As our trip in Jordan came to an end, some headed back stateside, some stayed in Amman, and some of us went on an entirely different adventure. Most of my experiences crossing borders are via flights, or sometimes by car. Never had I crossed a militarized land border by (more than one) bus.
Our taxi picked us up from Amman early in the morning, and we drove for an hour to the King Hussein Border Bridge, one of the three land crossings between Jordan and Israel-Palestine. Due to its heavily militarized nature, the border crossing occurred in various segments, each with its own steps (and costs). We first stopped at a Jordanian border facility, where we showed our passports, paid an exit fee, and were told to get on a separate bus to get to the Israeli side, at an additional cost of 7 dinars.
Our bus included European tourists similarly fascinated by the process, folks who cross the border regularly, and one man who was so frustrated by the various fees that he refused to pay, and held up the bus until someone else chipped in. We then took a short drive across the bridge (and the literal border) before reaching the Israeli security checkpoint.
The initial screening looked like airport security, except slightly more unnerving. We were most nervous when we gave our luggage and passport to security, though we did eventually get them back. What was most jarring was the questioning. Before letting us through, the immigration guard asked us where we were born, our parents’ names, our siblings’ names, and where each of them was born, attempting to sense any Palestinian connection. When they were sufficiently satisfied, we were let through, but not before paying an entry fee. As we converted dinars to shekels, we paid and waited for a shared bus that would take us past the ancient town of Jericho, through the West Bank, and to the Old City in Jerusalem.
Nothing I’ve ever seen compares to the Old City in Jerusalem. While only 0.9 sq. kilometer, the area has been inhabited for over 3000 years and contains some of (if not the) holiest sites for all three Abrahamic religions. As our tour guide aptly said, “in the Old City, if anything happened less than a thousand years ago, we call it new.”
It’s popularly said that there are four uneven quarters: the Christian, Muslim, Jewish, and Armenian quarters (the fourth due to a longstanding diaspora in Jerusalem), though there are even smaller subdivisions. Some of the most famous religious sites are the Western Wall, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Dome of the Rock. These sites are a modern snapshot of their respective religions, but their location and architecture is a product of millennia of construction, destruction, and reconstruction.
Walking through the narrow streets of the City, it was astonishing to experience that the place where Abraham bound Isaac, where Jesus was crucified, and where Muhammad journeyed to the presence of God, were all just minutes away. And while I knew a little bit about the countless conflicts this has caused, I was surprised to learn about some unique compromises. For example, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (where Jesus was crucified) is jointly controlled by several Christian denominations, and nothing can change without their unanimous approval. As a power sharing agreement, for over 850 years, two Palestinian Muslim families have held the keys.
After the Church, we went up to the Western Wall (we tried to visit the Dome of the Rock as well, but missed the time window). As per custom states, we wrote our deepest hope on a piece of paper, and slid it between the bricks. I’m not sure who will be reading or answering my prayers, but in casting my own wishes into these ancient rocks, I felt a deep and humbling human connection. In a place where billions of prayers from every walk of life have been written into existence, hope was the great equalizer.
We ended our tour by visiting the Austrian Hospice, a hospital-turned-café where one of our friends’ moms was actually born. We went to its rooftop, which overlooked the Old City, a tiny area of land unparalleled in its dense history. Centuries of wars have been fought to control this land, but in its narrow streets packed with bazaars and generational homes, life keeps going on.
The way back to Jordan was much more challenging. Bus 661 from the Jerusalem Central Bus Station said it would drop us at the Bridge checkpoint, but when we got off at a stop, we saw nothing but a highway and a large sign that said: “Palestinian land: Israeli citizens not allowed.” With no other option, we started to walk along the empty highway toward the bridge, and to our relief, we were joined by another tourist. If we were doing this completely wrong, at least we weren’t alone. Once we reached the bridge, we were stopped by a guard who said we needed to be in a certain type of taxi to get across (which we had never heard of before). It started raining, and we waited, realizing that if there was no taxi, we were stuck at a militarized border.
After a few failed attempts, a taxi with a few spots finally came, and we were willing to pay however many shekels we had left to get on (so we were probably ripped off). In the taxi, we were joined by an older American lady who could only be described as having the most “white woman” energy you can imagine. While we were nervous about making it across, she complained about the lack of air conditioning in the taxi, and all the littering she saw in the streets. Her unfound confidence put us at ease for the rest of the journey back, which was mostly uneventful (except for an exorbitant exit fee).
Though I’m not of an Abrahamic religion, the Old City inspired me both by through the deep devotion within Jewish, Christian, and Muslim traditions, and how so many of their followers have co-existed as friends, colleagues, and neighbors for so long.
Happy Passover, Easter, and Ramadan to all those who celebrate.