HEBRON חֶבְרוֹן الخليل

I've wanted to write something on the Israel-Palestine / Jewish-Christian-Muslim conflict for quite some time, but even after writing this I don't think I have got my point across. But maybe that's my point.

חֶבְרוֹן
الخليل
HEBRON

We are fed a lot of opinions about the conflict in the Middle East. Essentially what I'm talking about is the land of Israel, or Palestine, a small little strip of land as narrow as 15 km in some points (modern day Israel excluding Occupied Palestinian Territory). Geographically it links Africa, Asia, and Europe. Blood has been shed on this land for many centuries and it continues today. Because it is so small, some would argue: what's the fuss?

Probably the more one tries to understand the conflict in the Middle East, the more complex it gets. The conflict is not just geographical but it is also cultural, religious, and combining all things: political. The heart of the problem is as deep as its roots and there in lies the problem. Identity.

I titled this blog HEBRON. It is an Arab city in the annexed Palestinian Territory not far south of Jerusalem. It contains arguably the most Palestinian-Israeli conflict in the West Bank. I went there late last year to check it out.

Hebron sits in the Judean mountains and is home to 165,000 Palestinian Arabs and just over 500 Jewish Settlers. Some call the Jewish settlement crazy because they certainly don't choose to live there for the quality of life. So why are they there? Well, probably the same reason I was going there (minus a morbid curiosity for disaster). It has something to do with the tomb of the Patriarchs.

The tomb of the Patriarchs refers to the burial cave of Abraham, Sarah, Issac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah. It is sacred to Jews and Christians because they are the ancestors of their respective religions (Jesus was also a descendant of Abraham, Issac and Jacob).

But when you go to the cave of the Patriarchs today you do not see a cave but a giant mosque. This is because Abraham is also recognized as the ancestor of Islam, the mosque of Ibrahim (Abraham) being erected/transformed from a church during one of the Muslim invasions.

The humble cave has come a long way since three generations of Jews were buried there.

• Over 2000 years ago King Herod of Israel builds a 12 meter wall around the site. It lies enclosed, open to the sky until a basilica is erected in the Byzantine (Roman) era. 

• In 614 the Persians conquer Hebron and the church is destroyed. Muslims take control and build a mosque in its place.

• In 1100 the Crusaders capture Hebron and transform it back into a church.

• In 1184 Saladin invades and the building becomes a mosque once again although they allow Christian worship.

• In the late 14th Century the reigning Mamluks prevent Jews from coming as close as the 5th step (later extended to the 7th step; The wear on the rock at this site is seen today).

• In 1967 Jews gain access to the tombs once again following Israel's victory in the Six Day War over Jordan. The land comes back into their control for the first time in 2000 years. Immediately Jews begin to resettle.

Since then there have been various acts of violence from both Palestinian and Israeli sides; bombings, shootings, massacres, murders, destruction of historical artifacts. When you walk around modern day Hebron you can sense the conflict, there are military checkpoints everywhere and Israeli soldiers patrol the streets to keep the peace. The mosque of Ibrahim itself is now heavily guarded. It has been divided into two sections following a massacre in 1994 where Goldstein, an American Jewish extremist shot 29 Islamic worshipers. Today half is annexed for Muslims and half for Jews. A wall divides.

I had the opportunity of checking out both sides of the mosque. On the Muslim side the Muslims were doing their thing, on the Jewish side the Jews were doing their thing, half of the ancestral skeletons lying under each side of the partition. Afterwards, my friend and I decided to take a walk around the streets and alleyways. We didn't just want to go to the main site and snap a few photos. We wanted to get a real sense for the place, to wander aimlessly, get lost a little, find ourselves amongst it, breathe everything in.

We are stopped periodically by armed checkpoints before gaining clearance to venture further. Some Palestinians greet us genuinely although most do it with mocking manner. Some ask us "Do you know where you are?" as if to say: "What are you doing here? You should leave." Some spit at us, throw firecrackers at our feet so they explode to startle. I am shot at by some kids with a BB gun and feel the sting against my calf.

Eventually we reach a quiet area of abandoned buildings. There is an empty school, a rusted bicycle, graffiti covers dilapidating walls. I kick a flat soccer ball that lies on the ground and watch it struggle to bounce and roll. Apart from the occasional patrolling soldier there is no other life. 

It is eerie.

