But last Saturday was different. This year, I’ve struggled–with my faith, my path to serve, the pain of seeing and hearing such hardship in Palestine. To be surrounded by tragedy consumes you, and it effects you.

I have come out of it sound and whole, thank G-d. I realize that I can be Jewish and not support settlers. I realized I can connect with people, be it Jew, or Muslim, or Christian, or atheist, as long as they have my same vision, as long as they love, as long as they strive for peace.

These things I have learned. But I haven’t expressed them to those in Arroub I’m closest with, as I’ve stayed away from discussing faith. I’ve never told them that I was Jewish. But I did on Saturday.

I first told my friend Ma’atez, the nephew of Hisham (the man who Mary Katherine stayed with over the summer). I have stayed with Ma’atez, fasted with him the one day I did during, and really liked talking with such a smart, caring, kind guy who is also my age.

I told him I was Jewish, and he shook my hand, and smiled. He said he had heard of this women, Arna, who was Jewish and went to Jenin to help refugee children. He said that he knew that all Jews weren’t settlers and soldiers. He talked about AIPAC, and how he knows how powerful they are. I told him about J Street, an alternate Israeli lobby who is ‘pro-peace’, and how I want to work for them. We had a long discussion, just as we always do, about children’s rights, and the right of return, and Messi, and football, and it was as normal.

That I had just told him that I was Jewish, made that normalcy very special to me. I thanked him, and went to Atalla’s.

(Click on pic for video link. NOTE: I have only watched the first five minutes, and some things–like signing about resistance with children–I don’t support. But this is an extreme time in the history of Palestine, as it always is. Resistance and fighting is in the blood, and I don’t support it, but I understand it in the face of constant war and tragdegy and imprisonment with no real rights to combat them.)

We sat outside his room, on his balcony, overlooking the sun. We drank sweet tea, and I ate my sandwich of meat and cheese. We talked about a scholarship I found for a family he is working with, where three of the children are in the top 2 percent of high school students in Palestine but with not enough money to go to college. We talked about our hope for them, and how we will visit them together.

I told him I was Jewish. He said he heard that my mother was Jewish, but he said, ‘You’re not Jewish?’ I said yes. He said, ‘How?’ I was puzzled. He clarified, ‘you believe in peace, are against the occupation, how can you be Jewish?’ He said the conception of the Arabic work, “yehudee” (Jew) is political. It is synomous with ‘settler’ or ‘soldier.’ I said, I can be Jewish, but want peace, and grace, and justice. This is Judaism, and not only that, this is Humanity. I am brothers, I tell him, with you, I don’t care if you’re Muslim, or atheist, or Buddhist, IF you share this view of the world–to help others, love others, and not spread war and hate. That is what is most important for me. He understood, and told me we are like family, and that will never change. I hugged him and went to Hisham’s.

I eat with Hisham and his brothers, and we have our normal American foreign policy debates, this time on the subject of Obama possibly proposing a peace plan of his own to the Israeli Knesset.

Then I tell him. As the sun sets, I’m so nervous, playing with a little hammer on the outside table we eat upon. He sits down, and says to me that he knew something, that MK told him my mother was Jewish, and it didn’t matter. He has never treated me as anything else but a human being. And he has seen that I am good, from the way I treat his family, to choosing to fast with them out of respect, to my care for the children. He knows me, he says, the person, and MK, the person, and I am his friend, and a special one, and that is all.

He says to not forget them. I said I won’t. ‘Not even when you’re Secretary of State?’ he asks. I tell him you’ll be my special advisor. We laugh.

I stand and hug him, small tears in my eyes, thankful to so many, and to him, for accepting me. I thank my family, I thank my loves, I thank G-d.

It’s those relationships, those small relationships, small acts, that I always try to do with BIG love. I hope that can be part of the change, the one-on-one changes in perceptions. Those relationships, I have to beleive, can change things. Can reverse stereotypes, can bring love where there is nothing but hate and tragedy before.

