Remembering the Nakba

Today, May 15, is when those in Palestine and around the world remember the Nakba. Before coming here, I knew very little about the history of the Nakba, and so this has been a huge learning process for me.

According to Badil, the Ongoing Nakba Education Center:

The term Nakba (Arabic for 'Catastrophe') refers to the first round of massive population transfer undertaken by the Zionist movement and the State of Israel in the period between November 1947 (the issuing of the UN Partition Plan for Palestine) and the cease-fire agreements with Arab states in 1949. The Nakba was an act of forced population transfer (ethnic cleansing) undertaken for the purpose of establishing Israel as a state that would ensure permanent dominance of Jewish settler-immigrants over the indigenous Arab people of Palestine. More than 750,000 Palestinians were forcibly displaced from their homes and lands during these original Nakba years. 

The Ongoing Nakba refers to Israel's ongoing denial of the rights of displaced Palestinians to return to the lands from which they were displaced, as well as the ongoing experience of forced displacement and dispossession of Palestinians from their homelands that has continued since the original Nakba years as a result of Israel's policies and practices, namely Israeli apartheid, colonisation and military occupation.

For a beautifully done, deeper description of pre-Nakba Palestine, I highly recommend checking out Nakba: The Untold Story of a Cultural Catastrophe. There are some beautiful photos and great stories. Here is a little excerpt:

Nakba, meaning catastrophe, is commemorated by Palestinians throughout the world on May 15 every year. It marks the loss, dispossession and historic injustice suffered by the Palestinian people, through the forced expulsion from their homeland by Israeli forces and Zionist militia. Nakba commemorates the period when approximately 800,000 Palestinians, at the time 67% of the population, became homeless and/or, stateless refugees. Today, it is estimated that 7 of the 11 million Palestinians around the world are refugees, still roughly two-thirds of the Palestinian people.

Nakba, for Palestine, is about the loss of potential on a mass scale. It is about reducing a vibrant and highly accomplished culture into one filled with bitter-sweet memories consumed by the national cause of return and justice. Entire villages were destroyed, then rebuilt [as Israeli towns] and renamed; books, music collections and works of art were left behind as people ran for their lives, expecting to return a few weeks later; sports clubs and social organizations disappeared with the communities of which they were a part. It was a systematic campaign of death, destruction, and cultural obliteration, carried out against a nation whose vibrant culture was forcibly stunted.

Here are a few original images from the Nakba:

There were many protests and remembrance events today, by both Palestinians and Israelis. Many were brought on by the fact that the ethnic cleansing has continued, right up until today.

Palestinian families continue to be kicked out of their homes so that Israelis can move in, especially in East Jerusalem and Hebron.

Hundreds and hundreds of Palestinians are sitting in Israeli prisons right now without any charges against them, and with no prospect of release.

Young men are killed by Israeli soldiers at non-violent demonstrations with alarming regularity.

The terror continues to grip Palestinians as they fear for their lives and the lives of their children. The emotional and psychological damage that this trauma has done to people, especially children, is astronomical.

Today, I am especially aware of the reason that I am here. I pray for peace, work for justice, and ask you to do the same. Remember Palestinians, who are the largest refugee population in the world, and join me in praying for their return to their homes, villages, farms, and families.

A Palestinian man with the key to his home before the Nakba in 1948 protesting for the right to return to it... and a "witty" Israeli reply.

Visitors, Birthday, and Cyprus... Oh my!

Things are crazy around here right now! A dear friend from college, Emily, arrived in Palestine for a month long visit, then I celebrated my 23rd (sheesh, I'm old!) birthday, then I was in Cyprus on a retreat for all of the Europe & Middle East staff, and now my parents are here and we are traveling around exploring the West Bank.

I would just like to take a moment to rave about how wonderful things have been over the last month. When I arrived in Palestine, I made a very conscious decision not to do much traveling. Since this is essentially an open-air prison for those living here, I did not feel that it would be fair (or polite) for me to go in and out of Israel. My neighbors, friends, and host-family do not have this right, and I felt that if I wanted to truly immerse myself in this community and live in solidarity with these people, that I should forgo this right as well. Therefore, I have, as much as possible, stayed in Bethlehem and Beit Jala, and not traveled in Israel or much in the West Bank. I wanted to be present in my local community, and I am so happy that I made that decision, because I feel that it has truly enhanced my relationships here.

Now that I am coming to the end of my time here (only two more months!) and have people visiting, I am doing all of the traveling that I have not done over the last 9 months. Having Emily and my parents here has been absolutely wonderful. I've been able to play tour guide a little bit, and we are exploring some of the things I have never seen.

Emily and I did a lot of exploring in Jerusalem for the first few days she was here. After living in India for the last 7 months, she was super excited to eat french fries, and insisted that I pose with them.

