A Muslim Among The Settlers

What happens when a Pakistani American writer goes deep into the West Bank?

- Wajahat Ali

1.THE OLD CITY

Should I lie to an Israeli soldier in order to be allowed to pray? This was a theological dilemma I never studied in Sunday school, one I never thought I would have to confront.

Anxious and on edge, the soldier was standing in front of me, rifle in hand, blocking my way, and all I had to do was tell him I was 50 years old, and then I could pray at one of Islam’s holiest sites. One minor problem: I’m 37. Typically, when violence happens in the Old City of Jerusalem, Israeli authorities ban men younger than 50 from entering Haram al-Sharif, the compound known to Jews and Christians as the Temple Mount. And there had just been a small—by Middle Eastern standards anyway—spasm of violence. Three Palestinians had shot and killed two Israeli police officers near al-Aqsa Mosque inside Haram al-Sharif, which led to Israeli retaliations, which led to mass Palestinian protests, which led to yet another predictable round of stories datelined Jerusalem about the legendary Middle Eastern “cycle of violence.”

When I had arrived at Ben Gurion Airport, outside Tel Aviv, a few days earlier, I had not anticipated this conundrum. This was not my first time in Israel. I’m a Pakistani- American Muslim, and I’ve been to Israel more times than half the Jews I know.

At the airport, I had been greeted by the giant, flawless face of the model Bar Refaeli, stretched across a billboard to sell me designer sunglasses. Tel Aviv is modern, its politics are progressive (at least by the dysfunctional standards of the Middle East), and much of the food there isn’t kosher. An hour later I was in Jerusalem, which might as well be on a different planet.