Zababdeh... And a Run-In with Soldiers

Right before Christmas, I took a trip to Zababdeh, a little village about two hours north of Bethlehem, with the College Choir as they put on their Christmas concert (I know this post was a little delayed, but I wanted to wait until the Choir had finished touring to write about it, and then my computer broke, but NOW IT'S FIXED and I'm one happy camper). The Choir was kind enough to let me (and my friend Courtney, a volunteer here through the Lutheran church [funny story: we actually went to college together, but never met until we got here, even though we have plenty of mutual friends]) travel with them to see a little bit more of the country.

First, I feel like I should clarify something that I'm constantly asked about regarding my placement. I work for the Shepherd Society, which is the humanitarian branch of Bethlehem Bible College. My office is at the college, and so I spend a lot of time with students, professors, and college staff. I often refer to "the college," and when I do, I'm referring to BBC, the place I spend 8 hours every day.

So anyways, Zababdeh! Courtney and I got on the bus with the choir. We headed up to the village. On our way, we ran into some cows and had to stop while they migrated off the road.

I was the official photographer for the concert (translation: terrible idea!). The Choir sang a mix of traditional Palestinian songs, and Christmas carols, while I desperately tried to take good pictures without good lighting. The place was absolutely packed! Everyone was so excited to have us, and the community was so welcoming. We finished, ate dinner, packed up, and headed home.

One of my favorite pictures from the evening.

Now, this should be the end of the story. But because this is Palestine, it's only the beginning.

At this point, it's about 10pm and we're about 45 minutes away from home. We're all quite excited about this, because it's been a long day and we're all tired. We're all chatting and laughing; we're happy because the concert went well. Everyone was also relieved, because on the previous trip (just the day before), the bus was attacked by Israeli settlers.

Here's the video from the evening prior (Munther, the guy speaking, is the vice-academic dean of the college, the choir director, and also one of my favorite people! He's intelligent and hilarious, a great combination, and he's my office neighbor so I see a lot of him):

We were well past where the bus was attacked last time, and so we expected it to be smooth sailing from there on out. All of a sudden, the bus starts to slow down. We were about to head through an Israeli military checkpoint, which isn't uncommon in the West Bank, even though we were in Area A, which legally is supposed to be completely controlled by the Palestinian government and police force (because Palestine doesn't have a military) - for more information on Area divisions and how that works, click here. But I mean, who is going to go up to these Israeli soldiers and tell them that international law clearly states that they are outside their jurisdiction and they need to leave? Absolutely no one.

As we approach the checkpoint, David, one of my good Palestinian friends, started to get a little nervous, and so I asked him what was wrong.

"Last time I went through this checkpoint," he said, "I got arrested and held for ten days in prison." 

"WHY?" I asked, "What did you do?" 

"I did nothing wrong. My family is from Gaza, and even though I am here legally and had the papers to prove it, the soldiers claimed that they were fake and that I was a terrorist. They arrested me and held me in prison, without filing any charges, until the Bible College found me a lawyer and got me out." 

I was obviously confused. "How is that legal? How are they allowed to just hold you for no real reason? They need to have proof of illegal activity before they arrest you! They can't just deprive you of your human rights on a hunch! Why did you let them take you?" 

"It’s not legal," he said, rolling his eyes at me, "Nothing here is legal. But what was I supposed to do? Argue and get shot? No, your only real option is just to do what the soldiers say and hope that they don't hurt you. We're not in America, Meredith, and we don't have fancy blue passports to get us out of trouble. We don't have rights like you."

I was absolutely stunned and quite humbled. I felt about three inches tall. Here I am lecturing people about their human and civil rights through my American lens, when the rules are completely different here. These rights that I take for granted? They don't exist for people here. They wouldn't exist for me either, except for the fact that my government has enough clout to force this government to treat me with respect. If the United States lost its position as one of the World's superpowers, I would probably lose the privileges that I have here, including the right to be treated fairly.

