Mark’s final Thought Tidbits about the trip

The most influential day of my trip, and perhaps the saddest, was the visit to my cousin’s in the West Bank. His is a beautiful home (my dream house in many ways), he is a highly intelligent man who I am proud to have as a cousin, and the impetus behind he and his wife and kids’ reality on another people’s land is not zealotry—they are sensible settlers, trying to solve some of the contradictions of life in a new place, hopefully a holy place.

Would I give up my life’s accomplishments, my home in Bernal Heights, my sense of security if I was told that this would lead to peace and justice for the Native Americans whose expropriated land I sit on, or maybe also the Mexican population slowly being displaced from the Mission? I’m glad I don’t feel any real pressure to make that kind of decision. It is not as if I am in “Beetlejuice” and discover that my housing development’s built on a graveyard whose inhabitants below are all like Michael Keaton’s out-of-control manic title character. At least I hope not. It is also worth mentioning here that many Jews and Palestinian Arabs outside Israel in our own diasporas, educated away from the crazed confines of that Middle Eastern semitic tinder box, have an easier time imagining peace.

I believe that most Palestinians really want peace, and would eventually be willing to live next to Israel, but only once they have their own real and viable country where they can co-exist in a state of security and with honor. I cannot speak for what my cousin believes, and did not directly ask him this question. But Israelis in general need no reminders (given the busses blown up, bombs falling daily across the northern border, and the vows to destroy them verbalized regularly from Iran to Ramallah) that they live in a region that hates them as Jews. And even if they made peace with some Palestinians, others would not be happy until all the Middle East was fundamental Islamist. And then all the world.

Meanwhile the Occupation of another people has its insidious effect on us, an untreated chancre on the Jewish soul. It not only isolates Israelis in the political world, but does its invidious work on the rest of us in the Diaspora as well. Bombings of synagogues in the Pacific Northwest and anti-Semitic killings in France; unholy alliances with Protestant groups who look forward to The Rapture and want Jerusalem in flames as His precursor, or new recruits for Islamist terror activities among middle-class Pakistani kids in Great Britain; Jewish neo-con support for a stupid US president’s disastrous misadventure in Iraq: all these are ways that the Palestinian Occupation poisons us in the world at large.

I am reminded of a story by Ursula K. LeGuin, the feminist Anthropology/Science Fiction writer—“The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” Did you read it in high school? It is a beautiful allegory about an ideal land, free from jealousy or sin or oppression…except for one small secret in a basement room. Highly recommended:
http://teacherweb.ftl.pinecrest.edu/crawfor/apcg/Unit1Omelas.htm. We may or may not be “those who walk away” but I cannot be someone who pretends ignorance.

On the other hand, I don’t really need to go back to Israel. Twice in 25 years may just have been enough. The first time I went as a young man and got captivated by the vibrant peace movement and seduced by the mixed-fruit cornucopia of gorgeous Jews I met. These included a six-foot two Moroccan punk-rocker boy with painted fingernails and a girlfriend who left early, an early gay activist with the name of a king of Israel, a butch Mizrachi soldier and dope seller who kept me in his bedroom while doing armed deals with people in the living room, who believed he had a girl inside. I was that girl inside!

This trip Ken and I met an equally amazing slew of Israelis of various backgrounds. Two young guys who kept watching us work out at the YMCA gym, but barely responded when we tried to talk to them. (Later we realized that they were Palestinian Israelis and may not have trusted either us, or their own English.) Gorgeous, lively and fearless young women wherever we were, of every sexual orientation. David Ehrlich, a novelist and pal of our fairy friend Wally, who single-handedly started and maintains the best bookstore in Jerusalem, the one favored by both the gay community and by hip Orthodox Jews. Two kids we met at the bar, one a rail-thin belly dancer with frosted spiked hair who was not Arab but Armenian Christian, and one a smiley gap-toothed observant Jew in tsitisis flirting and dancing with every young one he could, whose parents had no idea. High school kids blond Sean and his two girl friends (a couple) from Ashkelon, which they described as a deadly dull small town, proudly waving their rainbow flag at a gay rally.

There have been some notable changes, but mostly in degree. The amazing breakfast buffet I recalled from a visit to a kibbutz, with dozens of middle eastern salads, European smoked and pickled fish, piles of fresh fruits and juices and horns-o-plenty of breads still exist, but now we found them in the expensive hotels our tour placed us in. Israelis eat more and more as easterners, Levantines, near Orientals. They still eat pastries that resemble Coney Island knishes and blintzes, but nary a shtickl gefilte fish or some kishka.
Bagels are now rarer than the larger Arabic sesame bread rings eaten with zatar spice. Linguistically, also, and theologically in an absent-minded sort of way, the two related groups circle each other. Hebrew-speaking Arabs will use the phrase “Baruch ha Shem” whose ubiquitous meaning is Thank God, but literally means Blessed be His Name. Israelis barely notice they’re using Arabic when they now say “In’shallah --if God wills.

I also got a first-hand insight into the “internalized oppression” that very possibly affects everybody in Israel. True, Jews came there to stop being victims. It was “Never again!” to the Holocaust, to walking to one’s death, to being the pitiful bent-necked ghettoized zhlub, to moving away from a neighborhood because it was “going schvartze” (for more, read Jeffrey Goldberg’s amazing chronicle Prisoners: A Muslim & a Jew Across the Middle East Divide coming out in October from Knopf). But there is a new, a modern Israeli form of feeling inadequate that is just as harmful. I first felt it 24 years ago in the ultra-orthodox Jerusalem neighborhood, Mea She’arim.

I was walking there on my own, middle of the week, when one of these adorable shaved-head-with-payes little kids in a playground asked me for a photo. That is what I thought they wanted, though it turns out they may have been asking in Hebrew for money. When I took out my camera, a white-bearded rabbi type came out of the school’s building and told me in mixed Yinglish/Hebrew that it is forbidden for non-Jews to take pictures here. Excuse me, I answered, but I am Jewish. “Oh really? Then where is your yarmulke? And your tsitsis?” In all my life I had never before been accused of NOT being Jewish; trying to deal with a growing sense of outrage and humiliation I asked him, “If I wore those, wouldn’t you ask what about my payes? Or black coat?” I could have carried the argument further, wondering if then he would have insisted that I must be a member of his, the only true Yeshiva or school of ultra-orthodoxy. By now a crowd was beginning to gather, to see what tourist dared argue with the rabbi. I felt decidedly unsafe, and left.

But I realized while trying to make sense of the experience, that this game is played by most everyone in this young country. How could I understand everything, I was just a visitor. And if I made aliyah, moved there to live? Ah, but you weren’t born here. Or… don’t you have a middle Europe accent, a Brooklyn accent. an Arabic Mizrahi accent? Or, but your mother wasn’t Jewish. But you haven’t lost a child in the war. But, but, but is a game that cannot be won, since no one can ever be a “good” enough Jew, Israeli, patriot or whatever.

We have a useful direction in my Reevaluation Counseling (RC) class. It goes: You, just exactly as you are, are the very best Jew (Moslem, Catholic, Mormon) that there is!

It would do the peace process a world of good if every Israeli could repeat this about him or herself, believe & internalize it. And every Palestinian as well. Such remains my hope. In’shallah! Baruch ha Shem!

*****

Final final comment. Anyone who thinks that this conflict can be settled by supporting one side over the other has to be out of their mind. Or just doesn’t appreciate how very stubborn my peoples can be. So, even if you basically just support the Palestinian cause, care must be paid and respect given to the Israelis. Ditto , if you support the right of Israelis to their own land, no peace will last without hearing and honoring the needs of Palestinians. This seems obvious, but try to tell it to insane religious fundamentalists like the hardcore ultra-Orthodox settlers, or Hamas or Hisbul’lah. Or try raising support for peace lovers on both sides at either a pro-Palestine or a Support Israel rally. Yet this is what needs to happen. And to you, for continuing to care when it seems easier to just hide your head under a pillow already, thank you.

For anyone wanting to make a contribution to an Act Locally/Think Globally effort, here are a few opportunities we found or know of:

The Palestinian LGBT Community Programming Project of Jerusalem Open House via JOH PO Box 2652, Jerusalem 91026 support Arabic-speaking gay folks info@alqaws.org

Rabbis for Human Rights- North America PO Box 1539 West Tisbury, MA 02575 organizes against torture in U.S. & house and tree demolitions in Israel office@rhr-na.org

Jewish Voice for Peace 1611 Telegraph Ave. Suite 806, Oakland, CA 94612 speaks out for U.S. policy supporting both Israelis and Palestinians info@jewishvoiceforpeace.org

From Mark Freeman: Mark's last day in Jerusalem, first day back

I spent my last day in Jerusalem angry. Just angry. Angry with everyone. A few details, then I'll get on.

We returned from a lovely Erev Shabbat on our own in Tel Aviv, swimming in the warm Mediterranean and at sunset enjoying the sight of secular Israelis (led by a blonde with huge boobs) line dancing at a hotspot near the beach's outdoor showers, then hanging with the Arab boys AND Jew boys at a late night foam party. The day began with a warm and sweet visit to my cousin near Tel Aviv and her husband who has advancing Parksinsons, plus his Pilipina caretaker, in the morning. And it ended with a 4 am taxi ride--Ken had asked me not to bring up politics with the Palestinian Israeli driver , but the guy started the conversation and kept it up for the whole 45-minute ride, going on about how frustrated he was with the stupid Hezbollah for attacking his country, and that everything could still be OK if and when the occupation of the West Bank ended and Iran and Syria and Al Qaeda and everyone else would not be able to use Palestine as their playing card. We got scant sleep, but loved the relative freedom of Tel Aviv.

But I awoke with no patience-- for anyone.

