14.04.2011
Why are you here?
I landed into Tel Aviv airport at 5am in the morning. Half asleep, I forgot how difficult it was a few hours before to get my heavy suitcase of camera equipment into the stowaway up above. As I proceeded to pull it from the overhead stowaway, I almost dropped it vertically, straight down onto the head of the unsuspecting passenger, sat in front of me.
As I stepped off the plane, a security official stopped me in my tracks and asked for my passport. Her question: “why are you here?” caught me off guard and I mumbled something about visiting friends. Her questions continued: “What friend? Are they an Israeli? How do you know her? Where will you be staying?” I answered: “Naomi Aviv, yes, through a friend, Tel Aviv,” feeling intimidated. She asked further questions: “Who are they? Are they an Israeli? Where do they live?” I responded with: “Amikam Toren, yes, London,” trying to predict if any of my answers incriminated me. Afterwards, I was questioned by a further two security officials who had a very similar line of questioning.
As I left the airport, I couldn’t help but ponder over this question over and over again: why am I here?
Love your fate
Naomi and I sat down at the small round wooden table next to her kitchen. She smoked her cigarettes and drank coffee while I sipped green tea that I had brought for her from Hong Kong. This was the first of our many conversations that I would grow to love. She told me when she discovered this quote from Nietzsche it offered her so much understanding to life. She explained that you must learn to love your fate, because until you do, you cannot be a good person, or a good artist. A good artist can tell his or her story well. The truth mattered less, what mattered was the story.
15.04.2011
Diaspora from the government
As I sat with a friend at a restaurant overlooking the sea, it was difficult not to fall in love with Tel Aviv. The city feels planned and well organised. Trees line long, straight avenues with beautiful Bauhaus buildings. The numbering system runs from West to East and South to North. There are very few towering skyscrapers, except for two or three in the centre.
I reflected on my uneasiness walking alone earlier. I had wondered if the area I walked previously belonged to Arabs. Did my presence here contribute to the economy of Israel, thus to the Israeli government and what they stood for?
Perhaps this is what Naomi means when she says she feels she is a “Diaspora” from her own government. Like many Israelis, Naomi was born in Israel. Her parents were from Morocco. She did not choose to live in Israel. Yet, Israel is now her home and she wants peaceful coexistence with the Palestinians.
17.04.2011
Here on your own?
I met Sonia as we got off the shared taxi in Jerusalem. I had asked another passenger how to get to the old city and she came to offer her help. She couldn’t believe I was visiting Jerusalem on my own.
Sonia, a young Indian migrant moved to Israel about a year ago and she works as a cleaner in Tel Aviv. She likes Tel Aviv because it is clean. We walked and talked on our way to the old city. It was about 15 mins walk away. At the crossing, the traffic light was red but as the road was clear, I started to cross. She immediately stopped me and so I waited with her until the lights turned green. As we were crossing, we saw a group of foreigners who had jay walked the crossing stopped by the police on the other side of the road. She explained to me that they would likely get a fine.
As we entered the old city at Jaffa Gate, it was busy with people and the stone steps were slippery from the polishing of visitors’ feet over the centuries. Sonia grabbed my hand and led me down to the Wailing Wall. It was a strange moment for me, walking hand in hand with her, as if we were best friends and eight years old. I thought back to her surprise that I was visiting Israel on my own, as what she was doing was the same, only braver. I sensed she somehow enjoyed meeting another foreigner in this city.
When we got to the wall, she preceded to pray at the wall, whilst I, walked around. The light was interesting at this time of the morning - it cast strong shadows in the far left corner where the men prayed. I stood on a chair so I could look over the top of the barriers to observe the men, who were more vocal in their prayers. Around me, were women who seemed more introverted in their prayers and some would cover their faces with the prayer books.
18.04.2011
One site two names
I have always preferred emails as a way of communicating because it offers you a safe distance from confrontations, as well as extended time to respond - particularly useful for unforeseen circumstances. When I read Dr N’s email, the night before our first meeting the next day in Jerusalem, I felt his wrath even over email.
“It is not the TEMPLE MOUNT it is THE AQSA MOSQUE for me. If tHIS A START IT IS NOT A GOOD ONE.”
My readiness to trust guidebooks and my observation of signs around the area had led me into the heart of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Although the religious site is administered by the Islamic Waqf, it nonetheless remains under Israeli sovereignty. I understood then that the naming of places follows the ideas of the sovereign power.
Much later, I found the other name for the Mount, in Arabic, “al-haram al-qudsī ash-sharīf,” the Noble Sanctuary.
19.04.2011
Jackie Chan
Our meeting the next day went ahead, although I was apprehensive. Dr N in person was calm, friendly and seemed to understand our previous misunderstanding without needing too much clarification from me.
He seemed to take interest in my name and read it aloud as he watched the credits of one of my films I showed him on my computer. I had decided to take it with me late last night as I had felt it would speak more than I could with words. He turned to me, smiling, and asked if I was a relation of Jackie Chan. For the first time in my life, I found the joke funny.
21.04.2011
Occupying a small area of Jerusalem
Many weeks before this day, Asnat and I were meticulous in the planning of this shoot. It was the day of the blessing of the priests and I had feared that this place would be swamped with pilgrims. I had asked for barriers in order to keep the camera, mounted on a tripod, safe for the duration of the time-lapse shot. It was important to ensure the camera did not get knocked. From my research on the Internet I came across a terrace, overlooking the Wailing Wall and I identified a spot at the end of the terrace, on the right where it would be easy to cordon off a small area, since it was already next to a wall. We applied and were granted permission from the Kotel authorities and the police gave us two barriers.
At 5am, we preceded to set-up. I was surprised and disappointed to find people were already praying at the wall. I had imagined the Wailing Wall devoid of people, lit by lights against the dark sky, in anticipation for daybreak.
We brought with us 3 plastic stools and several bottles of water, bananas, apples and nuts to keep us going for the day. We manned the shot in shifts, myself and one of the students went down to the Wailing Wall first whilst Asnat and her student stayed. I wanted to record sounds and Gilat wanted to pray.
As the day progressed, the Wailing Wall was indeed swamped with people. When I returned to the terrace, I found out that it had been very stressful for Asnat and Liron, as many people wanted to get into our cordoned area to film or take photographs. This ranged from a full film crew for Israeli TV, amateurs pretending they were photographing for the Times, to visitors and pilgrims who simply felt that we had more space and a better angle of the Wall. Children were also running riot, pushing, pulling and climbing on the barriers. Although, I had not experienced any direct confrontations, I could sense negative feelings from the crowds surrounding us.
By the afternoon, it was much quieter on the terrace and generally a lot more space along the railings in which to view the wall. To my surprise, the demands to enter into our cordon area continued. I soon realised that by setting up our equipment with police barriers, we had created the ‘official’ spot in which to photograph the wall and everyone wanted to get in. I looked around at our cordoned area: approx 1.5m squared, the drain beneath us was noticeably smelly. It seemed ironic when the other side of the barrier, along the terrace to the left, no more than a metre from where we had set up our camera, was periodically empty where one could take more or less the same shot.