All conversation ceases as the bus slows down to a stop. We had been motioned to pull off the road by the Israeli soldiers. Out come the passports, ID cards, and documentation. On trudge the soldiers with their machine guns and full body armor. One soldier stands in the front of the bus with his gun pointed at us while a second one walks down the aisle checking identification. Neither says a word. The ID checker points at certain people as he walks, and as he finishes, yells out something in Hebrew and motions for them to follow him. Off go the seven guys he pointed at. One of the other men started to object and question the soldiers, so they pulled him off the bus too. Now, I'm used to riding buses here, but typically they have a mix of tourists and Palestinians on them, which means that the soldiers are a whole lot nicer than when there were just Palestinians and two Americans on the bus. These were not the soldiers I'm used to; the ones who are fake-friendly, who smile at the tourists and casually ask where you're from and how you're liking Israel. These were the real soldiers; the ones that Palestinians see every day.

At this point, I'm shivering uncontrollably. The adrenalin is pumping, and I'm afraid. These aren't some random faceless, nameless strangers that are being taken off the bus, these are my friends. These are people who I just worshipped with. These aren't terrorists! These are well educated Christians who have jobs and families, and who are contributing members of society. It's the middle of the night in the desert, in the middle of December. It's freezing. Where could the soldiers possibly be taking them? Well luckily, not far.

The soldiers take them off the bus, line them up, confiscate their documentation, and one of them goes off somewhere, presumably to call someone and check them out. Now, the first panic point is that their documentation is gone. Here, if you are caught without documentation, you can automatically be arrested. I've heard plenty of horror stories about soldiers confiscating documentation and refusing to give it back, just to terrorize people.

The only thing I could think was "I NEED TO TAKE PICTURES OF THIS! NO ONE IS GOING TO BELIEVE THAT THIS IS SERIOUSLY HAPPENING UNLESS I TAKE PICTURES!" Unfortunately, we apparently are not allowed to take pictures at the checkpoints for "security reasons." Everyone on the bus desperately wanted pictures, but were all too afraid to take them because they could get in a lot of trouble.

"Well," I figure, "I might as well put these double standards to work. I'm an American, so I won't get in trouble if I get caught taking them. Worst case scenario, they confiscate my camera. Best case scenario, I get some pictures of a situation that we usually aren't able to capture. Risk? WORTH IT!"

So I snapped away… sneakily.

Seriously, can you believe this is real life? They ended up questioning one of the guys individually, and after about 45 minutes of standing outside in freezing weather in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason, they let them back on the bus, and off we went toward home.

The most infuriating part of this whole situation was that I was the only one who was shocked. The guys reassured me that this happens all the time, and they were just glad to get their IDs back and be sent on their way without more trouble. Don't get me wrong, the guys were upset, but they were also resigned to the fact that there is nothing they can do to change the situation. "It could have been much worse," I was told repeatedly. Maybe it COULD have been much worse, but how does that make what did happen any better? How can we ignore the problem, just because it's not the absolute worst case scenario?

Oh, you broke your leg? Well, we're not going to put a cast on it, because at least you didn't break both legs! It could have been much worse.

Oh, your mother was murdered? Well, we're not going to open an investigation, because at least your whole family wasn't murdered! It could have been much worse.

Oh, you were raped? Well, we're not going to press charges, because at least you weren't gang-raped! It could have been much worse.

Oh, you were stopped at an illegal military checkpoint, racially profiled, held without cause outside in the cold for 45 minutes, harassed, blatantly disrespected and degraded simply because Israeli soldiers like to remind you that they have absolute power over you and can do whatever they want with no repercussions? Well, we're not going to do say anything or do anything or really care about it at all, because hey, at least they didn't shoot you too! It could have been much worse.

Do these examples seem ridiculous and horrible? Absolutely. So why do we continue to allow people to be degraded, disrespected, and denied basic rights? Just because there was potential for it to be a worse situation? Does that strike anyone else as INSANE?!

