquidated, her mother made her stay up very late so that she was very tired and slept through most of the rest of the day. When she awoke, there was no one left. Her entire family was gone as was the rest of the Jewish ghetto. She crawled out under one of the fences, setting off an alarm while she did so, and was shot by one of the guards in the leg who mistook her for a small animal. She struggled to walk for miles before finally collapsing and being taken in by a Parish priest who kept her in a monastery for the duration of the war. Another grandmother was being sent to Auschwitz to be exterminated and decided to try to commit suicide by jumping from the train but ended up living and hiding out in the forests and scavenging for food before somehow making her way to Israel. Shai's grandfather escaped to the forests of Belarus and Ukraine where his and 46 other families tried to avoid Russian and German troops and local residents who would shoot them on sight. At the end of the war, there were less than 20 survivors and his grandfather the only one from his family who had survived.
It is rare to hear of such stories out in the open and this day provides that opportunity. The Holocaust is a topic difficult to broach with many people much of the rest of the year. Yet, it is never far from the consciousness of this country. Being here, I am constantly reminded of this Jewish tragedy. I think it will take generations if not more for forgiveness and healing to take place. Holocaust deniers and anti-semitism will forever threaten this process and I can understand how angry Israeli's become to hear of Ahmedinejad's recent speech at a conference on racism. There is good reason for criticism of Israel on several counts regarding its treatment of Israeli-Arabs and Palestinians in the territories but coming from a man who denies the Holocaust is not acceptable. Israel's feeling of vulnerability and the call for its destruction by its enemies are a constant reminder of how close the Jewish people came to extermination. Most days I read in the newspapers here about the imminence of a nuclear holocaust if Iran were to acquire such weapons. This notion is debatable but considering the Jewish people's recent history it is not unreasonable. Thus, the threat seems that much more real and impending for people living with such a historical memory. In this way, I think Israeli militant and self-reliant behavior is much more understandable. There are some in the Arab and Muslim world that are teaching about the Holocaust and attempting to inform a public which knows very little about it. They believe that understanding the Holocaust is one of the keys to understanding Israel. I think that this is not far from the truth.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
One Day in the life of a tourist in Cairo
We stepped from the coolness of the marble-floored foyer into the sunlight of the late morning and made our way toward the heavy of the traffic of Talat Hareb Square, hopped into a cab (without seat-belts like all other taxis in this city), and sped South along the Nile passing some of the lesser hotels and a beautiful white mosque with a giant neon green sign in Arabic. We weaved through throngs of pedestrians, laborers of some sort, as we veered from the Nile and into the depth of the city, the streets becoming narrower, and the crowds more plentiful. I wondered how many traffic deaths occur here each year after narrowly missing a pregnant woman in a head to toe robe complete with a mask to cover her face. After several minutes of standstill traffic we eased onto a large palm-tree lined boulevard which would have been a beautiful view into the distance except for all of the smog which prevents seeing any more than a kilometer or so. After a particularly harrowing bit of driving which seemed much too fast for maneuvering in and out of unmarked lanes, amongst lorries, cars and buses of all types and sizes, and just missing pedestrians hurrying across the street, the first pyramid rises out of nowhere. It is hidden by a particularly shabby apartment building until you are almost on it and then it is impossible to avert your eyes. We exited the taxi, dropped the money on the passenger seat as is the Cairo custom and walked quickly the other way while the driver yelled after us. And then came the tourists, the Westerners, and lines and photographs and litter, sand, the desert and sun while the pyramids, patient as ever, are unmoved by all of the hubbub at their feet. The Sphinx, their guardian, watches a putrid Giza, full of more tourists, and more venders, and litter and photographs, surely wary of what has happened over the last 50 years. This city of 20 million has spread out and drawn in the population from the countryside as the rural lifestyle is no longer sustainable and people from every corner of this country come here to find a way to live. The day will come soon when the ancient pyramids are surrounded on all sides by Cairo and at last lose their link to the desert.
