Jordan

Getting Ready to Cross
Standing on the terrace of my hotel room, I looked out at the town and listened to the Muazzin sound the
evening call to prayer. I felt the exotic excitement of knowing that I was in an Arab country for the first time
in 20 years. I was in the town of Petra, just walking distance from the ancient Nabbatean city, which we
would explore tomorrow.

This trip to Jordan became a reality during the last month when I began to correspond with a friend from the
Shalom-Salaam forum (whom I will refer to here as W for the sake of her privacy). The two of us have been
generally referred to as the peacemakers of the forum: "If everyone thought like W and Bracha, we'd have
hammered out a peace deal by now!" Personal E-mails followed our correspondence on the board, and
then an invitation to visit her at her home in Aqaba. W assured me that if I did not feel comfortable crossing
the border, she would meet me in Eilat. Oh, no, I was going to be the one to cross the border! We set a
date, and I decided to go through and do it. I wanted to meet W, talk to her, see Jordan, and conduct a sort
of peace mission. I also wanted to go on vacation and have fun!   I hadn't had a good adventure in years.

The trip became a reality when I got on the Internet and purchased my crossing fee for the Jordan River
cross point at the King Hussein Bridge. Jumpy with excitement, I finally stopped procrastinating and
purchased a beautiful Nikon digital camera with a 3-inch screen. (Now even I could take digital photos!) I
ran a trial run with it on Ben Ami, and when I succeeded in capturing a raven at the top of a tree with the
zoom, I was satisfied that I could take pictures!

Tuesday night W called and asked if it would be OK to change the travel plan a bit: M, the daughter of an
Israeli friend who would join us, wanted to cross over the Allenby Bridge with her Canadian passport. I knew
I could not cross over there because the Allenby Bridge is in occupied territory, and Israelis are not allowed
to cross there. No, she said, your plans will remain unchanged. But would you mind if we stopped in my
home in Amman, saw Petra on the way, and then went to Aqaba? Would I like to see Petra? See Petra?
Would I like to see Petra? Is the Pope Catholic?   I gave my OK and got even more excited.

I began to tell family and friends about the trip a few days beforehand. I was met with varying degrees of
apprehension. Friends began to spread scenarios before me of falling into the hands of someone other
than a peace-loving woman with whom I had developed a sense of friendship and trust. I would find myself
in the hands of people who would hold me hostage in exchange for…You are crazy, it's dangerous, don't
you know that…Don't you remember the woman on the Internet who coaxed a teenager over to Ramallah
and then…I firmly rejected them all. I trusted W implicitly, feeling that this was an honest extension of
friendship and hospitality. I gritted my teeth and dealt with the apprehension of people, knowing that it was
only out of concern, and attempted to assuage their fears. I'd call, I'd email, everything would be OK.

Over the River...
I set off on a rainy Thursday morning as if I were going anywhere else: taxi to Nahariya, the train to Haifa,
bus from Haifa to Tiberias, and then a taxi to the Jordan valley river crossing.

I boarded the bus with a variety of people – mostly Arabs, some of whom I presumed were Jordanians since
their Arabic sounded a lot different to me than the Palestinian Arabic I am accustomed to hearing here.
The bus turned a corner, went over the Jordan River bridge, and there we were, on the other side. I could
have walked the distance! Filled with excitement, I searched outside for W, whom I had seen in a picture
she had sent me. I got of the bus and we embraced warmly.

We spent two hours waiting a the border for M, who had been unable to cross at Allenby Bridge as she had
planned and had to take a taxi up to the Jordan River crossing. We then set off for Amman in W's van.

The scenery was reminiscent of what I remembered from the trips I had made long ago to Jenin, Nablus,
Jericho, and Ramallah in the West Bank before the Intifada. Large marketplaces filled with colorful
vegetables lined the main streets, the car sped through deep puddles on bumpy country roads, signs only
in Arabic, tiny villages with only one main street. The hills reminded me of the northern Negev as we
climbed the road to Amman.
We stopped briefly at W's beautiful home in Amman, ate lunch, admired the pieces of artwork on the walls,
and then set off for Petra. I removed my presents for W from my bag and left them in her home – a 3-D
photo album of Israel and a copy of my CD.
During these long car rides W and I talked constantly – about everyday life events, Islam, the conflict, her
daughter's suitor who had sent her flowers in hopes of winning her heart despite the fact that she had given
up on him and had gone to a fortune-teller to ask what to do about the dilemma.

