The Journey to Jericho

With the weekend approaching last week, Danny, Scott and I were trying to decide what would be the best way to entertain ourselves. Nick was going to Tel Aviv because he loves the beaches there, but we decided it would be more rewarding/fulfilling to check out the Dead Sea in the remaining few weeks of nice weather and figured we should go sooner rather than later. There is a new girl working with the international office too, Charline, who is from France and we invited her along as well. With our bags packed a desire to see more of the west bank, we all headed out early on Friday morning to catch the service taxi (8-person vans that handle commutes between major cities in Palestine). I’m not sure how long the drive is, but I’d say it was around or at least an hour. Somewhere towards the middle of the trip I encountered my first checkpoint that was actively stopping vehicle and we all had to get our passports out and hand them over.

As one Israeli looked over our passports, three others (all armed with assault rifles and very non-uniformily uniformed) peered in the windows at us. I’ve always been okay around guns, and around the military and I don’t mind being the center of attention but this made me really uncomfortable. I think it has to do with the fact that unlike the US military and other militaries I have been around and interacted with, I think the Israeli military is pretty unprofessional in appearance and behavior. They just look like thugs that raided the army surplus store and have pretty nice guns and are essentially the ruling deities of all actions in the west bank. I’ve always had a problem with authority but known my place and the proper channels to deal with discrepancies. The situation here though leaves me feeling powerless and without recourse for what is frequently very unprofessional behavior directed at everyone, including internationals.

Alas, we got back under way without issue and were once again rolling through the hills of the West Bank. The hills here are beautiful because they almost remind me of the mountainous central Washington area. They are covered in rocks and olive trees that seem to be in complete disarray until you realize that these rocks form mountainside terraces that have been here for God knows how long for the olive trees that are the heart of rural Palestine. It’s so beautifully simple, rustic and ancient looking all at once, while leaving me to marvel about the sheer amount of effort that must have gone into constructing this landscape by hand. I have to say though that the most striking physical feature I have seen yet in Palestine, and arguably in my life was the Jordan Valley. After rolling through these hills until I was comfortably adjusted to them, suddenly we rounded a corner to see the hills immediately fal away into deep, expansive valley that stretched nearly as far as the eye can see without a single bump or dip to the valley floor. It was like a poster separating two stacks of books if that gives any proper reference. The Dead Sea glittered in the distance as we crossed through Israeli military controlled land on our approach to Jericho.