Silence.
I have learned what silence can be like.
Silence is all you can hear just a millisecond before a F-15 fighter pass over your head as you try to find some sleep on a rocky hilltop in the desert.
Silence is being struck by the first sunbeams while you’re watching camels following their old trails back to (or away from?) their Bedouin masters.
Silence is desert.
Some days ago, four of us hiked across the desert from Bethlehem to the Dead Sea. It was strange. The strangeness of the desert surely makes a simple Norwegian speechless. Being used to hike in the mountains of the more humid and vegetated west coast of Norway, the desert strikes me as a calmer place, but also more hostile:
You have to bring your own water if you’re gonna hike in the desert.
Apparently there are snakes and scorpions there.
And wildcats.
You will also be disturbed by the already mentioned F-15 fighters circling over your head and blocking your view to the stars three times every second hour. When they’re closing in, the sound gets unbearable, and you’ll have to cover your ears.
You will see unmanned military bases; that are nothing more than sleeping parts of the Israeli war machinery.
You will find tourist trails marked by The Civil Administration in Judea and Samaria, just to remind you that you’re hiking in occupied wasteland, and that some people actually do rent quad-bikes and amuse themselves while they’re paying for the occupation, and legitimizing what seems to me like an annexation of the Dead Sea-areas.
I have learned what silence is.
Silence is standing on a cliff, being struck by the view of the lowest place on Earth, almost fainting because of your newly found fear from heights.
Silence is standing on a cliff, watching a new day start in the kibbutzes beneath you. Feel the anger rise, as you think of the unjust that provides these kibbutzes with water and money. Making them able to use no less than four times the amount of water than their neighbors on the other side of the desert.
Silence is to not be able to express this anger in words. Wanting to shout at the settlers from the hilltop, scream to them, to tell them to stop the exploiting of the Palestinians and their land. To not scream, is prevailing the deadly silence.
I don’t like the Dead Sea. It keeps reminding me of the daily numerous surreal events in this piece of land. The sea is quiet, dead and exploited. Not easily accessible, and truly an unpleasant place, serving its name well. Dead.
Silence is knowing that in one of these kibbutzes the AHAVA Dead Sea- beauty products are being produced. Tourists are being shipped to this factory in buses, and being amazed by the craft- and marketing skills of the settlers. No one tells them that the products are made from stolen nature resources. Silence is knowing, without saying.
Silence is the sound of the bulldozer digging up salty mud from the Dead Sea, exploiting limited nature resources, and damaging one of the most unique places on this planet. Keeping the occupation alive, and providing Europeans and Americans with stolen beauty products. Only silence is letting this happen.
We prepared a story to cover up for our Palestinian friend, who are prohibited by the Israeli apartheid laws to walk and drive on the roads passing by the Dead Sea. He was no longer Palestinian, but from Chile. Silence.
Silence is hitchhiking with an Israeli back to Jerusalem, not telling him that you live in Beit Sahour, and that you as a matter of fact don’t recognize the Dead Sea- area as Israel. To avoid conflict and being dropped off somewhere in the Jordan Valley, you keep this to yourself, and instead sing along with Leonard Cohen as you catch a glimpse of Jericho in the corner of your eye while you’re heading to Jerusalem in a tremendous pace. Silence.
If it be your will That I speak no more And my voice be still As it was before I will speak no more I shall abide until I am spoken for If it be your will If it be your will If a voice be true From this broken hill I will sing to you From this broken hill All your praises they shall ring If it be your will To let me sing If it be your will If there is a choice Let the rivers fill Let the hills rejoice Let your mercy spill On all these burning hearts in hell If it be your will To make us well And draw us near Oh bind us tight All your children here In their rags of light In our rags of light All dressed to kill And end this night If it be your will If it be your will.
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