I was furious, so incredibly saddened, and a bit shaken. What if the soldiers had decided to arrest one of the guys? What if someone had been shot or beaten? What if they thought we all looked suspicious and hauled us all away for questioning? There would have been absolutely nothing that I would have been able to do to improve the situation. I was completely powerless. It's one thing to feel completely powerless when you're in a line at the DMV that just doesn't seem to be moving, or when you're arguing for a higher grade and your professor just won't listen, or when the politician you voted for lost and you feel like the country is going to hell in a handbasket... it's an entirely different thing to feel powerless when you're in front of a machine gun knowing that the soldier who wields it can do anything he wants and get away with it.

After we were released, the bus went straight to the college, and there was no more laughing or chatting or singing. The entire atmosphere had changed. The reality of where we were crashed back down on us, and there was such deep sorrow. It's easy to slip into thinking that everything is normal until you're confronted with one of the devastating realities of life here, like the reality that there is an entire group of people who have absolutely no rights.

I went home from the college and sobbed. Every time I think that my heart cannot possibly break any deeper for these people, every time I think I've seen the most ridiculous part of this occupation, every time I think that nothing can possibly surprise me anymore, something else happens to show me just how wrong I am.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!

I know, I know, I haven't written in almost a month! I'm a terrible blogger. Here's the issue: my computer is broken. Seriously. I know. It broke the day after I wrote my last post, and seriously, it's probably one of the worst things that could have happened. I now have no way to skype with my friends or family, do my yoga DVDs (which were so helpful for stress relief), watch movies/tv/videos, or UPDATE MY BLOG! Luckily, I've been able to check facebook and emails via my work computer, but it is incredibly old and when I'm at work, I'm working, not blogging. I promise to stay after work and get a new post up, pronto.

So much has been going on here that I want to share: My friends and me getting pulled over at a makeshift Israeli military checkpoint in the West Bank; cars getting regularly gassed by soldiers as they go through the Bethlehem checkpoint as a "routine drill" (making a bunch of Palestinians and ex-pats ill); Palestinians being banned from the Dead Sea beaches, which are IN PALESTINE (in the West Bank), to appease the illegal Israeli settlers; Israeli soldiers detaining a 6 year old Palestinian; Jew-only parking lots in the old city of Jerusalem; and so many other crazy and unbelievable things. You'll have plenty of new updates coming soon.

Until then, stay safe, healthy, and warm!

Settler Violence 101

I was planning on putting up a post about my eventful trip with the College Choir to Zababdeh today, but I think that can wait until next week. Instead, I'm going to put up this post that was written by Ryan (one of my fellow MCC workers in Israel/Palestine) and just was published on the MCC - Palestine blog. This post is called Nonviolent Courage Under Fire, and the original can be found here. It is fantastic, and really gives interesting insight into settler violence - something which is almost never discussed outside Palestine (if you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest that you read the quick explanation of what settler violence is by B'Tselem, an Israeli group committed to human rights in Palestine). It's one of those things that no one wants to hear about, because it challenges your stereotypes. Palestinians are supposed to be violent and Israelis are supposed to be peaceful, and any information that counters this belief is usually just ignored. Anyways, with no more commentary, here's Ryan's incredible post:

Palestinian nonviolence activist Hafez Hreini, from the village of At-Tuwani in the South Hebron Hills.

It takes courage to run toward someone who is shooting at you, especially if you are unarmed.

In April 2004, in the Palestinian village of At-Tuwani, Hafez Hreini learned that Israeli settlers had approached his 70-year-old mother Fatima in the fields as she was tending her sheep. In this area of the South Hebron Hills, Palestinians have long faces frequent harassment from Israeli settlers and soldiers attempting to take control of more and more land.

Hafez ran to the fields, heart pounding. When he saw his mother, her face was bloodied. Eight Israelis from the nearby settlement of Ma’on had hit her in the head with rocks and beat her with her own shepherd’s rod. One of the settlers had a gun.

In his memory, Hafez barely heard the sound of the gunshots. As he recalls, “I was looking only at my mother.” But as he sprinted to his mother’s rescue, he remembers bullets ricocheting from the rocky ground under his feet, spraying dirt that stung his face.

