I begin with an apology that this is going to be another lengthy entry, as my time in Palestine has come to its completion. I have been back in the States for just over a week now. It was an eventful and learning nine months for me over there, which I hope will eventually result in some new music. But for now, I merely begin digesting these past months while I must continue moving forward in my ongoing and future projects.

Since the last time I had returned to Palestine, I attended a “retreat” in Jericho, courtesy of the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music (for whom I went to Palestine in the first place). As it turns out, this was the only opportunity availed me to get to know some of the people better who also worked at the Conservatory. It was a wonderful three days retreat, including a visit to the Dead Sea (which is only about 15 minutes away from Jericho). Going to the Dead Sea was a bittersweet event, as none of our fellow colleagues who are Palestinian are permitted to go there any longer. But we strangers with foreign passports are permitted the use of land not our own, while the locals are forbidden this treasure from their own country.

The original reason I went to teach in Palestine was because their flute teacher of the past eight years, Heather Bursheh, was denied entry last summer. Though she is from the Shetland Islands and holds a British Passport, she was suddenly denied re-entry. She had married a Palestinian the year before, so it was a painful denial for her. As this denial is designed to do, it disrupts the core fabric of families in Palestine, with the tactical hope on Israel’s part that they will simply “move to one of their many other lands” (as was suggested to me by one of my own Jewish friends).

Thanks to Tony Blair’s work in Palestine in January, the Israeli’s lightened up on the ‘denials’ (at least the British ones, that I know of), and Heather was permitted re-entry in March. After these months of my being there, I feel that it is for meeting her, as well as Rima Tarazi---my landlady and one of the original founders of the Conservatory, that I serendipitously went over there in the first place. Both people are extremely beautiful and shining souls, and I feel fortunate for having met them. I mention this ‘reason for going’ to Palestine, as deep in my heart I continue to quietly ponder what my past nine months were all about, in essence. There are many things, most of which are not what I would have predicted my time there would have distilled. Essentially, it has been a quiet and profound soul learning, not necessarily the usual event-by-event life change.

JERICHO

While in Jericho we stayed at a hotel that was literally an oasis in the desert. As soon as we turned into the driveway, we entered this paradise where palm trees and all kinds of verdant nature appeared, whereas in the surrounding vicinity of Jericho, it is the stark but breathtakingly beautiful white-sand desert on all sides. I wasn’t sure I could survive a three day retreat just staying at a hotel and sitting by the pool, as I was giving up a weekend of practicing, which of course is my favorite thing to do. But as we pulled into that driveway, I said to Heather, “I think I can do this for three days!”

Outside my hotel window was the entire town of Jericho. It rests at the base of high desert sand mountains. It was stunning. As I stared at those hills, I fixated on the thought of climbing to the top of the hills I saw, to feel what it was like, as this is the very land where Jesus is said to have had his forty days/forty nights temptation. I studied the road from my 7^th floor vantage point to see how to walk through the village, and straight up the mountain from there. I had planned to make this hike early in the morning, before the sun temperature became prohibitive.

I got up early and asked Adelheid, a gorgeous Austrian woman of 66 who teaches violin, if she would drive me to the base of this mountain so I didn’t use my best energy just getting there. She didn’t hesitate to take me. We drove up the road and got to the Palestinian checkpoint---we asked about the road to the right, they said it went to an Israeli settlement. We were both stunned, as this was right at the edge of the village of Jericho, a Palestinian village. So we had to take the route I had seen from my hotel room. As we drove up through the village, it was fascinating and sad to see the dwellings of the townsfolk. They were literally clay huts---clay bricks, most of which were dilapidated. It was like being somewhere in Africa that I’ve seen pictures of on TV. I realized as we went this was a refugee area. We arrived precisely at the place I had hoped for, the base of the hill. The problem was, it was right at someone’s house, which was set up more in the Bedoin style, with animals right there at the doorstep. I realized I’d have to walk across their field to get to the road I wanted, and there were two kids who just spotted us and were quickly coming our way. Adelheid said, “I really don’t like the look of this place, it does not seem safe.” I looked at it and was more worried about the kids, because I knew they would follow me the entire way, which I did not want. So by now these kids were at the car window, and one said, “Money”. I just looked at him. Again, he said, “Money, money!” I should have said something, but I felt disgust at his only words, and simply turned my face from them. We turned the car around, realizing this wouldn’t work for me. I was mentally prepared to “walk up the mountain”, but it wasn’t going to happen. As we turned around, I reiterated how I would never have gotten rid of the kids from following me (it has happened before with some shepherd kids I have encountered on my nature searches in Ramallah). I remarked about him saying, “money”, and she had also heard him say it. I said, “Isn’t it a shame? How about, “hello” or something, first?” At the same time, I felt so bad for them, as they were literally living the life of refugees.