Then, one man who was angry that his son could not play in the cordon area asked us if we were sitting comfortably - as they were left to stand. Later, one visitor commented that we had occupied a small area of Jerusalem.
25.04.2011
Red Dawn
Standing at the top of Nimrod’s fortress looking out at the landscape below, I came to the conclusion that the bombed-out church a contact in the UK had described to me would not be easy to find. More than 2,000m above sea level, the landscape below was lush green, with grass, bushes and trees, few buildings in sight and some signs of agriculture. At a distance, this strategic piece of land, bordering Lebanon and Jordan, appeared peaceful.
We traveled south, visiting some ruins on our way down to the Sea of Galilee. Later in the day, we came upon some old Syrian villages. The sun was lowering and long shadows of trees were thrown onto the exterior of the buildings. The houses, without doors and windows, stood like monuments to the recent episodes of conflict. Inside one room, on the wall was inscribed in Hebrew: “Red Dawn” - an early warning radar system that offered residents a few seconds of warning of incoming missiles. In another was the word: “LOVE,” in big capital letters, made by scratching the paint off the wall.
28.04.2011
No place / no God
On my way back from Jerusalem, I got on my usual no. 5 Shirut taxi to get home. I noticed the taxi was quite crowded. Each time it stopped to let passengers off, others would pile on immediately. The taxi driver would shout out "ein makom" then slam the door close with the long extended arm with which he could reach from his driver side. This scenario happened repeatedly, until I suddenly recognised one of the Hebrew words: Makom - meaning place or God. It intrigued me to think that one word could have such contrasting meanings and I wondered how the word evolved to have this contradiction.
As I continued my journey home in the shared taxi, it became very surreal to consider the possibility that the driver was actually telling people waiting by the side of the road that there was no God.
29.04.2011
A problem of the privileged
On my last evening, I joined an artist I had recently met, her daughter and her writer friend for a meal in Jaffa.
The conversation started when the writer friend complained that she was losing her sea view because a new 3-storey high apartment was going to be built in front of her 2-storey apartment. She was very upset and planned to petition against it with her two neighbours. My artist friend explained to me this was a problem of the privileged.
It turned out to be a sensitive issue. The writer friend had brought a home recently in the area. My artist friend felt that her friend was contributing to the gentrification of the area by moving in. The writer friend defended herself by pointing out that gentrification happens in every city. She added that her property was already owned by an Israeli - not an Arab, hence she did not directly take the home of a poorer Arab who could no longer pay the rising costs of living in the area. This change of hands had happened in the past. However, she agreed that she was against further gentrification of the area and wished that rich Israelis would stop moving in and building walls around their palaces. My artist friend pointed out this was hypocrisy.
They were at an impasse and the mother and daughter decided to take a break from the conversation and went out for a smoke together. Her friend immediately turned to me and asked for my take on the situation.
I explained it was difficult for me to take a position but felt that people always find a justification for their actions. To take the heat off the topic, she filled me in on the historical context of the old city.
Later that evening, we walked the writer friend home. Through the old harbour, up some steps which felt ancient and then along a road which has become the most expensive in the area. Apparently some artists, academics, friends of curator friends have moved in too. The walls surrounding the buildings were high and from what I could see, they were made of the highest specification of materials.
30.04.2011
Home
Armed with a written letter from Naomi describing the purpose of my stay in Tel Aviv, I hoped I would get through security easier for my return flight. On reading the letter, the security official smiled a little - perhaps she was laughing at Naomi’s exaggeration that I was a famous artist from the UK. The second official, seemingly a supervisor, questioned my previous visit to Dubai and if I had friends or relatives there. I then went through several more security checks, including x-ray machines and the contents of my bags were individually swabbed. Other passengers in the long queues were irritated because many of them had missed their flights. Although, I arrived two and a half hours before departure time, I had only minutes to spare. Sitting in my seat, I could not wait to see London again.
26.05.2011
Quick sand and unexploded ordnance
I was warned not to touch or pick up metallic objects whilst looking for abandoned churches in Golan Heights. However, I was surprised to find a warning about unexploded ordnance on Holy Island, a tidal island off Northumberland, in the UK.
Originally named Lindisfarne by the first Anglo-Saxons who lived there, Holy Island is where Christianity in England was first recorded. Saint Aidan, a Christian missionary founded a monastery in AD 635 to convert the pagan Northumbrians to Christianity. Monks from Durham added the name Holy island to commemorate the Christian martyrs who died in the attack from the Vikings in 793 AD. The monastery at Lindisfarne was the first place in Britain to be attacked by the Scandinavian Vikings, who sailed across the North Sea in search for new lands.
The ancient pilgrims path, staked out with tall wooden poles and the occasional refuge hut, offer guidance and refuge to those unfamiliar with the perils of quick sand and other dangers of the sea.
According to the book “Local Records” by John Sykes, published in 1833, two postilions and one of their horses was found lifeless on the sands after their return journey from Holy Island was shrouded by fog late in the evening. One horse survived and stood motionless beside its dead companion, whilst the other two horses were believed to have succumbed to the quick sand.
29.05.11
Two-wheeled testosterone
As we descended the small hill, we could see the first section of the 3-mile modern causeway stretching out into the distance before us. It was partly submerged in water and a crowd of people had gathered at the edges of the water to watch the tide going out. We had another forty-five minutes until the start of the designated safe-crossing time. It was a sunny day, with clouds in the sky. The water rushed across the causeway at a great speed and I decided to start the shoot, rather than settle first and film later as planned.
As we opened the car door, we felt the full force of the wind as it blew open the door and almost ripped it off the car. Hastily, I pushed the door closed from the outside and felt myself being blown by the wind. We set up the camera and tripod regardless, using my weight to weigh down the tripod gently as we had not the time to fill bags of rocks to use as weights.
I then noticed to our side, some men dressed in black leather from top to toe on several motorcycles revving the engines of their motorcycles in anticipation. It seemed there was a race between the riders on who would brave the crossing first. As the first riders drove across the water, creating a splash, it drew the attention of the rest of the crowd who watched the spectacle with excitement. Other riders soon followed suit.
30.05.11
Benign Stranding
We decided to attempt a benign stranding in order to film the water rising from the hut for as long as possible without the interruption from people. Speaking with the locals, the water apparently reaches 4.1 m in some areas. It was safe to across until 12.20pm and then again from 16.45, a period of just under 5 hours.
At 11.30am, we began to load up our equipment and supplies to the wooden hut built on the higher part of the causeway, about a quarter of a mile from the mainland. The causeway was busy with people leaving or arriving to the island. The steady stream of traffic continued well after the safe time.
I suddenly noticed a small island of sand between two of the wooden poles. Previously the landscape around us had appeared quite flat, but due to the small discrepancies in height of the sand, different parts of it began to be submerged before others and a temporary island, like this one appeared. As the level of the water rose further, this small island began to decrease in size, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared all together.
