How Do You Say "Yom Kef" In Arabic?

A few weeks ago, just at the start of the summer tourist season, my Palestinian office announced that we'd all be going on an Office "Fun Day". (Called "Yom Kef" in Hebrew) I've only ever been on a handful of "Fun Days" since I began my professional life in this country, and they've mostly not been "fun" at all (W, remember the Lunch of Olives on the Mount of Olives?) and so I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Then, upon discovering that the plan was to go Kayaking "up North" on the Jordan River, I was very pleased: What better way to spend a Thursday in a heatwave? And I hadn't been Kayaking since participating in a Zionist Youth movement program, and I definitely recall it being Much Fun.

It didn't begin in a particularly fun manner: First of all, the beyond ridiculously early start, because the West Bank Palestinians had one day permits to be in Israel, and we had to leave in time to get back in time to get them back through the checkpoints. Or we could all have been jailed, apparently. Nice! Then, well into our journey, It suddenly occurs to me that our minibus has taken the "Occupation Superhighway*" aka Israel Toll Road 6, which I've only ever heard hailed by many of these colleagues as a Palestinian land-grabbing, environment-destroying money pit. "Er, I thought you didn't travel on here as it cuts through the Territories?" I ask one of the bosses, tentatively. "Well, we can't go via Jericho and the Jordan Valley, even though it would be the quickest way," she replies "because they won't necessarily let us through the army checkpoints, even though everyone's permits are all in order. And we'll miss the Kayaks if they hold us up there all day..."

Well indeed, who am I to question anything anymore? I stretch out on my seat, finding it a little bizarre, yet familiar: I mean, I've taken countless such trips before to Israel's premier touring reserves, dozing on the bus in my hiking clothes, applying sunscreen while the air conditioning leaks, and people around me make jokes, munching on warm fruit and wilted sandwiches. I've just never done it in Arabic before.

(Their Arabic, n.b.: I mostly just smile and nod. And talk in another language if I need to make myself understood beyond "Can I have some more cheese")

Ah, the North. LOVE the North! Especially as we get closer to the Kinneret (Sea of Galillee) around where I spent some of the best months of my 19th year on a Kibbutz, I reminisce out loud. Fuelled by a sudden burst of North-lurve euphoria, I point out "my" kibbutz to a girl who has recently joined our office, as we drive by its junction. She smiles politely, and tells me her husband's family fled from the village which was razed to make way for it.

Yeah, so I decide to rein in the euphoria from that point on. (And try not to start wondering how many other razed Arab villages there are around here: Today, Kayaking! Tomorrow, I'll check the "Zochrot" website.)

We get there: A guide gives us instructions in Hebrew. Halfway through, one of the Palestinians, who doesn't understand, makes a joke: the instructor switches to Arabic immediately- who knew, most of the people working at the Kayak place are Arabs with Israeli citizenship. I’m sure that this was probably the case always- I just wouldn’t have noticed on previous trips.

Only once we're on the water does the surreality of the next 2 hours dawn: I'm now in a boat with 3 colleagues whose common language is Arabic (which basically leaves me high and dry if we aren't swearing, taking telephone messages or asking for more cheese), one of whom speaks some Hebrew, one of whom speaks English and also quite randomly does a killer impression of American tourists speaking/singing in bad Hebrew (apparently many march through his neighbourhood in the Old City regularly) and one newer girl who speaks no languages I speak, so we communicate mostly via gestures and smiles. Other boats that go past get very confused. "Are you guys American?" ask the Israeli National Service girls in heavily-accented English and patronizing smiles as they float past to hear me cursing (in Brummie) the fact that my sunglasses have just chosen to jump off my face and start a new life at the bottom of the river Jordan. "Ugh, Heaven Forbid! We're from Jerusalem" I snap back at her in Hebrew, just as one of my friends spots a distant cousin in a nearby boat and deafens us all in a stream of Arabic excitement. Then a boat full of 16 year-old American girls drifts past, getting stuck in the riverbank trees until my Old City-dwelling colleague masterfully sets them free. "Ohmigod, Israeli guys are like, SO. HOT." says one of them, gazing at his Palestinian back adoringly as we sail away, and then giggling as he strikes up a rousing chorus of American-accented "Hevenu Shalom Alechem" to serenade the settler family now floating by- who just so happen to be wearing T-shirts emblazoned with slogans advocating his transfer. It's all getting a little too much for me to cope with, in all this heat, so I start singing "Row, Row Row Your Boat"- and the North is alive with the sound of music.

