I got my breakfast to go from a famous bagel place in the Jewish Quarter and sat in the square next to the Hurva Synagogue. It was a beautiful day and I later caught a bus to Bethlehem. I was told by a few locals that this would be the best city to visit on a Friday, when many demonstrations which can turn violent take place in other cities. The bus could not take us any further than the checkpoint and when we disembarked we had to file through the concrete complex and fenced-in queues until we reached the other side (i.e. the West Bank). I was expecting a metal detector or someone to check our passports, but we just had to make our way through the maze. I asked a cab driver how much a ride to the city itself would cost. He hesitated for a split second while a look that said "I wonder how much I can get out of this dumb tourist" crossed his face.
"Fifty shekels."
"No. Twenty."
"OK, forty."
I walk over to a man sitting on a couch on the side of the road and ask him how much a cab ride to the city costs.
"Ten shekels, maximum."
So I head to the parking lot while the other cabbie is still following me saying, "OK, OK, I'll take twenty!"
When I reach another group of cab drivers I ask them what they'll take for the ride. One shouts out, "I'll take you for just 50 shekels." I laughed, told him he's crazy and said I wasn't going to pay more than ten. One of them, a chubby, kind-faced man named Faris immediately agreed to ten and led me to his cab, explaining to me that what those men were doing was haram--it is against Islam to cheat others out of money. I told him I was not sure exactly what I wanted to see in Bethlehem, but he decided to take me to the Church of the Nativity, since that is the only place most tourists want to go.
The Church of the Nativity was built on the site where Jesus is said to have been born but he almost certainly was not born here.
He then offered to show me the separation wall up close and some of Banksy's art. We drove through Bethlehem and stopped at a car wash where he said one of his pieces was. We got out of the car and walked around the side of the building.
I had Faris stand next to the piece to give an idea of its size. This is arguably one of the most famous pieces of street art in the world. I have seen it reproduced in books and magazines and I never had any idea it was that huge. Faris seemed to like it. He explained that Banksy painted it so that the flowers were being thrown towards Jerusalem. We walked back to the cab, past the men who own the car wash. I asked Faris if I should give them some money for letting me see it. Of course, he said no and explained that Palestinians do not want money, they just want more people to come and see. This reminded me of Banksy's comment about Bethlehem:
“Because of the troubles, Bethlehem is no longer a top tourist destination, but it would be good if people came to see… for themselves. If it is safe enough for a bunch of sissy artists, then it is safe enough for anyone.”
I started to think more about Banksy and his work in Palestine. What did it mean for a tourist to come to Bethlehem, visit random alleys and car washes that they would normally have no interest in, just to see the work of a British artist?
We continued to another random spot that Faris wanted to show me. It was the site of my favorite Banksy piece, but unfortunately it had been removed a few years ago. See it here: http://grd403.wordpress.com/2008/12/30/banksy-soldier-checking-a-donkeys-id-card-2/
The concrete was cut out by the building's owner and refilled, leaving just an off-colored square in the wall. The owner sold it for an untold sum. Banksy's pieces will go for anywhere between $300,000 to $1.8 million. To me, it is a miracle that all the shop owners have not cut out their pieces of the wall to sell to American galleries. Faris explained that they want to keep them there since it benefits the whole community rather than just an individual.
Removing and selling street art can be controversial, especially for the galleries that purchase and resell these pieces. As Banksy's friend Marc Schiller has said, "By removing Banksy’s work from the street, you remove the context and significance of the work. In this way, the organizers have effectively ruined what makes it a piece of art." Of course, it is hard to judge a Palestinian shopkeeper who almost certainly needs money for cutting out a piece of his wall and selling it to provide for his family. For further reading on Banksy and this process here are some good articles and as always I highly recommend the documentary Exit Through the Giftshop:
http://www.stencilrevolution.com/profiles/about-banksy/
http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/12/03/3125154/five-banksy-works-in-dispute.html
http://www.theartnewspaper.com/articles/Off-the-wall-Banksy-murals-move-from-West-Bank-to-Miami/27928
He later took me to an all-Banksy gift shop (one can see how much the art has affected the economy and tourism of Bethlehem) and here are the other works I saw by him:
We drove through the Aida refugee camp. Just under 5,000 Palestinians live in this camp. They have poor sewage and water networks, have an unemployment rate of over 43%, and are prevented from traveling outside of Bethlehem and Ramallah. Most people in this camp have lived their whole lives here as it was created in 1948. Right next to the camp is the separation wall and on the other side the illegal Israeli settlement of Gilo. On the separation wall is more artwork-- most of it amateur, but some interesting pieces.
