Hiking, Proposal Writing, and The Office

June 21st, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank
Dad had meetings all the next day to prepare for the medical rotation which he will be leading next year. I went to the office. Flo is now gone, and Kirsty was at the Medical Relief office, so Adam and I were there by ourselves. Sean was there for awhile before heading off somewhere with Nicole. Dad showed up around lunchtime and we went to eat with Mohanned Kafri, who works with PMRS. We went to the same restaurant that Dad and I ate at with Mohanned and his parents two years ago. After lunch, we walked down the street to Café de la Paix where we met with his two sisters, one of which studied at UT (and by that I mean the real one, in Tennessee). They insisted that we hang out with them during our last month here and told Adam and me that they would show us the hotspots around Ramallah. We’re rather cheap, so we haven’t been to many of the more swingin’ joints around town. Popping open three bottles of fruit juice and eating crackers with a Nutella rip-off is about as party-esque as we get.

Kirsty told us to leave early, so Adam, Dad, and I returned to the flat to get Dad’s things and then headed for Jerusalem. Adam split off to spend some time alone. Dad and I went to the Notre Dame, using the Internet and visiting. Dad’s flight to Greece was at 7 in the morning (which means he would have to be at the airport by 4), so he was staying part of the night at the Notre Dame. Adam wandered in a little later and Sean and Nicole stumbled upon us as well. We piled into the car and drove to Beit Hanina, a village that has been annexed into Jerusalem. Mahmoud and his family had invited us over for dinner.

We walked up to their apartment and were warmly welcomed by Mahmoud and Svetlana. Jamil, Mahmoud’s father and a dear friend of my grandfather’s for forty years, came up from his flat to join us. Mahmoud and Abu Mahmoud are two of the most gracious people I have met. Abu Mahmoud replies “Thanks to God” to everything.
“You’re grandfather is in my heart,” he said to me with a smile, touching his chest.

Joe Shulam, who is also a good friend of the Abu Eids, and an American couple joined us as well. The sight of a Palestinian Muslim and an Israeli Jew laughing and hugging was a welcome one. We all gathered around the table as bountiful plates of delicious food were placed before us. Mr. Shulam speaks around seven or eight languages, and both Mahmoud and his wife speak four or five. All three of them speak Bulgarian, Hebrew, and Arabic. Languages criss-crossed over the table as the three of them switched, without hesitation, to a different one. After we finished eating, we all sat in the living area and talked. Adam and I visited with Lawrence King, who was here for a conference. Adam commented that travel is the best way to combat ignorance, and I added that it’s always disheartening to see people who have traveled extensively but who still don’t have a global perspective or don’t seem to have gained anything from it.
“Yes,” he said dryly in his cautious monotone, “we call those people Americans.”

As beautiful as it is to see the genuine friendship between Mahmoud and Mr. Shulam, I kept on thinking about the fact that Mr. Shulam believes that this land is for the Jews only and that he advocates having everyone else leave. I struggle with the separation in thought.

After all this overwhelming hospitality, Dad drove us to the checkpoint at Qalandiya and we said goodbye there. I love being with my family in this part of the world. He gave me all his spare shekels and we walked through and got a bus to Al Manara.

I spent most of the day on Thursday at the office. Eventually, I got tired and stopped by the flat before going into Jerusalem. I thought Dad had accidentally kept the phone, so I was planning to see if he left it anywhere. But right before I left I found it in my backpack. I still decided to go to Jerusalem. I sat in the Notre Dame and charged the phone while catching up on some reading. Anna was in Jerusalem to meet the participants for the second session of the Palestine Summer Encounters, along with the new facilitator of the group. Leif went home early. I hung out with them at the Knights’ Palace Hotel inside the New Gate for a little while before wandering through the Old City and heading back to Ramallah. On the bus, I met Justin Jacobson, a graduate of Wheaton College. When I told him my connection to the school, he was surprised.
“Get out, Barrett is your uncle?” he said. “My sister graduated from his department. Barrett’s a stud, man.”
This world keeps getting smaller.

We all slept in a little on our day off Friday. Sean and Nicole went to the protest in Bil’in. I wasn’t really in the mood for getting shot at and swallowing teargas, so Adam and I stayed behind. Adam turned maid and went to town on the apartment, wiping it down and vacuuming and sweeping. I was impressed. I helped a little, but he actually told me to leave because he, being the best cleaner out of us, would get more done if I wasn’t there. He met me at Karamah later, but the Internet wouldn’t work so we found our way to the Café de la Paix. I’ve been intrigued by the music they play in these places. When Dad, Adam, and I went with Mohanned and his sisters, they were playing Enrique Iglesias. On Friday, however, they were playing Lord of the Dance, the soundtrack to The Last of the Mohicans, and Braveheart piano music.

