In the Light, Palestine-Israel: The Holy Fire Comes to Bethlehem

On Holy Saturday, May 4, 2013, the Holy Fire arrived in Beit Sahour from Jerusalem at approximately 3:00 pm. The Holy Fire appears annually at the Church of the Sepulchre in Jerusalem during a special ceremony performed by the Greek Orthodox priests. It is then carried and distributed to all the churches in the West Bank and to other churches in around the Orthodox world.

Thousands of locals and internationals joined in the joyous celebration in front of the Greek Orthodox Church. Local scouts and marching bands created a festive atmosphere.

Beit Sahour is a model of cooperation and brotherhood between Christians and Muslims. Throughout the troubled and turbulent history of the land, the people of Beit Sahour have always stood firm as a united community. Today, Beit Sahour is home to just under 14,000 residents, 80% Christian and 20% Muslim.

Dimitri Diliani, head of the National Christian Coalition in the Holy Land, said Israeli forces deployed heavily in Jerusalem’s Old City. He accused Israel of trying to stop Christians from performing rituals for Holy Saturday and of trying to erase the Christian identity in Jerusalem.

(Drawn from various news sources)

Excerpts from my journal as I explore the situation in Palestine and Israel

May 5, 2013, Sunday, Bethlehem, the Tawil apartment, kitchen table

I engaged in Holy Fire for the second time yesterday, in Beit Sahour (last year in Beit Jala, both villages adjoin Bethlehem), an easy walk from my home near Shepherds’ Fields to where the action would happen. Someone at the market told me to wait at the Hotel Ararat and there I discovered a high vantage point. Altho the building is about 10 stories high only a few levels have finished rooms. So I climbed stairs to the 4^th floor and leaned out a window to show the growing crowds. I then joined in on street level, sauntered back and forth to do my favored grab shot photography (aka hip pocket photography, aka wild mind photography), chatted awhile with a man who splits time between Virginia and Bethlehem (he works for GE medical), and eventually joined the throng to greet the priest with the holy fire.

I observed Muslims along the Holy Fire route, some of them simply watching, another group throwing hard candies at the car with the fire. Whether to honor the tradition or tease the priest I wasn’t sure. We walked by a mosque next to the Greek Orthodox Church. The procession seems a strong sign of religious co existence.

While waiting for the Holy Fire I noticed many drummers playing their instruments, about 6 small groups in my locale, from different bands. They all played separately. No one played together. I remembered drumming circles at home in the States where first one person showed up with a drum, then another, and more, and soon the large group would drum together, drawing more and more people, including dancers and other musicians—a large joyous circle. So I asked the guy from Virginia and Beit Sahour, you’ve lived in both places, ever seen drumming circles in the states?—No.—Could you imagine one?—Yes.—Have you noticed here that no one joins with others to drum?—I have, it is very peculiar.

So I concluded, perhaps prematurely, that this separate drumming mirrors the separateness of some or most of Palestinian society. Coincidently I’ve been reading in the current issue of This Week in Palestine an analysis of separateness, swashbuckling, bravado (shatarah), and impetuousness (nazaqah). Each for oneself and to hell with the rest. Accurate or not? Recent or long-lived? Ali Qliebo in his article, “Bravado, Impetuousness, and Swashbuckling in Palestine Culture,” believes this is recent, an effect of urbanization, and a departure from the relative civility of earlier Ottoman culture. What might this imply for the Palestinian freedom movement?

I begin to feel more of the widespread despair in Palestine. Cars are part of this—zooming thru intersections. The Palestinian news agency I volunteer for is part of this—lack of support for my work. Ayman told me that in Gaza anyone successful would not disclose the method of attaining success because the successful one did not want to share it with others. My host in Bethlehem, Johnny, is an exception in how well he treats me (while perhaps himself in deep despair at his unemployment). Have I been too long in this region, too many times here, time to move on?

Minor coda about Palestinian fashion:

While waiting for the entrance of the Holy Fire I noticed high heels, long shiny straightened black hair, and hooked arms (not only women’s in men’s, but occasionally men’s in women’s). I am well situated to notice such cultural signs. Because I’m out of the culture, everything here is new to me, and because I deeply appreciate some of these traits. Linked arms for instance reminds me of walking with a friend a day or so before my departure. I look forward to walking this way again with her. Very very soon. Too bad we can’t do this via Skype.

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Holy Fire, a believer’s account

Holy Fire, a skeptic’s view

“Bravado, Impetuousness, and Swashbuckling in Palestine Culture,” by Ali Qliebo, This Week in Palestine, May 2013

Beit Sahour

“Palestinian Christians ‘mistreated’ by Israel at Easter celebrations”

Holy Fire Photos from Xinhua/Luay Sababa

“Holy Fire Lights Orthodox Easter In Jerusalem’s Church Of The Holy Sepulchre (VIDEO) (PHOTOS)“

Read Full Post »

Alaskan Sojourn-1

The caravan of stars
Proceeds without a whisper or a sound;
Mountain, forest, river,
All in lull;
Nature seems lost in contemplation.
O heart, you too be still.
Hold thy grief to thy bosom, and sleep!

—Mhammad Iqbal

Excerpts from my journal during a fall 1012 West Coast tour about Israel & Palestine 

PHOTOS

Ferry: Juneau to Sitka Alaska

Sitka Alaska

September 21, 2012, Friday, on the fast ferry to Sitka from Juneau

 Cool, probably in the 40s, foggy.

The Sitka trip offers soft time, time between the presentations I make. The ferry ride is about 4 hours, nothing much to do other than write this journal entry, photograph from the ship thru the fog and as the fog lifts (which presents opportunities for light-based photography), finish the first set of Alaska photos (flight), revise shows, read mail, etc. And then when I can connect with the internet, post the first photo set and do more Israel-Palestine research.

Currently we are in and out of fog. The early morning fog was so thick Elaine worried the ferry might be postponed. Flights are often cancelled. The region is highly weather-dependent, one of its many gifts. I so enjoy Alaska—short term, dropping in to be more directly earth-connected, and then returning to my much-loved city life in the east.

