adayinpalestine

Letter to the editor in response to the article (linked below) which appeared in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette today:

www.pittsburghpostgazette.com/pg/09289/1005836-109.stm
 

Stop Buying Into Apartheid

Fresh off the plane from a month in the West Bank, and Frida Ghitis’ October 16^th article “West Bank Boom Town” knocks the wind out of me.  She convolutes economic reality and perpetuates tired, destructive bashing of ideology.

 

The Israeli occupation continues to annex land and resources, leaving the Palestinian economy dependent upon Israel who monopolizes the electric, natural gas and oil companies.  While settlers splash in swimming pools, Palestinian villages suffer severe water shortages.  In Susiya, I slept in tents with families whose houses were demolished by bulldozers.  Water pipes under our feet, power lines over our heads, yet only settlers enjoyed running water and electricity.  The wall obstructs Palestinians from harvesting their olive trees, and forces entire communities to buy their occupier’s products. 

 

Ghitis paints Israel’s “separation barrier” as a white-picket fence barricading pesky neighbors; it’s an Apartheid Wall condemned illegal by International Law.  Israelis continue to build and enforce apartheid policies, while Americans continue to fund them.  Collectively, we strip the Palestinians of human rights and dignity.  For six decades we have bulldozed homes, divided families, annexed land, uprooted olive trees, restricted movement, imprisoned the innocent, denied jobs, education, medical aid, and most recently, massacred hundreds of children.

 

The Palestinian economy is far from booming.  The wall does not prevent terror it embodies terror.  Let’s quit pushing peace into the next millennium, stop buying into apartheid and start building a just future for ALL children.

Now back home:  During my last two weeks in Palestine I returned to Bil'in and Susiya and spent time with families, new friends, and working with human rights organizations.  I didn't detail my encounters much.  Now back home I am working on articles, posting them to share.

Travels in Palestine:  Bil’in

 

“Each step we take leaves a blood mark.”

 

Those words left the mouth of an Israeli activist branding a devastating image in my mind of the beautiful and contentious land called Palestine/Israel, and our role back in the United States.

 

It was a hot Friday afternoon in the West Bank’s inspiring village of Bil’in.  Vicious tear-gas canisters and rubber-coated steel bullets rained down on the residents of Bil’in along with International and Israeli activists who marched toward the illegal wall, protesting the annexation of nearly 60% of Bil’in’s land.   The weekly non-violent demonstration against Israel’s Apartheid Wall had just ended. As the dust began to settle, people descended the hill, stopping to cough, gag or vomit.  An older couple draped in colors of the Palestinian flag sat on a pile of rocks near the bottom of the hill.  The man sprayed squares of tissue with alcohol, the woman placed them in our hands, and we inhaled the fumes to remind our brain to breathe then wiped our eyes and faces to stop the burning sensation.

 

My throat seared from the noxious tear-gas as I rested under the shade of thick, aged olive trees. Situated on the land surrounding me, stood three distinct Israeli settlements boasting their defiance of international law.  Over the last three decades Israel has continued to build one illegal settlement after the other on Bil’in’s land; each one an insulting reminder of Israel’s ongoing and destructive land expansion fueled by racist, apartheid policies. I never realized how close the settlements were to Palestinian homes until I was there; how massive, intrusive, and untenable they truly are.  Obama’s short-lived settlement freeze rhetoric was already thawing, and I was experiencing just a small taste of what occupation meant.

 

Occupation is exhausting when you consider 60 years of colonizing, oppressing, racially discriminating, dehumanizing and ethnically cleansing the Palestinian people.  Remarkably, occupation doesn’t sleep.  Occupation thrives in the nighttime, particularly in Bil’in where families awake from nightmares to nightmares as young soldiers dressed in guns invade families’ homes to inexplicably arrest young men.  They leave children scared, heirlooms shattered and men beaten.  These soldiers are masked as they target the homes of Bil’in’s resisters. 

 

“Why do they wear masks?” an International shouts.

 “Because they are ashamed.” answers an Israeli.

 

While staying in Bil’in I met some of the most amazing human beings.  I learned that resistance is not just marching to the wall every Friday. It is not just staying up all night on rooftops watching for Israeli soldiers who sneak through the fields by foot and storm the streets in a caravan of camouflaged hummers. Resistance is playing with children, cracking jokes, walking down the street with your head held high shaking neighbors’ hands along the way.  Resistance is living your life.

