For the last three months, I’ve been hearing stories about
Wadi al-Nar (pronounced WAdinnAR). It’s an ominous name. Wadi
simply means "valley." Nar, according to my
handi-dandi Hans Wehr, means "fire" or "conflagration." With the
definite article (al), nar means "Hell."
The first person I heard talking about Wadi Nar was a
Palestinian student who traveled with us to Bethlehem
in February. His permission to enter Israel had expired the
day before, but he wasn’t overly concerned about getting turned back at
the border: he could always get home to Ramallah via Wadi Nar.
When I asked another Birzeit student who grew up in Bayt
Sahur (a town due east of Bethlehem and no more than two miles west of
Wadi Nar) about it a few days later, he threw another log on my fire of
speculation. According to some Muslim and Christian myths, on Judgment
Day, Wadi Nar will become the Anvil of God, the place where all souls
will be judged.
Almost by osmosis, I absorbed information about the legendary
Wadi Nar. About its importance, and its dangers. (OK, I’m being a
little bit melodramatic).
Wadi Nar, mind you, is just a name for a road. It can’t be
more than two miles in length. Width-wise, it would have to be
considered a secondary road. At the bottom of the valley, a one-lane
bridge crosses a narrow creek that seems just a smidgen wider, deeper
and faster than Harry’s Brook–a tiny drainage ditch that runs near my
home in Princeton.
Wadi Nar, however, is not a secondary road. After the signing
of the Oslo Accords, the Israeli government established permanent
checkpoints along major roads from the West Bank to Jerusalem,
and–since Palestinians need special permits to enter Israel–the flow
of people back and forth was reduced to a trickle. As the region’s
oldest and biggest city, Jerusalem has always been the capital–if not
the political one, then the economic, religious and social one, and as
a result, the transportation hub of the region. In other words, for
most Palestinians, the transportation hub of the West Bank is no longer
accessible, making other, longer roads necessary for travel between the
north and south of the West Bank.
Wadi Nar is the critical link in the path bypassing Jerusalem.
This past Sunday I joined a trip to al-Khalil (accent on the "i,"
a.k.a. Hebron or Hevron) organized by Birzeit University for foreign
students, and instead of utilizing our privileged status as passport
holders, the responsible parties decided to have us travel the way
Palestinians have to travel: through Wadi Nar.
As a jaded world-traveler and cynical American youth, I am
rarely impressed by the sights of the countries I visit. In high
school, I was severely reprimanded by a girlfriend for not getting
excited at seeing the hills of Tuscany for the first time, I find the
Holy Sepulcher tacky, and frankly, the Eiffel Tower ain’t that high.
Wadi Nar, however, lived up to its billing. I’m at a loss as
to how to describe this road. Lombard Street in San Francisco is
perhaps too mild a comparison, but is in the ballpark. [Photo
right, the roughest part of Wadi Nar. Sorry for the blue lines, but it
makes the road a little more obvious.] The two hillsides
that the road must climb are on the steep side for a ski slope, and
require that the road be barely wide enough to accommodate two lanes.
Wadi Nar is rumored to be one of the most dangerous stretches of road
in the West Bank. It’s reputation is such that, in a country where I
can only conclude that the majority of drivers are on
methyl-amphetamines, driving habits in Wadi Nar are more conservative
than Dick Armey. There are some five to six hair-pin turns on the more
severe of the two slopes, and no room for error.
Trucks–18-wheelers–use this road, straining in first gear to climb
the mountain. In a television interview, one truck-driver claimed that
he replaced his brakes weekly. Perhaps his habits are on the obsessive
side, but if your breaks fail, your options for recovery on this road
are nil. You just slide off the mountainside. Just for atmosphere,
there were one or two burnt out shells of cars along the way (probably
placed there by the Ministry of Tourism).
The whole trip took two hours. Considering that the distance
between al-Khalil and Jerusalem is about 25 miles, and that between
Jerusalem and Ramallah about 12, two hours is a little excessive. After
we left Ramallah, our driver seemed to alternate between minor roads
leading south-ish and roads leading towards Jerusalem. We just kept
circling around the outskirts, constantly following signs to Jerusalem.
The road was relatively free of settlements as compared to
other areas. As I recall, every hill top along the road to Nablus
seemed to include concentrations of identical, semi-detached, pre-fab
houses with red tile roofs, all surrounded by fences of razor wire and
reinforced concrete. The primary settlement we passed was Ma’ale
Adumim, one of the largest West Bank settlements outside of Jerusalem.
In contrast, just after Ma’ale Adumim, we caught a glimpse of what
looked like a dumping ground for old metal containers carried by
trucks. The catch was their neat arrangement in rows and columns. These
containers are provided by the Israeli government as housing for
Bedouin who were expelled from their land. (You can even see laundry
out to dry on the right edge of the photo).
These makeshift, corrugated metal shacks are the homes of Bedouin. I’m not entirely sure how the Bedouin got to Gaza. Some were probably trapped in 1967 when Israel conquered Gaza and the Sinai. Perhaps some were trapped earlier and/or later by the simple difficulty of not having a passport.
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