Israeli and Palestinian postcards: presentations of national self

Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

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Tim Jon Semmerling

University of Texas Press, Austin

Presentations of National Self

and

Israeli Palestinian Postcards

The publication of this book was aided by the generous support of Bernard and Audre Rapoport.

Copyright © 2004 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America

First edition, 2004

Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, University of Texas Press, Box 7819, Austin, TX 78713-7819.

The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ansi/niso z39.48-1992 (r1997) (Permanence of Paper).

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Semmerling, Tim Jon, 1961– Israeli and Palestinian postcards : presentations of national self / Tim Jon Semmerling.— 1st ed. p.

cm.

isbn 0-292-70214-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) — isbn 0-292-70215-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Postcards—Israel.

2. Postcards—Palestine.

3. Self-presentation—Israel. Palestine.

I. Title.

nc1876.i75 s46 2004 956.9405'022'2—dc21 2003012347

4. Self-presentation—

Contents

Acknowledgments xi introduction The Presentation of National Self 1 one Palphot’s Israeli Self 13 two The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards 61 three The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self 99 four The Ecological Palestinian Self 119 five The Orientalized Area Self 135 six The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self 157 conclusion Tom Sawyer, Visual Methodologist,

and the Presentation of National Self 199 Notes 205 Bibliography 213 Index 221

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Figures

Color section follows page 98. 1.1. ‘‘Sea of Galilee’’ 25 1.2. ‘‘Kibbutz in Israel’’ 26 1.3. ‘‘Hora Jerusalem’’ [sic] 28 1.4. ‘‘Come, join me at Ein Gedi!’’ 30 1.5. ‘‘Mea Shearim, Jerusalem’’ 31 1.6. Israeli beach 34 1.7. ‘‘Falafel—Israel’s national snack’’ 35 1.8. ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 35 1.9. ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem’’ 38 1.10. ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem’’ 38 1.11. Praying soldier 40 1.12. ‘‘Jerusalem’’ 41 1.13. ‘‘Masada shall not fall again’’ 43

1.14. ‘‘The Western Wall, Jerusalem, Yərūshālaīm, Ha-kōtel ha-maărāvī’’ 44 1.15. ‘‘Jerusalem’’ 46 1.16. Arab children 54 1.17. Arabs with swords 54 1.18. ‘‘Old City Market, Jerusalem’’ 57 1.19. ‘‘Back from the market in Jerusalem’’ 58 2.1. ‘‘I’ll Get There’’ 66 2.2. ‘‘Prison’’ 68 2.3. ‘‘Land of Our Fathers’’ 70 2.4. ‘‘Bread of Tabbon’’ [sic] 72 2.5. 2.6. 2.7. 2.8. 2.9. 2.10. 2.11. 2.12. 2.13. 3.1. 3.2. 3.3. 3.4. 3.5. 3.6. 4.1. 4.2. 4.3. 4.4. 5.1. 5.2. 5.3. 5.4.

‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ 74 ‘‘Folk Designs’’ 76 ‘‘West Bank’’ 79 ‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ 82 ‘‘Thirst’’ 85 Gaza oranges 87 ‘‘The Mother’’ 89 ‘‘New Icon’’ 91 ‘‘The Birth of a State’’ 92 ‘‘Old City Jerusalem, September 25, 1996’’ 104 ‘‘Old City Jerusalem, September 27, 1996’’ 109 ‘‘Al-Aqsa Mosque, September 27, 1996’’ 111 ‘‘Al[-]Aqsa Mosque, September 27, 1996’’ 112 ‘‘Al[-]Aqsa Mosque, September 27, 1996’’ 115 ‘‘Peace Vigil, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem: September 29, 1996’’ 115 [Jericho] ‘‘My love grows at your sight’’ 123 [Bean plant] ‘‘Beauty of Nature’’ 127 [Fig tree] ‘‘Beauty of Nature’’ 129 [Nettle] ‘‘Beauty of Nature’’ 131 ‘‘Jerusalem’’ 141 ‘‘Damascus Gate’’ 143 ‘‘Jerusalem—old city Market’’ 145 ‘‘Jerusalem—old city Market’’ 146

5.5. ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 149 5.6. ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 150 viii : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

5.7. ‘‘Jericho: Mount of Temptation’’ 151 5.8. ‘‘Mount Tabor’’ 151 5.9. ‘‘A Bedouin woman’’ 153 5.10. Palestinian woman from Bir al-Sabi’ 155 6.1. Palestinian woman from Bethlehem 165 6.2. [Three generations] ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 167 6.3. Palestinian woman from Ramallah 171 6.4. ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 172 6.5. ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 173 6.6. ‘‘Palestine’’ 174 6.7. 6.8. 6.9. 6.10. 6.11. 6.12. 6.13. 6.14. 6.15. 6.16.

‘‘Bethlehem’’ 176 ‘‘Jerusalem’’ 177 ‘‘Jerusalem’’ 179 ‘‘Gaza’’ 181 ‘‘Jericho’’ 182 ‘‘Old Jaffa’’ 184 Bookmark 190 ‘‘Bethlehem’’ 191 ‘‘Palestine’’ 193 ‘‘The Independence’’ 195

Figures : : ix

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Acknowledgments

I am proud to set aside these pages so that I may acknowledge the many people and organizations that have made this book’s completion and publication possible. My appreciation goes to: Mahfouz Abu Turk; Mouhamad al-Mozien; Ala al-Sharif and family; AnNajah University; two anonymous readers; Abu and Umm Samir Awad and family; Joel R. Ayala; Dr. Richard Bauman; Jim Burr; Dr. Jamsheed Choksy; Dr. John R. Clarke; Micha and Miriam Dorfzaun; Dr. Allen Douglas; Taleb Dwiek; Dr. Liljana Elverskog; GARO Studios; Mayor Hamdallah Hamdallah and the Anabta Municipality; Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment; Indiana University, Department of Near East Languages and Cultures; Ziad Izzat; Dr. Qassim Judeh and family; Keller Public Library; Dr. Fedwa MaltiDouglas; Dr. Kamel Moghani; Mardo Nalbandian; Rehab Nammari; Lorraine O’Connor; Stephen M. O’Connor; Palestine Human Rights Information

xi

Center; Palestinian Heritage Center; Palphot, Ltd.; Dr. Iman Saca; Maha Saca and family; James and Marion Semmerling and family; Dr. Kemal Silay; Paul Spragens; Dr. Beverly Stoeltje; the University of Texas Press; and Dr. Renate Wise.

xii : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

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introduction The Presentation of National Self

P

icture postcards are ubiquitous, relatively inexpensive, and easily discarded. They are often looked upon, or even dismissed, as trite and cheap objects associated with the bric-a-brac of tourism. However, as this book shows, picture postcards are much more than that. They are visual artifacts that deserve scholarly attention and discussion. In fact, they may actually play an important role in the culture and politics of national identity discourse. Like novels, newspapers, magazines, film, and even comic books, postcards, too, are part of the family of print capitalism that fosters and creates national identity and identification, even if only ‘‘imagined,’’ as termed by Benedict Anderson.1 Postcards from Israel and the Palestinian Territories are cases in point and the subjects of this inquiry. In the following chapters we shall see that postcards collected in these areas are not merely mundane objects but provocative and active presentations of ‘‘national self.’’ Their makers and sellers consider 1

them expressive declarations and performances of national status. The postcards are intended to inspire and demand for the particular nation a conferment of all the intrinsic rights and privileges of national and international consideration, stature, membership, and even envy. For the tourists and local consumers of postcards, they are important bases of social knowledge, recognition, and expectations about the modern nations that the postcards claim to represent and the relationships of these nations to the world at large. This book is a visual study that adopts combined methodologies that Gillian Rose calls ‘‘semiology’’ and ‘‘discourse analysis.’’ 2 Here visual artifacts are scrutinized for their use of signs to convey meaning (semiology). They are discussed as socially constructed displays of similarity and difference, articulations of discourse in images, and demonstrations of institutional practices, issues of power, and regimes of truth (discourse analysis). A core theoretical concept of this book, and hence its subtitle, borrows from the works of an eminent scholar of sociology, Erving Goffman. His theories, as put forth in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life and Behavior in Public Places, are important to understanding social expression and interpretation.3 Goffman believes that individuals in social gatherings carefully construct and control their behaviors, on the verbal and semiotic levels, in order to convey preferred impressions to others. As he states, This control is achieved by influencing the definition of the situation which the others come to formulate, and he [the individual] can influence this definition by expressing himself in such a way as to give them the kind of impression that will lead them to act voluntarily in accordance with his own plan. Thus when an individual appears in the presence of others, there will usually be some reason for him to mobilize his activity so that it will convey an impression to others which it is in his interests to convey.4

Goffman compares such behavior to a stage ‘‘performance.’’ He describes the individuals who perform the behavior in these face-to-face interactions as actors who act out a ‘‘social face’’ in a ‘‘front’’ area, while the true self exists in private or in a ‘‘back’’ area. Moreover, he identifies those to whom the performance is displayed as an audience that either accepts or rejects the performance based upon socially accepted rules of moral conduct. 2 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

The ideas of control and performance are key to the presentation of self, and, with these in mind, Goffman provides an important caveat. Audience members must beware that performers can dupe them into making false assumptions. In some cases, a performer may be so concerned with achieving moral stature that he or she is amoral in engineering a convincing impression that standards are being realized. Moreover, audience members can deceive themselves into believing such performances based upon their own moral and role expectations. In this book, I analyze the social faces people, or collectives, present to an audience as national identity. I take into consideration that the audience members, who are predisposed to national consciousness and claim national selves of their own, can identify these individuals and the selves they profess within national identity discourse. In this way, we can speak of individuals as Israelis and Palestinians expressing themselves to Americans of the United States and as Americans seeing and recognizing Israelis and Palestinians. Additionally, we can envisage national compatriots communicating with, and recognizing each other within, the discourse of shared national identity (e.g., from one Palestinian to another). Presentations of national self find fertile ground in the cultural practices of tourism. Three scholars help us understand the tourist and the tourist’s predisposition to national discourse. Jonathan Culler points out that the tourist is the ultimate ‘‘semiotic accomplice.’’ Tourists are the avid collectors and voracious consumers of signs. They actively set out from their homes for an adventure where they can encounter new cultures. They look for signs that are characteristic of other cultures and nations and use these signs to identify these nations and their cultures. Their insatiable quests for the sign explain, according to Culler, why the ‘‘tourist in Japan looks less for what is Japanese than for what is Japanesey . . . for to be Japanesey is to signify Japaneseness.’’ 5 William O’Barr notes that the tourist seeks out signs of foreignness, purchases them, captures them on film, and celebrates when they are found.6 Furthermore, Dean MacCannell shows that for the tourist, to see and to know the world is to grasp a series of signs. The tourist sees that there is no way of understanding or making sense of the world other than seeing it as a series of easily classifiable cultural spectacles. In a modern world that is in reality fragmented, and wherein individuals are feeling socially unattached in their perceived mundane lives, sense is made when it is organized as a series of The Presentation of National Self : : 3

equivalent spectacles, with each nation having its characteristic monuments, lifestyles, cultural practices, and scenery. MacCannell also points out that, in their attempts to accommodate tourists, ‘‘entire cities and regions, decades and cultures have become aware of themselves as tourist attractions.’’ 7 They have accepted these roles and are willing to perform them as designated hosts to tourists, habitually exploiting tourists for specific identity and for monetary and political gains. With this in mind let us now consider the presentation of self through the sign transactions between tourists and hosts in postcards. The postcard meets the sign-seeking tourists in a face-to-face contact of the tourists’ gaze with the picture projected off the cardboard plane. The postcard expresses national identity through the signs that make up the picture. This face-toface interaction between national self presented on the postcard and the tourist viewers provides, even inculcates, the latter with an acquaintanceship knowledge of the nation about which opinions come to be formed. But this acquaintanceship knowledge is highly superficial, generalized, and based upon stereotypes. The stereotypes infiltrate the tourist viewers’ discourse concerning the nation. As Gordon W. Allport’s theory of prejudice suggests, these stereotypes run the risk of sensitizing the tourists, prevent the tourists from exercising differentiated thinking, and may cause the viewers to judge future evidence, like newspaper and television reports, in terms of these learned categories.8 Such acquaintanceship knowledge may even help in forming prejudices in support of the national self and against national Others. Furthermore, these inferences are not fully trustworthy, because the presenter highly controls the self. The national self, as presented on the postcard, is a performance or a front of the postcard maker or image supplier that can drive the tourist viewers’ perceptions. The postcard makers choose, construct, and manipulate the signs in order to define national self and to give impressions that will cause the tourist viewers to act in accordance with the presenters’ plans. They obtain certain sign equipment for display and discard other signs in this staged front. They try to control impressions through carefully chosen text, strategic arrangement, distinctive framing devices, and, when possible, contexts of display in which the postcards are sold. The postcard maker follows a process that can be described as ‘‘entextualization’’—an idea borrowed from verbal performance and folklore studies, 4 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

and one I refer to often in the following chapters. As Richard Bauman and Charles L. Briggs show, entextualization is the process of rendering a given instance of verbal discourse as a text, detachable from its local context. This ‘‘decontextualized’’ text is then placed within a new context, a process referred to as ‘‘recontextualization,’’ which can create whole new meanings for the text within this new setting. The detachment, removal, and placement of this verbal discourse/text are a performance that is an act of control and an execution of power.9 Similarly, postcards become visual performance through the entextualization process that lifts events, practices, places, and objects from their natural surroundings through photography and visual manipulation. Then, they are recontextualized onto the postcard and into the context of national attributes, placed on display, and opened up to the scrutiny of an audience of viewers. Senders and receivers of these postcards may have never witnessed the particular portrayal of the national self in real life, but, since it contains expected signs and is based upon moral character and virtuous behavior, it is accepted as a plausible signifier. To borrow from Barbara KirshenblattGimblett, the presentation of the national self takes on a ‘‘Dis-torical’’ approach, or a Disney-ized history, wherein only the best of the best, the most attractive images possible, are the forms of expression. The assumption is that if the national self possesses these characteristics, then it has a right to be treated in an appropriate way, it should be respected, and it is not held responsible for all that it does not appear to be but in reality might be. The postcard as presentation of the national self is intended to create a ‘‘we-rationale’’ with the tourists, with the recipients far away, and even with the local residents. In essence, as I shall argue in the Israeli and Palestinian cases, it negotiates ‘‘a transnational space’’ in world acceptance.10 Moreover, the state itself adds an extra level of authority to the postcards’ meaning through the official postage stamp bearing the national name and the national postal system’s cancellation mark. Since the postcards are objects of transaction that originate in a faraway place, they are endowed not only with the spirit of the givers or senders,11 but also with the spirit of the nation they signify. The postcards are vessels that contain and export the presentation of the national self. The postcard makers rely upon the objective, representative authority implicit in the technology and institutional uses of photography. Photography The Presentation of National Self : : 5

should, on this basis, protect the presentation of the national self from being considered subjective and false. As noted by John Tagg, a photograph is easily accepted as factual and as a bearer of truth when it intertextually conforms to predominant and institutional notions, beliefs, images, attitudes, modes of actions, ideologies, and narratives. In its intertextual conformance, or its adherence to proper national behavior, the picture postcard disguises its subjective presentation as objective representation.12 The illusion of objective representation is further entrenched when there are no competing claims for intertextual conformance. However, when competing claims do exist, it is much easier to see that the postcard is a subjective presentation of the national self. Under such circumstances, the socially constructed way of seeing is challenged, maybe even upset and exposed. When considering the presentation of the national self in picture postcards, one must question what is being communicated. It is an issue of attending to what is being said and how it is being said, even if we deal only with pictures, not texts. In extending Tagg’s queries, we should ask the following questions: What are the parameters of truth that govern? What is being chosen to be photographed in the construction and presentation of the national self ? What is being left out in the process? What kind of knowledge is being made, who is making it, and how is it being made? What institutions are being buttressed? Who benefits and who loses out? Moreover, it is incumbent upon everyone who is susceptible to national discourse and the semiotics of tourism to ask, ‘‘Am I being duped or being played to in order to get me to act in a certain way?’’ These are the important questions for tourists experiencing Israel and Palestine, for those who are left behind at home and accept the postcards as surrogates for travel, and even for those local residents who encounter the postcards that profess their national identity for them. Current Israeli and Palestinian postcards have been chosen here to illustrate the concept of the presentation of the national self because they comprise recent, indigenously made presentations and because they are competing for claims of national identity and political rights. Here, then, the subjective presentation of the national self easily manifests itself. Depictions of Palestine’s Jews and Arabs were often controlled by Western imperialist photographers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. As shown by Annelies Moors and Steven Machlin, picture postcards of pre-1948 Palestine 6 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

were made for the Euro-American audience to promote imperialism. Jews and Palestinian Arabs were presented degradingly in order to support and to rationalize imperialist ideologies. Orientalism was the effective strategy used by Western postcard makers in presenting the Other. When Jews in Palestine began to make postcards of themselves before and after 1948, honorable images of new Hebrews were made to promote their statures, their rights to the land, and their national identity. Meanwhile, images of Palestinian Arabs continued to conform to the dictates of Orientalism.13 This is not to say that Palestinian Arabs did not use photography to positively depict their lives as well. As shown by Walid Khalidi, many Palestinian Arabs did photograph themselves, their political activism, education, professional employment activities, and communities from 1876 to 1948.14 Nevertheless, as Annelies Moors points out, many of Khalidi’s photographs, representatively chosen from an archive of ten thousand, are those that were ‘‘commissioned photographs’’ of and for the modern, urban middle- and upper-class Palestinian Arabs. Most of these photographs were not produced into postcards by commercial photographers for tourism trade. While Khalil Raad, a Palestinian photographer whose work Khalidi includes, did make postcards for tourists, Moors adds that even Raad’s presentation of Palestinian Arabs often used biblical connotations that conscribed their lives as static.15 The research presented in the following chapters shows that more recently, through postcards, both sides have laid claim to the ‘‘right to narrate.’’ 16 Palestinians are breaking out of the Orientalist stranglehold, and there is a new proliferation of symbolic presentations of the Palestinian national self that confronts the now-dominant narratives of Palphot, the leading Israeli postcard manufacturer. In the context of struggle for national acceptance, wherein acknowledgment of the Other’s national rights could compromise one’s institutionalized national identity and political power, there is a struggle over national selves. The Israeli and Palestinian cases in the following chapters show how choices are made in the presentation of the national self, how knowledge of the national self borrows from the discourse of national identity, what the strategies of individual postcard makers or semiotic suppliers to postcard makers are, and how the national self benefits and how the national Other loses in the process. The competing semiotic displays show that there is, indeed, what Robert Goldman and Stephen Papson call a ‘‘sign war’’ 17 going The Presentation of National Self : : 7

on here over the presentation of the national self and the national Other, or what Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann call a struggle for ‘‘the power to produce reality.’’ 18 Another level of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is exposed, that one being over visual signs and their use in claiming reality. The chapters that follow are based on the collection of postcards that I acquired during research trips to Israel and the Palestinian Territories in 1998 and 1999. I either purchased the postcards at souvenir stores, mostly for under the equivalent of one American dollar apiece, or received them as gifts from the actual postcard makers. Although postcards make up the majority of the sources and are thus the basis of most of the discussion in this book, in some chapters the discussion has been extended to greeting cards, which are also used for the presentation of the national self. Despite the fact that some of the postcards were not current issues of the postcard makers, they were still being sold in the tourist market and, hence, still appeared as semiotic currency. As such, they are considered as remaining within the accessible and active presentations of the national self of this time. This book finds further significance because of the period in which I conducted the research. It documents the presentations of national self made during a period of vision, pride, hope, skepticism, delusion, and maybe even arrogance in both Israel and the Palestinian Territories. These presentations were made at a time when there was active talk of two states, attempts to implement the Oslo Accords, movement toward Middle East peace, and a boom in the building of the Palestinian National Authority’s infrastructure. Now, however, the world exists in a post–September 11 environment. It struggles with, among other issues, the definitions and meanings of a ‘‘War on Terror.’’ A second Intifada has been raging for over two years, leaving hundreds of Palestinians and Israelis dead. There has been a sharp increase of lethal Palestinian attacks on Israelis, and the extent of Israel’s destruction of Jenin and other incursions has yet to be fully revealed and understood. Moreover, Israel’s prime minister, Ariel Sharon, has attacked and severely wounded the infrastructure of Yasser Arafat’s Palestinian National Authority. Today, the period of the late 1990s seems a distant past of what may have been better times. However, these latest events, in retrospect, shed more light on many of the presentations of the national self and support the analyses in the following chapters. While many of these postcards show national selves of inflated valor 8 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

and virtue, the enmity and distrust of the Other have never been far away, always close to the surface, and woven into the semiotic codes. Although it would be wrong and wholly naïve to suggest that we could have predicted today’s specific events from picture postcards, I will suggest that, in some cases, we could have seen that the two cultures were having difficulty in moving their national identities away from the conflict’s definitive stranglehold on their cultures. While worthy attempts were made to come up with new symbolic capital, many of the presentations relied upon and refreshed the conflict. Identity was, in some cases, dependent upon the relative enmity of the Other and the supremacy of the self. Despite the official hopes, quests, and declarations for peace, aspects of cultural performance, as are evident here, continued to reflect the predominance of the conflict. But even tourists, had they been looking deeply enough and had they been armed with an understanding of the presentation of the national self, should have been able to see that a culture of conflict was prevalent in both nations. Today, we find ourselves in a cultural period where we hazard into an even deeper blindness. An official post–September 11 depiction of a world bifurcated into categories of good and evil, where there exist only those with us and those against us, gives us a new postulate, one that makes us deaf and blind to other points of view. We may be in the process of shutting off an important avenue of communication when we refuse to hear (or see) what others have to say and ignore the strategies they employ when expressing themselves. We may also find it easier to accept, rather than sort out, contrived narratives and images that play to these bipolar classifications meant to fit our needs. To do so, however, deceives us into believing in a Westerncentric sense of power that will only impair us. This new postulate will keep us from seeing and understanding the diversity of the world in which we live. Wielded as irrefutable dogma, it threatens to stifle our intellectual drive to reexamine assumptions and to take into account new information brought to light by new methodologies. This monoscopic way of viewing, which refracts the world through such a September 11 prism, does us no favors. Chapter 1 focuses on Israel’s leading postcard producer, Palphot. I show that Palphot’s Israeli national self originates in the cultural reasoning of what is picturesque. Photographing scenes that support and attest to Zionist ideologies and their realization is what Palphot believes to be picturesque and the basis of what semiotic choices Palphot makes to present the national self. The Presentation of National Self : : 9

In turn, the chapter introduces the idea that showing the Other as derelict in the appropriate behavior of nations undermines the Other’s claim to national self, while gaining strength for one’s own presentation of national identity. Only Chapter 1 is devoted to Israeli-made postcards because of Palphot’s domination of postcard images of Israel. Palphot leads the Israeli postcard market in sales, experience, and recognition. A 1985 article in the Jerusalem Post reports that Palphot produced up to 95 percent of the postcards in Israel at the time. It is a point that Palphot does not deny in the late 1990s. Furthermore, Palphot began its operations in the 1930s and, as reported by the Jerusalem Post, is considered ‘‘the nation’s premier purveyor of such items.’’ 19 Although postcards of other and newer Israeli companies can be found, including Poma, Shalom Cards, Steinmatzky, and Jeru Art, their postcards were relatively less prevalent at the time of this research. In comparison, the market for Palestinian-made postcards does not yet have a Palphot equivalent. No single Palestinian postcard manufacturer dominates the Palestinian postcard market so decisively. Therefore an array of approaches to the presentation of the national self, as opposed to one prevailing or dominant authority, has been found. Consequently, the remaining chapters of this book are devoted to Palestinian postcard images, their makers, and their performances of presenting the national self. Chapter 2 deals with pre-Intifada and the first Intifada-era postcards. Since presentations of the Palestinian national self could invite Israeli retaliation, postcards were often made of paintings where signifieds were masked with ambiguous signifiers endowed with broad meanings. Paintings worked better than photographs in this case. Palestinian artists found and experimented with key symbols to develop presentations of Palestinians as political victims and as heritage-enriched nationals. Palestinian artist Kamel Moghani could see that the latter were more consistent with a theme of self-reliance and a better method of asserting independence from the Israelis. Political events such as the Intifada, however, would cause Moghani to relapse into presenting the national self as victim, thus creating reliance upon the Israeli presence for national self-presentation. With confidence and empowerment gained in the Intifada, the establishment of the Palestinian National Authority, and pre-state discussions, various postcard makers had begun to emerge in the West Bank. Chapter 3 discusses the work of Mahfouz Abu Turk, who takes photographs and sells them 10 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

to the Palestine Human Rights Information Center. The Center turned his photographs into greeting cards that were to be put into envelopes, since the photographs were likely to be highly offensive to Israelis and to be intercepted in the mail. His fascinating work is intended to boost the Palestinian national self by juxtaposing it to its opposite, the Israeli self, particularly in relation to ‘‘peace.’’ Accordingly, a Janus-faced national self results, wherein one is as much as one is not, and one can only be when one’s opposite is present. In its presentation, the national self eventually has to rely upon the national Other. Chapter 4 is a presentation of the national self developed by photographer Ziad Izzat. Izzat turns to the natural surroundings of Palestine to evoke a sense of identity and identification. Izzat is concerned that his compatriots are becoming spoiled and misguided by the influx of activity brought on by the arrival of the Palestinian National Authority in the urban centers. Therefore, Izzat returns to the countryside to find landscape symbols to define the national self and to picture the nation. It is like a return to Tönnies’ Gemeinschaftian ideals to promote awareness and admiration of national self. While Chapter 4 discusses the work of a relatively new photographer and small producer of greeting cards, Chapter 5 looks at one of the most prolific photographers and postcard makers in the area, Mardo Nalbandian and his GARO Photo Studios. Nalbandian is an interesting photographer and postcard producer who prides himself on his avoidance of political side-taking. He prefers to put postcard production within the context of business and monetary profit. To this end, he attempts to appease the Western Holy Land tourist, who, he believes, eschews Middle East politics, embraces spiritualism, and looks for evidence of the Judeo-Christian civilization. Nalbandian promotes an ‘‘area self ’’ based upon the images and symbols of the Holy Land. This means that he subordinates the area self to the Orientalist desires of the international, mainly Western, tourists. Chapter 6 looks at the work of Maha Saca. Saca intends to promote a national self abroad and is committed to inculcating knowledge of a national self at home. Saca tries to undo damage done to the Palestinian national self by postcards that promote Orientalized portrayals of Palestinians. With the recasting of antique objects and the artistry of Palestinian embroidery and dressmaking, Saca tries to recapture the postcard image of the Palestinian man and woman from the hands of Palphot. Saca also shows that, as much as the postcard can convey semiotically with photographs, its effectiveness reThe Presentation of National Self : : 11

quires the control of text on its verso and of contextualized display in staged heritage experiences. Before turning the reader over to the following chapters, a quick note about transliteration practices and illustrations must be added. Transliteration from Hebrew and Arabic to English follows those guidelines proposed by the Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition, and the ‘‘English Transliteration System’’ of the International Journal of Middle East Studies. Transliterated words have been italicized within the text. In many cases, though, Hebrew and Arabic words have been adopted, formally and popularly, into the English language. Words such as ‘‘Intifada,’’ for example, appear in basic roman type. When individuals printed their names in English, these names also appear without transliteration. Many times, Hebrew and Arabic words are reprinted in the text, just as the postcard presents them, written in the Roman alphabet. In these cases, it is important to leave them just as the postcard maker intended them to be read. Here the word is written in its presented form with the marker ‘‘[sic]’’ following the word, phrase, or sentence. Moreover, copyright permission could not be negotiated to reproduce all postcards and greeting cards. Therefore, where such illustrations could not be reproduced, I have supplied inventory numbers taken from the verso of each card for those readers who wish to research the item further.

12 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

chapter one Palphot’s Israeli Self

I

srael’s leading postcard maker, based in Herzlia, is known by the company name ‘‘Palphot,’’ a shortened title of the fully named ‘‘Palestine Photo Rotation Company.’’ Palphot was founded in 1934 by Yehuda and Tova Dorfzaun and remains family-owned and -managed today. Lev Bearfield’s article about Palphot in a 1985 edition of the Jerusalem Post estimated that Palphot controlled, at the time, 95 percent of the postcard market in Israel and the Occupied Territories, with about five thousand different picture postcards on sale throughout the country on any given day. A Palphot spokesperson does not dispute the high market share and volume today, and she still offers the article to interested persons as current public relations information about the company.1 Given these figures, tourists wishing to purchase and send a postcard of Israel will, most likely, pick and mail a Palphot postcard. Therefore, when speaking of the presentation of the Israeli national self through picture postcards, Palphot must be discussed. 13

The Bearfield article is very telling in regards to how much Palphot is seen to be responsible for presentations of the Israeli national self. The article endows Palphot with the roles of purveyor and curator of Israel’s history in photographs—or as Bearfield puts it, the ‘‘Nation’s Family Album.’’ The article also reveals how willing Palphot is in accepting this responsibility. Nevertheless, just what comprises the national self and how Palphot presents it is left open-ended. Indeed, Bearfield lists an array of Palphotian themes: tropical fish, windsurfers, old landmarks, army commanders, and synagogues. However, Bearfield’s article is strictly journalistic. It is intended to quickly inform readers of Palphot’s accomplishments and to promote an upcoming exhibit featuring its postcards. Why these themes, as noted by Bearfield, and not others are intended to reflect the Israeli nation is not fully considered. Moreover, how the national self is presented is also not discussed. This chapter intends to address these issues. Two quotations of Tova Dorfzaun, printed in the article, are very curious and quite provocative. They are very informative regarding just what Palphot believes to be the consistency of the national self. First, the article discusses the precarious business adventure of two Jewish immigrants making postcards in pre-1948 Palestine. Tova Dorfzaun states, And yet . . . when we first came to the country, I admit I had doubts about succeeding—because there was so little here to photograph. I mean, how can you start a picture postcard company when there’s nothing to take pictures of ? . . . People today think I’m exaggerating when I say there was almost nothing here 50 years ago, but just think about it. Tel Aviv was hardly a photographic subject. Herzliya [sic] was just an outpost with a handful of stone cottages. In between was an awful lot of sand. Trees? Birds? Flowers? Even people were hard to find in those days! 2

The second quotation is found at the end of the article. It discusses the success of Palphot and acts as a concluding note for the article and for Tova Dorfzaun’s earlier reflection: I laugh now when I think that 50 years ago I was afraid we wouldn’t find what to show on a picture postcard. Who dreamed that the country would develop so rapidly? And if I may say, I think Palphot played 14 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

a role by helping Israelis to see their own country, and to appreciate all the marvels in it.3

In the first quotation, Tova Dorfzaun is in actuality revealing Palphot’s attitude toward the ‘‘picturesque.’’ She makes it evident that Palestine in the 1930s was not considered to be picturesque, or, as she qualifyingly stated, that it was a place where there was ‘‘nothing to take pictures of.’’ However, ‘‘picturesque’’ is a category resulting from ideological reasoning. As simply put by John Berger and his colleagues in their book Ways of Seeing, the way one sees things is affected by what one knows or what one believes.4 For example, picturesque, as pointed out by Malcolm Andrews in his book discussing the term within the context of late-eighteenth-century Britain, suggests an ideological reasoning of pictorial standards of beauty. For eighteenth-century British artists it meant the kind of scenery or human activity proper for a painting. A scene had to conform to the ideals of English childhood memories, poetry, and havens from urban life in order to be picturesque. The proper scenery was hunted, made to reflect squarely in a Claude glass, and fittingly transformed onto the canvas or into the sketchbook. Often, the original became embellished when transformed in order for it to properly fit the picturesque standard. Later in the twentieth century, picturesque became the kind of scenery already aesthetically validated in paintings, postcards, and advertisements.5 For the British of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, picturesque, according to James R. Ryan, meant those scenes and subjects which promoted Britain’s national superiority and right to conquest. With the examples of photography used and commissioned by the Royal Geographical Society, Ryan shows that the picturesque is a constitutive relationship between ideology and the possibilities of presentation with photographic film. Scenes and subjects were photographed because they conformed to imperialist ideology. The expansion of imperialism encouraged the need and provided the opportunity to search out and create new photographic scenes, objects, civilizations, and people to be presented to British audiences. Likewise, that ideology gained from the ways in which such scenes and subjects were photographed. Photographed scenes and subjects provided sustenance to imperialist ideology, as they represented relations, and justifications of those relations, between Britain and its colonies.6 Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 15

William O’Barr’s work on pictorial advertising shows that much of what is seen as picturesque in advertising today and as picturesque for personal photography are those scenes which support or buttress ideologies of social order. Picturesque includes those depictions that place the self, or those to whom the self aspires to relate, in virtuous lifestyle scenes. Alternatively, picturesque can also be depictions that place the Other, or those with whom the self does not aspire to relate, in demeaning socially positioned scenes.7 Before Palphot began making photographs, images of how the new Jewish homeland should look were already imbedded. The Dorfzauns are reported to have immigrated to Palestine from Germany in the 1930s, or as part of the Fifth Aliyah, in order to escape anti-Semitism, and they seemingly brought with them the visual attitudes and aesthetic values of Western European civilization. After all, Yehuda Dorfzaun had been aware of how to make picture postcards, since his cousin owned a postcard company in Germany, and this cousin reportedly helped Yehuda prepare for the business venture in Palestine. But the pastoral and urban landscapes of Palestine that greeted the Dorfzauns in the 1930s must not have conformed to the European ideals of antiquity, modern civilization, and natural beauty that they were expecting to find in Palestine. At the time, it was not yet the ‘‘replica of Austria and Bavaria’’ that Amos Oz reportedly claims to be a ‘‘thrilling’’ achievement of the Zionist reconstitution of Palestine.8 Moreover, the Dorfzaunian picturesque echoes the Zionist ideological claims that Palestine was an inhospitable desert. Both views hold Palestine to be a deficient place. According to Tova Dorfzaun it was a lot of sand, it lacked housing, it lacked nature, and it was bereft of people. In essence, it seemingly lacked the symbolic evidence of a nation. Such symbolic evidence of a nation may find its roots in what Richard Waswo calls the ‘‘founding legend of Western civilization.’’ According to Waswo, the legend, the basis of Western civilization’s righteousness and self-narrative, describes a journey and search for a permanent home. The arrival in the new land requires the importation of civilization through the establishment of constructed cities, the cultivation of land, the production of surplus food, and the division of labor. Moreover, the legend of Westernization includes the triumph of this perceived progress in the uprooting of what was there, including the indigenous culture.9 As noted by Yael Zerubavel, Zionism’s vision was a ‘‘national revival’’ centered upon the Hebrew man, the land of Israel, and the Hebrew language.10 16 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Broadly speaking, Zionism claimed that Jewish immigrants would come from Europe to make the land bloom, to make it productive, to make it habitable, and to make it populated. Transformed by Jewish labor, this land would in turn transform Jews into a new, strong, Hebrew people attached to and identified with nature, agriculture, and land. The land would provide a place wherein Hebrew people would become a majority, and they would live safely away from anti-Semitism.11 Furthermore, they would be free to build a Hebrew culture fueled by the Hebrew language. They would have the power of full sovereignty over their own destiny. As beneficiary of the principles of selfdetermination, the nation of Hebrews would freely become a nation among nations with all the rights and accoutrements of national status. The second quotation of Tova Dorfzaun ties the quality of picturesqueness into the success of Israel’s achievement of national revival and state status. Accordingly, Palphot’s picturesque is revealed as a cognate of building a Hebrew nation and Western-style state in which Zionist ideologies were concretely realized. Picturesque became associated with the process of validating the right of national existence and territorial ownership. It became a discovery and a proper ordering of the Hebrew symbolic universe. Fifty years later, as noted by Tova Dorfzaun, there is something to photograph, or, in other words, ‘‘the country’’ has become fully picturesque. In essence, then, Palphot’s proud presentation of the Israeli national self in picture postcards consisted of displaying the Palphotian picturesque—or Zionism’s realization of the nation-state of Israel and its justification for demanding the existence of this nation-state. However, once the nation-state was founded and a Jewish haven was established, Zionism’s primary objective had been achieved. According to the entry on Zionism in the New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, David Ben-Gurion even regarded Zionism as scaffolding which could then be dismantled, leaving the state and its political policies to stand for the ideology. Zionism had to alter its fundamentals to continue as a viable ideology commanding worldwide adherence. Arab aggression, anti-Semitism, and the perceived transmutation of anti-Semitism known as ‘‘anti-Zionism’’ still seemed to threaten Israel’s survival. Additionally, the completion of worldwide aliyah (emigration to Israel) had not been realized. As a result, Zionism as an overall ideological movement was altered, with new goals directed at gaining material and moral support for Israel from the world’s Jewish and non-Jewish Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 17

populations, particularly from those in the United States. Zionism became an affirmation of the national attributes of Jewish identity, commitment to the support of Israel, and recognition of Israel’s centrality in determining the collective survival and character of Jewish people as a distinctive entity in the world.12 Meanwhile, Palphot’s picture postcards, found throughout the country, continue to follow the relationship inherent in the picturesque; in essence, the relationship between ideology and photographic presentation. The new fundamentals of Zionism provide new pictorial opportunities, and, at the same time, the new fundamentals find sustenance from the Palphot postcards. This explains how some of the postcards found in Israel, which seemingly have little to do with the founding ideals of Zionism, can have the picturesque relationship with today’s Zionism. And since Zionism is intertwined with the politics of the state, the Palphot postcards also find themselves taking on those political stances. With this in mind, we can find the quality of the picturesque in a postcard of Israel in cartographic form (Palphot, #9 25964 SC). It is interesting to note that the postcard is not a photograph of the actual land, but a photograph of a map representing the land. It is the map’s quality of representing Zionist realization, or Israel demarcated as an objective place packaged within international borders, that makes it so visually striking and worthy of a postcard. This postcard, acting as a claimant to geographical space, works well as a presentation of the national self. It creates an identity with a shaped land and makes Israel part of the organization of the earth’s geography into national locations. As noted by Jeremy Black, ‘‘a polity defines itself, and is defined by others, in part through its cartographic image.’’ 13 As per Black, ‘‘a map is designed to show certain points and relationships, and in doing so, creates space and spaces in the perception of the map-user and thus illustrates themes of power.’’ 14 The map of Israel, as presented by Palphot, creates a large, homogenous country, which pronounces unproblematized relationships of terrains, areas, urban centers, and sites. The map’s coloring is intended to show the country’s terrain. In its vibrant and bright coloring, and under the title of ‘‘Israel,’’ the country is endowed with the idea of an aesthetically soothing piece of land. The land colors actually relate to sea levels, with the greener areas meaning lower sea levels and the brown areas meaning higher sea levels. But with the omission of a proper legend, it is just as easy to confuse the colors as representing the general meanings of agri18 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

cultural lands, crystal waters, and arid areas. In this sense, the colors and the sites are misleading, although they conform to Zionist ideological thought. Many of the Israeli urban areas and sites are placed within the green, low, and seemingly lush lands and are encroaching inward. It apparently matches up with the Zionist claim that the Jewish people came to the land and made it green, or, as Zev Vilnay’s New Israel Atlas is described by Black as saying, ‘‘a parched, water-starved wasteland is being transformed into a fertile, closely settled region.’’ 15 The areas of Golan, Galilee, Samaria, Judea, and Negev fit squarely inside the Israeli borders. Unlike other maps of the country, this map does not cut out the areas of the Golan Heights, the West Bank, or the Gaza Strip; nor does it use such titles. It does not mark them with hatch marks or call them ‘‘Occupied Territories.’’ This map shows and submits them as natural parts of the landscape and legitimate territories of Israeli sovereignty. They make the country whole and validate the state’s sovereignty over the whole. Meanwhile, urban centers are located on the map to show areas important to Israelis. Red lines, representing major roads, link the urban centers and show that each has a natural spatial relationship to the others. The urban centers mark off major concentrations of Jewish population and sites of importance, but conveniently the map is devoid of many Palestinian populated areas. While Nazareth, Nablus, Jericho, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Hebron, and Gaza are shown, having significant importance to Israeli and Western Christian histories alike, there is a convenient omission of Tulkarem, Qalqilya, Jenin, Ramallah, Khan Yunis, and the Palestinian refugee areas inside of the country’s putative borders. Their absence ostensibly demonstrates an unproblematized internal relationship among all areas of the terrain and sanitizes the area of a Palestinian population contesting the land’s Jewish homogeneity and the assertion of Israeli sovereignty. The map, accordingly, is intended to provide enough proof to keep the viewers from questioning Israel’s legitimacy as a proper national place and state. Another Palphot postcard creates a different kind of map of Israel (Palphot, #9 1681 SC). In the form of a grid and table, this postcard links some of the urban areas and notable sites into one country and into a distinct place in the world. The grid and table form gives Israel order. As Foucault notes, order displays an ‘‘inner law’’ of how things confront one another and relate to one another. The grid and table create for the viewers a basis of knowledge about Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 19

Israel and even suggest the way Israel should be seen.16 Photographic scenes of Jerusalem, Netanya, Haifa, Tel Aviv, the Dead Sea, Eilat, Acre, and Tiberias are shown inside a pink-lined grid and table, each with its own title. Their relationship to each other is that they are contiguously connected through the cells of the grid and table. In the center cell is a photograph of the earth as viewed from outer space. Here, Israel is declared in text and pointed out upon the globe. This postcard puts Israel into global and even universal context for the viewer. As noted by Black, ‘‘to produce a map of the world was and is a statement about the relationship between a people or state and the wider world.’’ 17 It is an extraordinary and divine view, one as seen from outer space and the heavens. The main title of the postcard, ‘‘Souvenir of,’’ allows the postcard to be a souvenir of each city as it is read in conjunction with each cell. Ultimately, the viewers read ‘‘Souvenir of Israel’’ when placing the title with the center cell. Here the rhythmic reading of the text links each cell together into the final and central thought of many sites in one place and in one nation: Israel. Picturesque maps of Israel are created in other ways as well on Palphot postcards. In one such postcard, the Zionist quest for place is matched with the Zionist quest to make Hebrew a national language of Israel. According to Mitchell Cohen, Hebrew is seen as a unifying element linking land, language, and people. It is viewed as linking the modern Jews to their ancient ancestors. It was the Zionist intellectual Eliezer Ben-Yehuda who as early as 1880 was insisting on the tie between the rebirth of both written and spoken Hebrew and a rebirth of the Jewish nation in its original homeland. As noted by Cohen, Eliezer Ben-Yehuda claimed that Hebrew literature needed a Hebrew environment; hence land, language, and enlightenment together would be the salvation of the Jews in an era of nationalism.18 The title of the postcard is ‘‘Israel: From Alef to Tav’’ [sic], its subtitle ‘‘Places to Visit and Love’’ (Palphot, #9 1697 SC). Following the Hebrew alphabet, from right to left as Hebrew is read, each oversized letter falls within a grid and table. Each letter is shown to stand for the first letter in the name of a major site located within the country. For example, alef stands for the first letter in Eilat. Under the letter is its name written in the Roman alphabet, the way it is used when spelling the site in Hebrew, and the way the site is written in English. The use of English denotes its intended target of Western purchasers and receivers. Additionally, each oversized letter holds an internal, 20 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

colorful scene representative of the site, and small black-and-white cartoons externally support the letter. In order to see the scene, the viewers must look at each letter closely, holding the card close to the eyes. This demands concentration, consideration, and not just a quick perusal. For example, lamed stands for Lod-Ben-Gurion Airport. Inside the lamed is a cartoon scene of the airport terminal, airplanes, and baggage handling. Outside of the lamed, but within the cell, is an airport scene intended to be humorous. Here a man pushes a baggage cart heaped with large luggage, and following him is his wife pushing a baggage cart equally filled with three children. Lod-Ben-Gurion Airport is thereby fixed into the mind of the viewer as an actual place of Israeli significance and even humor. Likewise, mēm stands for Masada. Inside the letter is a colorful drawing of the Masada fortress with a cable car ascending to the plateau. Outside the letter is the black-and-white cartoon of a Jewish Zealot fighting a Roman soldier in hand-to-hand combat. The cartoon is interesting in that it promotes other Zionist ideals. According to the research of Yael Zerubavel, the ancient Jews at Masada, whom Josephus called the ‘‘Sicarii,’’ 19 were never described by the ancient historian as fighting the Romans. They were said to have maintained a policy of watchful waiting, and at the end they chose to take their own lives rather than fight or submit to the Romans. However, the Zionist ideal had respun the tale as a counter-Holocaust model and as an answer for a nation that believed itself to be besieged by Arab aggression and anti-Semitism. Yigael Yadin, the archaeologist excavating the Masada site, is said to have submitted to Zionist ideals in his authoritative discussion of the site and, according to his critics, referred to the ‘‘Sicarii’’ as ‘‘Zealots.’’ 20 This new, modern title glorified these ancient Jewish people as freedom fighters and defenders of the ancient land. It gave them the image of combating the Romans and provided a positive moral model for modern Israelis.21 The postcard shows the Jewish Zealot being pushed to the point that his back is up against the wall of the mēm. It depicts the virtuous behavior of fighting as a nation and intertextually connotes that death is a proud sacrifice when one is forced into defending Israel from an outside aggressor. The postcard links each site in logical, rhythmic, and natural order and unites them under the title of ‘‘Israel.’’ The postcard is pedagogic, as it presents the alphabet, organizes Israel’s many sites in grid and table format, and tells the reader in the subtitle that they should be admired, to the point of Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 21

being loved, and visited. Next to the title ‘‘Israel’’ is the symbol of the menorah. The menorah is often a symbol of the modern Israeli state and is based on the representation of the ancient state shown on the Arch of Titus. At the menorah’s base, two cartoon men dance. One man represents the religious Jewish man, and the other represents a secular Jewish man holding the flag of Israel. Under the symbol of the state, both religious and secular Jews are united in celebration, as if to celebrate the state of Israel itself. Theodor Herzl, often referred to as the founder of the Zionist movement, had an adaptationist approach to reconciling Judaism and Zionism. Herzl’s interest was to create a modern political and secular state for ethnic Jews. The Jewish homeland, as he saw it, was to be a construct that would adapt to the modern definition of nations. Religion, despite its important part in Jewish identity, was not expected to be the basis of the state. Furthermore, Israel the state, as envisioned by the goals of Ben-Gurion’s Labor Party, was expected to be based upon the ideals of land, labor, and socialism. The distance between the ideologies of Zionism and Judaism is large enough that Israeli critic Akiva Orr says that the two are diametrically opposed. And yet, he notes, the paradox is that Zionism is culturally dependent upon the Jewish religion. He cites the symbolic reliance of secular Zionism upon Judaism in the examples of the use of the name ‘‘Zion’’ in naming the ideology and the design of the prayer shawl as the basis of the flag.22 The celebrating men in the postcard depict a reconciliation and interdependence between the two sides. Despite the fact that religious motives did not drive some of Israel’s key founders, Zionism finds support in the ideals printed in the Bible, and it appeals to the religious consciences of Christians as well as Jews. In its own convenient claim, mirrored in the expectations of Others, to fulfill biblical prophecies and to illustrate biblical passages, Zionism gains much support from nations claiming to be based upon Judeo-Christian traditions. Western nations often become entangled in this romance of biblical adherence and restoration of a Jewish homeland. Palphot frequently merges the Zionist goal of the Jewish return to the land with religiously based quotations from the Bible. The use of biblical connotation heightens the picturesque relationship between Zionist ideology and presentation. With the use of biblical text to explain the postcard’s photograph, Zionism becomes divinely right and justified. In turn, Israel is conve22 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

niently postured to take credit for the actual fulfillment of religious ideals. A postcard titled ‘‘The Seven Species’’ is a good example (Palphot, #26573 SC). The postcard’s background is yellow—a color reminiscent of a desert’s sandy and parched landscape. However, seven small, boxed photographs fit inside the field, and the yellow-colored background acts as a secondary frame. The photographs are lush agricultural pictures of figs on the branch, grapes in a basket, wheat and barley in the fields, dates on the palm tree, an olive grove, and an unpicked pomegranate. All this vegetation and fecundity stand in opposition to the blank, yellow background. The presentation visually substantiates what Ella Shohat calls the ‘‘Zionist myth,’’ according to which the Zionists believe that the Jewish return to and guardianship over the land resulted in making ‘‘the desert land bloom.’’ 23 Palphot’s choice of these particular fruits and grains is matched to biblical text. This way of presentation heightens the picturesque quality. A paraphrase from the Book of Deuteronomy, placed underneath the seven boxed photographs along with a citation of the biblical source, states, ‘‘A land of wheat, and barley, of vines and fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of oil olive [sic] and honey.’’ The context from which this paraphrase is derived is important. The Book of Deuteronomy is claimed to be the words Moses spoke to all Israel. With these words, Moses proclaimed to the Israelites all that the Lord had commanded him concerning them. In Deuteronomy, Moses relates how God told him which land was to be taken by the Jews from the then-current inhabitants and how victory was certain, since God ordained the land to be for the Jewish people. The book tells of how fruitful the land would be for the Jews. It was to be a place where they would lack nothing. Therefore, the modern reclamation of the land is not only picturesque because it is a fulfillment of Zionist ideals, but it is more picturesque because it conforms to and reinstates a biblical past. Thus, the national self is presented as historically and divinely right. Zionism’s return of the Jewish people to Israel is also highly encouraged by the Christian evangelical movement. Restoration of the Jews to the land is believed to mark the time of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ and the time when all Jews will be converted to Christianity. This Christian desire for restoration finds expression in ‘‘Christian Zionism,’’ and appealing to this ideal has been helpful to the Zionist movement in the past. Many British statesmen, such as Joseph Chamberlain, Lord Cromer, David Lloyd George, and Arthur Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 23