Two English teenage girls wearing miniskirts and sports bras pass and I think they seem even more out of place than the pyramids. Almost all women wear a head scarf and many have chosen or are forced to put on the restrictive burqa. We lunched at a buffet restaurant with hundreds of Italian retirees and for a moment the power comes on and the air conditioners begint to whir above us--heaven. It is hard to think how this place is bearable in summer. We haggle over the price of a horse and camel ride, threatening to walk out, the price comes down, threaten again, lower, and it seems to me like a ridiculous script that each has memorized the words to but must recite in order to get to the same conclusion every time. Finally, riding into the desert, trotting then galloping so fast I feel a little crazy with adrenaline and on the top of the ridge overlooking the pyramids, the city and the sliver of desert remaining to the South there is silence--no cars, no tourists, no buses, just a few moments of calm before the call to prayer beckons us back into the city. This time, I'm on the camel, with the boy, our guide, riding through a poverty-stricken neighborhood, whole families sitting on the doorstep. Mothers cover their faces as we pass and I see three boys looking at a comic book, pointing at the pictures and an old woman, her feet too swollen to walk on a mat proferring a hookah for passersby. The old Giza cemetary is behind her, waiting, and the pyramids in the distance but she smiles at us anyway. Maybe because he is just a boy but the tour guide hides nothing and rides this path daily for all to see and just like the rest of this city is unashamed. Cairo is nothing if it is not open and honest.
Another cab and more traffic, a golden mosque opposite a canal with sewage and little boys on a motorbike waving and smiling, riding on the sidewalk. Then we turn onto the highway and pass the largest housing development I have ever seen. Red brick buildings for miles on end where millions must live and each is still under development, one story on top of another, then along the Nile again, the Marriot, Four Seasons, and Hyatt rising elegantly if not somewhat ridiculously beside the squalid buildings to their left and right. Along the waterfront, young couples canoodle out the view of their parents and neighborhoods, never kissing, but always talking closely, leaning on each other and touching hands. Then turning away from the river we move into the neighborhoods of metalworkers, steel and scrap everywhere, men with black hands and faces, sitting outside enjoying the cool moments at the end of the day, sipping tea, smoking cigarettes. The woodworkers come next, raw lumber protruding onto the street, tables and chairs, cabinets waiting for delivering and thoughts of my Father enter my mind. A girl, unscarfed, flies a golden kite in a busy square, her hair whipping in the wind. Finally, the shoe district and store after store for blocks of shoes of all colors, types and sizes all displayed for everyone to see. There are many shoppers. Close to home now, and we pass one of the many policemen, black uniformed, we have seen on our corner, on every corner, sitting, standing, waiting, praying, smoking, then the marble floor, the rickety elevator, the nostalgic paintings of Arabian days and nights long gone, key in keyhole, head on pillow.
Policeman on Camel
typical Cairo traffic
Tucker's Camel's name was Michael Jackson
poor neighborhood in Cairo
1st Mosque built in Cairo in the 9th Century
Ottoman Mosque
Two English teenage girls wearing miniskirts and sports bras pass and I think they seem even more out of place than the pyramids. Almost all women wear a head scarf and many have chosen or are forced to put on the restrictive burqa. We lunched at a buffet restaurant with hundreds of Italian retirees and for a moment the power comes on and the air conditioners begint to whir above us--heaven. It is hard to think how this place is bearable in summer. We haggle over the price of a horse and camel ride, threatening to walk out, the price comes down, threaten again, lower, and it seems to me like a ridiculous script that each has memorized the words to but must recite in order to get to the same conclusion every time. Finally, riding into the desert, trotting then galloping so fast I feel a little crazy with adrenaline and on the top of the ridge overlooking the pyramids, the city and the sliver of desert remaining to the South there is silence--no cars, no tourists, no buses, just a few moments of calm before the call to prayer beckons us back into the city. This time, I'm on the camel, with the boy, our guide, riding through a poverty-stricken neighborhood, whole families sitting on the doorstep. Mothers cover their faces as we pass and I see three boys looking at a comic book, pointing at the pictures and an old woman, her feet too swollen to walk on a mat proferring a hookah for passersby. The old Giza cemetary is behind her, waiting, and the pyramids in the distance but she smiles at us anyway. Maybe because he is just a boy but the tour guide hides nothing and rides this path daily for all to see and just like the rest of this city is unashamed. Cairo is nothing if it is not open and honest.