I was desperate for an adventure, so Adelheid suggested taking me to Jericho’s cable car that goes up the very mountain Jesus spent his forty days and forty nights. I was very happy about this, as it meant I would go up the real Mount of Temptation! She dropped me off, and one guy was the only other passenger, and he worked there. (It had just opened for the day, so I was lucky there were no other tourists).

I got to the top, I asked where the monastery was, and they pointed the way. The monastery is Greek Orthodox, and is built out of the side of this mountain. I had asked people about it, and they said the monks were moody; they might not be open, etc. I walked there, which didn’t take long. But coming from below sea level (Jericho is the lowest elevation on earth) to now being very high up, I could feel the strain. I took my time in the hot sun, in the blissful solitude. I was grateful to be there, as it was my own private experience. I arrived at some place that seemed it was the door, and I was very excited because it was open! I walked inside, and continued up the stairs, even though these were still “outside”, with cliff overhangs above it. It was beautiful. I was very quiet, as I felt I was on sacred ground. It was like going to visit God, at least in this particular historical spot. I’ve often thought that if you can’t visit or ‘commune’ with God in this part of the world, where He walked, then when/where can you?

As I walked farther, I saw a monk standing there. He had a long gray beard, wore the habit and a hat. I spoke very quietly and said hello. He asked where I was from. He was from Greece. Then he told me about the ‘cave’ I was in. It didn’t seem like a cave, as it seemed so ‘man made’, but it was a cave, nevertheless. Here was a place that pilgrims used to come to pray (but having climbed the entire way, before the “telepherique” (cable car) existed. The inner part is now roped off, and it has become like any church enclave. To my surprise, there were about six other tourists there, all college age, and as I came to discover, they were all from America. They, too, were very quiet and respectful. Then we walked into another room. I guess I expected a chapel or something, but it was a similar-sized room with many icons on the walls. There was another monk for this one, also with a gray beard, but younger than the other (around 55 or so). He had long gray/black hair, too, tied in a pony tail. As I was the first to walk into this room, he was standing to the left. He wouldn’t look up. I said quietly, “Hello”. He said, “Hello” a bit brusquely. Then when everyone was in the room full of icon paintings, he gave his little speech, most obediently; I didn’t have the impression it was something he wanted to be doing. I couldn’t understand what he said at first. I thought he was speaking German, but then it came into English toward the end. All I understood was, “that one there is an important one”, or something to the effect—then he left the room. I felt emotional being there, as is so often the embarrassing case, in these situations. I usually look at something and start to weep, and then struggle with myself to not cry!

Though I was emotional, icons often do very little for me. I guess it is always experience I have come for, not passive observation. The truth is, I was there to get to the very top of the mountain, outdoors. Then I saw some stairs that led upwards, so I went up them quietly, as I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to go up, but I was doing it…Others followed me. This was a brighter spot (the other one was extremely dark), and the icons painted on the walls were interesting. An especially unique painting was of Mary and the baby Jesus. Then as I looked at the altar spot (with a well-oiled stone under it, from the centuries of devotee’s touches), I followed it straight up: there was an icon of Christ’s face centered on the rounded ceiling above this. It was beautiful, and uplifting, and surprising the way it was all arranged---from bottom to top. I was very moved.

Went back down the stairs, and the others were out on a balcony, so as I was heading that way, I saw that second monk again, and said very quietly, “do you speak English?” He commandingly said, “Where are you from?” I told him. Then I asked, “Is there no way to get to the top of the mountain from here?” “There is nothing at the top of the mountain, he tried to build it but didn’t finish (I had no idea what he was talking about). You are in the true church, now!” “So we can’t even get to any of the caves?” “You are in the only real cave, right here! There is no other!” (He was getting more brusque, so I spoke even more softly). I said, “Yes, but this is made, and those are not made.” He said, “This is the church of Temptation, where Jesus was for forty days and forty nights, there is no other place.” I gave up, realizing the answer was, “No, you cannot get to the top, nor to any of the caves”.