The water had reached the causeway where it was lower than the rest. Fewer and fewer cars traveled across, although larger cars such as four by fours drove by. Then two ordinary cars, with drivers and passengers seemingly of Indian descent attempted the crossing. Their cars made a screeching sound as it drove through the water, in parts almost a foot deep. On the mainland, crowds had gathered, like the day before, watching if these cars would make it across.
The hero of the day it seemed to be an ice-cream van that appeared at the last moment in the distance, racing from the island towards us. As soon as it hit the waters, it slowed down, minimising the splashes to avoid shorting the electrics and getting stuck, as many do at this time of the year. Even though it’s a higher vehicle, it looked like the water had reached its bumpers. When the ice-cream van finally arrived on the other side, it seemed to be greeted by cheers from the crowd. The ice-cream van then stopped to sell ice-cream to its new audience who had watched the performance.
Soon the water had covered all of the causeway and the traffic ceased. Some cars arriving too late in the distance stopped by the water before reversing and heading back to where they came from. In our isolation from both the mainland and the island, we could hear bubbles rising quickly to the surface as the last pockets of air was squeezed out from under the causeway.
Then a seal appeared, with its head just above water to stare at us. A few moments later it would lean back and disappear into the depths of the water, only to re-emerge, seconds later, at an impossible distance to where we last saw it, staring at us with exactly the same expression. It continued to observe us from many different angles and distances, seemingly surprised to have company in this watery no man’s land.
31.05.2011
Only Water
We settled into our hut again on day 3 of our shoot and waited for the tide to come in. Later on we saw our seal, only this time there were two.
We waited in our hut and watched the flow of the tidal stream move in, tiny mounds of foam passed us in a procession-like fashion. Eventually the water covered the bridge at high tide. Soon after we watched the tidal stream reverse direction and begin to move out again. We knew we had about an hour and a half until cars would begin their attempt to cross the causeway. I set up another shot on the causeway, looking towards the island, this time with the hut in view. I could see in the distance that a queue of cars had steadily built up, waiting for the first sign of the road to signal for them to pass.
Perhaps because of our presence, we saw suddenly in the distance, on the island side, a silver car driving towards us. About an hour ahead of schedule, the car was making a giant splash as it drove through what must have been more than a foot of seawater. Confused, we tried to see if it was a range rover or a transit van, as surely no other car would attempt this.
As it came near to us, the Ford Fiesta slowed and I could see a couple in the car. The woman in the driver seat, looked across at us, with a look of panic over her face. They asked us what happened and why they were not warned of this.
It turned out the woman, in her late forties perhaps, was here on a day trip from Newcastle with a friend. As I explained the tides to them, the woman asked why no one stood there to stop them.
Her companion, a man from Gran Canaria, seemed to sway from looking terribly confused to absolute certain that they could make it across the rest of the causeway. Impatiently, he investigated the rest of the causeway and deduced that because he could see the white lines of the road, the water cannot be very deep.
I pointed out that the section they had passed was indeed shallower. As we discussed this, steam was coming out from beneath the bonnet. The man dismissed this as only water. Clearly, it wasn't his car.
As they waited, the woman told me how her friend had told her to drive past all the cars waiting and egged her to drive across. She continued to complain how he was always right and how he was always rushing to get somewhere.
I felt sorry for her and wanted to tell her actually, she was probably right this time.
06.06.2011
Tumultuous Anniversaries
The effect of the ‘Arab Spring’ was felt at the borders of Israel, as thousands of Palestinians inspired by the wave of revolutions across the Arab world organised their own protests.
15th May 2011: a deadly confrontation between Israeli army with tens of thousands of pro-Palestinian protesters, which led to 13 dead at the Lebanese and Syrian borders. The day marked the 63rd anniversary of Al-Nakba (The Catastrophe), an annual commemoration of the displacement of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians that followed the creation of Israel.
The crossing of Israel’s borders by the Palestinian protestors demonstrated the upsurge of Palestinian national consciousness and their determination to return to their homeland.
5th June 2011: the 44th anniversary of the Six-Day war, An-Naksah (The Setback) passed with a further wave of bloody protests by hundreds of Palestinians and their Syrian supporters along the Syrian border in Golan. The event left 300 injured and 23 dead, including an unarmed 12-year-old boy. 5th June 1967 was the start of the third Arab-Israeli war, the outcome of which, Israel gained control of East Jerusalem and West bank from Jordan, the Golan Heights from Syria and the Gaza Strip and Sinai Peninsula from Egypt.
I decided to look up other anniversaries of wars in preparation of my next shoot in Jerusalem.
September 1970, also known as ‘Black September’ seemed a particularly bleak time in Jordan that resulted in the deaths of thousands of people, the majority of which was Palestinians. This September at the U.N. General Assembly, Palestine is expected to seek full U.N. recognition and membership on the 1967 borders, with East Jerusalem as its capital. Despite the prospect of hot weather and high humidity, I decided it was best to go back to Jerusalem in the summer and finish the filming before September.
20.06.2011
Sacred geometry in military ethics
As I sat in the ICA for the Conflicts in Cities conference, I was surprised to find pi, a mathematical ratio that lies at the root of sacred geometry, being associated with military ethics. Eyal Weizman, a political theorist and architect, spoke of a meeting held in an Israel military base in 2002 when a team of experts on law and military ethics was asked what number of civilian deaths they considered to be legitimate in the killing of an armed militant in an air strike as an alternative to risking the lives of soldiers on the ground. The average number was arrived at 3.14 – the approximate ratio between the circumference of a circle to its diameter.
19.08.2011
Israel in the Middle East
We arrived 3 hours before our flight, at 3am in the morning, hoping to be at the front of the queue to negotiate boarding with our overweight and oversized luggage. Our motion-control rig was almost 2m long and alone weighed 10 kgs.
The check-in desk had not yet opened and only a handful of people were in sight. We sat on a bench to wait. I fell asleep and the next thing I knew the departure hall was bustling with people and we had only 40 mins to check in and get to our gate before it opened.
Weaving through the crowds with a 2m protrusion from our trolley was mad, we then attempted to negotiate the snaking queue but gave up and Will waited at the side with the rig. When we finally arrived at the check-in desk, we were passed from one desk to another because of the oversized luggage. Eventually a staff from Alitalia tagged our over sized luggage and thankfully, forgot to charge us for both oversize and overweight luggage. As he tried to locate the destination of our flight on his list, he turned to his colleague and asked, a little confused, if Israel was in the Middle East.
20.08.2011
Be Quiet!
As we walked down the stairs towards the Wailing Wall, we could hear the call to prayer from the Al Aqsa mosque begin. It was beautiful and powerful, like a soundtrack blaring out to accompany the stunning view of the Wailing Wall and the Dome of the Rock at dusk. It sounded louder than when I had heard it last in April and thought this might be because of Ramadan. We stopped at the top of the next flight of stairs down to allow a group of Orthodox Jews coming up the other way past. The alleyways and stone stairs leading down to the Wailing Wall can be quite narrow. As the group passed, we heard some of the children shout out loudly, “Be Quiet!” presumably in response to the Muslim call to prayer.
