I have always enjoyed Blanche Dubois’ line if not her fate. Traveling on your own really does open up new possibilities, encounters, and friendships. I have two choices: talk to myself or the people (and dogs) I meet. On my way to my Fulbright friends for dinner last night, I got lost in the twilight between Baka and the Germany Colony. A nice young woman, who had made aliyah two years before from Cleveland , and her four children offered to help me. The oldest, Rachel, at eighteen had completed high school and was now in a girl’s seminary studying Judaism and Zionism. But, she announced proudly to me, she unlike others (ultraorthodox Jews do not have to go into the army although right at this moment the Knesset is debating this exemption) at the seminary had decided to go into the army. Eventually, I found my way to my friends; although not strangers, they are certainly kind.

 

Today, Samara, the eight month old German Shepherd living at the Austrian Hospice (37 Via Dolorosa), led me to Tariq, her owner and the Hospice security guard. He was born in the Hospice (read hospital) and continues to live there with his cousin, Saber, the other security guard. They watch monitors from 8 to 8 and press a button that opens the iron gate allowing tourists to climb to the upper regions of the building. Carrying a copy of James Gelvin’s The Arab-Israeli Conflict in my backpack, I had planned to settle in for a read and a Turkish coffee at the Hospice’s café. I didn’t get any farther than the security office. After taking pictures of Samara for my Alsatian-loving husband, I began talking to Tariq about what he did there. Samara ran in and out of the door, sometimes escaping into the Muslim Quarter. Tourists came and went frequently addressing me with “Is this the Austrian Hospice?” I stayed in the office, soon joined by Saber, and talked with the cousins for two hours.

 

Although the Austrian Hospice is a self-described Christian hostel, place for pilgrims, and “meeting point for art and culture” (http://www.austrianhospice.com), Tariq and Saber are Muslims. They grew up with Christian and Jewish neighbors, visiting each other’s homes and eating together. But as Tariq said, in the past ten years life had changed and people were becoming polarized. He talked ruefully about being stopped on the street by Israeli police, old enough to be his children, asking to show his ID. (The police, apparently, are not allowed inside the Hospice because it is a Christian organization.) Tariq and Saber, like my jeweler friends, have Jerusalem IDs. This means their parents or grandparents refused Israeli citizenship after the ’67 war when East Jerusalem was annexed by Israel. They are stateless with neither Israeli nor Palestinian passports. A sister, living in Jordan, must return to Jerusalem to stay in an “identified” place for a full month. Again, if she did not do this, she would lose her Jerusalem ID

 

According to Saber, Palestinians in the West Bank have better educational and university opportunities than those living in East Jerusalem. Many school-aged students in East Jerusalem choose work over school because families need to be fed. Also, if they pursued an expensive higher degree, they risked not getting a job equal to their education. Tariq left school after grade twelve, but Saber went to university during the Second Intifada. This made his degree in political science very difficult to complete when Israelis were closing Palestinian universities because they were hotbeds for political happenings. When I left, the streets of the Muslim Quarter were quiet. I realized I would have to return another day to visit the upstairs of the Austrian Hospice.