I got angry at the self-righteous families in Black, ultra-Religious Jews with their holier-than-thou apartness and the damned elevators set by Shabbat setting to stop at every floor (Divine Control?). I remembered how angry I was at a certain rabbi from New York (definitely not our lovely and endlessly compassionate one from San Francisco) who had kept me out of the talk by Yarom Ezrachi for being five minutes late, minutes I had spent keeping up good relations with two Support-Israel-100%ers in our congregation who were not going to the talk. She held her foot against the door so I couldn't get in. That day I held my peace.

But today when she spoke endlessly through our nap time after a group lunch, and when she announced that anybody who was late would not be allowed to hear the woman who is Palestinian coordinator for Jerusalem Open House, I had had it. I angrily arrived early, and when this rabbi (whose name I can't be sure of since she never introduced herself during the whole week she joined up with our congregation) walked in one minute late yes I did delight in magnanimously informing her that that I would NOT ask her to leave. This was too bad for the Israeli executive board members of JOH, for whom she is apparently a major funder, and each one of which she interrupted, told where to move their chair, or interpreted what they really meant for us, after asking that nobody but they speak. You know the type?

She even interrupted Ken, probably the only Catholic on the tour, when he asked the Palestinian coordinator a question, pre-correcting what she assumed was his preconception about her religion. I guess she felt the woman could not speak for herself. Ken quietly and expertly asked her not to interrupt him when it was his turn-- and later pointed out something to me that I had not noticed: Israelis, including impassioned ones, always let others speak without talking over them, and never ever interrupt.

Late that night I also yelled at two Mizrachi mafiosi types who run the door at Jerusalem's only gay bar, when they wouldn't give me a free look-see if our friends were there on our last night, though we had patronized their joint every night we'd been in town. An equal opportunity angry guy, that was me.

You might say that is a pity that I spent my last day in the Holy Land angry, but I say I was finally right there, just like everyone else. I had spent two weeks in the country making every effort to see everyone's side, to bring my little piece of peace and understanding to a place I love. I smiled when a Bedouin horse-riding teen in Petra had challenged me to a fight, and when he asked why none of the Israeli tourists were willing to fight him I'd merely answered that it wouldn't be friendly (though secretly I was tempted to jump on his horse with him). Or when a young man in the Muslim Quarter of the Walled City in Jerusalem tore a piece of his cigarette package cellophane off with his mouth and sent it toward my face, I only blew back. But now enough was ENOUGH already.

Anyway, the spiritual approach based on detached transcendence is a Buddhist one. Our Semitic process involves a surety that one is disliked and disrespected, contentiousness to the point of being obnoxious, then deep hurt followed by forgiveness, tears, and potentially understanding, even hugs among estranged members of the family. So after a very bad day, yet another war or an occupation, there's still a chance for redemption, reconciliation, a return to everyday business, and who knows maybe peace.

Post script

On our first day back, we sleep a lot, then go to the movies. Not "The Twin Towers" or "Guantanamo," please. Just escapism, something we missed on this ultra-relaxed vacation. We agree on "The Devil Wears Prada" and the now not-so new "Pirates of the Caribbean" -- although we know, we know it is supposed to be lousy. But a super-bitch in high fashion-- even if not explicitly Jewish-- and a whole assortment of mixed Pirate/Shellfish creatures led by octopus-faced Davy Jones-- most definitely un-kosher-- are just what we need. And as if that is not enough, after Ken goes home to finalize his blog, I go on to the Castro Theater for a four-hour 70 mm screening of David Lean's sun-'n-sand epic "Lawrence of Arabia." I can identify completely, I am right back in Aqaba, back in the Negev and the Sinai deserts, so heroic that my eyes are blue and my hair blond, the two Bedouin boys I find and then lose hurt far more than my torture by the Turkish bey, and my love of Omar Sharif will survive "Funny Girl" to be consummated in his last film, "Monsieur Ibrahim." from 2004.



As if this were not enough, on the midnight bus ride home, the bearded and skull-capped driver apologizes for almost missing me at the Castro bus stop. He says he has never seen his route so empty, he doesn't know where everyone is. I tell him I don't either, I just got back in town. He asks from where. "Israel, Palestine and Jordan." Not a beat missed, he answers, "I just got back from Egypt and Saudi Arabia. It was 136 degrees, so hot." Within minutes he is complaining that the whole situation there is getting worse because everyone is turning it into Holy War, which nobody needs. "Enough already!" I mention the film I just saw, which he has at home, also, "Monsieur Ibrahim." Do I know Sharif is an Egyption Jew, converted in order to marry a Muslim woman? He just has time to recommend another film by Omar ("Once Yousef!"), tells me its name in Arabic which translates to "Beginning and End" and refers me to a store nearby where I can rent it, before dropping me dead-tired but fully alive on my corner of 30th and Mission Streets, San Francisco, home again.

The Return

We were advised to be at Ben Gurion airport at least three hours ahead of our scheduled departure time, and it's a good thing we followed that advice!

The group arrived at the airport and was shuffled into its own line at the check-in. Before we can get our boarding passes, Israeli security has to approve our passports and screen our luggage. The rabbi, as leader of our group, was interviewed for at least twenty minutes by a security official. (As usual, security is made up of very young people, probably doing their military service, and they're all cute.) Then they came down the line to interview each of us in turn, checking for consistency in each of our answers. We all passed, but already it's been at least 30 minutes or more before we can start passing our luggage through the x-ray machine, and approach the check-in counters.

As usual, I chose the absolute worst line to queue in. Two families ahead of us had lengthy difficulties with their tickets. A brother and sister, for example, were there because their flight was cancelled the day of the London arrests. They'd been trying for three days, with very little success, to find a flight back to California. Eventually they made it onto stand-by for our flight, but it took forever and some extra cash to work that out. Since they'd been staying by the Gaza Strip for a month, and their neighborhood kept getting bombed, they were doing their best to be patient; not always managing, but they tried.

We checked our bags and got boarding passes. We still had to pass through the departure gate security, with the metal detectors and more x-rays. Unfortunately for us, the electricity short-circuited, or blew a fuse somewhere, right as we queued up. And I would have been next! They tried to fix it, but were not able to figure it out right away; I imagine they needed a part of some kind and had to look for one. So they divided us into groups of four, took us back out the way we came, lined us up back at the first checkpoint, asked us more questions and we opened our bags for them. Then we were escorted to a different part of the terminal where we passed through a metal detector in a room which I think would normally be reserved for private interviews with real suspects. I flunked this one three times before we figured out why. (It was the shoes, of course, but they took my shoes to some other room, where I presume they ran further tests of some sort, before giving them back to me.) From here, we were escorted through the final security check point and allowed to proceed to the gate, with less than half an hour left before boarding time.

Following a very long flight with mediocre food and insufficient drink, we descended into Toronto. The stewardess was confused about why Mark and I needed two customs forms for the United States but only one for Canada, but oh well: I was too tired to explain the legal issues. We entered Canada without incident.

But in Toronto, if you're flying to the US you go through United States passport control and customs before you board the airplane. (By the time you board, you're cleared for US entry already, and you arrive in a domestic, rather than international, terminal.) The US passport control agent did not like that I had a stamp in Arabic (from Jordan) in my passport; nor did she like the visa to visit Cambodia. I was detained.

They put me in a waiting room, where I was left to be surveilled on camera for about fifteen minutes, before being interviewed. Maybe they were running an i.d. check of some kind, checking for a rap sheet or an FBI blacklist. I didn't get out my cell phone to make any calls, I didn't get agitated or nervous, I just sat there as patiently as a zen monk in a cowboy hat. During the interview, I was basically asked the same three questions in about five different ways: What was my purpose coming to the United States? What was my purpose being in Israel? And especially, How do I explain these stamps in my passport? The key to getting this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, I felt, was to answer with the shortest possible responses (e.g. "I'm a tourist." "Yes." "No."), to smile occasionally but not too much, and above all to not behave anxiously or with anger. I refrained from pointing out that I could hardly be a communist agitator and an Islamist extremist at the same time. She opened my bags, did a fairly thorough search (including a chemical test for explosives).

Eventually I was allowed to proceed, where I found Mark alone waiting for me before passing to US Customs. I was very glad he waited! :-)

We made it to the gate only to find out our flight had been delayed by hours; partly because of increased security measures but I think also a jet broke down somewhere. They were flying an empty plane from New York to pick us up. Because of the delay, we ended up arriving in San Francisco very early Monday instead of Sunday night.

But except for that, the flight was okay.

"Don't forget your camera!"

A bunch of us were having lunch with other participants of World Pride. One person at our table mentioned wanting to expore Mea She'arim, an ultra-Orthodox neighborhood in Jerusalem northwest of the Old City. They're religious zealots who basically still live in 19th century Poland. It's a highly traditional community. They resemble the Amish, except they'll throw stones. Cars are prohibited from driving through this neighborhood on Shabbat, that's how conservative (and powerful in City Hall) they are.

Mark made some small joke by saying, "Don't forget your camera!" meaning, of course, that photography is strictly out of the question. In fact it would probably cause a confrontation. Oddly enough, someone else at the table, whom I had seen at the World Pride rally, suddenly came to the defense of the Mea She'arim-ites and their archaic way of living.

To me, if that's how they want to live in Mea She'arim, I think it's silly (and I've as much as said so) but what's it to me? Not much, as long as I don't have to join them. But for this gay man to defend the time-warped conservatism of people who hold him and myself in total contempt seems like internalized homophobia.

Back to Tel Aviv

Mark and I split off from the group on Friday to hang out in Tel Aviv on our own. In case you didn't know, Tel Aviv is the modern, hip city where things actually stay open on Shabbat (the Sabbath). In fact, what seems to happen is at dusk things go quiet for a few hours; then around midnight the whole city lights up, and there's people all over.