This is my judgmental face.

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher 

Later in the week, we traveled to Tel Be'er Sheva, which I saw two years ago when I was in Israel. We had a bit of a ridiculous bus adventure, and finally made it to the archaeological site, which dates back to the 10th century BCE. We took the bus from Bethlehem through the military checkpoint into Jerusalem, then the light rail (similar to the metro or subway, except that it's all above ground) from the Old City to the Central Bus Station in West Jerusalem, then a bus from there to Be'er Sheva, then a taxi from the city to the ancient site. It's times like these that I really miss my car, but am so grateful for the generally well structured public transportation system in the Middle East. The site was so incredibly beautiful, and I had a fantastic time exploring!

In a water storage tank hundreds of feet under the village. 

I am the ghost of ancient Be'er Sheva. Obviously.

Camel herd!

We also had a chance to walk around and see a portion of the wall in Bethlehem.

I know, I'm not a very good rhino.

On my birthday, I went to work. Super exciting, right? It was actually totally wonderful. I got a lot of "kul cene u inti salme" greetings, which directly translates to "every year and you (female) peace" but I think "peace to you every year" makes a bit more sense. Some of the students brought me a cupcake so I could blow out a candle, and then Emily and I got shwarma at my favorite little place in Bethlehem for dinner. Afterwards, my host family threw me a surprise party! The kids had helped to bake me a cake and they were so excited about it. We then played Uno while the kids played with my camera. It was the perfect little birthday.

Me and 3 year old Layal

Bishara insisted that we hold up our Uno cards while he held his truck. 

Natalie (9) and Lubna (11)

Cyprus was incredible and beautiful. We left Bethlehem at 2:30am on Thursday, and got to the airport around 4am thanks to some stops at checkpoints and other general confusion. Unfortunately, we were flagged at security and had some pretty intense security checks, including a private-back-room body search. It was absolutely miserable, but it gave me a new understanding of the ways that Palestinians are humiliated by "security measures" that are mostly just racial profiling and/or harassment.

The MCC Europe and Middle East staff retreat was fantastic. I was able to reconnect with the other Middle East SALTers, some friends who are Service Workers, and some incredible staff members! I had such a restful time swimming in the Mediterranean, surviving my first bee sting, laughing with my coworkers, and taking naps on the warm, breezy beach. It was a little slice of heaven.

View from my hotel room.

On the way back through customs at the Tel Aviv airport, all of my other coworkers got through, but I was somehow flagged. I was detained and interrogated, and unfortunately Sarah, Bassem, and Rachelle had to wait for me on the other side of customs for about an hour. I was then released and sent on my way. Again, it gave me an understanding of the terror that Palestinians must feel when they are brought in for questioning. Honestly, I was scared. Huge men yelling at me in Hebrew is not what I wanted to be experiencing at 2 in the morning. Cognitively, I knew that they wouldn't hurt me or arrest me because I'm an American, but I can't imagine how terrified I would have been if I hadn't had my US passport to hide behind and therefore didn't have any guarantee of my safety.

For the next week, I'll be traveling around the West Bank with Emily and my parents, but when I come back, I'm sure I'll have some interesting stories for you all!

The More the Merrier: My Second Tel Aviv Adventure And The People Who Made It Wonderful.

Last time that I went to Tel Aviv, it was with two other internationals who were working at the Bible College with me. This time, I went with a group of students and a few of the staff from the college. Typically, no one would have been able to go because Palestinians are not generally allowed into Israel for "security reasons," but during Christmas and Easter, the Christians in the West Bank can apply for permits from the Israeli government for temporary access to Israel in order to worship at the holy sights. They don't alway get a permit, but if they do then they have a month where they can visit Israel. The students often joke that Israel thinks they're terrorists... except over Christmas and Easter. It doesn't make much sense to me why for 10 months out of the year, you classify someone as a security threat and don't allow them to travel in, to, or through Israel, and yet the other two months you give them unrestricted access to the entire country... but that is a post for another day.

Our wonderful Soheir, the college mama/professor/translator/all around fantastic human-being decided that since some of the staff and students had NEVER SEEN THE SEA BEFORE (even though Tel Aviv is only 35 miles away from Bethlehem), she would rent a bus and organize a day trip for everyone. She is the absolute sweetest. The Christians' Easter permits expire tomorrow (Sunday, April 22nd) and so it was decided that today was the day for a seaside adventure!

Isn't she adorable? Told ya so!

There ended up being 20 of us total, Soheir, Hala (the college librarian) along with her husband and three kids (none of whom had ever been to Tel Aviv before), Rita (one of the cleaning staff) and her friend, William (the groundskeeper) and his wife, Ron & Joanne (the new couple who run the Guest House), seven students, and ME! We left Bethlehem at about 8am and arrived in Tel Aviv around 9.