I walked out on the balcony and looked around at the caves in the mountain side. Then one tourist spoke to me, having heard me say I lived in Michigan. He and his two friends were from Minnesota with their pastor. I stayed out on the balcony after everyone else left. I took some pictures, and just wanted to enjoy the nothing-ness up there, as this was going to be my only time to just “be”. It was really beautiful, sitting there. It was what most people go into churches to find, and I was outside the ‘church’, finding it right there, in the burning hot of the sun and the songs of birds. The world was, quite literally, below me. Ah, one of the temptations: Satan says, if you worship me, I will give you the authority and splendor of all these worlds you see…

I finally went back inside and made my way to the first prayer cave. I saw the brusque monk again, just sitting there, not looking up. I decided to sit in this cave for a bout, too. As soon as I did, he got up and turned on the power switch to the light there. I hadn’t noticed he’d already turned it off from the departure of the tourists. Then to my surprise, he came over and said, “Do you know what a monastery is?” “Of course. It is a place where you immerse yourself in your vocation of silence and prayer.” I couldn’t tell if he liked the answer or not. Then he went on, unrelated, with “This church is called (I didn’t catch the name he used) and it is from Jesus spending forty days and forty nights in the desert to be tempted by Satan. The first temptation was the love of money, the second temptation was the love of the world, and the third temptation was the love of power. All three of which are against love.”

Then he suddenly was saying how they lived, there. “We eat very little here, and we used to meet on Saturdays, and have some prayer, then we would all gather for Sunday, and after that, we would go back to our caves. But now, since the telepherique, it has all changed for us.” I was so surprised this is what he finished with. I did not want to misunderstand, so I said, “What do you mean---that it has been bad for you?” (as I suspected). He said, “For you, it has been good, and for other people, it is good. For us, it has ruined our way of life.” I felt he shared a painful secret with me, and I felt very sad. I said, “I completely understand, and I’m very sorry about that, it is a real shame.” I was surprised how heavy I felt for him. But in my heart, I wanted to say, “But part of your quest for this “love” you spoke of may mean that you are no longer able to find that by REMOVING yourself from the world, but are now required to be right in the middle of it in the way the telepherique has brought to you. Maybe the cave days are supposed to be done with, or simply because love has to be put to the test….That is, we can always think ourselves loving if we never have to encounter other humans, or situations in the world that we cannot predict nor did we ask for. But the real love is shown in the MIDST of all these inconveniences, is it not?” These were just my thoughts, and I never said a word to him, as I couldn’t think fast enough how to respond to him, and he started walking away as soon as he said that it had ruined their way of life. I couldn’t help but notice he was extremely unhappy, so whatever solitude he thought would bring him happiness, it wasn’t an option now, and I could see he had a broken heart and was unable to be freely loving. Welcome to the human world. You can’t escape the difficulties of it, whether you try to live on a mountain top in solitude, or in the middle of a busy city. I think I have tried both to one degree or another, and it is still me, the heart that lacks the deep love, though I can SEE what the deep love is, and want to have THAT heart. But I also remember how much more loving I think I am when I don’t have to encounter anyone or anything inconvenient. Of course, this is the ego’s illusion.

I sat there, having heard his words, and felt at the same time deeply blessed and humbled by this incident (that he would talk to me), and deeply sad about its truth. Again, I fought back tears while I just sat there silently. Somehow, I got whatever I came for: a personal word. That ‘word’ didn’t even have any particular revelation, but somehow, it was like an encounter with God on some mysterious and quiet level, and my response was to find myself ‘blessing’ everything in my thoughts. I walked out silently, taking in the sacred experience I had just had, without even being able to define it.

So it was true, there was no way at all to get to the top of the mountain, as I had hoped. As I went back to the telepherique, I saw that now there were hordes of tourists beginning. I felt how lucky the timing was of my short visit! And how sad to see all these people that will now be coming to this monk’s church, crowd by crowd.

