19/11/2019
Yesterday the program for the tour group, from Poland, that I am accompanying, as silent guide, consisted of two visits, in the land of Samaria, which many countries and individuals, in the world insist on calling “West Bank” or “occupied territories”.
In my opinion both terms are incorrect; the first because the kingdom of Jordan, since 1967 doesn’t rule the territory and the term “West Bank” only applies to what used to be the western part of the kingdom of Jordan. The second, because the territory is ruled by the Palestinian Authority, which is the government of the Palestinian Nation, which has nothing to do with Israel. The only Israeli presence is a checkpoint at the entrance and exit from the territory.
The absence of the Israeli presence is glaringly obvious, in that, such a disgustingly, dilapidated appearance, which one sees there one kilometer after another, would not be tolerated by an Israeli authority.
Each slum,through which the main road passes, is adorned by a magnificent mosque, with high, pointed spires, reaching to heaven and golden or green colored domes. This is a veritable fairytale structure, which serves to highlight the sickening poverty, of the reality, surrounding it.
While I waited outside, sitting at a bus stop, reading on my Kindle, my group were praying in the glorious church of Jacob’s Well, in Nablus.
(the Arab name for biblical Shechem). A rather emaciated man, in an elegant, brown jacket, sat down next to me. He smiled, so I saw he was happy but his teeth looked all skew, sticking out of red gums. Altogether it was clear that he was poor, perhaps starving, he was trying his best to keep his dignity. He was a sad sight.
For the sake of conversation, he said, in Arabic “Allah is great”. I recalled my journey until now and thought to myself “poor old Allah, hasn’t done much for you guys here”.
He inquired if I was Moslem. I said no. So was I Christian. Again I said no. Of course he looked puzzled but after a second his eyes flashed. So what was I? I thought “what the hell, he’s guessed it” so I told him that I was Jewish.
In a flash a bunch of kids appeared. I couldn’t understand how these kids had heard my conversation with the elegant tramp. They came out with a phrase, obviously popular amongst the scruffy Arabs “yahudi maniac”. I agreed with them. Any Jew visiting this dump of a country of theirs must be crazy. I turned and took refuge in the church.