A Dream

It was May 2014 and my friends were preparing for a final exam in Shakespeare. However, I was getting ready for a visit to Jerusalem. Jerusalem! I had never before left the Gaza Strip; thus, this was for me a moment to be recorded in the history of an imprisoned people, the Gazans, to whom I belong. For hours, I wondered if I was only dreaming. Ironically, travel inside my home country—which should only require a few hours—involves more procedures than would a trip around the entire world.

I am not good at drawing, but whenever I was asked to draw something related to my home, I would sketch a yellow dome with blue doors. Then I would write Al Qudus Lana, an Arabic expression that means “Jerusalem is for us.” My parents visited Jerusalem when my father had open heart surgery in 2008. When they returned home, they told me and my siblings about how the air exclusively suits the sanctity of the place. My brothers and I listened raptly, our eyes fixed on them, trying to listen to every minute detail..  

Their stories planted the first seeds of a dream in my mind, to visit Jerusalem myself. A year later, I read Tamim Al Barghouthi’s poem, “In Jerusalem,” which watered these seeds and encouraged them to flourish in my mind and heart. Passionately, I was looking forward to visiting Jerusalem.  

One year earlier

In 2014, I was selected to participate in a student-leadership program sponsored by the U.S.-Middle East Partnership Initiative (MEPI). The goal of the six-week program organized by the U.S. State Department is to train students (primarily from the Middle East and North Africa) on leadership skills at American universities. However, then Israel launched its massive, 51-day assault on Gaza, and the crossings out of the Strip were closed. I was stuck in Gaza filled with sadness. Not only was I trapped, but I also witnessed the deadliest of the wars on Gaza, turning my life into darkness.

Fortunately, there was a gleam of sunshine: The coordinators of the MEPI program reassigned me to the training this year. Travelling to the United States requires obtaining a visa from the U.S. consulate in Jerusalem. So, my dream turned out to be merely delayed.

The night of May 20, 2015

My brother allowed me to take his cellphone, since it has a better camera than mine. My father highly recommended that I go to sleep as early as possible, because I expected to have a very tiring day. After going to bed, I forced my eyes closed, while my mind whirled with ceaseless questions such as: “Am I only dreaming?” “What will Jerusalem look like?”

My father had said repeatedly, “You are lucky, since you are able to leave through Erez Crossing (into Israel).” Many people were trying unsuccessfully to leave Gaza, including some who had very critical medical situations. Some of those who had tried to exit via Egypt had lost their lives while they waited. I do not know what time I finally slept.

It’s time to go!

At 5 sharp the next morning, my mother woke me up to prepare. I went to the Shujjaiyyah taxi station and met the other members of the team who had been selected for the MEPI program. Then, we headed to the Erez crossing on the border with Israel. We passed through a very long, narrow passageway, full of surveillance cameras, until we reached a door that opened automatically once a green light flashed on. Thus began a ritual of humiliation, called euphemistically “security precautions.”

The guards asked us to lock our cellphones, remove all metal jewelry, and take off belts and other items with metal studs. Then I found myself going through a series of complicated sliding metal gates as if I were a criminal; they obviously did not know that my biggest concern was to finish and submit my college assignments before the deadlines. “Put your baggage here,” a Palestinian worker said to us. Accordingly, we put our bags in wide, open containers that then were transferred into a hidden place for metal detection.

Thereafter, I waited in line for the body scanner, keeping an eye on the foreigner preceding me; she probably worked for an NGO in Gaza, travelling constantly through Erez crossing, since unlike me, she looked experienced in such procedures. She put her hands over her head, and a circular scanning machine moved quickly around her as it produced green light. My turn came. Awkwardly, I tried to imitate her. I anxiously raised my hands over my head as if someone had put gun to my head. Nothing happened and I realized I had done something wrong.  A Palestinian worker gently advised me to put my feet in the right place. “Aha,” I replied.

After the body scanning, I was directed into a closed room with metal walls topped with see-through glass. I could see that my friends had passed through successfully, and that something “wrong” had happened with me. My heart started pounding. An Israeli man shouted at me in Hebrew from above; I could not comprehend a word, despite the Hebrew course I had taken as a requirement at my university. Then I suddenly understood that they thought I might be hiding something under my hijab [head scarf]. I swore to the Palestinian worker who understood my Arabic that I had nothing under my scarf. The Palestinian worker communicated that to the Israeli. (Of course, I did not understand their conversation, for it was in Hebrew, but I assumed it was about that.) The Israeli soldier shouted at us exactly like a British landowner to his Indian slaves. I went through a second body-detection procedure to determine that I was not a smuggler.

Finally, I followed my colleagues and we all got our luggage. A woman checked my never-used passport for the permit granting me one day to visit occupied Palestine (so-called Israel). WHEW!

Here we go

I could not believe I was finally on my way to Jerusalem. I knew if I had freed my emotions, I would not have stopped crying. 

Our driver was originally from Jerusalem and he was quite talkative.. I liked his stories. One of the things he told us that I found exceedingly amusing was that there is a road in Jerusalem called Azza Street. In Hebrew, “azza” means Gaza. We took a quick trip by that weirdly named street; later on, we learned why we did not visit longer. “Guess who lives there?” the taxi driver asked. At first I thought it was a neighborhood only for Arabs or Palestinians named after Gaza for patriotic reasons. Instead, I learned that Benjamin Netanyahu, the Israeli prime minister, lives there! So, he gives the orders for his soldiers to kill children in Gaza, and then goes home at the end of the day to relax in his house on Gaza Street.

While visiting the Mamilla neighborhood [west of Jaffa Gate], I observed a mixture of history and the modern age of technology. You can find what Tamim Al Bargouth once wrote in his most prominent poem: “There, you would find whoever trodden on this Earth.” I saw people from all religions, colors and races. At the front, there are several newly established shopping centers. At the back are several hotels, some of which look very old. Upon learning that we are from Gaza, one man in the bazaar who was selling antiques asked us three questions: How was the war? How is the situation in Gaza now? How are the Gazan people coping? We were asked those same questions repeatedly whenever we met more Jerusalemites. They wanted to take photos with us, and we wanted photos with them. I do not know who was happier about having a photo with the other.

Finally, we went to the U.S. consulate for our visas. Unexpectedly, we waited for the counsel to come for more than three hours, ruining all of our other plans. After the visa interviews, we finally blazed a trail to the Al Haram Al-Qudusi, which includes the Dome of the Rock and Al- Aqsa Mosque. The driver advised us to scatter when entering the Haram Al-Qudusi so that we wouldn’t be considered “suspicious.” Two Israeli soldiers were standing at the Bab Al-Asbat, one of seven gates. After explaining that I am not from Jerusalem, I was in! I had never expected to be there; I did not know whether I was dreaming or awake! I remembered all of my parents’ stories and found myself inside them! In this place, each tile has a distinctive flavor; each wall has a special magnitude; every tree has a life of its own. I walked alone to the golden Dome of the Rock, appearing among the olive trees.

Asr prayer

The Asr prayer is the third and middle prayer out of five daily prayers that are obligatory religious duties for every Muslim. It is usually said in the afternoon, and it was the only prayer I was able to observe in Al-Aqsa Mosque. Men usually go to the front and women stand in the back. After we finished praying, we realized time was running out. We had to be at Erez crossing before 8 p.m., because like in the Cinderella fairy tale, our spell would be broken when the clock struck the hour. We said our last farewell with a fast look, hoping we would someday return.

Posted August 28, 2015