As I entered Alaska after a 12-hour series of flights from my home in Cambridge I slowed down. As I entered the Schroeder home where I will live for 2 weeks I slowed down further (except to revise slide shows). As I boarded the ferry I slowed down even further, and then with the delay to Sitka I am nearly at a standstill. Very calm, tranquil, unworried.

Except for 2 factors: the shows themselves, their quality, how audiences will respond, and T, what I mean to her, she to me.

About one hour ago, the ship shook and shuddered, nearly bounced in the water. Elaine, in the women’s bathroom, emerged to check. She looked shocked. Others stopped their reading and eating. I was standing and instinctively ducked when the ship shook.

We had hit submerged debris that has now stuck in one of the 4 water jets. Trying different maneuvers such as reversing direction, blowing the water forward, the captain attempts to eject the debris. So far, no luck. A long ride made longer. At least he gives us up-to-date and I hope honest information.

September 22, 2012, Saturday, home of L, Sitka

Cool, probably in the low 50s, fog in the mountains, half clear in the town.

I sit at a long wooden table in the spacious second story living space (living-dining-cooking combined) of an elegant 2 story home built high on a hill overlooking the water and mountains. The high plateau was first inhabited by Russian pioneers—white inhabitants, not sure if natives lived here—since the early 1700s.

Our host, L, is a short demure woman, probably Jewish (her mother from Russia), who works as a clinical director, former teacher (so Elaine and L have much in common). Her husband, in Arizona to be qualified for a municipal job, is a company executive. She sculpts, he paints, their house is a model of fine artistry, the building itself and what’s on the walls and shelves.

The ferry was about one hour late because the captain never succeeded to eject the debris that clogged one of the water jets. Subsequently several Sitka residents complained about these new fast ferries, beset with numerous problems, a law suit pending from the state of Alaska against the German company who designed and built the ships.

Last evening we attended a dinner, maybe generated by my presence, altho no one asked me to speak to the group, and one fellow, Don the ACLU lawyer, had no idea who I was or why I was at the dinner. For me the most engaging conversation—all were, it was a politically savvy group as far as I could determine, hovering around a rather dormant peace and justice group that Don and Cindy, our 2 hosts and local organizers—was about the human-non human animal connection. A young woman sitting next to me with an engaging giggle, married to a dour fellow, Beth’s son (one year in Nablus might do that to anyone) works with what she calls “sustainable ag,” meaning good practices agriculture, related how important bonding is to humane slaughter. An odd combo of feelings and actions indeed. I told the Lakota story of White Buffalo Calf Woman as an illustration of human-animal interaction.

Previously Don had escorted us on a walk thru Totem Park, which I’d explored in 1988 as part of my camping-biking excursion during my first Alaskan exploit. Don, Elaine, and I observed spawning salmon, laboring upstream to deposit their eggs in cavities they’d shaped in the sand and gravel, then to die. Males fertilize the eggs and also die. We heard eagles, observed very tall magnificent hemlock and spruce trees with exposed upper roots (they grow on “nurse trees,” fallen trees that provide nutrients while they rot away), smelled the decomposing salmon, and I imagined being an Indian long ago—or just a few days ago.

September 23, 2012, Sunday, home of L, Sitka, Alaska

Cool, probably in the low 50s, fog in the mountains, overcast with altocumulus in the town, rain last evening.

One dream in a period of paucity: I watched a movie which might also have been reality. The filmmaker or protagonist was about to torture a man to death. He used a portable circular saw, AKA buzz saw, and planned—I’m not sure how the audience or I knew his intention, maybe he announced it as part of the torture regime—to begin at feet and slowly move up. He would saw or buzz off the victim’s genitals. I knew also the response of the victim: to absorb it, not be terrified by it. I was both victim and torturer.

Yesterday Don and Cindy took Elaine and me hiking in the Beaver Lake area, driving past the old pulp mill site (which Don helped close down by his revelations about the pollution the mill generated) to reach the trailhead. We hiked into thick forest, trees taller than any in the northeast, up grade to Beaver Lake, around the lake, passing thru a landslide area created one year ago and that was recently cleared using dynamite, into a muskeg plateau where we joked about the word suggesting a beverage, and back. Hard work, hard on my arthritic knees, a few photos.

Don and I reminisced about our Cambodia pilgrimage in 1995. He remembered one of the international walkers railing against the noise in the wats [temples]. He returns regularly and plans a long solo bike ride next year thru much of Cambodia. Re-meeting Don after nearly 20 years is one of the big pluses of this journey. Also connecting with activists. Elaine and Cindy discussed meeting in Juneau to coordinate actions. Another plus of this journey.

Along with what I learn about where I visit. Instance: Sitka is among the 5 most active ports in the entire country, commercial and sport fishing mostly.

In the evening we attended a benefit dinner for RESULTS-The Power to End Poverty, a lobbying organization for progressive causes like micro lending. The keynote speaker was the founder of FINCA, a micro-lending group that postdated the Grameen bank by about 8 years. We ate Moroccan food catered by Ludvig’s, said by some to be the best restaurant in all of the States. I was not impressed with the cuisine, might have made better myself.

I learned that L’s father had been a Jewish army photographer who was part of the liberation of the Nazi death camps. Traumatized and tortured by what he saw and showed, he became obsessed about his experience, put his photos all around the house, and said repeatedly, we can’t let this holocaust happen again.

I asked her what her turning points were, how even tho raised Jewish, she became an activist for Palestinian rights. She admitted to an early fondness for Israel, but as she learned more about its policies, slowly ended her unqualified support. She’s never visited. As Elaine noticed, 2 of the 3 most politically active people we’ve met so far in Sitka are Jewish, L and Cindy. Contrasting with Juneau where none of the activists Elaine knows are Jewish.

One major snag: inexplicably (but this is the way of computers), my Dreamweaver [software for website design and maintenance] won’t work. So presently I have no access to my website, can’t update the itinerary, or post photos. Yesterday I downloaded a copy and hope to successfully install it this morning. All will work out I’m sure.

LINKS

Results, The Power to End Poverty

Alaska Marine Highway System

Tour itinerary

With an Open Heart, Israel & Palestine—Report of a west coast tour, fall 2012

Read Full Post »

Light bursts from my eyes

For the Spring Light photographic workshop and for AM

Light bursts from my eyes,

Streams into yours,

From yours into mine,

From mine into a vast darkness

That allows us to see.

