I have this wonderfully innocent story about my time on the Mount of Olives at Augusta Victoria. It is a story that sheds light and comedy on my ineptness at being a self-sustaining bachelor. I went down to the nearby commerce intersection in At-Tur, the local community. I walked in the first shop to buy some noodles. I then went to the shop across the road to pick up some pasta sauce. And finally, after crossing the road one more time to head back toward the guesthouse in which I was living, I went into the produce shop. At this point I was overwhelmed by choices and couldn't decide what vegetable I wanted to put into my poor-man's pasta. After minutes of deliberation I walked out and crossed the road again to the fast food fried chicken restaurant. I still have the dried noodles from that day.
Now the not so funny part of this story... Tonight I watched as the vegetable stand, which was maybe 100 yards from my home, burned to the ground.
Jill and I went to meet some friends and have a little outdoor dinner over a well-contained bonfire. When we arrived there was already plenty of commotion. Cars were backed up all the way up the hill, people were watching from afar, and cars packed full of Palestinians were squealing their tires as they sped toward us with doors ajar. We parked across the road from the house we were going to because we could sense that we might be stuck later on if things escalated anymore. Just on cue, as we were crossing the road and waiting for the gate to be opened, shots were fired down the hill and more cars came flying by. This was turning out to be a situation.
While we were out back BBQ-ing we were unable to hear if the situation was worsening or not. Until a security guard came in a hurry to tell the host that there was some trouble. I ventured over to a lookout point to see thirty foot flames shooting up out of the same produce shop. The underlying story has yet to surface as to why this place burned down but apparently this was the result an incident between two Palestinian families in conflict with each other.
This story in no way is meant to scare you back home concerned about my well being. I know that this place is perceived as a dangerous place to someone who hasn't been here because of its history of tension but in all reality I have never felt unsafe here. And that includes tonight.
Putting this into perspective is helpful for me. I'm sure that many meth houses and even gang related crimes that ended up the destruction of someone's livelihood happened more than I care to know about in San Bernardino while I was at school. I know that conflicting families have quarreled over small issues for centuries. Just look at the Capulets and Montagues.
The reason I write this story is more reflective than anything. I have been more frustrated, perplexed, and dumbfounded while living here than I have ever been. Ideas like personal freedom, and self-determination are utopian dreams for most people living under the Israeli yoke. I have had numerous political discussions about how oppressed peoples need to band together and overcome and how various actors within the conflict are perpetuating the status quo because it is "working." None of this, though, could have an affect on me, after all this is my field, my preferred study. It's easy to argue about what is best for the Palestinians and still remain distant and unaffected. It is far more difficult to witness someone's livelihood go up in flames knowing that this produce shop may have been the only thing they had to hold onto in this city of turmoil. I am not surprised by political, social and military movements and measures. These things cannot shake me... But I was shook by this.