I go down the hill and say bye to Atallah, and walk down to hail a bus to Ramallah. But on the way, some students from my summer class stop me, and beg me to play football with them. I play with one boy against 4 others and we win. I score many goals, they cheer, they laugh, we smile.

I leave Arroub finally, the sun setting on this day, this day that has completed so much of my time here, so much of my soul here, and I thank G-d.

The sun sets and I ride home.

At the present, things are very grim. An order was put into effect on Tuesday, from the Israeli Defense Forces, that will possibly cause the deportation of tens of thousands of Palestinians to Gaza, as these Palestinians hold Gaza identification cards. http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/pages/ShArtVty.jhtml?sw=military+order&itemNo=1162075

This, combined with systematic discrimination of foreign nationals who have any plans to go to the West Bank, Arab background, and the like, a corrupt system of laws that imprison 15 year old Palestinians, and continued settlement building, are pushing Palestinians to the brink of what they can take.

I hope for peace, but it’s so hard. I hope that I can have been an influence of good here, not bad. But I just don’t know.

Hence, the poem from my mom, which resonated with me…

“If I know a song of Africa

Of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back,

Of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers,

Does Africa know a song of me?
Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on,

Or the children invent a game in which my name is,

Or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me,

Or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?” (Karen Blixin)

Beit leed

Originally uploaded by wehowell7

Another picture.

Some pictures from Beit Leed

I’ve been at Al-Arroub a lot over the year. With Hisham and Atallah, and all their extended family, I feel like it is my family. It’s great, I love going there, and it is my home.

I thought it was limited to this camp, to these families–that what I was experiencing was singular in its beauty. But I went with Saad to his home, Beit Leed, a tiny village of 7000 on top of a mountain, in between Nablus and the wall. It is 20 km from Tel Aviv, but impossible to get there.

On top of this village, on different rooftops, with his family and friends of his family, we smoked 8 hookahs, talked of politics, songs, WWE wrestling, and life here, in Palestine. We awed at the beauty and green aroudn us, and we hoped for better times to come.

We also went to their local sports club and played ping pong and football and basketball and..smoked more hookah. It was farther below the village, resting on old Roman ruins, and at night, you could see teh city on the hill lit up above, all the homes, as it was a Friday, having a big meal. Quiet and alive, on top of a mountain, in Palestine, looking beautiful.

After the night, we had a final breakfast, final hookah, and took pictures and left. It was perfect.

Then we passed by the settlement on the way, and we saw the damage from teh night before. We were planning on leaving at night, but the way was too dangerous. Orthodox Jewish settlers come down from their own hilltop to throw stones at cars driving by at night. Why? Because it’s the Sabbath, and no one is supposed to do anything. Also, they’re crazy. There were broken windows and some cars left for dead.

We came back from perfection, to the reality, that violence and hatred control this land. But for hope, I have Beit Leed.

That night, I told Saad I was Jewish. He gave me a huge hug, and said it didn’t change anything. That he had Jewish friends, that he doesn’t have a problem with Jews, just the settlers. It felt good to not have to hide that, and that there was more love than hate in his heart.

Snce then, I’ve worked, and am planning a focus group (our first ever) to assess the Microfinance project,  played basketball with freinds, and taught some kids how to shoot correctly, and I got a haircut.

Now, I leave to watch Barcelona-Read Madrid, “El Clasico,” to see if Messi will score 5 goals this time around. Go Barce!! Go Beit Leed! Go Balls (of all kinds, even ones with “w”s in them)!

On a serious note, it meant a lot to go, see Arabs and Jews and Christians together in one place. It has often been a burden, my Jewishness, here in Palestine, for obvious reasons. I reject the way Israeli’s army and government acts, but that does not mean I reject my own Judaism. On the contrary, more and more, I see it as the reason I came here, and as an opportunity for me to cross the ethnic divide, to connect and uplift this place, as a Jew, who loves Palestinians. A lot of this revelation is from Mary Katherine. Thanks.