We started by heading over to visit Mark's cousin Bina before lunch. She's out in the 'burbs a little, so it's a long taxi ride but not too bad. Our driver turned out to be an Israeli Jew from Iraq who speaks very little English, but was happy to share his opinions about Iraq and Lebanon nonetheless.

Bina greeted us with warm smiles and cold drinks. Her husband has pretty debilitating Parkinson's, and we're supposed to not be shocked. I wouldn't know, but to me he was maybe having a good day with that. They also have a Filipina helper, and I traded notes with her about where she's from and where my family is.

Our visit was pleasant but short. We were a bit careful with the politics, because Mark likes her and out of respect for the fact that she lost a young son to a sniper during the first Intifada. Not that politics didn't come up...of course not! But we stayed in places where we would more or less agree.

Our taxi driver was waiting outside to take us back to the center of Tel Aviv.

Time for a little shopping! After checking for bargains at the colorful open air Carmel Market, we walk over to Shenkin Street, the Melrose of Tel Aviv. Trendy shops and trendy people, with ultra-Orthodox men passing out fliers and trying to talk to passersby. I picked up some cute under shorts and a fresh designer t-shirt because the one I was wearing was getting too sweaty.



We considered some options for chilling out and cooling off. We didn't know what was playing, but we headed over to where the cinemas are. On the way, though, I spotted the sea, and we decided to hang on the beach for a while. And THAT was bliss! Got into my new swim suit and jumped into the Mediterranean water. Gorgeous temperature, lovely sun, and a beach packed with sexy people.

At one point while treading water I heard a low roar getting louder, and looking up I saw maybe 12 or 15 military choppers heading northwards. Going to Haifa? Patrolling the coast? I'm not sure. It's weird how daily life really just continues, but then the war intrudes just a little. But just then a Brazilian band kicked up some samba at a nearby bar.

I doubt if there are any Brazilian bands playing in Beirut tonight?

Having a bit of food at a cafe, we spoke to the girl behind the counter. She was very nice and very pretty. When we got to politics she said how much she hates what Israel is doing, she feels awful that so many people are dying, and she's glad they're bombing the shit out Lebanon and Israel should take over the country. And she said this in pretty much the same breath, demonstrating that characteristic many Israelis seem to have, not only to be opinionated but to hold completely contrary opinions about the same thing at the same time.

Days 12 and 13 More Politics

On Thursday, our 12th day on the trip, I could have done anything I wanted, like shopping, walking in the Old City, laying around by the pool. So of course I opted for a tour along the "Security Fence" in the Jerusalem area, including Har Homa and Gilo, led by Amos Gil. He's the executive director of Ir Amin, the ACLU of Israel which works for Israeli-Palestinian coexistence.

One has to start with remembering that before 1967, anything now known as East Jerusalem was part of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. During the war, Israel was attacked by several of its neighbors, including Egypt and Syria. It repelled the attacks, and held on to the Sinai, the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, supposedly as bargaining chips to barter peace with its neighbors.

After the '67 war, the municipality of Jerusalem annexed territory east of its boundaries that essentially doubled the physical size of the city, which means 1) the mostly undeveloped areas east of the Old City are being developed as Jewish neighborhoods, and 2) the Palestinian villages that were already there east of the Old City were annexed into Israel, and they are politically separated from the West Bank. (The West Bank being the West Bank of the Jordan River, the east bank being in Jordan.) Anything east of the walls of the Old City is Occupied Territory in the eyes of the International Community, which does not officially recognize the post-1967 boundaries of Israel.

One should also remember that the Separation Barrier is in some places a 25 foot wall, in other places just a fence that's nearly invisible from a distance, and in other places competely nonexistant except as a proposal. In all places where it is built, there are alarms and movement sensors that will bring IDF troops by the dozen in a matter of moments, anywhere along the perimeter.

Also, Ir Amin may try to litigate against the building of the barrier in certain neighborhoods, but may only do so in small segments. The barrier may not be legally challenged as a whole in Israel's courts.

We started the tour at the southermost tip of East Jerusalem. From a sidewalk in an Israeli neighborhood called Gilo, we can see the Arab town of Bethlehem in the near distance, and immediately across a small gorge is the hill village of Beit Jala. Beit Jala is one of the areas from which suicide bombers were known to come from during the Second Intifada. Both Gilo and Beit Jala are on hills facing each other. Snipers used to fire from Beit Jala onto the sidewalks of Gilo, and the Israeli army shot back from Gilo. The apartments in Gilo (which are rather nice, by the way) have bullet proof glass on their southern windows, and cement barriers on the southern side of their sidewalks. There is a separation wall, so called, between these neighborhoods, but it's in the gorge. In other words, it might prevent the crossing of suicide bombers into Jerusalem, but it doesn't help at all with munitions fire.

And about these settlements: the funding does not mostly come from the State of Israel. It comes from highly conservative American Jews, who funnel the money through some kind of umbrella organisation into Israel, buy up properties, fund real estate developments, and subsidize housing costs. For poorer Israelis, it's an economic boost.

(Conversely, I've heard of a Palestinian movement to move westward into Jerusalem as well, to plant Arabs in Jewish areas. In other words, in the urban populated area of modern Jerusalem, there's been substantial permeability in the geographical boundaries of Jewish Israelis and Arabs.)

From Gilo we move up to As Sawahira ash Sharquiya. If I remember Amos' talk correctly, this was one of the largest Palestinian villages, maybe 30,000 residents. As residents of an annexed territory, they are legally Jeruslamites, residents (but not citizens, because they refused) of Israel. When the Separation Fence was built, the village was divided such that 1/3 of the village is on the Israeli side of the wall, but 2/3 are on the side of the West Bank. That is, 2/3 of the residents of this Jerusalem neighborhood are prevented from entering into the city except through checkpoints. The nearest checkpoint is almost two kilometers north. This village/neighborhood was another political hot spot. Most Palistinian protests rallied at the very spot where the wall was built.

There is an economic implication here. Jerusalemites can earn in Shekels, in Israeli money. Arab residents are allowed to work in Israel, although it would be hard for them to live outside of East Jerusalem. They earn less, to be sure, but before the Wall they could take that money to the West Bank and spend it where everything costs a fraction of what it does in Israel. These days, they either cannot get into Israel to hold a job, or they cannot spend their lesser earnings in a place where the money will buy more. So As Sawahira ash Sharquiya is poorer now than before the wall was built.

From As Sawahira ash Sharquiya we passed over the eastern side of the Mount of Olives east of the Old City, which few tourists see. Directly below us is the village of Az Za'ayyum. In the distance on the left is an area know as E-1. Beyond Az Za'ayyum to the west and a bit south is Ma'ale Edumim, a large Israeli settlement that's really the largest suburb of modern Jerusalem, tens of thousands of people. And this is where things get complicated.

Most residents of Ma'ale Edumim are not there for idealogical reasons specifically. They may be Zionists who believe in the State of Israel, but they're not zealots. It really is a suburb, full of middle class people. It's unlike settlements farther out, which are basically frontier towns of armed ultra-Orthodox settlers living in little fortresses. Ma'ale Edumim is more like Walnut Creek.

It is, however, east of the municipal boundaries of Jerusalem, and without doubt well into the Occupied Territories. The Separation Barrier is planned to be built in a kind of bubble extending about 10 km east of the new municipality of Jerusalem, into a mostly undeveloped desert area about the size of Tel Aviv. It would swallow Az Za'ayyum. More than that, the Barrier would butt up to a mountain range that extends to the Jordan River Valley, which is controlled by Israel. In effect, it would divide the West Bank into two geographic regions, north and south of the mountains. According to Amos, when most Israelis discuss a separation wall around Ma'ale Edumim, they do not understand that the proposed wall extends much farther than just this suburb.

If you refer to the map above, you can see that E-1 is a kind of cork between this proposed bubble extension of the barrier to the east (including Ma'ale Edumim and Az Za'ayyum), and Jerusalem to the west. E-1 is a proposed police station surrounded by a kind of no-man's-land. This police station is also funded by American money.

So suppose Israel ever gets around to considering giving the West Bank to an independent Palestinian state. Does Ma'ale Edumim, a mere 2 km from Jerusalem, remain in Israel or go to Palestine? If it stays in Israel, what about Az Za'ayyum, which lies between Ma'ale Edumim, E-1, and Jerusalem? What about the hundreds of thousands of people living within the current municipal borders of East Jerusalem, in Gilo, East Talpiyot, French Hill, and Ramot? They technically live in West Bank, but it would be like giving the Simi Valley back to Mexico while keeping West LA and Santa Monica for California.

(Note that I'm not saying they should have been there in the first place. It's just an acknowledgement of how the situation stands right now.)

The realization for me is that even if a two state solution were reached, and a truly independent Palestine created, I don't see how Palestine is going to get back everything that was taken as the West Bank. It's not a matter of whether I'd want them to; it's more like I think they'll get a raw deal out of it, and it's possible that the borders of Palestine will not knock on the gates of Jerusalem itself. Yet Jerusalem is the nominal capitol of Palestine as well as Israel, and contains the third most holy site of Islam, the Dome of the Rock.

Amos Gil was a very informative guide, and tried his best to present all sides of the situation, inserting as little of his views as possible. His goal, which I think he accomplished, was "to make you confused," and to demonstrate the complexity and intractibility of Jerusalem as a specific case problem in Israeli-Palestinian relations.



The next morning we got up to listen to a talk by Professor Yaron Ezrahi, the expert on Arab-Israeli relations at Hebrew University. It was a privelege to be addressed by this man, who is the most sought after commentator on this topic in the country. He had several extremely interesting points to make, and I will try to represent them as closely as I remember. Just try to remember that these are his ideas.