“In a dark time the eye begins to see,” says Theodore Roethke.

Photos: Harvard Square at Night

When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

—Albert Camus

Read Full Post »

To Return to Reality: Spring Light Along the Waterfront

World War II destroyer

Charlestown Navy Yard

From a workshop series exploring the photography of spring light, thru the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, May 16, 2009

Photos

To return to reality: yesterday’s Spring Light Photographic Workshop explored the waterfront from the Charlestown Navy Yard to the mouth of the Charles River, the last part of the  journey at night. A ferry from Long Wharf at 4:30 PM, 10 minutes later we’re at the Navy Yard (this a suggestion from Frank). Wander around there for one hour, with the idea of the old esthetics—frame, detail, thing, time, vantage point—as given by John Szarkowski. Walk together toward the river, the Zakim bridge (how is Zakim pronounced?). First stop at the rotten dock behind the once sugar warehouse maybe to be an expanded USS Constitution Museum and all photograph the same thing, more or less. This group loves having fun together, all were game to hop the fence and possibly commit trespass.

Walk under the Charlestown bridge on our way to the Charlestown locks and dam over the Charles river, first pausing at a large marina that neither Frank nor I had anticipated. I remember photographing here years ago before the renovations, the new constructions. (I wonder if I can ever find those photos.) Now my eyesight began to deteriorate: a migraine, or is it merely the aura? We performed the 4 directions awareness exercise, a creation of mine as far as I’m aware—face one of the cardinal directions, west, the sun setting, and gaze from ground to zenith, carefully, noting light, shapes, movement, objects, shadows, etc. Then rotate 90 degrees to do this again, south, east, north. And finally, based on those observations, find something to photograph. I forgot to add here, and try to use a method of strategy, how will you make the photo? Use the steps I’d suggested if you wish, but use some steps. Think about what you’re doing.

Zakim bridge

Let’s meet at the other side of the locks, walking across them, meeting at the now abandoned ferry terminal. On this leg of the junket let’s work on meta photography: symbol, metaphor, synecdoche, and subliminal suggestion (as in phallic symbol). I know this will be hard, but it is vital to understand for good photos.

And we concluded, after watching numerous boats pass thru the locks, the light waning, with nearly 1 hour of free time, meeting at the McDonalds inside North Station. When I found them, slumped against the wall, cheerily chatting together, looking extremely fatigued (I could have collapsed, my legs so weary), some of them munching on burgers or dogs, I had to chuckle, bring out my camera on a tripod (I’d been happily and crazily photographing in the dark),and make a group portrait. As I’d done at the Navy Yard, surprising them from behind after I’d photographed the Commandant’s House (where I’d discovered a robin’s nest with two pink eggs, mother flying off at my approach), to make the first group portrait of the season.

This is a jolly group, very talented, committed, one of the best. As always it will be hard to say goodbye.

Read Full Post »

Spring Light Photographic Workshop: Laboring in the Field of Images, Salem Massachusetts

From a workshop series exploring the photography of spring light, thru the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, May 2, 2009

Photos

Now Salem, a word meaning peace, shalom, salaam, and, Frank, one of the students, very knowledgeable about all things coastal, informed us was intended but the founders. The Puritans intended Salem to be a city of peace.

From noon to 4 we labored in the fields of images. The sky began mostly overcast with some definition and by degrees cleared to reveal sharply outlined cumulus clouds. Air was warm, drying out. Shadows proceeded from dimly lit short to sharply lit long. Our path brought us from our meeting point at the commuter rail station parking lot, thru central town to Derby Wharf (Derby was an early Salem merchant) where we discovered a replica sailing ship being manned. About 10 men, each with safety harnesses, were high in the main rigging wrapping a sail. Our photo exercise here—after warming up at the train station on the canal, a prime site for New Topographics—earth affected by humans—photos, and the blind faith walk awareness exercise —was to choose one spot, a vantage point, and make a series of photos. I chose a point near a pile of rope, began photographing the coiled rope, more and more fascinated by it, when I noticed the men in the rigging and from that same position and I made a 2nd series of photos.

Click here for a larger view

As we were leaving the wharf, me thinking what might make a good vista exercise location?, I noticed a string of multi colored homes, drawn initially by a pink one. Here, I decided, is an ideal vista for practice. How to photograph it? Extreme angles, panoramic, near far, wide angle? Anything else? Later I remembered no one had mentioned synecdoche, the part for the whole. I used extreme angles and panoramic, and then found the ancient giant tree with a shape like an elm, but winged seeds in the detritus suggested maple. More photos, trying to break myself of the habit of centrality, my central mission of the day.

Along Derby St, the main harbor side street, Frank said he was departing the group to investigate a boat yard—boats in their white winter garb, he declared leaving us.

Let’s all do it, I suggested, and there we found most boats had already been denuded for the summer, yet they made appealing subjects. They are trim, sleek, curvaceous, elegant, streamlined, all very attractive to the eye. Here we practiced the exercise of the thing itself, what we choose and why we choose it.

Then, at our final together site, the power station which we could not readily photograph because it is behind a fence, I offered an introduction to what I call meta photography, meaning-based photography. How do photos mean? One way is thru metaphor. So I asked them, after outlining what metaphor is—essentially using a visible thing to show the invisible, such as tree of life, water of purification, blood of suffering, etc—I sent them off for the remaining hour, free time with an eye for metaphor.

By now I was somewhat fatigued, not a severely as I was in Boston after 4 hours of walking with my Tivas sandals (now I wear walking shoes, a big improvement), but enough to distract me, make me think: ice cream. Instead, because of ice cream prices and the fat, I chose an iced coffee, my first of the season, and an apricot pastry. This satisfied my base instincts but may have quelled my esthetic passions because I made very few photos in the remaining hour. Just one: a tree stump opposite a parking lot. Is this metaphor? If so, for what?

Reports of high moments and low moments mentioned the commercialization of Salem, its variety, the light and sky, the boat yard, the ship and its riggers, and the simple pleasure of being outside and in a new zone.