Much fun is had by all on and in the river Jordan (good to know that we’re never too old for water fights), and we eventually saunter back to the bus, passing the settler family from before, all wearing those racist T-shirts and looking frankly petrified when they see us approaching. "Arabs!" the kids whisper to each other, one of them scowling directly at my fake crocs... its all downright weird.

Then we move on to Tel Dan for lunch (just missing my friend S the Fantastic, who happens to be guiding a tourist group around there that day) Once we're there -and it's gorgeous, if you've never been- I'm once again struck by all the different demographics enjoying their tours around the place. In the space of 15 minutes, Ultra-orthodox teenage girls, kibbutz Israelis, high-schoolers, German Christian Tourists, Japanese pilgrims, and American teenagers troupe past where we've set up "camp" in the picnic area. It feels so far away from the tense environs of East Jerusalem as we sit, surrounded by mountains of good food, really enjoying the day off. Love the North! Yet in all honesty, East Jerusalem doesn’t feel so far away after all: Despite the sleepy heat, it’s clear that several passersby appear to be regarding our relaxed group with suspicion, solely because, it seems to me, they're cracking jokes in loud Arabic. Again, while I understand why some people might find that scary if they’ve never been taught that all Arabs aren’t terrorists, our group aren't exactly walking around waving Hamas flags and Uzis proclaiming the re-conquering of Tel El-Qadi (apparently the original name in Arabic, and I just had to look that up.) All we’re doing is eating watermelon and telling silly jokes, yet we’re still all getting our share of scowls and nervous glances from various walking past . Me too, and I'm only laughing at the punchlines I understand -about 1 in 999999- while collapsed in a sun-daze wearing fake crocs singing Row Row Row Your Boat to myself - what exactly is frightening about this picture?

I get my answer to that question a little later, on our way home (at breakneck speed to get back to the checkpoints in time) when we stop at a large Mall as we're exiting the North. All manner of languages are spoken there at high decibels- Russian, Hebrew, Arabic, Amharic- yet none of the shopping locals look particularly "bovvered." Ah- the North rocks! Full to bursting with all manner of potentially confrontational Jewish/Arab demographics, yet despite the history, provocative political tensions are without doubt scant in comparison to other areas of the Holy Land. (In all fairness, it isn’t just the North- there are many other regions of Israel which maintain ongoing and un-flashy coexistence in many languages. I just really love the North) I noted in retrospect that the people who seemed scared and distrustful of me and my colleagues on the Kayaks and in Tel Dan appeared by and large to be folks from both abroad and from sheltered communities within Israel who've probably never seriously contemplated the potential normalcy of coexistence, and probably never will. The same folks who stare at me in horror when I tell them I work with Palestinians and ask me “But how can you help… the enemy??” And that, I conclude back on the coach watching the sun set, is all rather sad. And that's just when considering the position of the Jews: I'm not under any illusions (ongoing Occupation, n'all) that large sections of Palestinian society would be any more amenable to notions of coexistence either. I stare out the window as we speed back Jerusalem-wards, contemplating how to engender lasting trust between peoples... I'm running out of inspiration. Oh well, at least the North is gorgeous. Oh look, there's a JNF Forest... And hark, there's a “Zochrot” sign right beside it, marking a razed Palestinian village... Row, Row, Row Your Boat...


Hope you're all having a lovely summer.

Ps. The answer to the question is "Yahm Keif"

*Copyright, Mr. @themuqata.