The streets of Hebron divided between the city's Jews and Arabs. Photo by Raksha Kumar.
HEBRON – A three-foot-high gray concrete wall ran down the middle of the main street, dividing it into two halves. It was the one of the first things that our guide, Avner, pointed out as we entered the Israeli-controlled sector of Hebron in the West Bank. “This side is for Jews, and that’s for Palestinians,” he said.
Will it never happen, I wondered, that a Muslim who regularly prays at the Ibrahami Mosque truly looks in the face of a Jew who regularly prays at Tomb of the Patriarchs (the two names for the same holy place on that street)? Will they not acknowledge each other’s presence? Will they not exchange greetings? The wall dividing them is not high enough to hide their faces from each other. And yet, something within me answered “no.”
Somehow, I began blaming that low wall for everything. This physical barrier strengthened the mental and psychological barriers.
Suddenly it made me think about life at home in India. I realized that there are many Hindu-Muslim riots and clashes in India. But as the days pass afterward, greetings are exchanged, interactions begin – helping to defuse the conflict, even if it continues to simmer.
From the door of a house on the Palestinian side of the Hebron barrier, a girl not older than five came running towards me. Perhaps my camera attracted her. She had a sweet smile when she was still close to her door. As she approached the wall, her smile progressively faded. Then she placed her small palms on the wall, which was almost her height, trying to reach me.
Later it occurred to me that while she was still relatively far from me, she could see me. As she came closer to the wall, I became less visible because of her height. The wall in the street helped teach children from an early age about “the other” in this ghost town. The wall made what could have been a temporary situation permanent.
The "ghost town" of Hebron makes children aware of the "other" at a young age. Photo by Raksha Kumar.
Walking on, we reached Shuhuda Street. Avner explained that it had once been the main street of Hebron. Now it looked colorless, lifeless. All we saw was the brown of the dry sandy wind that blew and the gray of the concrete of the streets. Except for a living, breathing Israeli soldier, the only sign of life was the graffiti on the walls and closed shops.
It was clear that people lived in the houses on the left side of the road, but it appeared that they had no windows or doors opening on Shuhuda Street. The shutter blocking doors and windows, it seemed to me, perpetuated the mental barriers.
Everywhere the Holy Land is divided, fraught and tense. But the reason why Hebron made such an impact on me was that the division and tension were palpable there. Tangible. When you touch and feel something, you cannot deny it.
Very touching Roxay. Well written!
I really liked many things about this article. The pictures, the treatment and the concept. Gr8 job