11.13.04
Ignorant Americans in Israel: Part Three
Over beers at the hotel with David, we got to talking about our home lives, which has always been my hands-down favorite dividend of international travel. What’s better than asking new friends, from cultures you know nothing about, what they do for fun, what they watch on TV, what their kids are into? I asked David how his family life changed in wake of the Gulf War and the horrific terrorist attacks that were never far from the mind. What he said cost me any chance of sleeping that night.
Paraphrasing: “Scud attacks always happened late at night. We’d be awakened by the blaring of air-raid sirens. Then we’d gather the kids into our room, trying not to think about chemical weapons, (remember the constant threat of Iraq deploying chemical weapons?) lie on the floor and my wife and I would pull our mattress up on top of us all for protection. We’d lay there, trying to keep the kids calm and distracted while we’d listen for the missiles, which roared overhead and then exploded.” (Picture three American guys wide-eyed, in stunned silence.) “After the explosions died down and the air-raid sirens stopped, we’d immediately run around to check for damage and to see if anybody needed help, call parents and friends to see if everyone’s ok, then go to bed.” The next day? “We’d get up and go to work. What else could we do?”
What would you do?
In desperate need of a subject-changer, we started talking about what the three of us were going to do to take advantage of our upcoming free day. I told David that, growing up Christian, I felt it was my duty to see some of the Holy Land, given that we were essentially right on top of it. Before I could finish the thought, the others jumped in saying they wanted to see some of it, too, but David cut us off. “Sorry guys, that ain’t gonna happen.” He explained that, in light of the immense tension between Israel and Palestine and the various sporadic attacks on both sides, we’d not be permitted to cross the border.
At that point, the magical power of the HD bar and shield was about to be unleashed for the umpteenth time in my professional life. Closed doors were about to be opened.
An older gentleman, sitting at the bar and essentially eavesdropping on our conversations came over, introduced himself and said, “I think I can get the three of you into the Holy Land tomorrow morning, but we have to be ready to move very early.” David sniffed him out and said he appeared to be legit, and since the old bugger had professed his love for HD, we felt we could trust him.
After a few mostly sleepless hours in bed, we piled into his waiting car in front of our hotel in the wee hours of the morning. As we were leaving the city and getting closer to the Israel/Palestine border, we saw more and more military vehicles, including dozens of tanks, positioned on both sides of the roadway, lots of concertina wire, hundreds of soldiers in uniform and, for lack of better terminology, the obvious accoutrements of war. Again the three of us sat in silence and uncomfortably eye-balled each other. We reached the security gate and Uzi-armed soldiers approached the car. Words were spoken in language we of course didn’t understand, but our ears perked up when the driver said, “Harley-Davidson.” The soldier asked for I.D’s, so we passed them forward, along with a handful of HD pins (I never travelled with less than two dozen – airline and hotel personnel love them). A minute later, the gate went up and we drove through. The soldiers weren’t smiling, I noticed. Even with the free swag.
Now we’re approaching Bethlehem. So far, it looks like the Israeli-controlled side of the gate with lots of military presence, tanks, soldiers, etc. Everyone we passed stared into our vehicle. Long, deliberate stares. This is what tension looks and feels like. It’s grotesquely uncomfortable.
The driver pulled up behind an ancient building on a nondescript street where an older gentleman was waiting for us. Our driver says, “Follow him. Do whatever he says.” We’re like, uh…ok. The gent walks us around to the front of the massive structure, which is obviously many centuries old, pushes open a monstrous front door and tells us to be silent and move quickly. I ask him where we are and he looks very bothered and surprised and says, “The Church of the Nativity. This is where Christ was born.” And all we could say to each other is, “What?! Where is everybody?!”
We could hear each of our footsteps echo off the towering walls, because we were literally the only people in there. We rushed past ancient works of art that were just screaming for our time and attention, but if we slowed to look at something, our guide got annoyed and said, “No time. You must keep moving.” We couldn’t even stop to take pictures (plus it was so dark, nothing would come out anyway) and, even if I look at photos of this amazing church on the internet, I recognize none of it.
He led us down a narrow staircase, redolent with the gorgeous residue of centuries of spent incense, until we heard the hushed chanting of a robed cleric. The cleric looked v-e-r-y surprised to see us (and was quite possibly offended by our clothing –tshirts advocating a certain motorcycle brand) and said, in broken English, “This is the spot where Christ was born. You should drop to the floor and kiss the star.” We did, awkwardly, as we were told. Surreal. All I could think was, “I wish my mother could see this.” And that I had more time to soak it all in. Then, after just a few seconds, we were prodded by our guide, “We must leave. NOW.” A minute later we were back outside scratching our heads and asking each other, “Did that just happen?” Total time in the church: Maybe five minutes.
Our guide brought us back to the driver, whom we asked, “How much money should we give him?” And he told us not to give him money directly, but to follow him into his store and buy things. The family store looked like any other souvenir store you’d see at a historic spot, only with very little merchandise. We fingered a bunch of plates and little statues, built a big pile on the counter and handed over the money. Never once saw him crack even the slightest smile.
Fidgeting nervously, our driver announced, “We gotta get out of here, this is probably the most dangerous place in the world to be right now.” Given that there were very few people in sight at one of the world’s most magnificent places – and those present were heavily armed — we’d already picked up on that. But good Lord, he had our attention. It’s amazing how powerful your eyes get. You’re scanning everything and everybody. Your head is constantly turning. That’s what living in fear does to people. Imagine that 24 hours a day. I’ll just say this: It sucks.