I spent most of the evening playing basketball with a bunch of guys next to the community center on the way to our flat. Quite a few of them are pretty good. I wore my brace, so my ankle didn’t hurt too much. I’m a little out of basketball shape and my muscles were pretty sore the next morning, but it was great to play again. One of the really good players, Ahmed, invited me into the community center after we finished playing and bought me a drink. He was leaving the next day for D.C. for a coaching camp that focused on basketball skills and conflict resolution. He is a part of Peace Players International, an organization which tries to reconcile people by playing sports. The belief is that if people can play together, they can live together. The program has been used in places such as Northern Ireland, South Africa, and now Israel and Palestine. I really liked the idea. Ahmed and I talked about sports, the shaky truce between Israel and Hamas, and movies. He said his very excellent English is a result of his watching a lot of movies. I asked him what his favorite movie was.
“The Godfather, of course!”

Nicole and Sean returned soon after I got back and we rustled up some grub at the grocery store and settled down to watch a movie. I am rarely hungry after playing basketball, which was good considering the excessive amounts I have eaten the last week-and-a-half.

I was the first one up and the first one to the office. At 10, we strolled across the intersection to Karamah and had an editorial meeting. I have a few stories to cover this coming week. Adam and I suggested doing a story about Musalaha, the organization that works for reconciliation between Israelis and Palestinians by taking people into the Negev to tear down the barriers between them. Kirsty was hesitant about that, believing that it would be viewed as normalization, something the Palestine Monitor does not support. I can see the point, because I am certainly not in support of simply ignoring the occupation. But I don’t think that working for reconciliation negates discussion of the situation; rather, it requires it. We can attack oppressive political systems all we want, but if people are still tied to the destructive mindsets that lead to these systems, then we have accomplished little, and the cycle will continue. Maybe the way to overcome the oppressive political and societal systems is to deconstruct the racial prejudices and hateful worldviews held fearfully by so many people. To transform hearts. I know many would say that this is naïve. But we can chop down the many destructive systems forever, like Hercules fighting the Hydra monster, because they will always grow back unless the people who perpetuate the systems are changed. We can only ignore the source for so long.

( written June 24th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)
Sean headed out soon after the meeting, and Adam took my phone and went to Bil’in to cover a story. He and I were going to Bethlehem later that evening, but Adam never showed up. So, I went to the flat and gathered a few things and went without him, saying goodbye to Nicole, who was leaving early Monday morning. I had an interesting conversation on the bus with a man named Muhammad about Israel and Hamas, and whether or not a one-state or two-state solution would be better. I left him at the bus station and switched to get the one to Bethlehem. The taxi driver on the other side of the Wall was frustrated that I wouldn’t pay his ridiculous price of 25 shekels to the Church of the Nativity. He settled for 12 and a few minutes later I was walking down to Anna’s apartment, where I was supposed to be meeting her and her roommate Rachel. However, according to a little boy named Abdullah, they had already left for Beit Sahour, so I got a taxi. Not having a cell phone makes things a little more difficult sometimes. I hate technology every now and then, he says as he types on his computer.

(written June 28th, 2008 Al-Masyoun Flat, Ramallah, the West Bank )
I had a hard time finding my way to the AIC in Beit Sahour. Sean and I had gone early in our trip here, but I hadn’t been back since we had gone to Oush Grab. I saw Anna and Rachel walking along the side of the road, so I got out there and joined them. Adam, surprisingly, arrived shortly after we did. I was proud of him for finding his own way . . . with the help of the detailed directions I left him. The event was a presentation by one of the founding members of the Israeli Black Panther movement, a group of Arab Jews resisting discrimination from the wave of European Jews who have predominantly immigrated to this land in the last one hundred years. Someone else translated the whole thing from Hebrew; the speech was interesting, but staying focused through translation is sometimes difficult.

We walked up the long hill to Bethlehem, joined by Jonathan Hill, who is teaching English for the summer. He is from the Nashville area, and actually went to high school with Adam’s freshman roommate. And the world shrunk a little bit more. We gathered in Anna and Rachel’s living room and watched quite a few episodes of The Office, which is such a wonderful way to take our minds off the draining emotional intensity of the situation here. Every now and then, being able to escape and recuperate is a good thing. I like being able to laugh, and I laugh a lot when I watch The Office. Jonathan went to his dorm at Bethlehem Bible College and Adam and I stayed with the girls’ neighbors down the stairs. I felt like a horrible guest: the two times I have stayed in their flat, they have been asleep and I haven’t been able to thank them in person.

We made an early start the next morning for a day’s hike through the Wadi Qelt. Jonathan joined us, and so did Rochelle, Anna’s Canadian neighbor. We got a service to the lookout point where we had gone with the tour group on our way to Masada; we descended into the valley under the burning sun. The hike through the wadi is long and very hot, but very good. We walked along small aqueducts, using them as bridges to cross over ledges. The rock cliffs soon lined us on both sides, creating a perfect little bowl in which to roast us. We turned a corner and St. George’s Monastery came into view, clinging to the side of the stone. Supposedly, the monastery is closed on Sundays, but we were able to get into the fifty-century structure. Four Americans were there also, with whom we had hiked part of the way, and we drank some delicious juice (for which the monastery is famous) and sat in the shade next to archway overlooking the valley. Someone who was not a monk showed us the chapel of the monastery and the tomb of one of the monks before we left.

