FEATURE: The Holy Land’s Animal Crusade

JERUSALEM and AMMAN – This is a section of town that travelers seldom see, because they’re fearful of visiting.

We’re in modern day Jerusalem, north of the ancient walled Old City, with its bustling crowds and tourist stalls and many historical Biblical sites. We’ve driven only about 15 minutes from the city center, but it feels like we’re a world away.

This is where a wall of a different kind is omnipresent: the separation wall. That giant, serpentine structure of concrete and barbed wire that is meant to partition Jews and Muslims from one another, in order to maintain a fragile peace between them. Regardless of where you come down on the controversial issue, it is chilling to behold.

“I’ve lived here for almost 20 years,” local resident Varda Linett tells me as she chauffeurs me on a tour of the area, known as Atarot Industrial Park, “and we’ve never had a problem. Not one incident of violence.”

I’m not quite sure if she’s attributing this to the wall or not, although my sense is that she’s not. Her father fought in Israel’s war for independence back in 1948. Today, Varda is fighting her own war – to save and protect the animals of Israel.

She takes me to her battleground, the Jerusalem Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals shelter. It is in the shadow of the separation wall, and its outdoor corridors leading between the pens and stalls look and feel very much like trenches, especially when I spot the barbed wire surrounding the facility. It is meant to keep intruders out, not the animals in, Varda explains.

“We’ve had times when people have tried to rob the shelter – take the animals or our supplies. It’s necessary to have this, unfortunately.”

It’s imperative, actually, because if it weren’t for this shelter and its dedicated volunteers, like Varda, there would be no one to care for Jerusalem’s needy animal population. This is one of just 30 animal shelters in Israel – a nation the approximate size of New Jersey – and that number is woefully inadequate to meet the overwhelming demand.

Why is the problem so bad in Israel?

A COMPLEX CULTURE

As Varda explains, demographics are partially to blame.

“There are four major populations here: middle-class Jews, who might tolerate or even enjoy having a dog or cat as a pet – some Christian Arabs also have pets; Israelis living in poverty, who might like to own a dog or cat, but can’t afford to; Orthodox Jews, who don’t believe in having animals in their homes, are fearful of them, and sometimes abuse strays; and Muslims, who sometimes keep guard dogs, but who are mostly afraid of them. Their religion also has major issues with dogs and pigs, so, animal lovers are difficult to find here.”

Politics, not surprisingly, is also an obstacle.

In Israel, roaming dogs are not allowed because it is considered a rabies area. If caught, they are put in a 30-day quarantine, and even if found to be healthy, are euthanized if no one adopts them. Adding to the problem, you cannot spay or neuter a dog in Israel unless you agree to take ownership of it. Many people don’t want that responsibility.

Cats, meanwhile, by law, cannot be removed from their “natural habitat” – that is, the street – and cannot be euthanized unless they are deemed ill. They breed up to three times per year, further exacerbating the frustrating cycle.

While JSPCA finds permanent homes, on average, for about 350 dogs and 30 cats each year (if lucky), it is only able to house fewer than 200 animals at any given time, due to these and other Israeli laws governing animal welfare.

“We’re at a point where we often have to turn animals away because we just don’t have the space for them… and that’s heartbreaking,” says Eve, a native New Yorker who, for the past 18 years, has lived in Jerusalem and volunteered at JSPCA. She is helping Varda give me a tour of their facility.

JSPCA has considerable square footage, I’m somewhat surprised to find, yet most of it is in unsuitable condition. Several dogs are forced to share outdoor pens and endure dirt floors. The public spaces for visitors (and potential adopters) are cramped and uninviting. The room dedicated to providing medical care is less than sanitary, to put it delicately. Even the laundry room itself could use a thorough cleaning.

This is not an indictment of or a reflection on the volunteers and staff, I must stress. They are wonderful people making the best of an unenviable situation. And they truly love the animals they serve. Eve, for instance, can tell me every single dog’s name and personality quirks off the top of her head. Despite their conditions, these animals are as happy as can be expected , because they are being cared for by passionate, loving souls like Varda and Eve. They just don’t have the necessary resources to provide the desired accommodations, much as they desperately want to do so.

There’s talk among local lawmakers of building a new structure on a vacant, bulldozed lot directly next door. But that’s all it is right now. Talk.

“I hope, in my lifetime, to see a new shelter,” Eve tells me. When I look in her eyes, however, I see very little resembling hope.