We continued walking down and wondered where children learn to be so disrespectful to others in public. As we turned the corner, we were parallel to the back of a small café, with their windows open. I could see some adults sat at tables, enjoying their food. Suddenly, some of the adults inside shouted out loudly, “Be Quiet!”
Their part of the city
At Dung Gate we tried to get a taxi back to the hostel. Like some tourist sites around the world, many taxi drivers, unfortunately will try to take advantage of you as a tourist. A gang of taxi drivers waiting for their next victim offered us a ride for 50 shekels. It’s normally 25 – 30 shekels so we decided to walk away from the group as they were too intimidating and it was difficult to barter. It seemed the idea of charging you fairly was out of the question and they would rather stand there chatting to one another than take the job. We waited by the side of the road further down from them and soon a taxi stopped and the driver offered us a lift for the price of 40 shekels or meter. Aware that he could take us on the long route back to the hostel, we decided to take our chances and chose the meter.
Once inside, the taxi driver was really friendly and asked us about London, as he had seen the horrific images from the recent riots and looting. I asked him about the trouble at Damascus Gate as I had heard there were clashes between the police and Muslims who were denied entry for Friday prayers. Due to security concerns, entry to the Temple Mount / Haram al-Sharif was limited to only children, men over 50 and women over 40. A large group of people amassed at Damascus gate in protest of these restrictions and the police on horseback tried to break up the crowds. Eventually, they used water cannon to hit anyone in the vicinity, causing everyone to flee.
The taxi driver replied, “that’s normal, everyday something happens. When it’s not normal, it’s normal for us.”
At the junction with Yafo Street, the driver turns left up Shivtei Yisra’el Street. He tells us that he doesn’t like to take a left here, because the Jews don’t like cars during the Sabbath. Later, he points out a street with police barriers blocking the entrance: “here they’ll stone you if you drive up there. It’s their part of the city.”
21.09.2011
Peuple De Dieu
We arrived very early at the Holy Church of the Sepulchre to begin filming soon after sunrise, at around 5.30am. Two services taking place simultaneously had started. One was taking place in front of the Coptic chapel, whilst the other was facing the entrance to the Edicule, the chapel containing Jesus’s tomb, on the other side of the rotunda.
The first service was conducted by two Coptics who stood and sang prayers and songs. There was no congregation as such to sing to, but they seemed content enough. Sometimes, a third Copt would appear, handing a chained censer to the priest and he would swing it as he walked half way around the Edicule in one direction and then in the other direction. The sound of the bells together with the incense filled the rotunda, rising up to the dome. The Copts are one of the oldest Christian groups in the Middle East. A major ethnoreligious group in Eqypt, they are nonetheless, subject to discrimination and attacks by Islamic extremist groups.
The second service was the Greek Orthodox, which was seated and more formal. Their songs and prayers were more familiar to what I was used to in England. The songs from the two services intermingled and it was very beautiful to sit amongst them and listen. I moved to the other side of the Rotunda so I could record these songs without picking up the sound of the shutter of my camera set up to shoot every 15 seconds.
Later in the morning, I noticed an African woman, on her knees circumambulating the Edicule. With her bare feet turned upwards, she slowly made her way across the stone floor. She held in one hand a beaded necklace and with the other she supported herself with the metal candle rails that partly go around the chapel. As she passed me, I read the text on the back of her bright colourful African dress: “Peuple De Dieu.”
Directing the Wooden Cross
The site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is venerated as the Hill of Calvary, where Jesus was crucified. The church itself holds 5 out of the 14 Stations of the Cross, a route that Jesus is purported to have taken between his condemnation by Pontius Pilate and his crucifixion and burial. The route has different variations and it’s most notable change was it’s increase from 8 to 14 Stations between the 14th and 16th Century because of the developing tradition of 14 Stations of the Cross in Europe. This tradition became a physical reality and today, there are metal plaques marking each 14 Stations of the Cross.
We took breaks from the filming in turns to sit outside and get fresh air. At 8 am, the light was already quite strong. Large groups of tourists were gathering outside at the entrance courtyard. Out of the crowds, I noticed a family of six as they moved towards the three wooden crosses propped up against the exterior of the church, to the right of the main entrance. The mother in a pink top seemed to be directing each member of her family for a photograph with a cross on their back. One by one, the boys and girls, as well as her husband picked up a wooden cross and carried it on their backs for the photograph. The mother was meticulous to detail: from straightening the collar of her husband’s top, to taking the headphones out of one of her son’s ears, tucking the strap into her other son’s shirt, their smiles and the angle in which the cross was neatly carried over each of their right shoulder, at a slant of less than 45 degrees.
It came to her turn to pick up the wooden cross for her photograph. Somehow, she does so with such an exaggerated gesture, it reminded me of Father Christmas with his sack of presents. I turned away, trying not to smile and caught sight of another man, who like me has been observing the family, shaking his head in disbelief and laughing out loud: “tourists!”
23.09.2011
Arab Houses
We got into a taxi outside the hostel at 5 am in the morning. We asked him to take us to E-Sawana on the Mount of Olives. The driver seemed confused why we wanted to go there at this time of the morning. Reluctantly, he drove us towards the Mount of Olives, but continued: “There’s nothing there, just mountains. Why do you want to go there? There’s nobody there. No homes..” To which I replied, surprised, “there are homes there, we went there a few days ago. There are houses there.” And he replied: “Arab houses, yes. I don’t like to go there. They don’t like me there.”
As he stopped the car, we asked him for a receipt and we paid the fare. As we gathered up our many heavy bags of equipment, he rushed us saying many times: “please be quick. I want to run away.” It seemed so over the top, I wondered if he was having us on, but tried to hurry nevertheless. He genuinely seemed terrified.
As we saw his tail lights disappear down the road we came, we stood in darkness as we began to get our bearings. We walked further down the road, luckily there was a very bright spot light from the house on the corner which lit the dirt track we wanted to film from. We set up the camera just in front of a wall. We had visited here on our first day in Jerusalem. We were startled to find a Swastika graffitied on one of the walls as we walked into this neighbourhood. On another wall, a Palestinian flag is graffittied. Further down the wall, there was a graffiti of a stick man carrying a gun and shooting. The thing it was shooting at was drawn over several times, but we could make out a Star of David. The wall looked like it was built recently, it was tall, of solid build and reminded me of the walls surround the Jewish houses in Jaffa. This one had barbed-wire at the top as well.
We started the shot and waited for the sun to rise. Will found a rock on higher ground to sleep on. The area was very quiet, every now and then we could hear roosters calling in the distance. I started to record the ambient sounds. Later as the sun rose, we saw a Muslim man walk along the dirt path, past the tripod. He looked up at us, I waved at him and he waved back.
24.09.2011
Words can create or destroy
We didn’t notice him when we were setting up the shot at 5am in the morning, on the terrace opposite the Wailing Wall. Strangely, at about 5.20am, just before the sun rose, he came to one of the metal benches and started to make himself comfortable. As he arranged his coats to cover his legs and body, he looked like he was settling in for the evening. He seemed to understand however that very soon it would no longer be night, but day, as he opened his umbrella and fixed it to the armrest over his head, in preparation for the blazing sun that would soon rise.
