Mike Godbe, a young American on a free Birthright tour of Israel, continues his diary and photos of the tour, reporting his experiences and the ways the tour staff present the history and politics of the country. Earlier posts from East Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Masada, Mt. Herzl, Jerusalem, a kibbutz, and Caesaria can be accessed by clicking the corresponding links.

March 21, 2010 – Hebron

I have been putting off writing this post about my visit to Hebron because I do not feel sure of myself in conveying the power of the experience, or communicating what I witnessed daily life in Hebron to be. For the Palestinians that hosted me, fed me, and showed me around, it is important that I bring their stories outside Hebron. For me, as someone who spent less than a week in the West Bank, I feel it would be wrong to simply be a tourist in a place where travel is so restricted. So I want to do my part, and do right by the people I met. This is my attempt to tell part of their story as I experienced it for a day.

My contact and guide inside Hebron is a man named Hashem al-Azzeh. His parents were refugees from a small village west of Hebron that is now in Israel. Friends of Hashem’s grandparents gave the home to Hashem’s family in 1948, and Hashem was born a few years later. Well dressed with deep lines in his face and some graying hair, Hashem looks to be in his mid to late sixties, but he is surely younger than he looks. Like many Palestinians I have seen at a distance and a few that I have spent some time with at the Alternative Information Center, Hashem is constantly chain smoking.

Hashem, his wife Nisreen, and their three young children (the oldest is a girl that looks to be about twelve) live in the middle of a gentle hill overlooking the old city of Hebron.

With some 170,000 residents, Hebron is the largest city in the West Bank. This is apparent from the moment I get off the bus in the center of the bustling market in downtown Hebron. Sitting near the petrol station waiting for Hashem to pick me up, hundreds of people pass me by and only a few show a mild interest. When they do, it’s smiles and “hello” and one or two more extended attempts at a conversation in English. All the women I see have their heads covered in shawls. It seems that about half of these shawls – which I’m sure have a specific name – are black, and the other half are beautifully colored purples, yellows, greens, and some browns.

Hashem finds me easily, but tells me stay sitting while he finishes his cigarette. Prayers emanating from at least two mosques are audible – God is God, there is no God but God. Hashem apologizes for being a bit late, and I tell him that it’s no problem at all, that I’ve been enjoying watching the people in the market. He explains that he is late because there was an unexpected death in the family and he just came from the funeral. His 19 year old nephew was in a car accident the day before.

Though I feel I am imposing on his mourning and family time, he insists that my presence is not a burden and that he wants to show me Hebron, so we begin walking. After only a few minutes of walking, still in the bustling market of central Hebron, we come across large concrete cubes in the middle of the roadway. Hashem explains that we are passing from Hebron 1 into Hebron 2. Graffiti on the large barriers read “Free Palestine,” and “End the Occupation.”

The district of Hebron is divided into Areas B (yellow), and C (blue); and the city center (area A) into Hebron 1 and 2. Area C is under full Israeli civil and military control, and the disconnected enclaves that make up Area B is under Palestinian civil control and Israeli security control. Hebron 2 is essentially just an extension of Area C into the very center of the city.

In 1997, an agreement was made and the city of Hebron was divided into Hebron 1 and Hebron 2 – the latter being under full Israeli control. A string of settlements located around the old city and near the old Jewish quarter is in Hebron 2, but a large Palestinian population – including Hashem’s family – lives in Hebron 2 as well. In Hebron 2, some 30,000 Palestinians live among some 800 settlers. Since the second Intifada in 2000, road access has been heavily restricted – no cars with Palestinian plates are allowed on the main roads inside H2. Jewish settlers have full access to the roads in H2.

As we cross the concrete barriers, Hashem tells to me how he had to carry his wife to this point for the births of his two youngest children – not even Palestinian ambulances are allowed on these main roads in H2. The sick, injured, elderly, and pregnant that live in this area of H2 must be brought to H1 to be picked up in a car.

