There are few things more frightening to me than traveling through the Israeli security at the airport. It is one experience that truly makes me feel something the Palestinians must feel traveling through checkpoints. The scrutiny and threat of humiliation is terrifying. We are constantly advised to create a story about our reason for entering that doesn't include Palestine, and visiting Palestine is grounds for denial of entering and possible barring from return. So to walk up to a security desk of one of the most powerful countries in the world, put on a smile, and spit out fabrications about your intents on visiting beautiful Israel is not only demeaning in itself but so anxiety inducing that I found myself sweating profusely and nearly shaking. The whole process is ridiculous, only because we are innocent. Yet somehow turned into criminals for attempting to work and live in a place that Israel would prefer remains invisible to the outside world. I was lucky enough to get through unscathed- although for sure the color of my skin and childlike demeanor help me loads. But I think much of it depends solely on the mood of your interrogator. A friend of mine, who I volunteered with in Nablus, wasn't as luck. He arrived for a visit shortly after I did, and his story somehow didn't hold up. He was denied entry and banned for ten years.
So I arrived and made a feeble attempt to move to Ramallah, as it's closer to the university. But I hated living in the city. I've written before that it seems to be trying too hard, and I think this is true. It's a new city that was built by the Palestinian Authority and has come to represent a makeshift capital, taking space that Al Quds (Jerusalem) should inhabit. It's pride is it's neoliberal development, boasting a KFC and a Pizza Hut that greet you when you enter the town. This is not the community I'm interested in. So I went running with my tail between my legs back to Nablus to stay with a friend until my classes start.
Here I've been suffering the extremely comfortable burden of Nabulsi hospitality. Endless coffee, tea, meals, shisha. Coming home late after dinner means you must eat another dinner. Coffee means being offered a cigarette. Sleeping means getting tucked in with blankets. My friend who invited me is an amazing musician, an Oud player, and living and getting to know his large family has given me some of my favorite experiences in Palestine thus far. Out the window, views of the sprawling city are comforting. Soon I have I move to Birzeit, and I know I'm going to leave extremely begrudgingly and miss his house immensely.
