My Trip to Yatta - Part One (of three or four...maybe)

The Day I was Abu Jamal’s 8^th Son

Today was a day where I took some risks, and I owe a tremendous, perhaps life changing experience to my good friend Ali, who came up with an idea to go visit his family fom Yatta, a village on the south side of Hevron.

I will describe parts of the day, and include some thoughts, but I will update this many time before I am done. There are many thoughts I want to share, and which I will miss the first time, because it is midnight after a long day as I type this.

THE MOST IMPOTANT THING ABOUT THIS ENTRY IS I want to be very honest about my thoughts and feelings, as best as I recall them.

This morning I woke up, and got ready for the day. This entailed picking what to wear, which I spent more time thinking about than most days. Its not that I wanted to make a good impression, I wanted to wear something that wouldn’t draw negative attention to me…basically, no Hebrew, no Israeli flags, no blatantly American clothing. I was walking down from where I live to the bus stop, and checked myself over.

Bingo, my bling bling “Israel @ 60” rubber bracelet had to come off…I didn’t even want it on me, so it can pour out of my backpack sometime…I took it off and put it on a fence near the bus stop. I’ll grab it tomorrow if its still there. I suppose this action can be explained by trying to do as little stupid and life threatening things as possible…

I have been in touch with Ali’s mother, who is from this small village of Yatta, over the past week. I boarded a bullet proof Egged bus from the Jerusalem Central Bus Station headed for Hevron. I was one of two people not wearing a kippa, or head covering of some sort.

We passed through the main checkpoint to the West Bank. Of course, its very easy to go into the WB, harder to get out, especially with a green (Palestinian) license plate. We road past settlements like Kiryat Arba, and other smaller ones. You pass the beautiful rolling hills, the layered teace style hills with olive trees, on your way into Hevron. First we pass the Jewish section, the smaller section of course, which is cleaner, greener, and without much personality. Next we head on down to the old city, where I get off. I get off the bus right near an IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) post. I say hello to them, and walk down the road to get my bearings to call Ali’s cousin, who speaks Hebrew, who was with his uncle, also the mayor of Yatta.

Now his nickname is Abu-Jamal, meaning the father of the eldest son, Jamal. This man has 7 sons, 1 daughter, and 24 grandchildren.

Also, referring to nicknames, my father’s name would be Abu-Daniel, because I am the eldest son. Daughters don’t matter in these nicknames, they’re cool though. Maybe in our Western liberal culture, bob can be Abu-Lala. (that made sense to a couple of you)

I have much more to say. Stay tuned for the rest (most) of the story.