We had lunch outside under a tree and I read aloud from Luke and Galatians as a way of noting that it was Sunday. We then continued on the dirt trail along the slopes and eventually hiked into Jericho. Adam got a bus back to Ramallah and the rest of us returned to Bethlehem. I had a story to cover in Beit Sahour the next day, so it made more sense to stay.

(written June 29th, 2008)
Rochelle and Jonathan went to their respective homes and the remaining three of us watched a few more episodes of The Office. The girls then took a nap and I retreated to the roof and spent some much-needed time alone, reading and enjoying the breeze and the solitude. Anna and Rachel came up later, bringing watermelon, so I wasn’t too disappointed about being interrupted. I stayed the night in Jonathan’s dorm at Bethlehem Bible College.

The next morning, I sat in front of the Church of the Nativity and read Everything Must Change, which I finally finished later that day. Once again, I recommend it. Mr. Abdullah Awwad, the director of the Al-Basma Center in Beit Sahour, met me a little before 10 and took me to the center for disabled youth and young adults. I had wanted to do a story about this remarkable place that serves those rejected by their community. Sometimes, we really need to write the good stories, the ones with hope. You can read the story I wrote about Al-Basma at this link: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article488.

Mr. Awwad took me to lunch after I finished my work, insisting that I come back and eat dinner at his home and stay the night.
“You must remember, Jonathan,” he said in a voice that is always pulled into an enthusiastic strain, “your uncle Abdullah is always available if you ever need anything.”
I certainly plan on returning.

I thanked Mr. Awwad and said goodbye, walking down to the Holy Land Trust and visiting with Anna for a little while before going back to Ramallah via Jerusalem. No one was at the office, so I walked to the flat and fell asleep on the couch for a long time. I went to bed fairly early.

I spent the entire next day at the office working on the Al-Basma story. We did basically nothing the rest of the day. I was going to go to a concert in Ramallah of a world-renowned classical pianist, but we lost track of the time and missed it. I was genuinely disappointed. I mean, how many times do you get to listen to classical piano music played by an incredible musician in the West Bank?

Wednesday was another day at the office. Sean went to Hebron and Adam and I ended up going to the Relief Society headquarters for proposal writing training. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it at first, but we actually ended up having fun. We were two of four in attendance. After Kirsty’s presentation, the four of us were split up by gender for a slightly less-than-serious practical session, writing a proposal to acquire funds in order to help Lonely Boy X, who was dumped by his life-long girlfriend, get his life back on track and overcome his social ineptitude. Adam and I dominated that task. We came up with and presented an entire program to boost Lonely Boy X’s social life, as well as improving his overall self-esteem, which would lead to a better lifestyle. We also suggested that he grow a beard, because it would help him with the ladies. That’s just a theory, but we’re fairly confident with the results of our program and we think that Lonely Boy X will not only be more adept in the social arena, but will lead a more fulfilling life as a result of our ideas. Kirsty, as the donor, obviously chose to fund us. We were professional, but personable, and we had beards.

Adam and I met Hindi at the bus station on Thursday morning and headed out to Ni’lin. Hindi was going to help me with some interviews for a story in the village, so we went to a protest beforehand. We were fired on pretty early in the demonstration and the soldiers advanced on the two groups. Adam and I met three Palestinian kids who have grown up in Toledo, Ohio, their entire lives and were here for the summer to visit family. None of them had been to a protest before, so we felt obligated to make sure they didn’t get shot or anything. One of them had asthma and was teargased pretty badly, so I sat with him for awhile trying to help him regulate his breathing. We did quite a bit of running and putting out fires. One olive tree completely went up in flames, burning from the inside.

We eventually met up with Hindi and returned to the village, meeting with two different farmers who will be losing almost all of their land to the construction of the Wall. Hindi then took us to his family’s home and we had a huge meal as we, somewhat embarrassingly, watched Titanic on TV. We went back to Ramallah and met Anna and Rachel at the Lutheran church in Sakakini Square, not too far from our flat. Anna had some friends singing in a concert of medieval music from Moorish and Christian Spain. The singing and chanting was beautiful, echoing in the stone chapel. Sometimes, I feel like a little music will solve all the world’s problems. Let’s bring a folk band out to Ni’lin and just see what happens. I met a Sikh in Dallas one time, and he told me that Sikhs believe that there are five things that come from outside this world, and music is one of them. Maybe that’s why I love the idea of dancing to the music of God. Music can heal.

After the concert, the four of us went to Danny and Tara Yoder’s house, friends of Anna’s and Rachel’s. They live in Nazareth, but are staying in Ramallah for the next few months for intensive Arabic classes at Beirzeit University. We had a great time visiting and watching ridiculous things on YouTube. We walked back to the flat late, and then stayed up way too late talking about nothing important.