THE MUSIC CONSERVATORY

As my time drew to a close for the Conservatory, the teaching fizzled out almost entirely, as the kids were embroiled in their high-pressured exams from their schools systems, which happens twice a year. These exams last at least two weeks, and they entirely consume the students. It is at the same time of their Conservatory exams (which adhere to the British system of the Associated Board of Schools of Music). I felt the simultaneous existence of these exams to be an unfortunate marriage, both for the students and teachers alike. They do not have time to practice their instruments, and are forced to make a choice between music and school, and logically, school wins. So from this time on, it was like watching a fabric unravel. Some students never again showed up for lessons, due to all their school pressures. All the work done for preparation the previous months seemed to fade into oblivion. There are a few brilliant exceptions to this, of course, from a few gifted and hard-working students who’s habit it is to always work hard on everything they do. It is these students that I am most proud, and as I always said to them, “YOU are the one who has done the work, and can be proud of yourself for that!”

On their final day of performances, where parents are invited to attend, I watched these players with an outside eye as to what they may have learned in the time I had been there. I will admit, I cringed at seeing the same unchanged posture that they had from the very beginning, and that they didn’t remember how to bow properly, etc., etc., but I realized that it is not useful to base the last nine months on one final performance, and to not take anything personally on whether I think they learned anything from me or not. I realize it was more important for ME to have ‘grown them’ than it was for them having that desire for themselves. In chatting with Heather about whether these kids received much from my teaching here, she said, “but they all really like you!” I thought, “yes, it’s wonderful they like me, but I would rather they LEARNED from me, learned how to learn, not whether they liked me or not”. Such is life. They remain adorable, loving, and beautiful young human beings, whom I will never forget. Whether they gained anything lasting or not, it is not up to me to be the judge of it. I gave them my best, and the rest is up to them.

As per my previous entry about the possibility of developing some kind of movie/documentary from the Conservatory experience and the world of Palestine: this was put on hold. Our Italian friend became consumed with other projects, and had to cancel her initial, investigative trip. It remains to be seen as to whether this will come up again in the future.

CHANGING POLITICAL SCENE

A couple days before I was to leave for good, Heather and I went to dinner together. As I mentioned, she is such a wonderful person, and her organizational skills are such that she will use these talents to help run the Conservatory next year, and will not be teaching flute. A good decision on everyone’s part, because she is a great benefit to that institution. They will hire someone new for teaching the flute students.

After dinner, we came out of the restaurant and were greeted with an entire convoy of trucks parading Fatah soldiers, standing in the back of the vehicles with their automatic weapons in their arms, cheering loudly. We had been warned that things were getting bad due to the unrest in Gaza, so I hurried home through town. There were all kinds of gun shots through that night, near where I lived. It was getting to the boiling point in the town, and I was anxious to be leaving in two days. Additionally, I was getting US Embassy Warden warning messages about keeping a low profile, staying away from crowds, and that it was best to leave the West Bank, etc.

On the day of my departure, Rima came down to visit me (it is her house, she lives upstairs, I lived downstairs). As she sat there talking to me, she was filled with energy and great concern for the current situation with the troubles of Hamas having taken over Gaza. I had wished I had been taping all the things she was telling me. She spoke about the unrest, and how it was a very bad thing for all of them, and how the world will look at this and dismissively say, “these Palestinians can’t even get along between themselves”, and they are left in their bad situation with no good solution. She said it is so bad for Palestinians that people come to her house sometimes, completely desperate. She either finds them a sponsor, or as she said, she has a few that she helps out herself. She is a queen figure in many organizations that are trying to help the Palestinians, and help the local society in general. She said that she belongs to the “third” platform of the society, meaning she belongs to the group of people who are forward-looking, want democracy and a better way, while others want the lesser options (my words). Most sobering of all for the Palestinians is that they did not want a division between themselves (Fatah and Hamas= Palestinians, and all Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank are under Occupation). It has been suggested to me more than once that this has been fostered heavily from the Occupying forces for years, and this internal fighting will present Israel with the perfect excuse and opportunity to further their own plans within Gaza and the West Bank. This is heartbreaking when you have actually lived the situation along side the Palestinians, and that is where I find my boldness in speaking up about its injustice. If it has not been clear by now in my writing, this is what I speak of: injustice toward Palestinians via the Occupation. [Read Jimmy Carter’s book “Palestine: Peace, not Apartheid”. Further, I recommend a wonderful book called, “The Lemon Tree”, by Sandy Tolan (as first narrated on NPR). It is a beautiful book, brilliantly balanced between the Arab and Jewish story in the Middle East.]