We discussed the next and last photo session, where to go? I’d suggested Revere Beach-Winthrop-Deer Island, but others suggested Logan airport, Charlestown Naval Yard, and Charles River. I’m to list these in an email and call for volunteers to research each. We decide at our review session.

Read Full Post »

Heartbreak & Hope on Mothers’ Day in Dorchester

It is impossible to teach without the courage to love, with the courage to try a thousand times before giving up. In short, it is impossible to teach without a forged, invented, and well-thought-out capacity to love.

—Paulo Freire

Photos

The Mothers’ Walk for Peace, 13th annual, 3.6 miles, about a 70-80 minute walk, at a good clip, held this last Sunday morning in the sun and cool air, drew maybe not a record number of participants, nor a record number of Quakers, but the crowd was sizable. It was also loud, cheery, rambunctious, and filled with grief. A strange combination: grief and joy. The grief of losing loved ones thru youth violence, and the joy of being with others who’ve similarly suffered.

I was deeply touched when hearing Tanya David, the mother of a young girl speaking to the crowd at the end of the walk. She said, Unlike many of you, none of my children have died because of street violence. But my daughter, Kyle, was shot thru the spine and lost 97% of it and her spinal function. The doctors say she will be paralyzed form the waist down for life, but I don’t believe that. Then her daughter spoke, a lively, beautiful, articulate girl, speaking from her wheel chair about all of us joining together to stop the violence, in part by offering forgiveness to perpetrators.

Kyle David: “Forgiveness is the way”

The muses brought me to the side of the stage for this talk, I’d not anticipated who would be speaking or how much I needed to photograph them. Using my wide-angle lens and not having the best position—I was reluctant to climb on the stage—I’m not sure I made anything significant. But I felt the emotion, the marriage of anger, grief, and energy from the stupid and preventable violence happening daily on the streets and in the parks of Dorchester and Roxbury and other stricken regions of our cities.

Louis D. Brown Peace Institute

Read Full Post »

Rage, rage against the dying of the light: A continuing journey to the Levant

By addressing the issues of water inequity, resource management, and waste, Skip Schiel is…creating a body of work that has both immediate and future relevance far beyond the Middle East.

—Sara Burke, co-editor, Peacework magazine

Skip Schiel with photography students, Gaza, 2005, photo by Ibrahem Khadra, Quaker Youth Program staff

Can you help?

I plan to return to Palestine/Israel in the summer of 2009 for another 3-month residency. As on my previous 4 journeys of discovery since 2003, I will volunteer my photography to organizations in the region, such as the Israel-Palestine Center for Research and Information and the American Friends Service Committee. For them I make photos; and I use a set to portray conditions and struggles—conditions of danger and oppression, struggles for freedom, justice, peace, secure living, and reconciliation. I agree with the eminent Israeli scholar, activist, and writer, Jeff Halper, that a new Middle Eastern Confederation is possible, drawing together contending parties into a union based on compassion and synergy. Think Europe prior to 1945 with its seemingly endless wars; and think the European Union, hopefully burying war as an instrument of change.

Rachel Corrie on YouTube

I’ll continue with my usual themes: hydropolitics, Bethlehem, Gaza, youth, non-violent resistance, holy sites, and Quakers. I assemble exhibits, slide shows, publications, a website (teeksaphoto.org) and a blog (skipschiel.wordpress.com). In the fall and winter of 2008 I traveled for 10 weeks on the West Coast from Alaska to California and the South from North Carolina to Florida, presenting my new multi media shows—more than 60 venues to some 2000 audience members (teeksaphoto.org/Pages/PublicPresentations.html). Plans are underway for returns to the South in fall 2009 and in 2010, New Orleans, the Gulf Coast, and the Deep South. In addition, people have been encouraging me to have a professional video team construct a DVD of one or more of my presentations, enabling wider distribution of my photos.

Old City wall, Jerusalem, 2006

Light attracts me—the light of the Mediterranean region and the light of all the wisdom teachers, the luminaries, of that region. With an open heart, I hope to deepen my eye, my vision, to encompass both Palestinians and Israelis as they struggle against seemingly intractable forces to right the wrongs and correct the errors in the many legacies playing out in this region—“rage, rage against the dying of the light,” as Dylan Thomas wrote.

Skip Schiel in Dheheshe refugee camp, Bethlehem, 2003, photo by Mark Dahoud

Chief among the legacies besetting the region and the world: colonialism, the Jewish Shoah (holocaust) with its millennia-old predecessors in Christianity, the Palestinian Nakba (the catastrophe coinciding with the founding of the Israeli state in 1948), the role of the United States giving its unswerving validation of Israel, and the lack of beneficence from Arab states to the Palestinian movements for justice. In the new era of Obama-Biden, perhaps we can realistically hope for constructive change.

Dheheshe refugee camp, Bethlehem, 2003

With funding from private donations, grants, and money I raise through my slide shows and print sales—and with the irreplaceable support of my Quaker community— I will only ask my hosts for housing and a food stipend. If this is
not feasible, I shall simply donate my services.

Erez checkpoint/border terminal with Israel, from Gaza side, 2008

The cost of this upcoming journey—fees, airfare, photo equipment and supplies, uncovered housing, food, and local transport while in country, and postproduction expenses—is approximately $10,000.

Mens’ clothing store owner, Ramallah, 2007

Realizing many of us are in serious economic crisis and perhaps unable to be as generous as we might wish, I’d deeply appreciate any sort of contribution, large or small, whether money, airline ticket benefits, equipment (photographic or computer) or prayers. I welcome your suggestions about making this journey. You could also help by organizing a showing of my slides or photos in the fall and winter of 2009. Please visit teeksaphoto.org and skipschiel.wordpress.com for examples of my photography and writing on various themes.

Checks can be made out to “Skip Schiel” and mailed to 9 Sacramento St, Cambridge MA, 02138-184 or use PayPal on my website.

Israeli settlement/colony near Ramallah, 2005 c.

In the struggle is the hope,

—Skip

What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow—this is the whole [Torah] Law, go and learn.

