Ultra-Orthodox demonstration: Turning the street black in Jerusalem

By: Rebecca McKinsey
Based in Jerusalem, Israel

They promised that 1 million ultra-Orthodox Jews would be there. So I knew I had to go, too.

The announcement of a new draft law that would no longer exempt ultra-Orthodox Jews, also called Haredim, from Israel's mandatory army service brought the highly recognizable group of Jews — the men sporting long, black coats, black hats and curled sideburns and the women in long skirts — from all over Israel to the streets of Jerusalem in response.

I assumed there would be plenty of other journalists there, but since I was going rogue, people at my newspaper told me to wear a long skirt and make sure I blended in. I dressed in the most conservative getup I could put together and set out.

Pretending-to-be-an-ultra-Orthodox-Jew-in-Israel
selfie. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Once I got on the bus, there were several ultra-Orthodox Jewish men who were headed to the event as well. So of course, it had to be on that ride that a man — not one of the black-coated ones — decided he and I needed to become best friends.

He started speaking to me in Hebrew. I had to admit I don't speak Hebrew. Strike one.

He started drilling me on my life story in broken English and asked if I was Jewish. I panicked. What to do? No one else on the bus was talking, so everyone could hear us. I couldn't think of any reason that I'd be dressed like an ultra-Orthodox Jewish woman and heading to an ultra-Orthodox Jewish celebration if I wasn't a Jew (other than the real answer, but it didn't occur to me to tell him I was a Christian American girl who was going to the demonstration to take pictures for a blog post for my school).

Yes, I know NOW I was overthinking it.

But, at the time — "Yes," I told the guy. I'm Jewish. Strike two.

He then started asking me all these questions that a Jewish girl from New York (I didn't say I was from New York; he just assumed) should know, but that I couldn't answer, prompting him to ask, bewildered, if I'd been taught anything at all about Judaism. Strike three.

Quickly discovering he wasn't going go get much out of me along that vein, he changed his tune and asked me to join him for a drink that evening. I told him I was too busy.

It got better (or worse, depending on your viewpoint) — he crooned a few lines of Lionel Richie's "Just To Be With You Again" to me as the rest of the bus stared.

Finally, he got off the bus, telling me effusively how nice American women are.

What I didn't realize was that the bus, which normally would have taken me right to where the demonstration was being held, had drastically changed its route because of the demonstration. By the time I clued in, I was more than a mile from where I needed to be and had no way to get there other than walking.

So that's what I did, and the closer I got, the more Haredim joined me on the walk. From a nearby shop's open door, Ke$ha and Pitbull incongruously belted out, "You better move, you better dance / Let's make a night you won't remember / I'll be the one you won't forget," as crowds of black-coated men and boys streamed out of the fog and made their way down the light rail track that had been closed down for the event.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

At one point, a woman walking hand in hand with a young girl asked me (after the "I-don't-speak-Hebrew" dance), "Do you know where the women and children are supposed to go? I only see men."

At that point, I hadn't realized that the only people actually participating in the demonstration were men; women and children would gather on the sidelines. But again, not wanting to admit I was a solo journalist with no clue what I was doing, I simply said, "I'm not sure; I'm just following."

She smiled at me. "That's what we do."

As I finally reached the site of the demonstration, I realized just how huge it was going to be.

I struggled through the women's section, with more arriving all the time,
to reach the center of the demonstration. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

With so many people spread out through several blocks in Jerusalem, vantage points were important — and people found them wherever they could.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Although I didn't find anything to climb, I did eventually make it to the point at the demonstration where the women's section met the men's. This was about as close as I was able to get — even in my conservative garb, I don't think I would have been permitted to mill around among the crowds of men at the demonstration. The male/female physical lines were very clearly marked.

Here, I was standing right up against the men's section of the demonstration.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

The demonstration itself was fascinating to watch — and difficult for me to follow, as it was all in Hebrew. But by observing, listening to those around me and asking questions, I was able to get a general idea of what was going on. Some pointed out that this wasn't a protest or a demonstration at all, despite the use of those terms in media coverage of the event — rather, they said, it was a gathering. The intent was not to make a violent point but rather for the group of ultra-Orthodox Jews to come together and pray, they said.

And, indeed, that is what they did, for more than an hour. A man's voice led the prayers, broadcast over loudspeakers and often full of tears. All around me, men, women and young children repeated him and joined in with the prayers. The man's voice also called out the attendees' protests against the draft law. Nearby, a woman roughly translated for me: "We can't join the army, because we need time to study the Torah." Although they weren't directly a part of the demonstration, the women on the sidelines were just as involved.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Although things didn't get violent, at least while I was standing, security and emergency services were available.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

The demonstration, although serious, wasn't without its quirky moments.

