Beyond the Forbidden Frontiers

            Traitors, concubines, sacrilegious people, they called spouses like her. Of course, they didn’t say it boldly to one’s hearing, but thirty-year-old Mrs. Golda Achraoui knew that those words spun in the narrow minds, lurked behind the scowls, and snarled on the murmuring lips.

            What former Ms. Golda Dayan, medium-built, beautiful, and well educated thought would be a life of marital bliss, or at least, of normal marital life, when she and her husband Zaad Achraoui returned to the holy land, turned out to be a way of the cross, an act of courage, of daily resistance, a war of nerves. This was not unexpected however. Golda knew

that the Jewish state did not accept nor recognised mixed marriages between Israeli Jews and Palestinians, especially Palestinian Moslems and Christians; it was frowned upon by most Israelis and simply tolerated by many Palestinians; but she had not expected the reactions to their union to be so severe.    

            It all began at the Tel Aviv Ben Gurion international airport where Lufthansa flight 428 had safely landed them there one torrid afternoon. Zaad carried their nine-month-old daughter Wafa, babbling happily on his left shoulder, and fondly linked arms with Golda as they strutted through the Jetway towards the Border Control Hall. Zaad stood slightly taller than his wife and appeared darker than her too. People gawked at them, but they ignored them and tightened the grip mutually. But the more people glowered at them and muttered things, the more Golda felt Zaad’s fingers disengaging from hers until at the Customs control she found herself groping desperately for them. Not finding her husband’s fingers, Golda’s heart nearly missed a beat and her hand dropped limply by her side and she swallowed hard.

                    “You’ve excess duty-free items for individauls,” the unsmiling customs official said when they declared their personal effects.

            “They’re for me and my wife,” Zaad said.

            Eyes narrowed into slits, the officer pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Five hundred Shekel,--” A little over $100--he muttered.

            Zaad and Golda stared at each other. As couples they could bring in what they had duty-free. But according to the law, their mixed marriage was illegitimate. Israel recognised as legal only marriages between couples each of whose jewishness has been ratified by an orthodox rabbinical court. Mixed marriages were not even registered.

            The corners of her mouth turned down, Golda grabbed Zaad’s arm as he dug into his pocket for his wallet. “Wait, I’ll pay this senseless tax,” Golda blurted out. A sudden pounding came from her heart, under the green wool turtleneck. A lump jumped into her long throat and her fingers twitched as she fished for the money in her purse. Golda found the bills, ignored the official’s outstretched hand, and banged them on the counter top and pouted.

            Zaad squeezed Golda’s hand but she jerked it from his grip and scowled some more.

            Soon, they headed for the Palestinian territories. Golda couldn’t help thinking, even if fleetingly, of her right wing parents. She felt slightly homesick but it was impossible to go home and say hi to them. They had made this clear to her when she decided to leave Israel to get married to Zaad in Cyprus. Going to Cyprus was not only the only way to avoid having a religious marriage, but also like other mixed unions, the sole means to get round the prohibition of mixed marriages in Israel. Everywhere they witnessed the same acrimonious behavior from the Israeli soldiers till they reached Nablus where Zaad’s family lived. When they alighted from the cab and passed by a group of Palestinian adolescents, Golda instinctly clutched Wafa tightly to her chest and cast stealthy glances about. For many years than she could remember, her parents and the Israeli state had kept on harping that Palestinians were vile and blood-thirsty people who wanted to exterminate the Jews and take their land. So conditioned, it became a reflex to get tense in the presence of Palestinians. But Golda soon relaxed and her hold on Wafa also slackened as the group answered Zaad’s greetings brightly.

            Zaad’s family hugged them and and kissed Wafa all over. For the first time since her return to the Middle East, Golda did not feel highly strung.

            On marrying Zaad, Golda had not really meditated upon what she was getting into. Grand-daughter of Austrian and Hungarian Jews who had fled the increasing antisemitic

pogroms in Central Europe to Israel during the Second World War, no statistics could have predicted Golda meeting Zaad, orphan born in exile of parents part of the four hundred and fifteen Palestinians deported from Gaza by the Israeli army.

            Curios about their bitter neigbor-enemies the Palestinians, adolescent Golda attended a conference at a local cultural center about the occupied territories. After the talk by the eminent speaker, some of her misconceptions about Palestinians vanished like bubbles into thin air. At home, she sought answers to other questions assailing her but got only more lectures on how terrible and primitive Palestinians were. But the more lectures she received, the less convinced she became, so much so that when time came for her obligatory military service, Golda fled to Australia in order not to be part of what she thought of as a repressive machinery. On her return, she joined a voluntary aid group working in the occupied territories. There, she met Zaad and it was, as they say, love at first sight. Her parents were deeply shattered by the news and tried hard to talk her out of it. But Golda had found her heart’s desire, as they also say. A year later she joined Zaad at Beit El, near to Ramallah. Two years later, they decided to get married in Italy or Cyprus and finally settled on the latter. From there they flew to Germany. They were returning after a year and a half’s stay there. Golda wanted to raise Wafa in Middle Eastern culture. But events that evening were to test her mettle further and in a radical manner.

