GO FEEDBACK: The suffocating presence of soldiers and weaponry in the West Bank town leaves a lasting impression on WILLIAM BURTON
I WAS A LITTLE distracted when I stepped off the bus in Hebron. It was not the fact that Hebron is one of the most contentious areas of the West Bank, but rather that the night earlier, during a barbecue on the roof of our hostel in Bethlehem, a French lady informed me of a falafel shop selling sandwiches containing lamb lung, liver and brain.
I have a slight obsession with eating weird and wonderful food while away. In Japan, I happily chewed on fried pig’s ears, and, in Mongolia, I eagerly drank airag, fermented mare’s milk.
Alas, I never found the falafel sandwich shop that sold the lamb concoction. Instead, I found myself in a town that will be forever seared into my memory, long after the elusive lamb falafel sandwich taste would have faded.
While wandering down one of the main streets in Hebron, I did not feel any tension or hostility. Yes, I had read all about the Jewish settlers in the centre of town, and watched on television the violent clashes over the years, but the town felt like any other bustling, loud Arab town.
Only after securing the services of a walking guide did we encounter and witness events that give Hebron its contentious reputation. Our guide, Mohammed, a pragmatic man, was very conciliatory towards the settlers.
“I would like to live in peace with our Jewish neighbours, but not in this way,” he said. “Our shops have been closed, we are stopped from entering certain area of our town, this is not right.”
Mohammed, who supports a wife and two children, talks fondly of a time in Tel Aviv when, on a limited excursion to find work, he engaged in a game of volley ball with a group of Israelis on the beach.
“We had a great time,” he sighed. “We are two peoples who can live together and have done in the past. I do not understand why we are treated in the contempt that we are.”
In one of Hebron’s markets, it was disheartening to see metal fencing erected above the streets to prevent rubbish being dropped on the Palestinian shoppers by Israeli settlers, who live above. I witnessed the absurd, often farcical existence of the settlers, some of whom are escorted to the shops to do their shopping by the Israeli army.
Wandering around the settler streets by myself, seeing the evicted and boarded-up Palestinian shops adorned with crudely spray-painted Stars of David, you cannot escape a feeling of gloom. Who benefits from this charade? The Israeli settlers? Hardly. The streets felt suffocating with the presence of soldiers and weaponry. The Palestinians are cut off from the very streets they used to work and live in.
The soldiers would not let our guide through the checkpoints to the settler areas. Young settlers, no older than 16 or 17, had machine guns lazily slung around their backs.
Mohammed stated sarcastically that “they really need those weapons for protection as you can see, it’s not like they have an army to protect them. These young men do not understand, the vast majority of us wish them no harm, we just want to live in an equal and just town”.
I spoke to an Israeli soldier posted on the tunnel which leads to the Tombs of the Patriarchs. In his distinct Russian accent, he answered my naive question of whether he had live bullets in his M16 machine gun. “Of course, we have to,” he bluntly replied.
When it was time to leave, I reflected on the images and thoughts that were left with me. Although tourists are apprehensive about visiting Hebron, the town leaves an impression on you that is impossible to shake. Unavoidable as it is, politics and identity lie at the heart of the town.
If you want to witness living history, and to try and understand the myriad of identities and ethnicities that weave through the West Bank, then Hebron will reveal the complexity and passions involved in any future negotiations in Israel and Palestine.