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As we disembarked from our bus inside a checkpoint in the Biblical town of Hebron on the West Bank, we were welcomed into a pottery shop by Khaled, a congenial Arab. His shop was the only sign of life other than that of the Israeli military guards in and around the road where we had alighted.

A few meters away was the imposing ancient Ibrahim Mosque, the focus of conflicting religious-political claims  between Muslims and Jews.   The mosque was built over an ancient Jewish site by the Muslims when they conquered the country in 7th century.  Both the Muslims and the Jews believe that inside this structure lies the tomb of Abraham, their Biblical forefather. Hence today’s rivalry over Hebron. 

Before we proceeded to explore a bit of the town, we were assured by one of the military policemen that “you are safe here in the Jewish section.”

One of Hebron’s main streets which was described to us as “neutral territory now” lies vacant and boarded up. Until recently, it had been a thriving market street with shops and restaurants owned or operated by Muslims and Jews. The only assurance we had that were not in a ghost town was the housing that covered the adjacent hillside of the Jewish section. The Arab section was not within view.

We toured the Jewish side of the mosque which had partially been converted to a synagogue long ago. In order to enter the Arab side of the mosque we first needed to enter the Arab section of town at the end of the street. Because one of us is Jewish, we were advised by the military not to enter the Arab section, which was governed by the Palestinian Authority, for safety reasons. We took their advice and didn’t enter.

Just before we left town to return to Jerusalem, we stopped at the pottery shop by the bus stop again. Khaled demonstrated some pottery-making as he commented on the politics of Hebron. “In some sections of town only a Jew and a Christian can enter; in other sections\a Christian and an Arab can enter; and in other sections an Arab and a Jew can enter,” he said with a waive of his hand and a slight laugh. He is trying to tell us of the absurdity of it all, I thought. We laughed with him, even though we knew the matter was deadly serious.

I bought some pottery from him, especially so I wouldn’t forget him – the friendly Arab in the midst of the “neutral territory” in the politically-charged town of Hebron.

Salam

Merrilee

 

 

 

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