Another cab and more traffic, a golden mosque opposite a canal with sewage and little boys on a motorbike waving and smiling, riding on the sidewalk. Then we turn onto the highway and pass the largest housing development I have ever seen. Red brick buildings for miles on end where millions must live and each is still under development, one story on top of another, then along the Nile again, the Marriot, Four Seasons, and Hyatt rising elegantly if not somewhat ridiculously beside the squalid buildings to their left and right. Along the waterfront, young couples canoodle out the view of their parents and neighborhoods, never kissing, but always talking closely, leaning on each other and touching hands. Then turning away from the river we move into the neighborhoods of metalworkers, steel and scrap everywhere, men with black hands and faces, sitting outside enjoying the cool moments at the end of the day, sipping tea, smoking cigarettes. The woodworkers come next, raw lumber protruding onto the street, tables and chairs, cabinets waiting for delivering and thoughts of my Father enter my mind. A girl, unscarfed, flies a golden kite in a busy square, her hair whipping in the wind. Finally, the shoe district and store after store for blocks of shoes of all colors, types and sizes all displayed for everyone to see. There are many shoppers. Close to home now, and we pass one of the many policemen, black uniformed, we have seen on our corner, on every corner, sitting, standing, waiting, praying, smoking, then the marble floor, the rickety elevator, the nostalgic paintings of Arabian days and nights long gone, key in keyhole, head on pillow.
Policeman on Camel
typical Cairo traffic
Tucker's Camel's name was Michael Jackson
poor neighborhood in Cairo
1st Mosque built in Cairo in the 9th Century
Ottoman MosqueThursday, April 2, 2009
Amman
Tucker, Rikke and I combined for another weekend adventure to Amman a few weeks ago. Rikke, my Danish friend, in case you don't read every one of these, went on an organized tour of Jordan several years ago to visit NGOs working towards peace in the Middle East. While there, she met a young man named Mohammed (go figure). They became quick friends and so she had wanted to visit him this year and used Tucker and I's enthusiasm for visiting Amman as a good excuse. On the plus side for us, we got a free place to stay and a great tour guide in Mohammed. Tucker and I left Haifa at noon on Thursday, arrived to the border around 330 though it is only about 50 kilometers from Haifa. This is due to the fact that there is not one direct way to cross the border. No buses even go to the border crossing. It is incredible that two countries that share so much border have so few opportunities for interaction. Neither Jordanians nor Israelis are very keen on travel to the "other" side. Both have fears of violence directed at them and feelings of discomfort which might be well founded across that imaginary line. It took a couple of hours to go through the border crossing itself which included an hour to wait for a bus to drive us literally 100 yards across a bridge. They will not allow you to walk. We then hired a cab once in Jordan to drive us the two hours to the capital city if Amman, population 2 million.
Immediately upon entering the Jordanian countryside and the small towns there, a distinct difference is apparent. The first thing noted is the poverty and neglect of the Jordan Valley. The infrastructure is not nearly the standard that we are used to in Israel and then the dress and architecture also set this place off from only a few hundred yards across the Jordan River. The taxi driver, though, had blue tooth in his car and a flat screen dvd player for a rearview mirror. Not something that we have ever found in Israel. The driver told us that he was a language teacher and a college graduate but that he couldn't provide for his family that way and decided to become a cab driver instead. We took a short cut through the large hills that line the valley and riding up and down the steep one lane road at much too fast a speed was making us all a little queasy until Rikke demanded that he slow down. He laughed and gave Rikke a hard time for much of the rest of the trip.
We arrived to Amman around 8 pm (an 8 hour trip that only took us about 100 miles as the crow flies). We met Mohammed and his friend Mohammed. Not joking. We went to a restaurant in one of the very modern neighborhoods that has a pedestrian mall where a lot of the more affluent crowd likes to spend their evenings. We ate a very large meal at one of Mohammed's favorite restaurants which only cost about $30 for all five of us. We then walked around the corner to a coffee shop and smoked hookah/nargila/shisha (pretty much the national past-time in Arab countries), talked and sipped Arabic coffee (where the grounds remain in your cup and you let the coffee sit for a few minutes to allow the grounds to settle at the bottom, making for very strong coffee). We returned to Mohammed's 3 bedroom apartment in which his family used to live. He is the only one that still remains in Amman as his brother has moved to Portland, Oregon, his father to the south of the country while his mother has moved to Syria to live with her new Iraqi husband who cannot get a visa to live in Jordan. Mohammed comes from an upper middle class family, is a 26 year-old computer engineer working for an international company and speaks perfect English which he apparently learned entirely from movies.
