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.

The Best Valentine's Day Blog EVER!

Okay, now that I have your attention, I bring you an original short story.  
I dedicate this one to the lovely but elusive Mari Van der Vyver, who has the most amazing chuckle in the history of the planet, and needs to contact me ASAP.

Juliet, and Romeo

The bed was coercing their bodies together. It was an old lady that had grown up in tough times, witnessing all kinds of pains and hardships, and now in its old age desired only one thing – to witness love. The sag in the bed and resultant roll-together was that bad.

Ron is awake and clings to the side of his bed tightly. He knows that he must not wake her for if he wakes her, she will sigh and it won’t be any ordinary sigh, but a sigh that speaks of pain. It will be long and drawn out. It will be a sentiment alluding to all of Ron’s short comings and inadequacies as a man. They will be rattled off in exhaustive details, both exemplary and metaphorically, covered from every angle and perspective. Simply put, it will proclaim her unhappiness in their relationship and her bewilderment for volitional persistence with the current situation.

Ron thinks back to happier times. He thinks back to the beginning. She had been so beautiful and radiant that night on the stage. She had a light about her, her voice like innocent and transcendent yearns for love, their source completely pure. That was when he first saw her. It had interrupted his admiration for the Oxford grass on which he sat. He had never seen or felt grass that was so soft! So lush! He wanted to roll all over it, to body slam it, but he withheld such urges amidst the sophisticated crowd. He would only talk about Eliot or Lewis, the weather, Darjeeling first cut teas. He had researched such topics earlier and kept repeating them in his head.

She has her back turned to him as she sleeps. She had begun to lie like this as of late. Ron, while still clutching the bed edge, carefully turns his body over to face hers, his movements slow and laboured to minimize vibratory ripples through the springs. He looks at her brown mousy hair, long and wildly splayed on her pillow. He traces down her neckline to her shoulders, her night shirt wide at the neckline and nearly falling off, then down around her chest, each breath a small expansion, a gentle rise and fall. Longing and desirous for connection, he starts to breathe in time with her. Their chests expand together and then passively deflate. They share the same proximity, oxygen, life, and then let it go. Ron takes satisfaction in this. He desires to be one with her, that they would breathe together to make one giant breath. He wants to spoon her so that they would become one giant body, because he is convinced that life is better when two are one. Everything is stronger. It is the way things should be. Instead he clings to his side of the bed awkwardly, the distance between them a gulf.

Ron had not given much thought to fate and alignment of stars, but when he saw her for the first time he had felt an energy and connection to the universe, it sparked an instantaneous belief in such things. It was ironic and rational therefore that she was playing the role of Juliet in the play, the epitome of romantic love, her bare feet dancing upon this most amazing grass like an Eden, the beginning, where loves intention first set ablaze without defect. He could feel his heart pounding as if metronomic for the world, its pace perfect, to the rhythm of Romeo’s courtly strumming. And at that very moment her eyes did meet his in the crowd, a conclusion to all the tension and energy, an explosion of both metaphysical prognosis and resolve. They both knew that they would chance upon the same pub later, phone numbers exchanged. Through telecommunication they would build a bridge, from that bridge a bed, and in that bed sweet, sweet love.

Ron looks across the bed and sighs. Things were so good in the beginning.

He remembers the days and weeks that ensued where they both floated on clouds, the hand holding and skipping through Oxford’s leafy streets, the laughs, the banter, the joyous drunken moments of youth, a world seen through new eyes. But then came the cracks, at first small, minor complaints; mismatching musical preferences, hygiene habits, views on each other’s parents. Then the perfect world split open, minor grudges becoming full scale arguments, heated exchanges screamed at close proximity, doors slammed, toilet seats left up, food chewed too loudly and with an open mouth. Every action became symbolic of protests, cunning and suggestive. Deliberate. They would plot against each other silently but in each other’s presence. Hubris fuelled psychological voodoo, Jedi mind tricking, the atmosphere ominous and potent, a chaotic imbalance of Yin and Yang. 

Distraught, Ron starts to think about the story of Romeo and Juliet, his arm fatiguing as he does so. He looks for reasons, answers to how his relationship could fall so far from grace. Then it dawns on him. Romeo and Juliet were only together for days! All they knew were the initial moments of attraction! The lofty passion! Their whole relationship centred and ended in the honeymoon phase! They didn’t know each other well enough to hate! Their visions were clouded by desire, faults overlooked by lust, discrepancies trumped by chemistry! 

Ron’s eyes are opened wide with his epiphany. He sees everything clearly. The story of Romeo and Juliet was wrong! The real tragedy would have been if they had remained together! They would have learnt to hate their only love! They would have fought and argued then run back to their respective families, the Capulet and Montague feud newly replenished and inspired. This was how the real story went! This is the real tragic love story! 

Again Ron looks over at her sleeping placidly - the gentle rise and fall of each breath. This was her in her most peaceful state, she was harmless but still – Ron’s arm turning numb from its persistent grip on the bed edge – making him suffer. With Ron’s free arm he glances at his watch. It was past ten in the morning. She was so lazy! And still, if he woke her up now he would have hell to endure, she would moan and hold a grudge all day. She would complain of her robbed sleep, use it as an excuse for lack of shared chores around the house and would tell Ron that he was not sensitive or aware of her needs. Ron thinks of all her persistent complaints and nags. He starts to question the last time she said anything positive. He watches the gentle rise and fall of each breath and begins to detest them all. He detests her sleep. He detests her constant complaints, her selfishness, her dreams! He looks at his arm that clings to the bedside and starts to feel stupid for doing so. He shakes his head both at himself, her, and the ridiculous bed in which they shared. He lets go spiralling, colliding into her in the middle. Ron decides come what may. Awake the beast! Love is pain! Love is suffering! Love is a collision and then picking up the pieces of an ugly mess only to tenderly try to put them back together again finding the pieces too intermixed. He will give his all to her and love her despite her quirks, her defects, her verbal knives and belittling blows. He is a romantic and will therefore bleed for the cause.

And so on and so forth...