This truly had been an incredible three weeks and has solidified for me the kind of work I want to do. Sure, I'm willing to tell 19 year olds where the bathroom is twenty times a day if in the end they walk away seeing the realities of the occupation but also understanding Israeli narratives.
The day after our incident at the checkpoint, I sat on the beach. Anybody who knows me kneos my favorite place is on a beach, and I was so looking forward to three days of sand and sun and waves. But I couldn't do it. I sat on the beach and it was Birthright Week (meaning hundreds, literally hundreds, of overly enthusiastic Americans were roaming the beach and talking at the top of their lungs). It would have been obnoxious all on its own but I wanted to scream at them, "You guys there is a fucking occupation!!" I chose not to scream that, and instead left the beach, defeated.
I know. You're thinking to yourself right now, Alice, you said this was going to be cheerful! And it will be, I promise.
So yesterday I decided to avoid the beach and instead headed to south Tel Aviv to check out a spice market and enjoy the hustle and bustle of the streets. I needed to love Tel Aviv again, somehow. Again, Birthright ruined my plans. They are literally everywhere, walking in a huge pack and somehow always yelling.
Defeated again, I returned to my hotel and sat in my bed watching CNN international, because nothing puts you in a good mood like watching about capsized migrant boats
Okay, here is where it takes a good turn. A former student of mine who lives here now texted me and decided to come over to my hotel to visit. We made free coffee (not Nescafé, real live coffee!), and sat on the hotels rooftop and she told me all about her life here and what was hard and what was exciting and how different her activism looks now from when she was in college.
Then I walked north to meet Neil, my old advisor when I lived here, and in his lovely British accent over a bowl of perfect olives, we talked about films and theater and small little efforts at human connection in an attempt to end the occupation. As Neil left, Shirel, who had been my other advisor and is now a dear friend joined me. Deciding I could eat anything as long as it wasn't hummus, we wandered the streets looking for an open restaurant. Shabbat was coming in and even in Tel Aviv, many restaurants close.
We walked and walked and the streets grew quieter and I felt a certain calm falling over me that I haven't experienced in years. I am not religious and the idea of actually keeping Shabbat seems a joke to me. But to be in a city, in a county, that chooses to truly close itself down for twenty-four hours is refreshing.
We found ourselves in a relatively decent Asian restaurant (for Israel, by American standards it was like Panda Express but let me tell you, any Asian food will taste amazing when you have been on a steady diet of falafel and hummus for weeks).
After dinner we walked down Rothschild, a beautiful boulevard lined with trees and cafes and benches. Families were out walking home from Shul or enjoying an evening stroll and we sat on a bench and talked for hours about this place and these people and art and food and men and identity and how to make sense of the world. And by the end of the night I was nearly in tears because as we sat on Rothschild I remembered why I love this country and this city and these people.
Tonight I fly to Berlin and while I am ready or leave this land, I am happy to be leaving it having been reminded of what is good and special and pure here, not only of what is painful and wrong and difficult. For now I drink my coffee and enjoy the mild weather and walk the streets and meet friends and imagine a future where Palestinians come to Tel Aviv for burekas and the beach and Israelis go to Nablus for kenafe and shopping. It may take generations, but I am certain this day will come.
Shabbat Shalom, y'all, and inshallah, you'll hear from me from Berlin.
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