Journey to the

Holy Land
September 27, 2008
By Conor Sanchez '09
We were trying to get from the West
Bank to Jerusalem after a day exploring
Ramallah. I sat quietly in my sherut, a
shared minibus, while it stopped at
Qalandia checkpoint. Qalandia is one the West Banks largest
checkpoints, separating the Palestinian territories from Israel.
A robust Israeli soldier carrying an M-16 over his shoulder climbed
aboard to check our passports. Patrick Rice, my traveling companion
and Oxy roommate, handed him our passports, confident our American
status would allow us to pass with ease. Your visa is not visible on the
passport, the soldier said, pointing to the stamp we had received
upon entrance at the airport in Tel Aviv. The amount of time we were
legally allowed to tour Israel was illegible on both of our passports.
I cannot let you pass. Im sorry. Patrick and I sat there perplexed for
a moment. We tried explaining to the soldier it was not our fault the
passport hadnt been stamped clearly. But he merely shook his head
and said he could not grant us entry without a proper visa. Patrick and
I exchanged worried glances as we began pondering what life would be
like living in the West Bank. I pictured my girlfriend, who had warned
us against going, folding her arms and saying, I told you so.
The soldier soon exited the vehicle to discuss our situation with his
superiors. As we waited, I stared out the window toward the infamous
West Bank barrier wall, noticing the stark contrast between the two
sides. On the Palestinian side, filth and trash littered the streets, which
were dotted with potholes and neglected medians. The Israeli side was
neatly groomed, with flawless sidewalks and traffic lights. It was like
looking at a border between a third world country and a developed
country. Where Juarez meets El Paso, TX came to mind. After an
agonizing wait, a female soldier entered the sherut and began asking a
series of questions. What is our nationality? Why did we visit Ramallah?
Whom did I know there? The strangest was, Are you Christians? I
looked at Patrick, an agnostic, who shrugged. I said I was raised

Catholic, which appeared to satisfy her, so she handed us our

passports and waved the driver on.
Half relieved and half irritated by the inconvenience, Patrick and I took
a deep breath and relaxed back into our seats. When we returned to
our hostel in the Old City of East Jerusalem we learned that two
Palestinian gunmen had opened fire on an Israeli patrol unit near the
Qalandia checkpoint, wounding four Israelis, around the same time we
were crossing. It suddenly became clear to Patrick and me that we
were in the middle of one of the modern worlds longest and most
bitter conflicts. The complexity of the situation and the danger
involved began to sink in. It was no longer just another clip on the
evening news it was reality and we were in the thick of it.
When I began planning a backpacking trip to Israel, friends and
acquaintances often asked one of two questions; Are you religious?
And do you have a death wish? The answer to both, of course, was no.
Erik Quezada, another Oxy student, Patrick and I simply wanted to
travel. Using money we had saved from past summer jobs, we spent
thirteen days touring the Holy Land.
Surprising to some, none of us is of Jewish descent. But that doesnt
mean we couldnt enjoy eating kosher meals, attending a Shabbat
dinner and floating on the Dead Sea. So we did exactly that.
Shalom, Israel
Had it not been religion, we soon discovered what else might inspire so
many different factions to spill blood fighting over this land. Israel is a
beautiful country that extends from the snow-capped mountains in the
Golan Heights to the desolate Negev Desert in the south. Despite how
small it is (the country is about the size of the state of New Jersey),
Israel affords a variety of landscapes and sceneries.
On May 21 we arrived in Tel Aviv at 4:20 a.m. not knowing a word of
Hebrew besides shalom. By the time we reached our hostel it was
almost 6 a.m. and check-ins werent allowed until 11 a.m. Tired, jetlagged, and unfamiliar with the area, we walked a block and slept on
the beach. We hadnt been there more than four hours when our
friend Erik had been asked to show his passport three times by the
local Tel Aviv authority. Erik, who is Mexican-American with a dark
complection, noticed several beachgoers eyeing him suspiciously and
pointing to him as they spoke with the police. Patrick and I, who are
both fair, were never asked to show any form of identification even
though we were sleeping adjacent to Erik.

