Ein Hod/Ayn Hud

An internet friend wrote me a long, newsy e-mail last spring, much of it about a recent trip to Israel, during which she had not had time to get in touch with me. Due circumstances beyond my control I wasn't able to reply at the time, months went by and suddenly, summer was almost over. Acute feelings of guilt together with the imminence of Jewish New Year finally forced me to sit down and write. I commented on her observations and anecdotes and then added some of my own. One of them was about the Ein Hod artist colony I'd visited during the summer.

The Ein Hod artist colony used to be a must on the tourist map in the years prior to 1967, which is when the name registered with me. The whole concept of artist colonies (pity they massacred Beethoven and then disposed of him "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", but this is art) was something I was unfamiliar with until I came to live in Israel. None of the famous artists I'd ever read about had lived in anything more colony-like than the Bateau Lavoir. Ein Hod, plus a Druze village called Daliyat el Karmil, used to appear in every tourist brochure's Haifa/Carmel section and because I was in the area with visitors a few weeks ago I suggested we take a look at both. I knew from those old brochure pictures that Ein Hod must be very pretty.

As you can see, it was.

Loosely planted gardens cascaded down the mountain: pomegranate, fig, olive and grape in wild profusion amongst the overgrown bougainvillea and other flowery bushes that remain unnamed here due to my ignorance. Stone steps led out from the gardens surrounding the houses - some ramshackle, some frankly sumptuous, replete with swimming pool and heart-stopping view - onto a tarred road that wound through the village. Very quaint and artist colonish, you could hear the birds singing undisturbed by the occasional passage of a four-wheel drive and the buzz of a metal saw from nearby sculpture studios. From an esplanade donated by a Duesseldorf friendship committee, we sat on a convenient bench near a memorial to someone who had lost his life there and admired a truly splendid view of the valley plunging down before us and spreading out towards the distant hills. The sea wasn't that far away, but the hot air clung to the heights and betrayed not a hint of breeze. I don't remember much art but nothing could have competed with that scenery anyway. The whole bespoke history but there was nothing that told it except perhaps the unpicked fruit, some of which already lay decomposing on the ground, those gardens and, of course, the windows and architectural style of many of those houses.

Leaving after coffee in one of the terraced gardens, we exited a gate we had somehow omitted to take on entering and continued on the road east, hoping to find an even smaller road that would take us to our next port of call, Daliyat El Karmil.

Just a little further along the wooded road, a sign on the right caught my eye that read Ain Hawd. I found it strange because:

1. the English in the sign that had guided us there had read Ein Hod and the Arabic on that one (can never resist trying my hand deciphering Arabic when I catch sight of it - a nice next step would be understanding what I'm reading) had been a transliteration of the Hebrew name;
2. the Arabic on this one - عين حوض - transliterates into English roughly as 'Ain Hoodh (I can't recall what the Hebrew for it was) while the English, as I said, read Ain Hawd. Odd.

We decided to investigate. We passed a large yard with cows and a cowshed in it and a sign reading Nir Etzion, after which the road curved behind Ein Hod to reveal a stunning view of the hills beyond. Suddenly, the broad tarred road narrowed and ended, becoming a neat white gravel one that was nevertheless little more than a footpath. The car being a rented one, not knowing whether the gravel would degrade further into potholed caked mud and spying no hint of a village before the next bend, we abandoned the project and reluctantly about-turned in the direction of the official road east a little further to our north.

I googled Ein Hod and Ayn Hawd at the end of the trip (the story of my life, this going into situations without preparing them and then learning about them later further to the evidence of my own eyes) to see what I could find. Since this is not meant to be a history lesson so much as an état de lieu, Wikipedia will suffice to convey the idea.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ein_Hod

Essentially, the original village was one of a group of villages named after Emir Hussam Eddin Abulhija, an Iraqi-born military commander who fought the Crusaders under Saladin. In the process of Israel's achievement of statehood, most of its 700-900 inhabitants "resettled in the West Bank", many in Jenin refugee camp. A group of 35 inhabitants stayed put, or almost stayed put, by taking refuge in the wadi behind the village and not budging. They battled it through the courts and were "recognized" after 44 years of stubborn tenacity during those who tried to dislodge them could find no loophole in Israeli law that would sanction it. However, it's only four years ago since this "recognition" finally got them hooked up to the national electricity grid.

Here's a clip unfortunately only in Hebrew, that shows the village before it was recognized and the adjacent Jewish moshav of Nir Etzion (ex-Etzion bloc)

Mohammed Abu el Hija, the unofficial mayor, of the then as yet unrecognized Ayn Hawd and a Nir Etzion representative are interviewed in the aftermath of the October 2000 riots.

The man from Nir Etzion explains that Ayn Hawd's water comes from their water tower. His moshav arranged it to help the villagers. The mayor of Ayn Hawd explains that it's a gift that could be withdrawn at any time, in which case they would have no running water. It is the state that should supply it. An Ayn Hawd youngster says that in former days only 20% of Jews were racist, now he reckons it's 80%. In Nir Etzion they say that there was no trouble from the villagers at all during the October riots; they don't mind the sound of the calls to prayer from the nearby minaret and "hope it won't evolve into anything unpleasant". The Ayn Hawd youngster says that they always invite people they know in Nir Etzion to their weddings, but they have never been invited to a wedding in Nir Etzion.

Within hours of sending my lengthy, apologetic Rosh Hashana greeting and the tale you've read thus far, came a fascinating reply. See next entry.