Seat at Palestine

The border of Palestine - I can’t say what it was in January 2008. There would be that big bombing attack in February, a week after I left. I have no idea where we were – even if I could say the area, I’m sure the territory lines have changed by now. The blue sea in distance, the sun was glistening through crispier air that morning but it was warmer than the other parts of Isreal, where I had been touring with Aaron (or so we shall call him). Orchards of some kind lined the older, worn in road, grasses swayed, it felt like a mini countryside – quaint and erriely untouched in the few miles leading up to. We stopped at one point – guards checked our car. Guards would often check everything, everywhere - My purse in order to enter the restaurant, our car trunk in order to park In the mall parking structure, pat me down to get into a business building – it was the norm here.

Aaron held my hand in the backseat, kissed it as always. He was romantic for sure. Made love in the mornings, long, leisurely, liked to cook egg breakfast together, take in the newspaper over strong Turkish coffee. He hated when I’d leave early for a class or work shift. He’d give me a fight all day if I didn’t take time for a kiss and conversation in the mornings. He was handsome and polished. Tall, light eyes, white from his Berlin born mother but those thick curled lashes, slanted eyes and wavy hair that so much of middle east has – gave his mixed heritage away. We had only lived together six or seven months at that point but I had known him a couple years. He was part of why Noa and I ended. I hate to say that but it’s true. I was never so sick in my life as I was after that first night I spent with Aaron after Noa left for Vegas. It’s not that Aaron did anything wrong that night a-year-and-a-half back – it was just that I was still in love with Noa at the time and we were still together in heart even though he had left. I never thought Noa would forgive me for that. But I couldn’t hold it in – I told him within the week… could not stop crying till I choked it out. It’s why I moved to Vegas so fast – I knew I had to try to mend whatever I could or I’d never forgive myself. Yet, after all is on the table – I learned that even if you love, truly, deeply, years… some choices change things forever and you cannot force another to heal, you can just try your best to give it your all and the rest is their choice… so there I was a while later, after moving back to Honolulu – again, fallen for the exotic Israeli International Business major who seduced me into a life changing love affair and brought me to Israel winter of my 19th year.

Palestine of course is no easy topic. Israel and Palestine has been in tension forever and yet here I am dressed in a pink knit sweater, eyeliner and make up to cover our nightclub adventures from Israeli’s controversial party culture, wondering why Aaron and his father were taking me into a business meeting at the home of a prominent head in a town on the Gaza border. I was trying hard to get the poppyseeds cleared from my teeth before we arrived – I could feel them in the back still – Aaron’s family home is filled with edibles ready on the counter like poppyseed pie, that thick braided bread, figs, small sized organic fruits and vegetables, date filled pastry (I can’t remember it all). Natural sunlight flowed throughout the multi-story tiled home of the suburb. The design more European in style – like the showers having no enclosed wall, no lip for a water catch, high ceilings, a terrace like area with indoor plants, small coverings for the cars as the vehicles were also more of that small, compact European style. I wish I had pictures of that month there, but those Kodak prints are lost somewhere in boxes between the many moves I have had since Aaron.

“Look how they make their women do all the work,” Aaron pointed out the strawberry patch on the way. Three women with scarves draped over their head and coverings over their figure picked strawberries for customers while a dark skinned man uncovered, sat at the sale podium. “This is something I don’t agree with,” Aaron noted the tension between the Arabic cultures and Isreali culture. “What do you think about this?” he always wanted my “American’ opinion.  

“Well, I think it is just as bad that the sacred praying wall of Jerusalem segregates 3/4 th of it for males and makes the women wait all day to submit their prayers in the small section of the wall.” We had just gone to Jerusalem a week before and truly, there were five times as many women coming to give “God” or their belief a prayer, a wish, a beg for mercy or just a closeness they were hoping to achieve and yet these women were made to wait hours while men surpassed them with no wait.                                  

Silence.

“Yalla,” his father said, parking the car on the grassy front. Aaron’s father was a major architect and developer in Israel. I didn’t know how big he was until I was there and saw his name and business works in the cable news and local papers. I could not speak much Hebrew but the little bit I knew gave me bonding with his father over blueprints over mint tea in afternoons. Being my father was also an architect, he was excited to see I understood the drawings and basic elements of his work. Perhaps that’s why he thought to bring me to his negotiation with the Palestinians on developing the countryside in that argued borderline or perhaps I was merely an American card that gave a surprise factor – I’m not sure. They could have left me with Aaron’s sisters that day but they didn’t , nor did they invite the sisters to come along either…

There were a few women relaxing in the yard, children playing, laughing, fathers looking loving and engaged with them. Peaceful. It felt comfortable. Warm. Family. Good. The women suddenly got up when they saw us, told the children to go inside, and said they would bring out food and drink. The men perked up and arranged themselves around the long wooden table there in the yard. Aaron sat me next to him. All the men looked at eachother yet Said nothing. I almost got up to join the wives in the house – instinctively. No. Aaron’s father put his hand on my shoulder to secure me.

“Mayim?” a women offered me water from a short embroided glass. She was not covered, not draped. She was beautiful. Natural curves showed through a simple top and skirt. She could have been from Hawaii – skin color, slighty slanted eyes, dark thick hair, shorter than me, kind.

“Toda,” I nod, though I’m sure my accent shined through with even something so simple as saying thanks.

The men began. It was apparent they met before. The language far too advanced for me to know anything they said. Aaron chimed in at times. I just stayed silent. Hot tea was served. About an hour in the host turned to me after not even a hello had been said to me.

“Miss,” he addressed clearly, looked me straight in the eye, hardly an accent. “I know in your culture it is normal for a woman to discuss business among men. However, here, we keep women away from the stress of business and that is why we do not speak to you here.”

Beat. Beat. Beat.

“This is why no one will speak to you. I hope you understand.”

Fuck.

Aaron… what???? 

Did I speak? I don’t remember. Life halted a bit. Was I for show? Was this a test? Am I in danger? Do they expect me to break through this barrier by being here? Was I a chess piece?

They served more tea. The women serving looked at me - I put my sunglasses on. The Palestinians were firm in their voices but much less argumentative than the Israeli cities. In the cities it was a constant back and forth banter of cost and delivery – like brother sister arguments in the home, but aggressive on volume.

The ride home was … like nothing happened. No talk of if I was uncomfortable and no explanation really for what was discussed.

We stopped for drinks and dinner on the beachfront back up in Tel Aviv. The beach culture was much sexier than I expected for a Jewish state. Girls showed curves, had boobs done, tattoos, long hair flowing free, spoke fearless. It was a night and day culture that lived here in the city of the young Israeli’s who had paid dues in war and modern life verses the older, traditional religious ones who still circumcised the females’ in order to ensure they stayed loyal and didn’t look for pleasure. To be a woman was far more complicated than I already knew it to be. Apparently a woman is threatening or too precious – one or the other or the same or why else all the rules? Whether in Hawaii or the other side of the world – a woman and her sexuality seems to be the common focus in family rules of tabo or undermining. Aaron was not doing anything purposely - I’ll have to explain more later, but it was the whole way of being that seemed ingrained. To have power as a woman means a delicate balance but especially there, I knew my soul would not last.

*Please note that this read is meant to be entertaining, not necessarily factual