My Turkish Air flight from Istanbul landed at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv at 8:30, Friday night. It was dark here, the plane was full of passengers returning home to Israeli and Palestinian homes and people visiting. When we got to passport control, there were no lines at the booths designated for visitors. A year ago, when I came, the lines were backed up to the entrance to the hall. I remember watching a family of four, the two kids about six and eight, both tired, and the mom and dad patiently soothing the kids, telling them, "It won't be long now." I had let them go ahead of me when we arrived in line together. A week and a half later, on a visit to friends of my friend Khitam in Beir Zeit, a university town not far from Jerusalem, I met them. They had come to visit Khitam's friends, all of whom met in Cambridge, while studying in the States.
Welcome to Palestine.
"What is the reason for your visit? Where will you be staying? Have you been here before? Many times? Why?" And then through the doors into the hall where friends and relatives wait, and there was Khitam, smiling as usual, looking very comfortable in skirt and sleeveless blouse. I had on a long sleeve shirt and a jacket from LL Bean, easier to wear than to carry.
We drove to Adahya, a town on the wrong side of the wall and where Khitam lives. Adahya used to be a part of greater Jerusalem, but the wall brought separation. She parked, half on the street, half on what's left of the sidewalk in front of her house; nor was her car the only one on the sidewalk. "Have more people moved here? There are a lot more cars than I remember." She said several people had moved in. They like the area because it's relatively quiet and there are plenty of apartments in buildings that went up before the wall when Palestinians were returning to their homeland and also moving to the city from villages outside.
We ate some chicken and rice with local spices and those we know well. And there were green and black olives from olive tress on the family land, and fresh khubs Arabi - Arabic bread from a nearby bakery, and olive oil from the family olives and zatar, a mix of sumac, thyme and a few spices for the bread after it's dipped in olive oil, and salad and a bottle of wine from the monastery in Latroun (more on Latroun later). A light supper while we talked until midnight (5:00 PM in Maine, but my inner clock, which is generally unreliable, had given up trying to figure out the time. To bed until 4:00, when I was briefly wide awake to hear the muezzins in the neighborhood call the faithful out to the day's first prayer, then back to sleep until 8:30.
Welcome to Palestine.
Late yesterday morning, after Arabic coffee and more talk, Khitam packed a picnic and we headed out to drive to Latroun, west of Jerusalem. We drove out of Adahya, taking a circuitous route to Jerusalem to avoid a clogged Qalandia checkpoint by going through the usually vacant Jeba'
checkpoint. Traffic was backed up hundreds of yards from Jeba' and there was no movement. Cars were turning around and driving back on the side of the road. Khitam did the same: "We'll try Qalandia." We got close to Qalandia and ran into the same stuck long line of traffic. We waited, then she bucked traffic again, turned around while cars jostled and honked, and drove back toward Jeba'. The line hadn't moved.
We waited in line, barely moving, for at least an hour and a half - tick-tock, tick-tock... People got out of their cars and trucks, walked toward the front of the line to see if there was news of...of what? A reason for the roadblock? A time it would be removed? Then, all of a sudden, people started running back up the line toward their cars and trucks. Khitam and I got back in her car. Engines started; it was a poor man's Indianapolis 500 revving up. Traffic started moving. Within minutes, we got to the checkpoint where the roadblock had been. No one was there. It had disappeared.
Welcome to Palestine.
So we drove to Jerusalem to pick up Chelsea, who is shadowing Khitam while pursuing her MA in Arts Therapy, then on to Latroun, site of a Trappist monastery settled among olive trees. The monks make fine wine and honey and sell it in a shop at the monastery. There is parking nearby and Saturday, there was a crafts fair in the parking lot. Friends of Khitam were selling beautifully embroidered Palestinian pillow covers and handbags of various sizes. It was hot. Khitam grilled some marinated chicken and beef to go with the salads she had brought, along with the olives, olive oil, salty white cheese that I love, khubs Arabi and zatar. We sat at a picnic table and enjoyed our relaxed meal. Afterwards, Khitam got her narghile going, we talked, and eventually headed back to Jerusalem. We left Chelsea at her hotel, then Khitam said: "One more little stop before we go home." She pulled up to a small Arabic sweets shot, ordered two Kanafe bil Jibneh, a delicious Arabic sweet of creamy cheese, a shredded wheat sort of topping and a sweet syrup. We got back in the car and Khitam said, "If this wall weren't here, we'd be home in three minutes. It's right there," and she pointed to the wall. Twenty minutes later, we were home.
Welcome to Palestine.
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