Next year, I pray for peace in Jerusalem, and if I can be there to help see it, I thank G-d for that. Amen.

So, with that being said, here are a few meaningful things I’ve read printed in Haaretz, the liberal Israeli news source, that I wanted to share with you all:

Nice Obama: Passover 2008–he battle for the nomination against Hillary Clinton was two months away from a decision. Criticism of the controversial statements of the pastor of the Holy Trinity Church in Chicago, which Obama attended with his family, refused to die down. But at the end of one more grueling day, the Jewish staffers, including Arun Chaudhary, the videographer who documented Obama’s campaign and who is half-Jewish, half-Indian, and Eric Lesser, a former baggage handler on the campaign trail who has since become senior adviser David Axelrod’s aide, were determined to keep the tradition.

Passover 2010–”In retelling this story from generation to generation, we are reminded of our ongoing responsibility to fight against all forms of suffering and discrimination,” Obama wrote, adding that by doing so “we reaffirm the ties that bind us all.”

From Haaretz, on Israel’s treatment of Palestine: In other words, how does a society professing the noblest values toward the Other – “In the best of the land bring your father and your brothers to live,” Pharaoh urges Joseph (Genesis 47:6); “the foundations of freedom, justice and peace,” Israel’s Declaration of Independence proclaims – how does such a society come to adopt policies of discrimination, persecution and endless conflict? “Let’s double-cross them,” the new pharaoh, the one who “knew not Joseph,” says of his Jewish minority. “Or else they’ll grow demographically, and when war comes, they’ll side with the enemy …” Sound familiar?

…cont…The demonstrations (against housing demolitions in East Jerusalem of Arab homes) taking place on Fridays at Sheikh Jarrah offer some smidgen of hope that not everyone has been duped and silenced.  The battle line in Israel’s war of survival as a Jewish and democratic state now runs through the Arab neighborhoods of Jerusalem. There, alongside the few brave Israelis out demonstrating, the president of the United States has planted his pennant, too. Is that the line, at last, where Israel’s decline will be halted?

I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot–starting a post with this disclaimer before beginning with a dissertation on how the proverbial shit has hit the proverbial fan this week in Palestine.

So be it.

I arrived back to Palestine Monday night (from my week in Evanston with MK), went to Hebrew class, came home, and slept for 14 hours. I woke up at 2 pm to the sounds of a protest outside my apartment window.

100-200 students were marching from Birzeit University to the checkpoint to our town, Al-Tarra, to participate in the nation-wide protest. It was just part of the story of Tuesday. I went to the kitchen, got a cup of much needed coffee, then watched Al-Jazeera for 3 hours. Here’s what I saw:

-As a result of the reopening of a controversial synagogue near the Temple Mount (Dome of the Rock) in the Old City, Jerusalem, and the declaring of a Hebron holy site (for Jews and Muslims–Abraham’s tomb) a Jewish Heritage site a week before, Hamas called for a “Day of Rage” across Palestine, which the masses supported–in force. It was the most violent mass protest since the Second Intifadah ended in 2005, with over 100 Palestinians injured, over 30 arrested, and 3 boys between the ages of 15-16 killed over the course of Tuesday and the ensuing days. (see http://www.maannews.net/eng/ViewDetails.aspx?ID=270196)

-News agencies jumped to the coverage, across the globe, and Al-Jazeera had a daylong news coverage. There was one striking image of a Israeli undercover officer pushing away a cameraman, and when asked why, his response was, “for your own protection.”

-All the West Bank closed down for three days (at the main checkpoints), nothing in or out.

-Work stopages, school strikes, and general uproar.

-And nothing changed.