Just past the school we come across a sign written in Hebrew which is translated in English. It commemorates the murdered Jews who once lived in the area on which we stood. I look at my friend and notice that she is now in tears - at first a few, but soon a steady flow. I sit with her on a patch of dusty ground amongst weeds in a silent street. I place a gentle hand on her knee and rub it while I stare at a star of David spray painted on an adjacent building.

My friend is Jewish but non religious. I can't help but consider how much her tears speak for the otherwise silence on this street.

After some time a young patrolling soldier approaches with his gun slung over his shoulder. He looks as though he doesn't want to be in his body. I acknowledge him and he says hello. I don't think he has noticed my friend crying because he proceeds to ask me where I am from. I tell him that I am from New Zealand to which he responds suddenly upbeat.

"I have a friend that has been there and he says it is really beautiful" he says.

I smile awkwardly and tilt my head in the direction of my crying friend. I try to highlight that she is in a state of sorrow and that conversation is slightly inappropriate.

He nods and continues his lonely patrol.

Abraham in Brief

The Torah is the foundation of Jewish legal and ethical religious texts. It is the same as the first five books of the Biblical Old Testament (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy). The Qu'ran has similarities to both Jewish and Christian Books but splits at the point of Abraham. An abridged account is thus;

God told Abraham to leave his native land and promised that He would bless him and make him a great nation. Abraham's wife Sarah is barren and cannot have any children. They pray to God who answers their prayer by promising them a child despite her being beyond in years. 

As time passes, Sarah and Abraham begin to doubt God's promise so Sarah convinces Abraham to marry their Egyptian maid Hagar in hopes of having a child to her. Because of this, Sarah begins to become jealous and treats Hagar harshly. 

One day Hagar decides to flee but an angel of God appears to her and tells her to return to Sarah as she will bear Abraham a son who will be "a wild ass of a man, his hand against everyone and everyone's hand against him, and he shall dwell in the face of all his kinsmen.” This child is to be named Ishmael. 

When Ishmael is 14 years old, God tells Abraham and Sarah that the time has come for their bloodline to continue. Sarah becomes pregnant and bears a son, Isaac, to Abraham. 

When Isaac is born, Sarah can no longer stand the sight of both Hagar and Ishmael. She tells Abraham that they will not share of the inheritance and that they are both to be sent away. Abraham is distressed by his wife's words and seeks God's advice on the matter. God replies saying that Isaac will continue the Abrahamic line but Ishmael's line too will be made into a great nation.

Ishmael and Hagar move to Arabia (present day Saudi Arabia) whilst Isaac, Abraham, and Sarah stay in the land of Canaan (later to be Israel).

Abraham Sacrifices his Son

Later in both the Bible and Torah, God tests Abraham's love for Him by telling him to sacrifice his son Isaac on Mount Moriah (the mountain on which Jerusalem sits and where Jesus would be crucified). But God provides a ram* as a sacrifice thus sparing Isaacs' life.

*In the Biblical New Testament, Jesus is called both the 'Lamb of God' and 'Son of God'. Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac is believed to be a foretelling of God's sacrificial love for His people through the death of His beloved son Jesus. In the same way sins had been atoned by animal sacrifice, sins would be atoned once and for all by the sacrifice of Christ, who was God subjected to human experience.

In the Qa'ran, Abraham is believed to have acted to sacrifice Ishmael although the name of the son is not stated in Qa'ranic text. This takes place in Arabia. 

Abraham is then believed to have visited Ishmael and Hagar in Arabia. On one such visit he is purported to have constructed a place of worship to God called the Kaaba. This is the cube shaped building in Mecca, the most sacred site in Islam. 

To read more about the story of Abraham click on the link below;
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abraham

You might find these sites to be an interesting read in regards to questions surrounding the Israel/Palestine settlement and conflict;
http://www.beyondimages.info/b247.html
http://www.zionism-israel.com/Hebron_Massacre1929.htm

We're all part of a pretty messy family. May God forgive us all.

Take Me As You've Found Me: The Autobiography of Gordie Sobaka

The following is a very special blog. Act now if you want a friend for life.
  