—Rabbi Hillel

The Rising of the Light photo archive, 2009

Slide shows & print exhibits available

Testimonials

Read Full Post »

Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 11, 2009—day eleven

Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, May 2006

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Bureij refugee camp in Gaza, May 2006, part two

Now that Fida [director of the AFSC youth program in the West Bank] has taught me the characteristics of a refugee camp I can pick out the vertical construction, narrow passageways, poverty, and preponderance of kids. I’ve not yet seen raw sewage in the streets, one of the conventional images of the camp, nor piles of garbage. Thanks to Ragdha’s brother, Mohanad and younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, I saw more of the camp, street life and family life. We visited the family of 2 brothers in a different family, 1 of which had been shot 3 times during the various intifadas. He proudly showed us his photo album of images made while recovering in hospitals in Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Mohanad explained that sort of international support has dried up. Someone shot now earns little outside help. More

After a long, nearly long lost and losing drive from Athens Georgia to Aiken SC, about 4 hours driving in the dark, under a full moon, thru the empty countryside, thanks to wrong directions derived from Google maps by 3 young women of the Georgia State University-Athens. Pulling in at 1 AM, C hosting me but now long asleep, me waking 5 hours later feeling fully refreshed. But will I crash mid show today or tonight, falling sleep at my computer switch?

Went like this, yesterday: show at Emory, the Candler School of Theology, the show Bethlehem, slotted into a 50 minute lunch period. Hate that. I just started the show and quit it at the time-defined moment but it felt not only abruptly truncated but deflated somehow, with minimal energy—the part definitely not standing for the whole. Students were more or less mute. Beth, my host, confided that the student body tends to conservatism, and that there is a strong presence of Christian Zionists. She explained that she’d hoped I’d help light a little fire. I doubt I did, if anything I smothered whatever embers might have been aglow.

The woman introducing me, who’d picked me up from K and B’s, a poet, told me about her recent experience in Palestine/Israel and the general region. In Palestine don’t drink the tap water. Enter Israel, drink the tap water. Enter Bethlehem, don’t drink the tap water. I asked her to read her poem during her intro. Encapsulating, the part standing for the whole, one of the main points of my work on Palestine-Israel, this might have been the major “take away” of the event.

Later, Beth Corrie—Corrie? Are you related to Rachel? She’s my cousin, first cousin, 8 years my junior—explained to me that the student population, all graduate students, are new to activism, or haven’t yet reached that stage. Also activism waxes and wanes in Atlanta, is slowly recovering after a recent peak.

I pumped her for data and stories about Rachel and here’s what I learned: Rachel had been precocious in art, able to write a better poem at age 4 than Beth could as an adult. She danced, made puppets, drew, wrote. Thus, Beth thought, she had an inordinate level of compassion and sensitivity. Her mother, Cindy, started an alternative grade school that Rachel attended, and in this context Rachel attended the conference about poverty that she spoke at—age 10.

Cindy and Craig, her parents, quit all they were doing after she died, Cindy her various jobs, Craig his insurance business, to devote full time to circulating Rachel’s story. Each family member was affected by Rachel’s death, each moved slightly or dramatically forward in social activism.

Beth is on the faculty of Candler, working with high school youth bringing them on campus for an early experience in seminary, and teaching a college course that is something about conflict resolution, I believe. She has her PhD and must be now about in her mid 30s. She hosted me. She chose an 11 by 14 photo of kids playing in Beit Lahiya, because, she said, It feels hopeful. She offered me the going price, $20—I gave her the photo, both to thank her for her hosting and to honor her for her relationship with Rachel (and all the information she gave me).

Too bad my Bethlehem show was so weak, and the discussion vapid. No one stayed later to discuss, even tho we offered pizza. I had to whisk out of the room so another group could use it.

The evening show went better, Gaza to about 30 mostly students at Georgia State University in Athens, a huge campus of 30,000 students, the campus reverberating with the din of construction. Here I was hosted by S, Palestine-American, part of a student activist group about the Mid East. She was most gracious and thoughtful, picking me up from the half way point that Beth dropped me at, treating me to Thai food in the lazy college town with many bars, then driving me thru the night to meet Dave in Washington Georgia. I’m so sorry, she said, when realizing someone had made a huge mistake in directions, and she was not carrying a map.

S’s family, with roots in Palestine, is more immediately from Jordan. She returns there regularly. Never to Palestine. Her friend,  the ever laughing and rasping, A, is also Palestinian, but her family is from Syria. They had many in-jokes to share as we drove and ate, laughing regularly. One stream of jokes was about their over attentive parents. When telling these jokes, they would feign an Arabic accent. One joke was about the word crackers, the name of S’s dog. Why crackers, daddy? It was the first word I learned in English.

Ha ha.

They were very worried driving with me thru the night, and not happy about driving back without a white male in the car. One wore a hijab, S is dark skinned. Thus the worry.

Riding with them to meet Dave I received the feeling what hanging out with a young woman that age—S is 21—might mean. As socially engaged as they are, S at least, they talked endlessly about food, shops, styles, etc, a step, a small step, from high school banter. Not for me.

Some of the more vexing questions from the shows: one state vs. two states, inside information about Hamas, election (yesterday it happened in Israel, outcome unknown to me at this point, I’ll soon check), action ideas, Boycott-Divest-Sanction campaign, local campaigns, but nothing about Rachel, nothing about me personally. At a recent show one young man later asked me privately how to prepare for a career in photojournalism like mine. Answer: practice photography incessantly and learn all you can about your area of concern.

I met JM at the Athens show, an older man wearing a suit, but very astute about the Israel-Palestine issues. And active. He bought a photo, snatched much literature, talked to me at length later about links with his church community, the Presbyterian mission group that I think I heard about in December on the tour south.

It’s all about networks.

Y wrote a long loving letter about her recent medical issues. She mentioned in her letter not trusting me with confidential information like this. She wrote about my grand daughter E’s love and hate of certain words, and how this drives her mom K nuts. But, Y, the writer, said: not to worry, it indicates that E is thinking about words. Maybe you and I could make a list of words with the feelings attached. Y would have made a fine parent, and, given certain adjustments on both our parts, a fine life partner.

