I first visited Israel and the Palestinian Territories in the Spring of 2011, during my semester abroad in Amman, Jordan. Though I didn’t spend long in the Holy Land, my three day stay was both rewarding and memorable. I remember being at once struck by the incredible history of the country and saddened by the palpable tensions that I witnessed firsthand. I remember feeling a sense of wonder as I visited some of the holiest sites in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. And I remember the lack of words I could muster after a visit to Hebron, in the West Bank.

My visit to the Holy Land stuck with me. And not because of a certain religious conviction or sense of pilgrimage, but because it allowed me to make my own sort of sense out of what I was reading on the news, learning in class and hearing from the many Palestinian refugees living across the border in Jordan.

Throughout my visit to the country, I tried to view the conflict between cultures and religions in the most objective way possible. Yet, I remember finding it difficult to come to terms with the lasting effects of my country’s unwavering support for the Israeli government. Especially after visiting Hebron. Back in 2011, I had heard heartbreaking accounts of life under Israeli occupation, both from people I interacted with in the West Bank, as well as from those who were forced to flee across the border to Jordan.

Yet I knew that I had only witnessed one side of the story. Traveling to Tel Aviv on a two day layover was my chance to hear from the Israeli side.

But Tel Aviv was not like the Israel I had visited a few years before. In this modern and cosmopolitan city, the palpable tensions I remember feeling in Jerusalem and the West Bank did not—at least on the surface—seem to permeate every aspect of daily life. The barriers (both physical and metaphorical) between Jews and Muslims were seemingly less visible.

I was struck by Tel Aviv’s vibrancy. The secular and modern capital city pulsates with life and is filled with a joie-de-vivre that, momentarily, allowed me to forget the greater struggles of many living within Israel’s borders.

My airline puts its crew members up on the beautiful stretch of beach that runs from Tel Aviv’s steel high-rises to the picturesque and perfectly preserved ancient port of Jaffa.

I immediately understood why so many people love the Tel Aviv layover. Though the October weather was beginning to bring colder temperatures to New York, Tel Aviv was a balmy 80 degrees. Ocean breezes blew in from the Mediterranean, creating an ideal temperature for dipping in the warm waters, walking along the beachfront and meandering the city’s streets.

On my layover, I met up with Rachel, a friend I knew from high school in Eugene. Rachel, like me, has an overwhelming desire to see the world and has spent the last few years living and traveling throughout the Middle East and Central America. For the past year or so, she has been living in Magaan Michel–a Kibbutz north of Jerusalem.

I toyed with the idea of visiting Rachel’s Kibbutz and knew that it would give me a wonderful window into the life of many Israeli Jews. But, since this was my first time in Tel Aviv, I thought it best to get my bearings of the city and to save a day trip to the Kibbutz for a different layover.

After all, Tel Aviv itself–with its beautiful oceanfront promenade, its colorful market and its charming old town–has more than enough to keep me entertained for a few days.

The Tel Aviv beachfront was the perfect backdrop to our conversations and a wonderful place to watch life unfold. It is a hub of frenzied activity–an eclectic mix of surfers and beach bums, children playing in the parks, families strolling along the promenade and men flexing their muscles in hopes of wooing the young, bikini-clad ladies. Rachel and I walked along the oceanfront toward Jaffa on the evening of my first day in town. The walk afforded us the opportunity to catch up on life since high school and to share stories about college, teaching, traveling and living off the beaten track.

As we neared the port of Jaffa, more conservative dress began to replace the bikinis. Families clustered around the grassy lawn near the ocean and the scent of grilled meats wafted in the air. I began to hear more conversations in Arabic and fewer in Hebrew.

The demographics shifted the closer we got to Jaffa, but never did I feel the tension in the air that was omnipresent in Jerusalem. Never did I feel the metaphorical barriers. Or witness the physical ones.

As I spent the better part of two days walking the city’s streets, emptying my wallet to buy fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice from the market stalls and savoring the perfect Mediterranean weather, the city filled me with a sense of hope for the country’s future.