 

Now back home, my stomach unsettles at the unbridled support the US gives Israel and her brutal military occupation.  How many bloody footprints must we leave before we say enough is enough?

Falling Stars
Rooftop yoga
"I have many dreams. But the occupation stops them.  I want to go to moon. I want to be a pilot."

2 jeeps
4 jeeps
6 jeeps

Walking
Running
Chasing

Hard thick helmets
Masked faces
"Why do they wear masks?"
"Because they are ashamed."

Guns, guns, guns

The lights bring attention to
children's silohettes in the windows,
woken up by nightmares to nightmares as
soldiers storm through their houses to
arrest their brothers and cousins and uncles and fathers, as
soldiers hand over military documents,
as soldiers beat men and intimidate children into false confessions

I hear the tear gas  drop
but don't smell it

yallah, yallah

there are more at another house
live bullets are shot in the air
the soldiers pile into the jeeps and ride off

the numbness begins to fade away
all these faces,
sitting in all these plastic chairs

awareness circulates
they are all beyond exhausted
five years with no sleep
we sip tea

I cannot fall asleep
Falling tears

http://palsolidarity.org/2009/09/8481

I took a day trip to Jenin.  The name means "gardens" and as the  bus moved from Ramallah, to Nablus, to Jenin, green patches exploded from cracks in rocks.  There were palm trees in the center of the streets, some deciduous trees lining the sidewalks with beautiful purple flowers, cyprus trees seeminly taller than sky skrapers...and there was RAIN.  Oh how I miss rain.  I wanted to jump off of the bus, rip off my long sleeves, throw my head back and let the rain drops tap dance on my cheeks and chin.  Instead I just breathed it in:) 

I took a tour of the Jenin camp where 15,000 people live since Israel's brutal invasion in 2002.  The past year, renovations are being made to the bullet riddled houses and markets are filling up with fresh fruit and spices.  The Old City is smaller than others I have been to, but it had its own welcoming character and the usual gaggle of children following behind me.

On the way back in the service the sun set, call to prayer, and then the rustling of plastic bags.  The guy next to me poured everyone a glass of water.  As we threw back the last drops, he immediatley filled our glasses with some thick pink juice.  Then cookies, cigarettes and gum to finish.

My stay here during Ramadan has consisted of breaking the fast with delicious traditional food.  But in the service with junkfood abound, loud wonderful music, and smiling faces...this Iftar is one for the books!

It ranks up there in word frequency with words like: yallah, wallah, khallas, inshaallah...

When I hear it, I envision little men waddling in single file lines with muffins for heads, buzzing merry melodies while serving sweet treats and tea.

Moomkin shai?
Will you be here tomorrow? Moomkin

Moomkin makes me smile:)

The village of Susiya is a village in the South Hills of Hebron.  They have been attacked by the Israeli army year after year since the first intifada.  Houses and caves have been destroyed.  Water has been compromised.  And land has been confiscated by idealogical settlers.  Last week the army removed the settler's outpost.  In our news at home we hear about these "illegal outposts" but it is important to remember that all settlements are ILLEGAL.  Within the night the settlers built a bigger and better outpost.  So much for settlement freeze...the army did nothing after that.  Well they did protect the settlers when they came down and attacked the Palestinians. 

By the time I arrived the activity had calmed down, but in the tent where I was staying there was a new addition to the roof.  An unwanted massive hole compliments of the settlers throwing a little grenade. 

The family here was amazing, and I learned more Arabic in my three days here than the rest of my stay.  In the one tent, the two wives made tea and delicious food, and we sat around and tried to teach each other English and Arabic.  This involved quite a lot of charades.

The little children were adorable.  We played hide and seek behind huge rocks, massive cacti and in caves.  Sang each other our alphabets, and while the one girl was singling a song in Arabic (probably thick with meaning) I sang Bah Bah Black Sheep! One little girl had a Fisher Price dump truck and reenacted what the bulldozers did to her home for us.

At night, the stars were amazing...you could see the milky way.

