A sort of Christmas story- "The Dead Sea is closed."

Maybe hitchhiking in Palestine wasn't the best idea, but............

Repairing a cleft palate in Nablus

Below is the text of an essay I wrote in 2005 after a mission trip to the West Bank.

“The Dead Sea is closed”. This rather unusual statement by the hotel clerk at the Seven Arches Hotel on top of the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem accurately reflected the situation. Because of Yom Kippur the roads were closed in most areas throughout Jerusalem and surrounding regions. The orthodox Jewish locals had an effective way of enforcing the proscription against driving on the Sabbath; they simply rolled big boulders onto the roads!

Our medical mission was winding down. In four days of surgery, Bill and I had performed 35 operations at Rafidiah Hospital in the city of Nablus, an ancient Caananite city located in the center of the West Bank. Most were children and about half involved repair of cleft lips and palates; the rest were burns. Palestine, with a population of over 3.5 million, had no plastic surgeons and we just scratched the surface of work to be done.

Bill was William B. Riley, Jr., MD, past president of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons and founder of Operation Rainbow which provided plastic surgery to children throughout the world. We were invited to come to Palestine by Steve Sosebee who, in 1991, founded the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund (PCRF) a non-political, humanitarian organization to provide free medical care to Palestinian children. Years of hostilities with Israel and the recent military occupation in response to the intifada had devastated the economy and eliminated much of the social infrastructure; the West Bank had no police, limited public services, and essentially no formal civil or criminal court system. Travel within the West Bank was severely restricted and even street signs had been eliminated. Medical care was limited at best and there was a critical lack of specialists.

Our aim was simply to provide plastic surgical care to as many children as possible. While our intentions were strictly non-political, it was our hope that this tiny bit of altruistic medical diplomacy might in some way help bridge the gap between the Israelis and Palestinians.

Along with our team of 3 plastic surgeons (Michael Parker, from Ohio, was working on his own in a hospital in Jenin, a city to the north of Nablus) PCRF had a team of pediatric orthopedic surgeons and one of pediatric cardiac surgeons working in the West Bank. Our plastic surgical mission got off to a rocky start when the sentries at the military checkpoint into Nablus, which was in military lockdown, did not have any record of our approval to enter the city to work. Once that was corrected, things went smoothly.

A street in old Jerusalem

Despite my misgivings about safety, at no time in the 10 days we were there did I feel any fear for our safety. The Palestinians were, without exception, gracious, friendly, and grateful for our presence. I was thanked more times than I can count. The chance to visit this area, the cradle of the world’s three major monotheistic religions, and provide a needed service, was just too incredible to pass up. It did not disappoint. In Nablus, the ancient city of Shechem, I drew water from Jacob’s well in the basement of a Greek Orthodox church. This was historically regarded as the site where Jesus spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well and told her all about her life. In the hills outside Nablus lived the few hundred remaining Samaritans. I stood inside the garden tomb, which maybe, just possibly, once held the crucified body of Jesus Christ. In Jerusalem, I walked on the same cobblestones that once bore the sandaled feet of one Jesus of Nazareth. I found myself repeating over and over, “I can’t believe I am really here.” The word awesome is terribly overused, but this was truly awesome.

Perhaps the most unique adventure was hitchhiking in the West Bank. This might seem like a lunatic thing to do and in retrospect, I suppose it was and I won’t try to justify it. Our taxi driver tried valiantly to find a way to navigate the blocked roads in Jerusalem to put us on the highway to the Dead Sea, in vain. Finally, he threw in the towel and stopped at an elevated vantage point overlooking a flat plain. In the distance we could see a highway. He told us that we could walk there and hitch a ride into Bethlehem. He would return in the afternoon to pick us up. As questions swirled through my mind, I could not believe it when my two companions, Bill and Mike began to exit the taxi. How would we find our way back across this featureless landscape? It sounded nuts. I could not return alone to the hotel and decided that, if we were to disappear, it might as well be together. We set off across the countryside. The road was unpaved and the only sign of habitation was a small, brown house here and there. Halfway to the highway a car pulled up alongside and stopped. My antennae when up immediately when I realized there were three “military age” young men in it. The one on the passenger side got out and had something slung over his shoulder. I was relieved to see it was a camera. He asked in English where we were going. When we answered, Bethlehem, he said they would take us. Before I could say thank you, but no, Mike and Bill were already clambering into the car! What was it with these two? I sighed. Deciding we might as well sink or swim together I got in as well. I half assumed we would disappear to God knows where and what. No one would ever know our fate.

It was crowded with two in the front and four in the back of the compact sedan as we bounced along the dusty, rocky road. We pulled into a square in Bethlehem across from the Church of the Nativity. One of the young me had to leave but the other two told us they would wait for us to finish our visit then they would take us on a tour of the area. The Church was nearly empty because tourism was almost non-existent due to the ongoing hostilities, so we saw it all quickly. What followed was the most incredible, delightful afternoon in a lifetime of travel. We visited the chapel on the hill where the annunciation of Christ’s birth occurred to the shepherds. We saw Solomon’s fabled pools, and had lunch in a restaurant that was clearly a local favorite, with good reason. The men were members of Photographers Without Borders. According to their website, they are “a global community that cares about collective liberation and protecting Mother Earth through ethical storytelling.” They were teaching Palestinian children to take photographs to document their lives. We visited their studio. At the end of the day, they dropped us off at a highway where we caught a cab back to Jerusalem.

Looking back, I marvel at our audacity, or was it stupidity? God must have assigned one of his better angels to watch over us that day. It was truly the experience of a lifetime.

For the first time in my life, the historical Jesus came alive.

Merry Christmas!

Richard T. Bosshardt, MD, FACS, Senior Fellow at Do No Harm, Founding Fellow at FAIR in Medicine

Plastic surgery is the most fascinating yet misunderstood specialty in medicine. My book reveals much about it that few know. It will entertain and inform anyone with an interest in knowing more.