Driving to Aiken last night with Dave, he was excited about tour prospects, namely Florida and other regions of the south. He suggested cuts I could make in Bethlehem, apologized for squeezing me into a narrow time slot for today’s show at the University of South Carolina, Aiken, and for spotting me in such widely distant regions, like Aiken. Confessing, I wanted you here in Aiken. He also suggested we make a DVD of some of my shows, maybe like Anna Baltzer’s, or maybe like Al Gore’s Inconvenient Truth. I lean toward that general idea if it can be more than me sitting calmly like Anna presenting a tepid show. Something with chutzpah.

One of my biggest fears on this tour is forgetting to pack something vital when I shift locations, such as my computer or the adapter or my wallet or my notebook. So far, nothing of note left behind. But, ejecting from the car yesterday afternoon, between B and S, I must have left my Popular Achievement cap in B’s car. Then arriving in my room last night, as if in a dream, there was a pair of what I think is my underwear, left here from my first tour in summer 2007. An equal exchange?  The cap is no problem. I borrowed a replacement from Dave and have multiple Popular Achievement caps at home. So far I believe I have my computer, adapter, wallet, and notebook.

—February 11, 2009, Wednesday, Aiken SC, with Dave’s friend C

Read Full Post »

Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 10, 2009—day ten

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Bureij refugee camp in Gaza, May 2006

Yesterday [May 19, 2006] Marwan [from the Gaza Community Mental Health Center, a friend and colleague of the woman, Ragdha, who invited to her home in the camp] picked me up from my flat. We sped south thru the city, about 5 km to the Bureij camp with his 2 boys, one crying the entire trip. More

Netzarim Junction, once a notorious Israeli checkpoint/strangulation point

In the streets of Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, May 2006

Two dreams: in one I was with a woman I’d just met and we’d decidedly come together, with some intimacy expected. We laughed, spoke deeply, sat next to each other, and found some strong affinity. But then I might have reached too far: I nudged her under the table with my leg, a form of caress, and she looked horrified, moved away. Was this the end of our dalliance?

In a 2nd dream, possibly related, I was either reading something a well known Israeli activist had written, or was actually helping him write it. He confessed that he’d … someone, a woman, using a term that I can’t now recall which we understood to be code for attracted. I was puzzled. Wasn’t he happily married? Had his wife died? Had they separated? Was he engaging in adultery?

Yesterday’s 2 shows, Georgia State University and Kennesaw State University, went very well. About 10 for the first, 60 for the second, the first in a medium sized room, the “Lanier Suite,” in the student center, and the 2nd in a large auditorium. Both Gaza shows looked and sounded good, and I do believe I’m perfecting my acting-performing style. It’s as if I’ve learned the script and I’ve polished my act.

The GSU showing, attended by an equal mixture of white and black people, was sponsored by the newly formed Progressive Student Alliance, organized thru the good offices of the local American Friends Service Committee, thru Tim, the peace action man. The students seemed well versed in the history and general reality of Israel-Palestine, indicating by their questions their comprehension and passion. One Black man in particular asked me about the role of the French and British. I misunderstood, thought he’d asked about their contemporary role, and so I went off the mark in detailing their current roles. He corrected me by mentioning the word Balfour. We then discussed the onset of Zionism and the breakup of the Ottoman Empire, a direct precursor to the current debacle raging in the Mid East.

Three AFSC staff attended, B, with an alluring mouth, but suggesting she is demoralized, depressed, hopeless, L, who read the Dr. Mona part in my show, and R. I learned later that E, who’d volunteered to read the parts of Yusef and Belal, is a history prof there and faculty adviser for the group. He seemed moved to tears during his reading. After one of his long silences while reading I offered to find someone else. He soldiered thru, and later bought 2 of my large photos.

I think this show resonates with college students. The AFSC’s Popular Achievement program is college and high school students, and Belal, Adham, and Yusef are roughly the age of this audience. Plus Rachel Corrie. A captivating linkage, perhaps.

The evening show brought out a rabbi who’d been at other similar presentations. He questioned me on my interpretation, laying out the case for Israel much as Dershowitz does. Rather than debate him I asked if anyone would like to respond. And a man with roots in Gaza did, cogently and gently. I wonder, however, if I’m ducking my responsibility by using this deflecting technique. My intention is to engage more members of the audience in conversation, turning it from them to me, to them to them.

I noticed that he’d not seen what I’m sure I showed and seen what I’m sure I didn’t show. Instances: he said I’d not said that Egypt sealed the border after The Great Breakout of January 2008 when Hamas broke thru the barrier between Gaza and Egypt—I had. He said I’d not shown the fighting between Fatah and Hamas—I had. He asserted that I’d not admitted that rockets target civilians—I had and shown a corpse from such a rocket attack. As if he came with his own presentation embedded in his mind and projected this over what I showed. A powerful form of self-deceit that I’m sure I myself suffer regularly.

The second man responding was also from Gaza. I’d asked during my intro who’d been to the region, who might be Palestine, who from Gaza? And the 2 had self-identified. I learned later that Mai Carter was in the audience, about to publish a book about Israel-Palestine peace and justice groups, probably arriving late and leaving early so I never had a chance to thank her for helping me find venues. I’ll do this by email.

Community water, probably not safe to drink without treatment

A major highlight was fostering the meeting of a Muslim and a Jew with promises that they might more regularly attend each other’s events and might collaborate on a joint event. The Jew, a young man, very sweet and loving and humble, told me he was with campus Hillel, the Israel advocacy committee chair. He spoke with the 2 men with relatives in Gaza. I thought of my meeting with Alex during the vigil for Gaza at Harvard’s graduation, the two of us calmed down when Hilda intervened by asking if we’d read Sandy Tolan’s extraordinary book, The Lemon Tree.

The main links currently that help find venues seem to have come thru AFSC, showing once again the power of community.

C hosted the first show, a very young shy woman, slightly overweight, wearing boots, short skirt, low bodice blouse with bulging breasts. She was one of the main initiators of the Alliance.  T hosted the Kennesaw show, a philosophy prof, tall, with long hair, stately, handsome, teaching a philosophy of peace class that drew many of the students.