Later, as I laid down on one of the other benches, I joked to Will that he should steal one of this man’s jackets as I was feeling cold. I couldn’t wait for the sun to rise and heat up my body and surroundings. The coldness of the metal bench came through my thin cotton clothes and I had to turn frequently as the chill from the metal was hard to bear on any area of my body for long. Due to the altitude, Jerusalem is surprisingly cold in the early hours of the morning. During the day, the place bakes in the scorching sun, any water evaporates quickly and by nightfall, temperatures fall very rapidly. It is like experiencing the same place across different seasons in a day.
Mark has been sleeping on the bench for three months. He came to Jerusalem to attend the yeshiva to learn about the Talmud and the Torah. During one of his first few nights of sleeping on the bench, he was awoken quite suddenly by a loud thud. Someone was throwing stones at him from one of the balconies overlooking the terrace. One stone almost hit his head. In the morning, the police came to arrest him, apparently the neighbours had complained about him. They thought he was a beggar. Mark has been arrested several times by the police, but each time they eventually release him as they don’t know what to do with him and he returns to the bench, his home. He was strictly speaking not a beggar because he was not begging. He was not impoverished either as the Yeshiva provides for all his needs. Eventually, the solution came with an umbrella and a method of securing it to the bench with an elastic rope with hooks on either end. From then on, he was not a beggar but one of those weird tourists understandably worn out by the city.
The title of this entry relates is one of his quotes during our interview with him. Although only twenty-six years of age, he would speak with flashes of wisdom that seemed beyond his physical age.
No English
We had seen this stunning view from the road on our way to E-Sawana in the taxi. The view overlooked the Jordan valley. We entered through the gate for the Augustus Victoria Hospital, a church-hospital complex. The hospital is the second largest hospital in East Jerusalem, one of the only remaining specialised-care hospitals in the West Bank for Palestinians.
Towards the car park on the left side of the compound was an area with tall trees, rocks and a lot of litter of all kinds. It looked like a place people come to have a picnic. Beyond the trees in the distance, we could see the Separation Wall on our left and the third largest Israeli settlement, Ma’ale Adumin on our right. There were very few people around and the sun was due to set in about 2 hours. We set up the shot, overlooking the valley, some parts of which were already shadowed. To past the time, Will and I read aloud a short introductory book to Islam, entitled “The Truth.” He had received from a Muslim he met on the Al Haram, earlier in the day. We ate a small picnic of our own, being careful not to lose our litter to the wind and add to the collection already here.
Later, when the wind was calming, I walked further up the dirt track to get away from the sound of the camera. Will stayed with the camera to continue reading his book. I decided to try to record some ambient sounds but found it difficult, as I could hear the wind hitting my microphone intermittently. As I listened out for the sounds, I suddenly noticed a man’s voice shouting in English. I turned around to try to find the sound source but could not see anyone. I looked at Will in the distance, who seemed undisturbed by it, so I returned to face the valley once more and held out the sound recorder to continue recording. However, the voice did not go away, it continued. I could hear him counting, one, two, three, then in a threatening tone that he would call the police. At this point, I stopped recording and took off my headphones to gauge where this voice was coming from. I looked back up towards the railings, further across to the left and then saw a man in a red top by a parked Range Rover, signaling us to get out.
Aware of an issue emerging, I started to walk back towards Will and then saw a security guard walking fast towards us. I continued to walk towards the security guard and tried to speak with him. I wanted to stop him from getting to the camera to buy time. He tells us to stop filming and leave. I apologise and explain that we had thought this site was a public space and so did not know we needed a permit. I asked him who I should speak to in order to obtain a permit. He replies, shaking his head, “No English,” refusing to communicate further and then asked in a mocking tone, “do you speak Arabic?” Then I noticed Range Rover driving down the dirt track towards us at what seemed like 80 miles per hour. The wheels were throwing up big clouds of dirt behind it. As it came closer, we could see it was the previous man in the red. It crossed my mind that his brakes might not work and he would run all three of us over. He stops yards away from us and starts to shout at us through his open window. He was red in the face with anger. My instinct was to talk, calmly – but nonstop at him, to explain how we came to be here: because of the beautiful view of the Jordan valley and our desire to capture it at sunset. How we seeked permission to film in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, with permission from the various guardians of the church and the Temple Mount, in collaboration with Awqaf, the police at the Wailing Wall and how we never imagined that we needed permission here, out in the open, in what seemed like a public space. If we knew, we would have seeked permission, as we have done so with all the other sites. There were no signs to tell us it was private property. Strangely enough, as I spoke, I could see the extreme anger diffuse, slowly but surely, the redness in his face subduing in time. When he eventually spoke, his tone was softer, without the wrath I had heard just minutes ago. He seemed to try to defend his perspective, asserting that we should have gone to his office to ask for permission. In response, I ask him where his office is located and if I could see him tomorrow at 10am to give him more information about the project. He replies that he is busy at 10am but either side by an hour would be fine. I then ask him if I can finish the shot and he grants us permission.
As he turned his Range Rover to leave, it threw up more dust and dirt. I feared for the dust settling on my lens but decided not to move and waved him goodbye. We caught sight of the words, “Lutheran World Federation” on the side of the car as he drove past. The security guard, looking confused stopped the man in the car as he drove pass. He leans into the car to speak with him and then looks across at us, disappointed - as if the satisfaction of throwing us off the site was denied of him.
Later we found out the man in red was Reverend Mark B. Brown, the local representative for the Lutheran World Federation.
28.08.2011
Gilabon Toilet
Most of the remains of the houses here in the nature reserve have no windows and doors. For some, even the frames of previous doors and windows have been ripped out. These houses are not impenetrable. Bearing large bullet holes, they have been shot at from the outside from all directions. Any possibility for defense has been broken through. Today, it seems to be a monument for the breaking down of the Syrian defense - as well as its more immediate function - a toilet for hikers visiting the stream.
The houses offer temporary shelter for those needing to relieve themselves. In the corner of one room, mixed in with leaves, soil and dust are old sanitary towels, tissue, baby wipes and other general litter. Outside, around the houses off the main path, there are similar traces. Like stars, once you begin to spot one, you begin to notice them in the dozens. Sometimes the wind carries the smell of urine across. For many months in the UK, I had dreaded this moment: being here for 12 - 14 hours in 31 degrees Celsius.
We set up four cameras in four different locations, to capture the movement of light across the rooms. The sunlight through the windows and doors are very unusual and haunting. Like wings, the light moves through the space, like a positive template of the windows, morphing into other shapes, at times almost mapping the actual windows on the opposite side of the wall. It made me think how limited the English language is. These luminous, kite-like shapes merit a name. We have the word silhouette to describe the dark shape delineated by a shadow. There is so much about the shadow in both Western and Eastern culture and although we have words like a beam or ray of light, we have no way of describing the two-dimensional shape that light makes as it falls on a surface inside a room.
Later, I came across a rare Chinese word for light coming through a window and strangely enough, it looks like two rays of light inside a room with a window.