There is a stillness and a strange quiet slowly settling upon us as we walk deeper into H2. The bustle of the market one hundred yards away is noticeably quieting. About one hundred feet in front of us in a little pink portable building taking up the entire width of the road is the first Israeli checkpoint. I would later learn that there are many different types of Israeli checkpoints, some consisting of metal detectors, others only having an armed troop stationed next to a road, and still others with just a watchtower. Hashem tells me that there are more than 500 checkpoints in Hebron, five more within 200 meters of the checkpoint before us. I can see a watchtower on top of the nearest hill.

About to enter the checkpoint, we run into a friend of Hashem’s coming out of the checkpoint from H2 to H1. With Hashem translating, I ask 71 year old Erass what the most difficult thing about living in H2 is, he says that he is constantly scared for his children. He has 7 children.

Under the strict rules enforced on Palestinian residents of H2, many have unsurprisingly decided to move to H1. Immediately after crossing through the checkpoint (with my US passport, I was not hassled) I found myself standing in front of completely empty apartment buildings and closed down shops. Hashem tells me that before the partitioning of Hebron, the central market extended right down through this main street for another few hundred meters. Since 1994, about half the shops in Hebron have closed down – some by order of the Israeli military.

As we walk past the rows of closed turquoise shop doors, I can see that the metal doors are not simply closed, but have been welded shut from the outside. IDF soldiers and settlers came through this main commercial area of Hebron in 2000 and welded shut theshops’ doors, closing business here permanently. Settler graffiti covers most of the welded doors; usually a star of David to signify this land being for Jews, I imagine, butsometimes some more explicit graffiti, such as “fuck Palestine.”

The settlers of Hebron are notorious as the most militant of all the West Bank settlers. Many come from Brooklyn, and they are determined to see fulfill the vision of what is

sometimes called “Greater Israel” – a state stretching from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River. Baruch Marzel, the former spokesperson of the ultra right-wing Kach Party, happens to be Hashem’s neighbor, living in the settlement directly above him. They have been neighbors for over 20 years. The Kach Party was disqualified it from the 1988 elections because it advocated the forced expulsion of the Arab Palestinian citizens of Israel from Israel, and completely eliminated under an anti-terrorism clause after it supported the murder of 29 praying Muslims in the Ibrahimi mosque in 1994.

Settler violence in Hebron really started to pick up in the mid nineties with Oslo, the separation of the city, and prospects of Israeli concessions under Rabin and Arafat’s nascent peace process. Indeed, it was during this time in 1994 that one Hebron settler named Baruch Goldstein walked through the Israeli-guarded separation between Jewish and Muslim devotees (Christians can enter both sides) at the Tomb of the Patriarchs / Ibrahimi Mosque and gunned down 29 Muslim Palestinians while they were praying, injuring another 87. As this shared religious site is the burial place of Abraham, the father of the three monotheistic religions, it is an extremely holy religious site for all three religions, especially Jews and Muslims.

Israeli Settler violence peaked, however, during the second Intifada and the years following – surely in part a response to the increased violence from Palestinians during the second Intifada, the time when suicide bombings in Israel were at their peak. During the first three years of the intifada, the IDF imposed a round-the-clock curfew on the Palestinians in the city center of Hebron for more than 377 days total, including a consecutive period of 182 days, with short breaks to obtain provisions.

In addition, the army created a contiguous strip of land in the City Center along which the movement of Palestinian vehicles is forbidden. The middle of the strip closest to settlements contains many sections of road that the army forbids even Palestinian pedestrians to use. The strip blocks the main north-south traffic artery in the city, and therefore affects the entire city.

Hashem tells me that for three years, Palestinian residents of H2 were only allowed to leave their homes for one hour of every month to buy necessities for the following month. Sitting in one’s own garden was not even allowed.