Sean left for Bil’in the next day and the rest of us allowed our lazy sides to take over. We walked around Ramallah, stopping for coffee, food, and ice cream at three separate places. Adam left for a wedding in Salfit and I went with Anna and Rachel to Jerusalem. The Garden Tomb was still open, so we sat on some benches under the trees. A bird took a seed-filled dump on my computer. That was upsetting. I don’t think it liked my paper on the problems with the doctrine of Hell.

We walked through the Old City and went up same stairs to the rooftops where Johnny and I had gone over five weeks earlier. I can’t believe we’ve been here more than six weeks. A lot happens in a month-and-a-half. A bunch of Palestinian kids were playing soccer, and I jumped in with them, doing my best to keep up with them. Every now and then, I resorted to picking one of them up and moving them aside so I could get to the ball. They, in turn, had no problem pushing me out of the way. I pulled out my Frisbee a little while later and tried to teach them a new sport. Judging by the way they threw it, none of them had ever played before.

The three of us then wound our way through the streets to the Western Wall to observe the festivities of Shabbat before going to Bethlehem. We tossed a blanket down on their roof and ate watermelon while watching The Office. I slept on the roof that night. As I bundled up in my sleeping bag, I stared up at the dim stars and realized that I have been afforded some pretty amazing opportunities in my life: I was sleeping on a rooftop under the stars in Bethlehem, for one thing. I am a fortunate person. Every now and then, I just need to recognize that.

After coffee in the morning with Anna and Rachel, I went back to Ramallah and straight to the office. No one was there. Sean came in a little bit later, arriving from Bil’in. He met our Irish friend Fiachra there and they ended up finding a place to sleep in the village. Later that afternoon we hiked to the apartment and did absolutely nothing the rest of the day. I feel a little guilty doing that, but sometimes I enjoy sitting aimlessly.

I slept in Sunday morning, catching up on some needed rest. Sean went to teach English and Adam showed up in the afternoon. The generosity of the villagers overwhelmed him, and he was forced to stay an extra night. We have no plans for the evening. Maybe we’ll go to a café, grab something to eat at the bakery down the street, and watch a movie on our lone English-speaking channel. That actually doesn’t sound like a bad plan.

The Tour Part II

June 19th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank

Thursday was another early morning as we headed south, through Area C (under Israeli control; Bethlehem is Area A, or under Palestinian administrative authority) of the West Bank, to Masada. The buses drove through the Jordan Valley, making a brief stop in what was referred to as the “Valley of the Shadow of Death.” The writer of the Psalms was possibly referring to this actual location. Bleached peaks collapsed into canyons aching under the sun. Adam and I went running down into the valley and up a lonely hill, providing an incredible panoramic view of the abandoned landscape.

We continued on to Masada. This imposing plateau, close to the Dead Sea, rises 1,300 feet back to sea level. A few of the group decided to hike up, so we trekked the Snake Path in the 105 degree heat. I finished the hike in less than thirty minutes. Herod the Great built a fortress on the summit of Masada between 37 and 31BC, and it became the last stronghold of the Jewish rebels in 72AD before falling to the Romans. But the Jews would not be made slaves. Instead of surrendering, lots were drawn and a group of men killed the 936 people in the community until the last man took his own life. When the Romans entered by way of the ramp that they built, everyone was dead except for a few who hid in a cistern. However, Josephus’ account of this remarkable story has been severely questioned by archaeological evidence. The primary archaeologist of Masada has been accused of falsifying evidence in order to give Israelis a heroic historical account. Even so, Masada is still an amazing place.

I basically ran down the Snake Path, which wasn’t the best idea considering my ankle and my knee. Sports will mess you up. We left Masada and went to the Ein Gedi Spa for lunch and then floated in the Dead Sea. The mountains of Jordan were slightly hidden in a thick haze. From there, we drove to the village of Jiftlik in the eastern part of the West Bank, close to Jordan. I had written a story about this place a year-and-a-half ago and was excited to return, especially accompanying a large American tour there. The doctor of Jiftlik, and Kirsty, spoke to us about the situation in the village and the extreme level of poverty. Visiting such places is sobering. I hiked part of the hill behind the village. Stones still hold the metal roofs in place. (See the first blog post for the story I wrote about the village)

We continued on to the Sea of Galilee and checked in at the Royal Plaza Hotel in Tiberias. I was extremely disappointed the first time I saw Lake Kinneret in 2001: it was so small. For some reason, this really bothered me. I think, in a way, this sort of marked the beginning of me thinking differently about many things. I began to realize that not everything is what I thought it to be or what I had been taught. For the next five years, I intentionally envisioned the Sea of Galilee as a minute spot of water to counter the previous disparity between the image and the actual thing. However, when I came back in 2006, I was shocked by the large size of the lake. My little plan worked.

One of the members of the group invited Sean and me to visit with a Messianic Jewish Zionist friend of hers who came to visit. We sat in the lobby of the hotel and listened as he talked about his views. I got chills as I listened, disturbed by what I was hearing. He offered a very sketchy history of the land, saying that this area was a deserted wasteland before 1948, that this was “a land without people for a people without a land.” According to this man, one of the greatest myths ever accepted by the world since those propagated by Hitler, is that Palestinians exist.