Before we did anything else, we (obviously) took a few ridiculous pictures... and some pretty cute ones. Haneen, one of my good friends and a first-year at the college, wanted a jumping shot, and so I dutifully played photographer. It took us four tries, but eventually, we captured it:

Haneen and the Jump Shot!

Me and Haneen in Jaffa's town square.

We began in Jaffa, the town that is right next to Tel Aviv; if you started out in Jaffa walking toward Tel Aviv, you would get into the city without even realizing that you'd left Jaffa... they sort of just run into each other. In the morning, we visited St. Peter's Church, browsed the street merchants, and went on a little museum tour to learn more about the Jaffa sea port that has been active for over 5,000 years. 

St. Peter's Church

We all went to lunch together around noon, and then afterwards we split up and each went our separate ways for a few hours. I ended up hanging out with Soheir and Jabra, a student at the college. Jabra speaks basic English, and I speak very basic Arabic, so luckily Soheir speaks both languages fluently. We ate ice cream, walked around Jaffa, explored the little artisan shops scattered throughout the town, talked, laughed, and basically just had a pretty rad time.

Jabra in Jaffa, overlooking Tel Aviv.

Jabra is one of the male student that I'm closest to at the college, but male-female friendships are not encouraged in Palestine, and you are DEFINITELY never supposed to hang out one-on-one. Most of my closest friends in college were guys. I tend to connect easier with men than with women (maybe it has something to do with only having brothers?), and I've found that to be even more true when there is a language barrier. Somehow guys just don't need as many words to communicate; you can totally bond nonverbally, which you can't often do with girls. The fact that it is not culturally appropriate to have any real male friendships here has been an incredible challenge for me. Jabra and his roommate David (who unfortunately was sick and not able to come to Tel Aviv) are two of the sweetest, kindest, most humble guys I have ever met. Jabra especially has such a gentle spirit. He is essentially the opposite of the "loud, angry, domineering Arab man" stereotype that we so often hear in the West. At 24, he is the oldest student living in the college dorms, and he is definitely having a positive influence on the other guys who are living there. 

Here is a story from today that basically sums up who Jabra is in a nutshell:

[Ok, backstory: so I trimmed my bangs a few days ago because I always cut my own hair and it wasn't a big deal at all. Well I'm an idiot and wasn't really paying attention, so I ended up cutting my bangs short. Wayyyyy short. I've been pinning them back until they grow out, but unfortunately for me some of the shortest bangs constantly come out of the bobby pins and I totally can't tell because instead of falling in my eyes, they are so short that they stick straight up. Seriously, it's a tragedy.] 

So today we're all sitting on the bus waiting for one last person to arrive when Jabra, who is in the seat in front of me, looks at me and says "your hair is sticking up." I was super frustrated with myself and my stupid hair and totally overreacted by basically yelling: "JABRA. I KNOW. I can't do anything about it and my hair just won't work and I'm so tired of trying to fix it and I don't have any hairspray with me and it looks ridiculous and I hate myself for being so stupid and not paying attention to what I was doing and now everyone is going to stare at me all day and I'M JUST GOING TO SHAVE MY HEAD." Also I may or may not have teared up... but I'm blaming that on my lack of sleep. 

Now instead of calling me a crazy person for totally mis-directing my anger at him and/or yelling back at me, Jabra doesn't even bat an eye. He calmly gets up and comes to stand right in front of me. Without a word, he gently takes all of the bobby pins out of my hair and begins to slowly and carefully twist the short bangs under the longer ones and pin them down. Ten minutes later, I had no more sticky-uppy bangs; they were all pinned down, and they stayed pinned (despite the windy beach) until half way through the day (when I immediately had Jabra re-pin them).

RIGHT? I know. He definitely wins the award for "kindest way to deal with a girl trying not to sob over her hair." I'd bet every penny I own that he has a sister.

After the whole group met up again at about 4, we headed down to the beach! Again, we all split up as some people went off to swim, some went to walk further into Tel Aviv, and some (like me) went off to find a quiet place to relax and enjoy the weather.  I ended up walking down the beach until I came to the portion that has huge rocks piled on top of each other to create a sort of wall against the tide. I decided to climb down the rock wall/pile a little ways to find a quiet, more out-of-the-way spot (side note: doing this in a dress was a super classy idea). I spent an hour just listening to my iPod and watching the waves. It was the most soothing thing I've done in a long time.

I know it looks like I could just step onto the beach, but I'm actually about 25 feet up.
The view of the sea and the sun was beyond incredible.