We fell quickly asleep even with all of the caffeine after such a long day of travel. In the morning, we ate a small breakfast and quickly headed toward the Old City where we hoped to do some shopping in the large bazaar. We walked around all day, stopping into a variety of stores and restaurants and coffee shops. The whole day we didn't see one tourist, which is a strange thing being so used to tourists in this part of the world. We got lots of strange looks and a lot of smiles. The market was mainly populated by men and the women that were there were covered much more fully than the women we had seen elsewhere in the city. Mohammed told us that this area was one of the poorest areas and consequently one of the most religious. For dinner, we had the pleasure of dining at a restaurant built during the height of the Pan-Arab movement which still retains some of this influence until today. The decor seemed an idealized version of the Arabia of old and thus is frequented by many tourists though the business continued to attract customers from all aspects of the city. We ate another huge meal for far too cheap and headed back to Mohammed's.
On Saturday, Mohammed took us around Amman to see some of the landmarks, one of which was the new Mosque built in memory of the late King Hussein. The mosque was immaculate and whiter and cleaner than any mosque I have ever seen though I feel like it is underused because of its location so far away from residential neighborhoods. But the view from the top of the hill on which it is built is breathtaking. We got our own private tour from a couple of custodial staff, but before we were allowed in, Rikke had to wrap a black shawl around her head which she didn't like considering Tucker and I needed to extra clothing thrust upon us but she bore her indignation silently. Later that night we went and smoked hookah/shisha/nargila again and spoke with Mohammed about the politics of the Middle East and especially the Arab-Israeli conflict for a long time. It was kind of refreshing to hear the completely opposite perspective from what I get in Israel and found myself agreeing with him on several important points though obviously not everything. It is amazing how dominant the competing arguments are in this dialectic. I find it is very difficult to argue with either side on the basic tenets of their arguments as they are each very well versed in their own particular argument. The difference mainly comes down to history and morality and within each viewpoint, everything they argue makes sense. As I have said in other posts, it is difficult to share some common ground here, to walk the tight rope between the two because this is a much more ideologically tenuous place where one must be critical of each and accept that the starting point for one might be invalid or inconsequential for the other.
Yet, I also find that simplistic explanations such as that two opposing sides have been polarized and are unwilling to find some common ground, captures very little of the truth and complexity of this region and conflict. Truly, it is hard to distinguish between what is a consequence of the conflict and its causes because so often they are the same after more than 60 years of violence and antagonism. And yet, sometimes I think we see the conflict and division where it does not exist in the first place and thus it is conjured and reinforced where it is other factors like culture, history, or socioeconomics at work. So maybe the mere fact that I stress this conflict in these postings and in how I view this region, I am calling up division and conflict in many places where it does not exist or not to such a high degree, thereby reinforcing such notions in the minds of many. Sorry if that was a bit obscure but I thought I should try to get some of my thoughts or fragments of thoughts down.
Next time... Cairo.
Amman Old City
Balcony Coffee Shop
Lunch Restaurant where the second floor was 4 feet tall
Rikke
Mohammed
King Hussein Mosque
Reading the Koran in the mosque (they had English translations)
Hussein Mosque at sunset
Immediately upon entering the Jordanian countryside and the small towns there, a distinct difference is apparent. The first thing noted is the poverty and neglect of the Jordan Valley. The infrastructure is not nearly the standard that we are used to in Israel and then the dress and architecture also set this place off from only a few hundred yards across the Jordan River. The taxi driver, though, had blue tooth in his car and a flat screen dvd player for a rearview mirror. Not something that we have ever found in Israel. The driver told us that he was a language teacher and a college graduate but that he couldn't provide for his family that way and decided to become a cab driver instead. We took a short cut through the large hills that line the valley and riding up and down the steep one lane road at much too fast a speed was making us all a little queasy until Rikke demanded that he slow down. He laughed and gave Rikke a hard time for much of the rest of the trip.