People here are shepherds.  Shepherding seems like it should be one of the most peaceful jobs.  But early in the morning as the roosters cock-a-doodle-doo and the sun peaks over the hills, the soldiers wake from their tents.  On a good day they just stand and try to intimidate with telescopes and cameras.  On a regular basis they declare grazing lands as "closed military zones" and don't allow the sheep to graze.  Too often, the settlers attack.

The most insane thing of all, is that some of these settlers are shepherds too.  Wouldn't it be ideal, for everyone to just graze their sheep together?

One of the father's here showed us all the land that used to be his.  He said that he knows he won't get it back, but he doesn't want them to take anymore.

One of the sons looked at my wrist and asked where peace was.  "Where is it in the world? It is only on your wrist."

There are roughly 500 settlers living in Hebron.  Fore each settler there are between 4 and 5 soldiers to protect them.  The settlers can own 8 guns. 

A couple of young settler girls wanted to walk around Hebron, to start trouble they insisted to have an entourage of soldiers fowllow them around.  They harrassed Palestinians.  The soldiers only protected the girls.

Met an amazing Palestinian activist.  He invited us to his house and we sipped tea hinting a cinnamon flavor and munched on shortbread covered in raspberry jelly and chocolate.  To get to his house we had to climb through back yards, over walls and around trees.  While clearing out his garden, the settlers who live above him decided it would behoove them to throw a washing machine onto his property.  Last week they occupied their time throwing rocks at his head and throwing pig's blood on him and his family.

His house was decorated with children's artwork.  Colored beautifully there was a picture of children smiling, Palestinian flags waving in their hands.  They stood in front of the apartheid wall.  "Free Palestine" was written with large, bold letters.  On the other side of the wall was Jerusalem.  Can you imagine being a tourist, and showing your pictures of the Old City in Jerusalem to Palestinians who have never been there because they are not allowed?

Another picture was colored neatly, devastatingly.  It seemed to be an island separate from the rest of the world.  There were palm trees, sand and blood.  Women held bleeding men.  A flower bouquet was left to rot next to a dead woman.  A little girl was sprawled in a puddle of blood with her baby doll not far away.  At the top of the picture, "Peace for Palestine."

He says, " They can kill me physically, but the can not kill my thoughts.  They cannot kill my ideas."

"I teach my children to be confident and to resist."

On one state solution: "Why not now? Keep waiting, each generation will grow more radical on both sides. We need to start right now."

I am 26 years old.
I am NOT MARRIED.
I have NO CHILDREN.

I am back in Hebron, Tel Rumeida specifically.

An area of high contention and activity, as settlers live among the Palestinians.  "Live" is too kind a word; they harass, abuse, destroy, throw garabage, take homes, walk around armed, and make life difficult.

But again, the Palestinians here are so friendly to me: welcome, from where you are, how are you, welcome

This morning we walked with children to school. The children have to cross through walking checkpoints.  They walk through metal detectors and then soldiers, with guns make them open their back packs and they search them.  The soldiers are old enough to be their big brothers, maybe a young father. 

There are streets here where Palestininans are not allowed to walk.  On some of the streets where they are allowed, there are fence like baricades, and Palestininas are only allowed to walk on the right hand side of the fence.  I write it a lot, but it is what it is..APARTHEID!

It is amazing to look out the window here or climb onto the roofs.  The sunrise and sunset are the most delicious I have ever seen.  The days are hot, but the nights are perfectly chilled with shining stars and moving clouds.

Friday:

I meet with some friends and we begin to make our way to the village of Bil'in to participate in the village's weekly non-violent demonstrations protesting the APARTHEID WALL which has annexed about 60% of the Palestininans land.  Most recently the Israeli Army comes into the villages in the middle of the night to arrest young men. Below is link with more information:

http://www.bilin-ffj.org/

I am not sure if that hyperlinked or not...if it didn't could someone directly email me on how to do that please. Also, for this entry at least from now on exclamation points will equal question marks, the key is sticking...

So, it was Friday.  The holy day in Islam also during Ramadan.  As I mentioned in my post about last friday "security" is extremely hightened.  I quote "security" because I would like you to ponder this point:  how is it a measure of security when only Arabs are kept out of Jerusalem! how is it a measure of security when only Arabs are forced to show their id! only Arabs have their cars inspected! only Arabs wait hours upon hours upon hours!   If it were truly an issue of security, wouldn't you think it in everyone's best interest of protection that we all, Arabs, Israelies, Jews, Christians, Muslims, Tourists, Internationals had to undergo the exact same procedures!!!!  Just something to think about when we hear and read the word "security"...

