November 17. Stop the occupation.

I wake up in the Bargouti apartment, have a cup of instant coffee and start cleaning some windows. Lazar and I say goodbye and I take a bus to Hebron, the West Bank's largest industrial city and biggest humanitarian catastrophe. I cross several semi-abandoned checkpoints on the way then arrive in Hebron in the early afternoon. It's easy to find the old town, and even easier to be disgusted by the sight of it. There are six Jewish settlements inside the city. The Israeli people live upstairs and spitefully throw their garbage down ont the streets of old Hebron. The Palestinians have installed a metal frame to catch the litter. And a few meters down the road stand the smiling soldiers of Israel. I am offered tea in one of the houses and the people show me a black wall the result of a molotov cocktail. A mother tells me that her husband has been shot and killed three years ago by an Israeli. Then I see her four-year old child with a severely harmed eye the result of the Israeli settler neighbour (one meter away is the settlement Bet' Hadasar) hitting him with a bottle when he was two. And a few meters down the road stand the smiling soldiers of Israel. Most of the shops are closed now. The sight of abandoned market streets, blocked by concrete wall segments and barb wire is saddening. And a few meters down the road stand the smiling soldiers of Israel. Three times. Now let's nail the fuckers to the cross.

Sorry I get carried away by emotions here. So I explore the old town of Hebron some more, enter the reason for the terrible misconduct: the religious complex of the Ibrahimi mosque/Cave of Machpela. I have to cross a checkpoint and then I reach the smiling soldiers of Israel. Inside the mosque I see jewish religious scholars. What they do makes no sense to me, but you probably know that already. If there is a God, let him be a God of goodness. And if there is a God of goodness, let us too be good. The children that were my guides want my money. They have not mentioned it before and I was naive enough to think they were interested in me and my journalistic effort here. Oh how much I hate it when they ask me for money, reducing themselves to beggars in my eyes and reducing me to a sack of money. I argue with them, saying that I perceive them as a friend and that you shouldn't give friends alms, but they don't understand. I curse the situation and give them ten shekels. I must go undercover and try not to look lie a tourist. That involves a complete makeover including a dirty blanket wrapped around me, limping, a dirty unshaved face, and old hat, ragged pants, and glasses that look old and broken.

The TIPH(Temporary International Presence in Hebron) has been called for by Israel and the Palestinian authority. They are independent observers that report about the situation in Hebron since 1997. After the massacre in the religious compound (where Abraham and Sara are buried) by the settler Baruch Goldstein on 25 February 1994, the UN security council decided for that international presence, as part of the Oslo agreements. I run into a group of TIPHers and ask them what kind of observers they are. They give me a brochure and wish me a good day. Let's read that brochure.
"The reports are not public. They are legally assessed and presented with questions for clarification to the Israele Defence Forces and to the Palestinian Police Forces. TIPH follows up violations in order to receive a satisfactory answer." and "TIPH communicates its findings [...] also to the member states which can [...] use diplomatic channels to widen the dialog concerning the situation in Hebron." Do you taste the bureaucracy? "Several points in the agreements have been breached [and] the work of TIPH has been interfered with in different ways during the years. [...] Since 2005 the Israeli army operates over the entire area in violation of the agreements."
The agreements are thus not backed by any sanctions. I might be naive but I know so much: any agreement not backed by serious sanctions is not gonna work in this country.

Now listen here: WHAT I CALL FOR IS THE PERMANENT PRESENCE OF TOURISTS ALL OVER THE WEST BANK AND THE GAZA STRIP TAKING AS MANY PHOTOGRAPHS OF WHAT THEY SEE AS THEY POSSIBLY CAN AND PUBLISH THEM WHEREVER THEY CAN IN ORDER TO MAKE THE PUBLIC AWARE OF WHAT IS HAPPENING THERE.

On my way back I talk to a shopowner who tells me he knows a poor woman. So instead of buying his book about Hebron I give some money to this woman.
"But i need a photograph for my website."
-"You can trust me. I am a Hadj and look, here is the Qu'ran."
He takes the holy scripture, holds it before him and puts his hand on it.
"Can I also put my hand.. I guess not..."
-"No, then I should wash it. You are not a muslim."
"Ah.. sorry... I understand..."
-"I swear on the Qu'ran that I am telling you the truth. I will give these 100 shekels to that poor woman."
In that moment, that woman appears on the scene. It feels like Allah has arranged this, doesn't it? I give her the last 20$ bill I have and take some pictures of the shopowner who is well-known in the old town of Hebron.

