A foray into photo-journalism

Images of buildings in A’jame, the juxtaposition of old and new, for an article that I’m writing about housing and gentrification in Jaffa.

Jaffa rocked and rocking back

“Residents of Jaffa in danger of eviction/ our houses in danger"

“1948. 2005. and today.”

For over a year and a half, Jaffa, “the bride of the sea,” has been my home. For the first ten months, my life was entwined with the city; working at Sadaka Reut, a nation-wide Arab-Jewish youth organization which strives to be highly involved in local Jaffa community projects and teaching English at al-Rabita: the League for the Arabs of Jaffa. Since my Shatil fellowship ended, my main source of income has come from a part-time job in Jerusalem, I’ve interned in Tel Aviv, worked freelance from my home and spent a month in Morocco. Yet, I’ve tried to stay involved in the Sadaka Reut community, and follow the local Jaffa news because I like the people, it’s important to me to live in a mixed Arab-Jewish city, the humus is superb and I can’t imagine living anywhere else in Israel.

My dad came to Israel to visit for Passover a few weeks ago (a couple days after my mom flew in). At the airport, security personnel asked him to explain the purpose of his visit, to which he answered, “visiting my daughter.” When asked where I live, he specified that I live in Jaffa, rather than Tel Aviv, in case they wanted the exact street address. Jaffa sufficed as a location, but the young woman remarked, “Jaffa…that’s controversial.”

Over the past few weeks, approximately 500 hundred eviction and demolition orders have been issued by the Israel Land administration and the Amidar housing company to families in Jaffa- mainly in the A’jame and Jabaliya neighborhoods, which are traditionally Arab and prime, beach-front property. These homes are technically illegal buildings, meaning they were built without permits, yet most have been standing for decades.

Several weeks ago I attended an early morning protest at the first home to be slated for demolition. It was an unattractive structure built of concrete and tin, standing amongst several more elegant homes and multiple construction sites, where luxury apartments overlooking the Mediterranean will soon stand. The protest itself was rendered unnecessary because concerned citizens raised the 2,000 shekels needed to file an objection, postponing the demolition and canceling the bulldozers, at least for now.

Most of the 500 families in danger of losing their homes share at least two common traits; they are poor and they are Arab. Additionally, most can probably trace their family ties to the city of Jaffa as far back as their ancestry goes.

On Friday, a large-scale demonstration took place to protest these eviction and demolition orders. Hundreds of Jaffo natives were joined by hundreds of others, including those of us who have chosen Jaffa as home for now, the Tel Aviv anarchists, the communists and others. The group paraded through the aforementioned neighborhoods growing in numbers along the way and chanting slogans; “Arabs and Jews against house demolitions,” calling for the mayor or Tel Aviv-Jaffa to resign and proclaiming “yafo l’yafowim” (Jaffa for Jaffa-ians).

While these eviction orders are new, the struggle is perennial. For decades, plots of the seaside neighborhoods have been eaten up by developers who build fancy apartments the former residents probably could not afford. And the poster for the demonstration makes reference to 1948, when the Arab population of the city plummeted from 70,000 to less than 5,000.

Since gentrification may be inevitable, I can only hope that Jaffa will remain ethnically and socio-economically diverse, the poor’s right to housing will be respected and it will be a place I can be proud to have called home.

the work visa revisited

As I’ve mentioned before, I went through a rather lengthy process of procuring a work visa in order to make my life easier. Not only did it give me legal permission to work in this country, it also provided me with a multiple-entry visa valid for an entire year. No more day trips to Jordan to renew visas, no more hassles at border crossings about bending the rules conveniently exiting and re-entering the country every three months, and best of all, no chance of being detained in Denmark again.

But what I forgot to take into account about the work visa was that in placing those 2 full-page stickers into my passport, I became a foreign worker (“you’re Philippino?” one friend asked). The difference between work visa and foreign worker is simple semantics. But being a foreign worker in this country carries weighty implications.

According to Kav La’Oved there are approximately 200,000 foreign workers in Israel and the territories (including Palestinians who work in Jewish settlements), and many of them are here illegally. They come from the Philippines, Thailand and Eastern Europe among other places. As non-Jews they are not eligible make aliyah/become citizens.

Daily, my life has not changed. In fact, I still haven’t received a paycheck in shekels, so I haven’t actually put the work visa to use. Entering the country, however, is a different story.

Upon my return from Morocco in January I was actually looking forward to passport control. With the year long visa already in my passport no snippy airport worked could give me grief about abusing tourist visas. After taking my passport and asking some standard, prerequisite questions- “where did you learn Hebrew?” and “where do you work? - she point to a small waiting room in the corner and said, “go wait there.”

At 5am, the airport was quiet and I stood alone in the corner until someone came out and without explanation returned my passport and allowed me to go on to baggage claim. No one would answer my questions.