            Their arrival coincided with the sparking off of Intifada by the Palestinians.

            That evening the streets of Nablus bustled with angry Palestinian youths yelling: “Wipe off Israel!” “Death to all Jews!” Golda sat tense in a couch. She breathed hard. The small eyes behind the shell-like glasses narrowed into slits and the veins stood  out on the small, feminine hands. She and Zaad found it difficult to say even a word to each other or to

so much as look at each other as if they were opposing poles of a magnet. Golda thought of Jews and Palestinians. Was Zaad torn between these two people the way she was? Not knowing who to support and who to blame? In the glacial calm of his long face, she couldn’t tell. Wafa bawled and Zaad clutched her to his bosom.

            Outside, she knew the children were hurling stones at the Israeli soldiers who fired sporadic shots at them.  Soon ambulances began to wail. Golda clutched her head. God, let all this end, she prayed to no one in particular, as if what was happening outside was like a piece of writing on a blackboard that one could wipe off with a stroke of a duster. Instead one heard the angry screams of the Palestinian children and the sporadic gunfire of tsahal. She jumped at each peal of gunfire until the unbearable staccato sound soon was making her grip her dark hair and tear the profuse tufts descending right to her backbones.  Anytime Golda heard a scream and the guttural voices of the youths and rumbling feet, she knew that a child had fallen and was being hauled away by his friends. Golda gritted her teeth now and stamped her feet at the screaming of the women and the dying. Zaad finally got slowly to his feet, walked over to Golda and hugged her shoulders. Words had no place here. The two no doubt were carrying irreconciliable inner turmoils.

Golda retired to bed wishing she didn’t belong here! Her heart burned and she regretted being born into this land where neigbors were fighting each other bitterly for the same land. Zaad fondled her to calm her down after he had coaxed Wafa to sleep, but Golda felt as if a stranger‘s cold hands crawled over her body.

            The next day, Israel declared Nablus “closed military zone.” Each day more and more Palestinian children, now more and more younger, poured into the streets; more Israeli soldiers penetrated into the occupied teritories; more people got injured on both sides and

more Palestinians died. Golda recoiled so much into herself that after three days Zaad stopped trying to cheer her up.

A lull came at the end of a week. Tired of the violence, Golda and Zaad moved to Ramallah. They knew this was a calm before another storm, even a hurricane. And events proved them right soon.

The Intifada picked up steam soon after, bringing more havoc than before.

            Months passed. Then it was time for the feast of Aïd el Kebir. Zaad wanted to celebrate it with his family at Nablus. The occupied territories had been cordoned off. The only way to reach Nablus was by foot. That was some four hours of trekking over mountainous paths and bare countryside. Golda was pregnant and that worried Zaad. Could she manage?

Golda nodded. She’s come this far and she didn’t know what could hold her back now in carrying the cross others had so insistently hauled onto her shoulders.

            They set off  the following day at dawn, backpacks strapped to their backs. Zaad carried Wafa on his shoulders. In the beginning they hurried and exchanged some pleasant  words. Soon their lively conversation turned into silence as they concentrated on the long distance ahead of them. Zaad occasionally spoke a word of encouragement. Golda grunted in reply.

After walking for one hour, the sun’s searing rays flooded the naked landscape. With diminishing energies, it became hard to go up the mountainous paths. Sweat drenched their clothes. Wafa, who had been sleeping, woke up under the heat and began to bawl. They stopped occasionally to give her milk or some biscuit. Soon, Golda felt her feet getting heavy

as if the dust her gait scooped onto them weighted them down. Her delicate soles burnt like a sore in the hiking shoes as if they were being grated with a file.

“Could we take a rest?” she whispered when they came to a fig tree. Her sunburnt skin looked as brown as Zaad’s. Her thin lips fluttered and the slim nose twitched.

Zaad nodded and took down her bag. He wriggled out of his as Golda sank to the stony ground with Wafa. She breathed hard and Zaad took the shoes off her blistered feet.

“You’re okay?” Zaad asked, staring intently at her.

Golda nodded. Globules of perspiration hugged his broad forehead. Golda felt as if she was seeing his dark, inquisitive, shy eyes, long nose ending in medium nostrils, and the large ears standing off his head for the first time. And her heart blossomed for him again.