I know this hope is born out of a certain degree of naiveté. I know that the conflict is more deep-rooted than I will ever understand and that, despite the apparent openness and peaceful coexistence of Jews and Muslims in Tel Aviv, the tensions run deep. I know that even Tel Aviv is not immune to outbursts of violence and isolated terrorist attacks that threaten the fabric of Israeli society. Or to the systematic undermining of Palestinian freedoms.

Yet, it was also apparent to me that the secular and progressive capital of Israel is more openminded and forward thinking than its conservative and deeply traditional counterpart, Jerusalem. To me it appears to be a city tired of war. One that is facing the future with perhaps a more inclusive and embracing outlook.

In the end, my Tel Aviv layover not answer any of my lingering questions about the construction of Israeli settlements on Palestinian land or on the continuing occupation, but it did reveal something that filled me with hope–that coexistence and peace in a country so often fraught with violence actually is possible.

Now, whether that peace is actually achieved and sustained, is an entirely different story.

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While Jerusalem was awe-inspiring and beautiful, Palestine hit me like a slap in the face.

I had originally hoped to visit the West Bank in order to become exposed to the two faces of Israel and gain a deeper understanding of the conflict that has torn apart the Middle East. Yet, I came back from my day trip with more unanswered questions than before and a nauseating sense of responsibility for the one-sided policies of the American government.

We began our journey in Bethlehem by driving along the wall that separates Israel from Palestine. The wall is an eight-meter high concrete barrier that has been under construction for about a decade. It primarily runs along the “Green Line,” which divided the two territories in the 1949 Armistice Agreement.

Yet, at times, the wall strays from the line and encroaches deep into Palestinian territory. It encompasses Israeli settlements in the West Bank and completely encircles some Palestinian towns. The wall severely restricts Palestinians who live nearby, particularly in their ability to travel freely within the West Bank and to access work in Israel.

I felt as though seeing the Palestinian experience gave me a better understanding of what South African Apartheid must have been like. In fact, while Israelis justify it as a “Security Wall” or “Anti-Terrorist Fence,” ordinary Palestinian citizens have deemed it the “Apartheid Wall.”

The settlements were nothing compared to what we would see in Hebron, however.

Hebron has historically been an important pilgrimage site for people of many faiths, as it houses the tombs of Isaac, Jacob and Abraham in addition to the legendary tombs of Adam and Eve. Though we saw the sights of historic significance in Hebron, it is the politics of the city that left me speechless.

The city was completely divided between Palestinians and Jewish settlers. Even the mosque, which holds the tomb of Isaac, Jacob and Abraham, is split down the center. The structure is half mosque half synagogue with a partition in the middle and windows from each side that overlook the tomb of Abraham. About 600 Jewish settlers remain in the city of Hebron and many of their houses are literally on top of Palestinian residences. Israeli soldiers are everywhere—on the streets, on roofs of houses and guarding from the many watchtowers.

A Palestinian family invited us into their house so that we could see what living conditions were like. We saw a room shared by twelve people. From the roof of their house, we could see both the Arab souk below and the pretty, manicured settler houses constructed on the remains of squalid Palestinian homes. A chicken-wire mesh covered the souk in order to catch waste that settlers often throw from their windows onto the street below.

Entering the Palestinian house was eye-opening, though I am still not sure what I think about this type of tourism. There is something that seems inherently wrong with marveling at the squalid living conditions of others and turning their misery into a spectacle.

Though I have been to a number of third world countries, I have never traveled somewhere for the sake of seeing poverty and, walking through the streets of Hebron in the West Bank made me feel more aware than ever of my nationality, my skin color and the privileges that come along with them.

It is difficult for me to think of the conflict in an unbiased way after visiting Hebron. I understand that I only heard the Palestinian side of the story. I understand that the issue is more complex than what is visible on the surface. And I understand that there are injustices that lie on both sides of the battle. Still, it is difficult for me to fathom a justification for the extreme disparities in wealth, or the wall barring Palestinians from entering Israel, or the expansion of settlements in the heart of Palestinian cities.

Furthermore, I do not understand why the international community has been so passive about the issue and how the US justifies propelling such discrimination in the name of national interest.

I tried not to look at myself through the eyes of the locals, because I knew I would hate myself if I did.