We get off the bus, because today our bus does not go through the Kalandia checkpoint, today it drops us off and once we make it through we have to catch another one to Ramallah. 
Stepping
stepping
stepping
Turnstile #1

Stepping
Stepping
Waiting
Waiting
Stepping
Turnstile #2

Stepping
Waiting
Have a safe and pleasant stay
Turnstile #3

Enter..Mayhem
Welcome to Kalandia

We make our way near the end of the checkpoint
There are hundreds upon hundreds of people crowded around these huge cement baricades, with only enough space between each of them to fit an Israeli soldier.  The women try to push through, to make their way to the mosque for prayer.  The soliers hit and push them back as some of the women beg and plead.  I can not describe it, and I cringe as I relive this. To see this much racism, to witness how people treat other people when they feel they are superior...it is unreal.  
Baricade, armed soldier, baricade, armed soldier, baricade, armed soldier, baridcade, armed solider, barbed wire++++++++++++++++++++
UN representatives and cameras observe and document
WHY WON"T THEY LET THEM THROUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We make it past the barbed wire, the soldiers begin to move the baricades, and people rush in.
I feel like dehumanizing (a pretty loaded word) doesn't do this everyday reality for Palestinians justice
We pass a market with caged birds for sale...

It takes us forever to get to Bil'in and by the time we arrive and head towards the demonstration it is ending
We missed it by an hour...

This time issue I have been writing about
another tactic to restrict and complicate Palestinian mobility

The West Bank's time has fallen back an hour, but Israel is holding off for a few weeks

Wednesday

The time did change, who knows how long ago:)

I take a bus from Ramallah to Jerusalem
Fall asleep until we are stopped at a prison-like checkpoint (prison's don't have this much security)
We deboard the bus
The massive wall surrounds us on both sides
APARTHEID

All signs in Hebrew and Arabic
Enter prison through turnstile #1
pick and aisle depending on red or green flashing lights
wait in line, walking around a maze like those in amusement park waiting lines
Place bags and belongings on conveyor belt
Enter turnstile #2

Small, crowded room
the sound of voices in Hebrew through speakers
show id to young girl behind glass
wait in line until they feel like turning light green
walk through turnstile #3

First time I see English,
"Have a safe and pleasant stay"

Walk down long aisle
Exit through turnstile #4
reboard bus

The wall is everywhere

I took a bus to Ramallah on Monday to meet and stay with the family from a  friend from back home.  When I arrived at the bus station my surroundings were completely different than what I have experienced thus far.  The streets were crowded with people, baby strollers, cars, busses, taxis.  All around me were buildings and signs I couldn't read.  I sat beneath a palm tree, and quickly grew uncomfortable in my short sleeves.  I'm sure everyone was staring because clearly I was a foreingner, but I quickly inserted my arms into the safety of long sleeves.  I called R, the lady who was meeting me to tell her I was here...I think I must have made it sound like I was still on the bus, so I walked around, making sure to keep the fountain of lions in view at all time's. 

I remain confused.  Everything looks the same- and different.  Men walk by holding hands, one growls close in my ear.  Really???? I have been wearing the same skirt for 5 days, I have on a Mr. Roger's type sweater, my hair is tangled and gross, and I don't even remember what I look like in make-up...what on earth about me provokes a growl?

R calls, but I can't seem to explain where I am.  I walk into a jewelry shop and the man there speaks to her for me.  Soon I see a woman across the street waving, and I eagerly cross to meet her.  First impression: she is beautiful, has a contagious and welcoming smile, lives with big dreams, and is so friendly I feel like I have known her much longer.  She buys me a lemon slush, we walk around Ramallah, and then stop in a market to pick things up to eat:)  It feels refreshing to be with a girl my age.