Hashem says that now, almost every Palestinian living in H2 is out of a job. I ask Hashem how his family is surviving, if they have any savings? He tells me that all their savings were used up during the curfew years. During the curfew time surrounding the second Intifada, Hashem and many others in H2 depended on food boxes from the Red Cross; sometimes they would sell the food to pay for electricity and water. Today, like much of the 60% of the West Bank population that is unemployed, Hashem and his family survive on help from their extended family. Nisreen, Hashem’s wife, also sells crayon art pieces inspired by the occupation, but this happens rarely – maybe once a month, Hashem tells me.

A bit farther down the desolate street of welded-closed shops and deserted homes, there is another checkpoint with two armed soldiers and a little metal fence leading to some stairs. Here begins the settlement community of Beit Haddasah. Hashem and I stay to the right of the fence and head up the stairs, not allowed to enter the settlement along a-Shuhada Street (Despite an Israeli legal advisor’s statement in 2006 that the road closure of the central a-Shuhada street to Palestinians is illegal, the army continues to restrict Palestinian access). Just 10 meters beyond the “border” of the settlement within H2, there is a beautiful old building with a large archway in the façade. Hashem says it was built by Ottomans in the 1830s and was a hospital under different authorities since 1924. It was a UNRA (United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration) Hospital most recently until 1994, when it was incorporated into the settlement and became a settler community building.

Following the stairs up to a pathway we can see down to the settlement. Between the pathway and the settlement, there is a Muslim cemetery that is overgrown, unvisited, and unkempt because it is technically in settlement territory and thus Palestinian access if prohibited.

An Israeli lookout / tower structure sits on top of a home directly on the opposite side of the path than the cemetery,overlooking the cemetery and the settlement below. This is the third manned military structure I have seen within the past five minutes, since entering H2. Hashem tells me that a well known family lived in the home before the IDF removed them to build the lookout on top of it.

We walk a little farther on the path, passing a gate to one of the few homes in this area with a Palestinian family still living inside. The graffiti on the gate reads, “Gas the Arabs – JDL.” The same thing was written on the gate to Hashem’s home, along with a Star of David. Shortly after its appearance a soldier came by and made Hashem clean off the ‘gas the Arabs,’ but made him leave the Star of David.

As Hashem is pointing out where the old boy’s school building, now inside the settlement, we hear loud cracking and popping in the not too far off distance. Noise grenades. Hashem

hurries me back along the path, saying that he can faintly smell tear gas and that we should leave. On our way back we pass by the much smaller school building which the boys now share with the girls; there is a wall of barb wire blocking off the staircase pathway that used to connect the two schools. The school is enclosed in high walls, one in the front finished recently. The walls are a response to the multiple times armed settlers entered the school with children inside and damaged many of the school materials, broke desks and bookcases, and terrified the children. More walls, more walls.

It almost doesn’t seem real to me. I can see the barbed wire, the derogatory threatening graffiti, the many checkpoints and watchtowers, the tall walls surrounding the school . . . but it’s all going by so fast, and it’s so much to take in.

In under ten minutes, we make our way back down the stairs, through the long deserted street of welded shops with Arabic signs, back past the initial checkpoint, up a hill bordered by a wall with more settler graffiti and settler art, past another checkpoint (just two armed soldiers in booths positioned on either side of the road), past another lookout tower, and through a trash and stone covered earthen field to arrive at Hashem’s home. There used to be a more straight forward way – a road – to get directly to Hashem’s home, but that road is now part of the Tel Rumeida Settlement directly above Hashem’s home – a different settlement community than the nearby Beit Hadassah and Beit Romano settlement communities.

The home that Hashem was born in is backed up against a small hill. An old trash covered stone stairway leads up to the road that now belongs to the settlers. This part of Hashem’s yard, behind the home and closest to the settlements, is constantly covered with litter thrown down from Tel Rumeida. One day some years ago when Hashem was cleaning the trash, a washing machine came tumbling down the hill missing him by only a few feet. It is still sitting there, rusting, too difficult to be moved without access to the road. Standing there looking at it sticking out of the ground with the small hill and the settlements so close, it is clear as day that whoever pushed the washing machine had to know that Hashem was there.