In Israel, racial profiling appeared to be blatant, but I knew that was

unfortunately the way it had to be. Although slightly irritated by the
incident, we recognized the necessity for such security measures in a
city where suicide bombings are a near-constant threat. After a night
in Tel Aviv we spent the next two days touring the North. A friend of
mine named Chen Blecher who lives in Timrat, a small agricultural
community between Nazareth and Haifa, offered to drive us to the
major sites and attractions, including the Sea of Galilea, the Basilica of
Annunciation (where the Archangel Gabriel visited Jesus mother Mary)
and the Bah gardens. We met at Arasolov Bus Station and headed
north.
Chen and I have known each other since we were fifteen and although
were the same age, our experiences growing up have been drastically
different. All Israeli citizens must serve in the military at least two
years when they turn eighteen. It was shocking to see boys and girls
my age holding M-16s as they casually hung out with friends or
shopped at the mall. For almost two years, Chen, who has yet to see
combat, has been training in the Israeli Air Force to become a
helicopter pilot. Soon he must decide whether he wants to continue
training or attend college instead. If he decides to continue hell be
obligated to serve nine more years.
As a friend, I wish hed steer clear from the violence, however, I
understand the attraction in pursuing a career in aeronautics. Upon
arrival Chens family provided us with two gigantic meals within three
short hours of each other. We stuffed ourselves with hummus and pita
bread, and washed it down with an Israeli beer called Goldstar.
Throughout our time in Israel, it seemed, we were constantly eating
one meal after another even if we werent hungry.
At 10 p.m. Chens mother promptly sent us to bed and said shed wake
us up in an hour. I wasnt sure if late night naps were a unique Israeli
custom so I asked Chen what was going on. He said we were resting
before we went to the night club. Why so late? I asked. Late? Well
be early if we make it there by one, Chen said. Apparently I was
novice to the Israeli party scene. The next night we caught a bus to
Jerusalem, the crux of the Western worlds three largest religions.
40th anniversary
One purpose of our journey was to learn about the cultures and
traditions of Palestinians and Israelis as much as we wished to gain a
better understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
Interestingly, our trip nearly coincided with the 40 year anniversary of
Israels Six-Day War, in which they obtained the Golan Heights, the

West Bank, the Gaza Strip, East Jerusalem and the Sinai Peninsula. The
war may have guaranteed the survival of Israel as a state, but it also
brought decades of occupation, illegal settlements, intensified
Palestinian nationalism, suicide bombings, a separation wall and a
culture of distrust. During our trip we observed many of these
tribulations.
In 2005, I wrote an article for The New Mexican about a nonprofit
organization in Glorieta, NM called Creativity for Peace, a three-week
program that attempts to promote peace and understanding between
adolescent girls from Israel and Palestine. There I met Lara Karam, a
native of Ramallah. When I told her we were visiting, she encouraged
me to visit the West Bank.
Lara, a Greek Orthodox Palestinian, has seen her share of violence. Five
years ago, her family returned home from Jerusalem to find her
grandmothers apartment barricaded with Israeli tanks and soldiers,
who were using the building as a sniper post. Her hometown was
facing one of the worst military occupations ever. Fortunately, such
occurrences have become less frequent in Ramallah.
Occasionally, however, firefights between Fatah and Hamas militia
have played out in the streets of the city. Many people warned us
against visiting Ramallah, describing it as an unsafe breeding ground
for hatred against Israelis and Americans alike. We decided to take the
risk and see the occupied West Bank, a short distance from East
Jerusalem.
Ramallah, considered the capital of the Palestinian territories, is a
community rich in culture and excitement. The streets were chaotic
and bustling with pedestrians, who made no effort to yield to traffic.
We ate traditional Arabic food, including falafel, kebab and Arabic
coffee. We even visited the tomb of former Palestinian Liberation
Organization leader Yasser Arafat at the PLO headquarters.
Unfortunately, Ramallah is not an accurate representation of how the
majority of Palestinians live. Most of the region is ravaged by economic
sanctions from the Israeli government. Today, over 50 percent of
Palestinian families live below the poverty line, which many attribute to
the international boycott on the Palestinian government.
Lara and her friends talked about the impact the separation barrier is
having on Palestinians by restricting their ability to travel freely within
the West Bank. In some cases the barrier has separated farmers from
their land. The wall, which has been under construction since 2002 to
prevent suicide bombers from entering Israel, was graffittied with