James Balfour, lent their support to the Zionist movement both for British strategic reasons and in accordance with their own restorationist ideas.24 Palphot has found the picturesque in the presentation of the land as it relates to this gentile-supported Zionist movement. It is indeed peculiar that a Zionist/Jewish firm would evoke Christ in order to create picturesque postcards. However, in appealing to Christians and eliciting their support of Zionism, these postcards are able to provide a wider base of support for Israeli policies and goals. A series of Palphot postcards was made to coincide with the millennium celebration that was expected to bring many Western tourists to Israel. Excursions, marketed as Holy Land tours, were designed for tourists interested in visiting sites that verify and bring biblical passages to life. This search for the Bible in situ supports Christian ideologies, and those Israeli scenes that conform become picturesque for these Holy Land tourists. Moreover, these postcards limit historical narrative to ancient Israel, denying a Canaanite indigenous culture, and thereby help silence modern Palestinian claims to historical time that compete with the Zionist historical vision. As noted by Keith Whitelam, Christians looking for the Bible in situ look only to support their own ideologies of self and do not consider history before their own ideological time lines. This myopic look at history, what Whitelam calls the ‘‘tyranny of biblical time,’’ cuts out a Palestinian past and therefore designates Israel as originator of the land’s history and civilization.25 As a result, postcards like these lend great support to Zionism. The ‘‘Millennium 2000’’ series was made to do just that. One example in this series is the postcard titled ‘‘Sea of Galilee’’ (Fig. 1.1). This postcard offers a view of the biblically famous body of water at either dawn or dusk. The light of the day gives the water, the sky, and the hills of the background a soft and tranquil coloring of pink and bluish gray. On the water are two fishermen in a boat, paddling their way through the water. The photograph is intended to illustrate a passage of the New Testament. In the Book of Matthew, Jesus is said to have seen a similar site. When calling his first two disciples, Jesus is said to have come upon two fishermen on the Sea of Galilee. The photograph on the postcard seems to match the description in the Bible, and the passage is printed under the photograph: ‘‘As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea.’’ 26 The intertextual link with ancient Israelites and the 24 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 1.1. ‘‘Sea of Galilee.’’ ‘‘The calm and tranquility of the sparkling blue waters of the Sea of Galilee sometimes change to violent storms. The waters turn an angry grey as strong winds whip up small waves. Fishing is still an important occupation—as in biblical times.’’ Photo by Garo Nalbandian © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Christian messiah, wherein Jesus lived as a member of the Jewish community first, reasserts the long and deep-rooted kinship and traditions of Jews and Christians. On the postcard’s verso, more text is provided to entrench the photograph’s biblical intertextuality. The broad appeal to Westerners is evident in the use of English only. Here the Sea of Galilee is described to be normally blue in color, but changing to an angry gray during storms, whereupon strong winds whip up small waves. The photograph matches the description of a point in which the water may begin to become violent. It alludes to the sight Jesus must have seen when he calmed its waters and later walked upon the water.27 It further states, ‘‘Fishing is still an important occupation—as in biblical times.’’ Next to the text is a map of Israel, fully shaped, or in other words without demarcations of occupied territories. A black dot marks the location of the Sea of Galilee, the located view of the postcard. In appealing to Western Christian sensibilities, Palphot has provided a view as Jesus must Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 25

Figure 1.2. ‘‘Kibbutz in Israel.’’ Photo by L. Borodulin © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

have seen it. Western Christians are expected to understand that such a view is indeed found in the mapped-out nation of Israel, and they are expected to agree that proper credit for such views found in this land is to be given to the Israelis. The Zionist transformation of the land is also seen in Palphot’s postcard titled ‘‘Kibbutz in Israel’’ (Fig. 1.2). The kibbutz is a system unique to Israel and was founded in the practical and Labor Zionist movements prior to the state’s establishment.28 This agricultural community is modeled on the ideas of communal ownership of the means of production, communal responsibility for all the needs of the community’s members and their families, and equal distribution of wealth. The kibbutz is seen as the Zionist renaissance of the Jewish people, and it therefore lends enough picturesque quality for Palphot to photograph it and present it as a part of the national self. In this particular postcard, six photographs fill the postcard’s field and surround the title ‘‘Kibbutz in Israel.’’ Two photographs on the right flank show Israelis working with advanced farming equipment. One shows a woman driving a tractor, thus denoting that the ownership of labor transcends gen26 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

der, while another photograph shows the advanced technology of milking stations in a modern kibbutz. On the opposite side of the postcard is another tractor pulling a wagon full of visitors and being driven close to an orange grove. It seems that these visitors are being given a tour of and a chance to admire the kibbutz. Below is a scene wherein children of the kibbutz are being given outdoor instruction about the Hebrew alphabet. The two center pictures show celebrations of the kibbutz community, with the performance of kibbutz members dancing for audiences. The postcard displays the happy and idyllic culture of the kibbutz system, made up of communal work, hospitality, education, and celebration, along with external admiration from the visitors and the viewers. The postcard also brings to light the importance of the use of people as subjects in the Palphot postcards. Not only is the transformation of the land important, but the transformation of the Jewish people is important as well. People are seen to be in the landscape, working on the land, admiring it, closely associating with it, and celebrating in it. The postcard establishes physical presence along with purposeful presence in the land. The reinvented people and their activity become as picturesque as the reclaimed landscape itself. The pictorial presence of people also galvanizes the Zionist claims of an Israeli culture and nation. Zionism’s Israeli culture and nation have given life to a new type of Jewish man and woman, what Yael Zerubavel calls the ‘‘new Hebrew,’’ also referred to as tsabār (Sabra). The new Hebrew was a concept that began with the emergence of Zionism, and he/she was to be a renaissance model of the Jewish people. The new Hebrew men and women became different from the ‘‘Jew.’’ The difference, according to Zerubavel, ‘‘was particularly appealing as a way of marking the symbolic discontinuity between the period of Exile and the modern National Revival.’’ 29 The new Hebrews reinforce the tie with the ancient past and are disassociated from the Jew who is tied to diasporic life. The new Hebrews are born on and connected to the land. They work its soil and are fully prepared to defend it. The new Hebrews are active, self-reliant, and proud. They exude the image of strength, health, and closeness to their ancient foreparents. Moreover, they speak, read, and think in Hebrew. The new Hebrews became ideal and perfected human specimens.30 A postcard from the ‘‘Beautiful Jerusalem’’ series presents a group of Zionism’s new Hebrew men and women. The dance troupe ‘‘Hora Jerusalem’’ Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 27

Figure 1.3. ‘‘Hora Jerusalem’’ [sic]. ‘‘Hora Jerusalem Dance Company opposite the Citadel, Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Lev Borodulin © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

[sic] is featured in the postcard (Fig. 1.3). Nine young, handsome, hale and hearty Hebrew men are suspended in the air after an exuberant leap from the green Israeli field upon which their bare feet were once firmly and intimately planted. The picturesque quality of the men seems to be based upon the new congeners that Zionism has produced. Not only are they dressed alike, but they share the same appealing facial features, are built with the same svelte physique, are of the same skin and hair coloring, and act in the same manner. Each seemingly jumps out of pure joie de vivre. The throwing out of their arms and their outwardly thrusting chests not only show joy but also self-pride, self-esteem, and self-assuredness. Sitting on the ground, eleven prime-aged, pretty, wholesome Hebrew women smile approvingly as their Hebrew partners show off their strength and agility. They, too, have a homogenized look. Together the men and women represent a seemingly perfect and harmonious ethnos. Behind them is their state’s capital, Jerusalem, with the Citadel tower in view. The Citadel was, in ancient times, a fortress used to defend the city. As shown in the postcard, the city has been retaken 28 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

in modern times and is now gleefully inhabited by the new Hebrews. These pictured tsabārīm show an inner spirit, outwardly manifested, of the Israeli national self. Palphot also shows that the new Hebrew has sex appeal. In one postcard, the sex appeal is an inviting one at that. ‘‘Come, join me at Ein Gedi!’’ shows, at first glance, the shapely rear view of a beautiful Israeli woman on the shores of the Dead Sea (Fig. 1.4). Dressed in her white beach wear and white high heels, her long, bare legs are very provocative. The woman apparently is not wearing an undergarment, and her naked, bulbous buttocks are clearly visible. She is on her way to sit under a beach umbrella and to enjoy the Dead Sea in Israel. In this postcard, the Israeli national self, denoted by this woman, is presented to the viewer as beautiful, sexy, and erotic. The postcard encourages the viewer to partake in the benefits of Israel’s ‘‘scenery’’ and to idolize the new Hebrew as a beautiful being. ‘‘Pickles tickle the palate!’’ is the title of a postcard that sets forth the favorable conduct and relationship that exists among the people of Israel (Palphot, #2668 SC). In this postcard, Palphot creates a scene that presents the Israeli existence as an organized market, a working exchange economy, and a cultural palate. The market is teeming with fresh, healthy foods taken from the land and its waters. There are fresh fruits, fish, cheese, and yogurt. Above the market stall hang bunches of fresh bananas and wrapped sausages. Heaped in clean and shiny steel bowls is an array of pickled olives. The scene is a pleasant and polite over-the-counter, communal exchange between Israelis. Here a food vendor graciously offers a tasty pickled fruit to a smiling woman across the counter. The shopping experience is not only presented as a clean and abundant one in Israel, but it is shown to be a pleasant experience. Indeed, the viewers are informed in English, from the text on the verso, about the experience: ‘‘Tasting the produce is part of the fun of shopping in the market.’’ The woman appears appealing and well dressed. It is interesting to note that the woman, considered to be the biological reproducer of the Jewish people, wears a dress that has the colors of the Israeli national flag. The scene creates subtle messages. It is as if she, as a woman who gives birth to citizens of Israel, is rewarded in turn with a nutritious fruit from the land. Here, too, a man with more Sephardic features graciously interfaces with a woman of clear Ashkenazic features. It is a scene of Israelis locked in the act of appreciating the contribution of one another. It acts as Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 29

Figure 1.4. ‘‘Come, join me at Ein Gedi!’’ Photo by Aba Model and Lev Borodulin © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.5. ‘‘Mea Shearim, Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Mea Shearim, the ultra orthodox quarter of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by R. Nowitz © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

evidence of the homogenizing effect of Israeli nationality over Jewish people from different roots. The social face of Israeli society in interaction is being displayed for the viewers. Although Zionism was at one time interested in creating a ‘‘superior Sabra,’’ 31 it has developed into an ideology that promotes Israel as the protectorate of all Jewish life. Zionism at one time eschewed the symbols of diasporic life, but today, with the establishment and international recognition of Israel, it can accept such symbols and make them its own rather than alien symbols of Exile. It is an ideological change that Palphot is willing to promote in its picturesque views of people living in Israel. In a postcard that appeared as part of the ‘‘Beautiful Jerusalem’’ series and is titled ‘‘Mea Shearim, Jerusalem,’’ Palphot uses what could at one time have been considered very unpicturesque and alien to the national self (Fig. 1.5). Here, in a very old stone arch portal, four Hasidic Jewish men walk together while involved in discussion. In the distance is an old stone building with one of its windows boarded over. The remnants of wall posters can be seen on the building’s facade and Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 31

on the surface of the rough stone arch, which frames the walking men. The portal encloses the men inside the neighborhood, while keeping the viewers outside and at a distance. Mea Shearim is a neighborhood of Jerusalem well known for its old European look, its Hasidic inhabitants, and their strict adherence to religious life and customs. This neighborhood is a marvel for visitors because it seems to encapsulate and preserve the exilic life of Europe that was lost in the Holocaust. Even the image presented in this postcard brings back the ostensible flavor of the ghetto from a pre–World War II, Eastern European urban center. The neighborhood itself is filled with synagogues, yəshīvōt (schools devoted to the study of the Talmud), small workshops, and shops selling religious objects. It is also well known for its clashes with intrusive visitors and state authorities who do not adhere to the strict religious customs of the inhabitants. Disputes over driving on Saturdays, visitors in provocative clothing, and photographing the inhabitants have occurred in the area.32 It is a peculiar place in a modern Jewish state wherein Zionism at one time promoted the new Hebrew over the exilic Jew. However, that it would be considered as picturesque is a sign of the changing ideals of Zionism. Views of Mea Shearim, particularly those that are glimpses from a distance like this one, become picturesque and part of the national self. Crowds of people have also become picturesque and important subject matter for Palphot. In two such postcards crowds of people are shown to be enjoying the land through sport and leisure. ‘‘Mount Hermon’’ is the name of one postcard showing the national enjoyment of skiing during the winter months at the site (Palphot, #6 25609 SC). It is as picturesque as an Alpine skiing resort, with its lifts to four runs, its ski lodge, its hilly surroundings, and its snowy base. However, it is the resort’s popularity, as depicted in this postcard, that makes it even more picturesque. Zionism has seemingly taken this ‘‘desert land’’ and through its ingenuity it has created, of all things, a ski resort at which Israeli citizens and their visitors may play together. The picturesque quality of the scene shows not only the transformation of the land but the active population of it as well. Postcard views such as these are common views among many of the Western nations of the world. In fact, such views could exist almost anywhere in parts of Europe or North America. Marking such views as Israeli presents the Israelis as being just as active and

32 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

sportive as the people of any nation that considers skiing to be a national sport. Similarly, a postcard showing the beach of Herzlia uses the crowds of people as part of the picturesque quality of the Israeli seashore (Fig. 1.6). The Israeli beach, with the blue waters of the Mediterranean, is as visually appealing as the French Riviera. Unidentifiable bodies enjoy the sea’s waves, sunbathe upon the well-kempt beach, or relax under the cheerfully colored umbrellas of a seaside resort. The crowds of people appear to show that Zionism has achieved its establishment of Hebrew presence in the area. However, in this postcard it is not only the people that are picturesque; the addition of the national flag is just as picturesque and even dramatic. Animatedly waving in the wind, the Israeli flag puts the territory, the people, and their beach activities under the sovereignty of Israel. The flag’s presence shows that Zionism has achieved its goal of a safe territory and sovereignty over a people enjoying a cultural leisure activity together. Herzlia, at one time seen as just an outpost with a handful of stone cottages and considered an unpicturesque subject by Tova Dorfzaun, is now a picturesque place with material evidence of the achievements of Zionism. The flag is one of the symbolic accoutrements of a modern nation. As noted by W. Gunther Plaut, the state of Israel in 1948 accepted the flag as the national ensign that represented the Jewish people reconstituted in their own land.33 The Israeli flag as a national symbol appears to achieve its greatest Palphotian picturesque quality when it acts out the Zionist quest and marks out Israeli national territory for all to see. As shown by Palphot, territory no longer needs to be land itself, but can be any aspect of culture—such as food. In a postcard called ‘‘Falafel—Israel’s national snack,’’ the flag stakes its claim over a dish that is popular in the entire Middle East (Fig. 1.7). Much like the Spanish conquistadors and the U.S. Apollo 11 astronauts driving flags into the New World and the moon, respectively, to claim ownership and presence, the Israelis have appropriated this roughly textured food, as well as staking out a presence in the region. On the verso of the postcard there is evidence that the message is intended for English-reading viewers. There, a recipe of the falafel is written in English so that the international viewers can make their own falafel and participate in the Israeli national self. This particular postcard has not gone unnoticed by some Palestinians.

Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 33

Figure 1.6. Israeli beach. ‘‘Herzlia, sea side.’’ © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.7. ‘‘Falafel—Israel’s national snack.’’ ‘‘A recipe to mail—Falafel.’’ Photo by Nisim Lev © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.8. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘The best known Palestinian national food, the ‘Falafel’ at Ifteim’s in Bethlehem, This restaurant was established in 1950 ‘originally from Jaffa’’’ [sic]. Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

They perceive the postcard as an incursion upon Palestinian culture. It has spurred a Palestinian alteration of the postcard, which can be seen hanging in some Palestinian shops in East Jerusalem.34 The altered Palphot postcard shows the label ‘‘Palestine’s’’ laid over ‘‘Israel’s’’ so that it now reads ‘‘Palestine’s national snack.’’ Maha Saca, the founder of the Palestinian Heritage Center and the subject of Chapter 6, is also incensed by the Israeli claim to this food, which she calls ‘‘stealing Palestinian culture.’’ To counteract the Palphot postcard, she created a postcard intended to provide proof that the falafel is indeed Palestinian. She goes further by showing Palestinians actually making and enjoying the falafel, or, as she states, ‘‘the best known Palestinian national food’’ (Fig. 1.8). Earlier, I discussed the Zionist ideology’s keenness on developing the images of idealized notions of a new Hebrew man and woman. This new Hebrew was known as the tsabār, or Sabra. The name tsabār is derived from the Arabic word ṣabbār, or cactus. Like the cactus plant that grows freely in the area, the tsabār is depicted to be allegorically similar in character. Free to grow where it pleases, the cactus has a juicy fruit enclosed in a tough skin that is studded with long thorns. Likewise, the new Hebrew of the same name is imagined to freely populate the land and is expected to be externally tough but internally gentle. The external character of the tsabār is therefore as picturesque as the internal one, and an array of Palphot postcards of Israeli soldiers is easily found in Israel as signifiers of this front of the national self. Uri Ben-Eliezer has written a book about the Israeli military and its significant role in Israeli culture. He points out that Israel is a militaristic nation in the sense that the use of military force acquires legitimacy, is perceived as a positive value and a high principle that is right and desirable, and is routinized and institutionalized within society.35 Ben-Eliezer tells of how as early as 1938, the positive image of the soldier and his gun conquering the land began to compete with the positive image of the farmer and his plow claiming the land. Ben-Gurion saw the new Israeli army as a way of inculcating, later, a national discipline which would help form a nation within the new state of 1948. Over the past fifty years, the military has acted as an institutional melting pot that has been able to absorb diverse Jewish ethnic groups and integrate them into a more homogenized nation with a common national focus. As soldiers, Israeli citizens would always be first and foremost subordinate and allegiant to the state. The army was expected to conquer the wilderness, to 36 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

help further settlement, to educationally instill good citizenship and love of country, and to foster Israeli culture.36 The army came to stand for all that was to be good and noble within the nation. Unlike the soldiers of diasporic countries, who were viewed by the Jews as oppressive, anti-Semitic, and inimical, the Israeli army was to be made up of good and friendly soldiers doing good civil work for Israeli Jews. The army was not depicted as ‘‘an instrument of organized violence in the society, but was overlaid with a civil image, as an intimate, friendly force.’’ 37 Soon after arrival in Israel, the new immigrant would become a member of the army. This, as Ben-Eliezer suggests, tended to blur the traditional distinction between the military and civilian population. Moreover, war was seen as Israel’s fate, so there was the continuous need to keep a nation-in-arms ready for the outbreak of war with the Arabs. Battle victories became Israeli successes, the soldier became a symbol of successful Zionist accomplishment, generals became political leaders, and militarism became a positive aspect of Israeli culture.38 Palphot presents militarism and the soldier as a part of the Israeli national self. In two postcards titled ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem,’’ Israeli soldiers march through Jerusalem. In the first of the two, paratroopers wearing red berets march and shout in unison in front of the Citadel tower (Fig. 1.9). It should be recalled that the Citadel was at one time the fortress used to protect the city from northern attacks. It is a symbol of ancient strength, here connected with the state’s modern strength through photographic proximity to the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). The six soldiers march proudly, brandish their modern automatic weapons, loudly declare their presence, exude self-esteem, and present the external, tough character of the tsabārīm. The importance to Israeli soldiers of parading has deep roots in the Palmachian tradition, wherein the early Jewish fighters embraced hiking as a symbol of mastery, of conquering, and of ownership of all the land traversed. On the verso of the postcard, the reader is informed that the soldiers parade in an annual pilgrimage march to Jerusalem. In essence, then, the soldiers are symbolically taking Jerusalem once again. Around them, Israelis stop to watch the spectacle, and some seem to be clapping in approval of their march. It is a postcard that finds the picturesque in, and presents the national self as in accord with, militarism and its use for the reclamation of Jerusalem. In the second postcard titled ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem,’’ another parade Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 37

Figure 1.9. ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem route march annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem’’ [sic]. Photo by [W.] Braun © [1968] Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.10. ‘‘Yərūshālaīm, Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem, Israeli soldiers marching by the Western Wall.’’ Photo by W. Braun © [1968] Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

of soldiers is presented (Fig. 1.10). Here, the columned troop marches past the area of the Western Wall, and the soldiers carry fourteen waving Israeli flags. The performative meanings of parade and the flag together create the image that these soldiers control the holy area of Jerusalem. With the Dome of the Rock in the background, the postcard also shows that Israeli soldiers are staking the state’s claim and power over the Temple Mount despite the Palestinian Muslims’ claim to the same area as al-ḥaram al-sharīf. It connotes the idea that the Israeli state as protector of Judaism is claiming a sense of power over Palestinians and Islam. Since there are no Palestinians pictured in counterclaim, the Israeli national self is shown as the undisputed owner, protector, and sovereign over Jerusalem and its holy shrines. The soldier as tsabār also has the internal character of softness despite his/her external toughness. Three postcards show this internal character. The postcards are very interesting because they are separate postcard scenes similarly portrayed. They show that the soldier as subject not only is an acceptable icon that presents the national self, but also has an iconic inner character that is displayed in an acceptable way. The internal character of the soldier is portrayed through his spiritual connection with his religion and his ancient past. The soldier is shown taking a moment from his work for quiet and prayerful contemplation at the Western Wall, the acknowledged center of worship for the Jewish people. This makes the Israeli soldier not only pious but also sensitive and peaceful. His gun is pushed behind him as he makes contact with the Wall and his ancient past. It is God whom he momentarily makes his main priority, although he still carries the priority of the state through the symbols of the rifle and the uniform. His image as a tough, disciplined, and successful fighter is temporarily suspended and is supplanted with an image of sensitivity, spirituality, and deep-rooted peacefulness. The first postcard shows a soldier praying at the Wall (Fig. 1.11). The second postcard is a representation of an oil painting of a soldier standing close to the Wall (Palphot, #3441). It is as if he is fatigued from fighting, and the Wall gives him the support he needs to keep him upright. The third postcard is of three soldiers, each from separate units, as can be seen from the distinction in their colored berets, holding each other at the Wall (Fig. 1.12). Here, a unified army is signified in a privately peaceful moment, and the viewers are given the opportunity to visually experience it. These are presentations of the intimate, good side of

Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 39

Figure 1.11. Praying soldier. ‘‘Jerusalem, Soldier by the Western Wall.’’ Photo by [W.] Braun © [1968] Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.12. ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Meeting of fighters at the Western Wall.’’ Photo by Sandu Mendrea © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

the IDF, which has been criticized for its invasion of Lebanon, its occupation of territories, and its responses against civilians during the first Intifada. The Palphot postcard of the soldier at the Western Wall also relates intertextually with the IDF’s capture of and the unification of Jerusalem on June 7, 1967. The original Palphot postcard of the event was one of Palphot’s bestsellers. The capture of the Old City was a historic and emotional moment in Israeli history. As related by Samuel Katz in his book praising the successful history of the IDF, when the Temple Mount was captured, [t]ears began to roll down the cheeks of the exhausted fighters, as they embraced the Western Wall of their holy temple in an emotionally filled trance of silent prayer. . . . As the IDF’s top brass touched the wall for the first time in nineteen years, the paratroopers began singing what became the anthem of the campaign, the song ‘‘Jerusalem of Gold,’’ knowing all too well the stiff price in blood they had paid for their country’s glory.39

Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 41

Celebrating a great emotional and historic event, and a major achievement of Zionist ideology, the original postcard was an important picturesque moment and a landmark expression of the Israeli national self. In fact, the event was so picturesque for Palphot that it required the reproduction of the moment in these three, plus other similarly themed, postcards. Despite the soldier’s tsabāristic internal softness, presenting his external toughness is necessary, and this characteristic is never to be forgotten. The Israeli state is, as noted by Ben-Eliezer, ‘‘a nation-in-arms’’ for the important reason that Israel perceives itself to be continuously threatened by antiSemitism, Arab invasion, and Palestinian terrorism. Although overt scenes of threat are not considered picturesque enough for Palphot to make postcards of them, symbols of threat and triumph over threat are indeed picturesque. Palphot’s depictions of Masada seem to be picturesque for that reason. A Palphot postcard of Masada frequently is an aerial view, which captures the totality of the structure, its awesome height, its precipitous cliffs, and its majestic strength. This type of postcard does not focus on the architectural ingenuity of the Herodian structure, but it is much more interested in showing the site of the Roman attack and the ultimate Jewish stand, defense, and sacrifice. Such a view includes the remains of the Roman-constructed ramp, which threatened the ancient Jewish people who barricaded themselves in the mountaintop fortress. In one Palphot postcard, titled ‘‘Masada,’’ the mountaintop fortress is photographed in the early morning with an eerie morning fog blanketing the surface (Palphot, #6 25447 SC). The viewers can see visitors roaming around the fortress, which gives the site a sense of scale. Below the fortress, visitors trek up the mountainside, which has been a traditional ritual trek of Zionists. They, too, provide scale to the height of the mountaintop fortress and the Roman ramp behind them. The people provide a sense of how difficult, how overwhelming, and how determined the ancient Roman siege must have been. They give a sense of the isolation and entrapment of the ancient Jewish people inside the fortress. The verso text does not exalt the architectural feat of the Herodian fortress, but it intimates the architectural threat of the Roman ramp. The text simply states, ‘‘Masada, bird’s eye view; left: the Roman ramp.’’ Another postcard recalls not only the threat to modern Israel, as symbolized in the Masada myth, but also the resolve of the Israeli national self as a 42 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 1.13. ‘‘Masada shall not fall again.’’ ‘‘Aerial view of Masada, the famous stro[n]ghold in the Judean Desert.’’ Photo by R. Nowitz © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

nation-in-arms to never let such an event occur again. The title of the postcard is made out of an oath, ‘‘Masada shall not fall again’’ (Fig. 1.13). The oath is a famous line from military rituals performed at the site. As noted in Yael Zerubavel’s research on the Masada rituals, ‘‘various military units used Masada as a site to mark special occasions (often as the clima[c]tic end of difficult training).’’ 40 There, the IDF units swore their allegiance to the modern state and its protection, and they always concluded with the solemn and collective affirmation ‘‘Never again shall Masada fall!’’ 41 The picturesque quality of the postcard emanates from the declaration of courage of the Israeli national self, the inherent rationalization of Israeli militarism, and Zionism’s vindication of the fallen, ancient Jewish nation. The reclamation of the Western Wall and the reinstatement of civilian access to the area have also become a visual theme for Palphot postcards. As the traditional remaining wall of the Second Temple, it has served as the most sacred Jewish site and has served for centuries as a place of pilgrimage and prayer. It is said to have a divine presence that can never be destroyed. AcPalphot’s Israeli Self : : 43

Figure 1.14. ‘‘The Western Wall, Jerusalem, Yərūshālaīm, Ha-kōtel ha-maărāvī.’’ Photo by Garo Nalbandian, S. Mendrea, and L. Borodulin © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

cording to the New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, ‘‘Jews have made the pilgrimage to the ruins of the Temple to bewail its destruction and to offer prayers.’’ 42 The centrality of the Wall to Jewish worship and its integral part in the Israeli national self are regularly photographed themes of Palphot. In a postcard titled ‘‘The Western Wall, Jerusalem, Yərūshālaīm, Ha-kōtel hamaărāvī,’’ the importance of the Wall as a place of worship for Jewish people and the nation is displayed (Fig. 1.14). In the form of a grid and table, six photographs display scenes wherein Israelis have intimate moments at the Wall. An elderly man sits close to the Wall to read his prayers, and a soldier takes a private moment to conduct his prayers. A photograph of a group of Ethiopian Jewish women is easily assimilated into the grid and table of Israelis at the Wall, despite the reality of difficult assimilation into the nation’s society and into Israeli Jewry. Here, the controversy of Ethiopians’ status as mamzērūt (descendants from a prohibited union or intermarriage) has seemingly been resolved, since they properly partake in the ritual of praying at the Wall. Another photograph shows a small boy who is lifted up by his father as he leaves his prayer in the Wall’s ancient seam. The Jewish ritual is seen as 44 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

passed on from father to son in front of the Wall. A further photograph is of a woman who stands before the Wall on her wedding day. The final photograph shows the intimate moment of prayer a young Hasidic boy has at the Wall. The intimate moment is manifested when he touches the Wall and kisses it in love and respect. The arrangement of all the photographs into the grid and table is intended to educate the viewers about the central importance of the Wall to all the Israelis. The Wall is to be understood as an integral part of the nation and a place where a facet of the national self is displayed. The grid and table format allows this understanding to become easily assimilated by the viewers. It shows the coherence of the national self with the site. On the verso, the location of the Wall is placed inside a small map of the Israeli state. The dot marking the place of the Wall is seen to be as central to the state’s shape as it is to the religious and national selves. The intertextual use of the event of the Wall’s capture in 1967 is also a part of displaying the Wall. Here the Zionist success in reclaiming the site for Israelis and all of the world’s Jewish population makes it a picturesque scene. Palphot seems to use historic scenes as a theme of postcards. Mark Tessler’s A History of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict recalls the historic scene of 1967: Following the IDF’s capture of East Jerusalem in June 1967, thousands of Jews from West Jerusalem and elsewhere in Israel rushed to the Western Wall, celebrating their first opportunity in nineteen years to pray at Judaism’s holiest [s]ite. To make room for the crowds and to facilitate access to the wall, the Israeli government in fact evacuated and demolished the homes of several hundred Arabs living nearby. Amidst the outpouring of emotion in Israel that accompanied the capture of the Old City, many Jews called for the annexation of East Jerusalem and for unification of the city under Israeli rule.43

Palphot picturesquely replays the celebrations of 1967 in two similar postcards. In fact, it may be said that Palphot perpetuates the celebrations of 1967 into the 1990s with the presentation of the postcards. In the first of the two, a celebratory song and dance of Jewish men takes place in front of the Wall (Palphot, #2686). Here, the men seem to display the ecstasy of reclaiming the Wall and the area in front of the Wall for the Jewish people. Holding hands as if in a twirl, two men stand in the foreground with the others forming a circle Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 45

Figure 1.15. ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem—Temple area.’’ © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

around them. Instead of the lamentations of the destruction of the Jewish temple, which are often the traditional form of worship at the Wall, here the men seem to celebrate its return to Jewish hands. Children, the newest generation of Israelis and the symbolic future of the nation, also frolic in front of the Wall and partake in the celebration. The second postcard shows the meeting of thousands of people at the Western Wall (Fig. 1.15). They converge into the courtyard in order to view the famous holy site, with some people climbing to the side slope to catch the view. The courtyard is devoid of the Arab homes that once stood there. Above the courtyard, and on the Temple Mount, stands the Dome of the Rock Mosque, and on al-ḥaram al-sharīf, the famous Muslim sanctuary, stands alAqsa Mosque. Interestingly enough, Muslims are absent in this scenic setting. Picturing people is very important because it shows presence and the meaningful relationship between the site and the population. Despite the Muslim architectural presence, Muslims, due to their absence from the photograph, are presented as showing less concern for and less use of the site than the Jewish people. The postcard also superimposes prominently the presence of the rabbi dressed in his ceremonial robes and blowing the shōfār, or ram’s horn. Like an ancient priest, the elderly man towers above the ancient site 46 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

and the modern Jewish people and calls the people together with the shōfār. In fact, he, acting as a symbol of an ancient past, may even convey a re-calling together of the Jewish people with the sounding of his traditional instrument. When the Old City was taken by the IDF in 1967, it is reported that ‘‘traditional shōfār ram’s-horn trumpets were brought out, and sounded in a religious frenzy of relief.’’ 44 Here again, the shōfār is seen as being sounded in victory at Zionist reclamation and revival of the area. The Western Wall is, according to Amos Elon, also claimed by some Muslims as the place where Muhammad is said to have tethered his steed before he ascended from al-ḥaram al-sharīf to his visit in heaven.45 It was often a site of conflict between Jews and Palestinian Arabs at which each side religiously harassed the other. The Zionist claim of sovereignty over the Wall and the centrality of the Wall to the Israeli national self have been presented through these various postcards of soldiers in front of the Wall, the Israeli standard flying close to it, celebration and worship of the civilians there, sentimental moments spent in its courtyard, and the shōfār being blown over it. Palphot has not only found the Wall to be a theme to photograph, but it has cultivated its picturesque qualities. And these postcards are a way of ensuring that other nations support Israel’s claim to the area and to its statehood despite the Palestinian counterclaims. Statehood becomes picturesque, further, with the presentation of Israeli governmental activities. In a postcard titled ‘‘Shālōm, salām, Peace,’’ the activities of the state are extolled in the Peace Process of the 1990s (Palphot, #9 26251 SC). Israel is seen as finally making peace with the Arabs and putting the years of war behind it. In a peaceful gesture after the signing of a treaty, Israeli Prime Minister Rabin shakes hands with Jordan’s King Hussein, with United States President Bill Clinton applauding the event. According to Ella Shohat, established Israeli national narration is highly Ashkenazi-centric. This prevailing narrative has, therefore, created identity more aligned and likened to the West, despite Israel’s Eastern geographical location, its Sephardic community, and its indebtedness to Eastern culture and history. This has resulted in film portrayals that promote relational likeness to the West and an avoidance of likeness to the East. At the same time, it has created self-portrayals associated with the First World and in opposition to the Third World. One such likeness that the ‘‘Israeli Establishment,’’ as Shohat terms it, promotes in this context is its belief that Israel is the ‘‘only Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 47

democracy in the Middle East.’’ In this particular postcard, it is possible to recognize her theory of such Israeli alignment with the West in opposition to the East.46 This postcard aligns Israel with the Western superpower in the presentation of the particular moment. Here the leader of Israel gazes toward the leader of Jordan. In between the two longtime enemies, Clinton is photographically captured as he casts his gaze from the Israeli side to the Jordanian side. Together, Israel and the United States are joined as they look toward Jordan to keep up its part of the treaty. When viewed by the Westerner, the card puts Israel in the position of active protagonist of peace and steadfastly on the ideological side of the United States. However, peace with Jordan does not mean that overall peace in the conflict has been achieved. Peace with the Arabs also means that Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat and Syria’s President Hafez al-Assad are brought into the deal. In fact, there was such an opportunity to capture the moment on a postcard when Arafat and Rabin shook hands under the auspices of Clinton at the White House in September 1993. And yet, such postcards declaring this move toward peace, shālōm, and salām are yet to be found in the country. It seems that the Israeli national self as presented by Palphot shies away from being associated with positive portrayals of Palestinians and their leader, Yasser Arafat. Recently, Palphot has developed a series of vintage postcards that can be found for sale on the display racks of various souvenir stores in Jerusalem. The series is the ‘‘Love from Israel Series,’’ wherein the word ‘‘love’’ is really denoted with its icon: the heart. The photographs are often ones reproduced from earlier moments in Israeli history and therefore become recollections of the national self. Sometimes they are new photographs but are presented in black and white to make them look like they are older and more vintagelike in quality. This is the case with a postcard using the same photograph as the ‘‘Jerusalem’’ postcard in which the three soldiers are shown at the Wall praying (Fig. 1.12). In the vintage-styled version (Palphot, #141), the same color photograph is made into a black-and-white photograph, and it is given a yellowed tint to provide a sense of age.47 The presentation of vintage-styled postcards, regardless of their actual age, intends to create photographic evidence of a people with a modern past in the land. Most available evidence of a past was pictured in colored postcards of archaeological and biblical sites. Now, Zionism as a historical record becomes picturesque and worthy of postcard status. 48 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

In one such postcard, a ḥălūtsāh, a female pioneer farmworker, has hoisted a box of freshly picked grapes onto her shoulder and carries the fruit forward (Palphot, #151). In her khaki work clothes, she has been toiling hard in the fields, as is evident from her rolled-up sleeves and soil-smudged wrist. Her smile testifies that her work is more pleasurable than laborious. The photograph acts as evidence of the potential agricultural bounty of the land when Jewish people work it. It also relates intertextually with the biblical statements of Moses when he told the Jews of the goodness of the land God would give them.48 The relationship among bounty, land, and work is strengthened by the verso’s text, ‘‘Jewish Work.’’ It was this slogan that Ben-Gurion and the Jewish socialists of the early 1930s used as a Zionist platform in order to transform Jewish men and women into new Hebrews, to create a self-sufficient labor force and nation, and to ensure that the land could only be claimed by the Jews and not the Palestinian Arabs. As related by Mitchell Cohen, BenGurion claimed, regarding Jewish labor in Palestine, ‘‘this is our Bible and our creed, the meaning of our Zionism and our socialism.’’ 49 In presenting the postcard today, Palphot brings back a golden era of Zionism, thus promoting a revival of, and renewing a commitment to, the Zionist creed and its notion of the picturesque for use in today’s national self-image. Other vintage-like postcards are those promoting the militarism of early Zionists. However, these postcards show the defensive nature of the soldiers. In one postcard, a young Palmach fighter pushes back his rifle to accept his son from his wife (Palphot, #147). The idea is to show that it is the safety of his family and his community in this outpost or kibbutz that he seeks, not aggression. The message on the postcard’s verso: ‘‘Off to Guard Duty in the 1943’s’’ [sic]. The Palmach soldier is seen as having to carry his gun. Going on guard was part of his duty and not part of a desire for vigilantism or a preference for the sword over the plow. However, as Ben-Eliezer points out, the preference for the sword over the plow may have been the actual case.50 To show this scene today is with the intent of proving that Israelis have a deeprooted past of being peaceful; that their militarism is an issue of defense, not aggression. Another postcard shows early Israelis on guard duty. Here two soldiers hide behind a wall of stones (Palphot, #150). One of the soldiers points to something off the postcard’s field. The other soldier looks through his field glasses as if trying to focus in on the site to which his comrade points. They Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 49

can see something, but their distance and the wall seem to give them the advantage of seeing the object of strategic scrutiny before it can see them. Somewhere out there and on the other side of the wall there is danger or threat, and the viewers’ gaze originates from inside the wall, or on the Israeli side. The scene is a display of the soldiers’ awareness and preparedness. Both are well armed with weapons and are in uniform. Their displayed stripes show that they are men of earned rank and of a larger organized army. Their gaunt profiles project Spartan attitudes. These are the men who represent the Hebrew men who built, fought for, and protected the land. They are the guardians of the country. The text on the verso states, ‘‘The Guardian of Israel shall neither rest nor sleep.’’ The performative nature of the text announces a commitment of the Israeli national self to always be a nation-in-arms. The men are shown, with the help of the text and the vintage photograph, to embody an original spirit of the modern nation. The postcard sets forth the standard that the Israelis of today must be constant in their spirit to guard against an ever-present external danger that threatens the nation and state. With the viewers gazing from the Israeli side, they are protected by these guardians as well. Palphotian presentation of the Israeli national self is not only limited to idealistic scenes of Israelis and Israeli places. It also includes the presentation of the national self in relation to the competing presence and national claim of Palestinians. To partially borrow from Edward Said, a facet of Palphot’s picturesque follows Zionism’s need ‘‘to divide reality into a superior ‘us’ and an inferior, degenerate ‘them.’ ’’ 51 In this way, the Israeli national self is portrayed as modern, national, human, active, creative, tough, sensitive, spiritual, physically attractive, historical, cultured, intelligent, and Western. The Palestinian Other is portrayed in opposite terms. The Palestinian is backward, nomadic, parasitic, lazy, threatening and yet feeble, physically unattractive, traditional, simple, and Orientalized. Furthermore, the Palestinian is not even given the honor of being portrayed as a ‘‘national Other.’’ In fact, the Palestinian is neither national nor Palestinian. Palphot always refers to the Palestinian as ‘‘Arab’’ or, less often, as ‘‘Muslim.’’ It helps support Zionist claims that the ‘‘Arab’’ can live and easily assimilate in any one of the Arab countries and that there is no special claim to this particular piece of land. The Palphotian depiction of the Israeli national self in comparison to the ‘‘Arab’’ Other is a paradigm that is an ideological guide for the viewers and 50 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

facilitates understanding of the relationship between the two and among the viewers themselves. It provides an ordered understanding of who the national self is and who it is not. Even without the presence of anything Israeli, the national self may be fathomed by viewing what it is not. Depiction in this way creates a Janus-faced national self. It decontextualizes images of the Other and recontextualizes them into images that can only support the national self at the expense of distorting the Other. Illustrating O’Barr’s point about using the foreigner for advertising, it is a case wherein the Other is appropriated into the service of promoting what has little to do with itself in reality. Accuracy is of very little concern here.52 Anita Shapira describes how Zionism looked upon the Palestinian Arabs in the early Jewish settlements of the area. Urban Palestinian Arabs were viewed as sly, underhanded, cruel, and prepared to exploit their brothers. The fellahin, or peasants, and Bedouins were far more respected. In general, Palestinian Arabs were viewed as backward, a bit childish, violent in tendency, lazy when unsupervised, and larcenous. Palestinian Arabs were looked upon as self-interested individuals rather than as a people of national possibilities. The early Zionists respected the Arab character traits of hospitality, courage, and heroism but not enough to earn the Palestinians ideological parity with the Zionists themselves. According to Shapira, it is this ethic of many of the Zionist fathers that relegated Palestinian Arabs to a position outside of Israeli society and set the stage for future generations to look at them as competition rather than as companions.53 Israeli images of the Palestinian Others, then, had developed early on and continue within the same tradition today. The conventions of envisaging and representing the Palestinian Arab are deeply set in the Israeli national imagination. Palphot continues and perpetuates this way of presenting the Other. Here, Zionism encourages the continuation of capturing Palestinian Arabs photographically in a particular way, and photographic images as such provide sustenance for Zionist claims, attitudes, and ideals. In this way, the Palestinian Other becomes picturesque enough as ‘‘Arab’’ that a surprising array of these postcards are made and sold by Palphot as a method of presenting the Israeli national self. The relationship between the Israeli and the ‘‘Arab’’ is made apparent in a vintage-styled postcard (Palphot, #143). As in the introductory photograph in James R. Ryan’s Picturing Empire, where a British woman is shown sitting Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 51

in a rickshaw and being pulled by an exotic native, the positioning of the subjects reveals social status.54 In the Palphot postcard, a Hasidic Jewish man sits high upon a camel’s saddle. His appearance upon the camel is amusing because his clean, black European suit and polished shoes are so unlike the attire of the classical Bedouin warriors or poets of the Arabian Peninsula. Even the camel’s presence in what seems to be the Jewish Quarter, rather than the desert, is peculiar. The Jewish man smiles triumphantly for the camera as the steed lumbers along, holds its head low, and is led by an ‘‘Arab.’’ In contrast, the ‘‘Arab’s’’ dress is much less clean. He has no hat, but in contrast he wears a head covering—the kaffiyeh. He carries a rustic stick, and his shoes are dirty and even torn. What is most interesting is the subservient nature of the camel and the ‘‘Arab’’ camel owner compared to the Jewish man. Both, the ‘‘Arab’’ and the beast, work for the entertainment pleasure of the Jewish man and the viewers. The postcard’s verso text further degrades Palestinian and Middle Eastern heritage with the intention of being humorous. Here the English-reading viewers are informed that the camel is ‘‘The Cadillac of the 1930’s.’’ Even without the appearance of the Israeli, the Israeli national self and its Zionist ideology find sustenance from the photographs of ‘‘Arabs.’’ The postcards reveal Palestinians as Orientals, and, as Edward Said notes, the use of Orientalism has more to do with revealing oneself than it does with revealing the one being Orientalized.55 This is especially noticeable when the postcards of ‘‘Arabs’’ are intertextually related with postcards of Israelis held on the same display rack and even made by the same postcard maker. In recalling the Palphot postcards showing the innocence of Israeli children at the Western Wall, the Palphot postcard of ‘‘Arab’’ children and their camel raises quite another meaning (Fig. 1.16). In the Western Wall postcards, the viewers see the Israeli children as participating in national culture. The children are portrayed as representatives of a future nation, with their rightful place in the land. But the Palphot postcard of the ‘‘Arab’’ children, intended to represent Palestinians, reveals the diametric opposite about these other children. The three children display poverty and filth. They wear mismatched, ripped, and dirty clothing. The two boys do not wear shoes like the civilized boys of Israel, but stand in their bare feet, which are dusted with the parched land. Their miserable state is expressed in their serious faces and idle hands. They are seemingly no more important than the beast next to them, and in fact, 52 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

the baby camel can even be viewed as cute in relation to them. Standing in a desert land, they seem to be outcasts and lack the cohesiveness of a larger group. They are the generation that will inherit the characteristic flaws of their absent parents, who let the land go to waste and allow the wild brush to take over. And for that reason, they, and the people they are intended to represent, are unworthy of it. It must be pointed out that this representation exudes Orientalism at the expense of Palestinians, and yet it is picturesque enough that Palphot is willing to make a postcard of it. The ‘‘Arab’’ warrior is also picturesque for Palphot. A postcard shows two ‘‘Arab’’ men, one on a desert horse and the other on a camel, prepared to fight (Fig. 1.17). Each carries a menacing sword as they seem to be ready to set out from their simple and isolated tent and shack situated on the parched, rocky desert land. The land apparently shows that they have done nothing to make their homestead inhabitable and fertile. However, these warriors are still picturesque for Palphot because they stand distantly related and comparatively exotic to the Israeli soldiers who are one of the prides of Zionism. They do not, like the Israeli soldiers, hold their heads high, confident of their mission or their ethnicity; they do not sport the uniform of a modern state; their mode of transport is far from technologically superior; and their weapons are archaic in the modern era. Their darkened eyes give them a more sinister look. Furthermore, unlike the Israeli soldiers, who often are shown in acts of parade, prayer, or defense, these men are displayed in no particular context. One cannot tell if they are out to protect their Bedouin homestead or if they are setting out for a marauding expedition. This information, usually put forth in the text of the postcard, is not found here. The text, instead, is ‘‘Beduin [sic] Horsemen,’’ nothing more. The scene is left open to imagination envisaging the dangerous and wild desert nomads. And yet, it justifies the presentation of the Israeli national self as a righteous nation-in-arms. The dangerous and exotically wild ‘‘Arab’’ is further presented in the postcard titled ‘‘Personal weapon’’ (Palphot, #2828 SC). The postcard is a closeup of an ‘‘Arab’’ man’s waist. One is expected to conclude that he is ‘‘Arab’’ because of his traditional clothing, in particular the streaming fabric of his white kaffiyeh. Around his waist is a stressed-leather belt that attaches poorly at the brass buckle. However, it is the dagger, in its highly decorative sheath, that draws the viewers’ attention, as it is placed in the postcard’s center. From the title, the English-reading viewers learn that this is not a decorative dagPalphot’s Israeli Self : : 53