This last point I write not in spite but in dissapointment. This is the type of general unrest that should spark international uproar, questioning, and truth-seeking. If that happened, the issue would be simple–40 percent of Palestinians are unemployed even though their literacy rates are higher than any other Arab state, 50 percent of families live below the poverty line, and there is no real freedom of demonstration, movement, protest, or speech. This is illegal, as Israel, as the occupying power, is mandated by international law to provide for its occupied peoples. Instead, it fights stones with bullets, and hurts its neighbors, instead of providing for them. (see Genena Convention, UN Resolutions 446, 452, 465, 471 and 476 to site illegality of settlements and treatment of Palestinian peoples.)

But instead, nothing happens. Why? Because there is no unity of purpose, of peoples, of actions. It’s just a mass of stone-throwing, random shouting, and violence. “A Day of Rage”? That is the worst name I could ever give to the day if I was working PR for the Palestinian people. Non-violent protest, non-violent protest: where is it? Where is the provocactive leadership to rally the masses? Where is Palestine’s MLK?

It is not so easy to say this, as so many things compound this: one, MLK was once in a generation, two, the occupation (and Palestinian Authority) cripples any type of mass movement, and three, people have much more things to worry about, like gaining an income for its family to survive, then demonstrating to get injured or arrested. But look what African Americans had to go up against–lynchings, arrests, violence, discrimination. But they rose above it, on the wings of angels.

I defy one to deny that this can happen here: that the peoples can rise above. It’s so hard, but not impossible.

Instead, we get mass demonstrations, and the West sees this:

“Angry Palestinians throw stones and start riots.” It’s so simplistic and easy for us to digest. Israel–democratic, friend, good–and Palestine–Arab, terrorist, bad. But where’s the objectivity, what about the other side:

“The Semi-Automatic Rifle is Mightier than the Sword (or Stone).” We don’t get this–dispersing rioters who have stones with M16 rifles. There’s something wrong with this picture, in more ways than one. And I believe people don’t want this, I believe the Israelis don’t want this, but who’s going to speak up, speak the truth, speak for change?

I hope a change is brewing in American policy at least. When Joe Biden visited last week, the crazy Minster of the Interior in Israel announced 1600 new settlements to be built in East Jerusalem, when Biden was there TO TALK ABOUT PEACE! It was a direct slap in the second most powerful man in the free world’s face. And Biden laid into Israel as a result, and then the next day, General Petreus published this report condemning unbridled US support for Israel because it is undermining our security position in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq. The peoples in these countries see us as one, weak in acquiscing to Israel’s wishes, and two, not a friend, but an enemy, because we tacitly support what Israel does to Palestinians.

People in AIPAC want to silence even one harsh word spoken against Israel. But I believe to support it is to be honest with it; to express what I believe as the truth, and what I think if presented with both sides, most people would see, is the real support I can give. Israel is hurting stone-throwing Palestinans with bullets. Goliath is destroying David. It is a cruel and tragic irony unfolding before my eyes. It is the strong oppressing the weak, and I will always, always, stand with the latter.

I’ll conclude with a statement from the article linked above: Look, I believe Israel is one of our most stalwart allies in the region.  They are truly our best friend around.  But as Tom Friedman said in his article:  ”Friends don’t let Friends drive drunk, and right now, Israel is driving drunk”.  We need to sign them up for AA. Fast.

Ben Yeduda Street, Jerusalem

I woke up at 5:30 am and it was dark and rainy outside and I just wanted to go back to sleep. I didn’t even know if I could get into Jerusalem or not because for Purim, from Thursday at sundown to Monday at sundown, no Palestinian can cross into Israel. It doesn’t affect us lucky internationals, though. So I roused myself, got my things, and got a servees at 6:15.

I went to wait for in a servees at the parking lot in Ramllah, but by 6:50 with only two others in the van (you need 8 in order to depart), I gave up and went to get a taxi. But right there was another yellow servees willing to go without a full van. So that was great. There was a big line at the checkpoint, but people moved through quickly. I thought I was going to be late (because the email said be at the office at 8am, in Jerusalem, to leave to Arroub wth the consultant), so I emailed Lubna and Cham, my bosses.