phrases such as stop the racist wall, stop apartheid and justice for
Palestine.
From Laras house we were able to see the nearby Israeli settlements
of Beit-El and Psagot, which are accessed by private Israeli roads. The
settlements in the West Bank have been criticized internationally for
inhibiting the creation of a viable Palestinian state.
Our day in Ramallah concluded with some Arabic ice cream called
bouzat haleeb, which is a gummier version of traditional ice cream. As
we ate on a nearby hilltop, we watched the sun set behind the Tel Aviv
skyline on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea nearly 10 miles away.
The proximity of everything in Israel never ceased to amaze us.
Are these your high heels?
We spent the remainder of our time in Jerusalem, making day trips to
the Dead Sea (the earths lowest point), the Ein Gedi (an oasis in the
Judean Desert) and climbing the Masada, which is an ancient Jewish
fortress that was taken over by the Romans. Visiting the historical
sites in Jerusalem alone can be exhausting. So on our last day, we
treated ourselves to an afternoon basking on the beach in Tel Aviv.
Leaving Israel was even more grueling, however. Expectedly, the Ben
Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv has the most intense and meticulous security
I have ever experienced. Each passenger must undergo a series of
questions before placing their belongings in an x-ray machine.
Passengers are then required to completely unpack their luggage in
front of an airline security officer.
My baggage situation was a little unique in that I was carrying my
girlfriend Michaelas bag, which she had asked me to take home for
her. She was studying abroad at Hebrew University and had
accumulated more than she could handle. As the officer began digging
through her bag, pulling out a pink vest, a purse and a couple
Cosmopolitan magazines, I started to wonder if the officer was getting
the wrong impression. Finally, she picked up a pair of high-heels. Is
this yours? I thought shed never ask. Definitely, not, I said and
explained my situation to her.
To make matters worse I had a Palestinian headscarf in my other bag,
which I had purchased in Ramallah. For this, they were a little less
forgiving. An officer immediately asked me to follow him into a private
security room where I was asked to perform the standard procedure of
removing all metallic objects from my pockets and walk through a
metal detector. I cant understand why I was forced to do this over a
souvenir. Finally, I was allowed to board the plane and return home.

An emerging culture of distrust

Throughout Israel I sensed an undeniable culture of animosity and
distrust between Palestinians and Israelis. Visiting friends from both
sides helped me realize that the conflict has become a battle over
identity in addition to land. When I asked Chen if he thought the war
would end soon, he said, Its not a war. Its security. Maintaining
security will never end. Lara, on the other hand, said attacks against
Israel would stop if the occupation ended and the wall was taken
down.
In general we found that both sides can be extremely bias and highly
nationalistic. While I sympathize with both groups, it was difficult to
completely agree with either side. At times I felt I had to be careful
with my words. In front of Lara I wasnt sure whether to refer to the
region as Israel or Palestine. With Chen I avoided discussing the human
rights record of the Israeli military.
Aside from the bitterness and tension, I found Israel to be one of the
most beautiful and culturally rich countries I have ever visited. In
particular, both Palestinians and Israelis love to feed you and make you
feel at home, with the exception of Tel Aviv on a Friday morning, when
people are cranky and probably hung over from the night before. In
that case, youre better off waiting on your own table. Perhaps my age
prevents me from fully understanding the deep-rooted tension that
fuels todays ongoing conflict.
Nevertheless, for the sake of my friends and the wonderful people we
met throughout our trip, I maintain hope that Israel and Palestine will
one day coexist without the threat of violence.
Conor Sanchez is a senior Diplomacy and World Affairs major. He can
be reached at csanchez@oxy.edu