Figure 1.16. Arab children. ‘‘Arab children with a young camel.’’ Photo by G. Nalbandian © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

Figure 1.17. Arabs with swords. ‘‘Beduin [sic] Horsemen.’’ Photo by H. Dorfzaun © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

ger but a dagger intended for use: a weapon. The verso’s text states that it is a ‘‘Traditional Arab dagger.’’ The postcard demonstrates the dangerous, untrustworthy, and terroristic character of the ‘‘Arab.’’ Here, a small portion of the Palestinian man’s body and his dress is decontextualized from the rest of him, most importantly his face, and recontextualized to support Israel’s claim of the need for security for the nation. Unlike the defensive, state-issued automatic gun of the Israeli soldier, which is shown as pushed aside to make way for peaceful activities, this archaic weapon is shown to be close and ready to pull for quick and fatal attack. Here, the Palestinian, as ‘‘Arab,’’ is portrayed as representing a threatening fifth column. The ‘‘dangerous’’ Palestinian justifies the nation-in-arms by playing the roles of the ‘‘Arab’’ Other and the ‘‘Arab’’ enemy. He enables the Israelis to justify their occupation of the land and their dispossession of him and his people due to his dangerously criminal character. The text appears only in English and appeals to the Western-accepted stereotype of the Palestinian character. This postcard seems to elicit Western support for Israel through the depiction of a potentially violent ‘‘Arab’’ Other. One of the more peculiar postcards of this Palphotian genre is ‘‘In the courtyard of the Dome of the Rock’’ (Palphot, #1719 SC). The postcard may be seen as disrespectful, even blasphemous, to Muslims because of its acceptance as picturesque for all the wrong reasons. Ostensibly, the postcard shows the act of prayer at the entrance to al-Aqsa Mosque. The entire courtyard is full of hundreds of men prostrating themselves in prayer. But the seemingly innocent claim that Palphot is showing ‘‘Muslims at prayer at the Temple Mount, Jerusalem’’ is far from convincing.56 This is particularly so when considering the postcard’s intertextual relationship with postcards showing Israelis praying at the Western Wall. It should be recalled that Israelis are shown reading their prayers at the Wall, and when making contact with it, they touch the Wall and even kiss it. If the intimacy of the prayer is intended to be shown, it is represented through the close-up of the intimate touch of the hand or face against the stone. This intimate point of contact is the essence of showing the prayer. Similarly, Muslims make contact with the ground in prostration to God during their prayers. This is called the sajda. When the sajda is made, it is the forehead, the knees, the toes, the nose, and the palms of both hands touching the ground that are the intimate points of contact of the prayer. The simulPalphot’s Israeli Self : : 55

taneous statement of ‘‘Glory to my Lord, the Highest,’’ repeated during the sajda, is also important. However, this is not shown in the Palphot postcard. The viewers are given a back view of the sajda. Instead of the intimate contact of the prayer, the viewers see the Muslims’ vulnerable backsides. Intimacy with God is replaced with hundreds of human asses seemingly thrust in the viewers’ faces. And since the viewers are intended to be Western, by virtue of the English, Spanish, German, and French instructions on the verso, Palphot portrays the Muslims in a display offensive to Westerners. It is also offensive to Jewish people because it is being done on the Temple Mount. If, indeed, Palphot is choosing to show the way Muslims pray, then a more flattering picture could have been taken. In fact, a frontal view would have shown the intimate contact with the ground at this point and the beauty of the Dome of the Rock in the background. However, Palphot chose this snapshot to represent Muslim Palestinians, seemingly to poke fun at them and to highlight the Oriental method of prayer. It puts Muslim Palestinians in a vulnerable physical position. It creates amusement at their Otherness through the Freudian wit and release of sodomistic and flatulent repression possibly held by the viewers. Ultimately, this postcard distances Westerners from the Palestinians and encourages them to identify with the Israeli national self. The market experience of the Palestinians also is deemed picturesque enough for Palphot. However, unlike the picturesque quality of ‘‘Pickles tickle the palate!’’ (Palphot, #2668 SC), wherein the shopping experience of the Israeli market was shown to be clean and pleasant, the market scenes of the ‘‘Arabs’’ look chaotic, crowded, dark, and dangerous. In the postcard ‘‘Old City Market, Jerusalem,’’ such a scene is presented (Fig. 1.18). Here, it seems that two Western tourists make their way through the Palestinian market of East Jerusalem. The merchandise is poorly displayed, even blurred. The viewers can see neither what is sold nor the quality of the merchandise. It seems to be a lot of clothing and trinkets, maybe even some handbags. There is a certain darkness that prevails despite a small stream of light, which highlights the Western travelers and a small section of their pathway. In the darkness and off to the sides are ‘‘Arabs,’’ who seem to be passively tending their stores. The tourists are shown to be uneasy in this market. The man warily and tightly holds his fanny pack, which may contain his camera, his wallet, or his passport. The woman, who has dressed herself slightly like an ‘‘Arab’’ woman with a head scarf, wears her sunglasses, which give her a sense of ano56 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 1.18. ‘‘Old City Market, Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem, Old City market scene.’’ Photo by S. M[e]ndrea © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

nymity in the market. She holds herself close to her companion. It may seem to be a romantic hold, but very little is romantic about the dark scene except the appeal to Westerners of its old, Oriental flavor. These tourists make their way through the market without contact with the ‘‘Arab’’ shopkeepers, who seem to let them pass by without the pleasant interaction the shoppers get in the Palphotian version of the Israeli marketplace. Other tourists are behind them, but they, too, look down. They are looking at merchandise displayed on the ground, whereas the more important merchandise is usually displayed upward at eye level or above the head. There is no buying activity, nor is there the pleasant exchange between the people. It is dark, cold, uninviting, and somewhat claustrophobic. And if the viewer finds the ‘‘Arab’’ market an unpleasant experience, one can only imagine how difficult the ‘‘Arab’’ finds it. This seems to be the point of the postcard ‘‘Back from the market in Jerusalem’’ (Fig. 1.19). As an ‘‘Arab’’ woman approaches the exit to Damascus Gate, she carries a heavy load of greens wrapped in a dirty, ripped tarp. The oppressive load is actually balPalphot’s Israeli Self : : 57

Figure 1.19. ‘‘Back from the market in Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem, back from the market.’’ Photo by Sandu Mendrea © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

anced and carried upon her head. The Westerner, in contrast, often carries his/her purchases from a market in a clean handheld or over-the-shoulder bag. Even the Western men in front of her carry backpacks for their personal items. The scene makes the viewers cringe at the pain with which they can imagine the load upon her head. The weight of the viewers’ gaze is upon the load. The gaze is then directed upward at the towering, heavy stone walls, which add a certain pressure upon the load as well. It is seen as backward and even cruel to make the woman shop in this way. The image is an example of what Shohat identifies as a presentation made to distinguish between the First World, with which prevailing Israeli narrative identifies itself, and the Third World, which it eschews. According to Shohat, women carry jars and baskets upon their heads for practical reasons. However, the Israeli practice of picturing Palestinian women carrying jars and bundles upon their heads reduces the images of these women to Third World female stereotypes. It is what she calls an ‘‘exotic-artistic’’ practice of depiction. It is especially beneficial for Israeli self-presentation to contrast these women with Israeli women.57 A fine example is to contrast the postcard of Jewish work and the ḥălūtsāh (Palphot, #151) with this postcard. Nevertheless, Western viewers can delight in the foreign and Oriental method of shopping because of its appeal to the Western Orientalist interest and to the Western vicarious fantasy of what Orvar Löfgren calls, in his cultural study on vacationing, ‘‘a journey to elsewhereland.’’ 58 They may even be relieved that they are not in that woman’s place. This postcard gives the idea that the Palestinian shopping experience is as difficult for the locals as it may be for the Westerners. In its intertextual relationship with the other Palphot postcards, it makes the Western tourists prefer the methods of the Israeli shopping experience as proposed in ‘‘Pickles tickle the palate!’’ What is considered picturesque is an outcome of ideological reasoning. In other words, the views are worthy of display when they support the makers’ and viewers’ ideological outlooks. Palphot’s presentation of the Israeli national self can be termed ‘‘picturesque’’ when it supports the Zionist ideologies of itself and appeals to the Zionist ideologies of its viewers. As a result, an array of objects and scenes become picturesque themes and are capable of presenting Palphot’s version of the Israeli national self. When tropical fish, windsurfers, old landmarks, army commanders, and synagogues support the Zionist ideology, they become acceptable themes in presenting the national Palphot’s Israeli Self : : 59

self. Maps, alphabet, text, flags, food items, market scenes, and people, when used to support Zionist ideology, are added to the picturesque portfolio. When Zionism alters over the years or looks for ways in which to support Israeli political moves, more objects and scenes become picturesque themes. Jewish and Christian religious sites, Hasidim, selected peace treaties, and militarism are then able to become picturesque enough to be made into postcards. And when objects and scenes do not adhere to Zionist ideologies, keeping them out of postcard scenes enhances the picturesque quality. What becomes noteworthy, as well, is when Palphot’s picturesque uses, or rather misuses, the Palestinian Other in order to support Zionism and Israeli political superiority. Palphot, as a result, defers to the Orientalist standard of picturesque quality. Palphot creates knowledge of Israel and of Palestinians through its presentation of the Israeli national self. Whether shared with Israelis, exported to other nations, or displayed to Palestinians, the postcards provide socialfaced images of who Israelis are and how they are to be viewed. Moreover, they elicit political support and alignment from other, particularly Western, nations. Just how some Palestinians create knowledge of themselves and Israelis through their presentation of the Palestinian national self is to be explained in the following chapters.

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chapter two The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards

S

ome Palestinian-owned souvenir and book stores in Jerusalem still carry the remaining pre-Intifada (prior to 1987) and first Intifada period (1987–1993) postcard stocks. Such postcards feature the painted and sculptured works of Palestinian artists. They are mainly published by the Iben Rushd Publishing Company, although some are published by the artists themselves or unnoted companies. These dusty and slightly bent postcards are not set out among the highly visible displays of Palphot postcards sold in these Palestinian-owned stores. Whereas the Palphot postcards are displayed, for easy viewing and selection, in racks often located outside or at the threshold of the store door, these artwork postcards often have been relegated to less visible areas of the stores. In fact, one must specifically inquire as to where one could find ‘‘postcards made by Palestinians.’’ Once directed to them, the shopper must then

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take time to sift through the boxes, envelopes, and racks of disorganized postcards. Despite their age, remote location, and disorganized state, the postcards of these artists’ works are very important to an understanding of the evolutionary presentation of the Palestinian national self in postcards. Indeed, the postcards reflect concerns, limitations, and aspirations of more than a decade ago. They portray painted and sculpted scenes, made by Palestinians, of Palestine under direct Israeli occupation, as opposed to the photographed scenes that are made by Palestinians empowered with the experience of the first Intifada and the presence of the Palestinian National Authority in the late 1990s. The subjects of these earlier Palestinian postcards are the issues of who Palestinians are, what their place is in the world, what experiences they have and how they make sensible order of those experiences, what objects they hold dear, and what hopes and aspirations they have. Moreover, the fact that they can still be found, purchased, and sent keeps them within the present discourse of the struggle over self/Other identification, presentation, narration, and assertion. The available postcards fall into two clearly delimited categories that define the presentation of Palestinian national self. The first category depicts Palestinians as people who have become victims of politics. These postcards highlight powerlessness, oppression, resistance, despair, humiliation, and sometimes even hope. The second subject category depicts Palestinians as people who are enriched by their own heritage. These postcards present Palestinians as empowered people of farming and village lifestyles. They emphasize themes of agricultural work, cultural tools, and bounty. Subject categorization such as this relies upon the identification of a semiotic system. What becomes evident, from these postcards of artworks, is a conventionalized system of symbols that is used among the artists to depict Palestinians and their culture. In short, an acceptable visual parole has developed. Theoretically, once the viewers become aware of the semiotic system, or the meaningful connection between the chosen signifieds and their signifiers, and are able to decode it, they can begin to read, learn about, and identify the Palestinian nationality. In essence, then, the process of decoding these postcards involves establishing an understanding of Palestinian use of ‘‘key symbols,’’ and key symbols become a particular basis of knowledge about Palestinians. 62 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Sherry B. Ortner notes that key symbols reveal important meanings that pave the way for understanding a culture. Symbols that have substantial meaning, which are highlighted in juxtaposition to other meanings of the system, or which are cultural foci of interest, are considered to be ‘‘key.’’ A culture produces an abundance of key symbols. The viewers can identify key symbols because people from the native culture communicate to them that the symbols are ‘‘key.’’ Ortner says that this can occur when the natives state that ‘‘X’’ is culturally important, when they seem positively or negatively aroused about ‘‘X’’ rather than being indifferent to it, when ‘‘X’’ comes up in many different contexts, when there is greater cultural elaboration surrounding ‘‘X,’’ and when there are greater cultural restrictions surrounding ‘‘X.’’ These Palestinian artwork postcards demonstrate that there are a number of symbols that are featured and repeated, like the dove, the farming field, and the sun disk. The fact that these symbols are reproduced on postcards means that they are considered important for public viewing. Their use is not casual, but meant to be significant. They, along with other symbols, may be designated as key symbols in and of Palestinian culture. In general, Ortner further notes, the key symbols are expressed in the public system, ‘‘because the public symbol system is ultimately the only source from which the natives themselves discover, rediscover, and transform their own culture, generation after generation.’’ 1 Palestinian artwork that uses key symbols, and is later reproduced into postcard format, provides such opportunity for Palestinian culture. Many of these original paintings are dated as pre-Intifada and first Intifada artworks. In this time period Israeli oppression of Palestinian political identity was severe. Coded meaning, which left some room for ambiguity, was a way to communicate a presence and political messages while thwarting, sometimes unsuccessfully, military retaliation. It was difficult to arrange expositions of these artists’ paintings, and since there was no central or permanent place to display, the Palestinians’ opportunity to see these artworks and their key symbols was very limited. Most of the artworks found permanent display in foreign exhibition centers, so that the domestic ‘‘public system’’ could not readily view them. The postcard, however, allows a miniature to exist, in which the artwork can be reproduced, held in hand, offered for sale, exchanged, and possessed at an affordable price. It keeps the artwork within the domestic public system so that the native can benefit, an important consideration noted by Ortner. The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 63

In turn, the postcard provides the non-natives, the foreigners, the international neighbors, and the diasporic relatives an opportunity to discover, rediscover, and transform their own cultures in order to accommodate the presence of Palestinian culture. The postcard sent across frontiers and oceans carries these key symbols into other cultures, and presents the Palestinian culture that might otherwise be silenced and inaccessible for foreign consumption. Ortner’s discussion also shows that there are two particular types of key symbols, with particular functions, summarizing symbols and elaborating symbols. She notes that summarizing symbols are encompassing and sacred symbols which include objects of reverence and/or catalysts of emotion. They are conglomerates of ideas and feelings, which speak to the level of attitude and commitment. They are symbols that pertain to ideals that are larger than life and at the level of the reified. Ortner points out that the flag is a good example of a summarizing symbol, which collapses thoughts of patriotism, nationalism, and political and economic ideologies all at once into one symbol. When the symbol is viewed, it brings to mind this conglomerate of meanings without highlighting one meaning over the others. There are many such symbols in these Palestinian artist reproduction postcards: the dove, the flag, the sun disk, the land, Jerusalem, and the map of Palestine. There are also sacred and revered summarizing symbolic roles such as the heroic farmer, prisoner, martyr, mother, and children. However, there is also another important summarizing symbol, which extends Ortner’s definition: the Israeli, as summarily symbolized by barred doors, barbed wire, chains, and binding rope. Although this signified is not one that demands positive reverence and cultural respect for most Palestinians, it is one that is more than apparent and affective in Palestinian society. The Israeli must be depicted for identification of presence and also for definition of who is Palestinian and who is the Other. The Israeli galvanizes emotions, albeit those of suffering, anger, frustration, humiliation, and bewilderment. And yet, to depict the Israeli outright would have been difficult in this period. Israeli censorship of politically sensitive issues could have led to imprisonment of the artist. Instead, symbols of the occupation could replace the Israelis’ human form. These symbols collapse all the negative ideas and sentiments of oppression, occupation, imprisonment, and forced exile. It is just this collapsing capability that makes them so appropriate for use dur64 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

ing a period of Israeli censorship of Palestinian self-assertion and anti-Israeli protest. These symbols convey meaning without explicitly depicting the oppressor, thereby eluding censorship.2 They collapse the Israeli into inanimate, inhuman, alien, and cold objects on the surface. The Israeli represented in this way is endowed with qualities that stand in opposition to the human qualities of the Palestinian. The Israeli becomes animated, cruel, and overpowering in binding, holding, and separating, as when the chain, a symbol of occupation, comes into contact with the Palestinian body and self. The case of these postcards thereby extends Ortner’s definition. The summarizing symbol does not have to be emotive only in the positive, or ‘‘good,’’ sense, but can also be so in the negative, or ‘‘evil,’’ sense. Elaborating symbols, on the other hand, sort out complex feelings and ideas so that they can become comprehensible, communicable, and translatable into orderly action. Elaborating symbols can be broken into two subcategories: conceptual elaborating and action elaborating symbols. The former use root metaphors to provide cultural orientations for conceptualizing the order of experience and of the world. The latter use root paradigms or key scenarios, which are crucial to ordering successful action in life by providing cultural strategies. In the case of these postcards, key scenarios can depict strategies in the courageous sense of struggle, steadfastness, and rebellion or even in the victimized sense of lamentation, the suffering experience of imprisonment, or the pain of being a victim. Additionally, the key scenarios teach that it is just as good and strategically important for Palestinians to contemplate, consider, and even commemoratively grieve over victimization as it is to celebrate and glorify empowerment through courageous stands. In relation to the array of key symbols provided to viewers of these artwork postcards, the effort of identifying key symbolic types is important. Detection of key symbols helps to understand why certain symbols are used, what they intend to communicate, how they help in creating the two general subject categories of political victimization and heritage assertion postcards, and how the national self is presented. A postcard that is easy to decode and therefore a good illustration of the strategic use of key symbols is Rehab Nammari’s ‘‘I’ll Get There’’ (Fig. 2.1). The title is provided on the postcard’s verso in Arabic and English, as for all the postcards to be discussed in this chapter. It seems that the target market The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 65

Figure 2.1. ‘‘I’ll Get There’’ by Rehab Nammari © R. Nammari. Courtesy of Rehab Nammari.

excludes Israelis, since Hebrew is not accommodated. Here the Palestinian is portrayed as a political victim. At first look, one can see that the postcard depicts a dark, gigantic-sized thicket. Inside the thicket, a person dressed in orange is crawling and is weighted down by a heavy chain attached to the left arm. Just above the horizon, the light of the sun peaks through the gray skies and dark, ill-boding thicket. Through the identification of key symbols, one can understand the postcard as a depiction of the Palestinian as a victim of Israeli occupation. Moreover, the Palestinian can be recognized as being encouraged to struggle to reach a better life. This postcard, despite its simplicity, involves a total of seven ‘‘key symbols’’: the sun disk and the chain are summarizing symbols; color, pattern, the thicket, and the body are conceptual elaborating symbols; and struggle is the action elaborating symbol. The most obvious and immediately striking key symbols of the postcard are color and pattern. Here the differences in color and pattern allow for the orientation of experience to be sorted out and felt. In this picture, distinctions of color are not between hues but between light and dark tones, and pattern is characterized not by orderliness 66 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

but by chaos. The Palestinian experience of political despair can be likened to the darkness of the ominous thicket and the gray skies overhead. Darkness covers the source of light, and light becomes the opposite of political despair. The bright clothing of the person helps distinguish and emphasize the person in the thicket. It helps to differentiate the Palestinian body from the rest of the surrounding experience and provides it with a sense of relative value. The body, another conceptual elaborating key symbol, is meant to show a humanly experienced movement: crawling at a slow and agonizing pace through obstruction. The prickly thicket is a metaphor for the many obstacles that impede the body’s movement toward clearance and, hence, the Palestinian achievement of freedom and sovereignty. Additionally, the chain, the summarizing key symbol of Israeli oppression, occupation, and imprisonment, also weights down the body. The chain may be inanimate, but when tied to the wrist, it becomes alive as it impedes, binds, and pulls on the body. It prevents the body from reaching the summarizing symbol that is the opposite of the chain: the sun disk. The sun disk collapses all the characteristics opposing the chainlike life: hope, happiness, enlightenment, freedom, liberty, sovereignty, and a new beginning, or ‘‘there.’’ The key scenario, or the action elaborating key symbol, is one of tenacious struggle. The crawling body moves forward through the dark thicket. Despite the debilitating chain, the body moves toward the brightness of the sun. This postcard proclaims the culturally correct and successful course of living in Palestine. It tells Palestinians to continue their struggle to attain the values symbolized by the sun disk. By following the key scenario, the Palestinians will eventually ‘‘get there,’’ to the successful place of national paradise. Another example of key symbols used to depict victimization is the more detailed postcard of Issa Ebeedo’s ‘‘Prison’’ (Fig. 2.2). Here, the center of attention is the conceptual elaborating body parts of the foot and hand, both of which are clad in torn blue clothing. Immediately, one can see that the foot and hand are chained, again depicting the relationship the foot and hand have with the summarizing symbol of the Israeli. Together, the foot, hand, and chain connote the summarizing symbol of the heroic, but suffering, Palestinian prisoner. The hand extends out from behind a locked prison door. It holds a human heart, another body part, which looks as if it was ripped from the body. Its arteries dangle and entangle downwards across a portion The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 67

Figure 2.2. ‘‘Prison’’ by Issa Ebeedo © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd.

of the background. The background is divided into three sections, which will provide the orientation of three apparent, and ultimately four, key scenarios. On the left, two prisons are seen. Barbed wire surrounds the prisons, letting the viewer know that these structures have some relationship to the Israeli. In the center is Jerusalem. This is the portion of the background over which the human heart is centered and which the arteries cover. On the right of the picture is a barren land to which the foot is chained. The chain then angles upward into the sky and off the postcard’s top right corner. Three key scenarios are easily discernible based upon the summarizing symbols and conceptual elaborating symbols provided. All of them point to a form of imprisonment and lamentation of the political strife of Palestinians. The first key scenario is the Palestinian who is experiencing prison captivity under the Israeli. Here, even birds, which are flying about the prison yards, are seen to be freer than the human being. Secondly, the Palestinian heart has been ripped out from the body and held away from Jerusalem. Despite the heart’s distance, it still clings to the Palestinian capital through the distended arteries. The third key scenario shows the Palestinian foot held to a barren 68 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

ground by the Israeli chain. It shows that the Palestinian is held against his will in exile or refugee status. Two barred blocks, one blue and the other red, hold back a number of wailing bodies. These bodies symbolize the experiences of the diasporic relatives held back by the barred blocks. The chain extends into the sky, showing that the Israeli holds the Palestinian not only in exile but also until death. Once the Palestinian ascends to heaven, only then do the chain links begin to break and disappear. If one looks closer, there is a glimmer of hope because the ground to which the foot is tied is beginning to crack. Here, the foot must have resisted and struggled long enough against the chain for it to break free. It has begun to disengage the chain from the exiled space, and it may even have been partial cause for the breaking of the chain links ascending to heaven. The foot’s struggle symbolizes the continued struggle of Palestinians despite imprisonment, lamentation, and victimization. The color of the sky also provides clues to an interpretation of the fourth key scenario of the postcard. The sky over the desolate land of exile is the darkest one, the sky over Jerusalem is beginning to darken, and the sky over the prisons is beginning to become cloudy. The darkening sky seems to indicate an approaching storm. It points to a hierarchy of death scenarios wherein exile is certain spiritual death for Palestinians. This postcard reveals an interesting point concerning key symbols, where not every symbol used by the artist is ‘‘key.’’ Consider an analogy to written text, where some statements are key or are main ideas, and others are statements made to support and to contextualize the key or main points. Also, in a furnished room, there are some focal pieces of furniture, around which other knickknacks help to accentuate their appearance and existence. Similarly, these paintings have key symbols, with other symbols added to help support and contextualize those that are key. In no way does this mean to suggest that these contextualizing symbols are unimportant. In fact, these symbols by their very presence act as enhancers, as adjectives, and as tieins to the meaning of the key symbols. For example, in the portion of this postcard that shows the prisons, the birds are not key but act to enhance the existence of wire and the meaning of the wire. Here, birds sit upon the wire, resting, while others soar above them. They show how unnatural the wire is when marked in relation to the natural freedom of the birds. They show that the Israeli cannot imprison natural spirit. Therefore, the birds enhance the The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 69

Figure 2.3. ‘‘Land of Our Fathers’’ by Taleb Dwiek © Taleb Dwiek. Courtesy of Taleb Dwiek.

meaning of the wire. Their importance in the painting is to act as filler of context, and they can be looked upon as contextualizing symbols. Likewise, the ripped blue prison clothing helps to enhance the painful condition of the arm and leg. In a certain way, the key symbols find assistance in making their point from the contextualizing symbols. Artwork postcards have portrayed Palestinians, not only as political victims, but as people of the land with farming and village lifestyles. Here again, similar key symbols exist, with the addition of others supporting the agricultural heritage of Palestinians. Taleb Dwiek’s ‘‘Land of Our Fathers’’ (Fig. 2.3) is a good example. In this postcard, the land is a central and key symbol. Land as summarizing key symbol collapses the thoughts of national homeland, origins, livelihood, and citizenship. Here, land is also summarizing in the sense that no portion of it is more important than another. As one views the postcard, land is everywhere, taking up the majority of the scene. It is larger than life. Although it is portioned out by use of color and pattern, not one field seems to be more important than any other. 70 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

And yet, color and pattern do portion it out into identifiable units of place. Again, they act as conceptual elaborating symbols, making land into fields and giving land value. The color and pattern provide the viewers with an understanding that man has transformed land into usable fields of vegetables, fruits, and grains. The green, yellow, orange, and blue colors and the hatchmarked, lined, and parquet patterns create the illusion of worked and diverse land use. They lead the viewers into believing that every inch of the land, up to the peak of the mountain, is being cultivated and harvested. It shows that the Palestinians have made the exalted land into a habitable place where they find sustenance and build their homes. The sky reflects the colors and patterns of the fields, which creates the illusion that the fields on earth mirror the ultimate paradise of heaven. It should be noted that in these types of postcards, the key symbols of color and pattern are expressed through variegated hues and orderly patterns. These postcards reflect utopian images. Alternatively, in the artist reproduction postcards of political victimization, color and pattern are often emphasized through oppositions of light and dark and depictions of chaos. Those postcards reflect images of oppression. The exalted life of the farmer is another summarizing key symbol. A farmer’s life, according to Ted Swedenburg, is a symbol of heroism that evokes the senses of freedom, health and heartiness, purity, assertiveness, resourcefulness, uncorrupted lineage, and sovereignty over destiny.3 The farmer lives in perfect harmony with the sacred land, wherein the land defines him, and he defines the land. The farmer’s role is the summarizing key symbol, but the body still remains separate as one of the conceptual elaborating key symbols. The six women in the postcard bend and stoop as they collect and cut the harvest of wheat in the foregrounded field. The bodies take common experiential positions of work, and the viewers can identify with the body movements. The homes behind, in this particular case, act as contextual signs. They blend into the fields and are not meant here to be highlighted as one of the more prominent symbols on the tableau. They do, however, enhance the idea that people are a part of the land, not only in cultivating it, but also in living close to it or on it. The key scenario shows that Palestinians do live on and work the land and have remained there with the tenacity of steadfastness. Far in the distance, but still in the midst of all the cultivation, is the Palestinian village. The Palestinian farming women come out to the village fields to work and reap their The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 71

Figure 2.4. ‘‘Bread of Tabbon’’ [sic] by Suliman Mansour © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd.

livelihood. Their livelihood is evident through the activities of the six women, with heaps of hay being the result. The result of their labor is also shown in the many cultivated fields behind them. As noted before, everywhere, every inch of land is cultivated. Even beyond the horizon, land has been cultivated and is reflected in the heavens above. Suliman Mansour’s ‘‘Bread of Tabbon [sic] (tābūn)’’ portrays the farmer through sources of nourishment (Fig. 2.4). In this artist reproduction postcard the village farmer is connotatively symbolized by the rustic simplicity of the meal painted as a still life. The health, heartiness, and purity of life come not only from work in the field but also from the diet that the work provides. The meal is a conceptual elaborating key symbol because it explains the particular experience of eating in the farmer’s life. It is composed of olives, garlic, onion, tomatoes, and country bread. Each food item gives different tastes, requires different harvesting, and demands different preparation. Some foods may be more important than others. The olives and the country bread are definitely key items because they are common staples, and the contextualiz-

72 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

ing symbols of the cloth and bowl help to show this point. Each works toward a collective spread, which by coincidence depicts Lévi-Strauss’ view of the raw and the cooked. Here, nature is transformed into culture. The olive is different from the onion and garlic in taste, source, cultivation, and preparation. The onion is sweet and taken directly from the ground. The garlic is sweet, taken from the ground, and roasted. The olives, however, are taken from the tree, selected for pickling, slightly sliced to open the fruit to penetration of the brine, and stored away for brine cooking. The tomatoes are different from the bread, as one is taken directly from the plant, and the other requires a lengthy process of cultivation and preparation. The wheat must not only be ground and transformed into dough, but it must also be baked in a tābūn (oven) in order to create the tasty, textured food that is considered country bread. As contextualizing symbols, the swaddling cloth and ceramic bowl culturally differentiate the ‘‘cooked’’ bread, olives, and garlic from the rough background of the table’s naturally deteriorating, rustic finish. As key scenario, ‘‘Bread of Tabbon’’ shows the simplicity of the farmer’s diet, which relies upon the land itself and cooking processes based on traditional methods. When the land is cultivated with care, the land provides the farmer with just what he needs. In recognizing and consuming this type of meal, even if only visually, one can partake in the heroic stature of the farmer. And partaking in the stature of the farmer, according to Swedenburg, is an important way for Palestinians to create a sense of having an identity. In identifying with the farmer, Palestinians can portray their unified, patriotic opposition to the Israeli conquest of land, the Israeli dissolution of Palestinian villages, and the Israeli denial of Palestinian national identity.4 As mentioned already, reproduced artworks in postcard form can be classified into two subject categories. One shows the Palestinian as a political victim and the other as a human being enriched by the heritage derived from a farming and village culture. Some artists are known to present the Palestinians in both roles, and are therefore not limited to one approach or the other. For example, Nabil Anani has two postcards printed by Iben Rushd Publishing, and both are dated as work completed in 1980. Anani’s ‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ shows the Palestinian as political victim through the key symbols of rope binding and lifting human arms (Fig. 2.5). A sea of blood has accumulated around the arms from the rains of blood emanating from the sky.

The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 73

Figure 2.5. ‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ by Nabil Anani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd.

Blood as summarizing symbol collapses not only the flow of life, but death from martyrdom and murder. It encompasses the heroic spill of Palestinians and the life stolen by the Israelis. The heavens rain down blood, and in the sea of blood the viewers can make out the chaotically patterned waves that are actually written text. They are repeated and mixed words of ‘‘In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful,’’ the beginning line of the fātiḥa prayer.5 Moreover, the crescent moon of Islam rises out of the blood’s horizon and out of the heap of words. The moon, as summarizing symbol of Islam, encompasses not only the religion but its victory of eternal life over death. It seems to uphold the hands, like the rope, but in a more benevolent manner. Encompassed in the bound arms are the barred door and the bodies of children. The children, who collapse the meanings of innocence, fragility, hope, family, and future, are those whom the arms should in their natural state encompass with a protecting hold. The rope, i.e., the Israeli, keeps them from doing so. The children express dejection, sadness, and loss of direction. The postcard entitled ‘‘Folk Designs’’ is a reproduced Anani painting of a mother who is pregnant with three unborn girls (Fig. 2.6). The girls are marked as unborn by the absence of life in their eyes. Moreover, their clothes and faces have not gained the colorfulness of the mother, although they seem to be genetically prepared to do so by their embroidered dresses and sculpted faces. The mother is a symbol of Palestine not only in painting but in literature, too.6 The mother is a summarizing symbol of all the nurturing, protection, fertility, love, care, beauty, and purity of Palestine. She is adorned and surrounded by the brightly colored and neatly detailed patterned representations of the embroidered dress and cloth, one of the great handicraft works of Palestinian women. Such a frame provides her high cultural value. Embroidered dress is a symbol that has recently been highlighted as key symbol of Palestinian culture with the postcard and heritage projects of Maha Saca (see Chapter 6). At the bottom of her dress one sees windows, which indicate her relationship to the home. Her symbolic form, which has been described as summarizing, is changed, given a conceptual elaborating function here. On this level, she is also acting as a root metaphor of the home. When one thinks of one’s mother, one thinks of home because it is the mother who organizes the homestead and the experience of home life. Ortner notes that it is quite possible for summarizing symbols to be recast to function as elaborating symbols: The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 75

Figure 2.6. ‘‘Folk Designs’’ by Nabil Anani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd.

some summarizing symbols may play important ordering functions, as when they relate the respondent not merely to a cluster of high level assumptions and values, but to a particular scenario which may be replayed in ongoing life. . . . Thus we are brought to an important point, namely, that we are distinguishing not only types of symbols, but types of symbolic functions. These functions may be performed by any given symbol—at different times, or in different contexts, or even simultaneously by different ‘‘levels’’ of its meaning.7

Among the Palestinian artists whose work appears on the available artwork postcards, Kamel Moghani is one of the finest and most often featured. Moghani is not only an artist, but he is a professor of art at An-Najah University in Nablus. Moghani is also one of the artists who have presented the Palestinian national self through both subject categories of political victims and heritage-enriched people. Currently, he uses a strategy that depicts Palestinians as certain of national identity, while living in a domestic political realm of uncertainty. Moghani labels the ‘‘periods’’ of his career in art as: the Political Period, 1972–1981; the Heritage Period, 1981–1991; and the Abstraction Period, 1991–present. Works from the first two periods have been reproduced on postcards by Iben Rushd and other, unnamed publishing companies. The recent period, which he calls ‘‘Abstractive,’’ has been featured on the Internet and An-Najah University’s 1998 official university calendar.8 However, as the artist points out, the specification of periods by date is slightly misleading. Moghani’s work is a process where one period does not really end but slides into the next. The viewers who survey a collection of postcards featuring Moghani’s work will see strong political tendencies in the first period, where the artist is a militant political member of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP). In this period of work, one can see the anger, the frustration, the pain and suffering of his experiences under Israeli occupation, including what he proclaims as his three years of imprisonment (1969–1972) for his activity and membership in the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO). The artist slides into the Heritage Period as the state of politics changes, as he mellows politically, and even as he believes himself to be eschewing politics. According to Moghani, depiction of blood and gore became unnecessary

The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 77

when staking national claim to the land. He claims that he and other Palestinian artists had learned that the claim of nationhood was no longer dependent upon war. Heritage became the more acceptable and better part of nationalism. For Moghani, the national struggle rests upon a belief that the Israelis cannot be beaten in a war of violence and blood, but they can be beaten through heritage. Extending back to the Canaanites, according to Moghani, Palestinian heritage is rich. This rich heritage, he believes, not even the Israelis can claim. However, his Heritage Period, as can be seen by his references to beating the Israelis, is still highly political. As will be shown later, politics existed and still exists today in his Abstraction Period, but it is the key symbols that Moghani uses that have changed. The first Intifada is seen as an interruption of the Heritage Period, as Moghani felt the need to return to fight the Israelis head-on, and his Political Period seems to reemerge during the Heritage Period. Likewise, in the present Abstraction Period politics still dwells alongside heritage. However, each period has been turned away from direct confrontation with the Israeli and toward the Palestinian self. In the new era of the Palestinian National Authority, Moghani questions the direction of the Palestinians, who is leading them, and where they are going. This shift of attention, therefore, requires a new set of key symbols along with the old. The Political Period is easily discernible from the Heritage and Abstraction Periods because of the key symbols of color and pattern. Here dark and light orient experience between despair and hope. However, it is in the use of pattern that Moghani is most obvious. Chaos is not the center of attention, as has been noted in previously discussed artists’ works; his style employs strength and boldness in lines and angles. Assertive lines and angles point to a strong political conviction. They promote the key scenarios of struggle, and they often stand in opposition to the softer-lined and lighter-colored summarizing symbol of the dove. They often stand in opposition to the soft curve of the sun disk, although the color of the sun disk is usually dark. This darkened sun disk shows that the present situation is blocking out the effects of hope, enlightenment, happiness, freedom, liberty, and sovereignty. The sun disk is unable to stand in opposition to the darkness of despair. It is overpowered by despair. His 1976 painting ‘‘West Bank’’ was reproduced by Iben Rushd in postcard format (Fig. 2.7). As Moghani describes it, a female Palestinian student 78 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 2.7. ‘‘West Bank’’ by Kamel Moghani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd and Kamel Moghani.

named Lena Nablusi was killed in the city of Nablus. He claims that she was the victim of an Israeli sniper. She was part of a group of people who were protesting against the Israelis in the old city section of Nablus. The painting had drawn great reaction from the IDF. The original painting had been reproduced as a poster that many Palestinians had purchased, framed, and The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 79

displayed in their homes. Moghani recalls that when Israeli soldiers entered homes and saw this poster, they confiscated it. He believes that its possession became reason enough for arrest. Moreover, he notes, the IDF found it so offensive because of its call for armed resistance. A look at the key symbols will help determine what Moghani is trying to say and how it could be read as a call to weapons by the IDF. The color and strong lines are clearly evident in the postcard. The color is predominantly orange shades and black. Lightness comes from two objects: the summarizing symbol of the dove, which collapses peace, hope, and the related ideologies of freedom, sovereignty, prosperity, and life; and the candles, which actually act as a surrogate summarizing symbol for the sun disk. There are more candles in the painting, but these have been cropped in order to reproduce the painting in postcard format. Not only do the candles provide the light in the darkened portion of the canvas, where Lena’s head lies, but also their erect lines emphatically spell out her name in Arabic script. Lena is also outlined in the blackened halo, and the fingers of the large hand are strongly outlined. Lena symbolizes victimization: innocence abused, ruthless murder, and defeated Palestine. In counterpoint is the appearance of the summarizing symbol of the heroic fidā ī, who is Palestine’s guerrilla soldier, fighting from behind the lines to defeat the perpetrator and willing to sacrifice himself to avenge such murders. As already pointed out, the body as conceptual elaborating symbol is depicted three times. Once it is the dead body of Lena, who lies lifeless across the postcard. It is the body of a young woman who is denied her future role as mother. Her breasts are prominent and engorged with the fertile milk of motherhood, which will never be able to nourish the new Palestinian generation. Her curved corpse does not stand vertical, like the shape of the map of Palestine, but lies on its side, void of life and soul. One may not initially see the metonym of the female body to Palestine, because the dress Lena wears happens to cover the body like a death shroud. The dress slightly distorts her body. Yet the curve of the body underneath may be imagined through the human experience of viewing the female, or motherly, body. The nourishment from her body must be remembered from the common experience of birth and feeding from the mother. Lena’s body becomes a root metaphor via the congruence of her body and the map, and the fecundity of her body and 80 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

the land. Moghani was trying to depict the key scenario of the death, and Israeli-perpetrated murder, of Palestine with the use of Lena and her body. Behind her is the second instance of the body. The outstretched hand, with fingers spread, rises up from behind. It conveys the experience of frustration and brings forth a pleading question of ‘‘Why?’’ The face of the Palestinian freedom fighter looks from behind the hand, surveying the fallen body of Lena and contemplatively assessing the tragedy. It is the third instance of the body. His handsome face is given light with the white of his eyes. Each bodily pose describes the experience of the Palestinian through the tragedy: unwarranted death, bewildered contemplation, and the cry of frustration. Embedded in the hand and wrist are three inner-framed symbols, two circled shapes and an arch. At the wrist, where the body’s pulse is detectable, is the arched passageway of the old city of Nablus. Here, Moghani shows that the tragedy has taken place in the city. But not only that, it has taken place in the important conduit of the blood, or lifeline of the Palestinian hand and body. The murder did not happen where Palestinians did not belong but was perpetrated deep inside Palestine itself. In the left side of the hand’s palm is a hand grenade and on the right side are the sickle, the book, and the olive branch. Moghani says he wanted to call on all classes of Palestinians—students and intellectuals (the book), workers (the sickle), and farmers (the olive branch)—to stand up with armed resistance (the hand grenade) in order to obtain peace (the doves in hand). The IDF seemed to see only part of the key scenario: the armed struggle. It ignored the goal of peace. Iben Rushd Publishing Company has also made Moghani’s painting titled ‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ into a postcard (Fig. 2.8). In addition to relying on familiar key symbols to present victimization, Moghani develops the idea that Palestinians believe in the struggle for national expression and peace. Four strong lines draw the viewers’ attention: the chain, the extended and holding arms, and the trunk of the date palm. Here the chain covers the important summarizing key symbol of the map of Palestine. This abstracted map helps to summarize place, the shape of national territory, and the pre-1948 claim to land and homeland. In painting a chain along the length of Palestine, Moghani shows that Israelis have occupied the totality of the land. The map of Palestine depicted in Moghani’s paintings has, in the center, a hollow circle that represents Jerusalem, the claimed Palestinian capital. The circle in this painting does not have its full shape, because the chain is covering most of it. The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 81

Figure 2.8. ‘‘Prisoner’s Day’’ by Kamel Moghani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd and Kamel Moghani.

