|
|
Change Your Life! |
Though part of same world they are worlds apart |
|
News
|
|
|
August 14, 2000
JERUSALEM (AP) - They are both young and slight, with long brown hair tied back into practical ponytails. They dote on their baby daughters and wonder how they'll balance motherhood with career. They love vacations abroad, and wish Jerusalem had better movie theaters. Those are some of the things that Rania and Nama have in common. What separates them is an unmarked but unmistakable divide, right down the middle of the city. Rania is Palestinian, and home is east Jerusalem. Nama is Israeli, and home is west Jerusalem. And for these two young women, that's enough to mean their paths never cross. The Camp David summit wrestled with the painful question of Jerusalem, and collapsed over it. No issue in the Mideast conflict is more emotional. The Palestinians insist on sovereignty over the eastern sector, captured by Israel in 1967. The Israelis have long said Jerusalem must remain united forever, under Israeli sovereignty. Politics aside, there's no avoiding the hard fact that on the ground, Jerusalem is a divided town. Stroll along the Ben Yehuda pedestrian mall in the west, and then head to Salah ed-Din street in the east. Both areas bustle with shoppers, but you'll be hard pressed to find Palestinians in the first, or Israelis in the second. Try to find a restaurant where both mix freely. Or a cafe. Or a park. Or a swimming pool. Or just ask Rania and Nama. Do they cross to the other side? "Only when absolutely necessary, to buy something important," says Rania. "No. It makes me feel uncomfortable," Nama says. --- THE EAST: Rania Rania Khoury lives in a spacious, spanking-new apartment in Beit Hanina, an Arab neighborhood of east Jerusalem. She isn't a Jerusalemite by birth; love brought her here. Born, raised and educated in Bethlehem, she moved when she married her husband, Suhail, two years ago. The two have a comfortable life. Beit Hanina is home to some of the more prosperous east ld just be for a few days. But they never went back. In the 1960s, Suhail says, his grandfather visited the old house, to take a look. The Jewish family who lived there invited him in for coffee. All his old furniture was still in use. "They finished their coffee, they all said, `hard luck,' and he left," says Suhail, now 37. "They hadn't even rearranged the furniture," he says, amazed. It's clear the story has had a profound effect on the couple. Their lifestyle is occupied not by political activism but by work, music and their 3-week-old daughter, Rand. But they have strong feelings about the fate of Jerusalem. They bitterly disagree with the many east Jerusalemites who say they'd prefer to remain under Israeli sovereignty because of the superior social benefits they receive. They bluntly call those people "collaborators." Because her husband is a Jerusalemite, Rania could have gotten a Jerusalem ID card after five years. But she has chosen not to. "I'm happy with my ID," she says, referring to the West Bank card she carries. "Whatever the others have, I don't need." She's equally firm about the possibility that her neighborhood, Beit Hanina, could become an important part of an eventual peace accord. Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak is known to have offered the Palestinians some type of sovereignty over outlying Arab neighborhoods - Beit Hanina has been mentioned - on the theory that such areas, far from the symbol-rich Old City, are not meaningful to Jews anyway. Asked whether she'd like to see Beit Hanina as part of a Palestinian state, Rania replies evenly that she'd like to see all east Jerusalem in a Palestinian state. "Without the Old City it is nothing for us," she says. She and Suhail also feel that Palestinians like themselves who've lost homes in areas like Baka, which they were forced to flee, should get compensation in any peace deal. Though she enjoys a high standard of living, Rania complains of daily indignities. Technically, she's in Jerusalem illegally, since she doesn't have the right ID card. That means she can be stopped at checkpoints coming back from the Palestinian territories. Twice, Israeli soldiers have briefly delayed her, telling her that her husband could go see her in Bethlehem if he wanted to. Rania heads a company that organizes festivals and concerts in east Jerusalem. Her husband runs the Palestinian National Conservatory of Music. They dress like any yuppie couple, he in khakis and T-shirts from New York, she in shorts and tank tops. Many poorer Palestinians are forced to go to west Jerusalem for menial jobs they can't get on their side of town. But Rania's routine never takes her there, except for the rare trip to the Malcha mall to buy an essential item, and catch a peek at the clothes. That huge, crowded mall, far from downtown Jerusalem, is one of the only places in the west that you can find large numbers of Palestinians, who come to look in shop windows and take refuge from the heat. It is also home to one of Jerusalem's few first-run movie theaters, which is why the couple finds themselves there once in a while, usually because Rania has forced Suhail to go. "I make him, because otherwise, we'll