The Israeli peace activists who had alerted Hafez to the situation also rushed to the scene and caught much of the incident on video. They were intervening as Israeli police and soldiers arrived and the settlers ceased their attack. A Palestinian ambulance rushed Fatima to the hospital. The next day she filed a complaint with the Israeli police, but none of her attackers were prosecuted, in spite of the video and eyewitness evidence.

As he retells this painful story in his gentle voice, Hafez remembers being filled with rage. What culture on earth does not justify retaliation for an attack on one’s mother? Instead, he says, “My first nonviolence came from my mother.”

As he cared for her during her painful recovery, Fatima told Hafez that he must find a good way to resist, but she did not ask for the revenge that he was contemplating. “Will it work or not?” was her simple response. “You will destroy yourself, and your family. You have to promise that you will not go this way.”

“It was the first step for me,” Hafez recalls.

The attack on Hafez’s mother is just one example from decades of harassment faced by his family and village. Consequently, for two years before the attack on Fatima, Israeli solidarity activists had been coming to At-Tuwani to document and try to prevent settler and military violence. Hafez says that it was hard to trust these activists at first, but they showed him and his community a “new reality” that not all Israelis were oppressors in the form of settlers and soldiers.

“I realized that most Israelis and internationals know nothing of the occupation,” recalls Hafez. But this was slowly changing through the efforts of Israeli groups such as Ta’ayush, and international presence provided by Christian Peacemaker Teams and Operation Dove. Their accompaniment, combined with small successes through nonviolent demonstrations and legal advocacy–winning recognition of land ownership, access to the electrical grid, and court-mandated Israeli military escorts protecting schoolchildren from settler harassment–built the community’s confidence in nonviolent resistance.

Joe Carr and Laura Ciaghi of Christian Peacemaker Teams walk with Hafez through his village's olive groves.

On these foundations, At-Tuwani continues its struggle. “We’re doing it [nonviolence trainings] to create a new generation that believes in peace,” says Hafez. “It’s like a tree–you have to water it every day.”

But Hafez and his community’s most fundamental form of resistance is not in nonviolence trainings, demonstrations, or lawsuits, but in the Palestinian concept of sumud, or “steadfastness.”

“This is resistance–to go daily to your land,” Hafez explains. In this way, just by living their lives in the face of ongoing oppression and violence, “we are protesting every day, every night.”

According to reports by humanitarian and human rights groups, settler violence  against Palestinians throughout the West Bank doubled in 2011 and is the worst since 2005. As in Fatima’s case, perpetrators enjoy virtual impunity from Israeli authorities, with 90% of complaints going unprosecuted.

“It happened to my mother and it is happening everywhere,” says Hafez. “They are looking for excuses to show Palestinians as violent animals. They are provoking violence.”

Hafez shares his story with a learning tour sponsored by MCC East Coast.

Recent media reports highlight the Israeli government response to spikes in settler violence, but often ignore the fact that Palestinians still face intense state violence. Residents of At-Tuwani have faced the demolition of their homes and even mosques by Israeli authorities as well as physical attacks on a number of occasions. Two years after being attacked by settlers, Fatima was again hospitalized after being beaten by Israeli soldiers at a nonviolent demonstration.

As Hafez and Fatima’s story demonstrates, neither Palestinian resistance, Israeli activism, nor international solidarity can be successful in isolation. The people of At-Tuwani and throughout the occupied Palestinian territories demand allies at all levels of struggle–on their land, in the courts of their oppressors, and to all corners of the international community. As Hafez states, “We need the support of everyone who believes in peace, human rights, and justice.”

Hafez’s story was just one of many that we heard on our most recent MCC learning tour. These tours are one of the key ways by which MCC shares the stories of our Palestinian and Israeli partners and neighbors with people around the world. Members of the group that met with Hafez in October just hosted their own storytelling night back home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with more than 125 people attending. Such efforts, and the ripple-effects of activism that result, further encourage the steadfast resistance of Hafez and many others.

OFF THEY GO TO GAZA!