"What is the municipal water service like?" asked W.
"What do you mean, the water service?
There's water all the time."
She explained to me that in Amman the municipality
opens the water once a week, and people then
fill up the tanks on their rooftops. If you don't have
a backup well, then after three days if you've run out
of water, too bad. Jordan is a poor country, they have
a water shortage, and the vast expanses of desert
make it difficult to transport water from one place to
another. I thought about how we have made the Negev
green and wondered if they could to the same,
perhaps with our help.

Seeing Jordan made me realize how much Israeli has
accomplished. I compared Tel Aviv with Amman.
The Negev with this vast expanse of desert.   How ironic
that some Arab countries are knee deep in money and
Jordan is so poor. I could sum Jordan up: It has a lot
of potential, but it hasn't utilized it yet.

We reached Petra at dusk and checked in at the Movempick, a lovely luxury
hotel near the actual site. I never paid for a thing on this trip, and eventually
gave up offering. W's generosity was endless, and I lacked nothing. My room was spacious, a bottle of
wine on the table, fresh and dried fruits, finger sandwiches, a couple of bars of Toblerone chocolate,
drinks, beer, and mineral water in the fridge, and enough toiletries in the bathroom that it was a pity that I'd
brought my own. I fell asleep despite the excitement. Tomorrow I
would see Petra!

Petra
Vote for Petra as one of the seven wonders of the world! -->
www.visitjordan.com
It gets my vote, hands down. Walking into Petra the next morning,
I remembered what I felt visiting the Pyramids in 1986: "I never
thought I'd get here!" A wonderful Jordanian guide whom we
latched on to would have done any Israeli tour guide proud with
his thorough knowledge of every rock and turn. Kids and young
men shouted "Want a horse, want a donkey? A Camel? (One
even offered a mule). Horse drawn carts carry people who can't
walk the long trek through Petra, though with the speed that they clatter along over the rough road, I
imagine that the bumps would be pretty hard on the back and you might end up with a slipped disc instead
of sore feet.

We spent a lot of time in front of the relief taking pictures, marveling
at it, and decided to walk on. Petra continues for a short way and
then fades into the desert, but it may very well be that there is still a
great deal more that yet remains un-excavated. Again, who will be
willing to come up with the money? I marvel at the fact that Jordan
has such a treasure, and at the potential they have of developing it.

Back to the hotel to clean up, pack, collect some box lunches, and
off to Wadi Ram and Aqaba. Wadi Ram is named after an animal
with horns, probably the same thing that we call ראם Re'em in
Hebrew. I collect more and more words that are similar, tell them to
W. If only I could put it all together. I understand what people are
talking about, but I can't speak. We're going to have to do
something about that.

When we reached the dramatic desert view of Wadi Ram we
suddenly came upon a large assembly of busses, cars, and people
in the middle of nowhere. Rugs were spread on the ground and a
fire burned in an open fireplace, tables were spread with a buffet of
Arab cuisine. But I never made it past the entry. There stood about
a dozen men with drums, flutes, and a full set of bagpipes, playing
and singing.   Thoroughly enjoying the music, I stood there
transfixed until W pulled me away and told me that we were invited
for dinner, but that she had whittled their invitation down to a cup of
tea. The event was a gathering for the press to promote the city of
Aqaba. Sure enough a TV cameraman sauntered up and asked to
interview us.

"Hello ladies, can I have a few words with you? I"m from
Al Jazeera." Al Jazeera! Uh oh, whoops, er, ahem, excuse me, no,
I'd rather not, thank you, la, la, shukran. W saved me and whisked
the reporter away, assuring him that I was a tourist and had not
been to Aqaba, and had nothing to say. After she had satisfied him
with a short interview, W and I nudged each other and hooted with
laughter at what we imagined would be the reaction of certain
people if they saw me on Al Jazeera. A missed opportunity for
instant stardom.   We drank some hot sweet tea and listened to an
incredible oud player for a while and then drove on to Aqaba.