When I returned from 10 days in the states this past Friday afternoon, Ben Gurion Airport was packed with tourists and Israelis coming in to the country. I braced myself as I got one of the crowded lines for foreign passports. Again, I was told to wait on the side. This time, the room was teeming with people, men and women, young and old. Without speaking to any of them, I began to imagine their stories: Palestinians, other foreign workers, travelers who had been to Syria or Lebanon. All undesirable (read: probably non-Jewish) whose entry will be impeded.

As an American I could be automatically entitled to the 3-month tourist visa, as a Jew I could become an Israeli citizen, and as a Hebrew speaker I am rarely seen as an outsider or a threat. My B-1 visa overrides all that, and gives me new perspective on what it’s like, although marginally, to be among the unwanted.

Hebron: A city of two tales

In reality, Hebron is more than a city of two tales. It is a city of over a hundred thousand residents, over 4,000 years of history, the patriarchal tombs of Judaism and Islam, and innumerable tales. But last week I heard a couple accounts, on two different tours of the city. If nothing else, I came away understanding that Hebron (Hevron in Hebrew, Khalil in Arabic) is a complicated, tense, multifaceted, historical, religious, humanitarian, political mess.

Basic facts, both Mikhael of Shovrim Shtika (“Breaking the Silence” –Israeli soldiers talk about the occupied territories) and David, spokesman for the Jewish community of Hevron agreed on. Ten years ago, following the Oslo and Wye accords, Hebron was divided into 2 sectors; H1 to be under the control of the Palestinian Authority and H2 to be under the control of the Israeli government. Indisputable square mileage tells us that the PA received 80% of the city, with the remaining 20% designated to the Israeli government. This division only begins to tell the story.

David laments that the Jews, in reality, have access to only 3% of the city, while Mikhael points out the fact that at the time of this 80/20 partition, there were over 100,000 Palestinian residents of the city and approximately 600 Jews. Additionally, included within the Israeli-controlled 20% are notable landmarks such as the remains of the old city of Hebron, the central market of the modern city and Ma’arat HaMachpelah (Cave of the Patriarchs), where Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca and Leah are believed to be entombed.

When the city was partitioned in 1997 most estimate that 30,000 Palestinians (out of the total 120,000 in the city) were put under Israeli-control in the H2 sector of the city. Since then, life has become increasingly difficult and most who could afford to do so, left, mainly across the blockades into H1. Mikhael quotes a B'Tselem report that 43% have left, while David implies the number is higher and that only 3000-5000 remain.

The central souk (market), 1000 shops which once served the entire undivided city, has been closed by military order because of violence and tension between the Jewish and Palestinian communities. Several main roads in H2 are closed to Palestinian foot and vehicle traffic, even to those whose front doors open to the street, forcing residents to exit via rooftops or become virtual prisoners in their own homes. During the second Intifada, curfew was regularly imposed on Palestinians in the city, forbidding them to leave them homes. Mikhael reports this was the status quo for over 500 days in 2002 and 2003 alone.

The ratio of soldiers to Jewish settlers is 1:1, with additional police and border patrol stationed throughout the city. Both guides mention that today is the best situation Hebron has seen in the past 7 years; there is a smattering of open shops and relative calm in the city. But this is relative and the years have taken their toll, leaving H2 as a deserted ghost town, with rows of boarded-up stores and far more soldiers than civilians in sight.

No one disputes that 1929 was an, if not the, integral year in modern Hebronite history, when the mufti of Jerusalem incited Arab residents of the city to riot which resulted in the deaths of 67Jews and the end, more or less, of Jewish settlement in the city until after Israel occupied the West Bank in 1967.

Today’s Jewish community cites this earlier community (that existed pre-establishment of the state of Israel), in addition to the weighty religious significance of the city, as grounds legitimizing their presence in Hebron. This massacre weighs heavy on the minds of Jewish residents and graffiti covering the closed-up shops of H2 regularly reads “death to Arabs”, and “נְקָמָה” (nekama - revenge) making not-so-subtle references to the 1929 killings.

Mikhael cites a second definitive year in Hebron’s recent history, which David avoids discussing until directly questioned about: 1994, when Jewish resident Baruch Goldstein entered the mosque portion of the Cave of the Patriarchs and massacred 29 praying Muslims, wounding another 150.

David brought us into Beit Hadassah, a former hospital and the first building to be re-settled by the Jewish community in 1979, against the wishes of not only Palestinian Hebronites, but also, the Israeli government. Today this building houses a museum of Jewish history in Hebron and a memorial to those killed in 1929. He spoke to us about using democracy as a tool: with which all should be given some rights- healthcare, education- but Arabs should be denied the right to vote and serve in government. Interaction between Jews and Arabs in the city is almost nonexistent, he told me, and went on to cite several examples of Arab violence against the Jewish community. He doesn’t believe there can ever be true peace.