As most of you know, Palestine is divided up into two halves, which are similar in many ways, but have a few differences, including being governed by two different groups. The West Bank, where I live, is governed by the Palestinian Authority, which is by and large a peaceful group committed to nonviolent means of resisting the occupation. Gaza, however, is ruled by Hamas, which is classified as a terrorist group by the EU, USA, Canada, and Israel, because of their refusal to recognize Israel and their sometimes violent means of fighting back against the occupation.

Since Gaza and the West Bank are separated by Israeli territory, as well as governed by different groups, it is extremely difficult to get permission to go to Gaza. Even for West Bank Palestinians, who you might assume could just go from one area to another, it is very difficult to coordinate because not only must you get permission from Hamas to enter Gaza, but you must also get permission from Israel to travel through their territory to the Gaza border.

For the past 6-8 weeks, the Bible College has been trying to get permits for the Choir to visit Gaza and sing at the churches there, because apparently, they are really in need of some Christmas cheer. I think that things are terrible in the West Bank... I've been told Gaza is a hundred times worse. Israel continues to bomb Gaza on a regular basis, and extremists retaliate by shooting short-range rockets over the border into the Israeli desert, which then causes Israel to retaliate by bombing more of Gaza. Unfortunately, while most of the rockets from Gaza land in deserted areas of the southern Israeli desert, many of the Israeli bombs hit schools, hospitals, and refugee camps in Gaza. Apparently, Gaza looks a lot like an active war zone. I've often heard Gaza described as an "open air prison," as movement in and out are incredibly restricted. I have never been, and unfortunately, because the application process is even more difficult for internationals, I will probably never be able to go to Gaza, despite my efforts to convince everyone who goes that I'd be a really great person to have along with them (I'm awesome at carrying suitcases).

Fortunately, the choir is getting ready to go to Gaza, because THEY GOT PERMISSION! They were informed at 7:30 this morning that they had been approved to travel to Gaza, but their permits are only valid for 2 days. Yes, you read that right. 2 measly days. So, 4 hours after they got the word that they could go (after almost 2 months of waiting to hear back), they are packing up and leaving within the hour. Everyone is running around in a tizzy, trying to arrange to leave immediately.

When I mentioned that I was surprised at how quickly they were ready to up and leave, one of the older choir members, who we'll just call "G," told me a story that I thought gave me a really unique window into the Palestinian travel mindset, and I thought I'd share it with you.

G: "When I lived in America, I had to move from Missouri to Florida. I was very, very concerned. What is the procedure? I'd never left Missouri before. Would they let me out? How would I get through all the states? Would Florida let me in? I didn't know how it worked. One of my American friends could tell that I was very worried and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I didn't know how I was going to move to Florida. I didn't know the procedure. I hadn't filled out a request or called anyone or filed any paperwork. I didn't know how to go about getting permission to go from one state to another. My friend laughed and told me 'G, you just drive. No one cares. No one will stop you. You just... go.' I was shocked. It is not that way here. Here, you need permission to go anywhere or do anything. Most of the time, you are denied. But if you are granted permission, you better hurry up and go before someone changes their mind."

This whole idea of "asking permission from the government" is so foreign to me. I'm used to living in a country where I can pretty much do whatever I want. I can go wherever I want. I am encouraged to be independent. I am free. Freedom now means something very different to me after living in a place where, for all intents and purposes, people are not free.

I have another really interesting experience to share with you, but I'm waiting until the choir is officially finished with all of their seasonal travel, just as an extra safety precaution. I should get that post up late this week/early next.

Anyways, I hope you all had a wonderful holiday, and are enjoying being back at work (hah!).

Happy New Year!

Being a part of Christmas in Bethlehem this year has been fascinating. The holiday season here is much different from home, and honestly, it didn't quite feel like Christmas for me, even though I'm in the Christmassy-est place on the planet! There was so much to see and do here this past week, but unfortunately, I've had the flu since Christmas day, so I've spent most of my vacation asleep. Luckily though, we still have Armenian Christmas and Orthodox Christmas to celebrate, which are both in January, so I'm expecting to be healthy for rounds 2 and 3 of celebration! I'll definitely be filling you in on my interesting Christmas experiences once I'm feeling up to par.

