I am in Zuzu’s car with Sama when we leave Jericho. We hand over our ID’s and passports again at the checkpoint. The soldier laughs and says, “Wow, so you’re traveling in-style,” nodding at Zuzu’s BMW. “Have a nice time here in Israel.”
Its dusk and we turn onto the road where we’re hoping the next checkpoint won’t be. The gun stand is empty and there are no concrete barriers. I catch my breath as we drive past.
The roads turn to gravel as we drive up to the beach. You can only access the shore of the Dead Sea by going into a beach club. I’ve never been in a beach club, but I do have a good idea from watching the TV show Beverly Hills 90210 as a tween.
What’s fascinating is that there is this sort of teenage drama developing in the parking lot like a storyline in 90210. The sun is getting low, so everything is turning orange and purpley with huge shadows. Our cars’ green license plates have already let everyone know we are outsiders and coming from an un-cool place. In the lot bystanders are staring with weird looks on their faces and whispering to one another. We are definitely not the cool, popular kids on the beach. We are more like the unpopular, outcast kids.
And we are treated that way. At the door, the lady takes our entry fee and acts indifferent to our popularity status. The power of money still trumps political conflicts as usual. But inside the posh club we get more cold stares. I’m not sure if its that our friends are Palestinian or that we are obviously Americans who can’t speak Hebrew.
As we walk down to get a look at the beach, our friends ask us to call them different names, Zuzu = Joe, Haneen= Harry, Mohammed = Mike. There is only small comfort in this and I question its effectiveness, but if it makes them feel better, I’ll do it. The Dead Sea is turning lavender, which means the daylight is almost gone.
Everyone walks up to the club to change into their swimsuits except for Rozalinda and I (mine’s in the lost suitcase). Two young men in swimsuits stand by the fence in front of the sea. The pair starts smirking, yelling and pointing to our friends climbing the stairs. They’re out of earshot, but I am not. I don’t understand what they’re saying but they are obviously laughing at our expense. The tips of my ears start burning and my insides get jittery………..like they did when Sama got pulled out of line when we were crossing The Bridge into the West Bank. Its my temper again.
they’re standing on my left
First I snap a photo through the fence, then I walk up beside where they’re standing. They look like my college students and I turn and face them. I know I’m wearing that catty, defiant look on my face, which could cause a problem but at least I have enough control not to open my mouth. One of them mutters something under his breath. I turn my eyes back to the Dead Sea. Its my favorite time of day when the color of the water almost matches the sky. Only a line of mountains over on the Jordan side separates the two.
The young men walk away.
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