It turned out okay. I was 10 minutes away at 7:40 so I called Lubna and she said the car already left. And I was like what? And she looked at the email and realized her mistake (she said travel at 8:00 am, but she meant the meeting in Arroub started at 8:00 am).

So I got there and she was very sorry and arranged a car to take me to Bethlehem to get another car going to Arroub. I got to chat with the driver on the way to Bethlehem, about how the system of taxes is unjust for Arabs, as they receive less services (he lives in East Jerusalem) but pay the same taxes, and fellow social workers (who had heard a myth about a foreigner who spoke good Arabic-me) from Bethlehem to Arroub camp, and I eventually got to Arroub at 9:00 am.

I was bummed because they met Abu Kasi, the borrower I wrote a story about that this consultant saw and was part of the reason he chose Arroub as his “spot” to meet with the people/benefeciaries in the field. But I met with this consultant, Cornelius, who works for the EU (advising how to use 40 million toward UNRWA), was 60, retired, with five grandchildren, and just a pretty cool dude.

When we met, I talked about the borrower with him, and then Sami (my project’s boss), Yousef (Arroub represent for the lending project), Amani (Hebron boss for project), and I had a meeting about what the consultant said, how we can show CMF (our lending project)’s success, and then we met with another borrower to write another story. I’m REALLY getting along so well with Yousef and Amani; we’re planning a focus group, and becuase of the survey I did in Arroub last year, we are increasing loan amounts to shoot for getting more entrepreneurial borrowers (which the consulatnt also supported, and I supported doing months ago-finally, it’s coming to form).

Anyway, we went back to Abu Kasi and I apologized and said it was my fault we weren’t there with the consultant (but he knew they were coming, so no big deal) and thanked Abu Kasi and told him we were increasing the loan amounts because of his interview (and the interview with another borrower, who said the same thing). Before doing follow up emails with Abu Kasi and other borrowers after the survey, we didn’t know our loan amount was too low. Now, it’s an easy thing to change, and is a big change that is really going to help our borrower.

It felt SO GOOD to be able to honestly thank these people for their candor and that they CHANGED the program for the better because of their feedback. Awesome.

So after that we went to the Arroub UN office and sat with the consultant, the Arroub camp officer, Marwan, Sami, Amani, Yousef, me, and some people receiving food aid. For the most part they talked about food aid, and it was just back and forth (not enough on one side, we don’t have any money on the other) but I translated so it was cool and worked a report with Cornelius, the consultant.

BUT then we got to talking about transferring from relief to development, and how CMF could be involved. He had met this one girl who was kicked out of her University because she couldn’t pay for the semester in time. So Sami and I were like: hello, education loan from CMF. He’s going to pass this idea to Amman, of increasing money to our lending program, CMF, to focus more on developmental, sustainable programs, which I support.

Later, we debriefed, and then he invited me for a beer at his hotel. We talked of Palestine and his past work and tips for development work int he future and I told jokes. JIt was so good, really blessed, and learned a whole lot about how consultants think: like what questions to ask, and his focus on what people say, i.e. listening to beneficiaries, great, but even more so, recognizing that you have to get CLEAR, and precise critique from them, and you can’t just accept ‘there’s not enough, it’s not good,’ because that does nothing. But something like, the rice doesn’t cook through, is constructive and can be fixed.