There is more to see in this small area behind Hashem’s home. Hashem shows me the new plastic water pipe he put in two months ago running along the ground. The old pipe came from the street, above, but after the settlers destroyed it multiple times – cutting off water to Hashem’s and other’s homes, he decided to reroute the pipe closer to his home. In the past two months, the pipe has remained undamaged, but the close proximity to Hashem’s home is hardly any guarantee that something is safe. Settlers, escorted by troops, have come down and damaged Hashem’s property many times.

They used to throw rocks and break Hashem’s windows, so he installed metal screens on the windows with square holes too small for rocks big enough to brake windows. During the second intifada, while Hashem and his family were imprisoned in their home for all but one hour of every month, the settlers came down with metal rods, and busted the windows through the metal screens.

Hashem’s home is surrounded by a dozen or so thick, old grape vines. When the settlers came down during the second Intifada, they also severed all of these vines. It is terrible to walk past all these tall, thick, and dead vines. They are just hanging there, severed and suspended. The cuts are so clean and so many that they must have been done with a chainsaw. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to sit terrified trapped in your own home, as an armed mob surround your house, brake your windows, and loudly chop through the grape vines you tended for many years. Hashem reiterates that anytime the settlers come down in an organized way to cause harm like this, they are always escorted by IDF troops.

Sitting inside the sparsely decorated home, Hashem smushes his cigarette butt into an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, lights up another one, and tells me about the times when the troops and soldiers actually entered his home, with family members inside, and “destroyed everything.” Twice in 2003 when the curfew was still in place, and once in 2008, IDF troops and settlers stormed into the home ripping fixtures and art off of walls, turning over and breaking pieces of furniture, and firing gunshots into walls. Bullet holes on the wall facing the doorway and one on the outside of the house right next to the front door are still there. I’m sure if you were able to get an explanation from the Israeli government, they would say these raids were done on the pretext of looking for weapons. And I’m sure there were weapons to be found, as anything larger than a small fruit knife in Palestinian H2 is considered a weapon.

As Nisreen served me some of the delicious sweet tea that is everywhere in Palestine, Hashem sat me down and showed me some videos on his computer.

The first video Hashem shows me is actually of himself. He invited Israeli observers from Btselem to video and witness him trying to harvest his olive trees. The settlers come down to stop him from picking his olives. They accuse him of stealing under the pretext that God gave this land to the Jews, and Hashem is not a Jew. They do this even though the supreme court of Israel ruled that Palestinians can harvest from their own groves.

Another video shows a settler woman taunting a Palestinian women while she is forced to stay inside her homes during the second Intifada. The settler goes up to the fence separating her from the Palestinian woman and whispers in Arabic over and over again, “whore, you are a whore.”

After streaming the videos from Btselem, Hashem shows me a few videos he has on his computer that he says Israeli intelligence made Btselem take offline. The first is of a group of Palestinian schoolgirls and their teacher trying to get from H2 to H1, walking along the same pathway and staircase bordering the a-Shuhada street and the Beit Hadassah Settlement that I walked earlier in the day. The women are confronted by a group of young settler girls with some female adults. The settler girls looked to be between the ages of 7 and 12. It was difficult to see how old the Palestinian girls were because of their head coverings, but they were shorter than the adults, so I imagine it was a similar or younger age range. As the schoolgirls try to pass through the group, the settler girls taunt them in Arabic and one of the young settlers kicks the female Palestinian teacher while an IDF soldier watches over to make sure the Palestinian women do not harm the settlers. Hashem translates the little Arabic that the settler girls must have learned just so they could harass their neighbors: “There is no Palestine, this is the land of Israel. Hebron is a Hebrew city, from now and forever. The Arabs are dogs, slaughter all of the Arabs.” Such hatred instilled in such young minds.