What is an ultra-Orthodox Jewish demonstration
without a parrot? Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Especially among the men's section, young children were very active in the prayers and the demonstration. One boy in particular, less than 10 years old, was particularly noticeable as he screamed, "Amen!" at the top of his lungs after each line of a prayer was read. Attendees of all ages sported signs — a few that I could read.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

As the protest wound down, I was literally rooted to my spot. I was in the very center of the demonstration, and the crowds were so thick that I couldn't have left if I wanted — and those around me made it clear that the women were to stay put until the men had left. One woman reminded those around me that the men weren't supposed to touch or even make eye contact with us; she urged us to press back — an impossible task — to make sure we weren't in the way as the black-coated men streamed past.

As they passed, one young ultra-Orthodox Jewish boy, his sideburns almost longer than my own hair, took issue with my camera, shooting up a hand to cover my lens.

Living in Jerusalem, I saw ultra-Orthodox Jews every day, but this event, with its ceremony, regulations and sheer number of people, was fascinating to see. It gave me a glimpse into the fascinating beliefs and culture of this group, and I'm glad I was able to be in the middle of it.

Praying during the demonstration. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Their goal, I was told, was to turn the street black — and they succeeded.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

A day in the Palestinian West Bank

By: Rebecca McKinsey
Based in Jerusalem, Israel

"Don't go alone," I was told. "A young, white, blonde woman who doesn't speak Arabic? You won't come back."

"You'd be fine — rent a car and explore on your own," others said.

Having only met a handful of Arabs during my time in Israel, and with the peace talks crumbling, I was determined not to leave Israel without visiting the West Bank. In the end, though, I decided I would be better equipped for a foray into the area if I had a guide. A friend connected me to a Christian couple from the U.S. that does work in both Israel and the West Bank, and they agreed to let me tag along one day, on the condition that I wouldn't publish their names or photos. Because of a change in the couple's plans, the day changed from a quick stop in Bethlehem to a whirlwind tour of several West Bank cities. For that reason, I apologize in advance for the sheer number of photos in this post.

During my months in Israel, I had heard many views of the Palestinians residing in the West Bank, many of them negative. But I quickly learned not to have expectations going in.

Describing the residents of the West Bank, my hosts said, "They're very happy, hospitable, eager to meet people — except when they get into politics."

They were an amusing couple. At the beginning of our trip, they said, "I don't think the seat belt in the backseat works — just pray."

We passed from Jerusalem to Bethlehem at an Israeli checkpoint called Rachel's Crossing. We flashed our passports at a bored, young, female Israel Defense Force officer, who didn't ask for a closer look and waved us in. The couple was a regular at the checkpoint; they were usually recognized, they told me. Rachel's Crossing is named for its proximity to Rachel's tomb, a beloved Jewish site. Its outside is decorated with graffiti, often sharing political messages from people around the world, as well as printed stories.

One of many stories about Palestinian-Israeli relations
hanging on the outside of Rachel's Tomb. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

A sign outside Rachel's Tomb: "The people of Gorinchem (Netherlands) greet you.
They say NO to the Separation Wall. And they support the full rights
of the Palestinian people." Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

New graffiti outside Rachel's Tomb:
"With love and kisses: Nothing lasts forever." Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

We passed several refugee camps, stone and concrete complexes that blended in with the streetscapes around them. My hosts told me, "They don't know how to leave the camps, because there's hopelessness and no future. That's why we come in and say, 'There is hope. You do have a future. You can get educated and leave here.'"

A refugee camp in Bethlehem. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

A United Nations-run school for girls. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Political street art. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Our mission in Bethlehem was to shop for dishes and school supplies for children at a small school for children with disabilities run by a Muslim family in Bethany — in Arabic, al-Eizariya. We stopped in a small, crowded shop with no order to speak of. When we asked to see some dishes near the back of these piles on the floor, the owner simply stepped on stacks of plates and bowls — not breaking a thing — to reach the items we were looking for.

And when nature called, he generously offered us the use of the private bathroom for the store's employees. It looked, well, like this.

With no seat, no flushing, no soap, no paper towels
and not much of a door to speak of, this bathroom
presented some challenges — but appealed to
my sense of adventure. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

As we zipped between stores, we found an unexpected sight — several shepherds leading a flock of sheep (and other animals) directly through the busy city streets.

Sharing the road. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

They herded the sheep right past our car. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Sheep, donkeys, goats — and one dog, spreading across a Bethlehem street.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Some of the sheep were curious about us. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

As we drove between our various destinations, a variety of other sights met us. Store names, in particular, were a source of amusement.

Store sign in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Store sign in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

The coffee is terrible, according to my sources, but the sign gave us a good laugh.
And no, it doesn't sell Starbucks coffee. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Other sights greeted us as well.

Burning trash containers is a common protest technique, my hosts said.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

An imam taking a stroll. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Yellow taxis and bananas. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

These fruit juice stands are all over Israel as well. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Burning tires. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

We stopped at the Church of the Nativity — a large, imposing church that some say is the possible site of Jesus' birth.