Wow, sorry this is so long. Take a breath. So the Purim stuff was cool–after work, I hiked up to the center of Jerusalem for the last day of this festival honoring kickass Queen Esther. I bought a mask and grogger (noise maker) and saw clowns in that huge Mall by the Old City and street performers and cute kids. I met with Simon, my friend from the Ulpan where I study Hebrew, and we had wine in Smol Telapov, a small cafe on Jaffa St. And then he took me to his book shop and got me two free books (JFK’s Profiles in Courage (Pullitzer) and Memoirs from Dalai Lama–kickass). The owner was funny and quirky, talking about how great these books were and he didnt want to give them away, but with this wry smile of a guy who would so own a second hand bookstore (Simon gets paid in books, btw). I gave Simon a 20 shekel note b/c I dug the shop–knowledge!–then I gave this women begger 10 shekels because we are commanded to give to the poor on this day. I should give all the time, but that’s so hard, because you don’t know where it goes, and it’s such a hard philosophical area, but taht’s another subject, but wanted to show giving.

I used to give to every begger I saw in Cambridge when I had change, from a discussion with Ryan Hackett (how can they ever get any type of help in life if we don’t help little as we can, if we just ignore them, if you multiply your action by the masses. I don’t know. I think you an give in other ways, too).

My impressions of Purim were thus: I felt good, happy, but the most so when I gave to the bookkeeper and the woman and when I helped these Palestinians push a food cart up and steep hill, wearing my party mask and speaking Arabic. They said “aeed saeed and hag sameeah,” speaking in Arabic and Hebrew with such a surprised smile on their faces. It felt SO good to be able to be an open Jew helping these Palestinians with no druthers, no fanfare, and just doing that little bit to break down any hatred toward Jews taht could have been there.

I hope I can do that more in the future, don’t know how, but somehow being open as a Jew, but different and liberal, helping Palestinians to break down the hatred.

The rest of the time, it was just teenagers dressing up and getting drunk. So I wasn’t missing too much–a party is a party. Reading with Mary Katherine from the book of Esther and giving to the bookkeeper and the poor women made me feel the most, I don’t know, Purimy, and I can do that anywhere with anyone. I think that’s the most important lesson from the holiday: give and love, as much as you can, and you hope good things can one day come, even here, in Jersualem.

Sam, Kat, my friend from Shorebank International and Harvard, Anna Fogel, and I went to Nablus last Friday. I should have known it would turn into an interesting adventure from the first bus ride.

We took the backroads, but those were blocked off until 4 pm. So then, we took the back-back roads. Literally, at one point, I think the bus traveled through someone’s front yard: as we went up the mountains, then back down, then through side streets, into valleys, out of them again, it semed like we traveled in constant circles. I kind of thought we were going the right way, but with the mountainous geography of the North, with valleys, and hills, you can’t really ever tell.

We did, after a half hour, make it to this beautiful almond tree orchard, with white-flowered trees that looked to be snowed covered, and from there, I saw the main road. After another half hour, we finally made it to Nablus. It should have taken 45 minutes; it took 1 1/2 hours.

Upon arriving, we walked around Nablus’ huge park, got tea and kanafa,

which is a typical Palestinian treat, made with shredded wheat and a crap ton of syrup, and Nablus’ kanafa is the best.

We then walked through the almost deserted Old City (it was Friday), and that’s when the story begins.

So we’re used to the “shabab”: 20-year old punk kids with nothing to do except 1) smoke cigarettes, 2) drive their cheap cars really fast while blasting 1990s pop music (see Backstreet Boys, 50 cent (he is pop)), 3) try to look really cool and 4) give crap to foreign girls thinking they can get a little something.

So this group of three guys were doing 1 and 3 when they passed us and were like, hey, two girls, let’s multi-task and do number 4. We ignored them as we usually do, but they kept going with their kissy kissies and, how are yousssss, welcome to Palestiniansss, what’s your nameesss (all the English they know), and wouldn’t leave. We walked away finally, and I wasn’t upset or anything, just found it hilarious (I had developed at that moment my 4 things the ‘shabab’ do and it made me chuckle) that these guys ALWAYS DO THE SAME FOUR THINGS, always, and…..I had just watched WWE Raw the night before.