The first relates to my question to Dan Yakir of Ir Amin. Since Macchievelli, it's been a widely held tenet of international relations that people may judge governments by moral standards, but governments would never stay in power if they truly adhered to those standards. So the trick (and the US was very good at this until recently) is to appear to uphold moral values while nevertheless acting for "reasons of state". But with the globalization of media, and the ability for the world's citizens to communicate electronically, morality itself has become a "reason" the state should act on. A state in poor moral standing will not have the political cachet to act effectively. For example, the United States has such dismal moral standing in the Middle East that it cannot effectively intervene between Lebanon and Israel.

Second, the occupation of the West Bank is not only Israel's greatest sin (his word), but its greatest strategic error in working for a secure Israel. It's a sin that costs Israel dearly in its moral standing with its neighbors, and therefore makes friendly relations impossible. And furthermore, the Israeli army is highly trained in the methods of policing and occupation, so much so that when it comes to defending Israel against real armies (like the Hezbollah militia), the army is undertrained, thus further threatening the security of the state. But whenever Jewish settlers set up a development within the Territories, it has always been the policy of the state to spend huge amounts of army resources protecting those citizens, whether they're officially authorized to be somewhere or not.

(This is in contrast, again, to the United States, whose army is extremely well trained and equipped for small military incursions, but which is utterly unable to police an occupied territory the size of Iraq in a way that prohibits violence.)

So about Lebanon. In his view, Lebanon is a government on paper only. It is not a sovereign state, in the sense that the Lebanese government does not have a monopoly on the use of force within its borders. In fact, Hezbollah is probably one of the strongest armies in the Middle East, and not controlled by any official state.

Ezrahi is not a pacifist or a leftist, he strongly felt Israel has the duty to protect its borders and its citizenry. He's a Zionist who in general supports the state of Israel. But following Hezbollah's invasive sortie, bombing the hell out of Lebanon was not the best strategic way to do this, especially as regards the moral/political cachet of Israel. He felt that a better way would have been to give one month in the attempt to negotiate the release of the Israeli soldiers taken by Hezbollah.

On the assumption that negotiations will fail (and I'm afraid I agree it would have been a good assumption), Israel should have trained up its ground troops for guerilla operations. Ezrahi's idea is to send in the ground troops first, with air force as back up, and be highly targeted in military operation against enemy militia, avoiding civilian casualties as much as possible to protect Israel's moral standing as much as possible.

But that's not what Israel did and it lost its moral, and therefore political, good standing. There's been a groundswell of support for Hezbollah throughout the Arab world. The best case outcome, as Ezrahi sees it, is that Hezbollah takes over Lebanon in democratic elections, and that its militia is incorporated into the official armies of the state.

That's the best case. The most likely case, as he sees it, is that Lebanon will plunge into civil war, and Hezbollah will take over the state by use of force and depose the current government. Lebanon cannot withstand the Hezbollah militia.

In terms establishing a lasting ceasefire with Israel, a Lebanese army would not be strong enough to police a no-fire zone between the two states. Further, Hezbollah militiamen, he says, can and do easily change out of the Islamist militia uniform and into the uniform of the Lebanese army; and that doesn't help Israel at all. Neither could the United States intervene directly, because it has neither the moral standing with the Arab world, nor can it spare the military resources which are tied up in Afghanistan and Iraq. So it becomes a matter of whether the United Nations can muster a sufficient peacekeeping force or not. Otherwise, the state of Israel may be tempted to simply take over Lebanon altogether, which would be diplomatic disaster.

So altogether not a very rosie view, but a compelling and nuanced view from a moderate Israeli. I did my best to portray his view accurately.

Day 10 Day of Politics

We had an early start this morning, with an 8:30 am presentation by Rachel Liel, Director of Shatil, a project of the New Israel Fund which teaches and empowers non-profits and activist organizations to be self-sustainable and effective. She was a great speaker, smart and sweet, but totally down to business, in that Israeli way.

Our large group then split into three smaller groups. Mark and I opted to visit the offices of Ir Amin, the Association for Civil Rights in Israel, where we were greeted by Dan Yakir, their Chief Legal Counsel. He outlined various sorts of things the ACRI takes on; they're basically the Israeli version of the ACLU, or even better. They take on a lot of issues pertaining to the Territories.

I got to ask him a question I'd been wondering about. See, many Israelis that I've spoken with complain that Israel is held to a higher moral standard than other countries; so that if on the same day lots of people die in Darfur, but only a few people are killed in the Gaza Strip, it's the Gaza Strip that the world press makes the headline. So as a human rights worker, does he feel that this is the case, and does he think it should be that way? His answer was that there is such a thing as International Humanitarian Law; if the world looks more closely at Israel than Africa for violations of this law, so much the better for Israel, and sadly the worse for Africa.

After the visit to ACRI and a spot of lunch, everyone regrouped at Yad Vashem, the memorial museum for all victims of the Shoah. It's not the first time I've been to such a museum, but it's no easier for that. After a certain point, I became unable to process what I was seeing. It's numbing. (As I write this, I'm listening to Henryk Górecki: Symphony No 3 opus 36, his poignant, exquisite requiem for those who died in the Holocaust.) I'm grateful that afterwards the rabbi led the group in some ways to process what we had just seen, and gave us a chance to grieve a little before moving on.

That evening was the opening of the World Pride Multifaith Convocation. Jerusalem being the Holy City, the point was to reclaim a place for GLBT people in monotheistic religion. Bishop Zachary Jones (of Brooklyn's Unity Fellowship Church and the NY State Black Gay Men's Network) gave a powerful talk about how hard it was for him to come to Israel at this time, and what he hopes to bring back to the US from the Convocation. And Irshad Manji, who wrote The Trouble with Islam Today, talked about her struggle to reconcile the tolerance and multicultural nature of the Islam she loves against things like the beating of a young woman in Nigeria because she violated Islamic prohibition against premarital sex by being raped.

Interesting note: apparently Pat Robertson is running around somewhere very nearby because he's having fits about World Pride. In fact, he's at the Kind David Hotel about half a block from where I now sit. Spies tell me he really loads up on the breakfast buffet.

World Pride

Thursday evening was World Pride.

Let me just say again, World Pride was never going to be some kind of half-naked party of corporate sponsored floats. It was exactly what I expected, a protest demonstration. Nothing commercial about it.

We gathered in Liberty Bell Park. The police said they wouldn't be there, but of course they were out in force, with vans, horses, riot gear, and AK 47's. (They're also incredibly hot, by the way, even though the guns make me deeply nervous. They in no way resemble the SFPD, none of them are over 24.) A few hundred of us gathered, held up signs and rainbow flags and such. A choir sang songs of prayer, peace, protest and resistance. Some held signs like "Pride, but no pride in Occupation." Many were in Hebrew or Arabic, so I could not read them.

There was an anarchist contingent, known variously as Queeruption or Black Laundry. They represented a strident anti-war message (which was not the official message of World Pride). They did end up scuffling with the police several times, and the police reacted quickly and violently.

The Drag King Show

There's a big warehouse-style club in south Jerusalem called Yellow Submarine, sort of like Slim's or DNA Lounge, and for World Pride they hosted a big drag king show. Israeli lesbians are very proud that the Drag King scene in Israel is based in Jerusalem instead of Tel Aviv. They had a lot of performers (some great, some okay), and it was a pretty fun party.

At a certain point, Mark and I decided it was time to leave. The problem was that were no taxis in this neighborhood, and we were several kilometers from central Jerusalem. I remembered then that I'd seen ultra-Orthodox men hitchhiking all over the country, so when we see someone pulling out from the club parking lot, we ask for a ride, and it's happily given!

We also picked up this young guy who was photographing the Drag King show for Ha'aretz, the English language daily paper. 19 years old from Detroit, he's interning at the paper for the summer, until he goes back to school in the States. I'm not sure what he knows about gay stuff (because he was so obviously and adorably straight), but he was very happy with his queer culture assignement. It was his first one that wasn't in the Gaza Strip taking pictures of a war zone.

We all talk animatedly on the drive downtown. Eventually it comes out that our driver, a local, and the photographer, a cutie, have been hanging out at this hipster bar called D-1. D-1 is near Shusham, the gay bar, and we passed it several times and I was curious to check it out, so we four stopped there for a drink. It was a very funky laidback scene, very diverse for Israel (age-wise, Arab-Israeli-wise), and the Electro and New Wave-retro music was as good as my favorite clubs in San Francisco.

It was explained to me that some of the more, uh, wild-around-the-eyes types in the bar were possibly exhibiting behavior related to "Syndrome Yerushalayim." What's that? I asked. There are certain people who, when they come to Holy City for the first time, become convinced that they're the Messiah. There's lots of them, I'm told, and it's all well and good until they encounter each other. Then the fur starts to fly!

Anti-World Pride Rally

This is hearsay: apparently the conservatives staged a rally at a Jerusalem stadium with 22 thousand people. At this rally, gays and lesbians were blamed for the war in Lebanon, the delay in the coming of the Messiah, the decay in the moral standards of society, and all sorts of bad things.

Which is funny, because I blame conservatives for exactly those same things.

Morning demonstration

Yesterday morning we went to a demonstration. We boarded a bus to East Jerusalem by a checkpoint on the road to Bethlehem. We were demonstrating solidarity with Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Palestinians who cannot cross into West Jerusalem to join in World Pride.



There was some question about whether to boycott World Pride because of the increased difficulty such a high profile event could cause at the checkpoints. In the end, many people decided that it was more important be visible as queers and to start dialogue in the region; that was the most important purpose. There is a gay and lesbian Palestinian organization that did in fact take this position. (And there is a lesbian Palestinian group that took the other side, and they share members between both groups.)