Mikhael took us in the home of Hisham and his family, Palestinians who have remained in their house in H2. Hisham spoke to us of the difficulties his family faces navigating forbidden roads. He showed us several videos; of local Jewish children taunting and throwing rocks at Palestinian children on their way home from school and of local Jewish adults breaking into Palestinian homes to heckle during curfew days. He attests that these are regular occurrences.

Ignorance, Mikhael believes, is the largest problem. The vast majority of the Israeli public doesn’t know the details of what goes on in Hebron. He wants to believe that raising awareness is the first step to understanding where to go from here.

Kivu-Morocco trip makes it on to the Haaretz English website

A search for Jewish roots and Arab neighbors in Morocco

over the river and through the woods

on sunday, rabat smelled like barbeque. i imagine the rest of the morocco did as well. i went up to the roof of my friend's apartment building to watch her neighbor, mbarak, and his family slaughter their sheep. from the rooftop, i counted over a dozen other sheep on neighboring buildings meeting, or waiting to meet, the same fate. the sidewalks throughout the city were adorned with drops and pools of blood. as soon as the lamb stopped kicking, mbarak's wife passed out cookies. festivities were underway.

another friend, who is in the peace corps, told me they arent allowed to travel during the week of 'eid al-kabir (the big feast, also known as 'eid al-adha, the feast of sacrifice). leading up to the big day i expected the roast, but couldnt quite see how commemorating abraham's near-sacrifice of his son ishmael could be cause for such a ban.

now i think i understand. 2 days before the 'eid, i tried to make my way back from spain to rabat. after a bus, ferry and taxi, my friend and i arrived at the tangier train station and found it mobbed like nothing we had ever seen. the hordes of moroccans anxious to sacrifice sheep with their loved ones were rushing the doors and picking up metal barricades. we decided we weren't ready to fight that hard for train tickets and we would hired a shared taxi, with our new friends moulay, a moroccan who lives in holland, and his dutch girlfriend, hannuka.

about 1.5 hours into our 3.5 hour trip, the engine made a funny noise and the cab started filling with smoke. we pulled over. although we were about 10 km from a town, the driver insisted that we could only trust his friend who would come from tangier to pick us up. despite our protests, he had the final say. and luckily we managed to crawl the car to a rest stop where we drank tea while we waited out the 2 hours. we eventually made it back to rabat where we even had a home-cooked meal waiting.

yesterday, i tried to beat the post-'eid rush and get down to ouarzazate while the rest of the country sat and digested. my 5 hour train ride to marrakech went pretty smoothly. but then i went against my friends advice and opted for a bus over a shared taxi (since i couldnt bare the thought of 7 people smushed into a mercedes for 5 hours). the bus, like most in morocco, looked to be from my grandparents generation and smelled of exhaust fumes.

although ive taken many moroccan buses before, the road from marrakech to ouarzazate makes me nervous as it contains some of the most windy and dangerous passes through the high atlas mts. the sun set, we reached the snowcaps and other than the fat moroccan in the seat next to me falling on sleep on me, things were ok. 3 hours in, the engine made a bad sound and smoke started pouring out of the bus' underbelly.

broken down for the 2nd time in 4 days, and this time in lesser-traveled snowy mountains, i was less than amused. and this time, i did not have a moroccan, or darija-proficient (moroccan arabic) american friend as a travel companion/translator. i didnt even have european with a name that still makes me crack a smile. we lit fires and waited.

eventually some vans showed up and some of us payed for new rides. i was almost ready to swear off ground transportation and look into splurging on a flight to casablanca. but i think i am going to brave it again with an overnight bus back to rabat tomorrow night.

I promised myself I would write again before I went back to misrad hapnim

but I went yesterday. and in the middle of finishing all the paperwork to become a temporary resident, I asked the woman behind the desk why they don’t give work visas anymore.

“what do you mean we don’t give work visas?”
“well, I came in a month ago looking for a work visa, which I was told wasn’t an option. I could chose between aliyah and residency.”
“hang on one second.”

(she goes into the back room for several minutes.)

“it was just a short period of time that we stopped giving work visas. we give them now. you don’t want to become a resident?”
“no, not really.”
“well why didn’t you tell me??”

and 145 shekels later, I received a multiple-entry work visa good until December 2007.

my 14 or so months in Israel on a series of 5 3-month tourist visas was a pretty good run. and im actually about to leave for a month in morocco on december 12^th, which is over a week before my most recent 3-month would have visa expired. so I would have been good to go. and then good to come back in January when I could have acquired yet another tourist visa upon entry.

and since I don’t yet have a job that wants to pay me legally in shekels (my morocco gig offers under-the-table dollars), there was still no real substantive reason for me to do all this hoop jumping. but I haven’t given up hope.

i’m thinking with all the millions of dollars going into the benny sela (escaped serial rapist and israel’s most famous refugee) search (a massive search effort, which puts the osama bin laden hunt to shame), there could be work available at with the police force.