Back to Ni'lin and a Trip with ICAHD

May 25th, 2008 Karamah Coffee House, Ramallah, the West Bank

We woke up early on Friday, even though it was our day off. We went to Al Manara where we met with Kirsty, Flo, Alex, and a few other internationals that would be joining us on our trip to Ni’lin. One of these people was an elderly lady named Anne from Jackson, Tennessee. A feisty woman, she’s been living in Ramallah for several years, but has been in the Middle East off and on for many years. Hindi Mesleh, a freelance photographer from the village, led the group. After arriving, we ascended a staircase into a large, sparse, room where we sat in a circle as we were informed about the situation in Ni’lin. Unfortunately, I didn’t take very good notes (although I have since contacted Hindi for some information for a follow-up to the story I’ve already written), but I did learn that the plan is for Ni’lin to be completely enclosed by the wall, much like Qalqilyah in the north. This would be absolutely devastating to the people.
After this informal meeting, our large group met with a multitude of Palestinians as we walked out of the town and into the hills. We could actually see planes arriving at Tel Aviv through the haze to the west, our right. This is a very small strip of land. At the top of a hill we overlooked a ravine which led to the construction site where we had our intense encounter on Tuesday. We sat around for quite some time before we noticed dots of soldiers on the distant hilltop, descending along the narrow valley to take position. Before anything was done by the protesters, a prayer service was held, because Friday is the Islamic holy day. On the summit of our hill, an imam led the community in their prayers, chanting through a bullhorn that echoed across the stones.
For some reason, most of those gathered decided not to go down. Many returned to the town. A number of teenagers ran to the peak of a neighboring hill, yelling at the soldiers from the other side of the hill. Streams of teargas chased the retreating youth, soon followed by rubber-coated bullets and the military. We watched as the kids ran out on a rock-covered hilltop, completely unprotected, as the soldiers stayed behind the cover of trees. Fortunately, nothing else happened and we left shortly for Ni’lin. We made a few stops as we left for Ramallah: Hindi wanted us to see a house built in the 4th century which they plan on turning into a music school.
Once we reached Ramallah, Adam, Sean, Alex, and I got some shawarma and falafel and sat on the side of the road visiting for a little while. We then said goodbye to our French friend and made our way back to the flat. As we did, we passed a bunch of guys playing soccer on a large court behind a locked gate. They motioned for us to come, so we hustled back to the flat, changed, and hustled back. We climbed over the fence and were suddenly surrounded by kids rapidly speaking in Arabic. A few knew a little English, so we learned names and started kickin’ around. A lot of the younger ones kept asking us for vodka, cigarettes, and money. And it seems that the most prevalent English phrase they’ve learned is “F*** you.” I think they’ve seen one too many American movies.
I’m not very good at soccer, but I did notice a basketball goal on the far end. They didn’t have a basketball, so we made us of the one of the footballs. I don’t think any of them had every played this sport before. I taught a bunch of them how to shoot and they chased me all over the court as I dribbled, keeping the ball away from them. They then repeatedly call my name, proudly displaying their newly-developed skills.
Adam and I left a bit earlier than Sean. I got a shower when we got back and read for a while on the couch. Suddenly, I started shivering and my head began pounding. I was on the couch shaking the rest of the night. I haven’t been sick in a year-and-a-half, so I suppose it was due time. I told Adam and Sean that I felt like some little guy was pounding on the inside of my forehead with a hammer, and I thought he had a furnace cooking somewhere in there too. Sean made fun of my metaphorical description.
“You would,” he said.
“Fine,” I replied, feigning disgust. “I’m burning up and my head’s frickin’ killing me!”
“Better.”
We all went to bed early. When I woke up, I was till feverish, dizzy, and shaky but I decided to go to work anyway. I’m not much of one for just sitting around when I’m sick. Sean and I got to the Monitor early and had the door unlocked by people in the office above us. I stared blankly at my computer screen for a while: my eyes hurt from the headache. I started having some gastrointestinal problems also, but they don’t need any further detail. Flo and Adam came in at the same time; Kirsty took the day off. After awhile, Flo came over to my desk to ask me about my story on the investment conference.
“John,” he said as I lifted my head, “you look like sh**! You don’t need to be here.”
I told him I wanted to finish the story and then I would go. I eventually got it done after several trips to the toilet, a cup of tea, and several occasions when I put my head on the desk. You can read that story at this link: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article429. Also, Sean wrote the story about the abandoned military compound at Oush Grab, which can be read here: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article426.
Adam and I left a little after 1:30 and slowly walked to the flat. As soon as we got there, I crashed. Adam returned to Salfit at around 3 and won’t be back until Thursday. I slept most of the afternoon and evening. Sean got back sometime after 8 from hanging out downtown. We figured out how to work the satellite and sat around watching crappy American television. I’m not sure why the bad stuff is picked up all around the world.