Renovations inside the Church of the Nativity. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Syrian Orthodox children visiting the Church of the Nativity
in Bethlehem for a service. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Although visitors typically have to wait in lines for hours before they can go underground to what's called the grotto, my host — in what she described as a miracle — caught the eye of the policeman guarding the entrance and asked him if I could run down briefly; he agreed.

This is the spot where it is believed Jesus was born. Almost every visitor
bends down to kiss the stone. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Feet away, this is the spot believed to have held Jesus' manger.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

We headed next to Beit Sahour, where Naomi and Ruth went from Moab. We looked over the field believed to be the spot where Ruth worked in the fields and met Boaz before eventually marrying him.

Field in Beit Sahour. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Ancient wine press in Beit Sahour. People would stomp on grapes inside
the circle, and the juice would gather in the circle's outline and run
through a ridge to gather in the larger hole. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

One of the many caves in Beit Sahour where shepherds would spend the night
with their flocks. As my host described, the shepherds would sleep in front of
the openings in the cave to keep their sheep from leaving — the animals
wouldn't step over the shepherds, she said. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

My hosts do a lot of work with children with disabilities, including at a school in Bethany that we visited. In Arabic cultures, they told me, people with disabilities are hidden away. When this couple visited people's homes to offer assistance, they would hug and hold the families' children, only to be asked by their parents, "Who are you? Our doctors won't even touch the children."

They added, "You have to remember that they are people. They hear your voice; they have a brain. You have to tell them that you love them and God loves them."

After buying piles of dishes, school supplies and toys, we headed to Bethany to visit the school the couple works with. We arrived near the end of the school day as the kids were leaving. They peered out at us from their bus, excited by our presence — they reached out to hold our hands and were excited to primp and pose for pictures.

Children at a school for kids with disabilities
in Bethany. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Children at a school for kids with disabilities in Bethany.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

After the kids went home and the supplies were unloaded, the family that runs the school invited us to their apartment, directly above the school, for very strong coffee — local, but similar to Turkish coffee. We chatted with them for a while; they're a fascinating family. They told us about the families who bring kids with disabilities to the school. "Sometimes we see them more than their parents do," they said.

I canceled my coffee hiatus to enjoy this family's refreshments. Pictured are
their son and their nephew, who studied in Egypt to become a doctor
and has treated people in both Israel and the West Bank.

After leaving Bethany, we headed for Ma'ale Adumim, an Israeli settlement in the West Bank, to visit a mall and grab some food. The difference between the Arab streets and the settlement was like night and day.

Many people sold produce in the streets. The garlic was so strong
you could smell it from the car. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Heading from the West Bank to an Israeli settlement.
Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Seconds after leaving the crowded, dirty streets of the Arabic West Bank,
we went into an Israeli settlement that looked like this. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

After seeing mainly Arabs all day, we were running into Jews again —
right in the center of the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Our next and final stop was Jericho. On the way, we passed an old Israeli tank — likely left behind after a war, my guides said.

Israeli tank in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Israeli tank in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

We passed several Bedouin areas as we drove. As my hosts and others told me, these nomadic Arabs live in shacks, essentially, set up along the sides of hills or in the desert. Although their technology is limited, sometimes they'll have a satellite dish and will all gather together in one of the homes to watch TV together. The boys in the tribes are often much more educated than the girls, many of them learning Hebrew. It is more common for the girls, I was told, to stay closer to home.

Bedouin tribes in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Often, Bedouins keep animals near their homes. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Bedouin women and children in the West Bank. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

As we approached Jericho, we were stopped by Palestinian soldiers at a checkpoint. They didn't take our word that we were American — they took our passports and scrutinized them, asking where we were from and what we were doing there. ("We're here to eat falafel!" my hosts said.) Joking and smiling, the soldiers eventually returned our passports and waved us through. When we drove past them again later, they waved at us again, laughing as we honked. After the initial stop, my host said, "They didn't have to stop us — they were just curious."

With a few exceptions, Israelis are not permitted to enter the West Bank.
Signs like these, written in Hebrew, Arabic and English, serve as reminders
on the side of the road. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

Our final stop was Jericho. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

This is thought to be the tree Zacchaeus to watch
Jesus approach. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

We visited Elisha's Spring, considered to be the spring Elisha purified, as described in 2 Kings, when Jericho needed water. For years, even recently, the spring served as the main water source for Jericho. Still today, its water is clear, cold and delicious.

Elisha's Spring in Jericho. Photo by Rebecca McKinsey.

If you bring a water bottle (or cup your hands), you can drink water from the spring. 

It was a whirlwind day, but I'm very grateful I was able to visit the West Bank and meet some of the people I'd been hearing so much about. A popular phrase I hear a lot here, drawn from the Psalms, is "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem." I hope I have a better understanding about what that means after having been to the West Bank.