“There is no such thing!” he exclaimed.

He explained that part of the reason why violence is so prevalent in the land today is because the Israelites did not obey God when they were told to wipe everyone out. Evangelical Christians often skip the Gospels and go immediately to Paul’s writings; this man seemed to have skipped the Gospels and gone back to a very literal interpretation of Joshua. I am scared by people who try to use the Book of Joshua as a model for contemporary political action. Zionism is a relatively new ideology, beginning in the last two hundred years, and was very secular in its inception. Religious groups have since jumped on board and the acceptance of this worldview has skyrocketed, and is widely embraced, in conservative Christian circles. I cannot accept a view of God that not only allows, but encourages, blatant injustice and oppression. In this man’s perspective, Jesus was the public relations officer for the glorious future political state of Israel. This man offered a very interesting interpretation of Matthew 25, when Jesus says that whatever we do to the least we have done to him. Because this story precedes the Crucifixion, Jesus was quite obviously talking about the Jews, quite simply because Jews were the only ones crucified, and given the location of Matthew 25, the “least of these” that Jesus is talking about is the Jews. And the Jews also meant the state of Israel. So, according to this man, Jesus says in Matthew 25 that we are to be judged according to how we treated the political state of Israel.

“I do not want to see anyone suffer,” the man said. “I hate to see children hungry. But this is God’s land and we must obey what God wants and we can’t let social or humanitarian issues get in the way.”

My uncle Rob joined us later and very respectfully countered much of what the man had to say, asking questions and presenting the story from another angle. He did an excellent job, and I respect him immensely for the way he handled the discussion. I sat quietly the entire time, realizing that it was best for me to remain silent that night.
The next day we explored the sites around the Sea of Galilee.

(written June 20th, 2008 Karamah, Ramallah, the West Bank)
We drove to the Mount of Beatitudes, a possible location of where Jesus related his most famous collection of teachings. Some have thought that Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels contradict one another, because one states that Jesus ascended to a hilltop in order to teach, while the other relates that Jesus descended to a level place to speak. This mount embodies both of these traits, consisting of a high summit that slopes into a wide plain. Also, the difference in the two versions can also be attributed to the disparate audiences of the writers: Matthew, writing to a Jewish audience, may have wanted to create an image of Jesus as Moses, climbing to the mountain peak in order to fulfill the Law. Luke, on the other hand, who wrote to a Greek (or Gentile) audience, may have wanted to emphasize Jesus relating to the people, coming down to them.

A small church now sits on top of the mount. The area around the sea is green and blossoming. I could imagine Jesus walking from group to group as he repeated his teachings, drawing extensively from his surroundings as he searched for metaphors and similes that would illuminate (and, sometimes, hide) his message. We found ourselves next in Capernaum (or Kafar Naum). A Catholic church, strangely resembling E.T.’s spaceship, hovers over an ancient dwelling believed to be the home of Peter, with whom Jesus stayed. Very, very early Christian tradition supports this claim. A hole in the floor of the unique church building provides a view down into the small home.

The group piled onto a boat, somewhat modeled after first-century fishing boats, that would take us across the lake. The captain noticed that we were an American group, so a huge flag was lifted and the U.S. national anthem blared over the loudspeakers. I cringed, and turned away to look at the water and the hills. Some really embarrassing gospel music came next, but I was soon relieved of the pain when Rich Mullins was played and redeemed Christian-themed music. One of the crew demonstrated how fishermen would cast their nets before we arrived at Ein Gev, where we ate fish (go figure) and took a brief swim in the sea. We then continued to Gergesa (or Kursi in the Torah), where both Matthew and Luke record Jesus releasing a legion of demons into a herd of pigs, another story which contains some amazing symbolism. Our last stop was at the Jordan River Baptismal Site. No evidences supports this as the place where John the Baptizer, as his name implies, baptized his cousin. The site is simply a place to remember that event. Many people, dressed in white, were lined up to be immersed in the river.

That night, our old family friend Joseph Shulam spoke to the group. A Messianic Jew originally from Bulgaria, he is the son of Holocaust survivors and was a student of my grandfather’s at Lipscomb University. While my family and Mr. Shulam differ immensely on certain issues, he has been a close friend to the family for forty years. He came to speak about the theology of the land from a Messianic Jewish perspective. Although Mr. Shulam is a very opinionated and expressive man, his words on this occasion were nothing like that of the gentleman the night before. Hopefully, though, the group heard implications in some of things he said that caused them to pause and think again.

Sean, Adam, Alisha, and I woke up at 5:30 the next morning and hiked up the tall hill behind the hotel, crawling under barbwire and wading through the fiery-colored grass. Soon, the sun emerged from behind the mountains on the far side of the Sea of Galilee and sent a white path, framed in sparkling orange, across the wrinkled water.