We take a taxi to her village).  Her house is gorgeous, with big, wonderfully shaped furniture, and orange and gold fabrics fit for a queen.  We walk over to her parents house, just one away- and I am immediately greeted by her mom, sisters, brothers, aunts, and cousins with piercing silverish eyes.  Most speak very little English, and my Arabic vocab is up to about 15, so we all just look at each other and smile while R and her other sister translate between us.  Some of the boys bring out a dictionary, tear the pages and divide them up, in jesing hope to broaden the bridge of communication:)  I eat delicious pomegranate, sip sweet, sweet, sweet date juice....why can't our fruit have a taste in the states????

I love the family dynamic out here.  How wonderful to sit around with all of your cousins, for your neighbors to be family.  I wish we had that.  One of the brother's tells me that the orange school, visible from the porch, is the boy's school, 7-11 grades.  Not too long ago the Israeli soldiers  entered the schoo shooting tear gas canisters and bullets; two students were injured.  Why??? Intimidation,. boredom, fun......

We all gather around a table outside and eat a delicious meal as the sun begins to set.  Later I take a walk through the village with all the girls.  I feel like I am in a movie with all of these stong, intelligent, utter romantics.  It's like the characters from The Virgin Suicides meets any and all of Jane Austen.  The night air is chilly, the deep sky presents more stars than I have seen in weeks, and the orange moon glows like a gigantic nightlight.

Later R and I chat on her back porch.  Here in Palestine you can not have binoculars or telescopes to study the sky; you would be considered plotting and would be thrown in jail.  We sip hot coffee and she tells me about two families who are fighting.  One of the men is a spy for the Israeli government.  The Israeli's find people who need to provide for their families, and provide them with the lucrative job of spying.  Equals more division.  "We don't fight with guns, we just want to live in peace."

The next day I visit Birziet University with O.  It is wonderful.  Student's are typical students, the girls talk about boys they like.  We walk around from location to location and sit and people watch.  I love how people bust into song, and most of the cellphone rings are world's away from ours.  We stop in a museum and I fall in love with the artwork of Burhan Karkutli.

Another delicious family meal.  A dessert of fruit that articial treats fail to mimic. Photo shoot.  Politics and life discussion outside with the father and uncle, my translator, and argeela! 

They take our land,
We can live side by side, no problem
We have to wait
teach our children
our children's children

without war and money
without power and greed

what if we all just lived off of what we needed?

would real relationships exist then?

I go back to R's and she shows me her life in photographs.  After only two days I love her, I love this family, they have taught me much...

Yesterday I went to Jericho.  My little Lonely Planet guide was quite on spot with it's description of the change in topography from Jerusalem to Jericho, "...where the stubby green and chalky white topography gives way to smooth carmel mounds and brown velvet scapes."  All this beauty- enter Ma'ale Aduumim.  This is Israel's largest settlement in the West Bank.  It is huge and in my opinion does not deserve much elaboration: ugly, massive, hovering, ILLEGAL.  Remember not too long ago when Obama spoke with Netanyahu and demanded a settlement freeze? Remember when we American's heard this and patted ourselves on the back thinking, yes we are helping the solution for peace and justice along quite smoothly now?  This is not the case.  There are some 2,500 settlement projects in progress, Netanyahu might consider then freezing for a couple of months, but has no plan of stopping.  Will we finally care when the West Bank is no more???

I wish you could envision the land here.  I feel that in Jericho and her surrounding mountains and dunes there is no beginning and no ending to the world.  When you are surrounded by smooth brown skyscapes- infinity makes sense.

I met a taxi driver who took me to the sycamore tree where it is said that Zaccheus climbed to hear Jesus speak.  The old man there told me the story and then I sang him the song we learned in Bible school...my first marriage proposal:)  Next thing you know he is wrapping a kuffiyeh around my head, hanging necklaces from me and trying to charge me an insance price.  We walk away and David my taxi driver says, " You watch my eggs.  I close one egg, you say no.  You understand?"

I took a cable car ride up to the mountain of temptaion, tucked away amidst caves was the monastery of Quantul.  Elias, you asked if the sky here is like the sky in Sevilla...in Jericho it is just as brilliant, but on different grounds.  In Sevialla the bright blue was accented with fluffy white clouds, bright green palm trees and crayola colored orange trees.  Here the sky is the same brilliant blue, but cutting through the cotton ball clouds are caramel colored mountains with camels and neverending sand dunes. 