Target practice on the Old Syrian Homes
My mosquito bites were so inflamed, I needed to go back to the B & B to take a cold shower to try to calm them down every few hours. They were unbearable in the heat.
Towards the end of the day, as I parked the hired car in the car park, the park attendant came towards me to tell me that the nature reserve was now closed. I told her I was doing some filming but would pack up soon. She asked me what the film about and also what I was wearing - we had a laugh about my mosquito jacket, and then I shocked her with my mosquito bites.
She told me that this week, the military has a big operation here in the Gilabon village and we needed to get out of here soon after nightfall as the army will conduct target practice in the area. As soon as the sun went down we started to pack up the shots. We couldn't wait for the skies to get dark as the site would be pitch black and knowing what will happen here soon in a few hours, we wanted to get out of there.
It was odd to know that bIn the forest
“I am in the forest, I can't see it. You see things that I don’t see. I need to learn from you, about our people.”
This was one of the first things he said me. After squatting near my tripod on the terrace overlooking the Wailing Wall for what seemed like 40 mins or more. The whole time he looked into the distance. I noticed him because I feared he might knock my tripod, so stood near it to protect. I previously saw him sitting on one of the benches nearby. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or praying.
His name, Souqy, said out loud, sounded like my name and when we exchanged names, we laughed, it was surprising to find this similarity because outwardly we seemed so different from one another. He looked to me like an Arab, but he wore a white Kippah on his head. Souqy appeared to be in his late forties, or early fifties. He’s originally from Yemen, but he explains that he can't visit it: "it's a Muslim country, not ours." There are many graves of Rabbi's in Yemen that he wants to visit to pray, but he can't.
The sun had set as we spoke. He now needed to pray for an hour and asked if I would be here when he came back. It seemed he wanted to continue to talk with me. I told him I didn’t know but that I would leave when the shot was done.
Time passed quickly. He didn’t pray for an hour, because I was still filming when he returned. He held out a branch of a plant for me to smell. I took it and smelled it. It had withered a lot in the heat. It was an unusual smell, impossible for me to identify it. I felt this was certainly something foreign in my smell repertoire. He explained that it’s a plant from Yemen. He wanted me to keep it as a gift. I don’t know why I declined, it didn’t seem right to accept it and he seemed a little disappointed.
y day, when the sun is shining, tourists come and go. A large sign asks them to respect the natural phenomena. By night, history rears its head once again, and it becomes a place for rehearsing future conflicts between the army and its enemies on the very site where conflict took place not so long ago.
03.09.2011
Actors in my film
I had reservations about filming from the terrace on the Sabbath because taking photographs at the Wailing Wall is forbidden. Since, the terrace was not strictly the area of the wall, I decided to try and see what happens.
As I was setting up the shot, I noticed a small group of Jewish people watching me. One man asked why I took so much time to get the camera level, after all there's Photoshop. I told him in practice you should try to get your shot as perfect as you want it to be. He replied, in a teacher-like tone: "good answer" and seemed sufficiently impressed. We had quite a long conversation about photography and he asked me lots of questions about my settings, from the size of the aperture, shutter speed to exposure length. They seemed proud that I was documenting their wall. As they left, they told me that in a minute I will have actors for my film as they were now making their way down to pray.
It was good to have this exchange. It seemed an informal stamp of approval from the Jewish community. Other people around on the terrace seemed quite relaxed and not at all suspicious or hostile which was a relief after my first time.
In the forest
“I am in the forest, I can't see it. You see things that I don’t see. I need to learn from you, about our people.”
This was one of the first things he said me. After squatting near my tripod on the terrace overlooking the Wailing Wall for what seemed like 40 mins or more. The whole time he looked into the distance. I noticed him because I feared he might knock my tripod, so stood near it to protect. I previously saw him sitting on one of the benches nearby. I wasn’t sure if he was asleep or praying.
His name, Souqy, said out loud, sounded like my name and when we exchanged names, we laughed, it was surprising to find this similarity because outwardly we seemed so different from one another. He looked to me like an Arab, but he wore a white Kippah on his head. Souqy appeared to be in his late forties, or early fifties. He’s originally from Yemen, but he explains that he can't visit it: "it's a Muslim country, not ours." There are many graves of Rabbi's in Yemen that he wants to visit to pray, but he can't.
The sun had set as we spoke. He now needed to pray for an hour and asked if I would be here when he came back. It seemed he wanted to continue to talk with me. I told him I didn’t know but that I would leave when the shot was done.
Time passed quickly. He didn’t pray for an hour, because I was still filming when he returned. He held out a branch of a plant for me to smell. I took it and smelled it. It had withered a lot in the heat. It was an unusual smell, impossible for me to identify it. I felt this was certainly something foreign in my smell repertoire. He explained that it’s a plant from Yemen. He wanted me to keep it as a gift. I don’t know why I declined, it didn’t seem right to accept it and he seemed a little disappointed.
04.09.2011
Struggle for Power
In the morning, Reem, Amal and I had breakfast at 7am at Abraham’s hostel and prepared to make our way to the Lions Gate. As we walked up the hill towards the gate, the police officers came towards us and stopped us, refusing us access to the Temple Mount. We explained that we have permission from the Waqf Administration and we were waiting for the staff to take us in.
The guards seemed suspicious that we might be attempting to film them and they began talking on their radios and repeated that we do not have permission to film. I had previously asked Yusuf, if I could have a written permission as I anticipated there might be problems with the police guarding the entrances to the Al Haram. He reassured me that this was not necessary.
By 8.15am, two members of staff from the Awqaf Administration came to greet us at the gate. I recognised one of them immediately and was happy to see him, hoping that he could help. He had previously shown me around in April. In one hand he held a selection of scarves and shirts, ready to offer to his visitors so they could cover up and abide by the dress codes. To my surprise, the Awqaf staff seemed strangely powerless.
I had planned to set-up the first shot by 9am, so I knew we had a little time to play with. We continued to reason with the police. Eventually, the other staff from Awqaf came to tell us it was useless to wait as the police will not allow us access today. He tells us that this has happened before - the police will allow visitors through one day and not the next. They do not give their reasons. It was a humiliating experience for their organization and he seemed to want us to leave to save them further embarressment. He was apologetic and had abandoned all hope. I decided to call Dr Yusuf. On the phone, Yusuf was defiant, he asks me to insist with the police and that eventually they will allow me through. He tells me that I was most welcomed to the mosque and that the police have no reason to refuse me access. He adds that this is an illegal occupation.
The police seemed only to recognise the authority of one man: Avi Biton, a name I recognise from the previous shoot at the Wailing Wall. We are told that we needed to get permission from him and once the police have this they will allow us in. I decided to call Asnat, as she had arranged the previous shoot. We get through to Avi Biton but unfortunately, this isn’t the Wailing Wall and he does not have authority to grant us permission. Asnat is directed to seek permission from the Police Spokesperson. We wait as Asnat completes the application procedure.
By 9.30am, Yusuf arrives at the gate to apologise, but strangely walks straight past the police, without trying to speak with them. By now, I realise this problem is eating into my filming schedule.