The next use of a strong line is the raised arm of the Palestinian man. He raises it upward to hold up the summarizing key symbol of the Palestinian flag. The flag summarizes Palestinian national presence and participation in the world, freedom, sovereignty, national spirit, and pride. Furthermore, its display prior to 1993 was considered illegal by the IDF, so to display it was a form of rebellion against the Israeli occupation. Although the man is helping to hold the flag up, one should note that the flag is bound by wire to the trunk of the date palm. Although it is flying, it is still bound by the Israeli, i.e., the wire. This key scenario indicates that, despite the display of Palestinian national spirit, the flag and the arm are still held back by the restraints of the Israeli. The body of the Palestinian man is really quite interesting. This is not the same Palestinian body that the Palphot postcards have presented to the world. This is the ‘‘Palestinian man,’’ the heroic prisoner, and the offspring of the farmer. He manifests his own strength and does not wait for others to give him his rights. His body—muscular, anatomically perfect, pridefully strong, athletically youthful, and unblemished—helps Palestinians conceptualize their cultural role. The trunk of the date palm is an important contextual symbol. It signifies in the Middle East a source of fruit that gives the body a quick boost of energy. That it is close to the muscular arm indicates its support of the strength of the body’s arm. The Palestinian body stands as competition to the construct of the ‘‘new Hebrew.’’ The Palestinian man’s horizontal arm holds the dove. The dove has the lightest and most noticeable color and therefore gives to the entire picture an illusion of peace. Since the Palestinian man holds this summarizing symbol, the postcard promotes the belief that the Palestinians strive for peace. Again, Moghani has developed the key scenario that the Palestinian, despite his life under the oppression and enslavement of the Israeli occupation, wants only to gain peace, while living within his country and with his own national identity. Once again, the sun disk as summarizing key symbol, pale in color, signifies the hope and, at the same time, the Palestinian quest denied. Moghani explains other shapes to the right of the picture, such as the portions of curved ovals, as ‘‘composition.’’ He does not emphasize their centrality as symbols. They act as contextual symbols that fill space and underline the visual appeal of the key symbols. His other paintings also contain such contextual symbols. The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 83

Also extremely important for the discussion of key symbols is his painting named ‘‘Thirst’’ (Fig. 2.9). Moghani is proud of this painting because of his visionary treatment of settlements in 1980 when the Begin Likudian government proposed an increase in building Israeli settlements within the Occupied Territories. The painting was created in 1980, just before a boom in the building of such settlements began in 1981. The postcard representation of ‘‘Thirst’’ shows the summarizing key symbol of the heroic farmer. His body sits upon the verdant land, while his agricultural tool, the pitchfork, is planted in the ground next to him. In his left hand he holds another tool, the water vessel. As conceptual elaborating key symbol, the water vessel is the common tool of quenching thirst in the fields. However, this time it is empty. The water has been diverted from the Palestinian village via the pipeline that enters the hills. Contrasting with the claylike color of the village, the bluish buildings in the distance appear unique. They are the buildings of the settlements. The water is being diverted from the farmer and his village to these settlements via the pipeline. The colors of the picture are important. First of all, the hills are verdant green, depicting the richness of the agricultural land. The dry tans, oranges, and browns of the village show the need the villagers have for water. The similarity in color of the sun disk and the surrounding sky shows that the atmospheric heat is visiting a corresponding heat on the village. The idea of water is carried in the bluish-white colors of the farmer’s clothes, his pitchfork, the water pipe, and the settlements. Not only does the water jug indicate the loss of water, but the color and pattern of the farmer’s clothes and his pitchfork indicate that his water supply is vanishing. His clothing is sparse, even shrinking in relation to the exposed orange complexion of his skin. His thin pitchfork is a weak conduit of the color of water. The color of water is moving upward in the pipeline, and the faraway settlement is receiving of the bluish color of water. As the water is drained from the village, it takes its toll upon the Palestinian who suffers from thirst. Moghani’s key scenario indicates that the settlement expansion project would take away an important resource of village and farming life. It would be an assault on the Palestinian hero and a destruction of the roots of Palestinian heritage. He was predicting an impending fatal disaster for Palestinians as a result of the new Israeli policy.

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Figure 2.9. ‘‘Thirst’’ by Kamel Moghani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd and Kamel Moghani.

Moghani’s Heritage Period is distinct from the Political Period because of his move away from the claim that Palestinians are political victims only and toward the claim that Palestinians are a people empowered by their own heritage. The distinction between the paintings is most evident in the types of key symbols he uses, and in depicting these symbols nothing is more obvious than the change in lines. In this period lines are no longer bold and straight but tempered and softened by curves. One such painting was reprinted upon an īd 9 greeting card and distributed by the Palestinian National Authority’s Qalqilya Municipality Office (Fig. 2.10). Unfortunately, the name of the painting was not printed on the card, but Moghani’s signature and the date 1983 are shown on the painting. This particular painting shows a woman holding a basket filled with oranges in one hand and a stem of oranges in the other hand. As is typical in a painting of the Heritage Period, the lines of the body, the oranges, the woman’s braided hair, and the basket are all curved. Behind her are the tabaq qashsh, or trays made of straw. The tabaq is a traditional, home-crafted tray or plate used by Palestinian farming women for baking bread. The tabaq is used to hold balls of dough and baked country bread. One could claim that it, as a tool, acts as a conceptual elaborating key symbol. However, its recontextualized vertical display in Moghani’s paintings converts it into a summarizing key symbol instead. Moghani displays the tabaq much like it is now displayed in Palestinian homes, as a flaglike symbol of heritage, to show the Palestinian connection to the farmer and cottage craft. The tabaq, with its bright color and its large disk shape, also is reminiscent of the sun disk. Here, the tabaq is placed in an overlapping relationship to the concentric circles of the sun and even becomes brighter and bigger than the sun disk. When depicted, the tabaq is always the brightestcolored symbol in the painting. Its color and pattern allot it great value in relation to the other symbols. Here, as he does elsewhere, Moghani transfers the values that are usually collapsed into the key symbol of the sun disk to the key symbol of the tabaq. Additionally, the tabaq has a tightly woven texture that gives the impression that the society and its connection to the farmer are tightly woven as well. As a summarizing symbol, the tabaq encompasses belief in social unity. Moghani even uses it to create a key scenario of ‘‘warning.’’ In his 1984 painting ‘‘Folkloric Rhythm,’’ which also was produced as a postcard, the tabaq is coming apart. In paintings of his Abstraction Period, he further uses this 86 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 2.10. Gaza oranges. Greeting card of Qalqilya Municipality. Artist Kamel Moghani. Courtesy of Kamel Moghani and the Anabta Municipality.

unwinding tabaq. His intention is to warn his compatriots to be careful in their endeavors so as not to let the unity of Palestinian society come apart. The 1983 painting named ‘‘The Mother,’’ reproduced also as a postcard, is another work of his Heritage Period (Fig. 2.11). This postcard is included in this discussion to show how Moghani uses the mother as a part of Palestinian heritage and thereby as a part of his struggle to create Palestinian identity. Here, a young woman is painted, her breasts highlighted with the embroidery of her dress. This young woman signifies a new generation of mothers through her youthful appearance as well as her highlighted, potentially milkfilled breasts. The young mother also stands in relation to the uqūd (sing. aqd), or arched homes, dispersed in the land. There are three uqūd, and each is in the shape of an older woman’s head. There are two that are close to the front of the picture, and another, which is farther back. A key scenario is developed here through the depicted sequence of familial descent and rejuvenation. As noted earlier, the mother is often used as an elaborating symbol for the home. Here, then, each mother provides a home, a shelter for her family. The young girl has not created a home as of yet, because she is still not a mother. However, when she does become a mother, she will establish her own home. Then she, too, will convert into another aqd. In fact, that may be the point of the three others. Here, three generations of Palestinian women exist as uqūd. Their connectedness intimates familial relationships of a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter. One has been pushed to the rear. This grandmother, or greatgrandmother of the young woman, is part of a generation that is passing away. It is as if the women/uqūd are making way for the young woman’s rite of passage into the lineage of motherhood, as the oldest generation steps back to allow her into the trio of three generations of mothers who normally live in any given time period. Behind her is the tabaq, which is a summarizing symbol for the farmer, the baking of bread and nourishment of the family, the handicraft of heritage, and social unity. Moghani’s presentation of the tabaq in this painting refers to the mother as the most important curator of the tabaq and therefore of farming life, family nourishment, heritage, and social unity. The sun disk also rises and is shown at different times of day. It marks the movement of time and the passing of lifetimes. In the lower right corner, it rises as if from under the land, moves over the great-grandmother as aqd, 88 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 2.11. ‘‘The Mother’’ by Kamel Moghani. Courtesy of Kamel Moghani.

turns into the tabaq at its brightest point, and continues upward until it fades away. The stepped staircase is a symbol that Moghani uses quite often. It is the upward pathway to the brightly lit sky of the tabaq and the array of values that the tabaq holds. A path is thereby presented. From the childhood home, the Palestinian can ascend to reach the ideals of national paradise. Again, Moghani uses composition, or contextualizing symbols, above the skyline to enhance the view of the sun disks. In 1987, the first Intifada began, and, just as with other social events of political strife and concern, such as the 1976 protest in Nablus and the massacres of Sabra and Shatilla,10 Moghani felt that he must paint the events that affected him so deeply. The Intifada enveloped the Palestinian population in the West Bank, Gaza, Israel, and the diaspora and forced many into social action. It would also draw in Moghani to the point that he would slip back to the techniques of his Political Period painting, while also keeping his Heritage Period technique. His paintings were reproduced in postcards known as the ‘‘Intifada Paintings.’’ Moghani recalls that these postcards made a lot of money, especially when they were sold by the publisher overseas to diasporic Palestinians. Two of the ‘‘Intifada Paintings’’ postcards are ‘‘The New Icon’’ (Fig. 2.12) and ‘‘The Birth of a State’’ (Fig. 2.13). In the 1988 painting ‘‘New Icon,’’ Moghani’s strong lines reemerge, along with the stark contrast in colors between light and dark. Here, the tableau is separated by a strong vertical orientation and a strong horizontal orientation creating a cross. This use of the cross is intertextually important because a body in the painting is shown crucified slightly to the right of the separation. The body alludes intertextually to Jesus Christ, not only in its conceptual elaborating symbolic position, but also in its exposed ribs and long hair. The head of the Palestinian body looks upward toward the sun disk to proclaim the hope of the Palestinians. Below the body are two mourners, similar to Mother Mary and Mary Magdalene. Moghani states that he is using intertextuality in this painting to show that the legendary Christian claim of the Jews having killed Christ is replayed here with the Israelis killing the Palestinians. The dark blue hue of suffering stands in stark contrast to the bright sun disk. The bright orange-red also stands in relation to the dark blue, giving the dark blue another meaning. The orange-red symbolizes the spill and flow of lifeblood, while the blue represents death. The blue is also contrasted with the 90 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 2.12. ‘‘New Icon’’ by Kamel Moghani. ‘‘Intifada Paintings.’’ Courtesy of Kamel Moghani.

Figure 2.13. ‘‘The Birth of a State’’ by Kamel Moghani. ‘‘Intifada Paintings.’’ Courtesy of Kamel Moghani.

color of the brown scrolled parchment. Moghani points out that the parchment symbolizes the experience of the bayānāt (sing. bayān), or leaflets, of the Intifada. The bayānāt, written instructions to the Palestinian population, were secretly distributed to the people by the Intifada leadership. The color of the bayān, in contrast to the blue, shows that the bayān spreads a glimmer of hope. Despair is symbolized by dark blue. The dark blue is also contrasted against the white dove of peace. Much of the key scenario is depicted through the opposing of colors. This dichotomy of colors signifies the scenario of struggle. Furthermore, all colors contrasting with the color blue are associated with greater morality, save only the color of the barbed wire. The barbed wire, the summarizing key symbol of the Israeli, also stands in contrast to the blue. In the fields of blue—suffering, death, mourning, and indirection—the lighter-colored barbed wire appears foreign and almost intrusive. Moghani seems to be showing that the Israeli is the cause of all these Palestinian experiences, and at the same time he is showing that the Israeli is intrusive to them. Although the Israeli is shown as a cause of this national anguish, the Israeli is out of place and should not participate in the national bereavement. Meanwhile, Moghani plays with the color by making it the same color as the dove. He mocks the Israeli claims of peace by contrasting the symbol of the dove to the barbed wire. He is pointing out that the Israeli claims of peace, no matter how they are colored, can never match the curved lines and softness of the dove. The Israeli still remains the same straight-lined, prickly barbed wire upon which the Palestinian is crucified. The dove comes of its free will to the Palestinian and sits upon the body’s arm, whereas the barbed wire takes the body by force and affixes it in a torturous pose. ‘‘The Birth of a State’’ was painted in 1989 and, in comparison to ‘‘New Icon,’’ seems to reflect more of the style of the Heritage Period. Moghani’s use of key symbols appears in this postcard as well. A Palestinian woman strikes a pose wherein her upright arms recall the common experience of raising and stretching the body upwards into the air. The opened hands are arresting, calling attention to the painting. The woman stands as the summarizing symbol of Palestine and now the rising up of a new state. The symmetry of her face gives her the value of beauty. Her brightly colored embroidered dress, in which the Canaanite star is embroidered, shows the beauty of her heritage. In other words, Moghani is showing his belief that the Palestinian heritage extends back to the Canaanite period. Her braid and the decoration around The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 93

her neckline look to be linearly arranged beads with holes in the middle. However, they are more than that. They are column and row of a heritage symbol: the jarra (pl. jirār), or pottery jar, in which olive oil is stored. The viewer is seeing the jirār from above, so that the holes are actually the mouth openings of the jars. It is a symbol that Moghani experiments with further in the Abstraction Period. Here, the jars act as part of the tools of heritage, which make up the female body of Palestine. The body of fertility is symbolized further by the contextualizing symbol of the flower, both the one rising out of her wrist and another in the pit of her left arm. This flower in her left arm is more symbolic than the other, as the halo around it should indicate. Her raised left arm, if visually followed from her fingertips down to her neckline, is shaped into a map reminiscent of Palestine. The haloed flower, therefore, marks the spot of the Palestinian-claimed capital of Jerusalem. The softly lined and colored dove of peace has laid an egg just on the edge of her left arm. Here, Moghani explains that, at the time, he believed in the confederation between the Palestinians and Jordanians. The laying of the egg between the signified West Bank and East Bank of the Jordan River meant that the peace would be obtained by a joining of the two nations. It is not unusual for Moghani to use alphabetically and numerically coded text in his paintings. Actually, it is quite common. Here, the painting has two such texts. First there is the date upon which the dove has laid its egg. This date is November 15, 1988, the date on which the Palestinian National Council (PNC) declared independence for the state of Palestine. The egg, therefore, enhances the meaning of the date because it signifies the blessing of the dove that has made the date its nest. The second text is painted in the rising sun disk. The sun disk rises above the land and past the darkened moon. After the eclipse, and high in the sky, the sun disk has received a message: ‘‘Peace upon us and the world.’’ Here the sun disk proclaims the entry of the Palestinian nation into the world, bestowing a blessing and greeting the world. ‘‘Birth of a State’’ is a proud and peaceful presentation of the Palestinian national self to the world of nations. Postcards from Moghani’s Abstraction Period have not been produced lately. As he explains, postcards are an expensive business. Not only do they have to be produced in great volume, but also they have to be distributed to retail shops. Since this is not something he chooses to do himself, he has to 94 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

rely on a publisher and distributor to do this work for him. He wants to spend his time painting, not peddling postcards. The Abstraction Period paintings, however, have been featured in An-Najah University’s official 1998 calendar. Briefly, the Abstraction Period is a period of new techniques using key symbols and canvas texture. In these paintings, the curved lines of the Heritage Period remain, but they tend to be set against a blurred background where lines are difficult to see. The blurred background becomes the conceptual elaborating symbol of an unknown, dreamlike, and even unrealistic future for Palestinians. The artist seems to express his disillusionment with the direction domestic politics has taken. Myopic domestic politics of party holds people in this state of unconsciousness. The key symbol of Jerusalem, formerly signified by empty circles, is now a circle filled with the Dome of the Rock, a signifier of Palestinian presence in and the importance of Jerusalem. But the shiny golden dome is blurred in his paintings, questioning the possibility of Palestinian sovereignty over Jerusalem ever becoming a reality. Despite the blurriness of the dome, the lines and hues of the heritage symbols remain curved, bright, and distinct because the artist still places his faith in Palestinian heritage. Nevertheless, the tabaq is shown to be unraveling and seems to warn Palestinians not to allow the unity and heritage to be destroyed. In turn, Moghani is pushing heritage to a new level in Palestinian society. He pointed out that the strong lines of the Political Period were meant to control the viewer’s vision. In the Heritage Period, and even more so the Abstraction Period, he was less interested in controlling and more interested in allowing the viewer to perceive. Also, his vertical use of the jarra is now placed in couples, creating the illusion of female breasts. He also places the coupled jirār in close proximity to the female body’s chest. Artwork postcards were an important method of presenting the Palestinian national self to Palestinians and to the world during a time when Israeli censorship and oppression of Palestinian identity were at their height. The artists’ works used a number of key symbols that signified important constructs of ideology, metaphors of experience, and scenarios of successful action. One of the benefits of using artwork to present the Palestinian national self is art’s ability to create, simply, ideal, even flawless, depictions of the self and to create, easily, villainous, even evil, depictions of the Other, i.e., the Israeli. However, these artworks created a national, social face that was The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards : : 95

utopian, homogenized, and even sanitized in both the assertion of heritage and presentation of victimization. Ted Swedenburg discusses the use of the farmer as ‘‘national signifier’’ and addresses the benefits and weaknesses in this portrayal of Palestinians. He points out that the picturesque, pastoral images, which centered around the key symbol of the farmer, created utopian and homogenous views of Palestinians: they live in peaceful harmony and are a culturally unified people. This approach was helpful during a period of expanding Israeli land conquest, the Israeli dissolution of Palestinian villages, and the Israeli denial of Palestinian identity. As a result, however, Palestinian perceptions of reality may have become skewed. Farming life is depicted as the national life of all Palestinians even when, as Swedenburg points out, only 30 percent of the population earned their living from farming their own land in 1990.11 Distinctions between social and economic classes, pacifists and traitors, and refugees and those living in the diaspora are wiped out when the farmer stands as the symbol of Palestinian life. A Palestinian farmer is shown as an independent, hardy smallholder devoid of regional traits or accents. Social distinctions are banished from the aestheticized village, which holds no place for the rich peasant, the sharecropper, or the agricultural laborer.12

Moreover, Swedenburg points out: Farmers in qumbazes and kufiyas [sic] (stereotypical peasant garb) guide plows, pulled by donkeys, through open fields. Women in brightly embroidered gowns delicately balance clay jugs of well-water on their heads and bake unleavened bread over small wood burning ovens. None of the signs of modern life one encounters more frequently in today’s West-Bank villages—tractors spewing diesel exhaust, TV antennas jutting from modern cement houses, teenagers lounging in Levis, sipping Coca-Cola—jar the rustic charm purveyed by the paintings’ imagery.13

The treatment of victimization could be looked at in the same way. In the artworks of victimization, the Palestinian is devoid of responsibility for political disunity, violence, and aggression. It is a utopianized view of victimization, 96 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

wherein the act is always cruelly premeditated, dramatic, extremely painful, and attributable only to the Other. Palestinians are collective victims of perpetrated acts, but they are never the perpetrators. The Israeli Other is depicted as the ultimate, evil oppressor of Palestinians and even of humanity as a whole. Israelis exist only in their interest to bind, hold, impede, imprison, and murder the Palestinian. Key symbols constitute one method of presenting the national self. Their effectiveness relies upon the viewers’ ability to decode the semiotic significances of the symbols so that the Palestinian national self can be read, understood, identified, and accepted. Their use can also create a basis for knowing Palestinians, even if based only on their social face. Artwork postcards portraying victimization and asserting heritage set forth the methodological basis underlying Palestinian depiction in some other of the present postcard projects. However, with the increased sense of empowerment after the first Intifada and the presence of the Palestinian National Authority, photographed scenes of Palestinians and their social faces have become more prevalent on postcards. Chapter 3 will discuss Mahfouz Abu Turk’s use of victimization in present-day photographs, which are made into and available as postcards and greeting cards. Here, the semiotics of good versus evil helps to construct and narrate the Palestinian national self.

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above ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Meeting of fighters at the Western Wall.’’ Photo by Sandu Mendrea © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot. below ‘‘Old City Jerusalem, September 25, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

right ‘‘Thirst’’ by Kamel Moghani © Iben Rushd Publishing Establishment. Courtesy of Iben Rushd and Kamel Moghani. below ‘‘Land of Our Fathers’’ by Taleb Dwiek © Taleb Dwiek. Courtesy of Taleb Dwiek.

above ‘‘Hora Jerusalem’’ [sic]. ‘‘Hora Jerusalem Dance Company opposite the Citadel, Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Lev Borodulin © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot. below ‘‘Al[-]Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem: September 27, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Jihad Abu Zneid. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

above Arab children. ‘‘Arab children with a young camel.’’ Photo by G. Nalbandian © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot. below ‘‘Palestine.’’ ‘‘Palestinian women practicing traditional Palestinian activities.’’ Photo by Nabil Diek © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

above Palestinian woman from Bethlehem. ‘‘Seasons Greetings. A Palestinian young woman in Bethlehem traditional bridal costume ‘Al-Malak’’’ [sic]. © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center. left ‘‘A Bedouin woman.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

above ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Jerusalem—Temple area.’’ © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot. below ‘‘Falafel—Israel’s national snack.’’ ‘‘A recipe to mail—Falafel.’’ Photo by Nisim Lev © Palphot, Ltd. Courtesy of Palphot.

‘‘Palestine.’’ ‘‘Freedom & Liberty for the Palestinian Land.’’ Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

left [Fig tree] ‘‘Beauty of Nature.’’ ‘‘Original Photo. By: Ziad Izzat. Ramallah, Palestine.’’ Courtesy of Ziad Izzat. below ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

chapter three The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self

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he presentation of the Palestinian national self as political victim can be found in the form of photographic greeting cards. Six such photographic greeting cards are for sale, along with the artists’ artworks postcards, in a Palestinian-owned Jerusalem store on the Via Dolorosa. They are not featured along with the Palphot postcards but are relegated to a back section of the store and mixed among a relatively unorganized post- and greeting card stock. This positioning has much to do with the way in which this version of the Palestinian national self is presented. It should be recalled that in the artworks postcards, Palestinian selfpresentations as victims were constructions of key symbols. The Palestinian, signified by an array of summarizing and elaborating key symbols, was shown as victim of the Israeli. The tools of occupation ambiguously signified the Israeli. In order to construct such key scenarios as victimization, oppression, 99

and, ultimately, struggle, the two signifieds, the Palestinian and the Israeli, had to share the same tableau despite their adversarial relationship. In the six greeting cards discussed in this chapter, the presentation of the national self as victim is constructed similarly. However, in these instances, painted symbols are replaced with photographic images and the ‘‘objectivity’’ with which the camera as evidential apparatus is credited.1 These particular cards do not present the tranquil experience in Palestine that, as Orvar Löfgren points out, tourists would likely look for as illustrative souvenirs to narrate their favorable experience on vacation.2 Palphot postcards, in contrast, fulfill the touristic need for ‘‘conservatism of scenic viewing’’ 3 and are thereby given the most prominent displays in a store. Moreover, the bold depictions of the Israelis in the greeting cards to be discussed in this chapter can be considered extremely offensive to the Israeli national self and can invite retaliation against the owner who offers them for sale. This ‘‘offensiveness’’ may be the reason why they are greeting cards, not postcards. The bold depictions need to be hidden inside an envelope to ensure safe passage, via the Israeli postal service, into the world. Here, within the same photograph, Palestinians show themselves as undeserving victims searching for ‘‘peace’’ and the Israeli national Other as wanton agents of aggressive political conduct and assassins of ‘‘peace.’’ An interesting reflexivity develops and quickly becomes a strategy in the Palestinian presentation of the national self. Presentation of the national self relies not only upon autodepiction but also upon the simultaneous and opposing depiction of the Other. It is a basic, formative strategy of knowledge via, to use Foucauldian terms, the use of sympathy and antipathy.4 Therefore, the presentation of the national self is a Janus-faced presentation, meaning there is a duality wherein one is as much as one is not. The six greeting cards are published by the Palestine Human Rights Information Center, headquartered in Jerusalem. The front faces of the cards are colored, photographic reproductions of clashes, or clash-related events, between Palestinian civilians and Israeli soldiers. Five of the photos were taken by Palestinian photographer Mahfouz Abu Turk and one by Palestinian photographer Jihad Abu Zneid. The work of Mahfouz Abu Turk is not limited to these photographic greeting cards alone. Much of his work has been published as posters and displayed as photographic exhibitions in the Palestinian Territories and in 100 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

countries around the world. All of his work is available for purchase by journalists and publishers. In his photographic work, Abu Turk intends to show the everyday suffering of Palestinians to people in other nations. At the same time, he wants his work to assure the Palestinians that their suffering is being documented. He believes that the exposure and discussion of Palestinian suffering are not being exploited enough as a political issue by the Palestinian National Authority. To foster greater world condemnation of Israeli actions against Palestinians, he photographs such controversial topics as Israeli confiscation of land, Israeli demolitions of Palestinian homes, daily life in Palestinian refugee camps, Palestinian martyrs and their funerals, Palestinian demonstrations against the Israeli occupation, and the interactions between Palestinian civilians and Israeli soldiers. Regardless of the topic, Abu Turk relies upon the presentation of the national self in terms of duality—a signature strategy of Abu Turk. His entextualization techniques of proximity, angle, and cropping are extremely important for the creation of the Janus-faced national self. Abu Turk gets dangerously close to the action in order to shoot his photographs. He claims that he pays a high price for this proximity, because the Israeli soldiers beat him, break his camera, and erase his film. This proximity ultimately places the viewer of the photograph right in the middle of Palestinian victimization. As well, the cropping of the photograph is very important to highlighting the human being and his emotions. It can even be used to diminish human qualities, particularly in the Israeli national Other. Abu Turk often crops off the heads or bodies of Israeli soldiers to make them appear less human. Inside these greeting cards there is Arabic and English text. A main slogan of ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem’’ is written in all the cards, in both languages, and in large, bold lettering. There are also captions referencing the photographs on the front, and they are written in both languages and in smaller lettering. It is here that the name of the photographer is mentioned. The text on the back of the card states the place and date of the photograph and the name, address, and telephone numbers of the Palestine Human Rights Information Center. Once again, this information is written in both Arabic and English. The photographed clashes occurred during the last week of September 1996 when the Israelis opened the Hasmonenan Tunnel in Jerusalem. As reported by ABC News, the tunnel opens near the Western Wall. From the The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 101

Wall, it runs about 1,200 feet under the Muslim Quarter and not far from the Dome of the Rock. The exit of the tunnel emerges in the Muslim Quarter at Via Dolorosa. Then Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu explained that the tunnel was opened as a sovereign Israeli decision to enhance tourist traffic. Palestinians saw the opening as a unilateral Israeli claim upon Jerusalem and a Jewish foray into Muslim turf. Palestinian demonstrations calling for the closure of the tunnel resulted in clashes with the IDF, the exchange of gunfire between the Palestinian police force and the IDF, and the IDF’s positioning of heavy artillery against Palestinian civilians. By September 29, ABC News reported sixty-four Palestinians were killed, fourteen Israeli soldiers were dead, and hundreds more on both sides had been injured.5 Time magazine reported that ‘‘the worst days of violence in three decades mark a sudden war of Israeli intransigence versus Palestinian rage.’’ 6 As a result, the Peace Process was in peril, and President Bill Clinton called both parties to Washington, D.C., to work out their differences. As stated by Clinton and broadcast on NBC News, I have invited Prime Minister Netanyahu and Chairman Arafat to come to Washington as soon as possible. They have accepted my invitation, as has King Hussein of Jordan. I’ve also invited President Mubarak of Egypt. He is seeing whether it is possible for him to attend. I expect the meetings to take place early this week. The United States has often played a pivotal role in bringing Arabs and Israelis together to work out their differences in peace. It is our responsibility to do whatever we can to protect the peace process and to help move it forward. This is such a moment.7

The discourse of ‘‘peace’’ defines how the presentation of the Palestinian national self is constructed in these greeting cards. It will define the basis of knowledge the viewers are expected to acquire about Palestinians. All five parties—Israel, the Palestinian National Authority, Jordan, Egypt, and the United States—have publicly claimed to value the issue of ‘‘peace’’ and the Peace Process in the Middle East. ‘‘Peace’’ becomes a Foucauldian proposed ‘‘order of the grid,’’ the ‘‘inner law’’ of the world of nations, the ‘‘hidden network’’ that determines the way national selves confront one another, and thus the basis of determining knowledge about the nation among nations.8 How-

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ever, the definition of ‘‘peace’’ is ambiguous and subject to political interpretations and manipulations. The public announcement of affiliation with the term ‘‘peace,’’ and not the term’s meaning, seems to fit Goffman’s idea of the ‘‘veneer of consensus’’ among national participants. Invocation of ‘‘peace,’’ reverence for it, devotion to it, and rightly positioning oneself in relation to it seem to be the ‘‘situational proprieties,’’ another fitting term coined by Goffman.9 The one who adheres to and acts in accordance with the acceptable notion of ‘‘peace’’ lays claim to national legitimacy in the eyes of the other participating nations, particularly the United States, and of the world of nations. The nation that is in violation of ‘‘peace’’ is placed in the far corner of the grid, is marked as a nonconformist, and forfeits its rights to such legitimacy. ‘‘Peace,’’ then, becomes the medial point and ordering theme of reflexive depiction. The greeting cards attempt to show how the national self exists in relation to ‘‘peace’’ and how the national Other exists in relation to ‘‘peace.’’ The Janus-faced national self is constructed with images of good versus evil, rationalism versus aggression, human versus inhuman, emotion versus nonemotion, victim versus perpetrator, weak versus strong, civilian versus soldier, empathy versus enmity, right versus wrong, and even color vibrancy versus drabness. As a result, the greeting cards claim national legitimacy and global participation for the Palestinians and repudiate Israeli rights to such legitimacy and even such participation. Moreover, the greeting cards claim Palestinian legitimacy in and rightful sovereignty over Jerusalem, and disacknowledge Israeli claims of legitimacy and sovereignty over the sacred city. In short, they establish the duality of legitimacy versus illegitimacy. All of this, of course, relies upon the judgment and agreement of the viewers for which the greeting cards are designed. The greeting cards attempt to elicit and then to control the participation, impressions, and inferences of the viewers in order to benefit the Palestinian national self. They seek to play on thoughts of sympathy versus alienation. Borrowing from Goffman, ‘‘this control is achieved largely by influencing the definition of the situation [‘peace’] which the others come to formulate.’’ 10 Manipulating the gaze is important here. Photographs are taken to enhance the viewers’ gaze so as to make the viewers participate in the event and to force their judgment. Text also helps,

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Figure 3.1. ‘‘Old City Jerusalem, September 25, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

as it leads and even limits the viewers’ knowledge of the event and forces them to accept the interpretation presented by the greeting card. The use of the English and Arabic text to further describe the national self supports the assumption that the primarily, but not exclusively, intended viewers are either residents of an Arab country or residents of the West. The first in this series of the six greeting cards is identified geographically and dated as ‘‘Old City, Jerusalem: September 25, 1996’’ (Fig. 3.1). Mahfouz Abu Turk took the photograph. The viewer is presented with a chaotic scene on the stepped walkway of the Old City. Eight Israeli soldiers in riot gear—helmets, bulletproof vests, and riot sticks—hover over a Palestinian man dressed in civilian clothing and squatting on the ground. One soldier grabs the man by the head with one hand as if to knock him off balance; his other hand holds tightly to the riot stick. His bent stance pulls up his bulletproof vest and reveals the lower portion of his pistol holster. Another soldier, with a riot stick in hand, seems to grab for the man’s pocket. Still another soldier steadies this soldier’s stance with one hand while holding a black billy club in the other. Two more soldiers stand back to assess the subdued man. 104 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Another one looks right, and away from the man, indicating another skirmish to the right and off the picture, and two more participate in the pinning down of the Palestinian man in the center of the picture. All around the center of the picture are other soldiers. One is noticeable only by his riot stick in the front of the photograph, others have their attention directed to the right and off the photograph, and one walks around the central skirmish. His eyes are diverted toward the ground and not at the spectacle of the scene. Two Palestinian women watch from a distance. One cries out in protest over the event of the skirmish. The activity of the other woman is difficult to make out because the soldier who avoids the skirmish hides her. The body of a tourist wearing a white T-shirt, shorts, and athletic shoes is partially in the picture. He poses his camera to take a picture of the clash. From the photograph alone, and without the text, one can determine a key scenario: the Palestinian is being subdued by a group of Israeli soldiers. The use of duality helps to enhance the key scenario in order to bring the emotive responses of the viewers into agreement with the presentation of the Palestinian national self. The Palestinian man is a single civilian; the Israeli soldiers are a well-trained and heavily equipped gang. The unarmed Palestinian is subdued into a vulnerable position while the Israeli soldiers swarm him, violate his body, and threaten him with sticks. The position of the Palestinian, his facial expression, and his hand rising in submission connote a loss of power and dignity, while the Israeli soldiers stand, grab him, and brandish their sticks, thereby connoting power and control. The skirmish is captured by the camera lens, which ultimately fixes the viewers’ gaze. The viewers have been given a privileged view. In the entire photograph only four faces are visible: those of the Palestinian man; the Palestinian woman in the background; the Israeli soldier with eyes diverted; and another soldier in the background, wearing sunglasses and with his attention on the activity off to the right. The viewers’ gaze first falls upon the Palestinian man, whose face makes the viewers perceive and recognize him as a human being with emotions. The viewers see and empathize with his bewilderment and fear. They feel his surrender to the overpowering force. Their perception of the Palestinian stands in opposition to their perception of the Israeli soldiers. Here, soldiers have no faces. The riot gear, the sunglasses, the darkness of shade, and the body positions hide their faces, partially and The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 105

fully. The Israelis become bodies, devoid of empathetic human expressions. Instead, their strong arms and riot gear, especially their riot sticks, represent them. If they can be viewed as humans, it is only in the sense of their emotion of anger and their act of aggression. The viewers are denied the chance to make human contact with the Israeli soldiers through their facial expressions, especially through their eyes. The viewers, however, are able to make contact with the woman on the outside who cries out in protest over Israeli action. Abu Turk is actually educating the viewers in how to react to the event before them through the woman. To borrow from John R. Clarke’s work on erotic art in the Augustan age, the device of having a figure within the pictorial space look out to address the viewers actually heightens the viewers’ awareness that they are voyeurs.11 In this case, Abu Turk keeps the woman within his photographic field so that the woman and her reaction heighten the viewers’ awareness that they are viewing an act of violence, an indignity that should be condemned. They are directed to connect with her on this human emotional level. They share the outrage over the event being displayed before the woman and themselves. The colors of her clothes—purple, black, and white, as contrasted with the drab-colored uniforms of the soldiers—emphasize her presence. Unfortunately, though she cries out in protest, her voice is silenced by her distance and is frozen in the perpetual stillness of the photograph. And so, the Palestinian woman is victimized as well because her pleas are not acknowledged by the Israeli soldiers and cannot be heard by the nations of the world. The viewers must substitute their voices for her own. In contrast, the viewers’ gaze stands in opposition to the two Israeli soldiers distinguishable by their faces. The men are caught choosing to look the other way, as one hides behind his darkened glasses and the other diverts his eyes from the scene. The viewers’ gaze is locked into the scene at hand. Not only does the one soldier divert his eyes, but also he ignores the plea of the woman who echoes that of the viewers. He is presented as inhuman by virtue of his inhuman lack of response. The body of the foreign tourist does connect with the viewers despite his lack of face. His humanity is embodied in the brightness of his white T-shirt and the lens of his camera. His pointing of the camera at the same skirmish the viewers see validates his awareness of the situation and, at the same time, heightens the viewers’ awareness of the situation. He, too, sees it as impor106 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

tant, and he attempts to capture it as photographic evidence. His action even points out the picturesque quality of the event. Although his face cannot be seen, his camera becomes an extension of his eyes. The gaze of his camera meets the gaze of Abu Turk’s camera and ultimately the gaze of the viewers. Inside this greeting card, as has been noted earlier, is text pertaining to the picture just discussed. The picture’s meaning is no longer defined only by the view it displays. It is enhanced by the text, and, at the same time, it is constricted to the meaning of the textual description. Firstly, it proposes a new order with which to consider the photographed event and with which to develop a renewed knowledge of Palestinians and Israeli Others. The text begins with the slogan ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ In the invocation of ‘‘peace,’’ along with the display of the scene on the card’s front, the text has decontextualized the event from its visual interpretation alone and recontextualized it into a newly meaningful event. Secondly, the viewers are commanded, indirectly through the injunction to pray, to place the elements in the scene into an additional Janus-faced stance, one on the rightful side of ‘‘peace’’ and the other on the opposite or wrongful side of ‘‘peace.’’ Each body is placed into this ordered dialectic in the process. The textually bound photograph urges the viewers to regard the Israeli soldiers as perpetrators against ‘‘peace.’’ In spite of the ‘‘peace,’’ they brandish force with weapons, they wear military uniforms, and they ignore the assault on a civilian. They act and stand on the side opposite of ‘‘peace.’’ In the context of the command to pray for ‘‘peace,’’ the viewers have no choice but to condemn these Israeli actions. The photograph and slogan work intertextually and can be described as ‘‘iconotext.’’ Peter Wagner points out the use of this hybrid sign, found in his study of eighteenth-century prints. According to Wagner, iconotexts are constructed from picture, text, and intertextual meaning and use ‘‘rhetorical strategy in an appeal to the spectator’s mentalité and knowledge of discourse and images.’’ 12 Seen as iconotexts, the greeting cards highlight the Israeli approach to ‘‘peace’’ in Jerusalem as duplicitous. In these Palestinian greeting cards, the photographs of Israeli soldiers on the offensive are presented in opposition to those of the Palphot postcards, which confront the tourists in obvious postcard displays throughout Jerusalem. The Palphot postcards present Israeli soldiers as men who stand in defense, are in peaceful stance, and take time out to pray at the Western Wall. Moreover, the slogan in the The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 107

greeting cards is similar to a Jewish weekday prayer, for the peace of Jerusalem, that states, And turn in compassion to Jerusalem, Your city. Let there be peace in her gates, quietness in the hearts of her inhabitants. Let Your Torah go forth from Zion and Your word from Jerusalem. Blessed is the Lord, who gives peace to Jerusalem.13

And if the viewers are not able, on their own, to readily see the paradox of Jewish prayers for peace and the Israeli acts of violence in Jerusalem, further instruction is provided by captioned text as a fail-safe measure. More text is given to recontextualize the photographed event: Israeli police beat a Palestinian participating in a peaceful march in protest of the opening of the Hasmonenan tunnel in Jerusalem’s Old City. Palestini[an]s witnessed the single most bloody week of events following the Six Day War—62 Palestinians died and over 1500 were injured during clashes with Israeli troops. Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk.

The text is meant to ensure that the Israeli is seen as the opponent of ‘‘peace’’ and the Palestinian is verified as a proponent of ‘‘peace.’’ The Palestinian is being beaten, and other Palestinians peacefully protest the Israeli offensive in their own section of the city. Palestinians, as a collective group of civilians, suffer high casualties inflicted by the military apparatus of the Israeli state. Moreover, the text as alphabetic symbol places the Palestinian on the side of ‘‘peace’’ and the Israeli on the opposite side. Here, texts in Arabic and English—but not Hebrew—call for ‘‘peace’’ in Jerusalem. Hebrew only appears as the alphabetic signs, written on the chests of the violence-wielding soldiers, stating, mishtārāh.14 Arabic and English are placed side by side, providing the same meaning and calling for the same thing: ‘‘peace.’’ Arabic and English even show themselves side by side in the photographed optician and dentist signs seen behind the skirmish. If language is a distinguishing feature of national identity, then when it speaks of ‘‘peace’’ it endows the language’s nation with legitimacy among the world of nations. When it is shown to speak against ‘‘peace,’’ in this case connotatively, it relinquishes this legitimacy. Another greeting card in the series of six employs a similar strategy of 108 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 3.2. ‘‘Old City Jerusalem, September 27, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

Janus-faced presentation. This card is dated September 27, 1996, and is set in the Old City, Jerusalem. It is Abu Turk’s photograph of a Palestinian boy walking past a column of Israeli soldiers (Fig. 3.2). The innocence of the boy is stressed by the fact that he fearlessly walks alone, without adult escort, past the eleven soldiers who hold their riot sticks and rifles. The right edge of the photograph shows a soldier’s hand, but not his whole body. The hand is close to the trigger of an M-16, though the group of soldiers is not ostensibly in an immediate state of alert. As the small boy walks by, some of the Israeli soldiers watch him. Even they seem to realize the oddness of the child’s presence among them. One soldier motions toward him as if to alert his fellow soldiers to the child’s presence. The child looks down at the soldiers’ heavy black boots that stand in stark contrast to his small and delicate feet stuck in sandals with the toes exposed. It is this distinction between armed soldiers and innocent child to which Abu Turk draws the viewers’ attention. The Palestinian child, drably clad in green and black, is surrounded by oversized, drab army-green and black, uniformed bodies that are armed with weapons. However, even some of these The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 109

uniformed bodies are given some identification, unlike most in the previous greeting card. Here, some soldiers’ faces are visible and show that they are youths themselves. Nevertheless, the Israeli state apparatus, forcing them to wear uniforms and rifles, has twisted their youth. The Palestinian child is shown as trustingly peaceful, while the Israeli youths are shown as powerful and potentially aggressive. Palestinians are not only presented as peaceful, but they are also claimed as culturally different from the Israelis in their raising of children with respect for peaceful life. In this card, the small boy symbolizes the Palestinian national self, and the Israeli boy-soldiers become signifiers of the Israeli national Other. Together, they reflect the Palestinian national self in Janus-faced presentation. The text transforms the photograph’s meaning and helps to point the viewers’ assumptions in this direction: Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem . . . Armed Israeli border guards stand along the Old City streets preventing Palestinians from reaching Al-Aqsa mosque for Friday prayers. Israeli Police opened fire on worshippers killing 3 Palestinians and injuring dozens. Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk.

The next two greeting cards, dated September 27, 1996, show Israelis opening fire on worshippers at al-Aqsa Mosque, the third-holiest place in Islam. In the first card, Palestinians are shown as peaceful people in their roles as religious worshippers in Jerusalem (Fig. 3.3). Although the people are not visible, the vast numbers of their shoes that are left outside the mosque represent them. The shoes indicate a ‘‘time-out’’ period from earthly confrontational concerns spent in religiously pious activity. It should be a time when human beings respect another’s right to peaceful worship. Additionally, an arm of a Palestinian man is visible from inside the mosque’s entryway and shows that there is indeed life inside the mosque. In opposition, Israelis are shown in riot gear converging upon the mosque. From them a puff of smoke emerges. It is a shot fired from one of their rifles. While the Palestinians are depicted as praying, pious, and peaceful people, the Israelis are shown as invading, desecrating, and violent people. Viewers are also placed in opposition to the Israeli troops, as they look from a Palestinian view. The viewers’ position is much like that of the Palestinian man with the exposed arm reaching outside the mosque entryway. The viewers look at the soldiers, and the gunfire is pointed at the viewers. It is an as110 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 3.3. ‘‘Al-Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem: September 27, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

sault upon the viewers as much as it is an assault upon the Palestinians in the mosque. The text further places the viewers within the scene: Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem . . . Israeli police open fire on Muslim worshippers at Jerusalem’s Al-Aqsa mosque, killing three Palestinians and injuring dozens. Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk.

The viewers are not only placed within the scene as witnesses, but also in range of the Israeli fire. Still, the viewers are left unscathed and, as the creator hopes and intends, outraged by the assault. The next greeting card features a photograph that follows the Israeli line of fire (Fig. 3.4). The view is from the entryway of the al-Aqsa Mosque, looking outward toward the courtyard of al-ḥaram al-sharīf. Blood stains the large stone slabs of the mosque’s entryway. Shoes lie scattered about. They are as much in disarray as the bewildered Palestinian worshippers who scurry for cover. One youth makes a dash through the smeared blood on the ground. A prayer rug lies in the middle of the spilled blood. A piece of white paper lies The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 111

Figure 3.4. ‘‘Al[-]Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem: September 27, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

on the ground, and, in its whiteness, it highlights the darkness of the deep red blood. An arm from the right of the photograph’s frame points outward to the courtyard and directs the viewers’ gaze. The arm points to the cause of the spilled blood—Israeli soldiers in the courtyard. Again, the text of the card endows the photograph with a new meaning and places the Israelis in contrast to the peaceful Palestinians. Moreover, like the previously discussed greeting card, it accords al-Aqsa Mosque status as a Palestinian place of ‘‘peace’’ within Jerusalem and thereby claims that Palestinian areas of Jerusalem are inherently peaceful: Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem . . . Blood from Muslim worshippers shot by Israeli police during Friday prayers at Jerusalem’s Al-Aqsa mosque. Three Palestinians were killed and dozens were injured. Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk.

The last two of these greeting cards deal with peaceful Palestinian protest. The first of these two cards is dated September 27, 1996, set at al-Aqsa Mosque, and photographed by Jihad Abu Zneid (Fig. 3.5). Like the work of Abu Turk, this photograph deals with polarized distinctions between Palestinians and Israelis in relation to ‘‘peace.’’ Two Palestinian women walk in an open courtyard toward the viewers and away from a covered walkway leading to alḥaram al-sharīf. Their faces express great sorrow. They cry out, and their arms open up as if seeking to embrace the viewers to find consolation. Their heads are covered with scarves like those of many Muslim women. Behind them are other Palestinian civilians prevented from entering al-ḥaram al-sharīf, the place of the skirmish, although they can be seen only partly, therefore remaining anonymous. Israeli soldiers look toward the wailing Palestinian women. They stand still, with hands folded. One soldier has a rifle draped over his shoulder. Their heads are covered with riot gear helmets. Whereas the women express grief, the soldiers stand relatively expressionless. Three other soldiers, whose faces are hidden, also emphasize Israeli indifference. One of the faceless men stands with a riot stick and a waist-harnessed pistol. Another soldier raises his riot stick. Still another raises his head upward, with his arms at his hips, indicating some event occurring above them. The gender differences are conveyed as well. Here, the mothers of Palestine, symbols of Palestine itself, cry out in despair, while the Israeli male soldiers, now used The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self : : 113

symbolically as perpetrators, stand without concern, ready to make their moves. The card’s text states, Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem . . . Palestinian women express their grief after Israeli police open fire on Muslim worshippers in Jerusalem’s AlAqsa mosque, killing three Palestinians and injuring dozens. Photo by Jihad Abu Zneid.

Upon being given the news from the text, the viewers understand that the women are to be seen as beckoning the viewers to embrace their grief, their distress, and their outrage over the deaths and injuries of their husbands, brothers, sisters, and children. It indirectly asks the viewers to console the women and to condemn the Israelis, who hold themselves in distance from the viewers and ‘‘peace.’’ The final greeting card to be discussed, and the second of those dealing with peaceful Palestinian protest, carries the following text on the backside: ‘‘Peace Vigil, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem: September 29, 1996’’ (Fig. 3.6). Here, numerous Palestinians walk toward the viewers. In fact, the photograph places the viewers inside the crowd of Palestinians, thereby making them part of the crowd and peace vigil. The photograph shows the two famous faces of Faisal Husseini and Hanan Ashrawi walking arm in arm. Both have been active members of the Palestinian National Council and were active members of the Madrid and Washington Peace Talks of the early 1990s. Faisal Husseini was the Arafat-appointed council member in charge of dealing with Jerusalem as the Palestinian capital.15 Hanan Ashrawi is often seen as spokesperson for Palestinians on news talk shows in the West. She was interviewed that very day on NBC’s Meet the Press about the tunnel opening and the Peace Process. The photograph shows the Palestinian faces and actions of ‘‘peace,’’ and the text verifies what the viewers see: Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem . . . Faisal Husseini and Hanan Ashrawi join other Christians and Muslims in a peace march to pay homage to the 58 Palestinians killed in the bloody events following the opening of the Hasmonenan Tunnel in Jerusalem’s Old City. By October 2, the death toll reached 62. Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk.