The post Thoughts on Palestine appeared first on Erika's Travels .

As the birthplace of Christianity, Promised Land of Judaism and important religious center of Islam, Israel is a country teeming with passionate religiosity and an eclectic mix of people. Its capital city, Jerusalem, is no doubt one of the most fascinating and overwhelming cities I have been to in my life. It is a place where one can see Hasidic Jews walking by the birthplace of the Virgin Mary as the Muslim call to prayer wails in the background.

Yet, while Jerusalem is a cosmopolitan city with vast historical significance and a seemingly peaceful coexistence of the three monotheistic faiths, it is deeply disputed city and the epicenter of a conflict that has transcended the borders of the tiny nation and captured the attention of the entire world. One must only travel a few minutes east of the city to comprehend the magnitude of inequality and suffering that is so often overlooked in the media. Like Lebanon, Israel is a land of contrasts and densely packed with emotions and tensions that can flare violently. It contains deeply entrenched fault-lines as solid as the concrete physical barrier that divides it from Occupied Palestine.

I left for Israel with a few friends after class on Thursday. Though the distance between Amman and Jerusalem is only 44 miles, the border crossing can last an eternity. The Israeli border officials are known for their endless questioning and indiscriminate security checks and, as a result, I was a bit nervous. Considering Israel’s relationship with the other countries in the region, I feared that my seven passport stamps from Arab nations might prevent me from being able to cross the border. I had heard horror stories about people being turned back for little reason and saw myself as an easy target.

Yet, at that border crossing I learned what it meant to be a Caucasian girl with an American passport. While three of my friends who had Arab last names were held at the border and asked the same questions for hours, those of us who were white, passed through with no problem. As a result, I was able to spend the evening wandering the bustling streets of New Jerusalem, while my friends endured hours of interrogation.

Was this fair? No. But I soon found out that justice is not something I would see a lot of during my three-day visit to the country.

I spent the remainder of Thursday walking around New Jerusalem with my friend, Brooke and two other Americans we had met at the border. They were studying in Amman on a different program and we had a wonderful time walking around together and sharing our travel experiences and thoughts on the Middle East. While Old Jerusalem becomes nearly empty at sunset, New Jerusalem thrives with nightlife. Packed with outdoor cafes, a hopping bar scene and strolling couples, the environment felt remarkably more European than Middle Eastern.

We spent the next day wandering around the Old City and retracing the footsteps of early Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Our sightseeing began at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher—both the sight of Jesus’ crucifixion as well as his alleged tomb. The church, though unassuming from the outside, parallels some of the most beautiful cathedrals I have ever seen on the inside. It is covered in mosaics, paintings and dimly lit passageways that give it an almost eerie feel. The church lies at the end of the Via Dolorosa, the path that Jesus walked along as he carried the cross on the way to his crucifixion. It is sometimes possible to see groups of highly devoted Italian and Spanish tourists lugging their own rented crosses up the street.

From there, we headed toward the Wailing Wall at the edge of the Temple Mount. The Wall has been a sight of Jewish pilgrimage and prayer for centuries. It is the only remnant of the Second Temple (an ancient place of Jewish sacrifice) and sits at the edge of the Temple Mount (the third holiest site in Islam after Mecca and Medina). As a result of its historical importance, the Wall has often been a point of tension between people of the two faiths, as each group lays claim to it. Today, the Wall is a place teeming with tourists and worshippers. It is the place where Hasidic Jews, secular Jews and Jews from abroad, write prayers on small slips of paper and shove them in between cracks in the wall.

From the Wailing Wall, we visited the room of the Last Supper, the tomb of King David and continued on to the Mount of Olives. The mount has traditionally been used as a Jewish cemetery, but it is also the place in which some believe that Jesus sweat blood, was arrested before his crucifixion and ascended to heaven. The Mount of Olives also offers some of Jerusalem’s most spectacular views of the Dome of the Rock and the Old City.

We ended our whirlwind tour of religious sights at the Mount of Olives. The next day, we would resume our tour of the Holy Land and encounter countless other historical and religious monuments, both in Jerusalem and across the border in Palestine.

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