Aqaba
W's "small" apartment in Aqaba was a delightful 3-bedroom
penthouse with a view of Eilat to the West. We headed for the club
where W kept her boat and had a quiet fish dinner, then headed
back home and hauled out two laptop computers. Here was the fun
part! I logged on to Shalom-Salaam.net and put up a message as
usual. The Jordanian flag appeared next to my name because I was
logging in from a Jordanian IP address. Then the fun began!

W proclaimed that I had become a member of the Diaspora
temporarily, and that I would soon be returned home. She added a
photo of me next to the facade in Petra. K asked if I was indeed a
package to be returned home, and B from Kuwait theorized that I
was close by.

This was in fact, the first meeting of members of the forum from the
two sides o the conflict, a historic moment for all of us. I had joined
the forum as an attempt to do something, wishing to dialogue with
the Arabs after the last war. It was because of the forum that I had
met W, and had come. So they deserved a bit of entertainment!

The next day after a breakfast of humus, vegetables, pastries, and
fruitcake, we set off to the Seeti Zeinab, (Granny Zeinab) W's boat.
She was a neat little speedboat and we climbed aboard. Two
minutes later we were out on the water and the boat was zipping
along over the Gulf of Aqaba, which was smooth as glass and bright
blue.

"Hey, W", I shouted above the motor: "Where's the Jordanian flag?
Get it up!"   I could vaguely see the hotels of Eilat and the big hotel
at Taba. With wonder I realized that I was looking at four countries
at once: Israel, Jordan, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. W told the story of
some friends who had been out on a boat, had a bit too much
partying, and had fallen asleep. When they woke up the next
morning they had drifted over to the Israeli side and were opposite
the hotels of Eilat. They made a mighty quick getaway.

You can see on the map above that Jordan extends southward
along the coast for some 10 kilometers before the border with Saudi
Arabia. A country that was truly drawn with a ruler on paper.
After a while we docked the boat in front of a sand beach and after
greeting W, the locals produced three lounge chairs, towels, and a
large umbrella. Establishing ourselves on the beach in the sun, W
and I got a chance to have a good talk while M took a nap.

How do you convert to Islam? Simply enter a mosque and declare
"There is no God but Allah and Mohammed is His prophet" in front
of two witnesses, and you are a Moslem. The rest is your own work.
A far cry from the long process of becoming Jewish!

Talking about the conflict with W is not difficult, because I agree with
a lot of what she says. I find the descriptions of the occupation
more and more painful to deal with, but hold to the idea that the
Palestinians must bear responsibility together with us for ending it.
W respects Israel's right to demand security and understands
Jewish history and the need for a Homeland. She also knows some
Hebrew -and I am embarrassed to say, more than I know Arabic. M
was a lot more biased, and even though she is Jewish and born in
Israel, she has adopted a one-sided view of the conflict and I often
lost patience with her one-sided attitudes and snide comments. I
forgave her for being young and seeing things in black and white,
but I stuck to talking to W. I did not want to spend this wonderful
vacation arguing about the Middle East.

Saturday night we had yet another delicious fish dinner, this time a
Jordanian dish with spicy rice and fillet. There were so many salads
I never managed to taste them all. I did a quick tour of the souvenir
shops, bought some small things and found the most important thing
what I had imagined buying - a large plush camel for Rotem, and we
went home to pack. Tomorrow would be spent on the long drive
back up to the Hussein Bridge and the trip home.

...And Back Again
Sunday morning we set out to drive back along the road to the Dead
Sea. The landscape on the Jordanian side is much more flat and
the mountains do not rise upright next to the shore as they do on
our side of the border. Pointing my camera westward, I took some
pictures of home. There were several checkpoints on the way up
because of the proximity of the border, but we were waved through.

We stopped for lunch at another branch of the Movenpick Hotel and
walked around the lovely garden overlooking the Dead Sea. The
hotels and spas are on the northern end of the Jordanian side and
we began the last leg of the drive to the border.