Below me was Tel El Sultan and beautiful banana tree fields.  At the top the cable car ride I met a nice man named Fawzi who worked there but lived in Ramallah.  He provided me with crisp cool water and the sweetest grapes.  He invited me to dinner in Ramallah and suggested I make friends with his daughters in America and Canada, while I munched on a scrumptious date.

We then swilveled and swerved through the curvy land to a peak where I completely fell in love.  Wedged between these cliffs was green, the sound of running water and church bells, and  like something out of a fairy tale, St. George's Monastary appeared.  It is here that David insisted I was Japanese:
D "Where are you from?'
C "The States."
D "Where?"
C"America."
D " No, American's have big eggs. You have little eggs. Where is your blood?"
C  "English, Russian, Lebanese, some other European mix..."
D "What?"
C repeat
D" No you are Japanese. Small eggs.  You put all that blood together, Japanese."

Off to Ramallah today...

I feel like I waited too long to post this blog, although it has just been over a day's time.  So leaving off from SOS and checkpoint; I later made some friends with a Brit, an Aussie and a Kiwi.  We traveled to the Mount of Olives for a hike at sunset.  First we enetered the Virgin Mary's tomb, which looked like your everyday chaple from the outside, but upon entering, presented itself as a glowing cavernous, incense filled....well, tomb.  We descened a stone staircase carpeted in candles burning people's intimate prayers and wishes.  If an earthquake were to erupt, one would get a cuncussion from the incense lanterns and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  We ducked under an arch and entered her tomb which was covered in all currencies of money.  Then we proceeded into a small chapel.  There people lined up and crawled underneath some little table that looked like an alter of sorts.  I am not exactly sure what it was, but people crawled under three times under the directorship of quite possibly the world's oldest monk!

We continued up the mountain and peeked into the Garden of Getstyme which was closed for the evening.  Then we toured the Jewish cemetary and took rest on a huge rock overlooking the old city- magnificent.  By the time we passed the Tomb of the prophets and made it to the apex the sun had set and the Golden Dome looked glorious against the deep sky.  In my week here, the moon glows fuller and I seem to only find one star.


We hiked back down another way and stopped at a bakery before it closed.  Lip-smaking, finger-burning, sugary, buttery, cheesy goodness danced arount our tastebuds and filled our tummies. 

Fastforward to yesterday- Saturday.

For some reason, we thought the time had changed; no one, including myself actually verified this information we just contined to justify our confusion with hearsay.  Needless to say, the morning was quite discombobulated.  Took a 3.5 hour tour of the old city and then a little rest.  One of the guys had a friend in the New City, so we walked there in the evening.  It truely is remarkable to see how people live with their eyes closed if they so wish.  Regardless, here is where I had my first spiritual experience.  Well it has been fascinating to see and walk on all these holy sites to Judaism, Christianity and Islam, for me it has felt more like I was at the "HolyLand" Amusement Park in Orlando.  But here, in the New City, predomintatly Jewish, I heard singing. 

We walked up the street and there was a Korean choir rockin' out.  These are the Crazy Activists I refer to in my subject line.  Why? you may ask...because they were Christian.  The best part of it was, they weren't trying to convert anyone, or forcefully push their beliefs, instead they chose to sing....in another language.  If these people had been singing in English, the story would have been a completley different one I believe.

Before I left Pittsburgh airport I was having a drink with my parents.  A little baby was dancing and my dad commented on people instinctively moving to music.  Music transcends religion, politics, language barriers, it exists in a pure form and moves people.  So here I was, standing in the New City having my first spiritual awakening in the Holyland listening to a Korean Choir, singing songs I didn't know the words to.  And here were about 100 Jews and perhaps some tourists and maybe a few other believers in other religions standing to, everyone clapping, most smiling, some dancing.

What if we didn't always have to make things so definitive with words?  What if we stripped dialogue of concrete language, and allowed ourselves to listen to music?  Here they were, with smiles on their faces, sways in their steps, voices creating marriages with their harmonies, fingers tapping tablas and strumming guitars, crescendoing until you fall off this edge only to find yourself soaring on a cloud of voices acappella over an abyss of everything and nothing all at once.  Magical, gutsy.  At the end, we congratulated them and the one kids said, "Just praising God." 