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Figure 3.5. ‘‘Al[-]Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem: September 27, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Jihad Abu Zneid. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

Figure 3.6. ‘‘Peace Vigil, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem: September 29, 1996.’’ ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Mahfouz Abu Turk. Courtesy of Palestine Human Rights Information Center.

The Janus-faced Palestinian presentation becomes evident after reading the text. Here, for the sake of ‘‘peace,’’ Palestinians are presently marching in the roles of Christians and Muslims. Their presence marks the nonpresence of the third major religion of Jerusalem, Judaism. Palestinians are present for the sake of ‘‘peace,’’ but Israelis are not. In this Janus-faced presentation, the Palestinian national self, unlike that of the Israeli national Other, is shown as ‘‘present’’ for ‘‘peace’’ as much as it is noted as ‘‘not absent’’ from ‘‘peace.’’ The use of duality in the presentation of the national self as victim means that in this strategy the Palestinian national self is highly constructed. The presentation relies upon the juxtaposition of polarized symbols in relation to a medial issue or an ordering theme, like ‘‘peace,’’ and viewers who are able to read and to be moved by the constructed messages. It also means that a portion of Palestinian identity does indeed rely upon a certain coexistence, pictured or not pictured, of the Israeli national Other. It relies upon the evil presence, actions, and qualities of the Israeli national Other. The photographed picture makes it difficult to dispute the physical occurrence of the events; but, in fairness, the villainy of the Israeli national Other is also constructed in the photographed picture. It is constructed through the entextualization techniques of photography, the decontextualizing invocation of ‘‘peace,’’ and the recontextualization process making use of text. Stuart Hall points out that ‘‘only when there is an Other can you know who you are.’’ 16 Identity is, in part, the relationship of oneself to the Other. The greeting cards I have discussed are evidence of this process of self-identification. However, the process of presenting the national self in this victimized way brings to the fore the question of whether reliance upon the Other presents a reflexive trap for the self. These types of presentation of Palestinian national self rely upon the continued presence of Israelis, despite national claims to the contrary. In spite of the effort to bring an end to victimization and suffering, depiction as such may have the opposite effect, creating dependence upon victimization and suffering. To borrow from Susan Sontag, photographing and publishing these types of scenes for mass visual consumption may create provocative degrees of tacit complicities that encourage whatever is going on to keep on happening, to keep circumstances as they are, and to guard the status quo as unchanging.17 Moreover, the positive presentation of the national self as victim relies upon the negative presentation of the national Other as perpetrator. In order to present the national self positively, 116 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

the national Other must be constructed so negatively that it is left barren of any potential for positive interpretation. Nevertheless, Rashid Khalidi rightly points out that Palestinian identity ‘‘is not now and never has been defined solely by the conflict with Zionism and Israel.’’ 18 An example of this point, and the avoidance of this reliance upon the Israeli Other, can be seen in Chapter 4.

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chapter four The Ecological Palestinian Self

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he presentation of the Palestinian national self is not restricted to the images of the victimized and heritage-enriched. Ziad Izzat, a photographer and maker of greeting cards, expands the possibilities of the presentation of the Palestinian national self. Through his ‘‘original photos’’ and ‘‘home-made’’ greeting cards, Izzat tries to remind his compatriots of, and hopes to show others, the natural beauty of Palestine’s flora and fauna. Izzat’s Palestine is shown to be environmentally picturesque. His animating idea is that Palestine’s natural beauty emotionally moves Palestinians, and Palestinians are naturally attached to it. He therefore presents the Palestinian national self as having an ecological dimension. Izzat’s ecological approach to the presentation of the Palestinian national self is interesting because it is a defense against an internal Palestinian deterioration, as opposed to an external Israeli aggression. Izzat adheres to 119

Ferdinand Tönnies’ Gemeinschaftian preference to repudiate encroaching Gesellschaftian realities.1 He professes to be motivated by the aesthetic and sensitive instincts of the human being, and his work is fabricated with cottage simplicity. His work is not ensnared by mass production, wide distribution, monetary exchange, and extreme popularity. Nevertheless, Izzat envisions his attempt to show the relationship between Palestinians and natural landscape as necessarily important for the identities of his land, his compatriots, and his nation. His declared self-removal from organized politics and his proximity to his cards’ production enhance the Gemeinschaftian aspect of the Palestinian national self as it is portrayed and embodied ecologically in his greeting cards. Izzat is a member of the Bir Zeit University staff. Although he now lives in Ramallah, he hails originally from Anabta, a village between Nablus and Tulkarem. For Izzat, photography is a personal hobby, which he has pursued for twenty years, starting when he worked in Kuwait in the late 1970s. During his visits home to the West Bank from the Gulf, he would take photographs of his village. When he returned to Kuwait, he would show other Palestinian workers his photographs, which included village landscapes. To his surprise, his compatriots would offer to buy the landscape photographs from him. It seems that the photographs had enough referential power to help fill the void of homesickness that these Gulf workers experienced in the ghurba, or diaspora. To borrow from the ideas of Barbara McKean Parmenter, the photographed landscapes apparently signified a sense of place for those Palestinians living in the space of the desert ghurba.2 The landscape photographs thereby gained a value of exchange and a sense of currency. This experience told Izzat that photographs of Palestinian landscapes were important to Palestinians who were removed from their homeland and who now lived in a landscape that was alien to them. Moreover, Izzat is aware of his own connection to his village and to nature. Anabta, his village, is an agricultural village that lies in a valley surrounded by large hills. Anabta is situated in an area where most buildings and homes concentrate at the bottom of the valley and some appear to creep up the hillsides. Stone-stepped olive and almond orchards, along with other agricultural fields, are found in the village. Hilly wilderness expands above the village. Inhabitants are rooted deeply in the village across generations, and relationships among inhabitants are generally close. Izzat feels that his 120 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

childhood is pure in Palestinian experience because of the fact that he was raised in such a village. Izzat claims that since he was ten years old, he went hunting with his uncle in the surrounding hillside wilderness. He and his brothers played in the hills almost daily, and they explored the many hillside caverns above his village. It was during these childhood years that he developed a natural connection to and knowledge of the land. Returning as an adult to the village and to the hills releases inside him a welcomed sense of a childhood free from the tensions and concerns of adult Palestinian life. Now, he finds great pleasure in spending up to five or six hours at a time in the hills, enjoying the natural environment. He feels the need to capture nature on film so he can store it not only in his memory but also in referential form. The landscape is therapeutic to Izzat, and the chance to package it and to share it with others gives him great pleasure. The experience in the Gulf and his own connection to the Palestinian landscape are important motivations for his photographic work. However, Izzat explains that now the need to create such landscape photographs and greeting cards for Palestinians is urgent. He sees himself as beginning to meet this need. According to Izzat, the Palestinian community has changed since the end of the first Intifada and the arrival of the Palestinian National Authority. Although he applauds some of the improvements to Palestinian life brought by the Palestinian National Authority, he is troubled about the negative results these improvements may unleash. The changes brought to the area with the introduction of the Palestinian National Authority have altered previously known life in the Occupied Territories. Izzat believes that more Palestinians are being drawn to urban centers like Nablus, Ramallah, and, when possible, Jerusalem. They are being taken away from the villages because of the increase in job opportunities created by the Palestinian National Authority and other new employing institutions in the cities. In the urban centers, people are becoming more interested in making money, obtaining promotions and new jobs, building large homes, and consuming manufactured products. The net effect, he fears, may be that people either spend or will spend much more time in the urban centers and rarely venture outside to the natural landscape. He sees that the drive for political power has taken on such importance that people have become blinded by it. Moreover, he worries that Palestinians spend too much time using their identity as a political tool The Ecological Palestinian Self : : 121

wielded against Israelis, as opposed to applying it toward the enhancement and improvement of a national community among Palestinians themselves. Izzat is uneasy at the transformation of Palestinian community into a shattered society driven by politics and the accumulation of wealth and prestige, and this creates in him a sense of urgency to bring back what he sees as the important aspects of Palestinian life. Izzat is troubled that in this transformation, Palestinians are forgetting a central concern of their culture, in essence, the land and their ecological connection to it, despite their proximity to it. In the present state of things, it is as if the culture of the ghurba is taking root inside of Palestine. And as with his prior experience in the Gulf, this type of culture distances people from the beauty of their own land. Izzat points out that today people are neither noticing, nor taking the time to appreciate, the land of their country. Izzat feels that photography and greeting cards can be of help in healing this ailing society. He feels that since urban dwellers do not or cannot take the time to venture into the hills or Palestinian land, he must bring the natural beauty of Palestine to them through photography. In transforming that photography into greeting cards, he can assist them as they, in turn, pass the beauty to and share it with their friends, relatives, and acquaintances. His work can make them aware of what they live with every day but somehow forget in their everyday life. One of Izzat’s greeting cards shows an oasis at Jericho (Fig. 4.1). Here lush date palms, spindle evergreens, and tended agricultural fields surround a pool of water. The soothing green vegetation and the glimpse of cool water stand in contrast to the dry and arid land of Jericho. The urban center of Jericho lies in the distance. Izzat is giving the Palestinian viewers a vantage point from which to gaze over their landscape. He places the viewers slightly above, and maybe even inside, the oasis, while at the same time taking them away from the urban center. He shows the diversity of Palestine as symbolized by the vegetation that grows alongside the arid land. He takes the viewers away from urban concerns and places them into a realm of natural relaxation, free of stress. However, the photograph is only a part of Izzat’s work when considering that it is actually framed. The ideas of Peter Wagner are helpful in bringing the frame of the greeting card into contextual relation with the photograph. Wagner points out and explains the issue of the parergon. The term 122 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 4.1. [Jericho] ‘‘My love grows at your sight.’’ ‘‘Home-Made. By: Ziad Izzat. Ramallah—Palestine.’’ Courtesy of Ziad Izzat.

designates something that is subordinate or accessory to the main subject. As noted by Wagner, ‘‘The function of the parergon is to comment on the central part, to control our vision by putting things into a particular perspective.’’ 3 Furthermore, Wagner discusses the frame of a painting as a parergon wherein the frame ‘‘assumes a rhetorical function that is at least as important as the so-called content of a work of art.’’ 4 Izzat creates a framing parergon for his photograph. The photograph is affixed to an 8¼" by 11½", card-grade white paper. The paper is folded horizontally in half, which gives it a greeting card format. It is also printed with a 6" by 4", black-lined centered rectangle that appears on the front side of the card after the card is folded. It is inside this rectangle that the photograph is affixed. Underneath the rectangle, Izzat provides a caption. The inside of the card is left blank so that the sender may write a personal message. On the backside of the card is more printed text that always includes Izzat’s name, his address, and a flowered icon. The importance of describing the card lies in the fact that such details act as The Ecological Palestinian Self : : 123

parergon to the photograph. The black rectangle not only centers the placement of the photograph, it also highlights the photograph. The photograph fits slightly inside the black line, giving it a carefully matted look and the illusion of standing out. Surrounding the picture is a pure white, one-inch margin that allows the colored photograph to stand out even more. The white one-inch border may not be as elaborate as the frames of the eighteenthcentury paintings discussed by Wagner, but the simplicity is important to the Gemeinschaftian essence. Regardless, it acts in the same way as a parergon, signaling that the content is of great value and must therefore be cherished. In turn, the text below the framed photograph increases the value of the photographed landscape. The text makes certain that the viewers see the beauty of the landscape. In the Jericho landscape card, the text states, in both Arabic and English, ‘‘My love grows at your sight.’’ This statement is one that is reminiscent of a lover speaking to his/her loved one. When the Palestinian viewers read it, either out loud or to themselves, and then view the photograph in connection with the statement, the Palestinian viewers animate the photographed Palestinian landscape into the character of a lover. Izzat is enlisting the performance of the viewers and even educates them to be emotionally moved by the landscape. And if the viewers are not Palestinian—for instance, other Arabs, or viewers (particularly Western) who can read the English text—they experience how emotional Palestinians may be in relation to their landscape. The backside of the card is also part of the parergon. Here is the artist’s name in scripted print, and it acts as his signature. The text is ‘‘Home-Made By Ziad Izzat, Ramallah—Palestine.’’ Next to the text is the icon of two flowers with stems intertwined. The coupling of his name and the flowered icon is testimony to his personal devotion to nature. Izzat’s declaration ‘‘HomeMade’’ endows the greeting card with more Gemeinschaftian character. According to Izzat, he and his family sit at their kitchen table and work together to fold, paste, and wrap the cards. ‘‘Ramallah—Palestine’’ unites the urban center with Palestine. In the card’s textual presentation, Ramallah and Palestine become an addressed place, in which Ramallah is subordinately connected like any city or town to its nation. Ramallah, Palestine, becomes as legitimate as Lyon, France; Birmingham, England; or Fort Worth, Texas, U.S.A.

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The parergon is also present in the cellophane wrap with which the greeting card is sealed. Inside the greeting card, Izzat places a large white envelope that one may use to send the greeting card. The envelope placed inside the card does not hide the textual parergon on either side of the card. The two are packaged inside a neatly folded, clear-cellophane wrap, which is taped closed with cellophane tape. The clear-cellophane wrap holds the package together, provides protection, allows the card to be visible, and creates an aura of purity and cleanliness. This issue of purity and cleanliness highlights the sacred view of the Palestinian landscape. A silver-starred sticker seals the cellophane across the backside. It acts like a sealing wax stamp used to seal formal letters. The silver tone refers to the precious metal and thereby imparts the illusion of value to the entire package. Yet, for some Palestinians, the silver star may be abhorrent, because the six-pointed star can be iconic of the Magen David. Here, the political connotation of the silver star may detract from the ecological point which Izzat is trying to convey. Some of Izzat’s other greeting cards show a technique that highlights the land and natural beauty of Palestine and heightens the consciousness of Palestinians as belonging to this land. Izzat uses close-up photography to capture, direct, and hold the attention of his compatriots. Izzat feels that this technique works quite well because it forges a new way of looking and seeing for Palestinians caught up in the daily activities of politics, moneymaking, and status-seeking. Such photographs force people to take time, to discover, and to concentrate on the minute details of Palestinian nature. According to Izzat, such vegetation exists around them all the time, and yet they are not always aware of its presence. At the same time, he hopes that they can see their symbolic relationship with nature. The technique is intended to compel them to identify their nation with the mother land and the flora and fauna to which she gives birth. It compels them to consider their relative mortality in comparison to the longevity, the strength and steadfastness, and the uniqueness of the rock, the tree, and the wildflower. In effect, Izzat is striving to create punctum, as opposed to studium, to borrow Roland Barthes’ terminology. Barthes explains that human beings are attracted to some photographs over others. The human being, according to Barthes, views things because there is a certain trained interest in viewing

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them. Sometimes the interest is of general commitment, he/she has an application to a thing or has a taste for it. This is called studium, and as Barthes further points out, It is by studium that I am interested in so many photographs, whether I receive them as political testimony or enjoy them as good historical scenes: for it is culturally (this connotation is present in studium) that I participate in the figures, the faces, the gestures, the settings, the actions.5

In opposition to studium is punctum. Punctum catches the attention of the viewer, disturbs the studium, and moves the viewer from just docile liking to captivated fascination. Barthes notes, The second element [punctum] will break (or punctuate) the studium. This time it is not I who seek it out (as I invest the field of the studium with my sovereign consciousness), it is this element which rises from the scene, shoots out of it like an arrow, and pierces me. . . . A photograph’s punctum is that accident which pricks me (but also bruises me, is poignant to me).6

Izzat’s close-up shots of fauna and flora create this punctum effect on Palestinian viewers who are already culturally inclined toward their land. His greeting card of the broad bean ( fūl) plant creates this punctum effect (Fig. 4.2). In the photograph, green vegetation draws the attention of the viewers deep into the Palestinian field. Once the viewer is drawn inside, the vegetation becomes the background to the bean plant, distinguished by its white and black blossoms. Another plant’s stem meets with the bean plant and has just begun to open its pink flowers. The white and black blossoms draw in the gaze of the viewers and capture them like insects. The viewers feel their interests in the shape of the flower grow. The variegation of the black and white causes them to draw the greeting card closer to their eyes so more can be seen. The viewers may notice the faint, dark lines of the petal that they follow and look for its center, as if to visually explore the heart of these blossoms. As they do so, the viewers get lost in the folds of the flower’s petal. And when the viewers’ eyes hurt from straining to focus too closely, they pull the picture back, admire again 126 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 4.2. [Bean plant] ‘‘Beauty of Nature.’’ ‘‘Original Photo. By: Ziad Izzat. Ramallah, Palestine.’’ Courtesy of Ziad Izzat.

the entirety of the flowering plant, and get drawn in again. The time that it takes, the concentration it musters, the continual look and relook, and the discovery of new detail each time are the effects of punctum. Izzat is excited when people look at his representation of Palestine in this way. And yet, this is only part of the effect of the punctum of this particular greeting card. Barthes notes the punctum reaches its full effect when it takes the photograph beyond mere referent. In its studium state, the photograph is unary, which means ‘‘it transforms ‘reality’ without doubling it, without making it vacillate.’’ 7 Thus, the punctum is most effective when it forces a change in the reading of the photograph and when a whole new photograph emerges. In the present case, this occurs when the Palestinian viewers can see more than a photographed flower. It occurs when they can connotatively see themselves in relation, characteristically similar, and nationally identified. This is the case with the greeting card that features the photographed fig tree (Fig. 4.3). In this greeting card, two large rocks seem to converge and make a corner, which draws the gaze inward. A thick and curled trunk of a fig tree grips the stone corner. Overgrowing, and around the tree, is a variety of green vegetation and wildflowers. It is the trunk that is so captivating and creates the punctum. At first, the viewers wonder what this twisted, swelling, and elephantiastic mass may be. They follow it from its base to its branching system until the identification of a tree is discernible. The gaze retraces the branching system back down to the trunk’s curl, which disappears into the corner. The process of drawing the card closer for inspection and pulling the card back to refocus follows. The viewers note the strength, the cling, and the digging grip of the tree despite the seemingly inhospitable environment. As noted above, the punctum reaches its full effect when the viewers reread the photographed subject. The photograph’s unmovable tree can be reread as a reflection of Palestinian ṣumūd (steadfastness) regarding the land. The Palestinian viewers may read themselves into the photograph, thereby connecting, empathizing, and sympathizing with the tree. They agree with the parergonic text, ‘‘Beauty of Nature,’’ and consider themselves part of the beauty. The caption’s statement that the photograph is an original one of Palestine arouses the viewers’ pride. The greeting card imparts a sense of identity, giving Izzat’s punctum its ultimate effect. Meanwhile, the greeting card featuring the nettle allows for a slightly different punctum (Fig. 4.4). The captivity of this white, spindly flower among 128 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 4.3. [Fig tree] ‘‘Beauty of Nature.’’ ‘‘Original Photo. By: Ziad Izzat. Ramallah, Palestine.’’ Courtesy of Ziad Izzat.

its green, ciliated leaves makes it appear inviting to touch. The effect created is soothing, despite the fact that in reality the flower is sharp and could cause pain to one who gets too close to it. One could read the card in relation to the novel Wild Thorns by Palestinian author Sahar Khalifeh. In this novel, Khalifeh makes a similar ecological presentation of the Palestinian. Khalifeh intimates that despite the Palestinian’s wish to live peacefully, the Palestinian also has the defensive bite of the thorn (shawka). The bite of the shawka is like the strike of the guerrilla fighter.8 For Khalifeh, the Palestinian is not seeking to wage violence upon people but only to protect the hopes and dreams of peace, brotherhood, and freedom. This is pointed out in a conversation between the characters Adil, who despairs over life, and Zuhdi, who tries to console him. Adil states, ‘‘I’m confused and I can’t exactly define my own position. Peace, brotherhood—hopes of idiots and dreams of birds. Maybe. I don’t know. Yet I still dream. I dream of the impossible. But I ask you, is it possible to grow roses from thorns?’’ ‘‘The thorns aren’t there to produce roses,’’ Zuhdi answered, ‘‘they’re there to protect them.’’ 9

In these close-up photographed greeting cards, Izzat alters the parergon slightly from that of the Jericho oasis greeting card discussed at first. Here the text states ‘‘Beauty of Nature’’ in English only. On the backside of the card is the text ‘‘Original Photo.’’ But Izzat’s use of English is not intended to exclude Palestinians. He states that he is experimenting with all aspects of the greeting card and acknowledges that Arabic should not be dropped. ‘‘Original Photo’’ is his attempt to find the right way to connote caring ‘‘quality’’ and not detached ‘‘processing.’’ In fact, Izzat recognizes that the greeting cards can be improved upon greatly in order to attain his goals. An alternative to the silver star sealing sticker is under consideration; but others’ objections to the Magen David resemblance are shrugged off by Izzat as constrictive, and almost blind, political concerns. Foremost among the improvement possibilities is the addition of the names of the flora and fauna species, as well as the location of where the photograph was taken. If the intention is to bring about an understanding of Palestinians’ ecological connection with the environment, more 130 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 4.4. [Nettle] ‘‘Beauty of Nature.’’ ‘‘Original Photo. By: Ziad Izzat. Ramallah, Palestine.’’ Courtesy of Ziad Izzat.

information could be useful. The cards can contribute quite informatively to the exercise of knowing homeland and country. The name of the location can heighten the punctum of the greeting card, because it affixes the photograph to a knowable place. The idea of enhancing the textual parergon would be an improvement for his foreign viewers as well. Foreign visitors are bombarded by a barrage of visual reproductions of the area, most of them Israeli-made. Jonathan Culler points out the foreigners’, particularly the tourists’, needs for informational markers. Culler notes that there is a reliance of a sight upon its marker. In order to authenticate a sight as important and original, its viewers need a marker: [T]ourists pay to see tourist traps while the real thing is free as air. But the ‘‘real thing’’ must be marked as real, as sight-worthy; if it is not marked or differentiated, it is not a notable sight, even though it may be Japanese by virtue of its location in Japan.10 The Ecological Palestinian Self : : 131

Similarly, Izzat’s greeting cards are in jeopardy of becoming studium for foreign viewers. Indeed, they hold the viewers’ interest for a time, but unless it is marked as unique to Palestine, the natural view could be read as a ubiquitous occurrence found anywhere, including at home. Palphot has already, as noted in Chapter 1, marked out natural views of the land as Israeli. Therefore, Izzat’s photographic depictions of Palestine could fall victim to being discarded, as are others among an array of visual media vying for the foreign viewers’ attention. His designation of ‘‘Ramallah—Palestine’’ in the signature is not enough, because it does not ‘‘puncture’’ the viewers’ awareness immediately. The sight should be identified near to the photograph, for easier placement in the minds of viewers, both foreign and Palestinian, rather than on its backside. Although such identification may constrict and control the viewers’ gaze, it would be helpful in anchoring the sight as indigenously Palestinian. This would help achieve Izzat’s didactic goal of teaching foreigners that Palestine is not just a desert and that it is a naturally beautiful place worthy of the description ‘‘picturesque.’’ In this way, he can alter the foreigners’ knowledge about Palestine. However, as will be discussed in Chapter 5, regarding GARO Studios, catering too much to the tourists may become another trap for Palestinian self-presentation. Although he may be in the early stages of producing greeting cards, Ziad Izzat may be making real headway for the presentation of the Palestinian national self. His work may not be marketed in the Jerusalem stores along the Via Dolorosa; after all, almost all of his greeting cards are given as presents to relatives, friends, and acquaintances. However, it is this lack of hypermarketing that creates a Gemeinschaftian flavor. In a conscious effort to avoid politics, Izzat is staying away from the slippery-edged trap of defining oneself through the Janus-faced presentation noted in Chapter 3. Instead, he reaches for symbols that ostensibly emerge from the soil, unobliging and ‘‘free as air.’’ And if one chooses to read politics into his work, then it can be connotatively seen that he is reclaiming the Palestinian land from the Israelis. His work can be interpreted as enlightening others to the fact that, although land is not marked and claimed agriculturally, an excuse used by the Zionist movement to designate land as unclaimed and in need of settlement, it is still Palestinian. Palestinians can appreciate this land as natural, and those with ecological relationships to it can naturally claim it. Moreover, Izzat photographically pictures a new signifier of the Palestinian 132 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

commitment to ṣumūd (steadfastness). Ted Swedenburg discusses the Palestinian peasant as national signifier and points out that the peasant has ‘‘become the epitome of what it means to be ṣāmid, to stay put, anchored to the earth with stubborn determination.’’ 11 Despite the currency of a romantic, sanitized, and therefore unrealistic portrayal of the peasant, Swedenburg notes that this signifier is important and understandable for a people who are struggling against Israeli dominance. Izzat’s uses of flora and fauna imaginatively place Palestinians just as close to the soil as those of earlier Palestinian heritage painters. But Izzat does not use the body of the peasant to direct the connection of Palestinian to land. He relies on the land’s characteristics of natural beauty and the gaze of the viewers to make the connection. Indeed, nature has been used in Palestinian literature as symbol of steadfastness and defensiveness, but Izzat has moved that ecological symbolism into a new medium of photographic greeting cards. These greeting cards enhance the definition of Palestinian ṣumūd. Izzat is troubled about the changes in Palestinian society, which may be likened to the changing of Gemeinschaft to Gesellschaft, and his greeting cards can be seen as acknowledging that disquiet. Indeed, his worry may even be dismissed as a romantic lament for portions of an idealized past. However, it is his choice to use the greeting card, landscape photography, and the presentation of the national self as ecological that is compelling. The importance of the ecological motivation of Izzat’s Palestinian self-presentation may find pertinent support in Stephen Daniels’ thoughts on landscape depicted in art. According to Daniels, landscape paintings of the later eighteenth century have articulated and still articulate national identities in England and the United States. Landscapes create exemplars of moral order and aesthetic harmony that help to ‘‘picture the nation.’’ 12

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chapter five The Orientalized Area Self

M

ardo Nalbandian has been photographing Israel and the Palestinian Territories since 1952. His well-known photography shop, GARO Photo Studios, is located on Ṣalāḥ al-dīn Street in East Jerusalem. Nalbandian’s photographic work is easy to find throughout the Israeli and Palestinian areas because it has often been sold to Palphot. Palphot, in turn, reproduces Nalbandian’s photographs for picture postcards, posters, and calendars, and distributes them en masse for sale. Nowadays, Nalbandian makes his own postcards. Using his own photographs, or the photographs of his photographer brother Dikran, Nalbandian produces postcards under the name ‘‘GARO Photo’’ and displays them for sale in his GARO Photo Studios. By making his own postcards, Nalbandian ensures that he keeps control over the photographs’ copyrights, as well as the potential revenues that result from their use. According to Nalbandian, 135

when he sells photographs to Palphot, Palphot can reproduce these photographs as much as it wants and in any manner it desires. In turn, he only gets his initial sale price of the photographs and credit for his authorship in the captions. This chapter focuses only on the GARO Photo postcards, often referred to as ‘‘Nalbandian’s photography’’ or ‘‘work,’’ since Nalbandian has more personal control over their production. Nalbandian’s work is significant for this discussion of the presentation of national self. The importance of his postcards resides in the fact that the conceptual construct of national self is not his intention. Indeed, Nalbandian identifies Jerusalem as his place of birth, and he claims his ArmenianChristian origins. However, he claims to eschew the politics of national identity, thereby avoiding political allegiance and controversy in the IsraeliPalestinian conflict. While his work may not reflect a national self of the type discussed in the previous chapters, it does reflect, and thus presents, an area self. In other words, he creates images of how he would like his home area, or region, to be viewed by the rest of the world. His area self is presented with images based upon the theme of the Holy Land. Take, for example, his co-authored souvenir picture book Our Visit to the Holy Land, which is filled with information about Nalbandian’s concept of his area self. The entire picture book is an album of Nalbandian’s photographic work, much of it the same as the images on the postcards, to be analyzed below, that he sells at GARO Photo Studios. An avoidance of politics is evident from the fact that his photographs in the book are not marked as being of Israel or Palestine. Furthermore, the book’s narrative is written intentionally to avoid naming either of them. The book refers to the area as ‘‘the Holy Land.’’ This is peculiar because it is very specific in marking off the area and in mentioning political boundaries of other modern nations. ‘‘The Holy Land,’’ it states, is a region situated in the Middle East on the southeast shore of the Mediterranean Sea. It is bounded on the north by Lebanon and Syria, on the east by Jordan and the Jordan River, on the south by Egypt and on the west by the Mediterranean Sea.1

Nalbandian sees his photography as a business venture and a way to produce income, as opposed to making a political statement. In an attempt to gener136 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

ate profit, Nalbandian caters to the religious, historical, and aesthetic tastes and fantasies of foreign, mainly Western, Holy Land tourists. Yet, in spite of his claimed political objectivity, Nalbandian’s work is politically consequential to Israelis and Palestinians. He overlooks the consequences of the Orientalism inherent in his presentation of the Holy Land area self. ‘‘Orientalism,’’ according to Edward Said, is the Western-constructed knowledge of the Other, or the non-Occidental. Said describes Orientalism as a way of disciplining, classifying, and ordering non-Occidental geography, inhabitants, traditions, and cultures into Occidentally understandable, describable, objectifiable, and controllable Otherness. With Orientalism, the Occident restructures the Orient and is thereby able to wield its authority, power, superiority, and domination over the Oriental Other. Orientalism, as depicted by Said, actually turns against Occidental minds. It leads to fantasies of the unreal that feed upon one another to create more fantasies, and these fantasies become realities. The turning point is when these fantasies are capable of becoming scholarly and scientific realities. Within these constraints of the human intellectual tradition, reality itself becomes unbelievable, illogical, unacceptable, and undesirable. Facts that do not fit the fantasies are dismissed and left out of Orientalist representations of the Other. Orientalism makes the Orient into an unchanging, predictable, primitive, and stagnant fantasyland of desires, queerness, and fears. And yet, to restrict Orientalism to just the Occidental representation of the Other is to miss the point of Said’s book. Orientalism is also an Occidental representation of an Occidental self. Orientalism, and its discourses, as noted by Said, ‘‘[have] less to do with the Orient than [they do] with ‘our’ world.’’ 2 ‘‘That Orientalism makes sense at all,’’ states Said, ‘‘depends more on the West than on the Orient.’’ 3 The Orient becomes a theatrical stage opened onto, and for, the Occidental gaze, while it entertains and nourishes the Occidental imagination. Said points to the Orientalist who labors to create the Orient. ‘‘[H]e does this for himself, for the sake of his culture, [and] in some cases for what he believes is the sake of the Oriental.’’ 4 It is Orientalism that allows popular travel guides, such as Frommer’s Israel, to inform its English readers in its opening paragraph: A journey to Israel [including Palestinian Territories] is a journey to a place where the past and present call out to travelers in astonishing ways. The Orientalized Area Self : : 137

You will find messages and meaning everywhere you turn in this intense land, and why not? For this land and its history lie at the very center of the consciousness of Western Civilization.5

And it is Orientalism that creates the fantastic stage Frommer’s promises its readers: When you find yourself in the silent, haunting desertscape near the Dead Sea, spotting ibexes on the rims of desolate, sheer cliffs that are dotted with caves like those in which the Dead Sea Scrolls lay hidden for more than 18 centuries, it can be hard to believe that less than 60 minutes away is the 19th-century East European ghetto world of Jerusalem’s orthodox Mea Shearim quarter. A few blocks east of Mea Shearim you’ll find the labyrinthine medieval Arab bazaars of the Old City, with ancient church bells and calls to prayer from the city’s minarets punctuating your wanderings.6

When such words familiarize the Occidental visitors to Israel and the Palestinian Territories, it is possible to see how Orientalism has created, and continues to create, such a skewed view of the area. The Occidental tourists search the so-called Orient for such authentic views, which Orientalism and its discourses, like those provided by tourist guidebooks, depict, encourage, and promise. However, it is not the guidebooks alone that prepare the tourists for such self-centered experiences. Additionally, Orientalism is deeply rooted in the traditions of Occidental tourist culture.7 The discussion of Said’s Orientalism has, thus far in this chapter, been put in the context of the Occidental construction of the Orient and the definition of the area through Occidental tourism. Agency has been, up to this point, placed wholly on the shoulders of those outside the area. Alternatively, criticism has been made of Said that his view considers the Occidental construction of the Orient, but it does not discuss the so-called ‘‘Orient’s’’ contribution in support of Orientalism. Aware of this issue, Keith Whitelam cites this criticism of Orientalism made by P. van der Veer. Van der Veer is noted as warning against the belief that Orientalism as knowledge is exclusively a Western affair. In believing so,

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[Said’s Orientalism] neglects ways so-called Orientals not only shape their own world but also Orientalist views: [van der Veer states] ‘‘It would be a serious mistake to deny agency to the colonized in an effort to show the force of colonial discourse. . . . [I]t is a crucial aspect of the postcolonial predicament that Orientalist understandings of Indian society are perpetuated both by Western scholarship and by Indian political movements.’’ 8

Mardo Nalbandian and his GARO Studios exemplify this point. As explained by Nalbandian, tourists like the old and the historical. They look for the typical pictures of the Holy Land so that they can show where they were to their family and friends, and these family and friends can, in turn, relate to what they saw. Nalbandian obliges the tourists, fulfills their needs, and supplies them with Orientalist images. His photographs and postcards closely follow the descriptions of the tourist guidebooks and the Orientalist expectations and experiences. Even the souvenir picture book Our Visit to the Holy Land clearly states, Thus this book’s purpose is to serve as a guide to the reader, making it more interesting by the use of colored pictures, to illustrate chronologically the life and ministry of Jesus Christ according to the Gospel story.9

Therefore, when looking at the Nalbandian photographs and postcards, ‘‘look for the old and the historical,’’ as Nalbandian himself encourages. ‘‘That is what I am looking for.’’ In fact, Nalbandian’s postcards become Orientalist versions of Peter Wagner’s ‘‘iconotexts.’’ 10 To reiterate the term’s definition, iconotexts are the mingling and layering of visual and verbal texts that spark interpretations based upon the spectators’ mentalities and knowledge of discourse and images. A similar point is made by Richard Brilliant in his discussion of how ancient Roman viewers read Roman relief art where no text was provided to guide the viewers’ readings. As Brilliant notes, only summarizing images appear on many of the Roman artifacts due to the small amount of space available for decoration. Since only portions of a storyline are presented, the viewers must reach back to prior knowledge to fill in the gaps of the narrative and

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to make the narrative understandable.11 Nalbandian’s photographs and terse verbiage on the postcards force the tourist spectators to turn to Orientalism, part of their cultural knowledge, in order to make sense of what they see. The short titles printed on the postcards’ fronts are so designed by Nalbandian for easy browsing and quick sales. If looking at the postcard and applying readily available knowledge do not yield satisfactory information, then, by virtue of the common human impulses of ‘‘textual attitude,’’ 12 the tourists turn to the resource most available: the guidebook. The use of the guidebook in support of Nalbandian’s postcard images may be further understood by considering Dean MacCannell’s semiotic model ‘‘the structure of the attraction.’’ 13 Tourists seek the attraction. They see the sight provided by Nalbandian in the rack of cards for sale, but his brief marker lacks enough information to make it a viable representation of an attraction. What information they cannot supply themselves on the spot from seeing the real thing, must later be obtained from another source, like the guidebook. The guidebook helps to make the postcard meaningful as a postcard of an attraction, and, as shown earlier, the guidebook relies upon, adheres to, and advances Orientalism. In the analysis to follow, the popular 1998 Frommer’s guidebook is used in a similar way to help read the Nalbandian postcards. Such an approach is insightful when considering Nalbandian’s effects and the way tourists experience the postcards. Nalbandian’s postcard titled ‘‘Jerusalem’’ is a fine example of the type of historical Holy Land postcards that he makes and offers for sale at his GARO Photo Studios (Fig. 5.1). At first glance, the viewers might believe that it is no more than a photographed view of the city with the Dome of the Rock Mosque as its focal point. However, it is more, especially when considering that it is a view of the Old City of Jerusalem. It is only a selected portion of the present-day city. It is the aesthetically appealing, Oriental part, because it is that part of the city where ‘‘the holy places are, for the most part, located.’’ 14 A visit here lists at the top of Frommer’s ‘‘Favorite Jerusalem Experiences.’’ 15 The selected view is an example of the importance of capturing antiquity and highlighting Jerusalem’s religious significance in order to make it much more appealing to Holy Land tourists. The ancient stone wall of Jerusalem is shown in the lower foreground, a wall which, according to Frommer’s guidebook, is at least forty feet high and at least four hundred years old, with some portions of it dating back more than two thousand years.16 140 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.1. ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

As previously stated, the Dome of the Rock is prominent in the photograph. Its bright, gold-gilded dome and blue ceramic-tiled sides stand out from the surrounding sand-colored architecture. The structure was started by the Umayyad Caliph Abd al-Malik in 685 c.e. and completed in 691 c.e. It covers the sacred rock where Islamic tradition believes that Muhammad ascended to heaven during the Night Journey.17 Jewish tradition believes that it is the rock upon which God commanded Abraham, in approximately 1800 b.c.e., to sacrifice his son Isaac.18 It is also believed that this structure is built upon or near the First and Second Temples of ancient Israel of 950 b.c.e. and 515 b.c.e., respectively.19 The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is discernible to the right of the Dome of the Rock. It is considered to be the site of Jesus’ crucifixion and his tomb. The Crusaders built the Church’s present structure in the twelfth century; however, the original structure was built around 326 c.e. Inside the Church are the last five ‘‘Stations of the Cross,’’ at which Jesus was stripped of his garments (Station 10), was nailed to the cross (Station 11), died on the cross The Orientalized Area Self : : 141

(Station 12), and was taken down from the cross and given to Mary (Station 13). At the last station, Jesus was laid in the chamber of the sepulchre and from there was later resurrected.20 Spires of some of Jerusalem’s churches jet upward from and between the old, sand-colored buildings that match the color of the ancient wall. To the right is the church spire of Notre Dame de France. To the left are the churches of the Armenian Quarter. As an iconotext, the postcard leaves little doubt that Jerusalem is nothing other than an ancient, historical, and religiously significant place. There is no sign of contemporary human life in the city. The buildings exist but seem bereft of contemporary human use and activity. Only a tiny line of clothes, hung out to dry in the distance, can possibly interrupt this serene antiquity, and the viewers must strain their eyes just to see the laundry. The buildings are just there, frozen in an appealingly ancient timelessness. No one is there to spoil or betray this tranquil, aesthetic view of Jerusalem for the tourists. The postcard matches Said’s description of Orientalism, in that ‘‘it views the Orient as something whose existence is not only displayed but has remained fixed in time and place for the West.’’ 21 This view of Jerusalem is offered solely for the pleasure of the tourists and their at-home correspondents. The view itself is a popular and even ancient one, as it is taken from one of the most important holy places: the Mount of Olives. The Mount of Olives is often considered the best observation point from which to capture a view of the Old City. Moreover, this vantage point places the viewers in relation to events and places of ancient significance. Frommer’s notes the mount’s ancient appeal: Overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem from the east, the mount offers a sweeping vista of the entire city. Here, Jesus wept at a prophetic vision of Jerusalem lying in ruins; in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the lower slope of the mount, Jesus was arrested; the ridge of the Mount of Olives is the place from which, according to tradition, Jesus ascended to heaven. An encampment site for Jewish pilgrims in ancient times, the Mount of Olives contains Judaism’s most important graveyard.22

The English title for Jerusalem is used because, as Nalbandian states, ‘‘It is the universal language.’’ It shows how the dominant Western language is the most capable of all to describe it. Neither Ir ha-qōdesh, Yərūshālaīm (both 142 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.2. ‘‘Damascus Gate.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

Hebrew names) nor al-quds (Arabic name) would have the same impact on his targeted tourist market. The English text shows that this picture postcard favors Occidental consumption. Neither Hebrew nor Arabic are found on the postcard’s front or verso. Due to the absence of the Hebrew or Arabic, Jerusalem is not placed in the territory affiliated with either language, therefore keeping it tranquil and out of reach of the political claims of Israeli or Palestinian national selves. Jerusalem is thus seemingly left open to territorial claim, and, in actuality, Nalbandian offers it to the Occidentals’ gaze and possession for their fantasies of the Holy Land. Nalbandian’s postcard titled ‘‘Damascus Gate’’ is similarly constructed (Fig. 5.2). A night view of Damascus Gate, one of the eight gates in the Old City’s fortress wall and the main entrance from East Jerusalem, is photographed and presented. The ancient texture of the wall’s architecture and the gate’s foyer are tendered for appreciation. Slit windows in the stone wall, from which ancient archers may have protected the city, are also discernible. Festive lights decorate the entrance. The night view entrance is devoid of the The Orientalized Area Self : : 143

daily hustling human traffic of Palestinians, which may seemingly spoil the tranquil view for the tourists. However, this picture alone is not enough to make it significant for the Holy Land tourists. Tourists can fathom the gate’s meaning better if they complete the iconotext with the information of the guidebook. Frommer’s description of what lies behind the gate during the day is authentically Oriental: Once you are inside the gate, cafes, shops, and market stalls line a widestepped entrance street going downhill; Arabs sit inside and out smoking water pipes and watching you as you watch them. The game they’re playing is shesh-besh [sic], a sort of backgammon. Music emanates from coffeehouses and shops. . . . Unlike the markets near the Jaffa Gate, which cater primarily to visitors, this part of the bazaar is an authentic market used by the people of East Jerusalem.23

Frommer’s goes on to describe the market stalls of the Bazaar of the Spices as similar to those of past centuries. Despite the present-day sales of contemporary clothing and household objects, Frommer’s fixates upon a bazaar lined with open sacks of curry, cocoa, sesame, pepper, saffron, medicines, and vegetables. Inside is also the Butchers’ Bazaar, where the pavement is ‘‘often slippery with puddles of blood.’’ 24 There are four Israeli soldiers in the lower left corner of the photograph; however, their presence is minute in size and unobtrusive in relation to the immense wall. Nalbandian states that he often uses bodies to provide scale. Fortunately, their presence adds credence to Frommer’s reassuring note for the Occidental tourist that follows the description of the Oriental world inside Damascus Gate: ‘‘The area, incidentally, is well patrolled by police officers.’’ 25 The English title is also noteworthy. The Israelis call the gate Shaar shekhem, and the Palestinians call it bāb al-amūd. That he avoids either of these titles and opts for the English title shows, on the one hand, Nalbandian’s avoidance of the politics of national self, and, on the other hand, his intended offering to the Occidental tourists. Two postcards, both titled ‘‘Jerusalem—old city Market,’’ take the viewers inside the narrow streets of the Old City (Fig. 5.3 and Fig. 5.4). More of the old and historical can be found in the architecture and the streets. The 144 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.3. ‘‘Jerusalem—old city Market.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

Figure 5.4. ‘‘Jerusalem—old city Market.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

photographs show the narrow, stone-stepped streets that are enclosed by the vaulted archways of the Old City’s buildings. Exposed wires show that the buildings were not originally endowed with the modern convenience of telephones, electricity, and satellite television. The outwardly decrepit appearance of the wooden verandas or the deteriorating stone walls adds to the antiquity of the scenes. Market stalls offer for sale olive-wood sculptures, brass vessels, textiles, fruits, vegetables, and clothing. Important to both photographs are the Palestinians walking down the street. They add to the ancient flavor of the street scene and the inner world of the Orient. In the first postcard, the old, stereotypic Arab-costumed man, with his cane in hand, seemingly shuffles down the street. The young Muslim mother seems to quickly lead her two small boys through the marketplace. Palestinian men and women dressed in an array of business and casual attire, oftentimes no different from what is seen in everyday life in the West, are missing from this Oriental scene. One youngster is seen in the bottom left corner of the photograph in jeans, tennis shoes, and an American-style professional-sports jacket. However, his image is blurred and blends into the sidelines, thereby redirecting the viewers’ gaze back toward the discernible and Orientally recognizable old man and young woman. The two postcards, when taken together, reveal Nalbandian’s photographic strategy. Although they are two separate postcards and views of Jerusalem’s Old City Market, both put forth the same information to the tourist viewers. They share the same vaulted shapes, the same ancient stone walks, the same labyrinthine effects, and similar market activity. Even more striking are the same stereotypical Palestinians: the old men, the canes, the white kaffiyehs, and the women wearing head scarves. They show that Nalbandian has a certain Orientalist paradigm to which he adheres when he chooses the scene to photograph. The scene has to have and highlight certain icons in order to make it Orientally realistic. And yet, the realism of Occidentally dressed Palestinians, who also are a part of Jerusalem’s Old City Market, cannot appear or must be hidden in order not to break the fantasy’s realism. Furthermore, these postcards expose another of Nalbandian’s strategies. Nothing viewed has sufficient detail. The woodwork of the verandas, the stonework of the walls and streets, the artistry of the sculptures and vessels, the detailed craft work of the embroidered dresses and woven blankets, the quality of fruits and vegetables, and the Arabic lettering are not discernible. The Orientalized Area Self : : 147

For the most part, the details of the Palestinian faces are kept from sight. All are indistinct because detail offers nothing to the Orientalized view, which itself relies upon the sweeping vista as it assembles icons to support the view of ancient place, classical eternity, simplistic industry, and foreign lifestyle. In fact, detail that could convey human experience could indeed detract from and even spoil the Occidental fantasy of the Orient. By keeping the detail of the human faces and the products in abeyance, Nalbandian’s presentation of the Palestinians seems to support Said’s statement that ‘‘[a]n Oriental man [is] first an Oriental and only second a man.’’ 26 Lack of detail limits intimidation, allows for dreamlike fantasy, makes possession easy, and increases imperial authority for the Occidental viewers. Two postcards for sale on the turnstile rack in GARO Photo Studios are titled ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ They stand out from among the array of distance photographs because they are close-ups in which images of faces are clearly perceptible. However, they are not photographs of real humans at all, but of statues displayed to simulate the holy family. The first is a photograph of a statue simulating the newly born Jesus (Fig. 5.5). The statue is a European, aesthetically perfect image of the baby. He is clean, with well-groomed hair. His skin is milky-white, cherubically soft, and scar-free. He has seemingly soft and well-proportioned features, rosy-red lips, and darkly highlighted eyes. He strikes a pious pose as he lies in a fresh bed of straw and is adorned with a bursting, gold-plated halo. The second postcard is a reproduced photograph of a wood-carved statue simulating the holy family’s flight to Egypt. Although the postcard does not provide this information, the souvenir book informs readers that the statue is close to the Church of the Nativity near the Milk Grotto (Fig. 5.6). In turn, Frommer’s describes the Milk Grotto as where the family is believed to have rested during the escape, where Mary nursed the holy baby, and where her spilled drops of milk turned the stone white.27 Again, the figures in flight are Caucasian, perfectly featured, and immaculately dressed. These Nalbandian postcards are marked, on the lower left-hand corner, as being picture postcards of Bethlehem. Other than Nalbandian’s copyright notice on the verso, the photographic authorship credit, GARO Photo’s address and telephone number in Jerusalem, and the inventory serial number, the only text revealing any information about the photographs is the name ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ As a result, the photos give the impression that these scenes 148 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.5. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

are not only presently found in Bethlehem, but that they presently are Bethlehem. Essentially, they depict modern-day Bethlehem as frozen in a surreal and ancient time. They disregard the fact that Bethlehem is a modern and vibrant Palestinian town growing daily under the control of the Palestinian National Authority.28 The lack of text leaves the iconotext vulnerable to the biblical and Orientalist discourses so deeply ingrained in Western culture. In two other postcards, ‘‘Jericho: Mount of Temptation’’ (Fig. 5.7) and ‘‘Mount Tabor’’ (Fig. 5.8), Nalbandian presents two photographs that seemingly look like landscape photographs. However, he really presents two holy site photographs whose beauty has much to do with their holy significance and little to do with the landscape. ‘‘Jericho: Mount of Temptation’’ has no interest in showing the beauty of the lush flora of the foreground except as a contrast to highlight the central view and the religious character of the hillside. The Mount of Temptation is a place where Jesus is said to have met and been tempted by Satan.29 The green patch in the photograph stands in contrast to the steep, dry desert cliffs in order to show the inhospitable nature The Orientalized Area Self : : 149