I slept the entire drive to the nature reserve at Dan, the northern border of ancient and modern Israel. The gates of the old city are near a military bunker overlooking Syria and Lebanon. We then went to Caesarea Philippi, or Banias. We climbed up next to the towering rock wall, pricked with niches where idols were kept. Child sacrifices were performed in the mouth of a large cave that sunk deep into the stone. The bodies were thrown inside and, if their blood trickled out into the stream, then the sacrifice was successful. Banias, which would have been a very long walk from the Sea of Galilee, was a striking place for Jesus to take his closest followers. Simon, after following this man and watching him and listening to him and living with him, proclaimed here that Jesus is the Anointed One, the Son of the Living God. Whether or not Simon understood at that point the divine implications that would later become associated with his words, he was professing Jesus as Lord. There is a difference between Lord and Savior. Too often, I think, Paul has become Lord and Teacher, informing us how to live, while Jesus has only been consigned the position of Savior. Simon, however, knew that Jesus is Lord (Master, Teacher, and Savior), and not Caesar, not Mammon, not the U.S. government. Jesus then gave Simon the name Peter, “Rock,” as they stood next to an idol-filled rock wall, saying that on this foundation he would create his community of followers. The bloody cave was known at the time as the Gates of Hell, and perhaps Jesus turned and pointed at the gaping hole as he stated that the Gates of Hell, this present evil, would not overcome. Jesus really knew how to contextualize what he wanted to say.

We drove on to Nazareth, visiting the Well of Mary and walking through the marketplace. A church has been built over the first-century synagogue where Jesus read from the prophetic words from Isaiah. This dramatic passage in Luke 4 is probably one of my favorite stories in all of Scripture, where Jesus acknowledges that he has been anointed by God to preach good news to poor, proclaim freedom for the prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind, release the oppressed, and proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. Jesus fulfills this mission, this Good News. And all are impressed by it, my uncle Rob pointed out, until Jesus starts talking about the inclusion of the Gentiles. Then they want to kill him. Rich noted something else interesting: according to tradition, Jews stood to read Scripture out of reverence and then sat down to teach. If any man in history could have remained seated to read, Jesus was that man. But he stood because he was a devout Jew, respecting his culture, conforming in order to transform. So, he stood to read. He then sat down to teach.

(written at Café de la Paix)
We moved on to the Church of the Ascension, a gigantic structure built over the traditional site of Mary’s home. The most impressive part about the place is the courtyard, decorated with mosaics from numerous countries depicting Mary and Jesus in the style of their distinct cultures.

After dinner, Sean, Adam, and I spoke to around half the group about our experiences, telling them stories such as protests and my day in Hebron. Dad presented a slideshow explaining the decreasing size of the Palestinian territories. I think it was very effective. Anna was in Nazareth with her group from Bethlehem, so she walked up the huge hill to Nazareth Illit where our hotel was located to hear our little presentation. After we were done talking, she and I walked back down into Nazareth and all the way across town to her friends’ house where she picked up some of her belongings. I really like walking through these amazing places at night, when all the tourists are gone. I left her at her hotel and basically rock climbed back to my hotel. The road took too long, so I took a shortcut and scaled a few walls.

Sean headed back to Ramallah on Sunday morning in order to teach English and the rest of us met with the Nazareth Church of Christ on Sunday morning before leaving for Megiddo. The view from the ruins of Megiddo over the Jezreel Valley is beautiful. Rob talked about Revelation, pointing out that the point of prophecy is to call us to action in the present. The Book of Revelation is literature of the oppressed, which is a subgenre of Jewish Apocalyptic literature. The extravagant and abundant symbolism used by the writer is specific to these forms of literature.

Caesarea Maritima was the last stop of the tour in Israel. This place is very special to my family, because my granddad spent a number of years excavating here, and my dad and his brothers all spent summers digging here as well. Pooh talked to the group about the time spent there and life as an archaeologist. This was quite possibly the last time he would be speaking to such a group. Now in his late 70s, Pooh has begun to forget much of the incredible wealth of knowledge that he has accumulated in his more than fifty years of studying and teaching. My grandparents treated this as quite possibly their last trip to Israel and the Palestinian Territories, having been here nearly thirty times. At one time my granddad would take the microphone away from tour guides and correct them; now he sat quietly as a pilgrim, listening as my uncle Rob and my dad together assumed the position of leader. I watched my grandparents walk slowly through the ruins, holding hands and laughing as they reminisced. I have no problem admitting it: I choked up a little. They are two of most incredible, gracious, hospitable, giving, loving, and God-like people I know. I have been extremely fortunate, both because of my dad’s family and because of my mom’s.

We ended the tour in Tel Aviv at the Metropolitan Hotel. Everyone was parting ways very early the next morning. This was a very unique tour. People were given new eyes on this trip and were asking different questions. Many told my dad that their lives were changed. I suppose you can’t really ask for anything more. I left soon after we arrived for the airport in order to pick up Nicole Dicken, a friend of Sean’s and mine from Harding University. Early last semester, I told her that she should just come over to Israel during her time backpacking through some of Europe. She found it hard to turn down the offer. Her plane came in a little late, which gave me time to read. Once she arrived, we hopped in a taxi and shot off for the city. Sean was back when we got there. The three of us walked along the Mediterranean for awhile, sitting on a peninsula of boulders that jutted out into the sea.