To the Korean choir,
Thank you,
Thank you for using your voices to praise God, whoever, whatever that may be to any of us.
Thank you for allowing us to decide.
Thank you for your music.

Off to Jericho today to do some serious hiking...

I feel like inside me I have this huge scale.  Sometimes the scales move with force and quickly, sometimes they move gradually.  One side containes all of this joy and exctiment with the people I meet, the food I eat, the organizations I visit, and then the other side sticks with me like a sour taste in your mouth, it is of course the realities of occupation.  Not to say that I am living under the realitiy of occupation, but being here I see things that I have read about, and I see that they are real.

This morning I woke up and walked to catch a bus to Bethlehem.  Today has been different compared to most mornings.  Outside of Damascus Gate, piles or oranges and apples waited to be squezed into fresh juice were replaced with Israeli soldiers and police officers.  The fence like barricades I had seen around up against coners were now strategically placed everywhere so that people could only enter the Old City in single file lines.  I think I metioned before how I the IDFsoldiers look like kids on trick or treat....well today they seemed like the biggest bullies you could imagine from Elementary school, army-clad, flirting and teasing with their cronies, checking their cell phones constantly, texting, and pulling Palestininans aside to mock them before "allowing" them in for prayer.

I arrived in Bethlehem and met Layla at the SOS Children's Village.  Stepping in the children's village was like stepping into a secret garden.  The scales quickly jumped back to all of that goodness.  There were houses lining the pathway that seemed so comforting and happy, on the way back to the office I passed a rose garden!  SOS Children's Village is an amazing international organization to provide homes for orphans.  Two of their main principles that stuck out to me are they beleive every child should have a mother and that they keep biological brothers and sisters in the same family.  Each house on the village has a mother.  The mother has to have some type of physcological or social work degree and goes through two years of training in the village before beinging inducted into this noble lifetime committment.  Each of the houses are equipped with a mother, 6-9 children and a friendly nice atmosphere.  I went into one house and the kids were excited to show me their bedrooms and toys.

The village also has a game room.  Walking in I smiled at the scattered dress up clothes.  This room houses group activities, and different types of kid-friendly parties.  One of the most impressive aspects of SOS was their committment to children and the community.  If students pass through highschool with high marks, SOS will pay for the child's university studies and living expenses!  They also have programs with their social worker team where they help uneducated or very poor mothers in the community who are the sole or main breadwinners of the family.  This program can last 2-5 years.

I am going to go back later in my stay to have dinner with a family and also to volunteer with some fun activities for the kids!!!!

Scales change at checkpoint back into Jerusalem.  This one took longer than my past experiences.  It is the month of Ramadan and most people here are fasting.  One of the soldiers found in particulary amusing to walk up and down the line of people chomping down pizza.  As the grease dripped off of his chin, he helpd out the crust and offered it to people.  Once the pizza had been devoured he brought out a large 1.5 litre of Pepsi.  The bottle chilled so that condensation cascaded down the sides.  While each person was inspected and questioned before entering the bus, he poured pepsi into his fellow soldiers cups and cheered.  They went through all of the women's bags, but in the lane right next to us, Israeli Jews passed with ease, not even stopping.  Back on the bus, I

Well the exciting thing about travelling solo is you never know who you will meet.  I wasn't sure how my day would go yesterday so I sat in shade in manger's square to see what would find me.  After a little while I young guy asked if he could share the bench with me.  We talked for awhile, mainly about why I am in Palestine.  It seems that you have to go through lots of gentle poking and prodding before someone tells you what they really think.  His nickname was Shushu and he lives in the Aida Refugee Camp.  He told me that the good thing about Palestinians is that they keep on smiling; this is true.  I can't tell you how many smiles a see a day, which is good because I am used to being around a baby who smiles all day long:)  So we had great conversation and one part that stuck out the most was when he showed me his idea.  It is written in Arabic and Hebrew.  I asked why not in English too, and he said this is because it gets them in more trouble with authorities; people don't know what it says so they assume it is a fake ID.  Also, Palestinian id's make you distinguish which religion you are: Christian or Muslim; another way to try and divide the Palestinians.