I hope that you have a wonderful time celebrating the New Year!

Christmas in Bethlehem

Thank you so much for supporting me on this journey! Without your love, prayers, and support, I would absolutely not be here. Know that I'm thinking of you this Christmas.

Being in Bethlehem during the Christmas season has been both awe-inspiring and incredibly upsetting.

Here are some images that are present in or reflective of Bethlehem this Christmas. 

Apartheid Wall Grafiti
photo by Ryan Rodrick Beiler

Bethlehem Checkpoint

Star Street

Desmond Tutu Quote

Manger Square/The Church of the Nativity

If Mary & Joseph had wanted to come to Bethlehem today...

Christmas Tree in Nativity Square

Peace Graffiti

Christmas in Nativity Square

Santa vs. Israeli Soldiers

Santa at the Wall

The Manger in front of the Watchtower

Right in front of the Bethlehem Checkpoint

 I hope that you have a very Merry Christmas, and a totally restful break from work/school/normal life.

Human Rights March

On December 9th, I went to the annual Human Rights March in Tel Aviv. I could try to tell you all about what it was like to march alongside thousands of Israelis who were there in support of different human rights groups. I could try to express the hope that I felt after meeting Israelis who were not completely hateful toward Palestinians. I could try to explain the different groups that were marching. But instead of trying to tell you, I'd like to just show you.

(Look at the watermark in the bottom corner for info about where the image came from - all images not watermarked are from demotix.com, unless otherwise noted.)

One of my few photos from the march.
From left to right: Eitan Bronstein (director of Zochrot), Ryan, Rachelle, Me, Sarah - all MCC staff.

Me holding a sign with a photo of a Palestinian refugee.
Originially, these photos of refugees were printed at human size and installed in the remains of their villages, which are now in Israel. Photo by Ryan.

Palestinian Arabs marching for equality - these are Palestinians who live in Israel and/or have a Jerusalem ID, as most Palestinians who live in the West Bank or Gaza are not allowed into Israel and therefore are unable to protest.

African immigrants (especially Ethiopian Jews) are often treated unfairly and even allegedly denied citizenship based on their race.

Trauré, an immigrant from Cote d'Ivoire, holds a sign saying "Refugees are not criminals" in front of the municipality building.

In what was definitely the most shocking display for us Americans:
Young Jewish protestors parodied far-right activists by dressing as Klu Klux Klan members holding signs reading "Kahane was right," and "Kill the (non-Jews) in order to save Israel."

The Zochrot signs that we were carrying were too large for just one person, so we paired up and each took a side. My sign-carrying partner (who we'll just call "L") was an Israeli Jew who was born and raised in Tel Aviv. She was so helpful in translating the Hebrew signs, and sharing a little bit of her experience with me. When we walked past these two boys, one blindfolded and tied up and the other with chains around his wrist, we had a very interesting conversation. I literally wrote it down right after it happened so that I could share it with you:

L: "You know, these guys did this same thing at a protest a few months ago and got arrested for it."

Me: "What? Why? They're being completely non-violent. They're not doing anything wrong."

L: "Their message hit too close to home. It was the truth, so the soldiers arrested them."

Me: "But... you can't just arrest someone. You have to have a legitimate reason!"

L: "What do you think this is, a democratic state? You can't just go around saying whatever you want. We're not in America, Meredith, we're in Israel. We don't have freedom of speech like you do. They say we do, but it is a lie."

"It is a lie."

Those words haunted me for quite some time after leaving the protest. I mean, I knew some things were a lie. Well, maybe not a lie, but an omission of the truth. No one ever talks about the Palestinians who lived in the land before 1948. No one talks about the families who were ripped out of their homes and are now refugees. No one talks about the children who saw their parents murdered. No one talks about the injustice, or the permanent damage that has been done to millions. But those aren't lies, they're just... the absence of the truth. But if, as L said, "freedom of speech" here is a lie, well then that's something else entirely.

