The Great Wall of Isreal

The Great Wall of Israel; the boxed town

Leaving America last summer to the war side of Israel was not one of those paradise vacations an American would have. Before crossing the border of Jordan to Israel I was in fear. Fear that I would witness the tragedies of war.

As I arrived at my box like destination surrounded by multiple 6 to10 feet high walls, it was like living a trapped life. The only destination was from aunt A to aunt B house. Even those trips can not be made if there were a couple of miles away, behind the wall hiding my neighbor’s home.

My days got better when I began to visit the other side of town. The Holy Land as they call it is, so beautiful as all come together to worship on one land. My bus ride home would be sightseeing of the organized red roofed top homes with the Israeli flags raised high, and the ghetto mismatched homes with the Palestinian flags raised high on the other side. Thinking of something both sides would have in contrast; a child calling home. This ride would also be a time of interacting with the locals of town. As I spoke my English language they would ask, “Where you from are and welcome to our town.”

Arrival at my guest home would be of welcoming, and questioning. As if I went far away but I only was a couple of minutes away. The box is what keeps my hosts’ away from the Holy Land. My American passport is like a special VIP card that can provide me with access to anywhere I want. But my host’s Palestinian green card keeps them away from the Holy Land far away in the box.

My hosts are of generous and giving people. They invite us over for dinners, and we chit chat away, the great wall around them and the war outside is not of disturbance. It is a way of life they have lived for centuries as their lands were slowly taken away.

We go to the only park in town in which smokers smoke their hookah as a part of relaxation and culture, but I think being above the influence and drinking juice is a better choice. Even the park is enclosed by the great wall. But it does not stop families from coming out and having a nice day at the park.

As we enter the university of town I am quite surprised at what I am seeing.  Like any other school in the world, it is filled with classrooms, desks, and boards. And students who are ready to learn and bring a better way of living to their ghetto home land, and of course those who are the party chill out type clan.

The soldiers outside doesn’t prevent the people from celebrating memorable events on their soil and land. They jump and stomp, connected hand to hand. The dabka dance they call it, was the most fun they would have.

Can’t forget about the barn we had in the backyard, filled with goats and lambs, annoying rosters waking me up out of bed. And the calls to prayer, just before the sun would ascend. This same sun was setting back home in America.

I sometimes think of going back to this town and teaching them my American skills. Maybe a couple of words for a couple of dollars wouldn’t be so bad.