We ended up heading home at about 7:30pm, and got to Bethlehem a little after 8. I was left with some beautiful pictures, wonderful memories, approximately eight pounds of sand in my purse, a very fancy flip-flop tan...

AND....

SUNBURN. My poor, poor burned body.
Although it's never officially summer until Meredith forgets that she's caucasian and goes out in the sun without sunscreen only to come back hours later burnt to a crisp

There's really nothing better than having a mini-vacation. I feel so recharged and refreshed, even though technically I was only away from my "regular life" for 12 hours.

In other news: get excited for the next few weeks... I have visitors coming! I'll be doing a bunch of traveling, which I will obviously share with you all, and I'll also explain why I intentionally haven't done much traveling up until this point.

I hope you all are doing well - Happy Weekend!

5 Things I Just Cannot Get Used To No Matter How Hard I Try

1. Greeting everyone individually when I walk in a room.

Here, whenever someone enters a room, they are expected to say hello to everyone who is there, individually. This is often done by greeting everyone by name ("Sabah al kheir [good morning] Anita, sabah al kheir Meredith, sabah al kheir Ghadeer"). Other times, it's just done by making eye contact with a different person and repeating the same greeting over and over. Sometimes, it's done by kissing on the cheeks, although often that is only gender specific (so men will kiss men and women will kiss women).

2. Bargaining for every good or service.

"Oh, you want to charge me 15 shekels for a cab ride home? Well, I think your time is only worth 10." "You want me to pay 100 shekels for that handmade scarf? Well, it's not that great. I'll give you 50." That is basically what I feel like I'm saying every time I try to haggle with people. I feel so rude. SO RUDE! Of course here, it's not rude. It's how things are done, and if you don't haggle then you are hugely taken advantage of. The general rule for market items here is that you are supposed to end up paying about 30% of the sticker price (or of the first number that the seller offers you), but you have to bargain your way down to that number. Cognitively, I know this, but it doesn't make it any easier for me when I'm trying to haggle my way down.

3. A phrase for every occasion!

In the West, we basically say "thank you" whenever someone does anything remotely polite for us. Give me a ride in your taxi? Thank you! Wish me a happy birthday? Thank you! Refill my water glass? Thank you! Hope that I get well soon? Thank you! Say you like my new haircut? Thank you! Tell me to enjoy my meal? Thank you! Here, there is a unique response to each different phrase. There are a hundred of these phrases that I can never keep straight, and they each mean something that, in my brain, doesn't at all correlate with what is being said. For example, when someone says "sahhtain," which roughly translates to "enjoy your meal" the correct response is "ana qalbek," or "on your heart." Huh? I usually just end up saying "shukran" (thank you) at the same times as I would in the US. People look at me a little funny, but at least I don't feel rude when I can't remember the correct response.

4. Shame Culture v. Guilt Culture

I was raised in a guilt culture, which means that if I do something wrong, even if no one else knows, I generally feel guilty about that and it eats at me until I do something to atone for my wrongdoing. In the same way, if people think I have done something wrong but I have not, then I defend myself, fight against these false accusations, and I do not feel guilt. In the shame culture in which I now live, what I have done does not matter, what matters is what others perceive that I have done. If I do something wrong, then I shame my family (or tribe) and it is a public thing, not a private thing like guilt. This might explain it a little better:

Basically, shame is a holistic feeling: I am bad. Guilt is much more specific: I have done something bad. Therefore, guilt does not generally overshadow your life the way that shame does. All that to say, that I am not used to living in a shame culture. Having to worry about things as mundane as making sure not to come home after dark (because my neighbors will see, assume I've been doing something inappropriate, and it will bring shame on my host family) is something that has been a challenge. Having to think about the way that my actions will be perceived by outside observers, not just whether they are right or wrong, is something that I have never encountered before. Growing up, I was always told that "as long as you know that what you're doing is right, then it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks," but here, it is essentially the opposite: "it doesn't matter what you're doing, if people think that you are doing something shameful, then that is what is important."

5. The constant presence of soldiers.

That's pretty self-explanatory. It doesn't matter how often I see them... every time I turn the corner and run into a pair of teenagers with AK-47s slung over their shoulders, my heart starts racing.

For the most part, I've adjusted fairly well to living in Bethlehem. I've gotten into the rhythm of life here, and I very much enjoy it. As I begin to wind down my time here (I only have three more months!) it really hits me how much this place has become my home, and how most things that seemed to strange to me when I first arrived have become totally normal. I can only imagine that when I return to the US, everything is going to seem incredibly bizarre for the first few months!