Later that evening, just before I was to leave for the airport, I went up to Rima’s house and ate pizza with her and a relative. It was fabulous pizza, one of the tastiest I’ve had. We had it with some yogurt on the side (it seems yogurt is on the side of most dishes, there), and some stuffed and pickled eggplant, which was fantastic. As we sat out in her courtyard which her house is built around (it is more like a small cloister), I listened to the birds singing, and to things she chose to talk about. This time I had brought my recorder, but her energy was entirely different from when she had visited me in the morning. I had never seen her this tired before, as she spent the day in meetings about how they were going to address Hamas, and what they would do as a community, and then they marched to the center of town from the meeting (to the Menara Square). My heart went out to her as I listened to her and watched her, knowing that I get to leave there, and she cannot even travel to Jerusalem, just 15 minutes away, without a permit. She said again and again, “it is the Occupation that is the problem; the world does not understand this”. I understand it. I have seen it by living it. The strangle-hold is creating a boiling point. But all the world sees is a violent people, as this is the public design of what the powers-that-be want you to understand. One must ask themselves in complete honesty how they would react should they be under Occupation, denied movement from within their own territory, and continuously subjected to daily humiliations of every kind. In Gaza, it is over a million people living on a tiny piece of land, and they are not even permitted to leave the trouble happening to them. As we have all now witnessed in these past two weeks (if you are paying attention), they cannot even escape to get to the West Bank, unless the Israeli’s permit this movement. Instead, they are holing up in the border corridor, hungry and thirsty, just trying to hide themselves and their children from the violence. They are becoming suffocated as a people, and this is why everything has fallen into the hands of fundamentalist religion, if I have correctly understood the Hamas movement to be.

AIRPORT

I could not have been more thrilled to get to the airport, to return to my own free country. But it wasn’t over yet…I had another one of those four-hour interrogations again! I only had it the first time I left Israel, and this time. I had an entirely different approach this time, as last time I was physically ill, and somehow felt like I must have done something wrong (as that is how I am treated). This time, I was positive that everything I had done in the entire country was completely legitimate and good and on a larger level than this interrogating…They wasted two hours on staring at my luggage, literally, and asking me what was inside. About one hour went by with their examining the duct tape over my luggage combination lock, and any other scratches. They were clearly desperate to find something wrong with anything. I understand the security issues, and I comply with these requests. But they can x-ray whatever they need to and find peace. But obviously, it is not a security issue. They were simply angry that I had been in the West Bank--Ramallah and Bethlehem. The questions became ridiculous. “Why was this tape here? Who put it there? How long have I had this luggage? Why do I have two pieces of luggage and an additional duffle bag? Why so much stuff? What exactly is inside? We just do not understand why you have three pieces of luggage, please explain again…” They took apart my name tags on the luggage, just to see whose name might be underneath, I suppose. “Who was Lee deLisle? Why don’t you have the same last name as your husband? Why is your husband in America and you are here? How did you spend your days?” By now, I was up to five agents, and more were being called in. I knew I was headed for what is called the “Arab room” (that is the code name I have heard from others who have gone through this, and the same room I had to endure the first time). Though I dreaded this entire process, all I cared about was getting on that flight and getting home. One agent asked me, with a slight twist in his voice when he said this “O” word, “Did you meet any Oriental people?” You see, they do not want to directly ask if I met any Arabs. That would be racist. Not only that, it would be too obvious, so they dance around this for two hours. I had only learned since I had been there that the “O” word meant Arab. In fact, the Arabic music is called Oriental music at the Conservatory. This is the only way I knew the meaning of the word. To us Americans, it means Japanese or Chinese. I replied to his question with a question, “You mean any Japanese people?” He let go of that question after he was satisfied that I did not understand what it meant. Again, for the tenth time, they asked, “What is in this luggage.” I kept saying, “You are looking for some magic answer here, I can see by the repetition of the question. I have told you what is in there. Please, just open it up and look at it----do whatever you need to do here, I understand!”