Figure 5.6. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

Figure 5.7. ‘‘Jericho: Mount of Temptation.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

Figure 5.8. ‘‘Mount Tabor.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

of the site. Such landscape is characteristically appropriate for an encounter with Satan and as the setting for temptation. ‘‘Mount Tabor’’ is beautifully framed with the branches of the olive tree and the tilled land of the foreground. Nevertheless, it is the religious importance of the hill that makes it a Nalbandian subject. As noted by Frommer’s, after giving the mount’s statistical height, [it] must have been a dominant feature of the landscape Jesus knew in his childhood. At the summit stands the Basilica of the Transfiguration, which marks where Jesus was transfigured as he spoke to Moses and Elijah in the presence of three of his disciples. . . . At this dramatic mountain, in the period of the Judges (ca. b.c. 1150), the Prophet Deborah and her general, Barak, led the Israelite tribes to victory over the Canaanite General Sisera of Hazor. . . . [T]he summit of Mount Tabor is believed to have been a Canaanite ‘‘high place’’ or altar from at least the 2nd millennium b.c. The defeat of the Canaanites at such a prominent sanctuary must have had a stunning psychological effect on the populace of that time.30

Nalbandian’s postcard ‘‘A Bedouin Woman’’ is worthy of discussion as well (Fig. 5.9). The postcard is reminiscent of Malek Alloula’s The Colonial Harem, which exposes the French production of and fascination with postcards depicting Algerians, specifically Algerian women. Alloula points out that the Oriental depictions of Algerian women were made to titillate the erotic pleasures of the colonial mind. The harem scenes, the naked women, and the invitation to gaze allowed an imbalance of power wherein the French scoptophiliac wielded the power of gaze, resulting in possession over the female Algerian body. Consequently, the Oriental Algerian woman became subservient to the fantasies and desires of the colonial Frenchman. The woman in Nalbandian’s ‘‘A Bedouin Woman’’ is not so much there to erotically titillate the Occidentals as she is to Orientally titillate them. The form of her body is not highlighted, but it is her difference from Westerners that is so intriguing for these viewers. From the Western view, she is colorfully clad, strangely veiled, adorned with trinkets, and exotically appealing. This Bedouin woman, as she is so titled, subserviently crouches down for Occidental scrutiny. She offers herself to the gaze in a desert background 152 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.9. ‘‘A Bedouin woman.’’ Photo by Dikran Nalbandian © GARO Photo. Courtesy of Mardo Nalbandian.

where dust, rock, cactus, and red-ripening prickly pears show the wild, inhospitable, and tantalizing environment. She is there to provide proof that the Orient has changed little, that Bedouins remain nomadic, and that Middle Eastern women are still exotic. What makes this Nalbandian photograph so suitable to be read in such an Orientalistic way is not the woman herself but rather the intentional lack of information about her. In his attempt to avoid the constraints of politics, Nalbandian leaves her exposed to the free interpretation by Occidentals. Since ‘‘A Bedouin Woman’’ is all that is known about her, Westerners apply their own cultural knowledge to create the narrative within which she should exist. Comparison of this postcard to a postcard made by Maha Saca reveals the susceptibility of this postcard to the Orientalistic interpretation (Fig. 5.10). Ostensibly, Saca’s postcard has the same subject and is worthy of the same reading. Saca’s postcard is of a woman wearing what seem to be the same Bedouin clothing and a similar veil. However, Saca’s postcard provides textual information that takes the woman out of the possible hold of the Occidental gaze and its assignment of her into the Oriental grid: ‘‘Bir Al-Sabi’: A Palestinian woman with her traditional costume and Burqu’’’ [sic]. First of all, the woman is no longer nomadic. She is given a geographical assignment of ‘‘Bir Al-Sabi’,’’ or Beersheba. Secondly, she is given membership in the nation of Palestine. Thirdly, she does not dress in ‘‘exotic’’ Bedouin clothes, as noted by Frommer’s,31 but in her ‘‘traditional costume,’’ as noted by Saca. The odd-looking face veil in Nalbandian’s postcard is now given a name, ‘‘burqu’,’’ i.e., burqu, in Saca’s postcard. By providing a name, also written in Arabic, Saca removes the veil from the realm of Orientalist categorization. She thereby demands that it be referred to by its specific name, while, at the same time, considering its cultural meaning and purpose. She capitalizes the first letter of the word, and this seems to denote her emphasis of its name, as with a proper noun. Knowledge is expanded from Orientalist fantasy to cultural awareness. Saca’s postcard differs from Nalbandian’s postcard, which provides the woman as spectacle and keeps her out of the politics of nationality. Saca directs the gaze away from the woman, who now stands proudly and confidently as Palestinian, and toward the self-confident display of her richly detailed traditional dress. Moreover, the Palestinian woman stands at eye level with the viewers, while Nalbandian’s Bedouin woman crouches subserviently in relation to the viewers. 154 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 5.10. Palestinian woman from Bir al-Sabi’. ‘‘Bir Al-Sabi’: A Palestinian woman with her traditional costume and Burqu’’’ [sic]. Photo by Azam Abeed © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

Mardo Nalbandian is one of today’s best-known and most prolific photographers of Israel and the Palestinian Territories. To give the credit due to his contribution to photographing and making postcards of the contemporary area, he has presented the area with strikingly colorful and aesthetically Orientalized views. And yet one must ask: who do these photographs and postcards of the area self serve in the discourse of national selves? Nalbandian presents the area self for sale, and, as he admits, these sales of photographs and postcards overwhelmingly come from the Holy Land tourists and sales to Palphot. In spite of his apolitical stance, these postcards have political consequences. Today, the contemporary tourists who seek the Holy Land do not, by declaration of their quest, seek a Palestinian national self. As noted by Keith W. Whitelam, it is this search for the biblical past, and even the biblical present, that anchors one’s attentions and intentions toward ancient Israel and the Occidental present. This has political implications for the present because it supports modern Zionist claims to a Jewish ancient land. The Holy Land tourists visit the Holy Land because they are searching for the ‘‘taproot of Western Civilization,’’ 32 the historical beginnings of the Judeo-Christian tradition. In turn, ancient Palestine is silenced because ancient Israel becomes the starting point of history for these tourists. As Whitelam notes, any tourist or scholar who refers to the area as ‘‘the Holy Land’’ is suspect as one wishing to silence ancient Palestine and contemporary Palestine, because the naming of the land implies control of that land. ‘‘Holy Land,’’ in itself, implies the search for the biblical past, and, in applying it to the area today, for the biblical present. Like Said, Whitelam further asserts that such a search means a search for European and Israeli cultural and historical roots, as opposed to such Palestinian roots. Nalbandian, as a result of his catering to Orientalism, does not identify the human experience of the area’s inhabitants. Instead, he continues the work of the nineteenth-century photographers and advances knowledge very little, even misleading his viewers. Pandering to Western fantasies of the Oriental, he edits realism out; freezes the area in ancient religious time; keeps it and its inhabitants exotic, somewhat primitive, and possibly even backward; and maintains the separation of Occident and Orient. Maha Saca, as will be shown in Chapter 6, tries to counteract these silencing aspects in Nalbandian’s prolific work.

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chapter six The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self

E

arlier, two ways of categorizing the presentation of the Palestinian national self were identified in the older, but still available for purchase, artists’ artwork postcards. The first of the two categories included postcards depicting Palestinians as political victims. The second category included postcards depicting Palestinians as a people enriched by their own heritage. In Chapter 3, the analysis of Mahfouz Abu Turk’s work discussed how the presentation of the victimized Palestinian as national self has been extended into photography and greeting cards. In this chapter, the work of Maha Saca will show photographic and postcard/greeting card presentation of the second category: the Palestinian national self as heritage-enriched. Maha Saca is the founder, owner, and director of the Palestinian Heritage Center in Bethlehem. Since the end of the first Intifada, Saca has been amassing one of the largest private collections of Palestinian folklore artifacts in157

side the Palestinian Territories. Her collection centers around the artwork of Palestinian embroidered dresses, although she is now collecting other Palestinian antiques and artifacts such as furniture and appliances, tābūnāt (small ovens for baking bread), cooking utensils, storage pottery and baskets, and agricultural tools. All are being collected for display at the Palestinian Heritage Center, as well as for traveling exhibitions throughout the Palestinian Territories, the Arab region, and the world. The Palestinian Heritage Center is open to tourists, Palestinian school groups, and compatriots who wish to learn about Palestinian culture. Saca is also gathering a large reading library to help support the Center’s endeavor of preserving Palestinian heritage. However, as noted by Rana Anani in an article printed in al-ayyām Christmas Guide, Perhaps [Saca’s] biggest claim to fame is the postcard project that she began recently at her own expense. She gathered some young ladies and dressed them in the dresses of various regions, had them photographed and distributed them throughout the West Bank. They sold like hotcakes.1

But Saca’s postcard project is much more than the gathering of young ladies, dressing them up, and photographing them. Anani’s description of the postcards does little justice to Saca’s strategies in presenting a Palestinian national self. The description makes Saca’s work sound Orientalistic. The postcards, however, are a great endeavor into the presentation of national self to her compatriots and to the national Others of the world. They comprise a focused attempt to define Palestinians, to restructure acquaintanceship knowledge, and to reclaim national self-awareness. In its images representing a heritage, Palestinian heritage is made to be picturesque. The images depicting Palestinian heritage set forth national claims and the parameters of how this heritage should be perceived, considered, and conducted. The motivation, the conception, the process of concretizing, the method of presentation, and the distribution networks driving Saca’s postcard project are worthy of an in-depth discussion. Provoked by years of Israeli occupation and inspired by empowerment from her own activity in the first Intifada, Saca felt the need to devote her time to Palestinian heritage. She is also motivated by the familiar sense of 158 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

urgency, rescue, and protection attached to discourses of heritage and folklore collection. Saca strongly feels that her work with the Palestinian Heritage Center and her postcard project are defenses against the encroaching Israeli national Other and are empowerment strategies for the Palestinian national self. Saca sees the Israeli encroachment not only upon the Palestinian land but also upon the Palestinian heritage, which, she alleges, Israelis are stealing from Palestinians. This Israeli appropriation of Palestinian culture is, for her, equally alarming and cause for concern and fear. According to Saca, the Israelis have staked claim to much of Palestinian food, music, and dance. She points to the Israeli postcards as some of the illustrated evidence of this appropriation. Palphot’s claim of the falafel as ‘‘Israel’s national snack’’ is an assertion she strongly denounces (Fig. 1.7). She opposes as well the Israeli claim to the icons of the land, like the map, the camel, the Bedouin tents, and even the desert. It is for this reason that part of the Palestinian Heritage Center incorporates a Bedouin tent and re-created Bedouin scene as a portion of its displays to tourists. Oriental stereotypes associated with the icons of tent and camel make Saca uncomfortable, but she acknowledges that many Palestinians are Bedouin. Therefore, she feels that she must display the icons of Palestinian-Bedouin life in order to keep them in the Palestinian cultural realm and away from Israeli appropriation. Saca’s first interests in heritage and folkloric rescue are the Palestinian embroidered dress and the image of the Palestinian woman. Saca points out that the Israeli appropriation of these two cultural icons increasingly became a fait accompli. This is among the main reasons why the Palestinian Heritage Center made the reclamation of the dresses and the image of the Palestinian woman its top priority. In the 1993 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia, Saca discovered an illustration that deeply disturbed her. This encyclopedia, which claims to meet the reference and study needs of school-age children, adolescents, young adults, and families in the United States, had printed cartoon illustrations of ‘‘Traditional Costumes’’ of different nations throughout the world. Between ‘‘Syria’’ and ‘‘South Africa,’’ a woman is depicted wearing the traditional costume of ‘‘Israel.’’ 2 However, this woman wears the thawb al-malik, a Palestinian wedding dress according to Saca. It is also close in representation to the clothing specifications for the thawb al-malik provided by Abed al-Samih Abu Omar, author of Traditional Palestinian Embroidery and Jewelry.3 Saca The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 159

acknowledges that the encyclopedia is not an Israeli-published book, but she feels that it does show the efficacy with which Israelis claim the land, and the resulting appropriation of the territory’s people and culture. The fact that people in the United States refer to this encyclopedia for knowledge incites Saca, because the Israelis are being given credit for a Palestinian cultural artifact, while, at the same time, Palestinians are not shown at all among the nations of the Middle East. Despite her protests and provision of proof as to the Palestinian origin of the dress, the publisher, World Book Incorporated, printed the same page in the 1998 edition, thereby declaring Israel the consummate owner of the dress.4 Saca also points out other instances where Palestinian dress has been appropriated by and attributed to the Israelis. She cites the case wherein female flight attendants of El Al, the Israeli airline, dressed in Palestinian costumes and claimed them as replicas of Israeli national dress. Additionally, there have been instances of Western museums displaying Palestinian dresses and yet marking them as Israeli. Saca does not always blame the Israelis for such mistakes, because in many cases non-Israeli scholars and curators create the problems. She does feel that the power of Israeli dominance over the Palestinian voice is part of the problems. Moreover, she acknowledges that a portion of the problems is the acquiescence of the Palestinians, an issue that she and the Palestinian Heritage Center are trying to correct by warning of the urgency of Israeli encroachment, collecting materials, and disseminating information. The Israeli appropriation of the Palestinian, specifically the Palestinian woman, is another area of distress for Maha Saca. She is working, as she sees it, to protect the image of the Palestinian woman and man from Orientalist representations such as those of Palphot and GARO Photo. She cites the many instances in which the Palestinian woman is depicted as dirty, disheveled, barefooted, oppressed, and tending to menial chores. The presentation of Palestinian women in such a way shows, according to Saca, that Palestinians are uncivilized and therefore unworthy of the land. Saca also sees it as a technique of shaming Palestinians, robbing them of their self-esteem, and teaching them that they are no more than ignorant peasants. This presentation, according to Saca, makes it easy and right for the Israelis to take Palestinian land. Indeed, the Israeli presentation of Palestinian women in such a way withholds from Palestinians the important national icon of the woman 160 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

as mother and as Palestine itself. It also diminishes the role of national protectress that Saca feels Palestinian women have filled during their activities of the first Intifada. She points out that the loss of Palestinian memory, as a result of such Israeli appropriations, assigned attributes, and Palestinian acquiescence, is dangerous for the Palestinian national self. In a Detroit Free Press article (May 27, 1998), Saca and her heritage work are featured. Here, Saca reports an instance in which a Palestinian girl could not find her traditional village dress among the array of photographed dresses that Saca often displays in a photo album. Saca had to explain to her that the refugee camp in which she was born, now lives, and therefore calls her home is not going to have a dress named after it. She explained to the girl that the refugee camp is not her actual ‘‘home.’’ 5 Leila El-Khalidi seems to echo Saca’s concerns regarding Palestinian dresses and women. In her book The Art of Palestinian Embroidery, El-Khalidi discusses the cultural context of the pre-1948 Palestinian embroidered dress. She begins with a discussion of the territory as an integral part of the ancient Middle East trade crossroads. She shows that the people of the area, as a result, participated in the high-volume trade and rich cross-cultural exchange of the world’s civilizations. These people helped to cultivate the art of embroidery, which used the fine silk, the woven cloths, the spun wools, the golden and silver threads, and the variety of symbols and motifs that traveled throughout the world. El-Khalidi’s point in this contextual placement of Palestinian embroidery is obvious: contemporary Palestinians’ ancestors shared, participated in, and even affected ancient world art and civilization. It is a modern reclamation of the Palestinian ancient past. Moreover, Palestinian embroidery is seen as an uninterrupted practice from ancient times to the present day. El-Khalidi, like Saca, identifies the woman as the unquestionable artisan of the embroidered dress. Making an embroidered dress, mainly using the cross-stitching technique, was a Palestinian practice even up to pre-1948 Palestine. Embroidery and dress styles were distinctive by region. El-Khalidi distinguishes fifteen of them, which cover and geographically claim the pre-1948 region: Upper Galilee, Galilee, Tiberius, Nazareth, Nablus, Ramallah, Jericho, Jerusalem, Bethlehem/Beit Jala, Hebron, Khan Yunis/Beersheba, Gaza, Asdud, Lydda/Ramleh, and Jaffa/Beit Dajan. The dresses were also descriptive of location. As noted by El-Khalidi, ‘‘In form, style, and appellation, The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 161

motifs were linked to everyday village and farm life, familiar rural scenes, and objects within the general environment.’’ 6 Embroidery was an art passed down from generation to generation. ElKhalidi reports that the men supplied the women with the materials and encouraged them to embroider. Embroidery was done in the afternoon and evening when the day’s work was completed. El-Khalidi utilizes the historically common folkloric scene with her description of embroidery as a social event: While keeping a simultaneous eye on the children playing in the courtyards, the women would gather and compare patterns as they worked their stitchery, choosing shady or sunny spots according to the weather. In winter they would embroider together round a coal fire, by the light of kerosene lamps.7

Embroidery became a part of a young Palestinian woman’s trousseau. Soon after a girl’s birth, her trousseau was started in anticipation of her wedding day. Once old enough, she would begin to add her own embroidered works to the trousseau. A betrothed girl would display her trousseau at her father’s home for several nights before the wedding. Family and friends would come to admire her possessions. As depicted by El-Khalidi, the embroidery was a central part of the display and became important in the mother-in-law’s assessment of the bride’s tastes and talent, her femininity, her potential as a wife, and her future qualities as a mother. As further evidence of the centrality of the embroidered dress to Palestinian social events, El-Khalidi points out that embroidered costume was often worn outside of the household for chores as well as high social occasions. Since few villages had running water, women would have to go to the local well and, on these occasions, would wear embroidered dresses. The local well became a place where women would have an opportunity to display their talent as embroiderers. Embroidered costume, then, was a part of daily wear for village women. The number of costumes a woman had was an indication of her socioeconomic status, and the quality was a matter of competition. This, then, fostered technical agility and artistic achievement. El-Khalidi’s book on Palestinian embroidered dresses not only establishes them as a part of the world’s civilized art, but it also uses them as markers 162 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

staking Palestinian territory. She maintains that the embroidery is presently a growing art that has been extended from dresses to cushions, table runners, table linen, dinner sets, hand towels, bookmarks, and wedding satchels for bonbons. These artworks are seen as linked to an ancient past that precedes ancient Israel. After all, El-Khalidi begins her historical timetable at 5000 b.c.e., when the Chinese began their cultivation of silkworms. Ultimately, El-Khalidi shows that Palestinian embroidery is material evidence that the fingers of the Palestinian woman, throughout the ages, were never idle. The Palestinian woman is shown as one who established, in part, a sense of self and community through the art of embroidery. Moreover, the Palestinian woman herself is recognized as a great contributor to her village culture, to the culture of Palestine and the Middle East, and finally to the world’s human culture. Since culture is an important part of national identity and a form of participation in the order of nations, the Palestinian woman helped, and continues to help, in claiming the national self. It is peculiar, however, that El-Khalidi does not note the work of Maha Saca. El-Khalidi seems to be unacquainted with the connection of Saca’s work to her own and with Saca’s collection and display of embroidered dresses in the face of obstacles created by the Israeli occupation. El-Khalidi states, I feel, finally, that older Palestinian costumes should be viewed as museum pièces de résistance and, as such, treated with the respect they deserve. Moreover, whatever comes on the market for sale should be bought by an appropriate organization (along with comparable examples in other areas of Palestinian folk arts and crafts) and displayed in a national museum, with material augmented by donations from private collections. This is only, after all, what other enlightened countries have been doing for years. In the case of the Palestinians, however, territorial rights have been denied, so that nothing could be effectively displayed on native soil.8

At the time of her writing, El-Khalidi was apparently unaware of the 1998 declarations of support issued for the work of Maha Saca and the Palestinian Heritage Center by the Palestinian National Authority’s Ministry of Education and Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities. The Palestinian National Authority is even making monetary contributions to the Palestinian Heritage The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 163

Center. Saca is not only collecting and displaying dresses from up to fifty villages and towns, the craftsmanship of the Palestinian woman, and other related items of Palestinian culture on native soil, but besides all this she is reproducing them and the corresponding image of the Palestinian woman into postcard and greeting card form. These postcards and greeting cards are then sold, or often given away, to be admired, to educate, or to be spread abroad, where the depicted items can be given wider reverence. The development of the postcard project reveals much about Saca’s conception and envisaged expansion of Palestinian heritage. The first postcard she made has already been introduced in Chapter 5 (Fig. 5.10). The ‘‘Seasons Greetings’’ greeting card of a young Bethlehem woman is similarly constructed (Fig. 6.1). This woman displays the thawb al-malik costume, which the World Book Encyclopedia depicts as the Israeli national costume. For this reason, Saca feels that it is the most important photograph that she has taken because it reclaims the dress as Palestinian. The embroidered dress is a traditional bridal dress of Bethlehem women. Abed al-Samih Abu Omar describes the style of dress, which he also pictures in his book on Palestinian embroidery: It is of red velvet striped with black and green. The chest panel [qabba], of over-lapping layers of silk and silver thread in couched embroidery, is sewn onto the dress. The sleeves and sides are of silk and silver thread on silk fabric. The Bethlehem dress is characterized by two small embroidered birds above the chest panel. The belt and shawl are of plain white cotton.9

The woman wears more than just the dress. The hat and jewelry are part of the costume as well. According to Abu Omar’s description, the hat (al-shatwa) is covered with red and orange silk, decorated with coral beads and gold and silver Ottoman coins, and embroidered on the back in the same pattern as the dress. The two long silver pendants, known as the ṣaffāfāt, hang from the sides of the shatwa. Tied under the chin is a long silver necklace known as the sab arwāḥ. The bracelets she wears are known as ḥabiyyāt.10 Maha Saca’s description of the dress is not as detailed as Abu Omar’s. This is mainly because the card’s verso does not provide enough room. Her de-

164 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.1. Palestinian woman from Bethlehem. ‘‘Seasons Greetings. A Palestinian young woman in Bethlehem traditional bridal costume ‘Al-Malak’’’ [sic]. © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

scription follows the similar version of Fig. 5.10: ‘‘A Palestinian young woman in Bethlehem traditional costume ‘Al-Malak’ ’’ [sic]. It is important to note the languages of the Saca texts. Saca first prints the text in Arabic, then in English. The text is meant to address and to appeal to Palestinians, Arabs, and English-speaking, mainly Western, people. The Arabic text additionally is intended to signal to the English reader that the Arabic language is a part of Palestinian culture and that Palestinians share a wider Arab heritage. The ‘‘Seasons Greetings’’ salutation inside the card of the Bethlehem woman, however, appears only in English. The use of English makes the card more likely, though not exclusively, intended for the Western viewers. The appealing appearance of the Palestinian woman is in direct response to the image of Palestinian women established in the Palphot cards. Moreover, the women in Saca’s postcards and greeting cards are always announced as ‘‘Palestinian’’ women. This is a declaration of national presence and works to undercut the claims of Palphot postcards, which always refer to the Palestinian men and women only with the general term ‘‘Arabs.’’ Palphot’s sweeping categorization gives credence to the Zionist claims that these people, part of an Arab nation with land aplenty already, are not necessarily attached to this particular territory. Saca’s declaration ties Palestinians to the specific land of Palestine. Saca’s portrayal of three generations of Palestinian women from Bethlehem is a very important postcard (Fig. 6.2), and, in an attempt at authentic portrayal, Saca photographs her mother, herself, and her daughter in thawb al-malik dress, standing in a grove of trees. Their makeup highlights their eyes and lips, emphasizing their physiognomic appeal. Their white teeth sparkle wholesomely. Saca’s intention is to show that she and her family are, as Palestinians, firm believers in their own heritage. She intends to authenticate the tradition of the dress as handed down across generations, to exhibit the beauty of the Palestinian women, and to demonstrate that Palestinian women exist as part of a family unit that is well-entrenched in the territory. Here, too, she shows that Palestinian families are not to be dismissed as impoverished families of Third World status. She wants to portray Palestinian families of higher social and economic means, a portrayal not necessarily representative of the Palestinian population. This higher social and economic status seems to be a ‘‘we-rationale’’ strategy wherein Palestinians are aligned 166 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.2. [Three generations] ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘Three generations, mother, daughter and granddaughter wearing the gorgeous traditional Palestinian costume called (Thob Malak) still worn in the Bethlehem area on certain occasions’’ [sic]. Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

with the self-images of the Western tourists. Moreover, Saca’s daughter wears a silver crucifix. This small detail is intended to educate tourists, and even Palestinians, that there are many Palestinians, like the Saca family, who are Christians. The English text on the postcard’s verso states: Three generations, mother, daughter, and grand daughter wearing the gorgeous traditional Palestinian costume called (Thob Malak) still worn in the Bethlehem area on certain occasions [sic].

Here, the English text says more than the Arabic text provided. The Arabic text, translated into English, states, ‘‘Three generations wearing thawb al-malik traditional to the area of Bethlehem.’’ The English text embellishes the scene because it aims to teach Others what is already culturally appreciated and understood by Palestinians and other Arabs. The text is intended to teach the unaware, English-literate spectators the specifics of Palestinian The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 167

family roles, the beauty of the traditional costumes’ appearance, the Palestinian identity of the women, the appellation of the dress, and the fact that this is not daily wear but occasional wear. This postcard is evidence of Saca’s own awareness of the role of the postcard in informing and educating Westerners about Palestinians. The postcard is even more revealing when considered in relation to a Palphot postcard. The latter is entitled ‘‘Three Generations’’ (Palphot, #2407 SC). Here, in the same positional order, are two ‘‘Arab’’ women and a baby: the mother, daughter, and granddaughter. However, the differences between the Palphot postcard and Saca’s postcard are obvious. Differing physiognomies are evident here, possibly more disfavorable to the Palestinian national self in the Palphot postcard than in Saca’s postcard. The mother in the Palphot postcard looks elderly. Her wrinkles are deep, and she is missing teeth. The daughter smiles and displays her gapped and graying teeth. Her swollen hands hold the infant granddaughter, who does not smile. The eyes of the two women and the baby are so dark that they lack life, and life in imagery is often brought out by the whites and glints of the eyes. The two women wear embroidered dresses. Nevertheless, they are drably colored and do not compare favorably in the style of workmanship to those shown by Saca. It is a bland physical appearance that is the generational heirloom and not the importance of embroidery workmanship. Even the background is cold. They stand in front of the drab stone of a building. It is unclear whether it is their home, but the ambiguity of this fact may indeed be an intentional part of the depiction. They do not seem to match the social-economic status of Saca’s subjects, but tend rather to suggest Third World affiliation, from which, as Ella Shohat points out, the Israeli national self tries to disassociate itself.11 The text on the postcard’s verso does not compare in detail or fervor to Saca’s description. Palphot’s postcard simply states, in English only, and not even in Hebrew, ‘‘Arab Women.’’ Saca denies ever having seen the Palphot postcard and claims the idea of three generations was hers. In turn, it is not clear whether Palphot was aware of Saca’s postcard. However, the similarities and even the differences are too obvious to be coincidental. The first one made must have been seen by the second postcard maker, and the second one was made in response to the first. Regardless of which postcard came first, it is evident that the two are in struggle with one another over the proper depiction of Palestinian women 168 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

and culture to the international, and more specifically, Western, viewers. The two postcards show the widening breadth of the struggle between Palestinians and Israelis, wherein the visual presentations of the national selves and Others become part of the conflict. Saca’s postcards have expanded the presentation of the national self beyond close-ups of dresses and women. The Palestinian woman and her traditional costume are shown also in an array of cultural scenes. These presentations are highly staged scenes intended to show the dresses and the women in the context of their cultural life and environment. Such scenes break the inanimate quality of the dress as a museum artifact, in which it reflects a dead past, and bring it to life in an animate, often idealized, setting in which it rejuvenates a current national self. In doing so, Saca’s scenes create a picturesque of temporal disjunction. The cultural scene is caught between the past of traditional clothing and activities and the present of contemporary models photographed doing things in current places. This creates a sense that Palestine exists in a surrealistic state rather than being grounded in the present. This temporal disjunction between past and present transforms the contemporary Palestinian woman into a simulacrum of her past matrilineal ancestors. The contemporary Palestinian woman is seen as living the way of a vintage era and doing things the way her ancestors may have done them. Although she lives in the 1990s, both her outward appearance and her conduct show that the spirits of the past matrilineal relatives are a part of her and cannot be suppressed. However, just as Orientalism holds the Palestinian in an unchanging, uncivilized past, here Saca’s presentation of the national self maintains the Palestinian woman in an unchanging, but civilized, past/present of pre-1948 in the 1990s. Saca’s presentation of the Palestinian national self relies upon a national identity that is built upon this nostalgic past. Many of the postcards and greeting cards can be classified thematically. However, there are some postcards or greeting cards that may include more than one of these themes in its photographic tableau. These cultural themes include: (1) accomplishment of work; (2) display of cultural artifacts; and (3) visits to Palestinian locations. The Palestinian village woman, according to El-Khalidi, was assigned a number of household and field tasks that were quite onerous. The woman often was responsible for tending livestock; providing meals; helping the The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 169

men in the fields; gathering vegetables, firewood, and water; raising children; and cleaning the home. It would have been considered in poor taste for a woman, when performing tasks outside the house, to be seen in her housedress. These outside chores became an opportunity for displaying an embroidered costume.12 Saca presents similar scenes of work and embroidered costumes in many of her postcards and greeting cards. In one postcard, the dressed model, in a Ramallah costume known as thawb rūmī abyad, is taken to the setting of an old village well (Fig. 6.3). With the additions of a water jar and a basket, Saca stages the work scene of a Palestinian woman fetching water. In a postcard titled ‘‘Bethlehem,’’ the women pick olives (Fig. 6.4). This postcard also displays the antique crafts of handmade baskets and the traditional tabaq. These crafts indicate work accomplished by women at a time prior to the photographed scene. The scene disports more work as well, although the work cannot be attributed to the women alone. The abundant trees are a result of generations of care and cultivation. Their linear placement is the result of earlier arrangement of the agricultural field. The stone wall is evidence of the work of gathering and stacking heavy rocks by hand, of continual repair, and of visionary planning. The orchard scene is replete with evidence of the human effort of Palestinian women and men. In part, it becomes picturesque because connotatively it negates the Zionist claims that the Palestinians have done little to improve the land. The cooking event is another cultural scene staged by Saca to show off Palestinian women and their embroidered costumes. In one such postcard, titled ‘‘Bethlehem,’’ a scene of bread baking is presented (Fig. 6.5). Four women are dressed in the Bethlehem costume known as thawb kull yawm. Each one participates in the process of making bread. In this postcard, Saca includes a Palestinian man who acts as the baker. The Palestinian black-and-white kaffiyeh is the prominent part of his attire. The scene is a vintage treatment, and such treatment adds to the claimed length of Palestinian presence. Using antique props and the vintage stage, Saca presents the idealized Palestinian work scene. In a cooperative effort, a basic staple of food is created. The flour and water are culturally transformed with the tools of the wooden mixing bowl and the heavy wooden spoon. The women’s hands knead and form the dough into its recognizable shape, the man transforms their work into the golden loaves, and the women gather the 170 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.3. Palestinian woman from Ramallah. ‘‘A Palestinian woman with her jar in her Ramallah costume.’’ © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

Figure 6.4. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘Palestinian women picking olives.’’ © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

loaves upon the tabaq to later serve to the family. The entire affair is presented as a social one that required the wearing of an embroidered Palestinian dress. The text of the postcard’s verso states it most succinctly: ‘‘Palestinian girls make dough and bake the ‘kemaj’ [kamāj]. The famous Arabic bread is being baked at Abu Elias’s Bakery that was established in the year 1925, Bethlehem.’’ With the text, Saca brings the Palestinian past, like that in the year 1925, back to life. On the vintage stage, also adorned with keys to old wooden doors, what appears to be an old saw, and the kerosene lantern, Saca presents Palestinian life as it may have been, maybe even as Saca hopes it to have been, during pre-1948 Palestine. The scene enacts a life when women dressed in their embroidered costumes meet to make bread with family members and neighbors. The Palestinian flag hangs over the stage and claims the scene, along with the dress, as authentically Palestinian. With more artifacts of work, Saca shows the kind of afternoon or early evening scene occurring, as described by El-Khalidi, when the day’s major chores are finished. In the postcard titled ‘‘Palestine,’’ four Palestinian women 172 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.5. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘Palestinian girls make dough[,] and bake the ‘Kemaj.’ The famous Arabic bread is being baked at Abu Elias’s Bakery that was established in the year 1925, Bethlehem’’ [sic]. Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

meet together in a sitting room (Fig. 6.6). One woman grinds grain in a stone hand mill, and another woman grinds coffee. Two other women act out the embroidery event. Again, the after-work work is accented with the evidence of more work already accomplished. The grain sifter sits on the floor, showing that the grain, which is now being ground, had been separated from its chaff. The liquid contained in the pottery jar has already been fetched. The coffee now being ground was previously pounded in the coffee pounder. The coffee being served has been ground in the same manner that the one woman acts out. The place to embroider is padded and covered with items already embroidered. And all the women who are working wear the previously embroidered work. In this scene, Saca layers work on top of work with the addition of work tools and artifacts. She shows that the Palestinian women are beautiful women who not only make culture, but they enjoy making culture. They enjoy the work that they do as Palestinians. The theme of work is an important one for Saca and, as noted by Dean MacCannell’s study on tourism, for the tourist. MacCannell explains that The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 173

Figure 6.6. ‘‘Palestine.’’ ‘‘Palestinian women practicing traditional Palestinian activities.’’ Photo by Nabil Diek © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

modern tourism has made work and the site of work a tourist attraction. Borrowing from Marxist theory, MacCannell explains that a cultural failure of industrial society is its alienation of the worker. Specialization and fragmentation of tasks in the industrial process have created dissatisfied humans in their wake. MacCannell believes that this alienation during work has created human beings lacking identity and meaning, which they then try to find in their leisure time. Since individuals cannot restore the equilibrium between themselves and their work, they will look for it in idealized settings of work, or ‘‘work display.’’ This, according to MacCannell, is the appeal of guided tours of factories, companies, and institutions. These work displays provide a beginning-to-end glimpse of work, cooperative production, and aggrandized end products. MacCannell feels that this explains the modern phenomenon of the tourist attraction of watching others work.13 Indeed, Saca’s cultural scenes of work accomplishment would meet the aesthetic expectations of MacCannell’s work-alienated tourist. The array of work scenes that Saca portrays shows the many duties of a Palestinian village woman’s workday, her cooperative and social stance with others, her enjoy174 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

ment of the work she does. The wearing of the dress itself acts as proof of her close and unalienated attachment to her work. What occurs is that the Palestinian national self finds a means of presentation suitable to the tastes of tourists from industrialized nations. Saca tries to show the Palestinians as well-adjusted people. Palestinians are given a release from certain Oriental stereotypes and the role of political victims. With heritage, she changes the image of the Palestinians from pitied and backward Others to ideal, enviable, and civilized human beings. It becomes difficult, then, to deny Palestinians their national status and their nation’s name. ‘‘Palestine,’’ as noted on the postcard’s title, becomes an idyllic place that is entitled to exist. The second theme of Saca’s cultural scenes is the Palestinian woman in costume displaying Palestinian cultural artifacts. Saca features the Palestinian woman in costume with these items in order to show the Palestinian woman’s cultural relationship with, and her national claim to, these items. Some of the artifacts are antiques and some are current productions. The old artifacts imply a relationship to and claim of the past. The current productions show a cultivated craftsmanship presently performed in Palestine. In a postcard titled ‘‘Bethlehem,’’ a young Palestinian woman dressed in thawb al-malik stands in a room filled with artifacts (Fig. 6.7). Among them are glass perfume bottles, an intricately carved jewelry box, a water pipe, various embroidered items, an old wooden chest with mother-of-pearl inlays, a sterling silver knife, a hanging tabaq, a carved, wood-cased pendulum clock, metal urns, and Palestinian flags. The woman holds an antique dagger and sheath—not as a weapon, but to show off craftsmanship. All the items, except the flags, are antiques; although the flags are representative of the Palestinian flag of the past as well as the modern one. Her present-day connection to the antiques is reflected in her present-day relationship with the antique photograph of a Palestinian woman. The woman in the photograph is a mirror image of the young present-day Palestinian woman, as they both are wearing the thawb al-malik. The text on the verso states, ‘‘Bethlehem ‘Thob’ between past and present’’ [sic]. The postcard’s scene shows a relationship of generations wherein the granddaughter dresses like and continues the traditions of the grandmother in the photograph. Behind her, another picture shows the grandmother dressed in a costume similar to that of this granddaughter. Saca’s picture of three generations of Palestinian women is also on the wooden chest and enhances the generational and national connection. With The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 175

Figure 6.7. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘Bethlehem ‘Thob’ between the past & present’’ [sic]. Photo by Nabil Diek © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

all these pictures as part of the mise-en-scène, the young Palestinian woman is therefore seen as part of a lineage of Palestinian women who dress in the traditional costume. In a number of postcards, Saca places the Palestinian women and their costumes inside the Islamic Archaeology Museum on al-ḥaram al-sharīf grounds in Jerusalem. The Palestinian women stand close to the museum artifacts and display for the spectator their connection to and claim of a Palestinian past. The dresses also gain a heightened sense of nostalgia when they are displayed against the large iron cookery pots or the large clay pots on display in the museum. In one postcard titled ‘‘Jerusalem,’’ two women stand next to an intricate wood-carved arched windowpane (Fig. 6.8). One woman wears a Jerusalem-area dress known as thawb abū qutba (right) and the other wears a Jerusalem-area dress known as thawb ghabāna (left). Some of the glass of the window is missing, although some of the colored glass inlay is still there. The glass pane was part of al-Aqsa Mosque and escaped total destruction from the fire set by a Christian zealot tourist on August 21, 1969. This man reportedly torched the mosque in an attempt to hasten the Second Coming 176 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.8. ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘A piece of a window that escaped the burning at Al-Aqsa Mosque in 1969, being examined by Palestinian women dressed in Jerusalem folk dresses at the Islamic Archaeology Museum in Jerusalem’’ [sic]. © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

of Christ. The burning of the mosque occurred just days after what Karen Armstrong calls an ‘‘anti-Arab pogrom’’ that was carried out by hundreds of Jewish men, possibly in retaliation for earlier attacks on Israeli citizens in West Jerusalem.14 Palestinians suspected, and some still suspect, that the fire was connected to Israeli marauders, since it is no secret that Zionist zealots want to reclaim the Temple Mount. The unsuccessful burning of the mosque has become a symbol of Palestinian ṣumūd (steadfastness). Saca seems to be highlighting Palestinian ṣumūd as well. Indeed, these women show the beauty of the artifact with their display for the viewer and their staged examination of it, as noted in the verso text. But this particular windowpane becomes important because it also carries the history of the burning of the mosque and that event’s connection to Palestinian ṣumūd. Even Saca cannot help but mention the blaze in her verso text. The women stand proudly at the windowpane’s sides, framing and supporting it and its history. In their Palestinian dresses, which Saca has transformed into a marker, even a secondary flag, of the Palestinian national self, the women claim that history and the spirit of ṣumūd with which the windowpane is endowed. Through the spiritual exchange, the Palestinian women and their dresses now, too, are symbolic of ṣumūd. The third theme of cultural scenes comprises postcards and greeting cards picturing Palestinian women and their traditional costumes out and about among the different towns and sights of Palestine. Saca thus marks, and when possible reclaims, the territory as Palestinian. In these cultural scenes, it appears more obvious that the women and their dresses become a sort of secondary Palestinian flag staking Palestinian claims. A postcard of Jerusalem shows five women in the area of al-ḥaram al-sharīf (Fig. 6.9). Here, they frame the structure of al-Aqsa Mosque. The strong stone pillars seemingly reinforce the strength of their presence here. The verso text states, ‘‘Palestinian and Gaza women in their traditional folklore dresses in front of Al-Aqsa mosque’’ [sic]. The text is mistaken, losing information in its English translation from Arabic. The Arabic actually states, ‘‘Young women of Jerusalem and Gaza, dressed in their traditional Palestinian costumes in the courtyard of al-Aqsa Mosque, become acquainted and assemble in most splendid reception of one another.’’ The English translation mistakenly separates Gaza from Palestine and does not convey, for the English readers, the sense of Palestinian unity that the Arabic text puts forth and the photograph portrays. For Arabic178 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.9. ‘‘Jerusalem.’’ ‘‘Palestinian and Gaza women in their traditional folklore dresses in front of Al-Aqsa mosque’’ [sic]. © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

illiterate spectators, the English text misleads. It is an example of the importance of proper translation of textual description for postcard makers. However, the photograph tells another story. As the Palestinian women receive one another in front of the holy site, two women dressed in ḥijāb, or head cover, and dress approach. On the one hand, the photograph shows another type of dress in Palestine. On the other hand, it may also question the Islamic-style dress’s authenticity as Palestinian. The embroidered Palestinian dress, as shown by Saca and the Palestinian Heritage Center postcards and greeting cards, is claimed as indigenous. In fact, it is claimed as the Palestinian dress. The embroidered dress, according to Saca and El-Khalidi, is intended to enhance and highlight a woman’s individual beauty. The Islamicstyle dress is newer in style; in fact, it is considered an import from the Islamic Revolution of the late 1970s. As seen here, it has no vibrant colors, no embroidery. This style of dress brings reticence to the women’s appearance, and it has the tendency of homogenizing their appearance. However, its neat appearance is also beautiful and particularly so in its own cultural context. With the juxtaposition of the dresses, this photograph may indeed show Saca’s curThe Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 179

rent and impending tussle over the elevation of embroidered dress and the accommodation of other styles of dress as reflective of national self. While presenting heritage is an important part of preserving national memory, the modern practice of memorializing the nation’s war dead also plays a part. Pilgrimage to centralized war memorials to perform or witness ceremonies for the war dead has become one of the patriotic ritual practices of modern nations. Antoine Prost has written an essay about French World War I memorial monuments to the dead. For Prost, such memorials promote civility and do not just memorialize warfare. He notes the significance of a World War I memorial’s placement so that all could see it. The memorial acted as a meeting place where people could envision their national collectivity. The pilgrimages and the ceremonies at the memorial forced collective participation in the acts of civility toward one another and were celebrations of common citizenship.15 The Unknown Soldier monuments of the combatant nations of World War I, according to Jay Winter, were ways of reclaiming the collective memory of the mass of soldiers whose remains were never identified or recoverable. While parents received the remains of their dead sons after great difficulty in negotiating their return, the nation, as parent, symbolically received the remains of all the sons with the remains of one unknown.16 Memorializing war dead is particularly important as a practice for the Palestinian nation in its struggle for nationhood. In doing so, Palestinians are participating in the practices of patriotism, civility, and conventional national behavior described by Prost. For Palestine, where many fighters’ remains have been buried outside of the territory, the Unknown Soldier statue has similar symbolic meaning, as described by Winter. Moreover, such memorialization is used to keep in competitive step with Israeli reverence for battle, the heroism of the soldier, and the patriotic sacrifice for the state. Israel’s veneration of these virtues has created a cultural pressure for Palestinians to keep in step with such practices. Saca photographs Palestinian women in their traditional costume in front of the Palestinian statue of the Unknown Soldier in a postcard titled ‘‘Gaza’’ (Fig. 6.10). Like most monuments of war remembrance, the statue of the Palestinian Unknown Soldier stands in the central square at the end of the main avenue in Gaza City, where it is highly visible. It is a place where people can mourn and be seen in proper national behavior. The Palestinian women, in 180 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.10. ‘‘Gaza.’’ ‘‘The Unknown Soldier statue and women from Gaza wearing their traditional costumes.’’ © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

their traditional costumes, have made their pilgrimage here and sit on the monument’s steps. Some smile at the viewers, some look sternly from the place of remembrance, and another looks away as if in pensive consideration of the site’s meaning. These Palestinian women sit as the symbolic future mothers of Palestinians and of Palestine itself. In these symbolic roles, they pay homage to the dead sons. There is also the presence of Palestinian National Authority Chairman Yasser Arafat, the patriarch of Palestine. Behind the memorial is a billboard’s giant representation of Yasser Arafat’s image which declares and reminds the Palestinian people of his, their, and the Unknown Soldier’s ultimate goal. ‘‘I will never forget my dream . . . until I am with you, O Jerusalem.’’ This postcard announces the Palestinian national self with trappings of national status such as the display of heritage, the symbolic use of feminine Palestine, the memorialization of dead soldiers, and the larger than life presence of the patriarch. Saca also photographs the Palestinian woman in costume at historical sites. These postcards try to reclaim the memory of historical Palestine, now popuThe Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 181