The entire day unfolded mysteriously. To the last minute I wasn’t sure where to go, how to get there, who’d meet me. Everything worked perfectly—from meeting the bus to the Atlanta Marta station at the last minute, finding the venue at GSU, arranging the equipment, resting at the AFSC, eating there, finding a ride to Kennesaw thru Tim at the AFSC, a young energetic peace builder with a knack for community organizing, meeting a young sparkling Iranian woman, Ozzie or Azita, riding with Tim to Kennesaw, meeting T at Kennesaw, then riding home with G who hopes to start a small business combining peace building with tourism. Providence ruled mightily.

Students at GSU, reinforced by Tim later, told me about plans for local BDS, Boycott-Divest-Sanction, campaigns. Apparently the CEO of Starbuck’s is a major supporter of Israel, recently devoting one day’s profit to the state. Home Depot’s CEO purportedly does the same. There’s a local linkage between the police in Atlanta and in Israel, sharing technology and techniques. This needs to be revealed. And of course there’s Motorola and Caterpillar, which most people tuned at all to Palestine-Israel seem to know about. This idea of linkage and BDS seems to be mainly what grips students. It recalls the anti-apartheid days and the campaigns against clothing produced in sweatshops.

Manager of an athletic club, now largely unused because of the tightened restrictions preventing teams from playing outside Gaza

I wrote M a relatively perfunctory letter (compared with the volumes I once wrote), acknowledging her writing about Bread and Puppet Theater and insomnia (forgetting to mention her loving how well her nephew performed in a play) and not asking a single question (such as about her survey). I think this is an improvement and shows I’m making progress toward slicing away, distancing, erasing her from my obsessive focus. Indeed, I think of her only during a rare fleeting moment. I am an enigma to myself: how I seem to forever remain at the stage of pubescent adolescence, unable to manage my emotions. Is this contorted loving related to secondary trauma? Will I succumb and become helpless and destitute, or will I survive and finally grow up, settle down, raise a family?

Too bad I don’t have more down time in Atlanta. Walking briskly from GSU to AFSC with L and B, I remembered my few days here 2 years ago during the US Social Forum, how hot it was, how I was coming to terms with separation from Y, meeting her new man friend D, living at the Atlanta Buddhist dojo, walking thru poison oak with D, suffering for weeks later. And beginning the first of my 3 southern tours. I remembered an earlier trip, in 1999, in Atlanta for about one month as I prepared for a 4-month sojourn thru the south volunteering my photography and retracing parts of the Pilgrimage of the Middle Passage in reverse.

I’d like to visit First Iconium church, renew my friendship with its pastor, Tim McDonald, chat with Utsumi and Denise (the monk and nun who I think are at the Oak Ridge pagoda now), and wander around the neighborhood of Southeast Atlanta. But especially, explore Sweet Auburn once again, the homeland of Martin Luther King Jr.

Alas, today I leave for Athens Georgia. Someone is picking me up at 11 this morning, driving me to Emory (I must rehearse the Bethlehem show, which I’ve not shown since December). Then the Athens show this evening and staying somewhere yet a mystery to me. Tonight I meet Dave M, tomorrow in Aiken SC, then back to Georgia and eventually to Florida.

Shop, empty shelves because of the blockade

Proprietor of the shop showing his credit ledgers—”If I have the items they want to buy and they don’t have the money, I always extend credit.”

I often think of my dad in his business travels. How long was he away? Did he miss his son and daughter and wife? What did he do on those trips? Was he faithful or was he more like me, independent and yearning? I recall appreciating his absence, since we had a troubled relationship. I remember mom taking Elaine and me to a small neighborhood restaurant on Stony Island Avenue (I could probably find the building now, long changed). I’d eat the same meal each time: hot turkey sandwich, probably accompanied by powdered potatoes. Unlike my father I have no one waiting for me to return, other than perhaps Kate and Ella.

The weather has been seasonably mild, chilly at night. Last night was full moon, the sky was hazy, occluded. Full moon means my moon-mother returns. At this moment, Y is either asleep or preparing for her upcoming trip to Ethiopia. I hope to see her before she leaves. Soon I will hike over to the community room for wifi and email and webwork, then pack, then leave.

B and K have been generous hosts, B preparing me yesterday with maps and directions for my uncertain journeys, K giving Gail directions last evening. Each day I march with a new parade of people, each with their own story, each solidly or tangentially linked to Palestine/Israel and me.

—February 10, 2009, Tuesday, Atlanta, with B and K

Read Full Post »

Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 9, 2009—day nine

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Death & Mourning in Al-Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, January 2008

While in the area south of Gaza City we heard shooting, Awni rightly concluded this was from a funeral. He’d heard Israelis had recently invaded Al Bureij refugee camp, some Palestinians killed, and guessed the funeral was in Al Bureij. We reached the camp moments later to join a huge throng of men of all ages—women don’t attend these events unless immediate family in which case as either they with the family lead the parade to the cemetery or ride in cars to join the mourners for the burial—and eventually Awni dropped me off with Adham to join the marchers. More

As if a rampaging dream factory, my mind last night seemed totally focused on Gaza. Each time I awoke to pee, every 2 hours or so, I dipped into yet another dream about Gaza. All were benign, none violent, some ominous. In one I was helping decide how a group could get into Gaza. In another, Ibrahem appeared. I do not remember any of them in detail, not even my feeling state.

A pleasant uneventful train ride from Greenville SC to Atlanta (later, checking my notes from July 2007, I confirmed my suspicion that I’d departed from Greenville for Boston, the end of my first southern tour in 2007), about 3 hours, $30, sleeping part of the way, reading, writing, arriving to meet B and drive to his home, meeting his wife K, who heads the local library system, settling in with a light breakfast of grape juice, oatmeal with raisins, and hot cocoa. Then Atlanta Friends meeting which I could barely remain awake for. Despite what some commentators thought was a gathered meeting, I found it tepid and boring, with the usual platitudes. Only one message remains for me, a song sung by an extremely obese woman with tears in her eyes—about what I do not recall.