Take Me as You've Found Me: 
The Autobiography of Gordie Sobaka

YOU DON'T KNOW what it is like to be given a pig's ear. You wouldn't know the juicy, succulent, salty crackle it gives when you crunch it in your mouth. I go bananas for pig's ears. It's like you've just given me drugs. I'll run around the yard with it, leave it, then pounce on it in a surprise attack. Haha! Stupid pig's ear! You can't run from me! I will devour you!
But here comes Marz, he is calling me. He holds something behind his back. A treat? Another pig's ear? Is it possible for a dog to have two pig's ears in one day? Oh boy! Oh boy, it could be! Doggie nirvana! Two pig's ears...


Hey.


Hey wait a minute.


He has tricked me! He lured me in but was holding nothing, and now he has stolen my pig's ear! Damn you Marz! Damn your trickery! Damn your laughing and running around the yard! I will chase you and get my pig's ear back! Haha! I am so happy!

My name is Gordie Sobaka. I was born in the SPCA animal shelter in Wellington, New Zealand, an orphan dog, along with my siblings Jamie, and Nigella. We were each named after famous chefs.


I spent the first four months of my life there with the other dogs. I remember the cages, the confined spaces, the treats, the playtimes. I watched many kind people come into the shelter. Sometimes they would walk past me, sometimes they would stop and pet me, sometimes their children would pull on their parents legs and say that they wanted to take me home before walking on. I watched lot's of other dogs leave during my time in the Shelter. I wondered where they went, surely to a better place I thought, a place where they would belong.


Four months later I would find out. A family said that they wanted me and would take me. All of a sudden I was in a home. I was played with and walked regularly. I went swimming! I ran on beaches! Through forests! I had a family and LOVED my family. But after 2.5 years they had to leave and I didn't know why. They were flying on an aeroplane and not coming back. I couldn't go with them and ended up back in the animal shelter.


Then I met Liz.


Gordie loves Liz!


She has the kindest, most beautiful eyes. She plays rough with me and takes me out and I lick her face. She took me out of the Shelter and I started living with her brother and his partner, but eventually they too needed to catch a plane and although wanting to keep me, couldn't take me with them. It was Liz's brother and partner who gave me my surname. Sobaka. It's Russian for 'dog'. This is what I am: Gordon Sobaka.

When Liz's brother and partner left I moved back in with Liz. Liz is the best person in my whole entire world. I love Liz so much that I would do anything for her! It breaks my heart that she is not able to look after me because she too will be soon catching a plane. I know she wants to keep me but can't, so the SPCA in Wellington take me back and I'm in cages again with the other lonely dogs. People pet us and comment on how cute we are but no one wants to take us home. One day the Wellington shelter runs out of room and I get taken in a van to Waihi.


In Waihi a foster home is found. My new masters have big cars, motorbikes and four other dogs. When I arrive at their house, the dogs think that I am intruding on their territory. They don't like me and don't make me feel welcome. I am scared in this new house and everything stresses me out. I was not meant to have been sent to a home with other dogs. Those were the instructions the Wellington SPCA had given the one in Waihi. I was fragile and vulnerable. A beautiful and loving dog but one that needed to be loved exclusively. Out of fear I made a bad decision and fought one of the other dogs that tormented me. This led the motorcycling owners to complain about me and take me back to the shelter. I was deemed a bad dog. They pencil me in for lethal injection.

Day's before my death a lady comes into the SPCA in Waihi and decides to take me for a while so the shelter isn't overrun with dogs. They tell her about how I had been a bad dog in my last foster home but she sees how cute and timid I am in the shelter and decides to take me anyway. She discovers that I am a really good dog and tells the Waihi SPCA staff this when she takes me back. She says that it would be a travesty for such a good dog to be put down and because of this, my life is spared.


Next thing I'm on an aeroplane.


I have no idea where it is taking me. Was I going to see my previous owners? Was I to be reunited with one of my old families? I didn't know whether to be excited or afraid in the cage on the plane. I looked at the other dogs who also questioned their fate while being deafened by engine noise and sliding around in the cargo hold. Upon landing we are taken in a van. I smell the air and it is familiar. I was in Wellington again and once back at the SPCA shelter I see Liz!


Liz is so happy to see me! The joy on her face is like no other's. She pets me and hugs me and I lick her face as she explains how she had thought I was dead and how she had cried for days. She takes me to Dunedin because she is going to see her parents for Christmas. She hopes that I would find a home down there but nothing eventuates. Not wanting to send me back to an SPCA, her friends adopt me in Christchurch but it is only temporary as they already have a dog and the home is not suitable.


And then the ground began to shake.