Figure 6.11. ‘‘Jericho.’’ ‘‘Daughter of Jericho observing history at Hisham’s Palace.’’ Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

larly traced back to the Canaanite period and therefore preceding the Israelites. One postcard, titled ‘‘Jericho,’’ shows a Palestinian woman in her traditional Jericho costume (Fig. 6.11). She stands on the ancient remains of Hisham’s Palace, an architectural complex built by the tenth Umayyad caliph in the eighth century, c.e. According to the Encyclopedia of Islam, Hisham’s reign marks the final period of prosperity and splendor of the Umayyad caliphate.17 Although the site is in ruins due to an earthquake and the ravages of time, the Palestinian woman stands upon its ruined walls, marking her presence and reign over the site and over Jericho. Her stance is intertextually familiar to Westerners. Reminiscent of the statue Winged Nike, the Greek Goddess of Victory, which now stands in the Louvre Museum, the Palestinian woman stands victorious in her reclamation of the Palestinian grounds of Jericho. Her flowing gown, and even the rough stone upon which she stands, are similar to the famous statue. The verso text states, ‘‘Daughter of Jericho observing history at Hisham’s Palace.’’ She symbolically performs an observance of history in a stance in which the archaeological ruins of a medieval past are behind her. She also establishes a pre-1948 presence in her traditional 182 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

dress. Meanwhile, she is in the photographed, present Palestinian history, and she looks out and off the tableau toward a Palestinian future. Jericho itself has ancient intertextual meaning important for reclamation. It is of archaeological interest as one of the oldest spots in human history and is one of the first two locations of the present Palestinian National Authority. Its Neolithic inhabitants built one of the first known ‘‘towns’’ in which settled people lived as a community surrounded by a protective wall (ca. 6000 b.c.e.). Basically, the wall demarcated the residents from others outside the wall. Claiming Jericho as Palestinian land is important not only because it was a modern political foothold in the West Bank, but also because of its affiliation with these ancient people and their sense of community. It claims the ancient past of Palestine, again pre-dating an Israeli ancient past. And Saca’s ‘‘Daughter of Jericho’’ acts as the staking flag of Palestinian sovereignty over it. Another postcard reclaims, albeit vicariously, a now Israeli-appropriated city: Jaffa. In the postcard ‘‘Old Jaffa,’’ the Palestinian women stand at an old home probably built prior to 1948 (Fig. 6.12). Now it is a restaurant. Included in this scene is Saca’s introduction of Palestinian children. Here she photographs a young girl who acts as if assisting in the daily chore of gathering water. Jaffa is an important place to photograph because it is an important part of Palestinian lament of loss. Barbara McKean Parmenter states that Jaffa is the subject of more prose and poetry of the post-1948 Palestinian literature than any other Palestinian town or village, including Jerusalem. She attributes this fixation on Jaffa to the fact that it was an important Palestinian port. It was filled with orange groves and was of ‘‘picture-postcard appearance.’’ 18 Jaffa has now become a chic district of Tel Aviv, but it has always remained visible from afar to its Palestinian refugees in the West Bank. As noted by Parmenter, It was a Palestinian city which refugees could see but to which they could not return, a symbol of an idyllic past lying just beyond reach. The town’s clear visibility made the sense of loss all the more gnawing and poignant.19

Saca has, with the placement of the Palestinian women and the absence of Israelis, reestablished Palestinian presence in Jaffa and reclaimed Jaffa for The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 183

Figure 6.12. ‘‘Old Jaffa.’’ ‘‘Old Jaffa: Palestinian women in their traditional coastal costumes near the entrance of an old house.’’ © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

Palestinians. With the Palestinian dress as secondary flag, she has staked that claim with their presence. Many of the Palestinian people have not returned to the town and many have never seen it, other than from the far distance explained by Parmenter. However, Saca brings it back to them in postcard form. Not only can they possess it and its beauty visually, but also they can possess it, as a postcard, in material representation. They can fantasize over how it must have been and, more importantly, should now be. As for foreign tourists, Saca reminds them that Jaffa remains a Palestinian city despite its present inhabitants and their claim. Presenting the national self as heritage-enriched through the Palestinian woman, her traditional dress, and her placement in cultural scenes in postcard format is only part of Maha Saca’s methodology. Saca realizes that Orientalism and Zionist claims are deeply ingrained in the minds of foreigners, and even some Palestinians themselves. She understands the overwhelming task of replacing popular stereotypes about Palestinians with the knowledge that Palestinians are people enriched with heritage. Too often, people will opt 184 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

for visions that fit their Orientalist expectations and Zionist inclinations and therefore propagate the Palestinian as the Oriental and the non-national. Too frequently, people are so bombarded with these images that they eventually become complacent and accept such images as true. Hence, many of the postcard vendors prefer the Palphot postcards and do not carry Saca’s postcards. Those few vendors who do carry them relegate them to back sections of the store. Crucial, then, to the presentation of the national self as heritage-enriched in postcards is the actual exhibition of the postcards themselves. The context in which Saca displays the postcards for view and sale is essential to their meaning. The heritage postcards are part of an organized ‘‘heritage experience’’ made to engage the viewers’ participation for a time and ultimately their acceptance and approval of the postcards’ validity. A postcard on its own can be weak because it competes with so many other visual representations. Its message may only hold the spectators’ attention until the next visual appears. It uses photography to present objectivity and creates an image of what may have been at one time, but not necessarily what is at the moment. The verso text can control the viewers’ thoughts only until some other text can overpower it. However, Saca’s heritage experience attempts to provide the material proof of heritage and a realm of reality for the postcard. The heritage experience aims to restructure the viewers’ acquaintanceship knowledge of Palestine so that the viewers can say, ‘‘We know it’s true because we’ve seen it.’’ In fact, what Saca is doing could be described as the performance of deconstructing and reconstructing socially acceptable realities. She does this with bases of knowledge much the same as those identified in Berger’s and Luckmann’s The Social Construction of Reality.20 Saca’s deconstruction of Orientalism and Zionist claims and her reconstruction with Palestinian heritage claims include face-to-face interaction, typificatory schemes, language and symbolization, legitimization and nihilation, institutionalization, and socialization. These seem to comprise much of Saca’s ‘‘heritage experience’’ at her traveling expositions and at the Palestinian Heritage Center. The postcards are integral to the heritage experience, not only benefiting from it, but also supporting it. The example of Saca’s traveling expositions to be discussed is one that took place at Bethlehem University on February 17, 1999. All her heritage experiThe Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 185

ences are designed to highlight the specific localities in which the expositions take place. Therefore, in this instance, Bethlehem was highlighted. Other regions were represented to show Bethlehem’s national connection to the rest of Palestine. The heritage experience was set up in a horseshoe-shaped room.21 Saca’s exhibit began at the right with cloth-covered tables displaying actual antique farming and village tools. A pitchfork, a stone hand mill, a coffee grinder, sickles, a grain sifter, and baskets of seeds were on the first table. On the second table were a plow, a tābūn, some loaves of bread, the straw-woven tabaq, clay pottery, pots, pans, and laundry irons. On the floor in front of the tables were a wooden straw carrier and a leather and wooden yogurt maker. These agricultural tools were intended to serve as proof of the presence of an industrious Palestinian farmer prior to 1948. The display meant to show the effort Palestinian farmers put forward in making and using the tools, and the types of products they produced with them. Proceeding around the room, the next major area comprised three large boards displaying pictures. These boards had signs on them declaring, in Arabic and English, ‘‘Folklore Tablets.’’ Here, enlarged copies of old and new photographs were on display. The photographs were intended to show generational roots, to give a sense of community, and to provide proof of a national culture. On the first board were black-and-white photos of a 1924 wedding, a 1930 wedding, and a 1947 wedding. An 1885 photograph of Saca’s great-grandparents was displayed to show that Palestinians wore modern clothes as well as traditional attire. Also on the board were a 1954 picture of alDahisha Refugee Camp, showing tents and not buildings; an 1892 picture of the staff of a Beit Jalil school; a photograph of four generations of Palestinian women from Saca’s family; a picture of the 1925 communal building of Nicol Senna Church in Bethlehem, showing hundreds of volunteer town workers; and a picture of Bethlehem residents receiving the new Christian Orthodox Patriarch in 1935. On the second and third boards were enlarged reproductions of Saca’s photographs featuring Palestinian women in their traditional costumes. There were current Saca photographs of traditionally dressed Palestinian women standing in Nablus, Gaza, Aker, and Sabastia, and a posed group photograph of these women at the opening of the new airport in Gaza. Continuing on, the visitors reached a television playing a videotape of a fashion show produced by Saca and featuring Palestinian dresses. Young Pal186 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

estinian women modeled each dress in the Palestinian Heritage Center’s collection, with Saca’s voice announcing its name in Arabic, its description, and its region of origin. A gentleman in the videotape also gave English interpretations. Next to the television, an old kerosene lamp was on display. And standing to the left of the television playing the fashion show, a mannequin displayed an actual thawb al-malik. When the visitors were ready to move to the next section, they were confronted with a sitting area. Made up of foam rubber couches in an L shape, the seating was covered with colorful material and padded with embroidered pillows. In front of the couches on a sheepskin rug were a coffee roaster, a coffee pounder, and a water pipe. The idea was to present the scene of a Palestinian sitting room and to connote the comfort and hospitality of a Palestinian home. The visitors were encouraged to sit on the couches to allow themselves to visually absorb and feel the heritage. Behind the couches more photographs were hung, including one that showed a similar sitting area in use. In the center of the room were pieces of Palestinian furniture, more coffee pots, pictures of Saca’s models and collected dresses, framed embroidery, and traditionally dressed mannequins, including one representing a man and one representing a woman. Almost every item was labeled with a small card, and the labels were just as important as the items themselves. Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, addressing the agency of display, discusses the importance and power of labeling museum pieces. According to her, museum pieces are decontextualized from their appropriate environment and placed into a display, which recontextualizes their meanings. When the object is decontextualized, it loses its power of meaning because it is unable to rely upon its original context to convey its original meaning. For example, in the process of taking a pitchfork out of the farmer’s possession and the field and then placing it in a room at Bethlehem University, the pitchfork loses its meaning, its purpose, and its utility, as it is out of place in this context. The displayer uses text in order to recontextualize the tool in a manner that is useful for the displayer and that is understandable for the viewers. Reading the labels placed next to museum objects, the viewers understand why the item is important enough to be on display in the new context. In fact, as she points out, the text can elevate it to the status of art. Text can even make representative models of the real thing as curious and as important as the real thing. Mere photographs of dresses, The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 187

when accompanied by text, can thereby take the places of the real garments and become just as curious a sight as the real thing.22 Saca’s labels are simple, but important. The labels name each item, each scene, and each point of display. For example, with the label, the contraption in front of the pitchfork is now identifiable as a straw carrier. Once the straw carrier is identifiable, the pitchfork’s presence makes sense as an auxiliary tool. In fact, the pitchfork’s construction becomes fascinating because, as an antique tool, its craftsmanship invites scrutiny and admiration as an art piece. All the text is written first in Arabic and then in English. Initially, the Arabic text claims artifacts as the property of Palestinian culture. Since it has a Palestinian name, it must have some cultural meaning for Palestinian society. The English text allows the meaning to be partially shared and understood by foreign, English-literate visitors. In turn, the labeling comes into beneficial use when declaring the names of items that are not shared between cultures. This works especially well with parts or ensembles of clothes. For example, the visitor learns that the blackand-white checkered scarf is really a kaffiyeh and is something attributable to Palestine. The word ‘‘kaffiyeh’’ becomes part of the visitors’ vocabulary, to be used when identifying the item in the future. Just as important as any of the pieces that make up the heritage experience is the promotion of Palestine that comes with the visitors’ personal interaction with Maha Saca herself. Visitors were approached by Maha Saca personally, whether upon entering the exhibit, while viewing the displays, or before leaving. At this cultural experience, she was dressed in a black, fulllength dress and patent leather pumps. Although the dress was not a traditional costume, it was decorated with Palestinian-style embroidery. Her attire showed how embroidery could become a part of modern Palestinian fashion, a practice she wishes to foster. Over the dress she wore an embroidered jacket known as jākāt taqṣīra. She wore an antique bracelet and three antique rings on each hand. A golden broach with the word ‘‘Palestine’’ was pinned to her jacket, adding to the promotion of her national self. Her assistant, Hiam, was adorned with an embroidered shawl. Saca greeted people and took them by the arm to particular points in the exhibit to show them something of interest. She explained the meaning of a picture, remarked on the age and authenticity of a dress, and encouraged visitors to discuss Palestine. Her narratives were structured to reclaim objects from the Israelis. Her 188 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

stories, enthusiasm, and hospitality worked to enrapture visitors. She worked to achieve an agreement with visitors that there was a ‘‘civilized’’ Palestinian past and that Palestinians should be admired and respected for their national culture. Further on, there were tables displaying embroidered rugs, bags, clocks, framed wall hangings, clothes, and other souvenirs for sale to the visitors. At the final stop in the exhibit were Palestinian tourist guidebooks, advertisements of Bethlehem 2000, and brochures of the Palestinian Heritage Center. On this last table were racks of postcards, posters of the postcard scenes, and raised wooden plaques embossed with images from the postcards, thereby making them into 3-D scenes. These image items were also for sale. Additionally, Saca displayed a photo album of other exhibitions and the Palestinian Heritage Center. Inside the album were pictures of Saca working with her models, giving lectures to school-age children in Palestine and in America, explaining things to adults, and posing with famous dignitaries. The display of these photographs aimed to provide a sense of the legitimacy of Saca’s work. In the cultural fashion during this period of the Palestinian National Authority, it is a symbol of status and patriotism to have one’s photograph taken with Yasser Arafat. Maha Saca showed photographs of herself with the Palestinian National Authority chairman as she talks with him, poses with him, or presents him with things on behalf of the Palestinian Heritage Center. The placement of the postcards at this part of the display was not unintentional. After seeing and admiring the artifacts in the heritage experience, visitors can take the artifacts with them in photographic representation. In the photographed cultural scenes, many of the artifacts that were seen on display in the heritage experience were now seen, photographically, in use. Visitors could use the postcards as illustrations of what they had seen. The cards were souvenirs of the exhibit as well as of Palestine. And visitors who did not purchase a postcard were offered free high-gloss bookmarks bearing a photograph with thirteen Palestinian women and their traditional dresses, each from a different region, along with the text ‘‘Compliments of the Palestinian Heritage Center, Director Maha Rumman Saca’’ (Fig. 6.13). The heritage experience is just as dynamic at the Palestinian Heritage Center in Bethlehem; however, it is developed in a larger complex. There are two stores and one large warehouse. The store spaces are for small groups of visiThe Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 189

Figure 6.13. Bookmark. ‘‘Large selections of traditionally ‘Culturally’ inspired postcards, posters and Christmas cards . . .’’ [sic]. © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

tors, and the warehouse is made into a large lecture hall, reading room, and artifact display and storage area. Again, artifacts are everywhere. The postcards are displayed in carousel racks or affixed to the wall. Those in the carousel racks are organized by area so that those interested in specific areas can access them quickly. Saca states that Palestinians tend to favor those postcards that prove Palestinian existence in the area of their original home. In her experience, foreign tourists tend to favor those postcards that deal with the religious sites. A Christmas greeting card titled ‘‘Bethlehem’’ is one of the most popular with tourists (Fig. 6.14). In this greeting card, three Palestinian women in traditional dress pray at the Church of the Nativity. At the traditional site of Christ’s birth, a plastic baby is placed. Despite its direct appeal to the Western tourists’ search for the roots of Christianity, Saca finds a small way to make it beneficial to the Palestinian national self. It should be recalled that Nalbandian’s scene of the plastic baby was analyzed in Chapter 5 as appealing only to the Orientalist inclinations of Western tourists. Saca, too, appeals to Orientalism with the use of the plastic baby, but here she points out a departure from Nalbandian. She sets up the scene differently by adding the embroidered Palestinian costumes. Unlike Nalbandian’s method wherein the Orientalized Arab enhances a scene, Saca feels that the Palestinian, when traditionally dressed, can be just as picturesque for tourists and can help in reeducating them. At the same time, the Palestinian national self benefits. However, she creates a dizzying temporal disjunction that spreads along a time line encompassing the ancient birth, pre-1948 Palestine, and the present. 190 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.14. ‘‘Bethlehem.’’ ‘‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. The Church of Nativity—Palestinian women in their traditional costumes praying in front of the Nativity Star.’’ © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

The success of Saca’s work in the presentation of the national self can also be assessed by its institutional prospects, and the Palestinian Heritage Center is becoming one of Palestine’s institutions. Palestinians and foreigners come to the Center to sell antiques, to ask questions, and sometimes to borrow items for their own heritage displays. Saca’s educational lectures to schoolchildren pave the institutional path for the establishment of the Palestinian Heritage Center and its work as a center of legitimacy for Palestinian heritage. Along with the photographs of the lectures, Saca is eager to show the many letters written by students thanking her and the Center for showing them their heritage. The Palestinian National Authority’s Ministry of Education encourages schools to visit the Center and has chosen to work with Saca in developing new textbooks that will discuss Palestinian heritage. Other publishers are increasingly using the postcard images as illustrations in their books and calendars. A commercial project in 1994 used Saca’s photographs to help teach PalesThe Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self : : 191

tinian children about Palestine. This project, known as iaraf baladak (Know Your Country) and owned by the Shablin Company, took images of Palestine and cut them into puzzle-like pieces. Some of the images were made from seventy of Saca’s postcard photographs. The pieces were packaged five to a sachet and then sold. Children purchased the packaged pieces for ½ shekel, matched them to a master book that was also purchased, and pasted the pieces inside the book describing the cultural scene. The idea is similar to stamp collecting. Iaraf baladak not only taught the children about their country, but it also encouraged them to participate in Palestinian heritage, and it anchored images of heritage in their minds. Iaraf baladak also made the issue of heritage a social event, as children worked with each other to complete books. Children often traded the cards and competed with each other in finishing their books. Those who completed the collection were invited to a party, paid for by the company, in order to celebrate their achievement and to build pride in their knowledge of Palestine. Saca continues to come up with new images with which to present the Palestinian national self. The use of the Palestinian woman and her dress was a first stage in the process. The use of cultural scenes with work, artifacts and crafts, and site visitation was a way of branching out. Now she is expanding the presentation to include images of men and children and their involvement in heritage. She is aware that the temporal disjunction can mislead people into believing that Palestinians still dress as if in the pre-1948 era; however, her intent was first to establish presence through heritage. She plans to show everyday twenty-first-century dress and activities in the future. One of the newest images Saca has made is an interesting advance in the presentation of the national self (Fig. 6.15). Outside of her home, Saca had her son photograph her in traditional dress holding a Palestinian flag. With this image photographed, she and her son then cropped out her image with the flag and superimposed it over a photographed background of Jerusalem. The marriage of the two images, supplemented with some text, has produced an astounding effect. In the direct center of the photograph is the golden roof of the Dome of the Rock Mosque, one of the accepted icons of Jerusalem. Above it waves the Palestinian flag, which is animated by the left-to-right-blowing breeze, and the breeze has captured the material in such a way as to expose its four colors. Saca looks up to the flag, smiling proudly, as if she is satisfied with 192 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.15. ‘‘Palestine.’’ ‘‘Freedom & Liberty for the Palestinian Land.’’ Photo by Ra’id Saca © Maha Saca. Courtesy of Palestinian Heritage Center.

the way she is carrying it. It is as if the breeze softly caresses her face and blows through her hair. It seems to be a breeze that creates in her a sense of free-spiritedness. Like a secondary flag, her Palestinian dress flutters in the breeze as well. In the bottom left corner of the greeting card’s tableau is the white-blocked lettering ‘‘PALESTINE.’’ The image is considered here as an advance in the presentation of the national self, because, with this woman and her actions, Saca has established a new national icon of Palestine. The Palestinian woman struggled for freedom during the first Intifada, and now the woman is shown staking her claim over the land, over the capital, and over the national name of Palestine. This is a much different picture of the woman than the one seen in Moghani’s Lena (Fig. 2.7). It is an image that works well in creating a national symbol because of its intertextual relationship with Western national symbols. Like the familiar images of the Statue of Liberty and her torch lighting the way to the United States, Marianne and her sword calling Frenchmen to arms, and Britannia with her spear and shield sitting upon her imperial throne, the Palestinian woman in this image steadies her flag in the winds of freedom to proudly and happily claim her land for her nation and her people. It is a brilliant use of imagery for a nation that presently relies upon the Western nations’ approval for national acceptance. On the back of the greeting card are a number of slogans and quotations in Arabic and English calling for Palestinian freedom, resolve, and homeland. The photograph created such a powerful and vicarious image that artist Mouhamed al-Mozien has transformed it into a painting for the Palestinian National Authority. The painting is titled ‘‘The Independence.’’ The painting has sharpened the image and detail of the dress and expanded the view of Jerusalem. The blue sky of the photograph is transformed in the painting in such a way that clouds and sky resemble doves, the symbols of peace, with stretched-out wings greeting the winds of freedom. The Palestinian National Authority has also made it into a greeting card, which Saca also sells (Fig. 6.16). According to Saca, there has been discussion of making it into a postal stamp. Saca prefers the photograph to the painting. She feels that the painting leaves too much to the imagination. The photograph, in her opinion, creates evidence that cannot be repudiated by Israelis or detractors of Palestinian heritage. Whether in photographic or painted form, the new image is becoming one of the national icons of Palestine. 194 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Figure 6.16. ‘‘The Independence’’ by Mouhamed al-Mozien. (The Palestinian National Authority.) Courtesy of Mouhamed al-Mozien.

And yet this new national icon as a performance of presenting a Palestinian national self is, in fact, creating a virtual national self rather than one based in reality. Nicholas Mirzoeff is correct in arguing that the digital manipulation of photographs has ushered in the death of photography.23 Such altered photographs are no longer realistic representations of what is or was in front of the camera. Rather, photographs created in this way become digitally manipulated representations that in turn create images that never existed. They are pure imagination, and, as noted by Mirzoeff, the ‘‘claim to mirror reality can no longer be upheld.’’ 24 As fascinating and innovative as Saca’s creation of the new icon may be, at the same time it undermines her evidence with images that are not really there but are purely imagined or purely virtual. Maha Saca and the Palestinian Heritage Center are among the many people and institutions working toward the presentation of the national self with the use of postcards. Her work, like the work of others, advanced with the sense of empowerment that came after the first Intifada. It continued to flourish with a sense of certainty provided by the presence and the encouragement of the Palestinian National Authority. Moreover, the modern appeal of the preservation and cultivation of national heritage for nations and tourists tends to create its own momentum of advancement. It is easy for those visitors seeking heritage proofs to become so enthusiastic about her work that they forget that heritage is being made as much as it is being preserved. As noted by Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, heritage is not just a past. It is also a ‘‘mode of cultural production in the present that has recourse to the past.’’ 25 In other words, heritage is actually a cultural practice of making old objects important for the present. As such, heritage is a practice that relies upon the entextualization process, in which objects are decontextualized from the past and recontextualized into the present through display. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett calls heritage an ‘‘agency of display,’’ meaning that it is subject to the displayer’s political choices and the cultural limitations of contemporary disciplines. To critically understand Saca’s work, one must question the structural disciplines she uses. Although the presentation of the national self as heritage-enriched is intended to break the chains of the Israeli occupation by allowing Palestinians to be supported by their own identity, Saca remains somewhat imprisoned. The postcard project uses the technology and related myths of photography, the urgency and protective strategies of folklore, the ideologies of the 196 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

picturesque, the politics of culture and nationalism, and the material collection fetish of anthropology and archaeology in order to concretize the proof of heritage and thereby establish Palestinian presence and national self. The issues of presence and national self are always threatened by concerns about Zionist encroachment and claims to the land, its culture, and its people. Through the entextualization process, old items are taken out of their past context and given a new meaning to prove and disprove current claims. The items cannot speak for themselves, and so Saca and her text must do it for them. Parts of the material holdings of the Palestinian Heritage Center are collected documents and instances of Israeli transgressions against Palestinian heritage. Saca often refers to these holdings either verbally in her discussions or intertextually in her display of the heritage experience and through her postcards and greeting cards. In defending against Israeli encroachment on Palestinian culture, Saca not only reclaims the Palestinian national self and status, but she also aims to undermine a portion of Israeli cultural credibility. As part of the rescue and protection, she attempts to destabilize the Israeli national self and claim of status. Her work brings into question the real possibility of being totally free at this time from defining the Palestinian national self through heritage without reference to a political narrative that relies upon the presence of the Israeli national Other.

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conclusion Tom Sawyer, Visual Methodologist, and the Presentation of National Self

W

hen Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, and Jim happened upon the coast of Africa in their runaway balloon, Tom was able to assess their geographical position. Without a chronometer as a navigating tool and with no control over their direction, he located their whereabouts through the resourcefulness of his visual methodologies. The protagonist of Mark Twain’s 1894 novel, Tom Sawyer Abroad, became, in a sense, ‘‘Tom Sawyer, Visual Methodologist.’’ And as such, he regained an idea of location and a sense of control. Lions and sand used as icons told him that below their wandering airship lay the African continent and the Great Sahara Desert. By organizing the Oriental icons of camels, caravans, massacre, kidnapping, rescued treasure, and palm trees, he felt certain enough to declare that they were right in the midst of the Arabian Nights. Tom’s announcement of their arrival in Egypt came after he assembled the sights of three little, sharp roofs like 199

tents, the bright green land with a snaky strip through it, and a large rock statue of a face with battered nose and the body of a tiger. Tom connected signifiers with signifieds in order to recognize things and places that he had never seen before. In many cases he audaciously created his own signs by stereotypically assigning signifiers to signifieds. In the process, he contextualized what they saw below with his intertextual application of stories, history, traditions, proportions, and perspectives. He was able to bring a world that might otherwise have been confusing, bizarre, and uncontrollable into a disciplined system objectified and arranged by signs and discourses. At times, he drew Huck and Jim into deep admiration and contemplation with his performance of visual methodologies. Huck thought that Tom had a certain ‘‘instink’’ more than knowledge.1 Huck also pointed out that a sight when supported by textual reference is more compelling than a sight without such support ‘‘because there ain’t anything that is so interesting to look at as a place that a book has talked about.’’ 2 Twain is not only showing the human proclivity to read, to reason, and to create visually, but he is also showing the inherent power of the visual. Creating the visual can make Others and the world understandable, accessible, knowable, appreciable, and controllable. Moreover, visual virtuosity, even Tom’s ostensible virtuosity, can wield power over others. Often, however, some of Tom’s uses of signs and discourse to create a meaningful understanding caused confusion for Huck and Jim, resulting in less than truthful readings. Huck tried to do this himself, but his misapplications were grave mistakes of interpretation. Huck thought that they were still in Illinois because he had not yet seen the pink-colored state of Indiana, as marked on the map. Huck also mistook the black line in the distance, really a caravan, for the black longitude line found on the map. And Tom, himself, believed that the old home in Egypt must be Moses’ home. He believed the brick he put into his pocket, which Huck secretly exchanged for a more common brick, was an authentic brick of the prophet’s abode. In these alternative cases, Twain pokes fun at the folly of human visual knowledge, particularly the visual knowledge of the tourist, when applied to recognize and to judge foreign lands, people, and places. Regardless of whether Tom’s application of his visual methods saved the day or led him astray, or whether Huck and Jim could not seem to display such visual virtuosity, Tom did so from a position of power. From high above 200 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

the land he was reading, Tom looked down upon the signs and discourses about them in a rather superior, Western-centric manner. From high above, he determined that the people in the befriended caravan, who were later killed in a sandstorm, would never make it to heaven because they were Muslims. His superior position from on high was also a superior position from afar. Only from far away could he imagine the ease and the righteousness of creating a new crusade to the Middle East in order to recapture the Holy Land. Only from afar could he imagine such a fantastic adventure to break the monotony of his seemingly mundane days in St. Petersburg/Hannibal. It is Tom’s status as a United States citizen that endowed him with the imagined right to demand an apology and indemnity for his crew and government from the Egyptians, located below, after they fired upon Jim. He believed that this little country owed it to them. There was no one else other than Huck and Jim, no other narrative, to compete or counter Tom’s visual readings. All things captured in Tom’s gaze lacked the power to present themselves. Tom Sawyer, the adventurous nineteenth-century American traveler and a commonly shared spirit of Americans, may have had the power of gaze, Western-applied intertextuality, egotism of citizenship, and education to support his visual readings, but total power is usurped, and the tables are somewhat turned when we try to understand presentations of national self. With the concept of the presentation of national self, our balloon is forced to a lower altitude. We are coaxed to descend down our rope ladder to see, to consider, and, within the presenters’ perspective, to accept what others have to say for themselves. Such presentations appeal to the visual proclivities of human beings in order to build their knowledge or to alter their previously constructed knowledge. As discussed in these prior chapters, Israeli and Palestinian postcard and greeting card makers, photographers, and artists of the late twentieth century are attempting to take back power. Here, they endeavor to control others’ readings in the assignment of signifiers and signifieds and to derive readings that promote goals of national identity and politics. Their methods recall a point made by Jay Winter, who believes in a semiotic vocabulary and grammar of a visual language.3 Here, Israelis and Palestinians are creating such vocabularies and grammars of visual language in order to reclaim the right to narrate for themselves about themselves. They have, as demonstrated here, created a visual language through the manipulation of the relaConclusion : : 201

tionship between ideology and photography in order to create a sense of the picturesque, the development and use of key symbols, and the entextualization and recontextualization processes around the medial issue of ‘‘peace.’’ This has also been done through the use of the parergon, the constraint of the text, the promotion of punctum and studium, the appeal of the ancient and the biblical, and the agency of display. The presenters of Israeli and Palestinian national selves show themselves to be adherents of righteous and virtuous lifestyles, political victims, heritage-enriched peoples, and ecologically rooted nationals. The intent is to control readings in order to guide the viewers’ thoughts toward the acceptance of images as ‘‘objective’’ representations of reality and to enlist the viewers’ agreement with the presenters’ notions about national place, national existence, and national legitimacy. In the construction of realities, the presentation of national self attempts to make self-images look instinctively correct and plausibly possible. And yet the presentation of national self is self-interested, and one cannot rule out the possibility that it is self-portrayal with some distortion, deception, and, at times, wishful thinking. Daniel Miller’s work on Christmas cards comes to mind here. Miller points out that Christmas cards promote idealized cultural, social, and family relationships that may in fact be in jeopardy during the year’s day-to-day life.4 Likewise, Israeli and Palestinian postcards and related greeting cards idealize national selves and are constructed and displayed with much certainty and concentrated bravado. These presentations of national selves, which include visual attacks on each other, may be defensive measures taken to promote national identities that are actually fragile and highly contested within the politics and discourses of the IsraeliPalestinian conflict. Indeed, more power is taken back in the presentation of national self, but it is not totally recaptured. The presentation of national self develops out of a negotiated, and sometimes imposed, communicative process. It is often subject to the social/communal, political, and military pressures at hand. It has become clear that certain choices of symbols or views must be ambiguous or hidden in order to avoid outright retaliation by those who wield physical power. It has been shown as well that when the presentation of national self compares itself to Others, it becomes reliant upon the Others and often cannot release itself from this referential trap. Moreover, the presentation of national self is always subject to the rules 202 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

of commonly accepted national behavior, often defined by the hegemony of the West. The national self must comport itself in a socially acceptable ‘‘national manner.’’ National representations are, therefore, carefully constructed in order to support, and not to offend, the institution of nationhood. In this way, the presentation of national self not only shows what the presenter wants Others to perceive of the national self but also is limited by what the presenter perceives as the related desires of Others. In the cases of the Israeli and Palestinian national selves discussed in this book, since each must try to conform to the internationally accepted version of national legitimacy, and as they compete for international attention, they tend to overlook the national existence of each other and choose to write out of the national narrative or flout each other. Accordingly, the Israeli-Palestinian dispute continues in struggles over visual signs. Postcards are more than banal and ubiquitous tourist bric-a-brac. They are important tools of semiotic power used to demand national acceptance and to affect human knowledge. They are vessels of the presentation of national self. Postcards and greeting cards appeal to those who search out and collect signs of Others, and themselves, for easy recognition and understanding. They package signs and sign messages onto small pieces of cardboard so that the national self may be easily communicated, exported, collected, carried and kept, and viewed. Although this book has concentrated upon Israeli and Palestinian postcards and greeting cards, the concept of the presentation of national self can certainly be applied to other national cases. In conclusion, this book challenges its readers to consider the presentation of national self in the next postcards they send or receive from England, France, the United States, or any other declared nation. Such consideration may enlighten and encourage visual readings, studies, and critiques. It will also demonstrate how these national selves play to and attempt to control acquaintanceship knowledge. In addition, this book may provide an opportunity to reflect upon prevailing presentations of one’s own national self and even one’s own participation in such presentations. If we descend our balloon, we can get a better look at Others as well as ourselves.

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Notes

Introduction: The Presentation of National Self 1. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, 2d ed. Other notable works that examine identity in specific print capitalist media, in reference to the Middle East, include Allen Douglas and Fedwa Malti-Douglas, Arab Comic Strips; Rashid Khalidi, Palestinian Identity; Ella Shohat, Israeli Cinema; and Linda Steet, Veils and Daggers. 2. Rose breaks discourse analysis methodology into two possible approaches. Discourse Analysis I pays attention to the notion of discourse as articulated through visual images. Discourse Analysis II looks at the issues of power, regimes of truth, institutions, and technologies in relation to visual images. This book follows his suggestion of combining methodologies so that ‘‘a richly detailed picture of images’ significance [can] be developed, and in particular it can shed interesting light on the contradictory meanings an image may articulate.’’ Gillian Rose, Visual Methodologies, pp. 135–186, 202 [quote from p. 202]. 3. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life and Behavior in Public Places.

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4. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self, pp. 3–4. 5. Jonathan Culler, ‘‘The Semiotics of Tourism,’’ American Journal of Semiotics 1 (1–2): 133. 6. William M. O’Barr, Culture and the Ad, p. 93. 7. Dean MacCannell, The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class, p. 16. 8. Gordon W. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice, pp. 190–192. 9. Richard Bauman and Charles L. Briggs, ‘‘Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life,’’ Annual Review of Anthropology 19 (1990): 73–76. 10. Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Destination Culture, pp. 81, 175. 11. Similar to the idea of Mauss. Marcel Mauss, The Gift, trans. W. D. Halls. 12. Tagg uses a great example of this point. He suggests that even a photograph of the Loch Ness Monster can become factual when it conforms intertextually. John Tagg, The Burden of Representation, p. 5. 13. Annelies Moors and Steven Machlin, ‘‘Postcards of Palestine,’’ Critique of Anthropology 7 (2): 61–77. 14. Walid Khalidi, Before Their Diaspora. 15. Annelies Moors, ‘‘Presenting Palestine’s Population: Premonitions of the Nakba,’’ MIT Electronic Journal of Middle East Studies 1 (May 2001): 21–22. 16. ‘‘Right to narrate’’ is a term borrowed from Edward W. Said, The Politics of Dispossession, pp. 247–268. 17. Robert Goldman and Stephen Papson, Sign Wars, p. v. 18. Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality, p. 110. 19. Lev Bearfield, ‘‘The Nation’s Family Album,’’ Jerusalem Post, January 2, 1985, p. 5.

1. Palphot’s Israeli Self 1. Lev Bearfield, ‘‘The Nation’s Family Album,’’ Jerusalem Post, January 2, 1985, p. 5. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid. 4. John Berger et al., Ways of Seeing, p. 8. 5. Malcolm Andrews, The Search for the Picturesque, pp. viii, 6, 68–71, 239–240. 6. James R. Ryan, Picturing Empire, pp. 13–26. 7. William M. O’Barr, Culture and the Ad, pp. 2–4. 8. Cited in Edward Said, The Politics of Dispossession, p. 34. 9. Richard Waswo, The Founding Legend of Western Civilization. 10. Yael Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, p. 28. 11. Akiva Orr provides interesting insight into the meaning of Zionism’s Jewish nation and its claimed right to self-determination. He points out that Zionism looked,

206 : : Notes to Pages 2–17

and continues its look, to create a nation of a Jewish majority. Akiva Orr, Israel: Politics, Myths, and Identity Crises, pp. 123–138. 12. New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, s.v. ‘‘Zionism, History of.’’ 13. Jeremy Black, Maps and Politics, pp. 88–89. 14. Ibid., p. 12. 15. Ibid., p. 96. 16. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things, pp. xx–xxi. 17. Black, Maps and Politics, p. 113. 18. Ben-Yehuda (1857–1922) was a pioneer in restoring Hebrew as a living language. He was a founder of the Hebrew Language Council. Mitchell Cohen, Zion and State, pp. 55–57. 19. Flavius Josephus, The Jewish War, trans. G. A. Williamson, pp. 387–408. 20. Yigael Yadin, Masada, trans. Moshe Pearlman, p. 16. 21. Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, pp. 60–76, 192–213. 22. Orr, Israel: Politics, Myths, and Identity Crises, pp. 8–28. 23. Ella Shohat, Israeli Cinema, pp. 27–53. 24. New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, s.v. ‘‘Christian Zionism.’’ 25. Keith W. Whitelam, The Invention of Ancient Israel, pp. 58–61. 26. Biblical verse is ‘‘As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen.’’ Matthew 4:18. 27. Matthew 8:23–27. 28. New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, s.v. ‘‘Kibbutz Movement.’’ Early Zionist writers promoting the kibbutz include Franz Oppenheimer (1864–1943), Nachman Syrkin (1868–1924), Joseph Trumpledor (1880–1920), and David Ben-Gurion (1886– 1973). For discussion of these writers see Gideon Shimoni, The Zionist Ideology, pp. 194–201. 29. Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, p. 26. 30. Ibid., pp. 26–28. 31. Ibid., pp. 26–27. 32. Amos Elon, Jerusalem: Battlegrounds of Memory, pp. 184–194. 33. W. Gunther Plaut, The Magen David, pp. 87–95. 34. As seen by this researcher in Jerusalem on February 22, 1999. 35. Uri Ben-Eliezer, The Making of Israeli Militarism, p. 7. 36. Ibid., pp. 193–206. 37. Ibid., p. 200. 38. Ibid., pp. 193–206. 39. Samuel M. Katz, Follow Me! A History of Israel’s Military Elite, pp. 77–78. 40. Zerubavel, Recovered Roots, p. 130.

Notes to Pages 18–43 : : 207

41. Ibid. 42. New Encyclopedia of Zionism and Israel, s.v. ‘‘Western Wall.’’ 43. Mark Tessler, A History of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, p. 403. 44. Katz, Follow Me! p. 78. 45. Elon, Jerusalem: Battlegrounds of Memory, pp. 58, 83, 182–183. 46. Shohat, Israeli Cinema, pp. 62, 208, 240. 47. Palphot Inventory #141. 48. Deuteronomy 8:7–10. 49. Cohen, Zion and State, p. 186. 50. Ben-Eliezer, The Making of Israeli Militarism, p. 46. 51. Said, The Politics of Dispossession, p. 31. 52. O’Barr, Culture and the Ad, p. 12. 53. Anita Shapira, Land and Power, pp. 43–58, 121, 362. 54. Ryan, Picturing Empire, p. 12. 55. Edward W. Said, Orientalism, p. 12. 56. Note, too, that the postcard states the ‘‘Temple Mount,’’ as opposed to ‘‘al-ḥaram al-sharīf ’’ (‘‘The Noble Sanctuary’’). This is a political statement of Jewish ownership of the place where the Muslims are praying. 57. Shohat, Israeli Cinema, pp. 37, 48. 58. Orvar Löfgren, On Holiday, p. 111.

2. The Palestinian Self in Artwork Postcards 1. Sherry B. Ortner, ‘‘On Key Symbols,’’ American Anthropologist 75 (1973): 1339. 2. However, there are some postcards that boldly depict the Israeli outright. Those using summarizing symbols, as discussed here, seem to be more prevalent. 3. Ted Swedenburg, ‘‘The Palestinian Peasant as National Signifier,’’ Anthropological Quarterly 63 (1): 27. 4. Ibid., pp. 18–30. 5. Name of the first sūra in the Koran. 6. For examples, see Liana Badr, Eye of the Mirror; Ghassan Kanafani, Men in the Sun, All That’s Left to You, Umm Saad, and Return to Haifa; Fadwa Tuqan, A Mountainous Journey; and Emile Habiby, ‘‘Umm al-Rūbābīkā,’’ in Sudāsiyyat al-ayyām al-sitta, pp. 23–28. 7. Ortner, ‘‘On Key Symbols,’’ p. 1344. 8. An-Najah University, ‘‘An-Najah News,’’ http://www.najah.edu/news/culture.htm, March 25, 1999. 9. Īd is the festival of the breaking of the fast at Ramadan. 10. Sabra and Shatilla are two Palestinian refugee camps outside of Beirut that became famous during the 1982 Israeli invasion into Lebanon. From September 16

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through 18, 1982, Phalange Party soldiers massacred hundreds of civilians, many of them women and children. The IDF is believed to have had knowledge, and possibly approved, of the massacre. The Israeli Kahan Commission, which investigated the events, found Ariel Sharon, then defense minister, to bear ‘‘personal responsibility’’ for the massacre. Mark Tessler, A History of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, pp. 590–599. 11. Swedenburg, ‘‘The Palestinian Peasant,’’ p. 27. 12. Ibid., p. 25. 13. Ibid., p. 21.

3. The Janus-Faced Palestinian Self 1. Susan Sontag warns against the objectivity of the photograph compared to the painting. In her book On Photography, she states, ‘‘Although there is a sense in which the camera does indeed capture reality, not just interpret it, photographs are as much an interpretation of the world as paintings and drawings are.’’ Susan Sontag, On Photography, pp. 5–7. 2. Orvar Löfgren, On Holiday, pp. 72–76. 3. Ibid., p. 81. 4. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things, pp. 23–25. 5. Transcript of ABC News This Week with David Brinkley, #779 (September 29, 1996): pp. 1–8. 6. Lisa Beyer, ‘‘The Peace in Flames,’’ Time, October 7, 1996, p. 37. 7. Transcript of NBC News Meet the Press (September 29, 1996): p. 1. 8. Foucault, The Order of Things, p. xx. 9. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, p. 9, and Behavior in Public Places, p. 24. 10. Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, pp. 3–4. 11. John R. Clarke, Looking at Lovemaking, p. 103. 12. Peter Wagner, Reading Iconotexts, p. 25. 13. ‘‘Prayer for Jerusalem,’’ in Gates of Prayer: The New Union Prayer Book, p. 42. 14. Translated into English from Hebrew, mishtārāh means ‘‘Police Force.’’ 15. Husseini died from a heart attack on May 31, 2001. 16. Stuart Hall, ‘‘Ethnicity: Identity and Difference,’’ Radical America 23 (4): 16. 17. Sontag, On Photography, p. 12. 18. Rashid Khalidi, Palestinian Identity, p. 205.

4. The Ecological Palestinian Self 1. Tönnies’ Gemeinschaft (community) is a folkloric and embryonic community where people are bonded by love, understanding, and dependence upon one another. Notes to Pages 96–120 : : 209

People are united by blood relationship and physical and intellectual proximity. They are tied to each other by generation, the soil, the permanent location, and the visible land. Youthful naïveté, lives of simplicity, passion for love and friendship, the centrality of land, and the discipline of family law are among the concepts that exist in Gemeinschaft. As communities grow into the future and become more reliant upon the division of labor, they undergo a metamorphosis wherein the characteristics of Gemeinschaft are replaced with the characteristics of Gesellschaft (society). In Gesellschaft, people exist foremost as individuals, are spiritually isolated, and become separated by tension against all others. The quests for money and exchange create acquaintanceships that replace relationships bonded by love and mutual reliability. Every person strives for that which is to his/her own advantage and affirms the actions of others only insofar as, and as long as, they can further his/her own individual interest. In Gesellschaft, products are not individually created, leaving no bond between craftsman and craft made. Rather, the manufacturing owners use others to create the product. The owners’ only addition to the product is the buying and selling of it. Ferdinand Tönnies, Community and Society, pp. 33–170. 2. Barbara McKean Parmenter, Giving Voice to Stones, pp. 48–63. 3. Peter Wagner, Reading Iconotexts, p. 37. 4. Ibid., p. 75. 5. Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida, trans. Richard Howard, p. 26. 6. Ibid., pp. 26–27. 7. Ibid., p. 41. 8. Sahar Khalifeh, Wild Thorns, trans. Trevor LeGassick and Elizabeth Fernea, p. 182. 9. Ibid., p. 177. 10. Jonathan Culler, ‘‘The Semiotics of Tourism,’’ American Journal of Semiotics 1 (1–2): 133. 11. Ted Swedenburg, ‘‘The Palestinian Peasant as National Signifier,’’ Anthropological Quarterly 63 (1): 22. 12. Stephen Daniels, Fields of Vision, p. 5.

5. The Orientalized Area Self 1. Hiromi Shinobu, ed., Our Visit to the Holy Land, with photos by Mardiros Nalbandian, p. 3. 2. Edward Said, Orientalism, p. 12. 3. Ibid., p. 22. 4. Ibid., p. 67. 5. Robert Ullian, Frommer’s Israel: With Excursions to Jordan and the Sinai, 2d ed., p. 1. 6. Ibid.

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7. Naomi Shepherd discusses the tradition of travel to Palestine, which began in the early nineteenth century. European travelers came to the area with their Europeaninspired and -imagined landscapes of the holy sites and their surroundings, which in actuality rivaled the reality of what they were to find. ‘‘From this point forward, Palestine was to be ransacked for ‘evidence’ of the accuracy of the Bible. . . . Every village, tree, plant, and stone was scrutinized for its possible relevance to the Scriptures.’’ Naomi Shepherd, The Zealous Intruders: The Western Rediscovery of Palestine, pp. 73, 78. 8. Keith W. Whitelam, The Invention of Ancient Israel, p. 15. 9. Shinobu, ed., Our Visit to the Holy Land, p. 4. 10. Peter Wagner, Reading Iconotexts, p. 25. 11. Richard Brilliant, Visual Narratives, pp. 23–89. 12. Said, Orientalism, pp. 93–94. 13. According to MacCannell, ‘‘A simple model of the attraction can be presented in the following form: [tourist / sight / marker] attraction.’’ Dean MacCannell, The Tourist, p. 41. 14. The very same picture is presented in Our Visit to the Holy Land with this quoted description printed in the book. Shinobu, ed., Our Visit to the Holy Land, pp. 100–101. 15. Ullian, Frommer’s Israel, p. 164. 16. Ibid., p. 139. 17. As related in the seventeenth sūra, or verse, of the Koran. 18. As related in Genesis 22. 19. Ullian, Frommer’s Israel, pp. 148–151. 20. Ibid., pp. 153–154. 21. Said, Orientalism, p. 108. 22. Ullian, Frommer’s Israel, p. 5. 23. Ibid., pp. 154–156. 24. Ibid., p. 156. 25. Ibid. 26. Said, Orientalism, p. 231. 27. Ullian, Frommer’s Israel, p. 212. 28. Recent Israeli incursions into Bethlehem and the Israeli dismantlement of the Palestinian National Authority have destroyed or curtailed much of the growth that Bethlehem had been experiencing at the time of this research. 29. Ullian, Frommer’s Israel, p. 207. 30. Ibid., p. 339. 31. Ibid., p. 398. 32. Whitelam, The Invention of Ancient Israel, p. 1.

