Latroun, wine and history

     Friday, a day of rest and prayer for Muslims, so traffic was heavy driving into Jerusalem as the faithful headed for prayer and others, perhaps also faithful, headed for the country.  We were headed for Latroun, also spelled Latrun, which is about an hour's drive south of Jerusalem.
     Latroun is the site of a Trappist monastery that nourishes the spirit and wine lovers' taste buds.  It is, like so many places here, a site with a rich history.  As we drove further south of Jerusalem, traffic thinned a little, and when we turned off for Latroun, we left the traffic behind.  There is no village of Latroun; it is a monastery, that's all, and that means it is quiet, a welcome change from Jerusalem and the highway.

The chapel

     Latroun probably goes way back in history; no place around here has only a present.  The Trappist monastery was founded in 1890 by the French, Germans and Dutch.  The Trappist order usually means silence and in their case, wine, which leads me to believe it was primarily the French who were behind the monastery.  During the First World War, the Ottomans closed the monastery; in 1926, it was rebuilt and reoccupied.  After the establishment of Israel in 1948, Latroun was a part of Jordan until the June war of 1967 when Israel began its occupation of Palestinian territory which continues today.
     At Latroun, we met Khitam's friends Maysaa and Atiyya, two engaging and very different characters: Maysaa all energy, laughter and obvious delight in what's going on and Atiyya quiet, perhaps a little shy, and always ready to help.  We walked around the extensive grounds - 200 hectares - that are planted in olive trees and grapes.  There are probably also vegetable gardens to feed the monks but we didn't see them.

An old tree; look for the face

     Olive trees hold history in their twisted trunks and gnarly branches.  Some look like they will tell you something you'll only know if you are patient.  Many are over a hundred years old, so they have a lot to say but you have to figure it out…or wait.  Palestinians are wedded to their olive trees.  If they are destroyed by others, a part of the owner's life is lost.  Palestinians might have rewritten John Donne's "No man is an island entire of itself.  Each is a part of the ocean, a piece of the sea…" to say:  "No olive tree or farmer is an island entire of itself.  Each is a part of the other, a piece of man's spirit…"

Can you see the eyes and nose?

     After our walk, we checked the monastery, but it was closed until later in the day, so we had our picnic on one of the cement picnic tables provided by the Trappists.  Khitam spread a cover over the table, Ahmad got the fire started and we began to unpack and set out the food:
mujudera, a lentil and rice based dish; leban (yoghurt); labneh, which is strained leban; zatar, a thyme based herbal mix especially good with bread and olive oil; black and green olives that Khitam and Ahmad had picked and prepared; foule, a bean dish Ahmad had made; plus onions, radishes and the reddest and wicked goodest tomatoes I have tasted in a long looonnnngggg time.  We began while Ahmad and Atiyya cooked chicken over a charcoal fire.  It was, as Templeton says in Charlotte's Web, a feast and, like Templeton, we gorged ourselves.  After the meal, Ahmad and Khitam shared a narghile (water pipe) and I checked to see if the monastery was open (not yet).
     Sated, as one often is after an Arab meal, we prepared to move on.  I bought a couple of bottles of wine to share later with Ahmad and Khitam, and then we drove to what the Palestinians call, "The Peace Oasis," a forest of mostly pine trees.  It could be in Maine, though the surrounding area could not be.  The forest is extensive, and though small as a "forest," is unlike any wooded area I've seen in Palestine, Lebanon or Syria.  We stopped to wander; Ahmad found wild thyme, which they call "zatar," and Khitam gathered pine cones for kids to paint in her art workshops.  While we were helping her, Maysaa told me about gathering them with her siblings and father when she was young and taking them home to decorate as Christmas ornaments.

Atiyya & Ahmad, Maysaa & Khitam

     When we left, we stopped at Neve Shalom (Hebrew)/Wahat al Salam (Arabic), "Peace Oasis," a village community that is half Israeli, half Palestinian.  Khawla, Khitam's niece, and her husband Fouad live there with their two sons.  The village is an experiment in "living together."  It must have a fifty - fifty balance, which is maintained by a committee of community members.  There, you own your house but not the land; if you decide to sell it, the buyer must have the support of the community.  Khawla, who Khitam later told me is an established Palestinian actress, and Fouad have been there for thirteen or fourteen years.  They built a sturdy and attractive stone house with grass, fruit trees and flowers around it and two dogs to cause a commotion and guard them whether they need it or not.  It's a happy scene and the community is rare if not unique.  However, it does suggest that Palestinians and Israelis could live together, but perhaps only if they want to share the small area both claim.  If they did form a single state, it would be a state to be reckoned with in this part of the world and in international commerce and high tech.  Both are smart and ambitious people, and the Palestinians I know are warm and generous.  Maybe…maybe, some day…

Latroun monastery and vineyards

Ahmad, Khawla, Fouad & Khitam

     A correction to my last post: Khitam and I have known each other since the summer of 2001, she reminded me.  And a small world note for Brunswickians: at the airport in Istanbul, as I was waiting for Cotton to get off the bus that carried us from plane to airport, someone said: "Al Miller?  What are you doing here?"  It was Phil and Jane Creighton from Brunswick, whose daughter Kathy ran well for Brunswick High School's track team about twenty-five years ago when our son Tim was running the mile and two mile on the same team.  They were meeting Peter and Marcie McGuire - Peter was our family physician for years - and someone else from Brunswick to see Istanbul and maybe more.  Small world, indeed!