Faris told me that the local youth had been throwing fire bombs up against the wall, hence all the black soot. He said they scared away the IDF soldiers that were keeping watch in the tower and they have never come back since. I asked Faris if any of the artwork was from Palestinians.
"No. All foreigners."
"Why aren't there any Palestinian artists here?"
"We just don't do things like that. We're too tired."
He took me back to the border crossing and again the damn knife that I kept forgetting to take out of my purse was haunting me. I asked Faris if it would be a problem and he said it definitely would, trying to convince me to give it to him and get it from him another time (which would not make any sense, since I would still need to then cross the border with it). I decided to just give it a shot. I took it into the checkpoint, but there was no one to declare it to. I put my bags through the x-ray and walked through the metal detector, which was obviously set off. A British tourist behind me told me to put it in one of the bins and then walk through. I did and continued on. There was not a single soldier at the security checkpoint. It was so surreal. We just wound through the empty maze that brought us back to the cab drivers and buses. The British man asked me if my knife made it through.
"Yeah. And here I was about to give it away."
"Good for you!"
I got back to Jerusalem shortly thereafter and walked outside the city walls. I was immediately stopped by a middle-aged Palestinian man selling corn on the cob who approached me saying, "Excuse me ma'am, just a minute." For some reason I stopped despite the fact that I heard this exact same phrase dozens of times in the souq. In fact, I want to take this opportunity to explain just how aggressive shopkeepers are in Jerusalem. They yell, always in English,"Ma'am! Ma'am! Excuse me? Helloooo? Why you no talk to me? Why you so hard?" They obviously just want me to go to their shop so they can coax me into buying as much as possible but they say, "I want to talk to you, not about business." Then they get more aggressive, sometimes cursing at me. "Piece of shit. What's wrong with you?" A few of them are pretty clever. After passing and ignoring them they would call after me, "Miss, you dropped something!" just to get me to turn around and talk to them. I am happy to say that I did not fall for that once. I just got so accustomed to never looking at them or talking to them that I probably would not have blinked if one yelled out my name and social security number.
Even after all of that, I did stop and talk to the corn seller. The first thing he asked me is why I was not scared to come here like everyone else. We sat down on a bench near his stand to talk about all the things I had talked about a million times before--Gaza, the U.S. and Israel, religion. He told me about time he spent in Austria. Two of his children are living there now.
"I didn't like Austria. The people there are too cold. My children are in Vienna but I don't want to live there. I was born here and I will die here."
A young woman from Taiwan named Joy approached us. She was apparently a friend of Zaki's, the corn seller. She sat down next to him and took two peaches out of her bag, handing one to Zaki. He split it in two and gave half to me. Joy began telling us about her horrible experiences in the souq of the old city, specifically the men that would pressure her into buying things, look at her suggestively, and try to put their arms around her. When she was recalling one particularly bad experience and tearing up Zaki said, "Next time that happens, you punch him! Show me where he is and I will beat him." He tried explaining to Joy that there were a lot of bad people in the souq but just like any other city there are bad people and good people.
"Just remember that the world is small for nice people, but mean people have no one."
We talked more about the U.S. Zaki seemed to think that everything in America revolves around money. He said he did not understand why people want so much money.
"Life just gets worse the more money you have. I'd rather stay poor. If I have food, I eat. If I don't, I fast."
Zaki then left to get Joy and me some orange juice from the stand nearby. Joy continued telling me about how horrible the Arabs in the souq had been to her. Again she was to the point of tears because of all the men that had ripped her off and made suggestive comments to her. I was shocked at how bad it was for her. There were certainly some sleazy men in the old city but as long as I ignored them and kept walking there was not much of a problem. It is devastating to me to think of all the female tourists who come to Jerusalem and leave with a similar impression of Palestinians and Arabs in general.
It was now sunset on Friday meaning that Shabbat was just starting. Zaki said he wanted to take us to the Western Wall. He knew of a special place where we would have the best view. Zaki led us through a maze of alleys that neither me nor Joy had seen before until we reached a balcony overlooking the holy site.
Joy and I spent a fair amount of time trying to capture the moment in pictures, but nothing seemed to do it justice. The crowds, the dancing, the music. Many of the Jews of Jerusalem came to the Western Wall on this night to pray and celebrate Shabbat. I walked back from the balcony to the bench where Zaki was sitting. I could not help but ask him how he felt when he saw this.
"I have no problem with people getting together to pray. This is their holy place and Jerusalem is not for any one group of people. Jerusalem should be for everyone. I have no problem with them or with praying. I have a problem with occupation, with killing children, with cutting down our trees."
I returned to my hostel and talked with the owner for a few minutes about the bombings in Gaza and the assassination attempt of Mohammed Deif, which resulted in the death of his wife, his seven-month-old son, and three others. This was the fifth failed assassination attempt by the Israelis.
