Getting Here...

I don't know what it is, but I always seem to sit next to the crazies. So it was on the way from Chicago to Atlanta. It wasn't the woman next to me, but rather the woman next to her who was ever-so-concerned that I wouldn't be able to sleep on my second flight and thus continued to wake me for the duration of the first flight. She was a retired medical lawyer-turned-CEO (of a hospital). I should have been able to reason with her, but her maternal instinct had kicked in and all reason had flown out the window. No matter how much I reassured her that I could sleep on both flights, she was insistant that I must stay awake, not to chat with her, but just to stay awake. It was annoying, but fortunately, the worst part of the entire trip.

The flight from Atlanta to Tel Aviv was fabulous - I think. Honestly, I slept nearly the entire way, all 11 hours and 15 minutes. I woke up for one meal (I'm good like that) and then the next thing I remember is waking up to applause on the landing. Israelis, I have learned, congratulate the pilot on a good flight and safe landing by breaking into applause and cheers on the runway. It is cute and certainly a good way to end a loooong flight.

At passport control, both the Israeli and the Foreign Passport lines were moving quickly, that is, until I got there. The rythym had been stamp, stamp, "Enjoy your stay in Israel". Then they saw me. I, as always, was detained and was immediately taken to the "waiting room". It was empty this time, save for a poor, older Muslim woman wearing a hijab. She was there when I arrived and was still there when I finally left an hour later. My hour detention was the fastest I've ever experienced, by far, and also the least humiliating. It only involved interrogation and x-ray examination of my luggage - no displays of my bras. And, thank God, no strip searches this time either, though I may yet have that honor when I depart - we'll see. The interrogation this time was benign, though absolutely innane.

"What's your father's name?"

(Typing, followed by a long delay)

"What's your father's father's name?"

(Typing, followed by a long delay)

"What is the purpose of your visit?"
(Typing, followed by a long delay)

"What is your occupation? Write your home phone number and email address. Not just work, personal too."

(More typing)

"Why have you chosen Israel?"

Ah, this was my favourite question! "I have not chosen Israel. I have chosen to come to Palestine. Unfortunatly, you idiots control the borders to my country." Oh, I how I wished to say that, but such a comment would have earned me the fate as that poor, Muslim woman - indefinite detention. So, rather I responded with, "my family lives here". Bastards.

"Okay, please sit."

And so it was, back to the waiting room. This time with the Muslim woman, a Catholic priest (an Arab), and two French guys. Ten minutes later, I was called in again, for the same line of questioning. We played this game for an hour - questioning, waiting, questioning, waiting until I was eventually free to go, and sent off with the words, "Welcome to Israel, Enjoy your stay. " The same words everyone else on my flight had heard an hour earlier.

So, today is my first full day in Palestine. I will soon go to Jerusalem with family friends of ours, who had the great honor of recieving travel passes for the day. We will go to the Old City and to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre - one of my favourite places! I'm really looking forward to it.

Around here, people are not free to move about as they wish. Even though our friends, Um and Abo Victor, live in Ramallah (probably no more than 30 km from Jerusalem) they cannot go there without special travel papers from the Israelis. Here, everyone has Identity Cards issued according to where they are born: Gaza, West Bank, or Jerusalem. Those with Jerusalem IDs cannot travel to the West Bank or vice versa. Gaza?! Forget it. They are completley isolated. So, despite all being Palestinians, people are separated from one another and separated from their own land. Sometimes, families are broken up, too. It's completely insane. Palestinians here are fenced in, literally as prisoners in their own homes and on their own land. It is so sad. In order to travel to another part of Palestine, they have to apply for travel papers months in advance: more often than not, such requests are declined. Imagine being a Christian in the West Bank and not being able to pray at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre even though it's in your own backyard. Sad. And honestly, compltely unacceptable.