We arrived to Amman around 8 pm (an 8 hour trip that only took us about 100 miles as the crow flies). We met Mohammed and his friend Mohammed. Not joking. We went to a restaurant in one of the very modern neighborhoods that has a pedestrian mall where a lot of the more affluent crowd likes to spend their evenings. We ate a very large meal at one of Mohammed's favorite restaurants which only cost about $30 for all five of us. We then walked around the corner to a coffee shop and smoked hookah/nargila/shisha (pretty much the national past-time in Arab countries), talked and sipped Arabic coffee (where the grounds remain in your cup and you let the coffee sit for a few minutes to allow the grounds to settle at the bottom, making for very strong coffee). We returned to Mohammed's 3 bedroom apartment in which his family used to live. He is the only one that still remains in Amman as his brother has moved to Portland, Oregon, his father to the south of the country while his mother has moved to Syria to live with her new Iraqi husband who cannot get a visa to live in Jordan. Mohammed comes from an upper middle class family, is a 26 year-old computer engineer working for an international company and speaks perfect English which he apparently learned entirely from movies.
We fell quickly asleep even with all of the caffeine after such a long day of travel. In the morning, we ate a small breakfast and quickly headed toward the Old City where we hoped to do some shopping in the large bazaar. We walked around all day, stopping into a variety of stores and restaurants and coffee shops. The whole day we didn't see one tourist, which is a strange thing being so used to tourists in this part of the world. We got lots of strange looks and a lot of smiles. The market was mainly populated by men and the women that were there were covered much more fully than the women we had seen elsewhere in the city. Mohammed told us that this area was one of the poorest areas and consequently one of the most religious. For dinner, we had the pleasure of dining at a restaurant built during the height of the Pan-Arab movement which still retains some of this influence until today. The decor seemed an idealized version of the Arabia of old and thus is frequented by many tourists though the business continued to attract customers from all aspects of the city. We ate another huge meal for far too cheap and headed back to Mohammed's.
On Saturday, Mohammed took us around Amman to see some of the landmarks, one of which was the new Mosque built in memory of the late King Hussein. The mosque was immaculate and whiter and cleaner than any mosque I have ever seen though I feel like it is underused because of its location so far away from residential neighborhoods. But the view from the top of the hill on which it is built is breathtaking. We got our own private tour from a couple of custodial staff, but before we were allowed in, Rikke had to wrap a black shawl around her head which she didn't like considering Tucker and I needed to extra clothing thrust upon us but she bore her indignation silently. Later that night we went and smoked hookah/shisha/nargila again and spoke with Mohammed about the politics of the Middle East and especially the Arab-Israeli conflict for a long time. It was kind of refreshing to hear the completely opposite perspective from what I get in Israel and found myself agreeing with him on several important points though obviously not everything. It is amazing how dominant the competing arguments are in this dialectic. I find it is very difficult to argue with either side on the basic tenets of their arguments as they are each very well versed in their own particular argument. The difference mainly comes down to history and morality and within each viewpoint, everything they argue makes sense. As I have said in other posts, it is difficult to share some common ground here, to walk the tight rope between the two because this is a much more ideologically tenuous place where one must be critical of each and accept that the starting point for one might be invalid or inconsequential for the other.
Yet, I also find that simplistic explanations such as that two opposing sides have been polarized and are unwilling to find some common ground, captures very little of the truth and complexity of this region and conflict. Truly, it is hard to distinguish between what is a consequence of the conflict and its causes because so often they are the same after more than 60 years of violence and antagonism. And yet, sometimes I think we see the conflict and division where it does not exist in the first place and thus it is conjured and reinforced where it is other factors like culture, history, or socioeconomics at work. So maybe the mere fact that I stress this conflict in these postings and in how I view this region, I am calling up division and conflict in many places where it does not exist or not to such a high degree, thereby reinforcing such notions in the minds of many. Sorry if that was a bit obscure but I thought I should try to get some of my thoughts or fragments of thoughts down.
Next time... Cairo.
Amman Old CityBalcony Coffee Shop
Lunch Restaurant where the second floor was 4 feet tall
Rikke
Mohammed
King Hussein MosqueReading the Koran in the mosque (they had English translations)
Hussein Mosque at sunset
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