Because of the war in Lebanon, the argument became pointless. People in the West Bank cannot enter Israel at all right now. Israelis are not allowed to go into the West Bank.

In which Mark meets a couple of new Jews

From Mark Freeman:

We took the next day off. No Old City, no archeological ruins, and I slept in well past the time when the rest of our group had eaten and gone on to ever greater travels. We stayed near the hotel, wrote and posted, and went to the gym.

I, for one, needed the break. Yesterday I had risen early to go to a last minute added-on excursion with the Committee to Stop House Demolitions before our scheduled 9 AM tour of the Christian Quarter . An intense, Ben-and-Jerry bearded activist jumped right in as the minibus left our hotel at 7:30, with details about housing permits denied, villages divided by the "Prevention Barrier" and settlements built near Jerusalem and elsewhere to make the possibility of any future Palestinian state a non-viable one. He was trying to fit a day's worth of information into a short time. Unfortunately, he did this by raising his voice and speaking at, not to and certainly not with the ten of us who had chosen to learn more of the activities of Israelis who oppose what is done to Palestinians. Twice I assured him we could hear him and that it would be easier at a lower decibel; several of us plugged our ears with our fingers and could still hear his monologue quite clearly.

It is hard for me to understand why I then cracked and slid into rudeness when he complained that he had no idea we had to be back by 9, and that it would be our loss-- but I did, responding that he had been yelling at us for an hour, so it wouldn't be much of a loss. Maybe it was because I agreed with all his facts, but worried that his presentational style would alienate our group. All week I had been (I hoped) a loving, usually gentle but relentless, and no doubt at times annoying reminder of the Other people, our Palestinian cousins, in the history and facts "on the ground" we were witnessing. Perhaps I imagined an unflattering version of myself, a ranting prophet in an unappreciative land. Or maybe it was my decades in the protest movement in the States, from a hippie perspective, who grew tired of tirades and believes that evoking and playing on guilt never moved anyone in a real way. Most likely, it was my sleepiness.

Anyway, the rabbi's approach worked much better than mine. She asked him about himself, how he came to Israel, how it felt. His voice lowered, his gaze met ours, he shared some of the frustrations of trying to reach people on this difficult topic. Another of us kept pressing him for his vision of some kind of solution, which he offered as his "Two Stage Solution" since the facts of large Jewish settlements in their territories would make the "Two State Solution" a no-starter. Basically, the Palestinians would have to temporarily accept the "most they could get" even if it looked like apartheid islands in an Israeli political sea, but only if this was part of a longer term plan for a regional confederation like the EU in ten or fifteen years, to include Israel, the new Palestine, Jordan and, though that doesn't look likely right now, even maybe Lebanon and Syria. Travel and trade would be open, people could live, work or start businesses in any of the collaborating countries but keep their own national citizenship, so Palestinians would effectively get their "right of return" while Israel would remain a Jewish state and have real allies. An impossible dream? Maybe, but one of the few times anyone here has presented us with an idea that at least holds hope. I thanked him for offering that, and we shook hands as we parted. In the course of the day I apologized to the people in our group for my rudeness, which reflected on them, and several said that they had not minded his decibility but had been impressed by his passion and fervor.

The other Jew I met today was my cousin Zvi, for the first time ever. He was one of several from among a dozen cousins who had answered my email and were in the country at the time, Ken asked just how orthodox religious he would be, and I guessed that he would be casually dressed but yes, wear the kippa skullcap and fringed tsitsis of an modern observant Jew. Yep, jeans and tassels, but with twinkling animated eyes and a methodical but droll manner of speech of a born storyteller, or teacher. He in fact is a professor, expert on Jewish scholarship within the Muslim world of modern times-- the last two centuries--and is fluent in Arabic. He began by asking about us, then driving to a mountain top where we could get a great view and at the same time visit a shrine to the tomb of Samuel the Prophet, the one who anointed Saul and then David as the first kings of Israel. That turned out to be in a converted church from Crusader days, which had a minaret for a tower-- and it was an eyeful.

Cousin Zvi wanted to show us how elegantly the problem of two competing religious groups was solved there. On the same floor that had once been a chapel was a Moslem mosque, locked today but in full use on Fridays by the neighboring Palestinian villages. Just below it, in a tiny room made even smaller by a mehitsa, the dividing curtain that keeps devout Jewish males and females separate, was the prophet's cylindrical stone tomb. Surrounding it on three sides were at least that many dozen Hasidic men bending and rocking in silent prayer. They were a mixed group in one sense: some wore the black block jacket and flat hat of their yeshiva, others merely white shirts, black pants and velvet kippas, and one a yellow jellabah and large cloth cap that was considered truly biblical by some in the settler movement. A dozen kids, all with kippas and payes (below the ear sidelocks) except for one, who is a little girl). I and Zvi are handed prayer books, though not Ken, who is wearing a makeshift head covering consisting of a handkerchief decorated by his sister Patricia with little candy-bar motifs and looking somewhat dismayed. He excuses himself by generously noting that "I felt I was a distraction to those praying," and after we chant a repetition of the Amidah prayer concerning the forefathers, we also leave and join him on a staircase to the roof. From there we can see Jerusalem on one horizon, the Mediterranean on another "but only on a really clear day" plus orderly line Israeli villages and more haphazard Palestinian ones in between, with a Palestinian woman in a head scarf herding two goats just below. It is now obvious that we are well into, though not deep in, the Occupied Territories of the West Bank.

Four minutes away, past a guard in a lovely neighborhood made of the same pink/white stone as Jerusalem, we are at his home. We met Gali, his charming wife and the architect of the home's arts-and-crafts ironwork on the windows and Mondrian-on-white bathroom, affordable when they were first married because of its location. Since then the almond tree and fig tree and olive tree have grown large enough to shade the whole area, and we eat pears from the ir pear tree and talk. They want to know about each of the members of my family, none of whom they have met-- and enjoy the irony that though my brother and sister have wonderful kids, neither is in a relationship at the present, and that Ken and mine of 17 years is the longest in the family. Their sixteen year old son is in Eilat learning scuba diving as a summer adventure, and their 18 year old son is in Switzerland, hiking and staying with my cousins who live there. Zvi also has five other children by a previous marriage. He and I are exactly the same age.

And how are things in the West Bank? "Just look around you, they are fine." And the Palestinians? "Par for the course." Their 12-year old daughter Tchelet (Azure Blue in English) is in the stage of withdrawal from parents and other adults, her attention consumed by the online writing and sharing of new Harry Potter adventures among friends-- and do her folks know that these are often homoerotic? Another question best left unasked.

I had been worried, make that anxious and very worried, about meeting my relatives in Israel after 23 years, since if they know anything about me it is that I am gay and politically critical. It is not all smooth, but it is not horrible eiehter. They are orthodox, but definitely not fanatical. On the security of Israel they are conservatives, but informed, openminded ones and liberal on domestic social issues (they appreciate the same gay-owned bookstore where we know the owner and feel most comfortable too). They can be called settlers, but economic and not wholly ideological ones, and they are very warm and caring.

By 10:30 at night, after a great vegetarian meal (easiest if you are kosher) plus pieces of a 72% Israeli dark chocolate bar and almonds from their front yard, we know we care enough about each other to argue the difficult areas, much to Ken's consternation. But there were areas of common ground, until the ground shifted. They loved hearing about our Petra trip, and had also been there. When the Sinai was returned to Egypt and the eastern side of the Jordan river to Jordan, they and all Israelis had been crying tears of joy, but had but became disillusioned when the peace never meant visits both ways-- it was a cool rather than a warm peace. And they did not believe that our guide there could have been Palestinian if he called us "cousins"--he must have been Bedouin. (In fact our guide has relatives in East Jerusalem.) They gave flat refusal of the concept that Hamas had held a voluntary ceasefire for the year before they got elected. After an hour of this, to involve Ken and make him more comfortable, they change the subject of biblical exegesis on the topic of Catholic passover seders, rewriting of the messiah into the central metaphor and the uncanny reflections of that in early Jewish writing. By Midnight we all hug, and are ready to be driven back to the other side of the green line, the old 1967 borders of Israel.

We left exhausted by the roller coaster of conversation, but warmed and well-fed. For Ken, I think it required a deeper look at the complexity of the problems in the Middle East --not complex if you just want to be critical from one side or the other, but infinitely complicated if you guard any hope for a solution. For me too, as I must now put a human face even on the settlers. SuddenIy I have to see them as people, deeply but not stupidly religious, heartbroken not only by their own losses, but insecure at being abandoned by the rest of the West, and deeply disappointed by the Arabs.

The two Semitic neighbors, even if sadly similar, are so far apart. A day later, we had a waiter at a Ferry-Building-like restaurant in the fabulous Medhane Yehuda souk/open market tell us this about Israeli men: "They are like the local prickly pear, tough and dangerous on the outside, but soft and sweet within." Both Israelis and Palestinians drink it with soda and lick popsicles of it in summer heat, and spit out the stony seeds.

Or if we could understand the love lyrics of Arabic pop songs (as part of World Pride Jerusalem we did take a class that transliterated one of these songs into Hebrew to let us try and translate it), then we would have to say the same about the Oriental "them."

It's a cultural thing

I cannot seem to get used to the way people here "discuss". Dialogue is impassioned and stubborn and opinionated. People will even argue two completely contradictory positions in the same breath. And just because an Israeli is liberal or tolerant on one topic does not mean he or she will be so tolerant about another. It scares me to talk to people here sometimes.

But that's Israelis.

On my mom's Filipino side of the family, we argue a little, but mostly we gossip. It's called chismis. The Aunties, the mature women in the family, drag out every little detail about someone and their problems to discuss at great length and enthusiasm. Eventually, they'll come to some kind of consensus about things, and some course of action will be recommended.

