I have heard a person sees what is behind their eyes.
I filter what I see through stories I've heard, experiences I've had, and the sympathies and prejudices that result.
I don't really know what I am seeing. It is all too new, too foreign.
I am on a bus - it is the first thing I am doing in Jerusalem.
A man comes by and checks my ticket. He does this with each passenger. I stop paying attention to him.
I hear rising voices, and look to see the man stopped in front of a woman in a hijab. He is saying something to her. The woman is holding up two tickets. She says something back, waving the tickets. Through my eyes, the two are yelling at each other.
A soldier appears and stands beside the man. He begins to address the woman.
The woman stands. She holds her tickets in front of the two men. The man takes out a booklet of paper and begins to write. The woman becomes more upset.
The solder, who cannot be older tan 20, steps between the two and says something to the woman. He seems calmer than the others. He also has a large machine gun around his chest.
A child who had been sitting with the woman stands and moves between her and the soldier. He nudges the machine gun with his small hand to make space.
The bus stops. The man pushes the woman off and spits at her. She begins to leave. The man yells at her, holding up the sheet of paper he had been writing. The woman again holds up her tickets and says something in return. The soldier has her by the arm.
More soldiers come. They stand on the side of the man. A few people standing at the bus station begin to gather behind the woman. Keith and I walk away.
I see far more behind my eyes than in front. I do not know what happened or what was said. I filter what I see through stories I've heard, experiences I've had, and the sympathies and prejudices that result.
I filter what I see through stories I've heard, experiences I've had, and the sympathies and prejudices that result.
I don't really know what I am seeing. It is all too new, too foreign.
I am on a bus - it is the first thing I am doing in Jerusalem.
A man comes by and checks my ticket. He does this with each passenger. I stop paying attention to him.
I hear rising voices, and look to see the man stopped in front of a woman in a hijab. He is saying something to her. The woman is holding up two tickets. She says something back, waving the tickets. Through my eyes, the two are yelling at each other.
A soldier appears and stands beside the man. He begins to address the woman.
The woman stands. She holds her tickets in front of the two men. The man takes out a booklet of paper and begins to write. The woman becomes more upset.
The solder, who cannot be older tan 20, steps between the two and says something to the woman. He seems calmer than the others. He also has a large machine gun around his chest.
A child who had been sitting with the woman stands and moves between her and the soldier. He nudges the machine gun with his small hand to make space.
The bus stops. The man pushes the woman off and spits at her. She begins to leave. The man yells at her, holding up the sheet of paper he had been writing. The woman again holds up her tickets and says something in return. The soldier has her by the arm.
More soldiers come. They stand on the side of the man. A few people standing at the bus station begin to gather behind the woman. Keith and I walk away.
I see far more behind my eyes than in front. I do not know what happened or what was said. I filter what I see through stories I've heard, experiences I've had, and the sympathies and prejudices that result.
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