In the warm glow which followed the original Oslo Peace Accords between Israel and the Palestinians, the US State Department planned a cultural exchange mission, "The Roots of American Culture", to be presented on Jordanian, Gazan, and Israeli soil. By the time the tour took place in July 1996, Rabin had been assassinated, Gaza was under closure, and optimism for the peace process was scarce. The trip happened anyway.

The first job was in Israel at the Jacob’s Ladder folk festival, an annual gathering of the "anglo" (i.e. English speaking) community. There were around 2000 people, mostly long-time immigrants from the US, Canada, England, and South Africa. It had quite a 60’s retro feel into which Saul fit reasonably well as the headliner. It basically felt like the Phila. Folk Festival transplanted to a small town where everybody knew each other.

We traveled south from there thru the west bank where I was the target of my first Palestinian rock, thrown by a little boy who popped up at the side of the road and didn’t even come close to hitting the van. It was a rite of passage for me.

Next we played at Kibbutz Urim in the negev desert. There are a good number of Anglo members there so it was a reasonable place to do a show. they toured us around the agricultural and industrial operation, both of which are massive and technologically advanced. our host also spoke at length about the social and business challenges which kibbutzim face these days, and how they are playing out at Urim. our visit there provided powerful images of the desert in bloom and of the dynamism of the Israeli economy.

We were picked up in a bulletproof car and more or less whisked thru the newly opened VIP channel at the Erez crossing. We drove around an area of Gaza City close to the sea, where they are building villas and luxury homes (e.g. Arafat's), and then ate in an opulent seaside restaurant which is apparently frequented by U.S. Embassy personnel, as the bill was settled with a nod. I didn't see any other customers.

The show was at the Shawa cultural center, a nicely appointed theater/auditorium, apparently privately built by the influential family of the same name. its where the PLO covenant was (agreed to be) amended. Pictures of Arafat everywhere, his wife was rumored to be coming but didn't show. there were various dignitaries anyway, the mayor of Gaza, folks from PNA ministry of culture, some academics I think, the acting US ambassador, etc.

not surprisingly, it was a fairly serious bunch. they responded positively when Saul talked of the hobo's pride in his destitute freedom. the room was absolutely stifling and no one, except maybe Saul, was sorry when the show ended. I did get to jam briefly with a local oud player who borrowed saul's guitar. glad I knew a bit of hijaz!

afterwards there was a cookies-and-juice reception in a room that was just as hot. I spoke with several different NGO aid workers who each spoke with real feeling about their work there. needing some air, I wound up out on the front steps where I was surrounded by a group of young local guys some of whom pulled up their pants legs to show rubber bullet marks. again not surprisingly, the common thread in my talks with the people who came to this US-sponsored event was that they wanted the Oslo process to continue as agreed, and were afraid that it would not.

That night we stayed with an acquaintance in Tel Aviv. We arrived at midnight in oppressive heat and humidity, and with an embassy car coming for us at 6:30 the next morning, sat down to listen to him talk for some hours about his son's death-in-action in Lebanon., his own injury in the dizengoff bombing, and the decade in between.

at the crossing to Jordan, we were allowed to go by foot across the bridge and stand astride the jordan river for a moment. for me this was a big thing. On the ride in to Amman, the USIS guy told us about being stationed in Baghdad during the war and of attempting to contact and comfort U.S . "human shields". I guess some people will do anything for money.

we played that afternoon at Irbid for university students of the art+music dept. they were quite worldly (i.e. not ALL the women were veiled) and they received us effusively. afterward I got surrounded. A spokesman emerged:

Q: why did your gov't put this show on?

I had pretty carefully read the packet that USIS gave us on arrival, so I attempted to regurgitate the mission statement with regard to cultural exchange and all that.

Q: oh come on, you know its political

the packet hadn’t directly addressed this one, so I told him my opinion, that it seemed to me that the US is devoting resources to Jordan to send the message that they approve of the role the king is playing in the peace process

they didn't seem to like this answer either so I asked 'why do YOU think my gov't is doing this show?' they all thought this was very funny and after the laughter died down one said 'well you are just showing off how great you think your culture is and how rich you are that can go around playing anywhere you want' - it didn't feel as hostile as it now reads, he followed by saying that he would remember the show all his life.

then came a tougher one. 'you don't look American, you looks to us Arab, your eyes, your smile, you are our brother!'. I should have been prepared for this but I wasn't. I paused and said 'I am a Jew'. I tried it in several languages till it got thru (guess its not in their vocabulary lessons). it was quiet for a bit and I said 'we have a common ancestor, his name was Abraham, and I will always remember that we shared this day together'. they extended their hands and we parted, warmly as far as I could tell.

the next show was safely behind the tank traps at the US embassy, the audience of several hundred largely composed of homesick yanks. we got the ambassador and his wife to do a solo on 'yip dip dip dip oom oom oom oom'.

the embassy commands a beautiful view of Amman and, during a quiet passage, the meuzzin's call at dusk wafted across the hills into our outdoor concert. I felt a chill run thru the audience at this uninvited reminder that they were in a place that was not their own.

Just prior to returning to the US, I spent some time with my relatives near Tel Aviv. they took me to Kikar Rabin, the site of his assassination, where I remembered sitting in cafes as teenager. The displays and graffiti there were very moving, and they served to lick the envelope on my trip.