We were up and moving at 3. That is way too early. Most of the group headed to the airport to fly to Greece for a few days. Others flew home. And then around twenty of us boarded a bus and drove south to Egypt. I slept most of the long drive to Eilat. We had little trouble crossing the border, entering the Arab Republic of Egypt. Another tour bus picked us up and we entered the Sinai Peninsula. We stopped a few hours down the road for lunch at the Hilton in Nuweiba. I could never stay at a place like that. I think I would feel guilty. But lunch and a swim in the Gulf of Aqaba with a view of Saudi Arabia isn’t too bad. Several hours later we arrived at the foot of Mount Sinai.

Archaeologists and scholars do not support this as the place where Moses received the Ten Commandments, but sometimes I just don’t think that matters too much. You can’t really blame the Israelites for getting lost for forty years: the mountains and canyons form a natural maze. We all turned in pretty early (I went to bed at 8:30 to be exact), because our day was starting before daylight.

We were on our way up the mountain at 2 in the morning, following closely behind a Bedouin guide. Stars in the pitch-black sky gave us a little light as we hiked, enclosed by the blacker shapes of mountains. We moved around the crowds of people walking and the camels sitting on the path, eventually ascending a long series of steps to the summit of Sinai. A small church sat on the top, and a few of us climbed to the roof. Rich read from some of the desert monks as the sun rose through a sliver of orange and became melted gold painted on the blue-gray sky. The jagged mountains were now visible, puzzle-pieced to the spreading colors. I have seen some astounding sunrises on this trip, over the Mount of Olives and the Dome of the Rock, the Sea of Galilee, and Mount Sinai. Such experiences are almost enough to make someone a morning person.

Sean, Nicole, Adam, and I blazed our own trail over the rocks because too many people were on the road going down. We made it down pretty quickly, giving us enough time to run up another path that gave us a view back to Sinai. Once we returned to our lodgings, we all got showers and ate breakfast before returning to the foot of the mountain. St. Catherine’s monastery is nestled next to the rock. We were given a very brief tour because most of it is not open to the public. They actually have a large bush that some believe to be a direct descendent of the burning bush. I feel like that might be a stretch. Despite such farfetched claims, the diligent work of monasteries such as this has preserved many ancient writings such as the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures.

The group prepared to head to Cairo and we got ready to return to Israel. I said goodbye to Rich, the Byrams, and Ms. Pam, who gave me a box of Tim Tams (a delicious brand of cookies that I grew to love in Australia). She is a wonderful woman. I love being around these people. Rich invited me to spend Christmas with them in Australia. I’m holding him to that, although my mom and my bank account might not be too lenient.

(written June 21st, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)
I slept the entire way back to the Taba border crossing. Our driver was very efficient, getting us from Sinai to the border in around two hours. We again had little trouble getting across, although my backpack was almost completely emptied. We got a taxi-bus into Eilat and picked up the rental car before heading off through the Negev Desert. I slept most of that drive as well, waking up as we drove through Makhtesh Ramon, the large erosion-created crater in the world.

We arrived in Be’er Sheva that evening and met with a number of medical students at Ben Gurion University, most of which were Americans. We had dinner with them and talked. My dad will be starting a rotation of medical students next year who will come to Ben Gurion and Ramallah for one month. Several of these students, who were all Christians, heard him speak at the medical school last year and wanted to meet with him the next time he came to Be’er Sheva. Dad talked about his history in the Middle East and told stories about working in the impoverished Appalachian Mountains, discussing how his faith is integrated into his vocation. The students seemed very encouraged, and shocked by some of the stories he told about healthcare in the mountains of Tennessee.

We continued to Jerusalem that night, leaving the car in the parking lot at the Notre Dame, and catching the last bus to Ramallah. We arrived late at our flat in Al-Masyoun. I was glad to have a night of sleep that lasted longer than four hours.

The Tour Part I (See Pictures Below)

June 9th, 2008 Citadel Youth Hostel, Jerusalem, Israel
(Correction: the settlement which was involved in the protest on Friday was Hashmon’im, not Modi’in. That story can be read at this link: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article458)

After a quick shower and quick packing, Adam and I journeyed to Jerusalem and returned to the Citadel. Our friend Faydi was working and we told him a few stories of our experiences as we paid for the next four nights. We watched the end of Hilary Clinton’s concession speech on TV and met two American sisters who were traveling together for awhile. The four of us walked to Ben Yehudah Street, wandering around before meeting some other people on a little side street. I get uncomfortable around large crowds. Places with loud, obnoxious American music and people dressed in apparel that would get them stoned in parts of the world are just not my places. I want to know what brought all these people here, where they come from, and if they know the sort of things that are happening less than fifteen miles away. Back at the hostel, I visited with two other Americans and told them about what I’m doing here and some of the things I’ve seen. They were shocked. We talked about Jesus and how his message of Love, Reconciliation, and Peace can transform people, which can lead to overcoming oppressive narratives. We cannot forsake what is most important to God: “justice, mercy, and faithfulness.” These conversations are a huge part of why I am here.