The buildings began to crumble.


Everywhere I looked was destruction and panic.


I was transferred back to Wellington. To Liz.


She welcomed me into her cool new flat in Newtown and so did her flatmates Dan, Jess, Marz, and Ken. This is where I am now. I get so many walks and so much attention! Liz's friends come by during the day and take me for walks as well. The cast is epic! Everyone plays with me, they pet me, hug me, and love me. They all want to keep me but the sad thing is, no one is able to. Soon Jess will catch a plane, then Marz and Ken will catch a plane, then Liz will catch a plane. Everyone I love is either catching a plane or can't have me. I bark at the aeroplane and at the constant arrivals and departures in my life. I want something permanent. I want a love that never leaves. I want a permanent home.

Ken takes me on a run everyday he is around. My favourite run is the one past the zoo and up a mountain to a point on the ridge named after an extinct flightless bird. From there you can see all of southern Wellington and - on a clear day - across to the South Island. We watch the planes take off and land, the ships go in and out, and feel the wind on our faces. Here, Ken rests and pets me as I sniff around in the grass.


Everyone wants me and I want them.

I'm a good, loyal, obedient dog. I will sit, lie down, and shake hands on command. I will lick your face at every opportunity. I will love you unconditionally if you commit yourself to me and love me.


Come say hello.


Take me as you find me.


My name is Gordie Sobaka.


Don't leave me to die.

If anyone would like to meet Gordie, get hold of Liz, Marz, or Ken, or come pay him a visit at 27 Hiropi St Newtown.
 Alternatively you can write to Gordie and friend him on Facebook. Search for: Gordie Sobaka. He is the only one.

 

Befriend Gordie on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002180585920&ref=ts

Sink or Swim: A Short Story, A Parable, A Tale of a Man Who Does Not Want to Die Alone

The following is a continuation of the blog entitled: A Short Story, A Parable, A Tale of a Man Who Hates His Job.
In this edition, Fish is in Uganda (after leaving the refugee camp in Kenya). His life is going to plan and he has found a lifestyle that he can fund without need of work. He is happy in his accomplishment, but one day the stars and universe force a change in his ideology...

Sink or Swim: A Short Story, A Parable, A Tale of a Man Who Does Not Want to Die Alone

Fish walks down the dusty beat up streets of Kampala watching life occur around him. It is a day like any other of the past 3 months he has been in Uganda. Street sellers lay their knock-off Nike on the pavement, women courier objects on their heads, children peddle unwanted souvenirs to tourists, and yet again, a man has hopped off the bus with a live chicken.


One thing is different however.


He has an overwhelming emptiness in his soul. He is restless, his life in torment.


Fish does not know where these feeling had come from and curses their sudden manifestation. He had enjoyed life and was happy the preceding days and months, but all of a sudden he found himself struck with a bipolar tick. It triggered a change in his thinking and ripped apart any sense of inner peace. He could no longer function properly, his mind hijacked by thieves, his body gravitating toward self pity. He was all of a sudden vulnerable, insecure and unsure.


He tries to determine the trigger, the thing that set off the physical, spiritual, and emotional storm. One thing he was sure of: It happened today. He thinks back upon the events of the morning; getting up; taking coffee at a corner stall in his neighbourhood; walking into town. He thinks about things he had seen along the way; kids playing football in the dirt; women carting various objects on their heads; a taxi driver speeding around a corner and nearly taking out an elderly man; joyous newlyweds celebrating outside a church; knock off goods peddled to tourists.


There was nothing unusual about the day or its events. It was like any other except for the fact that Fish's soul had been slowly ripped out from inside of him and placed into a washing machine of knives. He leans against a wall and slides his body down until it reaches the pavement. People rush past briskly, life on the main streets of Kampala to different clocks. He watches the mesmerizing patterns made from the light in between spaces of passing legs. Fish starts to feel an empathy for this space and a longing to devour it or give it use. He looks up at the sun, so bright yet hazy in the sky and watches it's rays illuminate the Ugandan flag that sits atop a building across the street.


'What the hell is wrong with me?' asks Fish.


It is then when a man stands by the exit of the building he is leaning against. In one hand is a rolled up newspaper and Fish takes note of the date which is showing. The man looks down at Fish and acts surprised when he realizes he is white.


"You okay Mizungu?" he asks.


"I'm fine" replies Fish lying.


The man walks off.