Then they escorted me to the ‘Arab room’ where they proceeded to dump out all my belongings into four different bins, on four different hard, cold stainless-steel tables. This time, I didn’t sit on the bench, but actively stood there having to scold them for dropping CD’s on the floor, etc. They started huddling up (at least four people) over my papers, reading them, and I told them those were my personal papers, and if they wanted to know something specific, ask me instead of pouring through them all. At one point, they were going to open my Alto flute case with it standing up. I yelled (as it would have fallen on the ground), and one man said, “Calm down, ma’am. Just calm down.” I said, “Take a look around you!” (Motioning with my arms). “This is all my stuff, dumped into these bins and pawed through with no regard! Is this cause for calming down, do you think?!” I didn’t even say this hysterically, I just said it with great emphasis. Truthfully, this seemed to help, and shortly thereafter they were done. We had little time before my flight was to leave. Nevertheless, it was up to me to re-pack everything, and now it was entirely a mess and in these different bins on the cold tables. After my outburst, they wanted to be most helpful in participating in packing, since they were now “done”, and therefore, my new best friends. How can we help you? We are so sorry for the inconvenience. I said to them most seriously but without anger or defensiveness, “No, you are not sorry for this, so don’t pretend like you are.” I wanted to simply state the facts. They did this so I would feel the ‘pain’ of the fact that I had dared to go into the West Bank, period, and if I were to come back, I would think twice about whether to set foot on that land. I really feel I DO understand their fears and problems from their perspective. I do not share their perspective or fears.

I was so late for the plane that they had to drive me to the gate on one of those carts. I was literally the last person to board. When that plane took off, I fell into a contented sleep as I was finally on my way HOME. When I arrived in Atlanta, where the plane was scheduled to land, I felt like kissing all the Homeland Security agents, and the Passport Control people. They were utterly friendly, beautiful, cracking jokes, and talking in their Jamaican patois. All this at 5:30 AM, no less! I loved them utterly, and I was home in my country of freedom and accepted diversity.

And home to nature! Within one hour of my finally reaching our house, I got out the pruning sheers and went to work in the yard. I worked all day, listening to the water fountains from the ponds while I trimmed, cut and pruned. Home at last. All is beauty here, everything is green and flourishing!

And now, as I mentioned, I have been home over one week. I have escaped from life for a week to work in the yard. It has been heavenly. But I did get some poison ivy from the first day I was working, and it is still giving me fits here and there. A small price to pay for getting to be in nature, I say. There is no end to this yard work, as we have an enormous yard. But I now have to get back to the busy-life and get to work. I have spent this past week in gratitude again and again for the time I was able to spend over in Ramallah, Jerusalem, and Bethlehem. I have been watching all the alternative news channels, trying to keep up with what is happening over there. So far, it seems ok, but as predicted, the Israeli Defensive Forces are using this to their advantage to further their plans with the Occupation. As I watch these news broadcasts, I think of the individuals I know over there, and I send them my best self, through that mysterious Spirit who originated over there in the Middle East, in Jerusalem in particular, and where all this indignation and religiosity seems to have created so much pain for so many people. It continues to amaze me that the Three Big Religions of the world are centered in Jerusalem in one profound way or another.

As Rima and I both agreed that morning she came to visit me on the day of my departure, the God we know, or wish to know, is a God of Love. My hope is that the fruit of my own life would have the mark of this knowledge, if I could only really know it! I cannot claim to know it, but only to HOPE for it. The hope that what is left behind a people believing in a Loving God will be things like compassion, goodness, kindness, peace, understanding, and justice. It is my hope for myself, and for a Body of people. One can only grow these fruits by seeking such love through hope or what most call prayer: spirit has more power than mere ‘humanity’. I am fully aware now that living in a country where there is daily a true freedom and beauty, this prayer is much easier to pray, and the walk desiring “beauty of soul” is easier to hope for. There are so many out in this universe who do not have this luxury to walk in, but they are still hoping for its same Love and justice.

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Rhonda

June 29, 2007