I got up at 7:20, feeling considerably better except for my stomach. I took some Imodium and that plugged me up. Anna, our friend from Bethlehem, told us that she goes to the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in the Old City on Sunday mornings and had invited us to come along. Sean couldn’t make it because he had to teach English later in the day.
The checkpoint into Jerusalem took a bit longer, but I arrived at the Damascus Gate in time to rush through the Old City to the church. I entered the large sanctuary, which was where the Arabic service was being held. So, I exited and entered another door, going up some stairs into a beautifully simple chapel. I was very encouraged by the service. I appreciate liturgy and the thoughtfulness behind what is said. The presiding minister led the community in the reading of the Confession and Forgiveness, and this prayer was read in unison:
“God of compassion, we confess that we have failed to bear witness that you desire to draw all people to yourself. In our hearts we have thought ill of those who differ from us, and our love of others has not been genuine. We have been caught up in the cares of the world. We have neglected opportunities to welcome the stranger, to feed the hungry, and to mend broken relationships. Forgive our sins, merciful God, that our hearts may burn with love for you and for those in need, and that our lives may witness to your never-failing love for your creation.”
The Prayer of the Day concluded with:
“God of tender care, like a mother, like a father, you never forget your children, and you know already what we need. In all our anxiety give us trusting and faithful hearts, that in confidence we may embody the peace and justice of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.”
And finally, we were dismissed with these beautiful, profound, and concise words:
“Go in peace. Live the gospel.”
Amen.
I met up with Anna afterwards and we went off into the Old City exploring. She hadn’t been to David’s Tomb (which, if you will recall, is conveniently located downstairs from the Last Supper and just across the street from Mary’s Tomb), so we went out Zion Gate and ran into several tour groups at the site. We quickly peeped inside and then retreated to the roof where we talked for awhile against the background of Jerusalem. Mahmoud was in his shop and we visited with him for a few minutes.
“Can I do anything for you, my friend?”
The Holy Land Trust, I learned, is a Christian organization that does non-violent resistance training, as well as host summer groups who come to work in the Bethlehem area. Leif and Anna are the facilitators of this section of HLT. Their new group had arrived a few days ago, consisting mostly of American college students, but also an older Canadian woman and an elderly Irishman. We met them at the Holy Sepulchre, but decided to officially join up with them a bit later. They stopped somewhere for lunch, and Anna wanted some falafel from a little place near the Damascus Gate. I was still feeling a bit queasy, so I only ate two oranges as we sat on a stone ledge outside of the gate. The group picked us up and we made our way to the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions, or ICAHD for short. That name is very encouraging. We were given a brief history of the multiple divisions of the land before embarking on a tour of demolished houses. I was very hospitably allowed to tag along.
Our journey took us to East Jerusalem, which is largely the Palestinian section of the city. Our guide, a young bearded Israeli, was not a big fan of the word “conflict” for the situation here. He believes this implies that two equal parties are involved, like two kids fighting over a slide on a playground. This isn’t the case. He explained the need to reframe the situation from a security issue to an issue concerning international law and human rights. As we drove, the distinction between West Jerusalem and East Jerusalem was striking. The latter is mainly made up of dirt roads and no stoplights, while the former is where all the money goes. Israel claims to be the only democracy in the Middle East, and since East Jerusalem was (illegally) annexed by the state of Israel, then both sides of the city should be treated equally. But this doesn’t happen. Only 8% of municipal funds go back to East Jerusalem, which is actually a substantial amount: nothing in the municipality’s laws stipulates that anything be given to the mostly Palestinian part of Jerusalem.
Since 1967, 18,000 homes have been destroyed by Israel. The Palestinian families actually have to pay for the demolition costs, and no alternative housing is provided. We drove around the backside of the Mount of Olives into the Judean Wilderness to Ma’ale Adummim. This settlement is incredibly impressive, blooming with flowers and fancy homes and an Ace Hardware Store. We drove past a fountain called the Dove of Peace. The most disturbing part about this structure is the amount of water being wasted here in the desert. Water shortages are keenly felt during the summer, and Palestinians are the first to receive cuts so that the flowers and fountains can continue to blossom and spout. Sean and I are actually going to Jerusalem tomorrow to cover two stories, one of which is a house demolition. The tour was very insightful, but I felt like the guide was a bit too abrasive. He certainly provides a balance to the nationalism so rampant here, but I felt that he could have told the story compellingly without the need to demonize the majority of Israelis. While I definitely do not agree with Israel’s prevailing policies, I don’t think it’s necessary to make all Israelis sound like they are in someway evil. This is simply not true and not appropriate.
As the bus headed back to Bethlehem, they dropped me off near the Jaffa Gate and I caught a bus back to Ramallah. I returned to the flat to get my computer and fill up my water bottle and then went back to the downtown area and over to Karamah. I haven’t seen Sean yet.
The café is filled with laughter and music. My battery is gradually dying (both in reference to my computer and to me physically) so I might call it a night.