Day 12

I should apologise for not putting up any journey-related blogs of late. It isn't for want of activities or experiences. In fact, the situation has been quite the opposite. I'm currently in the heart of Israel living and meeting with committed Zionists, aka Israeli citizens. It's been an eye opening experience for me and it has helped to further humanise the conflict. I'm also on the verge of some big interview scoops. Hopefully more on that later.

On another note, something of an interesting and sad story for you. Last time I was here I met Hisham, a friendly and helpful Palestinian hostel manager in Jerusalem. He told me about his torture experience in an Israeli dungeon following a suicide bombing he was suspected of carrying out. He claims to have never been involved in it and, to be sure, he was finally released by the Israelis because he refused to confess to involvement in the bombing despite days of torture.
Meeting Hisham was high on my list for this trip and I duly visited the hostel in East Jerusalem where I met him last. As I walked up the stairs leading to the hostel's entrance I was greeted by a new face. He explained that Hisham was no longer here. He had been kicked out by the owner because of his inability to manage the hostel. Initially he was allowed to stay, as a paying lodgee, but eventually even this was cancelled. Hisham fled to the hostel next door where he remains, not as a worker but as a guest.

Concerned at his wellbeing I immediately went to the adjoining hostel only to discover he was sleeping. Eventually he awoke and I reintroduced myself. Astonishingly he remembered who I was.

"From Sydney?" he asked.

"Yes" I replied.

When I met Hisham last time I remember him speaking about his wife, children and extended family. Clearly he was no longer living with them. I did not press the issue and at least physically he looked very much the same as before. Moreover, his mind was still sharp but the body, and body language, was less robust. We sat and drank mint tea and spoke sporadically. Occasionally bohemian looking Western tourists drifted in. But apparently none were activists. Once a hotbed of activist ferment, the hostel was now a semi-operational facility with semi-employed staff.

Interestingly, I met a tall, heavily stoned Serbian bloke who kept on telling the duty manager "I love you." I later noticed the same man walking through the Old City... wearing a monk's garb. In the hostel he professed to being an Orthodox monk but, of course, no one believed him.

Jerusalem is interesting that way. Something of a hotbed for the spiritually needy and bankrupt, as well as other types.