Debunking the Myth

Happy Easter, everyone! I know, I know, I'm a few days late. Unfortunately, I was pretty sick over Holy Week (the week leading up to Easter), so I didn't get to participate in the local events as much as I had wanted to. Easter is a huge deal here, for obvious reasons. Jerusalem is the setting of the crucifixion and resurrection story, and the entire city was bustling with excitement. Thousands of tourists and locals alike participated in all sorts of different activities to commemorate different Holy Week events. Many of my other ex-pat friends said that the Easter story felt so much more real to them after being here, and I agree. It is much easier to visualize things when you're here and seeing the sites first hand.

Orthodox Good Friday procession down Via Dolorosa.

It was fascinating for me to see all the tourists with their bright smiles and their incredible enthusiasm. They smiled and danced from one place to the next, and I was constantly overhearing people talk about how Jerusalem is "the holiest city in the world." And I also constantly heard people say how they "hope those Arabs just leave us alone over Easter" or how they hope that "Palestinians don't bomb Jerusalem and kill us all." Not realizing, of course, that East Jerusalem is an Arab city, or that there were Palestinians standing right next to them, or that there are plenty of Arab Christians who are celebrating the rising of the Savior, who died not just for you, but for them as well.

Yesterday marked the eight month mark for me, and I find that the longer I'm here, the heavier my heart grows. This occupation is weighing on me, and I am not even constrained the way that most residents are. I find myself feeling drastically different about Jerusalem than so many of the tourists that I saw. For them, it is this holy city with a bright light shining from it. For me, well, sometimes I can literally feel the dark cloud that is hovering over Jerusalem. The air is heavy, the pain is tangible, the oppression is smothering.

I feel like living here has opened my eyes to so many things, and I wonder if I've gone through life with the same naivety, with the same blinders on me as so many of the tourists I've seen over this past week. Do I think critically about things, or do I just follow the leader and buy into what I'm told? Do I wrestle with what I encounter, or do I take everything at face value?

I ran into this quote by Henry Rollins a few days ago, and it so accurately summarized how I'm feeling:

"I beg young people to travel. If you don’t have a passport, get one. Take a summer, get a backpack and go to Delhi, go to Saigon, go to Bangkok, go to Kenya. Have your mind blown. Eat interesting food. Dig some interesting people. Have an adventure. Be careful. Come back and you’re going to see your country differently, you’re going to see your president differently, no matter who it is. Music, culture, food, water. Your showers will become shorter. You’re going to get a sense of what globalization looks like... And that for some people, their day consists of walking 12 miles for four buckets of water. And so there are lessons that you can’t get out of a book that are waiting for you at the other end of that flight. A lot of people—Americans and Europeans—come back and go, ohhhhh. And the light bulb goes on."

I feel that for me, the light bulb has gone on. I read a bit more about Henry Rollins, and found this article written about him. While I don't agree with everything that was said, I did love this little excerpt:

The fact that [Henry Rollins has] generally had a good time and been treated well by the people in the Middle East has made Rollins question the way those countries are framed in Western media. That's convinced him that there's not as much to fear in the world as some would have us believe, and that the US could instead serve the far greater purpose of making things better for people around the world. 

It is for this kind of hard-won education that Rollins travels in the first place. 

"To take the myth away from something," he muses of his motivation for visiting places many view as difficult.

"There's not as much to fear in the world as some would have us believe." Those words hit home for me. I can't even remember how many times someone recoiled in fear when I told them my post-college plans, or how often people told me "don't get blown up" when they found out I was going to live in the Middle East. Living in Palestine has shed so much light on our shared humanity. People here are the same as people everywhere else in the world. People want food, water, and shelter. They want safety and stability for themselves and their families. There is no great mystery here. There are just people, who are pretty much the same as you and me.

As I look forward to the three months that I have left in Palestine, I hope to continue to de-bunk all the myths that I have about this part of the world. I hope to explore and adventure, and I hope to truly see Palestine through the eyes of those who call this place their home.

World, Meet My Coworkers!

For the past week, I've been working on getting out the Shepherd Society's Easter newsletter. On Thursday, my boss decided that he wanted a picture of the staff in our newsletter, and so we got to have an impromptu PHOTO SHOOT! I'm really excited, because now you can see the Shepherd Society staff! The Bethlehem Bible College employs about 20 staff members, and probably around 20 faculty members. The Shepherd Society, the humanitarian branch of the College, has only four staff members, but what we lack in numbers, we make up for in awesome.

Our very serious, Palestinian style photo.
Alex, George, Muna, and Me

Alex is the director of the Shepherd Society, Dean of Students at Bethlehem Bible College, and pastor of the East Jerusalem Baptist Church. Alex has an absolutely incredible life story, and wrote the book Palestinian Memories, the second edition (which I was able to help edit!) was published in March. Alex's father (a hospital worker) was shot in the head and killed by Israeli snipers in 1948, afterwhich he was raised by a single mother along with his six other siblings. While he spent his childhood living in and around Jerusalem, the Israeli government revoked his citizenship after he left for college and refused to let him return to his family, and so for a time, he was a man without a citizenship, without a country. Now he is a U.S. citizen who has lived in Palestine on and off with his wife Brenda for the last few decades.