I have seen enough here and take a bus to Bethlehem, where I arrive in the darkness and walk into a church that I mistake for the Nativity Church. A friendly man shows me around and tells me about the "Daughters of Charity". I quickly take a few pictures and ask the questions I need for my fact sheet. The reason why I support them is that they help people irrespective of confession. Every year they provide shelter for unmarried pregnant muslim women, whose life is of course severely dangered because of the barbaric aspects of that religion I found myself not writing about sufficiently.

Then I head back for Jerusalem and meet Ella again. I tell her some of my stories and she agrees with me. Her government is terrible.

November 3. Very dangerous. But perhaps a good believer.

A healthy breakfast in the attic. I don't understand the French guys on the table next to me, although I have said of myself that I speak that language. Don't worry, better focus on the real things, you have a mission now dearest one. The sun stands already high as I walk out and capture some of Aleppo's life with my camera. I am fond of a photograph with a bicycle in the front and a veiled woman in the back. There are hardly any women on the street in this part of the town. So, I am looking for charities. Where to start? First, let's check my upcoming travel itinerary. I walk into a travel agency to ask about the cost of traveling to Israel and perhaps visa information.
"Where's that?"
-"Israel-Palestine occupied territories."
"We don't communicate with them" he cuts me short. It's as simple as that. Any other questions?
I ask him maybe he knows about some deserving charity here in Aleppo and the travel agent happens to know a monseigneur. The next thing I know is I am standing in a church explaining myself in hoodling-doodling French to a very friendly white-haired priest. Yes, his church is working with caritas France and they are supporting Iraqi families with food, medicine, fuel, and rent assistance. I ask if it's possible to visit them and document it for my book. Of course! Two young women take it over from there, and select two families for me that are particularly needy. I am amazed as we drive off in the taxi through the crowded streets of Aleppo. It is real! I can make this my reality.

"So he is the president since 2000? How do you feel about it?"
-"I am very satisfied." she replies.
"But can you tell me some more because I only know the Western media and they stigmatize your country as an evil place and your president as a brutal dictator..."
Well, I don't get the chance to say exactly that because she warns me with a tactful pat on the knee. It is very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very bad to mention Israel or say anything bad about the regime. You run the risk of deportation, simply have to leave the country within 24 hours - if you're lucky.

In the afternoon I walk around in the historical town, and visit a mosque. It's a very nice one, I could look it up for you if you are interested, and give you the name of it. I am looking at a group of people listening to an Imam proclaiming as a student of French literature says bonjour. Our conversion is about Chateaubriand, Racine, Balzac, Victor Hugo, Nietzsche, and Marx. He has fallen in love with the old French literature, with Racine and Molière. Then he takes me to a chamber where the Imam goes after his proclamation. My French companion offers me a seat and begins:
"Do you believe God is one?"
-"Yes, what else could he be?"
"Good! And He has 25 prophets. The last one is Mohammed, but in essence they all say the same thing."
-"I like that idea. We are all brothers."
"Exactly! There is only one religion."
-"Yeah!"
"Do you know what islam means? To accept, surrender, or submit to the highest principle."
-"So true..."
"Welcome to paradise!"

We visit the tomb of one of them, Zacharia. Let me share this with you. Perhaps I am a good muslim. Let's go through the five pillars of Islam.
#1. "God" is one. If I proclaim that you cannot hear the hypens, so that will be okay. Literacy is, of course, not a requirement. I have to work on the second part though, the part referring to the prophet. My concept of "god" is more gnostic: we all carry this voice within ourselves.
#2. I have to get up early to venerate the deity. That will be hard, five times a day at heliologically calculated times. I am not so much into venerating deities, so this is a tough one. But I hope I can make it up for that by overdoing number 3.
#3. Give 2.5% of your possessions to charity. I give away the rest, 97.5% to charities around the world, and try to inspire other people too. That should create at least some goodwill on the part of the Almighty Allah.
#4. Good news. The Ramadan does not apply to travelers! Since I am a traveler in my blood, I don't need to worry about that.
#5. Being so much of a traveler, I'd probably make it to Mekka and become a Haj some day.
There are bonuspoints too. Let's say, circumcision. No comment.

I stay with a cool couchsurfer called Christophe in old Aleppo and I feel like a king, we smoke a bit of Lebanese hasj, and there are some great paintings on the wall. Christophe is a young Frenchman of very friendly, suave, character, and he is in soap. You probably heard that Aleppo is famous for its soap.

We have a great eat out with other couchsurfers, chat about our trips, some of them are on bigger trips. Murdoch from New Zealand is a fellow writer and we decide to hang around together the next day. I can establish a contact for his exhibition of photographs of Iranian prisoners in Berlin that hopefully takes place soon.