never see the film," she says. "There's just no place else to go." But when nearly all of west Jerusalem's movie fans turned out last month for the annual Jerusalem Film Festival, which held its opening bash right under the walls of the Old City, Rania and Suhail didn't go. "Didn't even consider it," they say. But there is one trip to the west that the couple does make, every few months: back to the old house in Baka. They don't leave the car, but they park and sit and stare at the gate where the initials "A.K. - 1937" are carved - for Suhail's grandfather. Then they drive back east. --- THE WEST: Nama Like Rania, Nama Lapidot wasn't born in Jerusalem. Her family moved from Tel Aviv when she was 6 years old, and though she loves the city, she says its magic is wearing thin. West Jerusalem is becoming poorer, more run-down and generally harder to live in than ever before, she says. "The whole city is a construction site." What she finds even worse is a stranglehold on Jerusalem's spirit, which she blames on the strong influence of ultra-Orthodox Jews. "Jerusalem can be unbearable," she says. "It's a very fanatic city. It's very difficult to lead a normal life." "You have the feeling of religious people taking over," she adds. "The influence was always there, but now there are more of them." As a result, many of Nama's friends have already left town for cheaper places to live, where they feel freer, too. And soon, Nama will leave as well. Her husband, Dror, is involved in a cellular start-up company in Tel Aviv, and they've decided the hour-long commute is too tough. Because she's so slight, Nama looks much younger than her 30 years, and when she plays with her 2-year-old daughter, Romy, she looks more like a teen-age babysitter than a mother. She dotes on her child and has decided to stay home for the next few years, cutting off her graduate studies in English literature and philosophy at Hebrew University. "It's so wonderful to be home with your child, if you have the time," she says. She and Romy go to parks and meet other mothers and babysitters, take naps, read books and watch videos. For Nama and Dror, the opportunities to go out at night are rare, but they try to catch a movie once in a while. Sometimes, they end up unhappily at the cinema in the mall, too. Sometimes they go as far as Tel Aviv. "There's not a lot to do on weekends," Nama sighs, echoing the same complaint as Rania. One place the family does not go is east Jerusalem. Their feelings aren't political. Nama comes from a liberal and secular background, and feels no spiritual, biblical or historic claim on the city as a Jew. But she appreciates the place and wants to spend time there. It's just that it's too uncomfortable; it feels unsafe, and she resents that. "The last time my husband and I went was three years ago," she says. "We were wandering around the Armenian Quarter. And he kept looking over his shoulder. I didn't like it at all. It was very unpleasant. "There's a fear, and it's not always justified. But it's uncomfortable, so we don't do it. "That's why this vision of a united Jerusalem is crazy. It's divided, and that's it." It isn't just in the Old City that Nama has felt discomfort. A few years ago she and Dror were walking along the Tayelet, a scenic pathway in west Jerusalem with a stunning view of the ancient city walls. "About five young Arab boys started coming toward us with a knife," she says. "Words were exchanged. Then we just ran, and we got away. It was scary, and it was so unfair." Even the most liberal Israelis are unnerved by such experiences, Nama says. All of which has led her to believe that "there is a real strong desire for separation. That is something we should welcome." "We don't want to run their lives anymore," she says. "We want to live separately, and peacefully." --- BRIDGING THE GAP Despite their divided worlds, one can't help wondering whether Rania and Nama would be friends - if they ever met. The two women laugh when told how similar their lives are, their daily concerns and their complaints. But when asked whether a social friendship would be possible, they turn pensive. Rania speaks of the "intefadeh," or Palestinian uprising, which she went through as a teen-ager. She and her two brothers were out in the streets of Bethlehem, throwing rocks and participating full force in the riots against Israeli troops. One brother was jailed three times. Two friends were killed by Israeli bullets. "Even though we were teen-agers, we have memories that last a very long time," Rania says. She recalls a university exchange program in which she met with young left-wing Israelis, abroad, each year for five years. "Ultimately, we didn't really reach each other. I didn't change their opinions." Nama recalls a similar youth program, this one in junior high school, between her Jewish neighborhood and an Arab one. "No ties were forged," she says. "It was awkward." Both women believe that once there is peace, friendship is certainly possible. But they agree there will first have to be "a long time of healing," as Nama puts it. Until then, Rania says, she can't quite put her finger on it, "but there is something - something inside us - that will keep us apart." |