Something to think about when I've had a little bit more sleep.

One More Death *Warning: Graphic Photos*

When blogging, I do my best to stay out of the politics of the situation here as much as I possibly can. Getting on my soap box and preaching politics does nothing but divide people, especially because I am no expert. I try to stick to what I know, which usually means writing about my first hand experiences here. But today, right now, I have to speak out.

I came back from Tel Aviv yesterday feeling so optimistic. Marching alongside Israelis gave me hope. "Things are getting better," I thought, "look at all of these people who are working for human rights." I was there with a group that advocates for the rights of Palestinians, and despite some dirty looks and some heated conversations, I felt like the majority of the people marching would include Palestinians in their list of "all people" who deserve human rights. But today, my optimism so quickly turned to despair as I heard about another Palestinian man who has been killed.

I need to share this story with you. Please realize that this isn't just about one person dying. This isn't just about today's one death. This is about people being senselessly killed for decades. This is about genocide. This is about the deliberate slaughtering of an entire group of human beings. And this is about our collective decision to ignore it, to pretend that one group of people has the right to destroy another, to fund a nation that is killing civilians because we think it is in our political best interest.

____________________________________

Mustafa Tamimi was a 28 year old young man who was protesting the route of the Apartheid Wall. The wall is planned to be built on land that belongs to the people of Nabi Saleh, a small village near Ramallah. He was attending a non-violent demonstration that takes place every Friday, and began throwing stones at an armored Israeli military vehicle (which is done as a symbol, not to injure anyone or destroy any property - as a golf-ball sized stone obviously isn't going to damage the heavily armored jeep in any way). A soldier then opened the door to the jeep, and shot Mustafa in the face with a tear gas canister. The soldier was between ten and thirty feet away.

Just in case you know nothing about tear gas (I didn't, before I came here), a canister is intended to be shot into the air above a violent crowd from about 100 feet away. It is never, NEVER intended to be shot directly at people, because it's known to be deadly, and it is NEVER intended to be used on one person. Its purpose is to sedate an angry mob.

The impact blew off half of Tamimi's face, and when his friends and family cried out in horror, Israeli soliders laughed and said, "So?" (Mondoweiss)

Here is what happened:

This is Mustafa as he was being shot.
The red circle to the right is the gun, and the circle to the left is the canister.

This is immediately after being hit with the canister.

Palestinians rushing to his aid.

Immediately after being hit.

Friends Comforting Each Other

Here is a video of the aftermath.

Mustafa was rushed to the hospital, and died less than 24 hours later.
The pain of his death will be felt by his family and village for years to come.
The damage done by losing a child, a brother, a friend, will never be erased.

Rest in peace, dear child.

May your life's story be a light in this dark corner of the world.

References: +972, Tikun Olam, Your Middle East, Associated Press, Mondoweiss

We Teach Life

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS DAY!

Today, I was at the Human Rights March in Tel Aviv. Such an incredibly powerful experience. I will definitely be posting about it in the near future. Not only do I need a little bit of time to process everything, but I also  need to wait for all of the photos start to roll in. There were so many talented photographers there. I would much rather wait for them to upload their (undoubtedly wonderful) photos, rather than use my subpar ones.

So until then, you should spend the next 4 minutes and 39 seconds watching a spoken word poem by Rafeef Ziadah, a Palestinian activist who is currently a PhD candidate at York University in Toronto, Canada. This video made the rounds on my Palestinian friends' facebook walls when it was first recorded last month, and I think that it is really powerful. Rafeef's experience is definitely worth hearing. Take a listen, and then let me know what you think!

‎"So I give them UN resolutions and statistics, and we condemn and we deplore and we reject, and these are not two equal sides: occupier and occupied. And a hundred dead. Two hundred dead. A THOUSAND DEAD. And between that war crime and massacre, I vent out words and smile, not exotic. Smile, not terrorist. And I recount. I recount. A hundred dead. Two hundred dead. A THOUSAND DEAD. Is anyone out there? Will anyone listen?"