I have a very complex identity, being a Palestinian/Greek Muslim girl. I was always admired for my decision to convert to Islam and my non-Muslim friends always asked about my religion and attended religious events with me to learn more. My roommate even prayed with me once to show solidarity and to further understand my religion. The Islamic community back in America is generally supportive because they are aware of the challenges of being Muslim and America: Sticking to your beliefs but integrating into American society. This is something unique to American Muslims that Muslims in Arab countries judge and do not understand. Living in Jerusalem exposed me to the stereotypes I already knew about but it was nonetheless challenging.
The other part of my identity, a big one, is being Palestinian. I am very passionate about my beliefs and everyone around me is aware of that. I would often receive messages asking “What do you think of this article?” or “Your activism is admirable and I greatly respect you.” My work wasn’t hateful towards Israel and I lived and became close friends with a girl who shared opposite views than me, so traveling to Jerusalem didn’t suddenly push me to think “All Israelis are human.” Yet, it pushed me out of my comfort zone and allowed me to step into a space where I began to see the situation differently because I lived it.
So I arrived. With my hair blow-dried and straightened and my sports t-shirt on. My only concern was to blend in with society and not appear Palestinian or Muslim. I knew I was coming to study, and frankly, this isn’t the place you want to be openly political or religious in, as a foreigner. I silenced my identity and biting my tongue became custom. While I was forced to challenge my Muslim identity here in a few ways, that was the least challenging part of my identity. I don’t wear hijab so nobody knew I was Muslim just by looking at me and when I would travel to the West Bank, I would wear appropriate attire that allowed me to blend in as a “modest non-hijab wearing Muslim.” Yes, maybe I would get the occasional stares and comments, but the girls who wore the scarf did as well. What really challenged me was my Palestinian identity, both politically and culturally.
Culturally, I was exposed to the typical Palestinian mentality of “Get married!” or “Don’t be out late, a gir
l should be in the house.” This is nothing new for me but it did alter my identity for the better. By explaining my views to Palestinians, I was able to confirm my beliefs and advocate for my independence and education, something not so common to many Palestinian girls. Now, moving onto the very difficult part. The politics. Did I think my previous two trips to Palestine prepared me? Yes. Was I severely misguided? Yes.
Upon arriving to Jerusalem, the situation was generally calm, yet upon the arrival of the Jewish holidays in September, clashes broke out throughout Jerusalem. Of course, I witnessed injustices and became enraged but it was nothing very new to me as I know this is part of the narrative here. What I wasn’t prepared for was the uprising that broke out in late September. While the West Bank was experiencing problems, Jerusalem was at the heart of them. I made friends with Israeli people around my university and one of my friends who own a restaurant up the street said to me, “Alexis, I’ve served in the army and I’ve done some crazy things but for once, I feel scared so I’m keeping knives on hand.” That shook me. A big, strong man who served on the army succumbed to the fear of this conflict. I remember getting my laptop fixed and speaking to the workers who told me, “We can’t lead normal lives with all this violence. We just want peace.” Yes, like I previously mentioned, I know Israelis are human but this proved to me we share the same fears, the same hopes for a better future. While the injustices angered me more and made me want to expose them, I became nothing next to this deeply rooted conflict. I wanted to just scream at everyone “STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” But, everyone is set in their ways and nobody is willing to put aside their politics.
I truly lived like a Palestinian, and experienced treatment like a Palestinian. My father told me “You are American but at the end of the day they view you as a Palestinian.” This held true when I got denied to re-enter Jerusalem from Ramallah and called a liar because they thought I didn’t have a visa. This held true when two Israeli men with guns moved to the opposite side of the train because I looked Arab and boarded on from an Arab neighborhood (Beit Hanina). So how was my identity altered? I became more passionate for my people, yet almost helpless at the same time. I began to understand the same fears Palestinians and Israelis hold. I was able to share my experiences with Israelis and receive sympathy along with the hopes for peace. I for once didn’t have the security of America because at the end of the day “Abuhadba” said it all. My voice was silenced, my identity was silenced but somehow suppression allowed it to grow and grow and grow. The experiences I had here and yet to have, changed me forever. I breathe Palestine now, but what most importantly emanates from me is compassion for all regardless of our politics and regardless of the injustices I have witnessed, and I will carry that with me for the rest of my life.