A quick passport and luggage check, with, of course, an exchange
of baksheesh, and we were through. We kept saying goodbye and
hugging for what we thought would be the last time, then ended up
meeting again on the other side of passport control. I tried to give W
the left over Jordanian money I had, and she refused it and told me
to keep it for next time.

I threw my bag into the luggage hold of the bus, we went to buy
tickets, and I turned to embrace W one last time and to say
goodbye. Somehow I had the feeling that we would see each other
on one side of the border or another before long. M and I climbed
on to the bus and it pulled out, stopping at the eastern edge of the
bridge for one last passport check. I pulled out my camera and took
a picture half way across the River, half in Jordan and half in Israel.

But there was one more adventure to go.

When we got off the bus M went ahead and asked me to wait for
her. I went through the gate, finished passport control and was
walking through customs when everyone was ordered to clear the
hall because of a security alert. I went outside, but M did not show
up. I was wondering if she had gotten held up.   After a while I
decided to take some initiative, call W, and ask her for M's number.
No one could leave the compound anyway. I would call M to see if
she was being held up inside. I didn't want to wait any longer. I
pulled out my phone and found that I was still on the Jordanian
system, and I got a message in Arabic that the number I had dialed
was inaccessible because I had dialed the country code. I prepared
to try again.

The next thing I knew two women security guards came up, grabbed
my phone and told me quietly and authoritatively to step aside and
bring my things. I was ordered to stand still and not move. Good
grief, what do they think I am up to? I was not scared because I
knew that I hadn't anything to hide, but I was annoyed at being
made the center of a scene.

Another very efficient looking security officer stepped up and joined
the young woman, who was obviously very proficient at her job. The
other woman was now busy on her walkie-talkie saying something
about the woman outside and the woman inside.

The guard politely but firmly introduced himself as Y of security.
"May I have your passport, please?" This was not a request. It was
an order. Feeling like I was in the movies, I asked: "Is there a
problem?" And then the questions started coming thick and fast:
Who did you go to Jordan with? I went alone.
Why did you go? To sightsee and meet a friend.
What is your friend's name? I gave my friend's name.
How do you know her? To tell you the truth, we met on an Internet
forum for peace in the Middle East. (Pause of surprise from the
questioner) We became friends. She invited me to Jordan and
hosted me.
Where did you go in Jordan? We went to Petra and Aqaba.
Where do you live? What do you do for a living?
I continued to answer all the questions.
"We saw you writing in a notebook. Give me your notebook."
"B'Vakasha." Seeing as I had already been stripped of my
passports and phone, I figured I had nothing left to lose. I did
wonder how they knew I had a notebook. I had never taken it out on
the Israeli side at all! I handed it over. She started leafing through
it. Heaven help her if she was trying to figure out my scrawled
Hebrew writing that I had done while riding in the car! She scanned
through several pages. The photographs that I had brought to
show W slipped out.
"Who's this?"
"That's my granddaughter!"

After over an hour they let me go. My phone and passports were
returned, and I climbed into a taxi. The first thing I did was call W,
tell her that M and I had become separated and that I had been
detained at the border. At least I know one thing: the security at the
border is veeeerrrry thorough...

I spent the ride home on the phone calling family and friends telling
them that I was now on the Israeli side of the border. It was strange
to arrive in Ben-Ami as if I had been to Tel Aviv and back, but I knew
I had been much farther in more ways than one.

W has been to Israel before. I dream of hosting her in the Galilee
and offering her a humble version of the generous hospitality that
she showed me. We'd go to Acco, climb up to the top of the
Montforte, go down the cable car at Rosh HaNikra into the grottoes
and peek into Lebanon, up to the Arab villages of Mailia and
Tarshiha, and, as K from the forum puts it, "be Middle Eastern, wipe
up humus and complain."   But we wouldn't complain, we'd talk and
talk more and have a wonderful time. All my friends want to meet W
and talk to her. "You must come!" I told her. W says she would
bring her car and drive over. It is so simple.

I have now been to the only two neighboring Arab countries that I
can visit. I never thought I would see Cairo, or the pyramids, or
Petra, or Amman. But things change, surprises happen. Who
knows what the future will bring?