First, a back story. One of the most famous and long-standing wrestling alliances in WWE/(F) history is D-Generation X

And their gimic is they don’t give a crap about authority, so I love them, along with every man child who still wishes he was 12. And their big move is saying suck it.

It's actually 2 words and 2 letters, or if it's an acronym, 3 words and 1 letter.

to everyone. That is what you do: you cross your hands, slam it on your crotch, and say suck it. Simple. So…..I did that to them. I thought, for some reason, they wouldn’t get it, but if you read my Twitter, you know, WWE is WORLDWIDE, FOR REAL…..and, also, I think it’s pretty universally recognized that pointing to your crotch in another man’s direction is not a nice thing to do.

They walked away but only after I lied to them and said it meant, Marhaba, or hi. 20 minutes later, though, we heard the kissing noises again from the opposite side of the road and it was our three shabab friends, plus another. I just ignored them and walked faster, but when I turned around, I saw Sam had lost it…just a little bit. He had run over to them, yelled at them to, um, be quiet (in his own words), and then pushed the lead guy back into his friends.

Right after the push, I was on him, and got him back over to the other side of the road. I told everyone, in Arabic, “it’s over, it’s over,” and the Shabab agreed.

I then turned to them, because I knew it wasn’t really over. I asked them what happened. And they go, he just came over here for no reason, and I was like well why do you think he came over (maybe because you were making kissing noises at the girls?). They said, no, no, no I didn’t do anything with these dumb expressions on their faces.

I expected them to get angry, to reject what I was saying, but they said, simply, we’re sorry. Then they asked where I was from, I asked there names, we shook hands, and I told them god be with you all. And that was it.

I came back to the group and apologized–my WWE move started all of this. You leave it to the pros, I know. They asked what happened, and I told them, and Sam laughed.

He said you’d never make it in DX. Instead, you’d be by yourself, and your wrestling name would have to be the Diplomatic B*#otch.

Suck it. I’ll take it.

The abandoned watchtower,

over Marak Adoumin settlement,

never leaving,

always watching,

over death. (1.14.2010)

Wadi Nar

The water flows

down, through, inside

the dry land of the Wadi Nar,

a valley of fire, breathing and alive. (1.15.2010)

———————————————————————

You kind of come face to face with all that is good and all that is bad in this land.

I see the sprawling green growth of January, which comes hand in hand with the once a year cascade of rain for Palestine. On my way to play tennis each Friday, I pass by a farm and see nothing but the land lush with growth, beaming, blinding. I see the baby camel resting on the plow, lazy on this his day of rest.

I see that a river runs through the Wadi Nar now, for the first time all year, and this patch of desert suddenly has life.

The relationships I have with the people here grow and grow, and it gives me pause to reconsider whether everything is all bad here.

Then I see the settlements; I wait in line for two hours at Kollandia checkpoint and see soldiers pointing M-16s at mothers; I see a closed down shop in the old city of Hebron, welded shut to protect him from the crazy settlers above him, throwing rocks down. It is so sad to see, in this month, when the land is beaming with life but the situation drains you of it all hope for new beginnings.

And then more death. Atallah’s grandfather died on Thursday, he told me. On Saturday, the third day of his house being open to mourners (sitting shiva, in the same way expressed in Jewish tradition), he welcomes me in and I sit with the rest of the family by the fire. I express my condolances (Allah yar hamu–The Blessed God be with him) to all the Abo-Shaikhas and talk with Atallah about his grandfather, about work, about the weather. We talk for 15 minutes and it seems like all of Arroub is there in a moment. All those that I have met come and remember his grandfather, sit, mourn, as one. It is a sign of this great community–that a death of one in the 8000 person camp affects all, for it is one big family.

I left Atallah with a hug and a smile, thinking that in this one moment of death, there is still so much life. The power of love in an Arab community so strong that it doesn’t allow the death to consume them, but rather, to bring them all together. And in a little way, my hope can be restored.

The Grass Is Always Greener..It's Just Sometimes Hard to Find