Across the Valley

We pulled off the highway and stopped. The driver turned off the engine. From our vantage point, we could look across the valley and see the outline of a city against the blue sky. “That is Jerusalem,” our guide announced. “Some days I bring my children to this very spot and park. I point to the building where their mother works. They want to know why we can’t visit her there. How do I explain that to my kids?”

His name was Mustafa. He was our guide for the five days we visited areas governed by the Palestinian National Authority. Mustafa was passionate and opinionated – and why wouldn’t he be? Like so many others, his life has been turned upside down by the conflict in the land of his birth. He wasn’t always a tour guide. In another life he traveled to Jerusalem every day for a job in the field of finance, while his wife made a similar journey to work in the nursing profession. That changed sometime after the Oslo accord. As he put it, Jerusalem needed nurses so his wife was able to continue working at the hospital. The financial field didn’t suffer from a lack of candidates so he was fired. The person who took his position lacked credentials for that work. He merely lived on the right side of the wall and had the right connections. Now, Mustafa’s wife crosses the checkpoints every day into Jerusalem for work, while he and his children are not allowed to enter the area. Individuals who cross the border on foot have their documents checked. Differently colored license plates help regulate traffic flow. Cars and buses are searched frequently. It was an inconvenience for us while we were there; it must be a royal pain for those who endure that process daily.

Mustafa is a fine guide. He is patient and knowledgeable, and is an effective educator within his commentary. But it was clear that guiding is not his passion. He’s a bit angry, and I can’t blame him. Surprisingly, his frustration is directed at Israel and Palestine alike. With the former he sees false claims, stolen land, and broken promises. He is convinced they play games with water, electricity and transportation, all of which emphasize the inequity of the system. With the latter, he is appalled at the corruption among the elected leadership that has managed to prosper to indecent proportions while the people they represent suffer for survival. He gave the example of an official who had no wealth when elected but now has a net worth of $96 million and recently purchased his own private jet. How does this happen, he wants to know? And how can he be trusted to reform a system, even if broken, when it benefits him so much?

There is plenty to inspire marvel within the West Bank territory.  Jericho holds the remains of a city and tower dating to 10,000 BCE. In Bethlehem the church of the nativity connects travelers with the birth of Jesus. In Hebron the cave of the patriarchs marks the spot where tradition says Abraham & Sarah, Isaac & Rebekah, and Jacob & Leah are buried. That site, in particular, brings visitors face to face with the divided world of Muslims and Jews. A mosque occupies part of the site; the other side houses a synagogue. Getting from one to the other requires passage through multiple checkpoints. With that, we step right into the reality that besets the population trying to make a home in this land that means so much to so many. They have quite a bit in common. Mutual claims to the same land. Shared mistrust of the other’s motives. Reciprocated fear of violence. Oh, and one more: joint determination to prevail at any cost. 

I feel for Mustafa, and for that matter, all sides throughout the entire region. During my few days there, I had the opportunity to listen to Israelis, Palestinians, Jordanians, and Egyptians speak about the challenges of living in their region. In each case, I found myself thinking their point of view had a certain logical coherency built upon the blocks they chose to use—even though it was at odds with certain points of the others’ positions! If I gained nothing else from those conversations, I came away with a new appreciation of the complexity of the conflict. An Israeli living in a West Bank settlement began his story by noting that in ancient times the area was known as Judah until the emperor Hadrian changed it to Syria-Palestina to spite the Jews after the Bar Kochba revolt. In this settler’s perspective, no Palestinian people existed prior to 1948.  This meant the Jews had the earlier claim to the land. A Palestinian started his explanation by emphasizing the Canaanites and other groups who preceded the Jews in the area. Those people were their ancestors, and their prior claim to the land established their legitimacy.  I don’t favor one side over the other in this ongoing debate, but one thing seems certain. This problem will not be solved by a “deal.” The rigidity of all involved is only surpassed by the stubborn insistence that each one’s position is correct. The rifts between them are significant. They deepen with each new trespass or injustice. The leaders on each side are suspect—by their own people as well as by the opposition. This disagreement is about more than dollars and cents as an incentive to settle. It is about identity. It is about heritage. It is about justice. Beneath those encompassing issues, on a basic level it is as simple as wanting the chance to live a life of relative peace and happiness. That is true for all involved, not just one side over the other. The numerous occasions where I met Arabs and Israelis working cooperatively underscored that point for me.

War is a terrible habit humanity has developed as a means of solving disagreements. Righteous rhetoric used to justify the action often, it seems to me, glosses over more ambitious and profit- driven motives. I’ve often thought the world would be a less violent place if instead of engaging armies or dropping bombs, we could lock world leaders in a small room with boxing gloves, a chess set, or even a deck of cards. We could refuse to let them out until they settled their differences. Instead, those in power get to use ordinary citizens as pawns in their lustful campaigns while they themselves stay safely out of harm’s way. I doubt that hardly any of the men and women thrown into the battles waged to satisfy the egotistic greed of the powerful really wants to risk their lives, or be responsible for snuffing out the lives of others. I am not saying that nothing is worth dying for, but I doubt that most of the world’s conflicts rise to that level.

If only we could strip away the ulterior motives that drive so much of the world’s drama! That may be a utopian dream, but it’s worth pursuing. One sign caught our attention in Jordan, shown in the picture above.  “Heritage belongs to humanity. Take care of it. Help us preserve it.” We all have a stake in this world. We’re going to have to learn to share if we are to survive. It’s a tall order but it’s a better starting place than the usual strategies.