Zaad rubbed ointment on her soles. Golda felt a searing pain and then a soothing cold, and the pain was gone. She smiled at Zaad who smiled back. “Okay?” he asked.

Golda nodded. “I’m okay,” she said. It came out as a raucous croak and she cleared her throat. She watched Zaad stare into the distance, triangular lines at the corner of his eye. A pensive look came over his face. What was he thinking of? The distance? Maybe the ordeal they were going through. Golda herself was wondering why she accepted to suffer like this. Being of bourgeois parents, and armed with a Master of Arts degree in International Affairs with concentration in Middle Eastern Studies, she could easily have lived well in Israel. But love made her choose to tread this torturous path.

Golda felt Zaad’s gaze burning at her and she turned to see him smile, a smile which couldn’t entirely mask his feeling of guilt. Golda smiled back and gave him a light kiss. His lips tasted salty.

 “Ready?” Zaad said.

“Yes, let’s continue.” It would be good to cover a good distance before the sun became unbearable. She gave him her arm and he dragged her to her feet. Golda felt giddy for a while and then she was okay. She took in a deep breath, released it and they set out again and reached Nablus shortly before ten.

Golda heard a tick tock tick tock in her ears like a clock ticking in there. She realized the sound matched her heartbeat. Her back, shoulders, and legs throbbed. As for her waist, she thought it had been pummelled with clubs. The sweat dried on her arms, leaving fine deposits of salt. Golda sank into the big leather chair offered her.

Zaad’s family members grouped around them and stared at them with curiousity.

“We’ve been walking for four hours,” Zaad breathed.

The family howled and turned their incredulous, compassionate looks on Golda.  Zaad’s aunt dropped on her knees before Golda, hugged her and rocked with sobs. Golda threw her arms around her and sniffled too.

Golda raised her head to see all the others wiping tears from their faces. Her heart rose for the sympathy yet her conscience troubled her. Wasn’t it the army of her country which has imposed the blockade on the territories, forcing them to walk?

A girl took Wafa, squeezed her to her chest, and made faces at her. Wafa tittered. Golda smiled. Crossing the forbidden frontiers was hard but there are positive sides to it.

Aïd itself was an unforgetable experience. Their hike had reached the ears of a lot of neighbors and they came to offer their consolation and gifts. There was so much to eat and dances were put up in the evenings. The shrill quality returned to Golda’s voice and she became carefree like a child and laughed a lot. Her small, dark eyes lit up, brightening the

serious face. If she had to walk each year to celebrate the Aïd at Nablus, Golda told herself that she’d gladly do it.

Golda now worked as coordinator at Ramallah for HelpThePeople, a British not-for-profit organization working in the territories to alleviate poverty. Zaad still served as foreman in a construction firm. Their three children were growing healthy and strong. Wafa was already six, with long dark hair, keen eyes, and loved school. Hussain, a boy much like his father in looks except for a lighter skin nearer to his mother’s, was a little over three years old and in nursery school. The last born, another boy called Akbar, light-complexioned, was turbulent. But that didn’t worry Golda. Wafa was putting further strain on her marriage. 

“Why don’t you take me to my grand-parents in Israel?” Wafa would ask at times.

When Golda said that was impossible, she asked why.

Golda would sigh and swallow hard. “They’re ultra-orthodox Jews and wouldn’t want to see you or me, much less Papa,” she would explain.

“Why don’t they want to see us?” Wafa insisted one day.

She might as well tell her now. “They don’t like Palestinians,” Golda said and Zaad stared sharply at her.

“I know,” Wafa said, her round face bright with recognition. “They’re afraid that Papa would bomb them.”

Golda and Zaad stared at each other with raised eyebrows and burst into laughter.

Another time she asked: “Would I serve in the tsahal?”

“No, you’re Palestinian.”

“That’s better,” she said in her childish, feminine voice, “because I don’t want to shoot at Papa’s people.”

Golda breathed hard. She could choose to live as Jew whenever she wished and forget about all this excruciating existence. But were her children not going to be torn between Palestine and Israel forever, experience more internal turmoil than her?

Or another time when Wafa asked, “What’s my religion, Mama?”

“You don’t have any,” she said. “I belong to Judaism and Papa’s Moslem. You’d choose yours when you grow up.”

Or the most serious when another Israeli-Palestinian crisis broke out: “Mama, why do we and Israelis fight all the time?”

“”It’s a long story, dear. I’ll tell you about it one day.” In fact she didn’t know exactly what to say about a situation which ends up giving one ambivalent feelings.

Daily Golda realized that if it was easy for the heart to cross the forbidden frontiers, on the other hand it wasn’t so for the body and the mind to run away from the painful realities of the Israelo-Palestinian conflict. But she still loved Zaad and she had no doubts about his feelings towards her and that was more important.