George is the deputy director of the Shepherd Society and is working toward his Masters in Counseling at nearby Bethlehem University. He coordinates the initial meetings with new families needing assistance, and does the best he can to help them cover things like medical costs, utility bills, and tuition payments. He got married a few years ago, and his wife packs him tea-time snacks for the 10:30am tea break. It's all sorts of adorable.

Muna is the Shepherd Society social worker. She does extensive follow-up with families and helps to make sure that we are best meeting their needs. She also runs the family to family sponsorship program, where a family in the West can sponsor a Palestinian family. Her daughter comes into the office on Fridays (since school here runs Monday-Thursday and 1/2 day Saturday) and is the spitting image of Muna. It's so crazy to see Muna's identical twin who is 8 years old.

How we are normally, on very windy rooftops.

Limitless Kindness and Bottomless Cruelty

I have to admit that as much as I love living in Palestine (and I REALLY love living in Palestine!), there are days when I selfishly wish that I had just remained ignorant of the injustice here. There are times when all I want to do is crawl in a hole and never hear another word about apartheid, occupation, or international politics ever again. Sometimes, it just hurts too much. Sometimes, it's just too overwhelming. Sometimes, instead of motivating me, it cripples me. 

Some days, I see the tangible results of my efforts here - one more family can pay their medical bills, or send their kids to school, or have food to eat that evening - and I feel like what I'm doing is making a difference. Other times, I feel like I'm not doing nearly enough. If I can't change the world, then what's the point of trying? What's the point of helping people survive from one miserable day to the next if I'm not working to change their circumstances. I am just one person. I cannot end this occupation, and when you get down to it, that is the root of the problem. Things will not, CANNOT, substantially improve until the occupation has ended. And therefore, if I'm not helping to end the occupation, then am I just wasting my time?

I cannot offer a short-term solution, send up a two second prayer that things get better, and move on. I must work for justice, because my humanity is tied in with your humanity. And your humanity is tied in with the humanity of the boy down the street. And all of our humanity is tied in with the rest of the world's humanity. If the humanity of those living in Palestine is being ignored and undermined, then my own humanity is undergoing the same treatment. All of humanity suffers with the oppressed - consciously or not.

Earlier today I was catching up on my friend Courtney's blog and saw a quote that totally articulates these hard moments:

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.”
–Mark Jenkins

"Limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty;" this is what I'm experiencing here in Palestine.

Today, the cruelty so overshadows the kindness that I struggle to remember a time when I wasn't frustrated, brokenhearted, and exhausted; I have given all that I have, and I am completely spent, totally drained. Today, as I walk past packs of soldiers, teenagers with machine guns, all I can see is the occupation and the pain that comes along with it. Today, as I walk along the wall, all I can feel is claustrophobic, caged; I feel like a prisoner.

But tomorrow will be different.

Tomorrow, I will remember the kindness of people - on both sides of the wall. Tomorrow, I will begin again, working for peace in my own small way, one family at a time. Tomorrow, I will be able to appreciate the beauty of this place, despite the suffering that is happening here.

But today... today, I just can't, and here are a few reasons why:

Israeli soldier aims his gun at Palestinian civilians in the old city of Hebron. 

Two 10 year old students were shot by Israeli forces during class in a United Nations school in Gaza.

Israeli soldiers come to oversee the demolition of a Palestinian family's home in the West Bank.

Israeli soldier shooting at school children in the West Bank city of Hebron.

"Haaretz [Israeli news source] found that dead babies, pregnant women, mothers weeping on their children’s grave, a child in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle and blown-up mosques are just a few of the images with which IDF soldiers decided to mark their graduation from a training course or tour of duty... 

The Haaretz inquiry brought several examples of such prints: An infantry snipers’ T-shirt with the writing “better use Durex” running alongside a dead Palestinian child, a weeping mother and a teddy bear; another sniper course shirt showing an aim taken at the belly of a pregnant woman, with the slogan “One shot, two kills;” a shirt from the Haruv battalion with the picture of a Samurai and the caption “we won’t chill before we verify the kill,” and many more."

A mother trying to shield her children from the crosshairs.

Cattle grates used to herd people into the checkpoints.

    

"Ich bin ein Berliner" ("I am a Berliner") is a quotation from a June 26, 1963, speech by President JFK in West Berlin. He was underlining United States support for West Germany, 22 months after the Soviet-supported East Germany erected the Berlin Wall as a barrier to prevent movement between East and West.
That wall fell. This one will too.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever be able to piece my heart back together again.