"Do you know why he keeps surviving all their attempts?" The owner asked me.
"Why?"
"Because God is standing with him."
"But God wouldn't stand with his wife and son?"
"…No."
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"Fifty shekels."
"No. Twenty."
"OK, forty."
I walk over to a man sitting on a couch on the side of the road and ask him how much a cab ride to the city costs.
"Ten shekels, maximum."
So I head to the parking lot while the other cabbie is still following me saying, "OK, OK, I'll take twenty!"
When I reach another group of cab drivers I ask them what they'll take for the ride. One shouts out, "I'll take you for just 50 shekels." I laughed, told him he's crazy and said I wasn't going to pay more than ten. One of them, a chubby, kind-faced man named Faris immediately agreed to ten and led me to his cab, explaining to me that what those men were doing was haram--it is against Islam to cheat others out of money. I told him I was not sure exactly what I wanted to see in Bethlehem, but he decided to take me to the Church of the Nativity, since that is the only place most tourists want to go.
The Church of the Nativity was built on the site where Jesus is said to have been born but he almost certainly was not born here.
He then offered to show me the separation wall up close and some of Banksy's art. We drove through Bethlehem and stopped at a car wash where he said one of his pieces was. We got out of the car and walked around the side of the building.
I had Faris stand next to the piece to give an idea of its size. This is arguably one of the most famous pieces of street art in the world. I have seen it reproduced in books and magazines and I never had any idea it was that huge. Faris seemed to like it. He explained that Banksy painted it so that the flowers were being thrown towards Jerusalem. We walked back to the cab, past the men who own the car wash. I asked Faris if I should give them some money for letting me see it. Of course, he said no and explained that Palestinians do not want money, they just want more people to come and see. This reminded me of Banksy's comment about Bethlehem:
“Because of the troubles, Bethlehem is no longer a top tourist destination, but it would be good if people came to see… for themselves. If it is safe enough for a bunch of sissy artists, then it is safe enough for anyone.”
I started to think more about Banksy and his work in Palestine. What did it mean for a tourist to come to Bethlehem, visit random alleys and car washes that they would normally have no interest in, just to see the work of a British artist?
We continued to another random spot that Faris wanted to show me. It was the site of my favorite Banksy piece, but unfortunately it had been removed a few years ago. See it here: http://grd403.wordpress.com/2008/12/30/banksy-soldier-checking-a-donkeys-id-card-2/
The concrete was cut out by the building's owner and refilled, leaving just an off-colored square in the wall. The owner sold it for an untold sum. Banksy's pieces will go for anywhere between $300,000 to $1.8 million. To me, it is a miracle that all the shop owners have not cut out their pieces of the wall to sell to American galleries. Faris explained that they want to keep them there since it benefits the whole community rather than just an individual.
Removing and selling street art can be controversial, especially for the galleries that purchase and resell these pieces. As Banksy's friend Marc Schiller has said, "By removing Banksy’s work from the street, you remove the context and significance of the work. In this way, the organizers have effectively ruined what makes it a piece of art." Of course, it is hard to judge a Palestinian shopkeeper who almost certainly needs money for cutting out a piece of his wall and selling it to provide for his family. For further reading on Banksy and this process here are some good articles and as always I highly recommend the documentary Exit Through the Giftshop:
http://www.stencilrevolution.com/profiles/about-banksy/
http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/12/03/3125154/five-banksy-works-in-dispute.html
http://www.theartnewspaper.com/articles/Off-the-wall-Banksy-murals-move-from-West-Bank-to-Miami/27928
He later took me to an all-Banksy gift shop (one can see how much the art has affected the economy and tourism of Bethlehem) and here are the other works I saw by him:
We drove through the Aida refugee camp. Just under 5,000 Palestinians live in this camp. They have poor sewage and water networks, have an unemployment rate of over 43%, and are prevented from traveling outside of Bethlehem and Ramallah. Most people in this camp have lived their whole lives here as it was created in 1948. Right next to the camp is the separation wall and on the other side the illegal Israeli settlement of Gilo. On the separation wall is more artwork-- most of it amateur, but some interesting pieces.
Faris told me that the local youth had been throwing fire bombs up against the wall, hence all the black soot. He said they scared away the IDF soldiers that were keeping watch in the tower and they have never come back since. I asked Faris if any of the artwork was from Palestinians.
"No. All foreigners."
"Why aren't there any Palestinian artists here?"
"We just don't do things like that. We're too tired."