The sun is rising higher in the sky and we continue to shuffle our bags along the wall to stand in the shade. It was beginning to get hot. At some point, it would be impossible to find shade. One of the police guards, an Arab, spoke with Reem and Amal in Arabic. It seemed he wanted to help us but told us not to wait because it will be impossible for us to get access today and that we should go home.
Asnat responds with news that we have permission but we need to be escorted by the police to filming on the Temple Mount. It was a problem today as there was not enough staff to do this. We speak to the police guards to see if there was staff on the Temple Mount who could assist. They seemed to think there was enough staff. I decided to speak with Yusuf to update him on the situation. I realised that I was treading on thin ice in this struggle for power between Awqaf and the police so I was careful not to undermine the authority of the Awqaf in our negotiations with the police. He was unhappy with the police escort and did not want this as a “joint project” between the police and Awqaf. He felt that I was being manipulated. I told him I felt caught in the middle, to which he apologised.
By 11am I am told that I must go and meet with Erez, the head of the police to get permission. Reem and I leave our equipment with Amal at the gate to meet him. When we see him, he tells us that access today will not be possible because of a special visitor who will be arriving in 30 mins. He advises us to apply for another date.
Back at the gate, Amal has news. She explained that, if she still worked for the newspaper, she would have phoned up her colleagues immediately to tell them what was happening. One of the police guards who had previously told us not to wait shared with Amal his thoughts about his job. He hated it and was thinking about quitting. She explained: “this is how leaks happen,” excited to reveal the secret. The special visitor at the Dome of the Rock today is the daughter of King Abdullah II of Jordan. Awqaf, the administration in charge of the Islamic sites, did not know of her visit. I couldn’t understand why this could be. The Israeli government is thought to have given the control of Temple Mount over to the Awqaf. This would suggest this is not the case.
Later, I tried to find reports of the visit to the mosque by the daughter of King Abdullah II online but found nothing. As I researched further, I read that King Abdullah I of Jordan, was assassinated on his visit to the Al Aqsa Mosque by a Palestinian in 1951. I realised things are more complicated than I could ever hope to understand.
I reflected on Amal’s comments earlier. She noticed how calm and patient I was throughout the morning and admitted that if I wasn’t there, she would have flipped. I recalled getting permission to film in the Topkapi Palace and the Hagia Sofia in Istanbul was also difficult. Today was different though: neither parties recognised the authority of the other and both sides did not communicate with one another. Even within the police, their response was inconsistent between different members of staff, so it was hard to accept their authority, blindly. Still, if my experience today was tough, then what must it be like for some Palestinians on a daily basis – not for filming on the Al Haram, but for doing the simplest of activities, such as going to school, to work, to pray at a mosque or to seek medical care.
05.09.2011
Sensitive situation
I spent today setting up my show at the Dan gallery. Getting my head round a PC in Hebrew was extremely difficult but to my surprise, I finished the install by the end of the day.
The phrase was been repeated dozens of times today from the police, via Asnat. Always, it would be followed by: therefore, it is not possible for us to film. It is because of the sensitive situation. The sensitive situation is surely the same sensitive situation that Awqaf agreed for us to film. And the current sensitive situation is certainly an improvement from the sensitive situation on Sunday, when the daughter of King Abdullah was visiting the mosque - the reason we were told why we could not film and should try to arrange permission for another time.
The sensitive situation was certainly not going to improve any time soon with the U.N General Assembly looming.
Perhaps, this is their way of making sure that we really want to do this, in case, we started this half heartedly and really don’t care about it. When someone doesn’t give an adequate reason why you cannot do something, it only makes you more determined to do it.
06.09.2011
Cottage cheese revolution
I decided to have a slow morning and laid in bed thinking about what we should do about the issue. I meditated for the first time too. It was only a short one. I had a shower and decided to wash some clothes that I would need for the shoot. I decided to prepare for the shoot regardless. I want to be ready, if and when we get permission from the police.
As I sat down for breakfast, I thought about the cottage cheese and how much I enjoy it. I have been eating it everyday since I have been here with Naomi. It doesn’t taste the same in England. It is like a totally different product all together. The loose cheese curds are small and bead-like, swimming in the creamy whey that is delicate and sweet.
I thought about the recent story of the boycott of cottage cheese and how incredible that such a mild product can cause a nationwide uproar. Food prices in Israel have risen 26% against 2.6% rise in wages. One of the products people here were particularly angry about was the price of cottage cheese, so they boycotted the cheese in protest. The boycott was organised on Facebook with tens of thousands of members. This collective action worked and the companies had to lower the price. The tub on the kitchen table in front of me is 20% larger than normal, presumably at the same price.
A Matter of Principle
Asnat rang with more news. Each time I speak to her, I listen intently to the tone of her voice when we exchange our initial greetings for an indication of the kind of conversation that will follow. Unfortunately, the police will not grant us permission to film. The reason is that they fear there will be a risk of a riot. Although, we assured them that we are working with the Awqaf on this shoot, they will take responsibility for us. It made no difference. We decided that our next step of action would be to raise it further still to the next level of management. I’ve lost count of the different levels of management we have raised this to. Asnat is determined to pursue this and begins to write a letter on my behalf in Hebrew. The exchange with the police is frustrating me as their reasons begin to sound more and more ludicrous.
I follow this phone call with one to Yusuf to discuss the risk of a riot in the mosque due to our presence. He dismisses it. By now, I was sick to the bone of being diplomatic. I suggested to Yusuf that perhaps, I come onto the Al Haram as a tourist and I meet his staff inside, thus bypassing the police. Tourists are allowed on the Al Haram from 7.30am to 11am each day anyway. However, as a matter of principle, he did not want to do this and would prefer I come through the right gate, as a visitor of the Awqaf. I explained this is not the way I like to work but since I already have their approval, the police’s intervention seemed undue. If I must come through the Lion’s gate and not the tourist gate, then I must get permission from the police – which they will not grant me. Yusuf admits that this situation was beyond his expectations and expresses his apologies for my predicament.
So now, I must wait another day for the next level of the police to respond to our letter. It is now Tuesday evening. As I cannot film tomorrow, my last chance to film is Thurs, the day of my opening at the Dan Gallery. I feel my chances of filming are becoming slimmer by the day.
It is difficult to know who to believe. Perhaps, the police have some intelligence and there is a real risk of a riot, or perhaps this is their way of exerting their power over this site and to teach us a lesson.
07.09.2011
Permission to visit the Temple Mount as a tourist
Towards the end of the day, at around 5pm we finally receive permission from the police. I am over the moon until I receive the details of the permit: we must queue up at the tourist entrance from 7.30 am and leave by 11am. We cannot go inside the mosque and can only film the buildings from the outside.
By now, I am furious. ANY tourist can visit the mount from 7.30 until 11am and take pictures of the buildings from the exterior. Why on earth did they lead us to go through all the different levels of application, only to be offered what any tourist can get - without needing to go through any of this in advance.
It is nothing dressed up as an offer so that the police appear to be understanding and helpful. In fact, it is not an offer at all. This way, they do not acknowledge the permission from the Awqaf, who surely must understand the people praying at the site more than they do. They continue to undermine the judgement of the Awqaf by telling me it is not safe for me to go inside the mosque.