This Duck is an Apartheid Duck

Israel is an apartheid state. Here, on the ground, there is no denying it. It's indisputable. Often, instead of trying to argue with the facts, Israelis or Zionists try to argue over technicalities by using convoluted logic: "Don't call it apartheid! That was in South Africa. This isn't South Africa, therefore it's not apartheid." Well, no. It still is apartheid. It's just Israeli apartheid, not South African apartheid.

In fact, if you talk to people who lived under apartheid in South Africa, there is a recurring theme to their opinion on Israel:

"I've been very deeply distressed in my visit to the Holy Land; it reminded me so much of what happened to us black people in South Africa. I have seen the humiliation of the Palestinians at checkpoints and roadblocks, suffering like us when young white police officers prevented us from moving about."
 - Archbishop Desmond Tutu  

"Israel came to resemble more and more apartheid South Africa at its zenith -- even surpassing its brutality, house demolitions, removal of communities, targeted assassinations, massacres, imprisonment and torture of its opponents, collective punishment and the aggression against neighbouring states."
 - Former South African Intelligence Minister Ronnie Kasrils. 

"But what is interesting is that every black South African that I've spoken to who has visited the Palestinian territory has been horrified and has said without hesitation that the system that applies in Palestine is worse."
 - Professor John Dugard, Former U.N. Special Rapporteur on Human Rights in Occupied Palestine.  

"...we know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians."
-Nelson Mandela

"When I come here and see the situation [in the Palestinian territories], I find that what is happening here is 10 times worse than what I had experienced in South Africa. This is Apartheid."
 - Arun Gandhi 

"As someone who lived in apartheid South Africa and who has visited Palestine I say with confidence that Israel is an apartheid state. In fact, I believe that some of Israel's actions make the actions of South Africa's apartheid regime appear pale by comparison."
 - Willie Madisha, in a letter supporting CUPE Ontario's resolution. 

"They support Zionism, a version of global racist domination and apartheid based on the doctrine that Jews are superior to Arabs and therefore have a right to oppress them and occupy their country."
 - Current COSATU President, Sidumo Dlamini.

"It is worse, not in the sense that apartheid was not an absolutely terrifying system in South Africa, but in the ways in which the Israelis have taken the apartheid system and perfected it, so to speak; sharpened it. For instance, we had the Bantustans and we had the Group Areas Act and we had the separate schools and all of that but I don’t think it ever even entered the mind of any apartheid planner to design a town in such a way that there is a physical wall that separates people and that that wall denotes your freedom of movement, your freedom of economic gain, of employment, and at the same time is a tool of intimidation and dehumanisation. We carried passes as the Palestinians have their ID documents but that did not mean that we could not go from one place in the city to another place in the city. The judicial system was absolutely skewed of course, all the judges in their judgements sought to protect white privilege and power and so forth, and we had a series of what they called “hanging judges” in those days, but they did not go far as to openly, blatantly have two separate justice systems as they do for Palestinians [who are tried in Israeli military courts] and Israelis [who are tried in civil, not military courts]. So in many ways the Israeli system is worse. ... 

Another thing that makes it even worse is that when we fought our battles, even if it took us a long time, we could in the end muster and mobilise international solidarity on a scale that enabled us to be more successful in our struggle. The Palestinians cannot do that. The whole international community almost conspires against them. ... 

Palestinians are mocked in a way that South Africans were not. In a sense, the UN tried in our case to follow up on its resolutions to isolate the apartheid regime. Here, now, they make resolutions against Israel one after the other and I don't detect even a sense of shame that they know there is not going to be any follow up." 
- Reverend Allan Boesak   

"Don’t patronize us! We lived apartheid, we suffered apartheid, we know what apartheid is, we recognise apartheid when we see it. And when we see Israel, we see a regime that practices apartheid." 

Now, the point of this is not to de-legitimize South African struggle by saying that this one is "worse." It doesn't MATTER which is worse, because both are unjust and painful. Both go against the spirit of Christ. As a follower of Jesus, I cannot sit back and remain silent in the face of injustice and dehumanization. I am called to love my neighbor, and I cannot do that if I am ignoring my neighbor's cries for help. If your neighbor was drowning, you would not just sit back and watch her die because you didn't feel like getting wet. 

The title of this blog post was inspired by an article with the same name, written by Yousef Munayyer. I encourage you to read the whole thing, because it articulates the situation much better than I could. Here's a quote from the article that really struck me:

Apartheid, like genocide, has an internationally recognized legal definition. For genocide, the definition was institutionalized in the aftermath of World War II. Obviously genocides differ with respect to policies, severity, and method: compare the Rwandan genocide and the Nazi Holocaust, for example. But few would argue that what happened in Rwanda was not genocide because it looks different from other genocides.