Different system I guess.

Late Supper at Tmol Shilshom

No, not the Last Supper, although we did see one of two buildings where, tradition has it, the Last Supper took place.

Rather, Mark and I took a late supper last night at a wonderful cafe and bookstore called Tmol Shilshom. The entrance is on a pedestrian mall called Saloman Street. You have to walk through this long stone hallway which opens onto a lovely court yard. On the court yard are a couple of pubs, and up the stairs on the roof is Tmol Shilshom.

It was a treat to have some salad and wine on the roof outdoors. I had a very nice Sephardic egg dish called shakshuka. Mark had a goat cheese and eggplant sandwich. We ran into this guy I met at the gay bar the other night; and also a couple of women who are here to represent Canada at World Pride.

http://www.tmol-shilshom.co.il/

I ran into Bill Wilson the other night during a random visit to Jerusalem Open House. Someone I know from years ago, we used to prepare food for the homeless at the MCC Church in the Castro.

Day 8 The Christian Quarter

Mark, and five or six others, got up extra early this morning to meet a group at 7:30, which represented the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions. This is a direct-action group that works on the issue of the Israeli government annexing Palestinian properties in the West Bank to build housing for Israeli settlers. Some Palestinians have had their homes demolished more than once, even a few times. The ICAHD also helps to build new housing for people whose homes are lost.

There is an old joke, though, that goes, "What I love about the Left is arguing with people I agree with." The representative basically harangued the group for an hour at a fairly high decibel level. People in our group literally had to cover their ears. I guess he assumed that American Jews wouldn't get the tragedy. So he pretty much alienated an audience that wanted to agree with him and find a way to support the cause.

Fortunately, I slept in instead. Mark's group met the rest of us back at the hotel, and we headed for the Christian Quarter of the Old City. We walked past stalls of Turkish delight, Armenian icons, t-shirts, silverware, and hummus, until at last we came upon the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. The Church was built by the Crusaders when Christians ruled Jerusalem. It's quite a large complex built over the site of the Crucifixion and internment of Jesus. The other most salient feature of the church is that no single denomination runs things. Different chapels and altars belong to the Greek Orthodox, Syrian Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, Ethiopian Orthodox, Syrian Orthodox, Coptic, and Roman Catholic churches.

We started on the roof, where the Ethiopian Orthodox Church has a chapel. It's small, and, well...it's on the roof, so you can imagine they might feel they got a bit of a raw deal. Still, there's a community of about 15 monks living up there on the roof in little rooms, living a relatively quiet existence. To get from the roof down to the main courtyard, we walked through a couple of Coptic (Egyptian) chapels.

The grandest chapels belonged to the Greek Orthodox and Armenian churches. Mosaics, paintings, some sculptures, lots of candles and chandeliers and incense. Much of the iconography focused on the scene of the Crucifixion, of course; but the nice part is that the scene includes Mary, Mother of God, and Mary Magdalene, because they didn't run away when the Romans prosecuted Jesus. So the feminine is at least represented.

It was fascinating to see all these groups together in the same building, but one musn't suppose they get along very well. In fact different denominations have schemed and politicked to get the most important chapels, like the one over the stone where Jesus' body was laid for cleansing.

For example, it used to be the Copts who ran the chapel on the rooftop. Apparently one day while the Coptic Christians were celebrating mass in the main church, the Ethiopians changed all their locks and wouldn't let them back in. The case went to Israel's Supreme Court, but since Israel had good relations with Ethiopia at the time, and hostile relations with Egypt, the Ethiopians were allowed to stay.

We left the Old City to have lunch at Burgers Bar, which was great. I had my burger with harissa (spicy red pepper sauce) and tahini. Mark had a lamb burger with garlic mayo.

Then on to the Museum of the Seam, built on the site of the old border between Jordan and Israel. There was an exhibit about violence and our vulnerability to it, and our responsibility for causing or allowing it. Pretty heavy stuff. There were several Palestinian artists.

(Incidentally, the founding donors of the museum are the Von Holtzbrinck family, who I believe run the second largest German book publishing company, which is also the second largest publisher of books in the English language.)

Tomorrow we might take the day off, as far as touring goes. The focus will be on the Western (or Wailing) Wall, so it's a religious day. Mark is calling some relatives who live here in Jerusalem, maybe we'll see them at some point.

The sad thing

For a while, I thought that people here didn't make peace a priority. I mean, people talk peace all the time, but they want this land, the other person should do this, what about those soldiers, what about my grandmother's house that was destroyed. Peace seemed way down the list of priorities, below justice and/or revenge, or the increase in political power.

But I did talk to an Israeli the other night who said something interesting. He felt that most Israelis today who are not ultra-Orthodox really want peace with their neighbors, including an independent Palestine.

The problem, he said, is they no longer believe peace is possible.

Conversation overheard

So we're down at the breakfast buffet and I'm waiting for this really lovely young lady (probably Palestinian) to finish making an omelette for me, and I'm subjected to this conversation next to me. An American is quoting Ezekiel to his Israeli tour guide, and he's drawing connections between the signs of the End Times and the war in Lebanon. "It's a war between Good and Evil."

He went on to outline how the conflict will only worsen until the whole world, and especially Jordan and the United States (because the US is mentioned all over Ezekiel, you know) are drawn in, and Israel plunges humanity into World War. "Jordan's the only player who isn't involved yet, and they could be in any day!"

His guide was a bit dismayed, shall we say, by the prospect of the wholesale destruction of her country, and even more that this man was really looking forward to seeing it and being in Jerusalem while it happens. I think she doubly resented it because the man was American, and she felt strongly (and said so) that the US was letting Israel do its shooting for them, and the best thing that could happen is immediate ceasefire.

My point in relating this interchange is that these sorts of conversations are happening around us all day, sometimes between people who have such radically different world views it's like they're from different planets.

Food, glorious food!

One of the really enjoyable things on this trip has been the food. Every morning, no matter where we wake up, there's an assortment of cheeses (cow, goat, and sheep), salads and egg dishes.

In the Old City of Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) there is a place called Lina's. All they serve is hummus, and I do believe it's the best I've ever had. It's a little Palestinian place in the Muslim quarter, fifteen shekels a plate, or about $3.

There was also the Turkish place in Tel Aviv, which served us so many salads of hummus, baba ghanoush, tahini, and others that I don't know how to name, that we didn't even guess they would bring out kabobs of lamb and chicken for us.

Last night we had excellent shwarma from a stand on Ben Yehuda, a trendy pedestrian street in West Jerusalem that would resemble the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica, but for the sheer number of Orthodox, along with Israeli military and Christian missionaries from China. It's also a teeming parade of the trendy and unbelievably good-looking.

But my favorite dish is Shakshouka, which I ate almost every day. Originally from Tunisia, there is now an Israeli version of this popular tomato sauce and egg dish eaten primarily as a light, late supper. And I got a recipe!

Chop up an onion, sautee in vegetable oil. Add chopped sweet (bell) pepper, sautee. Chop up a couple of large tomatoes, add to the sautee. (Also good at this point is seeding and chopping a small hot pepper and adding that to the mix. Garlic too, if you want.) Simmer with the tomatoes for maybe 10 minutes. Crack two eggs open and lay them whole on top of the mixture. Tip: spoon some sauce over the yolk of the eggs. The eggs should set in about 3 or 4 minutes. Serve with hot bread and butter. Also a good pairing is a fresh green salad with arugula, tomato and feta cheese. I like it with a light red wine.

Day 7 Exploring the Old City

We managed to sleep in pretty late this morning: 10 o'clock! Yumm. Laid around a bit, had some pastries for breakfast.

The elevator freaked me out last night. Observant Jews can't press the buttons on the sabbath, in the same way as they can't do any kind work or carry money. So the elevator has a Sabbath setting where it simply stops on every floor. It took quite a while.

In the morning we checked email and wrote and read a bit. At two we met our group at the Jaffa Gate of the Old City and were led onto the ancient fortification walls. It was a beautiful walk behind churches and overlooking gardens and rooftops. We walked along the perimeter of the Christian Quarter and into the Muslim Quarter, and came down over on that side of the Old City. There's a whole dimension of the city that most tourists never see, and can only be seen a little bit from the ramparts. Rooftops are treated like courtyards or rear gardens in the Old City. The residents spend the cool hours of the early evening above and unseen by the tourists and pilgrims.

Today I heard the Muslim Call to Prayer for the first time since being in Morocco. They competed with the church bells of the Roman Catholic churches. I must say I don't always like the bells (the clanging chimes of St. Patrick's in San Francisco, for example), but the church bells here are quite nice.

Rivalry is everywhere here. The Catholics built a grand Church of the Holy Sepulcher on the supposed site of Jesus' crucifixion and burial. So the Muslims (under the Turks) built two mosques on either side with minarets taller than the gold cross of the church. Meanwhile, the Protestants, contrarian by definition, insist that the burial site of Christ is actually on another hill outside the walls of the City. Meanwhile, Jews are buying property in the Muslim quarter and displacing Palestinians. Legal, but provocative. Everyone has equal opportunity to be insulted.

Reflection

Everything we see in this country, from hotels to churches, has an association with violence. Churches built during the Crusades. Bullet holes in the walls of the Old City from the 1948 war. The Kind David Hotel, which we've walked by about ten times. The mosques built after the repulsion of the Christians. Roman roads built after Caesar's conquest. Groups of touring high school students which invariably have one teenager designated to carry a loaded rifle, even inside of museums and ice cream parlors. A nightclub destroyed by a suicide bomb, and left in ruin as a visible reminder instead of torn down. The news, which is on all the time, is always bad, and always discussed. Violence is so evident all the time.

