On the Muslim holiday of Eid Al Adha, I traveled to Tel-Aviv for a
belated Thanksgiving celebration with a dear friend, who I will call
Yael. Yael is a Jewish Israeli with dual American citizenship whom I
met in the US years ago, long before I knew anything about Israel or
Palestine. However, as I’ve become more politically aware concerning
Palestine, our friendship has developed an uncomfortable tension. This
tension was particularly agitated when I started posting articles on
Facebook that were critical of Israeli policies in Palestine, the
height of which occurred during Operation Cast Lead, along with my
outspoken criticism of it.

My political expressions via Facebook deeply offended Yael, who saw my
posts as one-sided and interpreted them as a direct personal attack on
her. The hurt ran so deep that even until very recently it was
uncertain if our friendship would survive our political differences.
This meeting was our first since the tension erupted and since I’ve
been in Palestine this time, and was a sincere attempt to repair our
damaged friendship.

Last year when I was here, I spent a significant amount of time
in Israel, much of it with Yael. This time I’ve mostly stayed in the
West Bank and have ventured into Israel on very few occasions. The
hassle of crossing Qalandiya checkpoint often deters me, yet when I do
go I try to engage with Jewish Israelis, making a point not to shy away
from telling them I live in Ramallah. I do this for two reasons: one
because I enjoy the looks of shock on their faces when I tell them I
live here, and two because I enjoy hearing their responses, which are
quite telling.

On this trip the initial responses were the same without fail; with
complete looks of surprise on their faces they all asked me if I said
“Ramla (an Arab city inside Israel) or Ramallah,” as if I could not
possibly have said the latter. Once it becomes clear that I did indeed
say “Ramallah” a series of questions inevitably ensues; in my
experience, Jewish Israelis become very curious when they encounter
someone who actually lives on “the other side.” I am a strange and
interesting creature to them.

Yael and I spent Eid preparing a Thanksgiving feast and
discussing the tension between us. As we cooked we took turns sharing
our feelings with each other and tried to reach an understanding of
where the other person was coming from. In the end, we decided to let
bygones be bygones but did not come to a decision about how to walk the
delicate political line of our friendship. In the past, we mulled over
the idea of never discussing politics again. Yet even if we had made
that decision I don’t believe it would stick. My life in Ramallah is
much too interesting to ignore for a Jewish Israeli who has never been
to the West Bank, and my conscience won’t let me shy away from what I
have born witness to here.

After we finished cooking, Yael and I took the food over to her
friend’s house where five of her friends, all British Jews, joined us
for the feast. Halfway into the meal, the daughter of one of Yael’s
friends asked me where I live. I told her I live in Ramallah, at which
point her eyes grew wide and she asked me “Ramla, or Ramallah?” Once I
clarified that I live in Ramallah, the questioning commenced.

The first question asked was whether or not I have to cover my hair
here. I told them it’s not necessary, and pointed out the considerable
Christian minority in Palestine, to which one of them responded that
she thought all Palestinians were Muslims. They were also surprised to
learn that you can buy alcohol here, and that some restaurants actually
serve it. They asked about my social life, wanting to know if I
socialize with Palestinians or other foreigners. I told them my contact
with other foreigners is very limited and that I mostly interact with
Palestinians. They inquired about what kind of television is available
here and if we get any Israeli stations. They also asked if I feel safe
here, to which I responded that I feel so safe I have no problem
walking home alone late at night.

Additionally, they wanted to know if I was questioned while crossing
Qalandiya checkpoint – I told them I only have to show my passport
photo and my most recent entry visa. I could tell as they questioned me
about the checkpoint that it represents a clear boundary in their
minds; one between safety and danger. The idea of a checkpoint seems to
put their minds at ease concerning who has access to Israel.

As they questioned me it became very clear that my choice to
live in Ramallah politicizes me whether I like it or not, making me a
conduit for information. Although many Jewish Israelis I’ve met have
expressed a deep-seated fear of Palestine and Palestinians, they are
also eager to know what it’s like here, and I represent a portal into
what is perceived as a forbidden world of danger. Yet as the girls
questioned me, I began to realize just how serious the gap between the
two places has grown, and I also realized the lack of accurate
information they have about Israeli policies, leading them to be
largely unaware of what the reality of life is like for Palestinians.

For example, the Goldstone Report came up briefly and one of the girls
stated that the report was a farce because it only criticized Israel. I
asked if she had read the report and she said no; this means her
beliefs about the report are shaped entirely by the media and hearsay,
which clearly omitted the fact that the report condemned the firing
rockets into Israeli civilian territory as war crimes and possibly
crimes against humanity. More accurate information about Palestine and
Israeli policies in the territories is readily available – it seems to
me a matter of seeking to know or choosing to block it out. Yet even if
most of the time the choice is made to block it out, the choice I’ve
made to live in Ramallah invariably forces the issue of Palestine to
the surface, making it impossible to ignore in my presence.

As someone who has the privilege of being able to travel freely
between the two places, I realize that I am at times a bridge between
the two worlds, particularly as contact between the two people becomes
more severely limited. I am not entirely comfortable in this role and
have not yet figured out the best way to navigate the crossing of these
boundaries. It is important for me to hear Yael’s perspectives, but it
is also important for me to find a way of expressing my own personal
truths, whether it be telling my Palestinian friends that I have
Israeli friends in Tel-Aviv, or telling my Israeli friends what their
government and army is doing in the Palestinian territories. For now I
will continue to live in Ramallah and hope that some good, no matter
how small it might be, will come from my presence here and my ability
to cross boundaries.

Britain Eakin is a Writer for the Media and Information
Program at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global
Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mip@miftah.org.