Suddenly everything is clear.


Fish curses himself for not realizing sooner. No wonder he felt the universal pull of tides, no wonder he felt the shattering of a thousand hearts and subsequent remodeling into one. It was the centre of the Piscean month, his birthday.


Inside of Fish are two scales, each one equally balanced; hopes and fears, strengths, weaknesses and insecurities. He feels them start to spin clockwise about the fulcrum on which they are balanced, at first slowly, then with increasing speed until everything was a rotational blur, orbital, with centripetal force. Fish knows that there is nothing he can do about it. A life force coursed through every artery, infecting every cell. Today, more than any other day he feels a directional pull on his soul. It is a forced reflection on previous years, a reconciliation of choice and destiny, a realignment and setting straight. Today Fish feels the essence of his soul. He is agitated and knows that he should not be in Uganda. 


Fish rises to his feet and finds himself amidst a pedestrian sea. He desires to be strong but finds himself being insanely needy. He feels various aspects of his body walk off in various directions but he himself goes nowhere. His head is full of conflict; scattered thoughts, lies and ideologies. He is unsure what they mean and what to believe and in questioning their original source, scrutiny becomes the undertow in which they are all drawn. There is only one thing Fish can trust and that is the feeling inside. Everything else was an externally pinned vector to a broken compass. Feeling pulled in so many directions, Fish's instincts are to run.


And so he forces himself through Kampala's crowded dusty streets. He doesn't know where he is going but knows that he must get there fast. He sidesteps souvenir peddlers, leaps over knock-off Nike products and squeezes in-between cages of soon to be executed animals; his cadence forever in debt to desire for movement. In the external act of doing something, he ignores the pain inside. He runs past the church he passed earlier, the bride and groom now dancing, through the soccer game, around corners in a rat warren of alleyways. Eventually he arrives back at his fifth floor shanty town apartment and collapses on his back exhausted inside the front door, breathing like a dog.
Above him the ceiling turns fuzzy and darkens with stars appearing -two opposing fish- before reverting back to their normal appearance. He can't remember the last time he felt his lungs and body burning so badly, his head so light. Panting for oxygen, Fish decides he enjoys the pain as it destroys any connection to the emotional psychobabble in his system. At the point of near complete exhaustion he feels more alive and focussed than ever. His head is clear and his thoughts pure. He starts to see visions; the good Lord bruised and broken on a cross; children running through a field; a woman in a flowing dress. He finds himself overcome with a desire to live and love. It spurns a necessity for connection and work.


He realizes how misled he had been in his desire to alienate himself from the world, to want to live in a refugee camp and amongst locals that didn't speak his language. In doing so he forwent love, a family and meaningful social connection.


'What am I doing?' thinks Fish. 


With breath returning he gathers his things and shoves them in his back pack.


'Damn my Piscean sign' he thinks.


Once again he is on the move. He has the notion of either sinking or swimming as he closes the door behind him. The precariousness in doing so makes him feel more in love than ever.


He dreams of home but does not know where that is.

The glyph for Pisces represents two fish swimming in opposite directions. The notion of savior, martyr and redeemer all belong to the motif of Pisces. There are no boundaries and no superiority amongst people. Pisces is concerned with universal truth, wholeness and unity. Famous for their escapist tendencies, they tend to slip away from the harsher realities of life. As a rule, they tend to drift through life and can be vague and dreamy. Pisceans are known for their instincts and flood of emotional and imaginative in-pouring and out-pouring. The twelfth sign is attuned to the deep undercurrents of the collective psyche. Bound up in chaos and blurred reality, the fishes need to protect themselves from exploitation. Alcoholism and drug addiction express their powerful longing to go back home. In true chameleon fashion, Pisces is as changeable as the sea and often flow with the current. The individual born under Pisces is often ultra sensitive, compassionate and kind. On the surface they represent a delicate vulnerability and fragility. Often they have an otherworldly quality and truly empathetic nature. Pisces completes the phase of the four social signs, and dissolves all boundaries that existed. Piscean sensitivity can descend into self-pity and they turn to drink, day-dreaming and fantasy. The body is often experienced as a prison, and they regularly fall into illness and depression, instability and delusions. Art, music, poetry and the imagination express the ‘hidden’ watery depths and the treasure lost and buried at the bottom of the sea. It helps to heal some of that ‘homesick’ feeling that they are often afflicted with.