Day 6 First night in Jerusalem

Grueling day yesterday.

Mark got up at 4 am for a sunrise hike up to Masada, with some of our group. I meant to go, because a couple of us were going to do some yoga sun salutations up on the top there as the sun peeked over the mountains. But I couldn't make myself sleep early enough, so I "slept in" until 6, had breakfast with the rest of the group, and we took a tram to the top.

Masada was impressive. Built originally by Herod, in later centuries a group of religious Jews retreated there as their rebellion against the Roman Empire failed. The Romans laid seige to Masada and pretty much everyone inside died. Apparently they killed themselves (or the men did, after killing their wives and children.) rather than become slaves to the Romans. A noble story, and a huge point of pride not just in the Israeli psyche but for Jews all over the world. But in light of current issues, the story does not bode well in my heart for peace in the region. In fact I became rather distressed.

Even so, there are some nice Romanesque frescoes, a Roman style bath, the remains of an early church (built much later, maybe closer to 300 AD). The view was incredible.

From Masada, on to a refreshing dip at the oasis of Ein Gedi. Lovely spot! Cool refreshing water. Reminds me that even though I like heat, I also love water. (Why I adore the tropics!)

From Ein Gedi to Qumran, the site of the community of Essenes that existed up to 68 AD. John the Baptist may well have been an Essene, or lived with them for some time. This is where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found, and an extremely important archeological site. However, at more than 110 degrees with no shade, it was a site I could maybe have missed, there wasn't much to look at really.

So exhausted and dusty, we went from Qumran and entered at last into Jerusalem. Very emotional moment. People cried. The rabbi led a little ceremony of celebration on a hilltop overlooking the Old City. Jerusalem is beautiful. Really stunning.

The group had dinner with the founder of Jerusalem Open House, the GLBT center here. They are completely ecumenical, serving secular Jews, as well as ultra-Orthodox Jews and Palestinians from the West Bank. In fact they run the only program in Israel that benefits Palestinians...not just the only gay/lesbian program, really the only program of any kind in Israel. Also present was David Ehrlich, whom our friend Alwyn Walley said we should get in touch with while we're here, so there's a nice coincidence.



Mark and I took a long nap after dinner. Got up around midnight to search for the one and only gay bar in Jerusalem. It took us a couple of hours, literally, to find it, even when it was a ten-minute walk from the hotel...but the finding was very fun! There were lots of young people running around, we hung out with some for a while. We came out to them (after a bit), they were curious but still mostly focused on getting drunk. (I think three of them threw up in the few minutes we were talking. Ah, youth!)

We finally found the bar, and it was hoppin'. It's a dark, smokey little dance club, but everyone was super friendly. I think any one with any means to do so parties in Tel Aviv on the weekend, so this bar gets an unpretentious, not monied kind of crowd. A young crowd, but more mixed, ethnically and age-wise, than the bar we saw in Tel Aviv. The crowd was very friendly and talkative. We met an Armenian boy who belly danced, and a young Israeli woman who actually lives near Haifa but her building was destroyed in the bombing. At some point an ultra-Orthodox Israeli came in, wearing the black hat and coat. It was hard to read what was going on, but we thought some of the queens were teasing him; on the other hand, he didn't respond when people were just trying to talk, either. Poor guy will not have an easy life.

Tomorrow we get to sleep in, and take a walk on the walls of the Old City.

It's a relief

Thank God, but I have not heard a single Madonna song since we've arrived. Although I did hear something by Cher. :-(

Day 5 From the Red Sea to the Dead Sea

This country is pretty amazing sometimes. We spent the morning snorkeling along a fantastic coral reef in Eilat on the Red Sea. Lots of cool fish and colorful coral.

Then we drove up through the driest, dustiest desert I've ever seen to the Dead Sea, where we spent the night before our morning trek to Masada. It's striking, and reminds me a bit of the Black Rock desert in Nevada, where Burning Man takes place.

The Dead Sea is really cool for about 20 minutes. You really can't sink. As in, it's tough to even reach your hand towards the bottom, because you're repelled back. If you manage to grab a bit of sand in your hands, it quite literally is entirely salt. It's painful on cuts, though, and the water is easily in the 90's (and around 110 in the air), so floating around all afternoon is not an appealing option whilst there's a beckoning swimming pool at the hotel.

DAY 4 Petra and Jordan

Today is the day I've been waiting for.

The plan for today was to cross the Jordanian border and trek up to Petra, the ancient city of the Naboteans. Breakfast was extra early (to the consternation of the staff). It was easily close to 90 degrees as we start our morning.

We grouped onto the bus which only took us to the border crossing between the Israeli Red Sea resort town of Eilat, and the only Jordanian seaport 'Aqaba. (FYI, Eilat is also near the border to Egypt on the Sinai desert.)

Jordan and Israel have been at peace since the late nineties, but it's a wary peace. So it's nice to spot on one of the checkpoint buildings a mosaic of people making a journey, and below a plaque that says "Austrian, Palestinian, Israeli, Jordanian. Bruno Kreisky Youth Peace Forum. Eilat, Aqaba, Bethlehem. A new generation crossing borders. September 1996."

Once across the border, we board a Jordanian bus, and are given a driver, a guide, and (by order of the US State Department) an armed tourist police officer. The drive from the border to Petra is nearly two hours. It was getting hotter.

Our Jordanian guide (for today only) is named Basil, and he took the opportunity to give us some background on the area, pretty much starting with Moses and working his way up to the 20th century with the current ruling dynasty. But he always tied it back in to areas familiar to Jews and Israelis, just from an Arab perspective.

Basil directed our attention to a distant mountain. The mountain is very high, and not only overlooks the Jordan valley on the east, but the Negev and the ancient land of Judea (southern Israel) on the west. Aaron supposedly died there when he and Moses climbed up to see where to take the Israelites out of Sinai. In fact, we saw the dome of a mosque built on the traditional site of Aaron's grave.

Petra itself is a city whose tombs and temples and houses were carved out of the glowing red sandstone of the desert mountains. Because the sandstone is soft, erosion has carved some amazing canyons into the mountain, where people could live more or less out of the blistering sun. There were also ways to create rainwater reservoirs to hold a sizable population. Archeologists have uncovered a reservoir there that dates back almost 3000 years, next to a castle built in the sixteenth century by the Holy Crusaders. There are bits of Roman roads built by the Emperor Trajan, about 100 CE.

Most of Petra, however, dates from about 100 BCE to 300 CE, and was engineered by the Naboteans. The Naboteans were a Hellenistic Semitic culture of the Near East. Petra was on the Spice Road from Arabia into eastern Europe. They were pagans, although there are also signs of the very early Christian church, from about the time of Emperor Constantine.

By the time we got to the site, it was hot. Maybe 105 degrees hot. It was bright. Blinding. And it was still a couple of hours before lunch. Basil talked us through the city, explaining about the tombs and the carvings. He's very smart, and has personally participated on some of the archeological work. Better, maybe, than an average guide, and very kind.

And clever, too. At one point he had us turn around and was trying to point out some interesting feature of the rock above us. We couldn't see what he meant, so he had us walk backwards a bit (still looking up). Then he made some noise about giving up on us, and we turned forward...

...and WOW! there was the Treasury of Petra, the great edifice most of us would know from the climactic scenes of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It's magnificent with colonnades and carved idols, and just appears practically out of nowhere as you wind through the narrow canyon. It's carved into the red sandstone mountain itself. It's nearly 2,000 years old, and still 1/3 buried in the dust and rock: only the top two levels are visible.

After lunch were were set loose to explore on our own. Mark and I hired a donkey wagon to take us back up the trail. Too bad the beast was exhausted already from earlier climbs; we were being passed by people walking on foot with small children. It would have been pretty rude, though, to just get out and start walking, and the guy driving the wagon was kind of hot, even if he did smell like horses. So we sat back and slowly finished our bottle of water. (By the way, he wants to marry an American girl, so if anyone is interested, we'll hook you up!)

It was unreal to walk through such an ancient place. By itself, this experience has made it worth the effort (and self-inflicted emotional torture) of getting here.

But maybe next time, if there is one, we'll come in October instead of August.

Somehow, and I'm not sure why, I felt relieved to be in Jordan. It was nice to cross into a country that Israel is at peace with. And they were very hospitable.

Getting back into Israel was a little tough, at least for some of us. (Ask for details, but Mark and I were fine.) As we arrived back at the hotel, dusk was falling and it was the beginning of Tisha B'av, an Israeli holiday commemorating pretty much every tragedy you've ever heard of that happened to the Jews. And it's a fasting holiday, so every restaurant is closed and it's forbidden to serve alcohol. We managed to get some salads and sandwiches out of the hotel restaurant, but tomorrow will be the same until sundown. How we'll find food I have no idea. We'll figure it out.

Tomorrow morning we'll do some quick snorkeling at the coral preserve, which happens to be across from our hotel. Then off to the Dead Sea.

The first morning we wake up in Israel--by Mark Freeman

Today is August 1, the first morning we wake up in Israel, not on a damn plane. The ride could have been worse; at least there was a gorgeous Israeli in shorts and an Abercrombie t-shirt lying next to me all night. Okay, he was across the aisle, and Ken was two rows up, but we all had at least two seats to stretch out in, as for some reason not everyone wants to travel to the Holy Land this week. I only spoke a few words, asking "Tov?" --is the in-flight movie any good, but I maintained an awareness of his goodness, or at least his gorgeousness, all night. My guess is that a theme is developing here.