And given the definition of Apartheid, Israel’s domination of the Palestinians fits the bill. 

The 1998 Rome Statute to the International Criminal Court defines Apartheid as actions or policies “committed in the context of an institutionalized regime of systematic oppression and domination by one racial group over any other racial group or groups and committed with the intention of maintaining that regime.”

As Munayyer so bluntly put it: "If it walks like a duck, if looks like a duck, if it quacks like a duck, what is it? It’s a duck. This duck is an Apartheid duck." 

The Checkpoint and The Separation Barrier

After living in Palestine for the last seven months, there are plenty of facets of this conflict that I am capable of explaining. I can talk about curfews, electricity cuts, water shortages, sanitation issues, demonstrations, Israeli attack dogs being used on Palestinian civilians (ohhhhh yeah, that post is coming soon), constantly being surrounded by soldiers, economic deterioration, harassment, bombing, the apartheid system of having different social structures for Israelis than for Palestinians (different courts, different roads, different laws, etc.), the dangers of normalization, and plenty of other things in a way that someone who has never been here can understand. Unfortunately, there are also things that I just cannot begin to articulate. There are parts of life here that unless you see for yourself, you would never believe, and could not begin to understand. Two of those things are the checkpoints and the separation barrier (or as many Palestinians refer to it: "the apartheid wall").

Now, if you go back through my blog posts, you'll definitely see me reference these things, but you may notice that I have never gone in-depth and tried to explain them. The reason being that it's simply not possible. I cannot possibly come up with language strong enough to express the way in which the hundreds of checkpoints and this wall, more than twice the height and four times the length of the Berlin Wall, negatively affect the life of each and every person living in the West Bank, and it feels hollow for me to even try. Nothing I can say would adequately explain the realities... you need to see it for yourself.

Since it's obviously not possible for everyone to hop on a plane and see the conflict first hand, Porter Speakman, an incredible filmmaker from the US who has spent a lot of time in Israel/Palestine and is the Media Director for the Christ at the Checkpoint Conferences, has made two short (5 minute-ish) films to help people grasp the realities of both the checkpoint and the apartheid wall. I watched them both today, and let me tell you, they are the best summarizations that I have seen so far. I highly recommend that you take the next ten minutes and watch these two short films. I promise that it will go a long way toward helping you understand these two very confusing concepts.

(If you click play and it tells you that you need some sort of flash player that you don't have, just click on the link in the title of the film directly below the video to go to the Vimeo site where it'll play without having to download anything.)



The Checkpoint from Christ at the Checkpoint on Vimeo.
"Traveling from one end of the West Bank to the other, a distance of perhaps 80 miles, takes me as an Israeli an hour and a half or two hours in a car and takes a Palestinian - because on some of the roads I go he can't go, some of the checkpoints I pass he can't pass through - it would take him a day."

The Separation Barrier from Christ at the Checkpoint on Vimeo.

For more detailed information about the barrier, I recommend reading Is it a Fence? Is it a Wall? No, it’s a Separation Barrier and B'Tselem (The Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories)'s Separation Barrier Explanation.


Life changing, right?

I'm Home

Today as I was walking down the hall on my way to lunch, I ran into some of my friends who are students at the college. "COME ON!" they said excitedly, as they grabbed my hands and dragged me with them into a meeting room full of American tourists who were visiting BBC. "What's going on?" I asked the coordinator. "Oh," he told me, "this is a group from Notre Dame. They wanted to meet some Palestinian Christian students while they were in the West Bank." I turned back to my friends. "I'm not supposed to be here," I told them, getting ready to leave, "they want to meet with Palestinians, not me."

"It's okay," one of the students assured me, "you are one of us now."

Stunned, I sat down between Jabra and Sally, and it began to dawn on me that I really am one of them. Slowly but surely, Palestine has become my home, and I have begun to belong here. After introducing ourselves, we broke up into smaller groups and I sat with my friend Haneen, an absolutely beautiful soul from Ramallah who lives at the college. (Even though Ramallah is only 14 miles away from Bethlehem, because of the Apartheid Wall and the checkpoints, it can take Haneen anywhere between 1.5-4 hours to get from her home to the Bible College, so she lives in the dorms here at school.) She complained about how terrible her English is, I complained about how terrible my Arabic is, and then we took deep breaths, linked our arms together, and emotionally prepared ourselves for the difficult task of discussing the occupation with people who had never encountered it before.

I realized something, right then and there: it is going to break my heart to leave these beautiful people who have become like family, and this incredible place that has become my home.

Honestly, in four months when it comes time for me to head back to the United States, I don't know how I'm going to be able to do it.