I decide to go on with the shoot regardless: to enter through the tourist gate and meet Awqaf on the other side.
08.09.2011
Tourist or Journalist?
Perhaps it was the white shirt. It's rare for me to wear one these days, the last time I wore one I think I was selling ice-cream and programs at the Lyceum Theatre, straight after my BA at Goldsmiths College. I wasn't accused of being a journalist then.
It seems on the Temple Mount, you are either a tourist or a journalist. Since we were carrying a case with two large professional-looking cameras and tripods, it was difficult to pass off as the former. Still we had our sort-of permission from the police, so I explained we have permission to film. The male officer at security denied us access regardless, adding we don't have permission from HIM. It felt like I was dealing with a gangster from Godfather.
The woman officer started yelling at me because I had previously replied no to her question if I was a journalist. She jumps to the conclusion that I must have lied previously and as I tried to calm her down, she accuses me further of now changing my words.
I resort to calling Erez, the head of the police. Luckily he answers my call. As I explain to Erez my situation at the tourist gate, he agrees to speak with the officer. The male officer refuses to take the call and walks away, adamant still that I would not enter. Eventually, another officer at the gate asks me if it is Erez Stallion and I replied, yes. The first officer takes my phone and speaks with Erez in Hebrew. Later, Reem translates his response to Erez: "sure, I'll let them in, but it's on your head."
Perhaps, I should be a journalist. Everyone else seems to play a character from a film here. We could play out a predictable scene: I could be a smart-arse journalist like the character played by Jennifer Connelly in Blood Diamonds, who tries to get information for her story about the flow of diamonds out of Africa instead of this surreal scenario where I start to question my own authenticity.
I realise this is the closest I've ever been to being a journalist. When the reality is so unreal, you no longer need to create fiction, but simply to make sense of the reality and try to articulate it with whatever method that comes most natural to you.
In the name of Allah
Once passed the Israeli police, we made our way to Lions Gate to meet the Awqaf staff. I felt nervous about being on the Al Haram, as a non-Muslim, especially after the paranoia of the police. The night before, I had googled how to wrap a scarf around my hair to try to blend in.
The same Awqaf staff from Sunday came with a selection of scarves and long flowery skirts for us to wear over our trousers. Reem's skirt was so long, it almost stretched from the floor to her chest. As we walked I noticed mine was quite narrow and I had to take many more steps to walk at my normal pace.
Our guide led us to the Al Aqsa mosque first. The mosque was quiet with very few people inside. We set up both shots shortly after the tour. Two members of staff came over to chat with us. They asked us many questions, from the price of the cameras to where the work will be shown. They seemed really happy that we were photographing their mosque and that people around the world would see it. One of the staff told me how much he likes art - drawing in particular and when he has time after his cleaning duties, he learns how to paint from the man in charge of painting the interior of the mosque. He told me that they used to run classes here for people to learn Islamic art, but that's no longer possible due to lack of funding.
I couldn't help but wonder what a contrast this was to what I had imagined and feared. Everyone seemed very welcoming. Later, in the Dome of the Rock, two woman, a mother and a daughter came over to talk to me. They were Palestinians and had travelled from Jordan to pray on the Al Haram. Both were teachers and the daughter was studying for her Doctorate. I had thought the daughter was trying to tell me not to photograph but she was actually asking me if I could use my camera to photograph her. Her mother later blessed me in the Name of Allah and told me that I had an innocent face.
The community here did not seem closed, but open to have an exchange with outsiders. Many asked me if I was a Muslim but were not offended in the slightest when I told them I wasn't.
However, one person did ask me if I was an advocate of Islam.
Tank Commander
After going back to Naomi’s and showering, I left straight for the opening at Dan’s Gallery. Unfortunately, I was early and no one was yet around, so I decided to walk around the area. There was also an exhibition in the street opening this evening.
Since I have been up for the shoot in Jerusalem since 4.30 am this morning, I decided to have some down time and sit and eat a frozen yoghurt with fresh fruit.
The mangoes here are amazing, almost as good as the mangoes in Hong Kong. As I tucked into my frozen yoghurt with several toppings of fruit, a man next to me initiates a conversation. Roy works in marketing for Coca Cola. He loves the company but hates the product. A few years ago, he was a tank commander in the army. He told me how recently he was called to serve for a month on the Gaza border. He had enjoyed being in the army when he was young, because he didn’t know any better. From his facial expression, his recent experience wasn’t so nice. We didn’t talk about the details over our frozen yoghurts.
I felt that I should be wired up continuously to a hidden sound recorder. Responses to questions asked for the first time is always better. Perhaps, people are always more conservative with their opinions when they know they are being recorded. It’s funny how even when you try to take a break over a frozen yoghurt, it’s impossible to switch off from the complexities here.
09.09.2011
€20,000 Hard Drive
At the 3rd security check, the security staff seemed to be giving the man in front of me a hard time. The issue was the Lacie external hard drive he was carrying in his hand luggage. They will not allow the hard drive on the same flight and so it must travel on the next available flight. Traveling alone, the man was very upset to be separated from his hard drive and demanded to know who would be responsible for the item if it was lost or damaged. He valued the data on the hard drive as €20,000 and wanted a written agreement from the authorities that should the data be lost or deleted, they would recompense him. The security staff was slow to agree to this arrangement.
Next in the line, I was quietly having a heart attack, as I was also carrying a hard drive - with all the data from the shoot in Israel. I started to think how much this would cost if it was lost or deleted, perhaps I should also take this line of response.
The officers asked me to take out all the electronic equipment onto the tray in front of me. I emptied the two cameras, two intervalometers, sound recorder, microphone, everything except the hard drive. It was much smaller than the man’s in front of me and I didn’t want to draw attention to it, so kept it on its side, in one of the narrow compartments. The electronic equipment was scanned separately and all was OK. However, the bag itself was scanned many times and the staff began to rummage through it. I couldn’t see what she was doing as she had her back to me. I feared it was the hard drive. Another staff came to assist. She seemed to be a supervisor. They seemed suspicious of something. The supervisor turned around to face me, holding a pair of scissors in her hands and angrily asked: "why have you got this? This is a weapon. They asked you at check-in.” The small scissors in her hands, looked strangely familiar. That pair of scissors is normally kept in a small bag with my lens cleaning materials, as the foil packets with the lint-free cloths can be hard to rip open, I keep the scissors there for convenience. I had completely forgotten about this as I packed for the flight. I explained to the supervisor that the scissors is not a weapon to me but since she thinks it is, she can keep it, as I have no need for it.
They confiscate my scissors but gave me back my bag to re-pact its contents. The hard drive was out of its compartment but luckily did not cause any alert. I was free to move on. I don’t know what happened to the man’s hard drive in the end. Later, I heard that explosives can be smuggled in external hard drives, so security do not allow the passenger to carry it onboard in case they detonate it mid-flight.
After passing through all the security checks, I needed to sit down, I felt so exhausted. Israel has finally taken every last drop of energy from me. |