Today is also the day Daniel should be coming to our house in Bernal Heights. We only met him a week before we left, in the rare San Francisco thanks-to-George-Bush global warning heat wave, at Dolores Park. There on the "gay beach" of nearly dried grass in the park named after the basilica of the Sorrows of Mary, on the street that was El Camino Real, the royal road connecting the Franciscan friars' missions in California del Norte, that is the first street in San Francisco, a brief friendship (and thence this overly-phrased and now sufficiently run-on sentence) began. He was alone and tall, darkly handsome in a semi-Semitic way, and young. Twenty-one, it turned out and not Palestinian but Syrian, from a family that grew up in Iraq and wisely left for Modesto in our Central Valley. Daniel, even more wisely, was moving to San Francisco to go to City College and study art, and was looking for a room in a house to rent.

A few days later he was staying in a hostel for a week, still looking, and we invited him to the Stud for our pal Deena Davenport's 4AD label theme night at Trannyshack. What is it like, he asked, as a never so secure kid his age does, but I had no way to describe it except to say that it wasn't like a regular gay bar and he would like it. He did, agape at the over-the-top pre-emo performances of the city's most brilliant queens even though he did not know the songs of the Cocteau Twins, the Pixies or even This Mortal Coil that Ken sang along with word for indecipherable word. Daniel was either the wrong age or in a different place in the early Eighties (much like myself). No, wait, he wasn't born yet. A few days later we met him at an outdoor screening in Dolores Park featuring, of all things, Raiders of the Lost Ark, the wonderful and superficial American take on the Middle East. You see, the coincidences are already accumulating.

Sitting in the fog and waiting for that Indy epic to begin, we introduced Daniel to some of the radical faeries we'd come there to meet to celebrate the 40th birthday of Stuart, once Downy and now Yoga Daddy, a Jew-Hindu mystic and force for good in the community. We particularly wanted Daniel to meet Benjamin, our oft-critical friend whom we love nevertheless, and who studied in Jordan and speaks fluent Arabic. We heard Daniel talking to him about not having found a room yet (because he is too young or insecure or who knows why roomie interviews go wrong) and we looked at each other and though we hadn't spent more than three hours with him, decided to offer our place while we were gone. Like, sometimes you have to not worry, just trust someone, and let go. Of course, I had a list of household reminders for him, and one request: that he was welcome to stay but to please not bring other folks over. I was not thinking of an army of Assyrian assassins, but rather of any bedtime tricks, among who at least one was sure to be a speed-freak, thief, murderer or at least a destroyer of other's interiors. Daniel quickly agreed, and we gave him a key and showed the bus routes. He is smart and I am not worried, really.

But I am thinking of him this morning, since I woke up in our new time zone three hours early before our departure for the South, the Negev desert, Eilat on the Red Sea and tomorrow, our dream of seeing Petra in Jordan (site of a later Indiana Jones movie, we think it is the one about the Holy Grail). In fact, I have not slept more than four hours at a time since we left, whether due to anxiety, anticipation, discomfort of whatever. You only live once, as young people keep reminding me, why waste your time sleeping? I am also thinking of of the handsome Moroccan Jewish boy we sat next to on bar stools at Evita, the stylish gay lounge that we found after a long walk through the streets of Tel Aviv, the city that never sleeps, past the Carmel Market at night with its feral cats and odors of meat and rotten fruit (as in the city that never sweeps?) and after meeting the two "straight" but hip guys who were closing an organic bread store. I saw the drawing of animals on the wall and asked if they sold sheep. No, only goats, the tall tattooed one riposted, listing types. No blow-up sheep? No but, do you want a loaf of bread, it is cheese and black olive rye, take it, we are closed. We do, and they confirm our directions to the gay bar and encourage us to go.

You know, I love this country, and Ken may be beginning to. His opinion certainly went up a peg in the bar, where actually every single person there could only be described with the term "hottie." The Moroccan guy next to us turned out to be a soldier, assigned to the North. "DON'T ask me about it," he quickly insisted, "I am on vacation." We didn't, and found out about his French boyfriend (they only share English as a language), met his gorgeous girl cousin who was the waitress in the little black dress there ("Of course she is gorgeous, we are Moroccan!") then hugged him goodbye with instructions to "be nice, be safe, be well."

But to return to the moment. Unable to sleep after 5 this morning after a too-short 4-hour fall into the arms of Morpheus, I read. At The Entrance To the Garden of Eden: A Jew's Search for Hope With the Christians and Muslims in the Holy Land by Yossi Klein Halevi, an observant Orthodox Jew and writer for the New Republic. It is good, and after an hour or so I realize what my prayer for today must be.

"May God grant that not one beloved Jew, not one impassioned Shia Lebanese, not one blessed Christian Arab, not one beautiful Palestinian, nor even anyone who buys into none of these systems yet has a good heart, die of violence today,"

You may add your Amen if you choose.

--Mark Freeman

Passing through the land of the married

I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep before the alarm went off at 3 am. Mark got none. We showered, had a bit of tea, and got dressed. There's not too many options for getting to SFO at that time of the morning; in the end, calling a taxi proved most expedient.

On arrival to Toronto, we decided to only fill out one immigration card. You know, it's supposed to be one per family, normally for lgbt couples there is no legal relationship. But in this enlightened country, we were able to marry nearly two years ago, and those laws are still in force. When asked if we were related, we simply said yes, married. We got a slight smile (a "that's cool" kind of smile), and that was it. It's the first time we've passed through any kind of immigration or customs check (or any official government hurdle) unquestioned as a legal couple.

Woke up this morning...

...in a complete panic. I can't believe we're doing this. This is nuts.

Posting from Mark:

You haven't heard from me in all this because, well, I really don't have much to say. Just kidding. But most of all I am glad that Ken is doing it, and have LOVED hearing what he winds up saying about this crazy trip. And yes, I know it is crazy but it is a craziness I am stuck with. To whit: I love my people. They are amazing, amazingly complex and completely worthy of love. And completely crazed. Just like the Palestinians. Exactly like the Palestinians, in fact. That was why I picked that cartoon about the Holy Land as an exclusive club to add to the blog a few weeks ago. Let me count some of the ways they are perfectly matched:

Both are extremely verbal and indulgently self-expressive. "Free Zone," an Amos Gitai film we saw at the current Jewish Film Festival ended with a long long long scene of a Jewish woman and a Palestinian woman stuck in a car at the border arguing with each other, gesturing, threatening, competing in the more-aggrieved-than-thou department over $30,000 from the sale of used armored vehicle to clients in Iraq, while an American girl played by Natalie Portman gets out of the car and skips across the border, maybe carrying a bag with the money they are arguing about. Brilliant!

Both are incredibly stubborn, and would much rather lose everything than admit they might be wrong, or at least that the other side might be right.

Both have more than half their people living in diaspora around the world. Palestinian and Jewish families in other countries push their kids to get good educations, become professionals in the medical field or program computers and run IT operations in places like Australia or Saudi Arabia, support each other to start businesses, keep up their ethnic identities while assimilating into French or Canadian or US or Peruvian society, send money to Israel and Palestine, while watching what goes on "back home" in horror.

Both peoples have been on the modern tip and until recently have had relatively few ultra-orthodox fundamentalists in their respective mix. Palestinians, along with Lebanese, were predominantly secular in dress, and have been distrusted and often despised throughout the Arab and Islamic worlds, valued only as martyrs. Most black-garbed ultra-orthodox Jews lived in Brooklyn, and until recently many sects denounced the very existence of the secular state of Israel as an abomination, and were a difficult but distinct minority in that state. Unfortunately, as terror in Israel has continued and as any and all hope for statehood has shriveled under the unending occupation of Palestine, religious fundamentalism has increased, and increasingly been used as an excuse first for dehumanizing the enemy, and then for killing as many civilians on the other side as can be reached.

Both are the primary recipients of American military aid. Number one in the world, Israel. Number two, Egypt. The price of peace in an American World has been being a good client of our munitions makers, and even becoming weapons brokers as well. Nobody can accuse the feisty Israeli right wing of being a pawn of the American neo-cons, and in fact the Israeli military's disastrous occupation of Palestine was a role model for our equally quagmirish adventure in Iraq. But if Herren Bush and Cheney cannot directly attack Iran (just imagine if the price of U.S. gas went up to $6!!) they can sit back while Israel bombs the shit out of southern Lebanon. And if Jewish boys and girls can kill lots of Shiites and Muslim soldiers and suicide bombers kill Israeli women and children, we can sit back and watch. Those people over their are all insane anyway, let them all wipe each other out and doesn't the bible say there has to be a war in the holy land before you know who can come back for the End of Days. Bring it on!! OK, excuse me, I can get a little carried away into the dire but dreary realm of hormone-fueled polemics. But you get the idea. The new anti-Semitism is an equal opportunity hater, when we can get two types of Semites to do our dirty work for us. I could go on. And on.

Both know that there will never be peace until there are two countries. But both have become so hurt, heartbroken, and then hardened by the never-ending injustice that each feels at the hands of the other, and so lost in the deaths and dispossessions of the past, that they can barely speak to each other. And they have lost cognizance of one fact, if they ever realized it: that the only real ally for Israel in a middle east increasingly going Islamist is an independent Palestine; and the only real ally for Palestine among the US-backed Sunni kingdoms and shariah-based Shiite states who have used their plight and refused them admission, is Israel.

That eventually this will have to happen, if peace is actually to come, is my hope and prayer. And if I feel mostly all alone in that madness, that sense of alienation in itself should make me feel right at home in the middle east.

But I am just as conflicted about actually being there as is Ken. Just maybe a bit more driven. I wouldn't have wanted to go without him, because I need someone else to see how really amazing the place is, and the peoples are. I want to see holy sites with him, and go to a rave together in the midst of the madness. I want to support him, and I sure know I'll need his support. I usually hate roller coaster, but the worst part is that long slow climb at the start. Here we go.

--Mark Freeman