He took me back to the border crossing and again the damn knife that I kept forgetting to take out of my purse was haunting me. I asked Faris if it would be a problem and he said it definitely would, trying to convince me to give it to him and get it from him another time (which would not make any sense, since I would still need to then cross the border with it). I decided to just give it a shot. I took it into the checkpoint, but there was no one to declare it to. I put my bags through the x-ray and walked through the metal detector, which was obviously set off. A British tourist behind me told me to put it in one of the bins and then walk through. I did and continued on. There was not a single soldier at the security checkpoint. It was so surreal. We just wound through the empty maze that brought us back to the cab drivers and buses. The British man asked me if my knife made it through.
"Yeah. And here I was about to give it away."
"Good for you!"
I got back to Jerusalem shortly thereafter and walked outside the city walls. I was immediately stopped by a middle-aged Palestinian man selling corn on the cob who approached me saying, "Excuse me ma'am, just a minute." For some reason I stopped despite the fact that I heard this exact same phrase dozens of times in the souq. In fact, I want to take this opportunity to explain just how aggressive shopkeepers are in Jerusalem. They yell, always in English,"Ma'am! Ma'am! Excuse me? Helloooo? Why you no talk to me? Why you so hard?" They obviously just want me to go to their shop so they can coax me into buying as much as possible but they say, "I want to talk to you, not about business." Then they get more aggressive, sometimes cursing at me. "Piece of shit. What's wrong with you?" A few of them are pretty clever. After passing and ignoring them they would call after me, "Miss, you dropped something!" just to get me to turn around and talk to them. I am happy to say that I did not fall for that once. I just got so accustomed to never looking at them or talking to them that I probably would not have blinked if one yelled out my name and social security number.
Even after all of that, I did stop and talk to the corn seller. The first thing he asked me is why I was not scared to come here like everyone else. We sat down on a bench near his stand to talk about all the things I had talked about a million times before--Gaza, the U.S. and Israel, religion. He told me about time he spent in Austria. Two of his children are living there now.
"I didn't like Austria. The people there are too cold. My children are in Vienna but I don't want to live there. I was born here and I will die here."
A young woman from Taiwan named Joy approached us. She was apparently a friend of Zaki's, the corn seller. She sat down next to him and took two peaches out of her bag, handing one to Zaki. He split it in two and gave half to me. Joy began telling us about her horrible experiences in the souq of the old city, specifically the men that would pressure her into buying things, look at her suggestively, and try to put their arms around her. When she was recalling one particularly bad experience and tearing up Zaki said, "Next time that happens, you punch him! Show me where he is and I will beat him." He tried explaining to Joy that there were a lot of bad people in the souq but just like any other city there are bad people and good people.
"Just remember that the world is small for nice people, but mean people have no one."
We talked more about the U.S. Zaki seemed to think that everything in America revolves around money. He said he did not understand why people want so much money.
"Life just gets worse the more money you have. I'd rather stay poor. If I have food, I eat. If I don't, I fast."
Zaki then left to get Joy and me some orange juice from the stand nearby. Joy continued telling me about how horrible the Arabs in the souq had been to her. Again she was to the point of tears because of all the men that had ripped her off and made suggestive comments to her. I was shocked at how bad it was for her. There were certainly some sleazy men in the old city but as long as I ignored them and kept walking there was not much of a problem. It is devastating to me to think of all the female tourists who come to Jerusalem and leave with a similar impression of Palestinians and Arabs in general.
It was now sunset on Friday meaning that Shabbat was just starting. Zaki said he wanted to take us to the Western Wall. He knew of a special place where we would have the best view. Zaki led us through a maze of alleys that neither me nor Joy had seen before until we reached a balcony overlooking the holy site.
Joy and I spent a fair amount of time trying to capture the moment in pictures, but nothing seemed to do it justice. The crowds, the dancing, the music. Many of the Jews of Jerusalem came to the Western Wall on this night to pray and celebrate Shabbat. I walked back from the balcony to the bench where Zaki was sitting. I could not help but ask him how he felt when he saw this.
"I have no problem with people getting together to pray. This is their holy place and Jerusalem is not for any one group of people. Jerusalem should be for everyone. I have no problem with them or with praying. I have a problem with occupation, with killing children, with cutting down our trees."
I returned to my hostel and talked with the owner for a few minutes about the bombings in Gaza and the assassination attempt of Mohammed Deif, which resulted in the death of his wife, his seven-month-old son, and three others. This was the fifth failed assassination attempt by the Israelis.
"Do you know why he keeps surviving all their attempts?" The owner asked me.
"Why?"
"Because God is standing with him."
"But God wouldn't stand with his wife and son?"
"…No."
Wow, I have a newfound love for Banksy. I think you and he are soulmates.
ReplyDeleteI like to think so, too. But, he's married. Despite his blurred face and garbled voice in his interviews you can still see his wedding ring. :(
DeleteBoo :-p
Delete