Notes to Pages 138–156 : : 211

6. The Heritage-Enriched Palestinian Self 1. Rana Anani, ‘‘The History of Palestine, Embroidered,’’ al-ayyām Christmas Guide, December 1998, p. 27. 2. World Book Encyclopedia, 1993 ed., s.v. ‘‘clothing.’’ 3. Abed al-Samih Abu Omar, Traditional Palestinian Embroidery and Jewelry, p. 21. 4. World Book Encyclopedia, 1998 ed., s.v. ‘‘clothing.’’ 5. Beth Krodel, ‘‘Palestinian Women Knit Torn Society,’’ Detroit Free Press, May 27, 1998, p. 1A. 6. Leila El-Khalidi, The Art of Palestinian Embroidery, p. 35. 7. Ibid., p. 47. 8. Ibid., p. 83. 9. Abu Omar, Traditional Palestinian Embroidery and Jewelry, p. 21. 10. Ibid., pp. 25–27. 11. Ella Shohat, Israeli Cinema, pp. 37, 48. 12. El-Khalidi, The Art of Palestinian Embroidery, pp. 47–48. 13. Dean MacCannell, The Tourist, pp. 35–36. 14. Karen Armstrong, Jerusalem: One City, Three Faiths, pp. 410–413. 15. Antoine Prost, ‘‘Les Monuments aux morts,’’ in Les Lieux de mémoires, ed. Pierre Nora, pp. 1:199–223. 16. Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning, pp. 22–28. 17. Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. ‘‘Hisham.’’ 18. Barbara McKean Parmenter, Giving Voice to Stones, pp. 45–46. 19. Ibid., p. 46. 20. Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality. 21. The exhibit was actually part of a larger exposition about the town’s history in photographs ‘‘then and now.’’ University students, staff, and visitors were invited and welcomed to the exposition. 22. Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Destination Culture, pp. 17–78. 23. Nicholas Mirzoeff, An Introduction to Visual Culture, p. 65. 24. Ibid. 25. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Destination Culture, p. 7. Conclusion: Tom Sawyer, Visual Methodologist, and the Presentation of National Self 1. Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer Abroad, p. 105. 2. Ibid., p. 52. 3. Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning. 4. Daniel Miller, ‘‘A Theory of Christmas,’’ in Unwrapping Christmas, ed. Daniel Miller, p. 32.

212 : : Notes to Pages 158–202

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Index

Italicized page numbers indicate illustrations. ABC News, 101–102 Abd al-Malik, 141 Abraham, 141 Abu Omar, Abed al-Samih, 159, 164 Abu Turk, Mahfouz, 10–11, 97, 100–116, 157 Abu Zneid, Jihad, 100, 113–114, 115 Acre, 20 advertising, 15–16, 51 Aker, 186 al-Aqsa Mosque, 46, 55–56, 110–111, 112, 113–114, 115, 176–178, 177, 179 al-Assad, Hafez, 48 al-ayyām, 158

al-Dahisha Refugee Camp, 186 Algerians, 152 al-ḥaram al-sharīf, 39, 46, 110–114, 176, 178 aliyah, 16–17 Alloula, Malek, 152 Allport, Gordon W., 4 al-Mozien, Mouhamad, 194, 195 Anabta, 120 Anani, Nabil, 73–75, 74, 76 Anani, Rana, 158 Anderson, Benedict, 1 Andrews, Malcolm, 15 An-Najah University, 77, 95

221

anti-Semitism, 16–17, 21, 37, 42 ‘‘Arab,’’ 50–59, 54, 168 Arab: bazaar, market, shopping, 138, 144–147; biblical presentations of, 7; invasion, as threat to Israel, 42; and Israeli society, 51; Jerusalem, 45; Jewish pogrom against, 178; Masada, 21; Orientalism, 144, 190; and peace, 47, 102; in pre-1948 Palestine, 6–7; region, 158; stereotype, 147; war with Israel, 37; Western Wall, 46–47 Arabic: denoting target audience, 65– 66, 104, 124, 166; greeting cards, 101, 104, 108, 124, 130, 194; Nalbandian, 143; postcards, 75, 80, 147, 154, 167, 178; Saca, 154, 167, 178, 186–188; transliteration of, 12 Arafat, Yasser, 8, 48, 102, 114, 181, 189 Arch of Titus, 22 area self, 11, 136–137, 156 Armstrong, Karen, 178 artists: al-Mozien, 194; British, 15; embroidery, 162; Israeli, 201; Izzat, 124; Moghani, 10, 77–95; Palestinian, 10, 11, 61–97, 99, 133, 201 artwork postcards, 61–97, 99 Asdud, 161 Ashkenazis, 29, 47 Ashrawi, Hanan, 114, 115 Barthes, Roland, 125–126, 128 Basilica of the Transfiguration, 152 Bauman, Richard, 5 bayān (pl. bayānāt), 93 beach (seaside), 33–34 Bearfield, Lev, 13–14 Bedouin, 51–54, 152–154, 153, 159 Beersheba (Bir-al-Sabi’), 154, 155, 161 Beit Jalil, 186 Begin, Menachim, 84 Ben-Eliezer, Uri, 36–37, 49 Ben-Gurion, David, 17, 22, 36, 49

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Ben-Yehuda, Eliezer, 20 Berger, John, 15 Berger, Peter, 8, 185 Bethlehem: embroidered dress, 161, 164–168, 170, 175–176; greeting card, 164–166, 190; illustrations, 35, 149, 150, 165, 167, 172, 173, 176, 191; on map, 19; Nicol Senna Church, 186; Palestinian Heritage Center, 157, 189; Palestinian National Authority, 149, 211n.28; photography, 148–149; postcards, 36, 148, 166, 170, 175 Bethlehem 2000, 189 Bethlehem University, 185–189 Bible/biblical, 7, 22–25, 48, 49, 149, 156, 202 Bir al-Sabi’, 154, 155 Bir Zeit University, 120 Black, Jeremy, 18–20 blood, 75, 81, 90, 111–113, 144 body: conceptual elaborating key symbol, 66–71, 80–81, 83, 90, 93–95; Israeli and Abu Turk, 101, 105–106, 110; map of Palestine, 80, 94; Nalbandian, 144; new Hebrew (physique), 28–29; Palestinian, 105; Palestinian farmer (peasant), 84, 133; peace, 107; tourist, 105–106 bookmark, 189, 190 Briggs, Charles L., 5 Brilliant, Richard, 139–140 burqu’ (burqu ), 154–155 camel, 52–54, 159, 199 Canaanite(s), 24, 78, 93, 152, 181–182 Christian(s): Armenian, 136; ideologies and picturesque, 24–26, 60; and Jews, 11, 22, 25, 90, 116, 156; map sites, 19; and Muslims, 114, 116; and Palestinian heritage, 186; Palestinian, 167, 186; Palphot, 22–26, 60; tourists, 176–178, 190; and Zionism, 22–24 Church of the Holy Sepulchre, 114–115, 141

Church of the Nativity, 148, 190, 191 Citadel, 28, 37 Clarke, John R., 106 Clinton, William Jefferson, 47–48, 102 clothing. See dress Cohen, Mitchell, 20, 49 color (and pattern): clothing, 106, 152, 168, 179; conceptual elaborating key symbol, 66, 70–71, 93; Israeli flag, 29; land, 18–19, 70–71; map, 18–19; Moghani, 78, 80, 83–84, 86, 90, 93–95; Nalbandian, 139, 156; Palestinian flag, 192 conceptual elaborating key symbol (root metaphors), 65; blurred background, 95; body, 66–71, 80–81, 83, 90, 93–95; color and pattern, 66, 70–71, 93; meal, 72–73; mother, 75, 88; tabaq qashsh, 86; water jug, 84 contextual(izing) symbols, 69–73, 83, 90, 94 costume. See dress Crusaders, 141 Culler, Jonathan, 3, 131 Damascus Gate, 57, 143–144 Daniels, Stephen, 133 Dead Sea, 20, 29, 138 death, 69, 75, 81, 196 diaspora (exile): ghurba, 120, 122; Jewish; 31–32; key scenario, 69; Palestinian, 64, 69, 90 discourse analysis, 2, 205n.2 display: agency of, 187, 202; artifacts, 175– 176, 178, 190; dress, 160, 162–164, 176; heritage, 181, 191, 196; heritage experience, 186–189; manipulation of, 202; museum, 160, 163, 176, 187; Nalbandian, 135; Palestinian Heritage Center, 159, 190; Palphot, 59, 61, 99–100, 107; photography, 5, 107, 161, 186, 189; postcards, 4–5, 7, 56, 61, 100, 107, 135, 185,

190; recontextualization, 196; Saca, 159, 161, 163–164, 185, 188–189, 197; shopping, 57; tabaq qashsh, 86; tourist, 159; visual virtuosity, 200; work, 174 Dome of the Rock, 39, 46, 55–56, 95, 102, 140, 141, 192 Dorfzaun: Tova, 13–17, 33; Yehuda, 13, 16 dove: key and summarizing key symbol, 63–64, 78, 80, 83, 94; and peace, 80–81, 83, 93–94, 194 dress (clothing, costume, embroidery, uniforms): Abu Omar, 164; ‘‘Arab,’’ 52– 53, 55, 168; Bedouin, 154; Bethlehem, 161, 164, 166–167, 170, 175; civilian vs. soldier, 104, 106, 109–110; color, 106, 152, 168, 179; display, 160, 162–164, 176; El Al uniforms, 160; El-Khalidi, 179, 161–163, 169–170; farmer, 84; Gaza, 161, 178; gaze, 154; greeting card, 164, 179, 192–194; in illustrations, 155, 165, 167, 171, 176, 177, 179, 181, 184, 191; Islamic, 179–180; Israeli claim to Palestinian, 159–161; as Israeli flag, 29; Israeli national, 164; and Israeli occupation, 163; Jaffa, 161, 183–184; Jericho, 161, 182; Jerusalem, 176, 178–179, 161; market, 147; museum, 160, 163, 169; Nablus, 161; Lena Nablusi, 80; and national self, 169, 184, 188; in Palestine, 188; Palestinian, and embroidery, 75, 88, 93, 113, 147, 154–155, 160–164, 166–168, 170, 172, 178–179, 184, 186, 188, 190, 192, 194; Palestinian farmer, 162; as Palestinian flag; 178, 184, 194; at Palestinian Heritage Center, 159, 179, 187; and Palestinian national self, 178; by Palestinian region, 161; of Palestinian women, 75, 154, 161–164, 170, 173, 175–176, 180–182, 186–187, 189–192; photography of, 161, 179, 186–188; picturesque, 190; postcard, 179, 154–155, 166–184; preceding ancient Israel, 163; pre-1948 Palestine,

Index : : 223

161; and presentation of national self, 184; Ramallah, 161, 170; Saca, 11, 75, 154, 158–197; soldier, 39, 50, 53, 104, 107, 109–110, 113; stereotype, 147; ṣumūd, 178; text, 187–188; tourist clothing, 105–106; U.S. knowledge of, 159 Dwiek, Taleb, 70–72 Ebeedo, Issa, 67–70, 68 ecological approach, 119–133 Egypt/Egyptians, 102, 136, 148, 199–201 Eilat, 20 Ein Gedi, 29–30 El Al, 160 El-Khalidi, Leila, 161–163, 169–170, 172 Elon, Amos, 47 embroidery. See dress English: denoting target audience, 20, 25, 33, 52–53, 55–56, 65–66, 104, 124, 130, 142–144, 166, 188; heritage experience, 186, 188; Nalbandian, 142–144; Saca, 167, 178–179, 187; text and national selves, 33, 144; text and tourists, 144; text on greeting cards, 101, 104, 108, 124, 130, 194; text on postcards, 20, 25, 29, 33, 52–53, 55–56, 65–66, 142–144, 167–168, 178–179; transliteration from Arabic and Hebrew, 12 entextualization, 4–5, 101, 116, 196–197, 202. See also recontextualization Europe/European: audience, 7, 56; East, 32, 138; Jesus, 148; Jewish emigration, 17; roots and tourism, 156, 211n.7 exile. See diaspora falafel, 33, 35–36, 159 farmer (farming, peasant), 26–27, 70– 72, 81; agricultural tools, 84, 186–187; body, 84, 133; clothing, 84, 162; meal, 73; key and summarizing key symbol, 63–64, 71, 83–84, 96; land (field), 63, 71–73, 84, 96; ‘‘national signifier,’’ 96,

224 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

133; Palestinian identity, 73, 96; Palestinian picturesque, 96; ṣāmid, ṣumūd, 133; tabaq qashsh, 86, 88 fātiḥa, 75 fidā ī (guerrilla, fighter), 80–81, 130, 180 flag (standard): Israel, 22, 29, 33, 39, 47, 60; Palestine, 83, 172, 175, 192–194; Palestinian dress, 178, 184, 194; Palestinian women, 194; Saca, 183, 192–194; summarizing key symbol, 64, 83; tabaq qashsh, 86; Zionism, 33 Foucault, Michel, 19, 100, 102 frame, 123–124 France/French, 33, 56, 152, 180, 194, 203 Frommer’s Israel, 137–138, 140, 142, 144, 148, 152, 154 Galilee, Sea of, 19, 24–26, 25, 161 Garden of Gethsemane, 142 GARO Photo, 11, 132, 135–156, 160 Gaza, 19, 90, 161, 178, 180–181 gaze, 103, 105–107, 122, 126, 128, 132, 133, 137, 143, 147, 154, 201 Gemeinschaft, 11, 120, 124, 132–133, 209– 210n.1 Gesellschaft, 120, 133, 209–210n.1 ghurba. See diaspora Goffman, Erving, 2–3, 103 Golan Heights, 19 Goldman, Robert, 7 grid and table, 19–20, 44–45, 102–103, 154 guerrilla fighter. See fidā ī guidebook, 137–140, 144, 189 ḥabiyyāt, 164 ha-kōtel ha-maărāvī, 44–45 Haifa, 20 Hall, Stuart, 116 ḥălūtsāh, 49, 59 Hasmonenan Tunnel, 101–102, 108, 114 Hebrew: absence as excluding Israelis, 65–66, 108; greeting cards, 108; lan-

guage of Israel, 16–17, 20; Nalbandian, 143; new, 27; postcards, 20–21, 27, 168; transliteration of, 12; Zionism, 16–17, 20 Hebron, 19, 161 heritage: at Bethlehem University, 185– 189; Christian Palestinians and, 186; display, 181, 186–189, 191, 196; entextualization, 196; experiences, 12, 185– 189; and identity, 88; iaraf baladak, 192; Israeli denial of Palestinian, 194; Israeli encroachment/transgression against Palestinian, 159–160, 197; Israeli occupation and Palestinian, 196; key symbols, 65; and Moghani, 78, 84, 86, 88, 93–96; and national memory, 180; Palestinian, 52, 62, 70, 78, 84, 86, 88, 93–96, 133, 157–159, 164, 166, 184–187, 188, 191–192, 197; Palphot degradation of Palestinian, 52; photography, 187, 189; picturesque, 158; postcards, 65, 185, 189; recontextualization, 196; Saca, 75, 157–197; tabaq qashsh, 88, 95; thawb al-malik, 187; tourists, 196 heritage-enriched: national self, 185; Palestinians, 10, 73, 77, 119, 157–197, 202 Herzl, Theodor, 22 Herzlia, 13–14, 33, 34 ḥijāb, 179 Hisham’s Palace, 182 Holy Land, 156; Nalbandian, 11, 136–137, 139–140, 143, 156; tourists, 11, 24, 137, 139–140, 143–144, 156 Hussein, King, 47–48, 102 Husseini, Faisal, 114, 115 iaraf baladak, 192 Iben Rushd Publishing, 61, 72–74, 76–79, 81–82, 85 iconotext, 107, 139, 144, 149 identity: greeting card, 128; Jewish, 18, 22; Palestinian, 63, 88, 95, 117, 120–122, 196;

Palestinian woman, 168; work, 174. See also national identity imprisonment, 67–68 Intifada, 12, 91, 92; bayānāt, 93; first, 10, 41, 61, 62, 78, 90–94, 97, 121, 158, 161, 194; second, 8 Islam/Islamic, 75, 110, 141, 179–180 Islamic Archaeology Museum, 176, 177 Israeli Defense Forces (IDF), 36–37, 39– 42, 43, 45, 47, 55, 63, 79–80, 81, 83, 100, 101, 102, 104, 106, 107, 110, 144. See also soldiers Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 7–8, 45, 136, 169, 202–203 Izzat, Ziad, 11, 119–133, 123, 127, 129, 131 Jaffa, 161, 183–184 Jaffa Gate, 144 Janus-faced national self, 11, 51, 99–117, 132 jarra (pl. jirār), 94–95 Jenin, 8, 19 Jericho, 123, 151, 182; embroidered dress, 161, 182; greeting card, 122–124, 130; Mount of Temptation, 149; postcards, 149, 183 Jerusalem, 28, 31, 38, 40, 41, 44, 46, 57, 58, 104, 109, 111, 112, 115, 141, 145, 146, 177, 179; al-ḥaram al-sharīf, 176, 178; alquds, 143; Arabs, 45; Arafat, 181; Armenian Quarter, 142; capital of Palestine, 68, 81, 94–95, 103, 114, 181; churches, 138, 142; Dome of the Rock, 95, 140, 192; East Jerusalem, 45, 135, 143–144; embroidered dress, 161, 176, 178–179; Frommer’s, 140, 142, 144; GARO Photo, 135, 148; greeting cards, 101, 104, 192– 194; Hasmonenan Tunnel, 101–102, 108, 114; IDF capture, 41–42, 45, 47; Ir ha-qōdesh, 142; Israeli annexation, 45; Israeli national self, 143; Israeli sovereignty over, 103; Izzat, 121; Jews, 45;

Index : : 225

Jewish prayer for peace, 108; Judaism, 116; key scenario, 69; key symbol, 64, 95; map, 19–20; market, 56–59, 144– 147; Mea Shearim, 31–32, 138; Muslim Quarter, 102; Nalbandian, 136, 143; Palestine Human Rights Information Center, 100; Palestinian literature, 183; Palestinian national self, 143; Palestinians, 113, 181; photography and, 20, 192; postcards, 19–20, 27–28, 36–42, 44–48, 56–59, 68–69, 81, 94, 140–147, 176–179; ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem,’’ 107, 109–115; Saca, 192; soldiers, 37–41, 44, 48; souvenir stores, shops, 8, 36, 61–62, 99–100, 132; Temple Mount, 46, 55–56; thawb abū qutba, 176; thawb ghabāna, 176; tourists, 142; West Jerusalem, 178; Western Wall, 44, 48; Yərūshālaīm, 37–38, 44, 142; Zionist reclamation, 47 Jerusalem Post, 10, 13–15 Jews: ancient (Israelites), 21–24, 42–43, 46–47, 142, 156, 182; anti-Arab pogrom, 178; celebration at Western Wall, 45; and Christians, 11, 22, 25, 90, 156; conflict with Palestinian Arabs at Western Wall, 47; different from tsabār, 27; dress, 52; emigration from Europe, 17; Ethiopian, 44; Hasidim, 31–32, 45, 52, 60; homeland, 20, 22–23; identity, 18, 22; Israel as protector of, 39; Israeli society, 31, 37; Jerusalem, 45; labor (work), 17, 26–27, 49, 59; land from God, 23, 49; map of populated areas, 19; military, 36–37; national identity, 7; new Hebrews in opposition to, 27–29, 32; pilgrims to Mount of Olives, 142; pre-1948 Palestine, 6–7, 17, 49; prayer for peace in Jerusalem, 108; presence and photography, 46; return to land, 22; Second Temple, 44, 46; Zealots (Sicarii), 21; and Zionism, 18, 31, 156. See also Judaism

226 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

Jordan, 47–48, 94, 102, 136 Jordan River, 94, 136 Josephus, Flavius, 21 Judaism, 11, 22, 25, 39, 43, 44–45, 55, 60, 90, 108, 116, 141, 156 Judea, 19, 43 Katz, Samuel, 41 key scenario, 65, 67–68; death, 69, 75, 81; exile, 69; familial descent, 88; Jerusalem, 69; imprisonment, 68; Moghani’s use of water, settlements, 84; oppression, 99–100; peace as, 81, 83; presentation of Palestinian national self, 105; steadfastness, 71; struggle, 68–69, 78, 81, 93, 99–100; victim, 65, 99–100, 105 key symbols: in artwork postcards, 10, 63–97; contextualizing symbols, 69; dove, 63; elaborating symbols, 64; farmer, 96; heritage, 65; identification, 63; Israeli (rope), 73; Jerusalem, 95; knowledge of Palestinians, 62; land (farming field), 63; manipulation of, 202; Moghani, 10, 78, 80, 83, 86, 93, 95; national self, 65, 97; Ortner, 63–65; Palestinian heritage, 65; Palestinians under Israeli occupation, 66; postcards, 63–65, 69, 71, 93; summarizing key symbol, 64–65; sun disk, 63, 86, 88, 90; tabaq, 88, 90; victims, 99 Khalidi, Rashid, 117 Khalidi, Walid, 7 Khalifeh, Sahar, 130 Khan Yunis, 19, 161 kibbutz, 26–27, 49 King Hussein, 47–48, 102 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara, 5, 187, 196 Kuwait, 120 labels, 187–188 Labor Party, 22

Labor Zionism, 26 land: ‘‘Arab,’’ 53, 55; area self, 155; color, pattern, 18–19, 70–71; defense, 50; ghurba, 122; from God to Jews, 23, 49; Holy Land, 156; Israeli claim, 7, 132, 159–160; Israeli conquest, 73, 96; Israeli confiscation, 101; Israeli encroachment, 159; Israeli occupation, 81; Izzat and, 120, 122; Jericho, 122, 183; Jewish return, 22; Jewish work, 17, 49; key symbol (farming field), 63, 71–73, 84, 96; knowledge of, 121; mother land, 125; Lena Nablusi, 80–81; new Hebrew, 27; Palphot, 27, 132; Palestine, 122, 125, 166; Palestinian, 160, 170, 183; Palestinians and, 69–73, 77–78, 84, 126, 132–133, 159–160, 170, 194; picturesque and transformation, 32; Saca, 159, 166; summarizing key symbol, 64, 70; ṣumūd, 128; uqūd, 88; Zionism, 16–20, 23–24, 132, 156, 170, 197 landscape: Israeli, 19; Izzat, 11, 120–121; Jesus’ childhood, 152; national self, 11; painting, 133; Palestinian, 120–121, 125; and Palestinian gaze, 122; Palphot, 27; people in, 27; photography, 120–121, 124, 133, 149; picturesque, 27 Lebanon, 41, 136 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 73 Likud Party, 84 Löfgren, Orvar, 59, 100 Luckmann, Thomas, 8, 185 Lydda/Ramleh, 161 MacCannell, Dean, 3–4, 140, 173–174 Machlin, Steven, 6–7 Magen David, 125, 130 mamzērūt, 44 Mansour, Suliman, 72–73 map(s): Bethlehem, 19; body as map of Palestine, 80, 94; Christian sites, 19; Israeli, 18–22, 25–26, 45, 159; Nablus,

19; national self, 18; Palestine, 64, 80– 81; picturesque, 20, 60; postcard, 18–22; refugee, 19; summarizing key symbol, 64, 81; West Bank, 19 marching (parade, trek), 37–39, 38, 42, 116 Market, 29, 56–59, 57, 58, 144–147, 145, 146. See also shopping martyr/martyrdom, 64, 75, 101 Marx, Karl, 174 Masada, 21, 42–43 Mea Shearim, 31–32, 138 Mediterranean Sea, 33, 136 menorah, 22 militarism (‘‘nation in arms’’): Israel, 36– 37, 42; Israeli national self, 37, 42–43, 50, 53; justification against ‘‘Arab,’’ 55; Palphot, 37, 60; picturesque, 37, 43, 60; postcard, 37–39, 42–43; Zionism, 49 Milk Grotto, 148 Miller, Daniel, 202 Mirzoeff, Nicholas, 196 Moghani, Kamel, 10, 77–96, 79, 82, 85, 87, 89, 91, 92, 194 moon, 75 Moors, Annelies, 6–7 mother (matrilineal ancestor): conceptual elaborating key symbol, 75, 88; land, 125; Muslim, 147; Palestinian heritage, 88; Palestinian women, 160–161, 169, 181; summarizing key symbol, 75; symbol of Palestine, 75, 80, 113, 161, 181 Mount Hermon, 32 Mount of Olives, 142 Mount of Temptation, 149, 151, 152 Mount Tabor, 149, 151, 152 Mubarak, Hosni, 102 museums: 160, 163, 169, 176, 182, 187 Muslim(s): absence in photography, 46; al-Aqsa mosque, 46, 110; al-ḥaram alsharīf, 46–47; and Christians, 114, 116; and Jews, 116; mother, 147; Palphot, 50, 55–56; peace, 114; picturesque, 55;

Index : : 227

postcards, 55–56; prayer, worshippers, 55–56, 110–114; Quarter, 102; and Tom Sawyer, 201; Western Wall, 47 Nablus, 19, 77, 79, 81, 90, 120–121, 161, 186 Nablusi, Lena, 78–81, 194 Nalbandian, Dikran, 135. See also GARO Photo; Nalbandian, Mardo Nalbandian, Mardo, 11, 25, 44, 54, 135–136, 141, 143, 145, 146, 149, 150, 151, 153, 190 Nammari, Rehab, 65–67, 66 national identity: expression, 3; greeting cards, 201; Israeli, 9–10; Israeli denial of Palestinian, 73, 96; Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 7–10; Izzat, 125; Jews, 7; Nalbandian, 136; Palestinian, 73, 77, 83, 96; Palestinian women, 163; postcards, 1–2, 4, 201; presentation of national self, 202; Saca, 169; text, 108; Zionism, 18 national memory, 180 national Other: Israeli, 110, 159, 197; Palestinian, 50–51; Palphot, 50; postcard, 159, 169; presentation of, 62, 169; in relation to national self, 7–10, 51, 62, 100, 116–117, 197, 202–203; Saca, 158; subject of inquiry, 7–10 national self: Abu Turk, 101, 157; basis of inquiry, 3, 7–12; dress, 169, 184, 188; ecological, 113–133, 202; English text, 33, 144; greeting cards, 8, 100, 103, 110, 132, 203; heritage-enriched, 184– 185, 196–197, 202; key symbols, 65, 97; Janus-faced, 11, 51, 99–117, 132; landscape, 11; maps, 18; Nalbandian, 136; Palestinian Heritage Center, 105, 196; peace, 11, 102–103, 116; photography, 6, 156; postcards, 1, 5–6, 9–11, 18, 36, 136, 169, 184–185, 196, 202–203; presentation of, 3–4, 5, 9–12, 18, 13–97, 99–117, 119–133, 157–197, 201–203; in relation to national Other, 7–10, 51, 62, 100, 116– 117, 197, 202–203; in relation to peace,

228 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

11, 102–103, 116; Saca, 169, 188, 190– 192, 194, 196–197; soldiers, 39; struggle over, 7–10; subjectivity, 6; text, 104, 144; tourism, 3–4; victim, 100, 116, 119, 202; virtual, 196 Nazareth, 19, 161 Negev, 19 Netanya, 20 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 102 new Hebrews, 7, 16–17, 27–29, 32, 36, 49, 50, 83. See also tsabār Nicol Senna Church, 186 Notre Dame de France, 142 O’Barr, William, 3, 16, 51 Orientalism: description of Arabs, 144, 190; Frommer’s, 137–138, 144; GARO Photo, 11, 139, 160; gaze, 147; Oriental grid, 154; guidebook, 138, 140; iconotext, 139, 149; knowledge, 137, 154; Nalbandian, 11, 137, 139, 147, 152, 154, 156, 190; Occidental gaze, 137, 143, 154; Occidental self, 137; Oriental Other, 137; Orientals, 138–139, 148, 185; Palestinian Orientalized, 50, 60, 169, 175, 184–185; Palphot, 53, 160; photography, 147, 154; picturesque, 53; postcards, 7, 142, 154; Saca, 11, 158–160, 185, 190; Said, 50, 52, 137–139, 142, 148; shopping, 59; stereotype, 159; tourists, 138–140, 190 Orr, Akiva, 22, 206–207n.11 Ortner, Sherry B., 63–65, 75, 77 Oslo Accords, 8 Oz, Amos, 16 painting, 15, 63, 133; contextualizing symbols, 70; frame, 123–124; greeting cards, 86; Israeli, 39; Israeli in Palestinian, 100; key symbols, 69, 86; landscape, 133; Moghani, 10, 81, 83–84, 88, 93–95; Palestinian, 10, 61–97, 100, 194–195;

peace, 94, 194; photography and, 10, 100, 194; picturesque, 15; pre-Intifada, 63; postcard, 39, 61–97, 194; Saca, 194 Palestine Human Rights Information Center, 11, 100–116 Palestinian Heritage Center, 35–36, 105, 157–160, 163–164, 179, 185, 187, 189, 190, 191, 196, 197; postcards, 154–155, 157–197 Palestinian National Authority, 8, 10– 11, 62, 78, 86, 97, 101, 102, 121, 149, 163, 181, 183, 191, 194, 196, 211n.28. See also Palestinian Heritage Center Palestinian women, 155, 165, 171, 172, 173, 174, 177, 179, 181, 182, 184, 191; al-Aqsa Mosque, 176–178; al-ḥaram al-sharīf, 178; costume/dress/embroidery, 75, 154, 161–164, 170, 173, 175–176, 180–182, 186–187, 189–192; El-Khalidi, 161– 163, 169; first Intifada, 161, 194; flag, 194; GARO Photo, 160; greeting card, 164–166, 178, 190; identity, 168; Israeli presentation of, 160–161; Jericho, 182– 183; mother, matrilineal ancestors, 160–161, 169, 181; national icon, 160; national identity, 163; national self, 163, 184; painting, 93, 71; Palphot, 160, 166, 168; photography, 105, 175, 179, 183; postcard, 164, 166–168, 170–184; presentation of national self, 163, 184; Saca, 154, 159–160, 164–166, 169–170, 175–176, 178, 183–184; tabaq, 170, 172, 175; thawb al-malik, 175; water, 162, 170, 183; work, 169–170, 173–175 Palmach, 37, 49 Palphot, 7, 9–10, 11, 13–60, 61, 99–100, 107, 132, 135–136, 156, 159, 160, 166, 168–169, 185 Papson, Stephen, 7 parergon, 122–125, 128, 130–131, 202 Parmenter, Barbara McKean, 120, 183–184 peace: dove, 80–81, 83, 93–94, 194; grid

and table, 102–103; Israeli soldier, 39– 42, 55, 107; Israelis and, 47–49, 60, 93, 102, 107–108, 113, 116; key scenario, 81, 83; Madrid Peace Talks, 114; manipulation of, 202; march, 114–116; Middle East Peace Process, 102, 114; national selves in relation to, 11, 102– 103, 116; Oslo Accords, 8; painting, 94, 194; Palestinians and, 81, 83, 100, 102, 108, 110, 113–114, 116, 130; Palphot, 60; postcard, 39, 47–48, 60, 80–81, 83, 93; ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem,’’ 107, 110–111, 113–114; text, 108, 114; United States, 102–103; Washington, D.C., Peace Talks, 114 Peace Process, 47, 60, 102, 114 Persian Gulf, 120–122 PFLP (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine), 77 photography: Abu Turk, 10–11, 97, 100– 116, 157; Abu Zneid, 100, 113–115; ‘‘Arab,’’ 51–52; Arafat, 189; Barthes, 125– 126, 128; Bethlehem, 148–149; color, 156; death of, 196; display, 5, 107, 161, 186, 189; Dome of the Rock, 141, 192; dress, 161, 179, 186–188; entextualization, 5, 116; first Intifada, 62, 97; GARO Photo, 11, 148; Gaza, 186; gaze, 103, 105, 107, 128; greeting cards, 99–100, 111, 113–114, 122–123, 128, 130–131, 133; heritage experience, 187, 189; Israeli, 135–136, 156, 194, 201; Israeli national Other, 101, 105–106, 110, 116; Israeli soldier, 104–105, 144; Izzat, 11, 119–133; Jaffa, 183; Jerusalem, 20, 192; Jewish presence, 46; land, 49, 122; landscape, 120–121, 124, 133, 149; manipulation of, 196; Mea Shearim, 32; Muslim absence, 46; Nalbandian, 135–136, 139– 140, 147–149, 154, 156; national selves, 6, 156; objectivity/subjectivity, 5–6, 185; Orientalism, 147, 154; vs. painting,

Index : : 229

10, 100, 194; Palestinian, 99–100, 119– 136, 157–197, 201; Palestinian dress, 186; Palestinian National Authority, 10–11, 62, 97; Palestinian victim, 101; Palestinian women, 105, 175, 179, 183; Palphot, 9, 14–18, 25–27, 37, 44, 48; parergon, 123–124; picturesque, 15, 26; pre-1948 Palestine, 6–7, 14–16, 49–52; postcards, 5–6, 23, 25, 97, 147–148, 185; punctum, 126, 128; refugee, 101; Saca, 11, 157–158, 161, 164, 166, 169–170, 180–181, 183, 186, 189, 191–192, 194, 196; Sontag, 116; statues, 148; studium, 126, 128; text, 105, 108, 110, 113, 124, 130–131, 148, 187– 188; tourists, 105, 107, 156; unary, 128; victimization, 101–116; Western imperialism, 6–7, 15, 51–52; Western Wall, 47; Zionism, 51 picturesque: advertising, 15–16; ‘‘Arab,’’ 51, 53; biblical, 23; British, 15; Christian ideologies, 24–26, 60; dress, 190; flag, 33, 60; Hasidim, 60; Israeli national self, 44, 49; Izzat, 119, 132; Judaism, 60; landscape, 27; manipulation of, 202; map, 20, 60; militarism, 37, 43, 60; Muslims, 55; new Hebrew, 36; Orientalism, 53; paintings, 15; Palestine, 132; Palestinian, 190; Palestinian environment, 119; Palestinian farmer, 96; Palestinian heritage, 158; Palestinian victim, 107; Palphot, 9, 15–18, 20, 26, 31, 36, 53, 56, 60; peace, 60; people, 27, 31– 33; photography, 15, 26; postcards, 15, 18, 20, 33, 37, 42–43, 53, 60, 197; Saca, 169, 190, 197; shopping, 56, 60; text, 60; threat, 42; transformation of land, 32; Western Wall, 45, 47; work, 170; Zionism, 9, 16–18, 22–24, 26, 28, 31–33, 42–43, 48–50, 59–60 Plaut, W. Gunther, 33 PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization), 77

230 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

PNC (Palestinian National Council), 94, 114 prayers, 40; al-Aqsa Mosque, 55–56, 110– 111, 113–114; fātiḥa, 75; Israeli national self, 44; Jewish, 39, 44–45, 55, 108, (for Jerusalem), 108; Muslims, 55–56, 110– 114; ‘‘Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem,’’ 101, 104, 107, 109–115; Second Temple, 43–44; soldiers, 39–41, 44, 48, 107; Western Wall, 39–41, 43–48, 55, 107 prejudice, 4 prisoner, 64, 67–70, 73–75, 81–83 Prost, Antoine, 180 protest, 90, 113–116 punctum, 125–126, 128, 131, 202 qabba, 164 Qalqilya, 19, 86–87 Raad, Khalil, 7 Rabin, Yitzhak, 47–48 Ramallah, 171; embroidered dress, 161, 170; Izzat, 120–121, 123–124, 127, 129, 131–132; map, 19; thawb rūmī abyad, 170 recontextualization, 5, 51, 55, 86, 107–108, 116, 187, 196, 202 refugees, 19, 69, 101, 161, 183, 186 Romans (ancient), 21, 42, 139–140 Rose, Gillian, 2, 205n.2 Royal Geographical Society, 15 Ryan, James R., 15, 51–52 sab arwāḥ, 164 Sabastia, 186 Sabra. See tsabār Sabra and Shatilla, 90, 208–209n.10 Saca, Maha, 11–12, 35–36, 75, 154–197, 155, 165, 167, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 179, 181, 182, 184, 190, 191, 193, 212n.21 ṣaffāfāt, 164 Sahara Desert, 199 Said, Edward, 50, 52, 137–139, 142, 148, 156

sajda, 55–56 Samaria, 19 ṣāmid, ṣumūd. See steadfastness scoptophilia, 152 Second Temple, 43–44, 46 semiotics/semiology, 2–4, 6–9, 62, 97, 140 Sephardis, 29, 47 September 11, 2001, 8–9 Shablin Company, 192 Shapira, Anita, 51 Sharon, Ariel, 8, 208–209n.10 shatwa, 164 shawka, 130 Shepherd, Naomi, 211n.7 shōfār, 46–47 Shohat, Ella, 23, 47, 59, 168 shopping, 29–31, 56–62, 57, 58, 138, 144– 147, 145, 146 Sicarii, 21 soldiers, 38, 40, 41; gaze of Israeli, 106; Israeli and Abu Turk, 101, 104–106; Israeli in opposition to ‘‘Arab’’ warriors, 53–55; Israeli painting, 39; Israeli reverence for, 180; Israeli youth, 110; Jerusalem, 37–41, 44, 48; monuments of unknown, 180, Nalbandian, 144; national self, 39; new Hebrews, 36, 50; Palestinian, 180–181; Palestinian children and Israeli, 109–110; Palestinian civilians and Israeli, 100–102, 104–114; Palestinian suffering/victim and Israeli, 106, 113; Palphot, 37–41, 48–50, 107; peace, 39–42, 55, 107; prayer, 39–41, 44, 48, 107; pre-1948, 36–37, 49–50; Saca, 180–181; tsabār, 36–37, 39, 42; uniform, 39, 50, 53, 104, 107, 109–110, 113; as war dead, 180–181; Western Wall, 37–41, 44, 48, 107; Zionism, 53 Sontag, Susan, 116, 209n.1 Spanish language, 33, 56 Stations of the Cross, 141–142 statue: of Liberty, 194; Nalbandian, 148;

photography, 148; postcard, 149; Unknown Soldier, 180; Winged Nike, 182 steadfastness: key scenario, 65, 71; photography, 125; ṣāmid, 133; ṣumūd, 128, 132–133, 178 stereotypes, 4, 147, 159, 175, 184 struggle: against Israeli dominance, 133; key scenario, 68–69, 78, 81, 93, 99–100; over national selves, 7–10 studium, 125–126, 128, 132, 202 summarizing key symbol, 65, 99; blood, 75, 90; children, 64, 75; dove, 64, 78, 80, 83, 94; farmer, 64, 71, 83–84; fidā ī, 80; flag, 64, 83; Israeli (barbed wire, barred door, chain, rope, wire), 64–65, 73, 75, 67–69, 81, 83, 93; Jerusalem, 64; land, 64, 70; map of Palestine, 64, 81; martyr, 64; Moghani, 93; mother, 75; moon, 75; prisoner, 64, 67, 81–83; sun disk, 64, 66–67, 78, 80, 83–84; tabaq qashsh, 86, 88 sun disk: key symbol, 63, 88, 90; summarizing key symbol, 64, 66–67, 78, 80, 83–84, 90, 94; tabaq qashsh, 86, 88–90 Swedenburg, Ted, 71, 73, 96, 133 Syria, 48, 136, 159 tabaq (tabaq qashsh), 86, 88, 89–90, 95, 170, 172, 175 tābūn (pl. tābūnāt), 72–73, 158, 186 Tagg, John, 6, 206n.12 Tel Aviv, 14, 20, 183 Temple Mount, 46; 1967 capture, 41; in opposition to al-ḥaram al-sharīf, 39; postcards, 46, 55, 56; Zionist zealots, 178 Tessler, Mark, 45 text: Arabs, 167; Arabic, 143, 154, 167, 178, 186, 188; biblical, 23; bookmark, 189; control of, 4–5, 12, 103–104, 108; control of gaze, 132; dress, 187–188;

Index : : 231

English, 55, 143–144, 167–168, 178–179, 186, 188; entextualization, 5; greeting cards, 101, 103–104, 107, 113, 123–124, 130; Hebrew, 143, 168; iconotext, 139, 149; identity, 149; knowledge of Palestinian, 107; on Moghani paintings, 94; Nalbandian, 140, 143–144; national identity, 108; national selves, 104, 144; Palestinian Heritage Center, 189; Palphot, 168; parergon, 124–125, 128, 130–131; peace, 108, 114; photography, 105, 108, 110, 113, 124, 130–131, 148, 187– 188; picturesque, 60; postcard, 20, 25, 29, 33, 52–53, 55–56, 65–66, 142–144, 148–149, 154, 172; recontextualization with, 107–108, 116, 187; Saca, 154, 167, 172, 178–179, 189, 192, 197; textual attitude, 140; tourists, 140, 142–144; verso, 12, 25, 29, 50, 52, 65, 164, 178, 182, 185 thawb abū qutba, 176 thawb al-malik, 159–160, 164–169, 165, 167, 175–176, 187 thawb ghabāna, 176 thawb kull yawm, 170 thawb rūmī abyad, 170 Third World, 47, 59, 89–90, 166, 168 three generations, 88, 90, 166–169, 167, 175 Tiberias, 20, 161 Tönnies, Ferdinand, 11, 120, 209–210n.1 tourism (tourists): ancient Israel, 156; ancient Palestine, 156; area self, 11, 24, 137–140, 143–144, 156; attraction, 140, 174; body, 105–106; Christian, 176–178, 190; Damascus Gate, 144; display, 159; dress/clothing, 105–106; Frommer’s, 140, 144; GARO Studios, 132; greeting cards, 100, 190; guidebook, 140, 144, 189; Hasmonenan Tunnel, 102; heritage, 196; Holy Land, 11, 24, 137, 139, 140, 143–144, 156; iconotext, 144; Israel, 9, 156; Israeli-Palestinian conflict, 9; Jerusalem, 142; markers, 131; Nalban-

232 : : Israeli and Palestinian Postcards

dian, 137, 139, 156; national self, 3–4; Orientalism, 138–140, 190; Palestine, 156; Palestinian Heritage Center, 158– 159; Palestinian national self, 132, 175; Palestinians, 132, 156, 167; Palphot, 100; photography and, 105, 107, 156; postcards, 1–2, 4, 13, 24, 100, 107, 140, 147, 156, 190, 203; pre-1948 Palestine, 7, 211n.7; Saca, 167, 184; in search of European, Israeli, and Palestinian roots, 156; semiotics of, 3–4, 6; shopping, 56– 57; text, 142–144; textual attitude, 140; work, 173–174 transliteration, 12 tsabār (Sabra): as different from Jew, 27, 31; inner spirit, 29; soldier, 36–37, 39, 42 Tulkarem, 19, 120 Twain, Mark, 199–201 Umayyad Caliphate, 182 unary, 128 uniforms. See dress United States: as audience, 3, 7, 17; and Israel, 18, 48, 102; knowledge of national costumes, 159; painting, 133; peace, 102–103; postcards, 203; presentation of national self, 203; Statue of Liberty, 194 uqūd (sing. aqd), 88 Van der Veer, Paul, 138–139 verso: language denoting target audience, 33, 56, 65; map, 45; Nalbandian, 148; postcard, 167–168, 172; Saca, 164; soldier, 37, 49–50; text, 12, 25, 29, 50, 52, 65, 178, 182, 185 Via Dolorosa, 99, 102, 132 victims/victimization/suffering: Abu Turk, 97, 157; key scenario, 65, 99–100, 105; key symbols, 99; Palestine, 132; Palestinian national self, 77, 99, 116, 157, 202; Palestinians, 10, 65–66, 70–71, 73,

80–81, 86, 96–97, 99–101, 105–106, 108, 110–111, 113–114, 116, 175; photography, 110–116; postcards, 66, 73, 78–81, 84, 90, 93; presentation of national self, 100, 116, 119, 202 Vilnay, Zev, 19

Zionism, 26; land, 26–27, 49, 59, 170; Palestinian, 71–72, 173; Palestinian women, 169–170, 173–175; picturesque, 170; postcard, 26–27, 49, 59, 70–72, 169–175; Saca, 170–175; tourism, 173–174 World War I, 180

Wagner, Peter, 107, 122–123, 139 war dead, 180–181 War on Terror, 8 Waswo, Richard, 16 water, 84, 122, 170, 183 West Bank: Intifada, 90; Izzat, 120; Jericho, 183; map, 19; Moghani, 94; Palestinian Territories, 96; postcard makers, 10; Saca, 158 Western Wall, 38, 40, 41, 44; Arabs, Muslims, 46, 47; children, 44–45, 52; conflict at, 47; Hasmonenan Tunnel, 101–102; Israeli national self, 44–45, 47; Israelis, 46, 55; Jerusalem, 44, 48; Jews, 39, 44–45, 55; 1967 capture of, 41, 45; Muslims, 47; Palphot, 37–41, 43–45, 107; photography, 47; picturesque, 45, 47; postcard, 37–41, 43–48, 52, 55, 107; prayer, 39–41, 43–48, 55, 107; soldiers, 37–41, 44, 48, 107 Whitelam, Keith, 24, 138, 156 Winter, Jay, 180, 201 work/labor: display, 174; El-Khalidi, 169– 170, 172; greeting card, 170; identity, 174; Jewish, 17; kibbutz, 26–27; Labor

Yadin, Yigael, 21 yəshīvōt, 32 Zerubavel, Yael, 16, 21, 27, 42 Zionism: ancient Jews, 43; anti-Zionism, 17; ‘‘Arab,’’ 50–51; Bible, 23; Christian Zionism, 22–24, claim to ancient Jewish land, 156; claim to past, 21, 24; flag, 33; Hebrew language, 16–17, 20; Herzl, 22; ideological alterations, 17–18, 31; Israeli, 16–18, 27; Israeli national self, 52; Judaism, 22; kibbutz, 26; Labor Zionism, 26; land, 16–20, 23–24, 32, 132, 170, 197; map, 19; marching, 42; Masada, 21; militarism, 49; national identity, 18; new Hebrew, 16–17, 27– 29, 32, 36, 49; Palestinian, 51, 184–185; Palestinian identity, 117; Palphot, 9, 17– 18, 166; photography, 51; picturesque and ideologies, 9, 16–18, 22–24, 26, 28, 31–33, 42–43, 48–50, 59–60; postcards, 21–22, 24; as protector of Jews, 18, 31; reclamation of Jerusalem, 47; Saca, 185; Said, 50; soldier, 53; Temple Mount, 178; view of Arabs, 51; zealots, 178

Index : : 233