Another exciting, well that isn't quite the right word, aspect about travelling solo is that I tend to find myself lost sporadically throughout the day.  Not that I can really be lost, as I don't know where things are to begin with!  I was meeting people from the states for lunch, told just to walk down the road a ways and turn at an intersection.  After about 1/2 hour I was ready to give up, I had my big bag with me, it was hot, and I had already passed a hundred places with food.  Just then I saw Isa, who I met a few days ago.  It's a small world after all....  He told me to walk a little more.  Lunch was nice.

I took a shared taxi to Dheisheh Refugee Camp.  There I met with people in the Ibdaa cultural center.  Ayaad gave me a tour.  The camp used to be tents but now they are cement buildings, as families grow the buildings can only grow upwards.  At the entrance was a daunting gate which used to be controlled by soldiers and was the only entrance in and out of the camp.  Throughout our walk there was a lot of art work on the walls.  (I wish i could figure out how to post pictures but i don't think i brought the right attatchement.) One was a pleasant scenic painting with clouds, in each clouds were names of 35 villages that the regugees came from after 1948.  Over 12,000 refugees live in this camp. They took only their keys with them thinking they would return home in a few days.  Generations later they are still in the refugee camp.  Another picture I saw was of a teenage boy.  This boy was one of Ayaad's best friends who was shot to death by soldiers for throwing a stone.

The soldiers mainly come into the camp at night and arrest boys in their late teen years and put them in jail.  It seems like every male I met there has been in jail and has friends and relatives in jail.  The camp can go days without water and weeks without electricity.  Despite this there are three schools for the students and many have hopes of going on to college.  Ayaad performs with the Ibdaa dance troupe which performs internationally, when he talked about it his face lit up, but actually now thinking about it not once did he not seem happy and pleasant as he escorted me around the camp.

Later I returned to Jerusalem to stay at the hostel and ended up sleeping a very very long time.

Yesterday I met my host family; I stayed with them last night and tonight.  They are very friendly and make the best tea and food!!!  Yesterday I walked around Bethlehem, and learned quickly the difference in price between bus, shared taxi and taxi.  Others warned me before, but I guess I had to feel the pinch in my pocket to awaken my senses and start focusing.  I toured the church of the Nativity which was beautiful, it smelled of thick incense.  I patted myself on the back for politely declining from the numerous guide offers, but fell for a quiet old man named Isa who told me he worked in the church.  It was helpful having in tell me stories, and next thing you knew we were walking down narrow streets to his friend's souvenir shop where I was promptly seated with steaming, delicous arabic coffee in hand.  Next thing you knew this guy who had been following me around trying to sell me on his taxi\tour service shows up....he is in the family.  He ended up driving me all around to Herodion, Sheperd's Field (which smelled of sensational cedar), Solomom's pools, through Beit Jala, camp Aida and a tour of the wall. 

He showed me from a beautiful view the land his family owns.  The land they can not get to without Israeli soldiers shooting at them.  Why?? Because it is near an illegal settlement.  Sniper towers disrupt beautiful landscape and livelihoods everywhere.  On the way home I realized I didn't know where home was.  That was interesting, but we finally managed.

Today I went to Hebron.  I walked through the Muslim quarter and met amazing people selling their goods.  Nowhere before have I ever been greeted with a friendly "welcome" with each footstep.  I talked with a woman who was selling good's that support women, another man sat me down and offered me coffee, and remembered my name later in passing.  Closer to the mosque I talked to some young kids who told me I couldn't go in today because of Ramadan.  They did one better for me, and took me to the rooftop of one of their families.  There I saw what the settler's in Hebron occupy their time doing.  All the water tanks had been shot numerous times so they can hold no water.  Not far stood 3 massive Israeli water tanks.  In walking through the market I noticed and smelled garbage hanging from nets above the little streets with colorful scarves and dresses, necklaces, basketes of spices and vegetables.  The garbage comes from the ever-generous settlers.  They throw their garbage in nets above the beautiful market place.  I stepped into a small room, that looked more like a warzone.  In December the settlers shot the room until there was not much left.  Laying in the rubble were pots where the family is starting another vegetable and spice garden.

All the children came to greet me and wanted to take pictures with me.  Despite their homes being taken or shot to pieces, despite no water and food, despite the fear of settlers shooting from the rooftops at any given whim, these children said "cheese", placed their tiny fingers in the peace sign, and hugged me.....