The Palestinian girls and their teacher manage to get past the group of settler girls, who still follow them, but they still have to walk single file down the staircase bordering the settlement. More IDF troops down below watch over and do nothing as young settler boys throw rocks up at the young girls scrambling panicked down the staircase. This staircase and pathway is the only access point between their homes and H1; it is a little strip of land between two settlements that connects H1 to Palestinian homes in H2. The staircase is the only way in and out without walking all the way around the entire city.

The second video is of a 77 year old Australian woman from the International Solidarity Movement getting pushed down a few steps by a settler girl as she tries to place herself between settlers and Palestinian children trying to walk to school. Though it is not clear from the video, Hashem tells me that the woman fractured four bones in her back from that fall, and has undergone multiple operations and been in a hospital in Melbourne since 2006.

Another video shows a huge mob of settler men a few hundred strong destroying property throughout H2 during the second Intifada, when Palestinians of H2 are confined to their homes. The armed men tear down gates, bang on doors with families inside, and shoot their guns at homes. The video shows the destruction in the aftermath, including metal window shades with bullet holes in them. As the settlers destroyed property and fired into homes with families trapped inside, IDF soldiers stand by, watching all the time. Even though this is just one among many violated international laws, it is worth mentioning that military forces are obligated by law to protect civilians under occupation, not assist those committing violence against them.

After the videos, Hashem brings the stories home, once again. His 12 year old daughter has broken her arm three times at the hands of settler violence, and his wife Nisreen suffered a miscarriage in 2004 and then another in 2005 after settlers pushed her down and she fell. He tells me that his children cannot sleep with the light off.

As I sit here remembering what it felt like to sit on Hashem’s couch and hear his family’s story, I am nearly paralyzed to put words to paper. I honestly don’t know how to convey Hashem’s life through these words and pictures. Two miscarriages. Yes, I can write these words and other short sentences, as I have done, to tell this story, but these things don’t just happen quickly and cleanly as they can be written. The experience of a miscarriage happens slowly, I can only imagine. Days full of fear, hope, waiting, doubting, anger, self-blame, doctors visits, more waiting and on and on. Twice. Once, and then again. It is a triumph beyond my comprehension that Nisreen can smile genuinely at me, serve me tea, and laugh with her family.

Nisreen’s sister stops by with her two children. I am reminded that I am intruding on a family day, that only this morning Hashem buried his 19 year old nephew. The sister is an intelligent woman who holds a degree and speaks French, Arabic, and a little English. I show Hashem’s daughter and niece some magic tricks and drink more delicious tea.

“Why can’t we just live as humans, as neighbors,” Hashem asks me. I ask Hashem if he has any feelings about a one-state or a two-state solution, and he tells me that he and most Palestinians want a one-state solution. I was surprised that he would opt to keep his Jewish neighbors rather than get an independent Palestinian state. I asked him about this, and was then even more surprised when he spoke about the power of forgiveness and said that he honestly thought that it was possible to live peacefully with his Jewish neighbors and that within a few years of ending the occupation, he could see former enemies becoming friends.

I said that I didn’t know where I stood on one- or two- state but that a two-state solution did seem much more politically feasible to me. I asked him how he would feel about a two state solution with settlers removed and a return to pre-1967 borders. He said that would be fine as well, he would support it. He seemed tired to me.

“We are not against the Jews, we are friends of the Jews, we are against the occupation,” he said. “We have many friends, American and Israeli Jews, we want them to come and see with their own eyes. We will welcome them, we are not fanatics.”

Indeed, everywhere I go in the West Bank I am kindly greeted and often thanked just for coming to see what so many do not see. “Welcome in Hebron, what country?”, “Welcome in Hebron.”

I am left with Hashem’s affirmation that, even after all the ugly history in Hebron, forgiveness and peaceful coexistence are possible. In a book I recently finished the question was posed whether cruelty or our capacity to feel shame for it better characterizes the human race. After many years and a trying life, the author reflects on the question posed to him so long ago: “I now know it isn’t cruelty or shame that characterizes the human race. It’s forgiveness that makes us what we are.”