Then my turn: the Gaza show to about 10-15 listless souls, one of the dreariest presentations yet. Maybe my sleepiness, maybe their disinterest, maybe my condemnatory attitude about Quaker silence. Perhaps I stifled them with my introduction: berating friends for their silence. But I did extol or try to redeem Quakers by mentioning our Cambridge meeting deciding to sign the Interfaith Peace Declaration and donate $10,000 to the Gaza Community Mental Health Program. The press of time weighed on me as well, B informing me earlier, several times, that 1-hour is about the upper limit.

A question from audiences that repeats is how much support does Hamas get by Gazans? And I have to honestly answer, I’m not sure (nor is anyone probably). Hamas was elected because it’s honest and helps people and may be more effective that their rival, Fatah, in ending the occupation, not because of their platform that calls for the end of Israel by violence. Chagrin at their tactics, extra judicial executions for one. Waxing and waning depending. Now I’m not sure. Hamas claimed victory because it survived the recent vicious assault, Israel claimed victory because of how much of Hamas it destroyed.

Later at the community dinner, I chatted with J and A, who I know from 1999 when, on a small pilgrimage I’d designed in the south after I’d skipped out of the Middle Passage Pilgrimage , I’d visited them in their home, using their computer. They were both curious about Israel-Palestine history, A asking me to sit with him to lay it out. Before I got very far others sat with us and the conversation shifted.

Does your community ever have programs about Israel-Palestine? I asked A.

No, too controversial. And we have many Jews here. Instead we talk about where to put the compost pile. And similar topics.

I thought, Here I am, an unusual resource, why not persuade me to give an informal show?

Well, the food was good, the conversation engaging, and the wifi worked so I arrived early for the community dinner, stayed late.

The setting is a co-housing project, very large, some 60 households. Folks formed it I believe it in the early 1970s, with significant help from Atlanta Friends meeting (Quakers do education and housing very well, political work poorly, in my view.) Sited in a mixed income, mixed race neighborhood (Eastlake), with few Quakers now living in the co-housing, it has turned into a gated community. B explained that to gain financing the funders required gates. Pioneers thought they would accommodate the funders and then remove the gates. Too late—others moving in demanded the gates remain. Residents have not reached a compromise about when the gates might remain open, like on evenings and weekends. So we have a gated community.

Surrounding this community the homes tend to be rougher, smaller, and crime is a significant factor. People like B, who has retired from what I think was a job with the state to become a full time activist, have not been able to effectively link with key elements of the surrounding community, such as churches.

While sitting on the porch of the community center I noticed a few Blacks, and while walking to the center, more African American children, but very oddly, none appeared at the meal, except for a Black woman I’d seen at meeting, who seems to be a guest.

B and Kathy have a relatively small home, 2 levels, downstairs with the guest room where I stay, my own toilet, a sitting and dining area, and a small kitchen with minimal counter space. Upstairs they have at least 2 bedrooms, another toilet and maybe either a 3rd level or another room. They did not raise their kids here, 2 sons and 1 daughter. (Their screen saver is a photo of one son with his wife, each looking longingly lovingly into the eyes of the other.)

The immediate neighborhood is fenced in, access controlled by the gate and a locked door. Houses conjoin and cluster. Kids abound, playing safely throughout the acreage. There is a small pond, a stream, a field which they rent out to organic gardeners, other garden space, woods, and surrounding this, the scary (to some) neighborhood that is excluded.

With B’s advice I walked the area. A long walk, more than 3 miles, till my knees ached and my left foot began a rare blister thru my sandals. Around the golf course, past elegant and expensive homes, and into the dreaded neighborhood of relative shacks. Rich and poor, nearly side by side. White and black, neighboring unhappily.

My plans for the next few days are set for shows, but not for transport and hosting. I wrote Dave and local hosts last night, hoping for some clarification this morning before too long. How do I get to the next site, Georgia State University, and then to Kennesaw State tonight? And tomorrow’s sites? All this—I’m sure, I’m certain, I have faith—will become clear later.

Appearances at universities and colleges sound good, but occasionally this means a student in a shriveled organization has booked a small room, done minimal publicity, able to draw only a tiny audience, which may or may not be receptive and eager. I shouldn’t be too dire: occasionally many attend and the reception is solid. I have yet to garner a major official booking at a university or college. Oddly enough, if I were to generalize, so far the most enthusiastic and engaged audiences have been elders at retirement communities. Are they among the few populations that have the time—and energy—for difficult topics?

I’d been curious about Jimmy Carter’s book tour: what is the book, and why the tour? What is his primary message? I found an interview with him that revealed: he is hopeful, with the Obama administration and what he knows of current Israeli politics, that peace is possible and could arrive soon. I am skeptical. And said so in a posting I sent last evening to my lists, linking to his interview, questioning his assumption that the 2 state solution is the most viable plan and the most accepted. I added a note about my tour.

Not mentioned in the interview was the upcoming election in Israel. Signs are not sanguine. An extreme right wing government might assume power, led by Bibi Netanyahu and with the extreme right wing Lieberman in the cabinet.

B and K seem to be a happy couple. They range around each other in love and admiration and understanding. They are yet another model of success as a married team. They look approvingly at each other, fill in blanks left in stories told by the other without interrupting or contradicting. They are a team, a 2-some, a unit. As I’ve felt only piecemeal with my 2 main partners, X and Y. So again I wonder—why does this seemingly universal knack for couplehood appear to be absent from me?

Planning to review and download all my photos from this trip, mainly from the mountain waterfall walk with David, I discovered an error message: Card is not formatted. I couldn’t access the files. Something electronic snapped, maybe a directory. I’d just been photographing yesterday on the local walk and all seemed to work well. Can I retrieve files with special techniques and software? I should have followed my discipline and downloaded more frequently. I plan to do a web search today when I get access. And save the card till I return home. This could be a blow, but not a serious blow—I’ve done little significant photography on this journey.

As I write, 7:20 AM, the sky is glowing bright orange. Squirrels and birds forage. The temperature is mild. Sunset is dramatically later than Boston at this time, and sunrise also. We are further west. The moon has been full. I’ve greeted my dear mother Pearl regularly. I hope she is proud of her son and forgives me all my many transgressions.

—February 9, 2009, Monday, Atlanta, with B and K

Read Full Post »