And God planted a Garden

When God made the world, because he is eternal and doesn’t have to work to time schedules in the same way that mortals do, I think he must have paused when he created he Cremisan valley. He must have spent that much longer, and lavished even more care and blessings on this beautiful reflection of his greatness, as if he wanted us to look, and look, and look, and remember that he is Creator.

From Cremisan there is a walk through the wooded hillside: not the oppressive closing round of dense forest; for here there is the openness of variety, and the blue of the sky is always seen through a lattice of green branches. And on to El Walaja, blessed with spring water and a valley floor of rich soil to grow vegetables. And on the slopes above, vines, and olives, almonds, and apricots, that are among the finest in the world.

But I have come to record a story that is one of the most tragic and disturbing of all the sad stories that reverberate through this land. From the “God saw that it was good” of the creation, we move to a fallen world and witness man’s inhumanity to man.

El Walaja was more of a town than a village, with a population of more than 20,000. When the state of Israel was born, El Walaja found itself on the Israeli side of the 1949 Armistice Line, although much of its land was on the other side of the “divide.” Some of the inhabitants had fled during the conflict, some had moved to the temporary shelters on the other side of the valley that were used as living quarters at peak times of agricultural activity in the summer

Then in 1953, Israel totally destroyed the old village – houses, school, church, and mosque were all demolished – to be replaced on adjacent ground by a military post. Some villagers left the area altogether, others stayed in the temporary shelters, and in caves (which for generations had also provided the summer accommodation). But this was the other side of the Armistice Line, in the West Bank, and these people were technically refugees. As time went by some decided to build permanent homes, and a new village started to take shape.

But the Six Day War of 1967 had brought a new turn of events, and the West Bank was now part of the Occupied Territories. The Israeli plan for Greater Jerusalem brought a new boundary to determine the pattern of life, and this boundary was subject to change as new annexations were proposed. The population shrank to little more than 2,000, but some of these people were now in the odd position of being holders of West Bank I.D. cards while living on their own land in what was deemed to be East Jerusalem. And to get building permission for any extensions, never mind new building, they needed to have Jerusalem I.D.s. In this nonsensical world, their land had been reclassified – but they had not. Any building applications were always met with the same decision – refusal.

So how can life move forward? Let’s meet up with one of the villagers whose home is under threat. He is one of five brothers, and lived with his parents until he married. Their home was an old established building dating back to the “summer shelter” time. When he married he rented one room for five years, and by the end of this time he and his wife had three children. One room is not the ideal accommodation for a family of five. So he decided if he was to stay in the area the only way was to build another floor on to his parents’ one-storey house. He knew it was illegal; he knew that at some point he would be faced with demolition, but for the sake of family life what other option was there? He has used the legal system as far as it allows to challenge and delay, but now he has almost come to the end of the line. At least he has had family accommodation for seven years. He goes to the court in three weeks time. (This is in Jerusalem, and he has a permit to enter Jerusalem valid for just one day). Almost certainly the demolition order will be approved (reducing the house back to one storey) and he will be fined – possibly 30,000 shekels (almost four thousand pounds) to be paid in one hundred monthly instalments. And he will have to meet the demolition costs. Two months ago he fell from an olive tree and broke his leg. This incurred medical bills that added to the burden on family financial resources – and, of course, he cannot work at present. How does an unemployed man meet such a fine? A neighbour who was recently fined 18,000 shekels, faces the prospect of 93 days in jail (more than three months) if he doesn’t pay.

Here we are, sitting on a patio, drinking tea and eating fruit hospitably provided, in a setting that would grace any Mediterranean villa, and I am face to face with this man who makes no demands on anyone, and yet who somehow is perceived as a threat to Israel just because he wants to bring up his family decently on his father’s land. In this tranquil place, I feel quite inadequate. I wear a vest with the dove of peace as part of the insignia on it, yet I know that there can be no peace without justice, and this man and others like him in this community are victims of a monstrous injustice.

I am shown to houses that have already been demolished; there are 13 piles of rubble. And here there is the block-built sheepfold that has been destroyed as well as the house. I am told that there are five sheepfolds that have to be demolished around this part of the village – true they are ramshackle, Heath Robinson affairs made from recycled corrugated iron, etc., but the villagers have been denied access to the building materials that would create something more substantial. I have this bizarre picture of sheep queuing in a flock at the Municipal Offices in Jerusalem for a building permit, and being refused because they lack the Jerusalem I.D.

So we move on to the house of Attah and his wife. We sit at table with them and their four children. The hospitality of the meal is more than generous – how is it that people whose lives have been so constrained by injustice can be so open in their giving to others? And from the prized CD player there comes the soothing strains of Bach. Attah explains that with all the turmoil and uncertainty for the future of their community, and the harassment of the police which disrupts the village life, to listen to music like this takes him into another world. I think of J.S. Bach, of all the composers the model family man, all these years after his death still making a creative contribution to another’s life. And the musicians who performed for this recording, playing as it were for a man whom they have never met. Somehow the fragmentation of humankind’s self-inflicted brokenness starts to come together again. Whatever man may do to turn Paradise into Hell, the vine and the olive, the almond and the apricot here tell a different story. I look across at the generous Attah and his family, and understand that indeed a Creator God did make man in his own image.