BEYOND THE JORDAN

Several hours to the east, in Jordan’s refreshingly cosmopolitan capital, Amman, the situation is no better. In fact, it’s even direr.

Here, we meet two members of the vanguard of the Holy Land’s animal crusade.

Leo is an urbane, burly, American-educated native in his mid-40s, and Salam, a sophisticated, 29-year-old tourism professional.

Jordanian animal lovers like them would love to have just one shelter, let alone 30. Because the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan does not have any official animal welfare organizations – not a single one – Leo spends many an exhausting day organizing a grassroots volunteer network of likeminded Jordanians via Facebook, in an effort to rescue as many distressed animals as possible. Salam is an active member.

“My mom,” Salam admits sheepishly, “always says I’m going to wind up being that lonely old lady who takes care of cats.”

Lonely seems unlikely, for Salam is one of the most alluring Middle Eastern women you’ll ever meet. She’s tall, slender, intelligent, and endearingly demure – particularly when she speaks passionately about her love of animals.

“I have one cat right now,” Salam continues. “But I also feed and care for three others who live around our building. My mother won’t let me keep those in the apartment.”

Unlike in Israel, feral cats share the streets of Jordan with a considerable number of homeless dogs, particularly at popular tourist sites like Petra. As we discovered on our trip to the Kingdom, however, most of these homeless animals are docile and actually seek out human affection – more so, sometimes, than even food and water. They simply want to be loved, but finding proper homes for them is nearly impossible.

Jordan is a rarity in the Middle East, and should be a paradigm for its pugnacious, parochial neighbors. The Kingdom is ruled by a monarch, His Majesty King Abdullah II, who was not only educated at a posh New England boarding school, but also has implemented many progressive measures in his country since he inherited the throne in 1999 (including the creation of the first Western-style boarding school in Jordan). His glamorous wife, Her Majesty Queen Rania, has nearly 5 million Twitter followers and close to 2 million more on Instagram.

For the most part, Abdullah, Rania, and their adorable children look, dress, and act like Westerners. Abdullah has made it his mission to build Jordan into a positive example for the rest of the Middle East, which has so long been at odds, often violently, with the West. He’s even gone so far as to commission and star in his own hour-long television special to promote tourism in Western-friendly Jordan.

When it comes to animals, however, Jordan currently lacks a forward-looking vision. It could be that this is among Abdullah’s planned improvements, but as of this posting, Leo and his volunteers have been unsuccessful in receiving a response to their petitions to the Royal Court.

“Maybe,” he suggests, “with the support and backing of an organization like Nutmeg, which has the prestige of U.S. government recognition [as a 501(c)(3) non-profit charity], we can initiate a conversation with the Royal Family about establishing something similar here in Jordan. We desperately need the support of the government.

“And we’re not necessarily asking for a lot,” Leo emphasizes. “Just a space to build a shelter, a home base, and whatever backing – financial or otherwise – that the government can offer. There is already a shelter here in Amman, but that facility is used almost exclusively to euthanize animals, not care for them. We need a place where we, as volunteers, can gather and provide for the needs of these animals.

“We’re in desperate need of any help possible. Every day is an incredible struggle. There’s barely any kind of support from the local community. Keep us in your thoughts.”

AN OFFERING OF OPTIMISM

It is clear, from having visited both countries, that what Israel needs is a new and improved shelter for Jerusalem, at the very least. It is also encouraging that Israel has no laws prohibiting overseas adoptions, meaning animal lovers almost anywhere can potentially rescue Israeli animals. Jordan, meantime, must establish its first officially sanctioned animal welfare organization and a corresponding facility from which to operate. If the king approves, his people will surely follow suit.

Nutmeg is committed to helping bring about positive change in both of these areas.

Jordan and Israel have, in the past, been at war with one another. Though there is peace between them today, an undercurrent of historic tension still lurks. When I ask what, if any, partnerships exist between animal welfare advocates in the two neighboring countries, I’m told there are none.

Now, though, thanks to Nutmeg’s intervention, lines of communication between Leo’s and Varda’s groups have been established, in hopes of fostering future collaborations.

“It is a great pleasure meeting you all,” Salam says later, “and it will be also great if we can join forces and really do something as animal lovers.”

“I am so sorry,” Varda adds, “to hear that in Amman things are not better than they are in Jerusalem. We, too, struggle every day. Somehow we have been caring for animals for over 70 years and hope to be here for many more. Good luck to all of us in our efforts to make the world a better place.” ETS