(written June 10th, 2008 Notre Dame Guest House, Jerusalem, Israel)

Adam and I were up by 7 and, after splashing our faces with water, we were off to the Mount of Olives. We walked a bit more leisurely than usual. I didn’t see anyone from the group on the summit, so we found a spot in the shade and waited. I thought the group was supposed to arrive around 7:30, but we had reached the summit close to 7:45 and no one was there. At 8 I decided it might be smart to turn on my cell phone. And of course, soon after I did, I got a call from my dad saying they were in the breakfast room of the Seven Arches Hotel and had been there since around 7.

Reunions are always great, especially when they occur in amazing places. My dad, my grandparents (who we call Honey and Pooh: Pooh comes from the Grand Pooh-bah on Happy Days, and Honey derives from their nephew thinking that this was her name when my granddad was using a term of endearment) were there, as well as my dad’s brothers, one of which, Rob, is a minister at a church in Nashville and the other, Barry, is a professor at Wheaton College. My aunt Judy, Rob’s wife, and cousin Mitchel, Barry’s son, were there also, accompanied by slightly distant relatives and old family friends. Rich Little, my close friend who was one of my professors in Australia, Gary Byram and his family (another close friend who was my other professor in Australia), and Pam Little (Rich’s mom who is the coordinator of Harding’s program in Australia) were all there and it was so good to see all of them. The group is very large. Seventy-two constitutes a very large group. I have very much enjoyed getting to know some of the people, especially Greg Watts. Mr. Watts and his wife went to the church at which my uncle Rob preached in Milwaukee. I have met their son before, who used to date the sister of my best friend’s fiancé. He seems like a wanderer. Also, I have had several very good conversations with an old family friend named Les Williams and his daughter Alisha. Overall, this is a good group.

Because of the group’s size, two buses were rented in order to accommodate everyone. And two guides were hired, both of which are Palestinian Christians: Jamil (or Jimmy) and Tony.

(written June 18th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)

I am exhausted. I have had little sleep and no writing time over the past week, which explains why I have not been able to update the blog. Therefore, I am going to (attempt to) forego my desire for immense detail and simply run through most of the week, which should make most of the very few people who actually read this blog quite happy.

Our first stop with the group was the Harem al-Sharif, or the Temple Mount, followed by the Western Wall. We then walked along the excavations that have been done around the edge of the Temple Mount as my uncle Rob explained much of the history and significance. The group made a short visit to the Pool of Siloam before going to the Jerusalem Hotel for lunch. This would be an appropriate place to note the extreme amount of food we ate with this group. Amazingly, our meals and lodgings were paid for and we took advantage of it. I think I am going to fast for the next week.

We returned to the Mount of Olives for a view of the city and walked down the Palm Sunday Road to the Church of All Nations and the Garden of Gethsemane. The group was staying at the Notre Dame Guest House and that night we met in the chapel of the Notre Dame for a worship service. My granddad spoke about “Four Decades in the Holy Land as a Teacher, Archaeologist, and Pilgrim.”

A few people wanted to go explore some, so Adam and I offered to show them around. Sean arrived just as we were about to leave, so we he came with us. We ventured through Jaffa Gate and down into the Old City, making our way to the Western Wall to see it lit up at night. We explained some of our experiences so far and briefly described the situation.

(written June 19th, 2008)

This is getting ridiculous. I just need to spit it out.
Monday was a fairly relaxed day. Mount Zion was the first stop, visiting Herod’s family tomb and the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu (or “and the Cock Crow”). A lookout point provides a wonderful view of the Mount of Olives, the Wall, and the Valley of Hinnom (or Gehenna), translated as “hell” in most Bibles. The mistranslation, and misuse, of such things has led to some very serious problems in the history of Christianity. And that is all I will say about that.

Archaeological evidence supports St. Peter in Gallicantu as the location of the High Priest Caiaphas’ house. A 2,000 year-old staircase leads from the valley in which the Garden of Gethsemane is situated to the church on Mount Zion. Jesus probably walked these steps as he was taken to be tried.

We next visited the Church of St. Anne and the Pool of Bethesda, where Jesus healed a man who had not walked in thirty-eight years. I continue to find it amazing how the signs of Jesus are so closely related to the message of Jesus. Jesus recovers the sight of the blind, enables the lame to walk again, and raises the dead to life, all symbolizing the renaissance that he came to bring. I don’t think Jesus asks us to see things differently; I think Jesus asks us to see with completely new eyes, to walk a completely new path, and to experience a completely new life.

We had lunch on the roof of the Ecce Homo Convent in the Old City before splitting the group up for a free afternoon. Rich and I wandered the Old City, weaving through the streets before sitting on the rooftop above the Tomb of King David. I have immensely missed my conversations with Rich. We discussed social issues, the possibility of writing a book, and how Jesus and his message look in the midst of the Israeli-Palestinian struggle. Rich asked me how I was staying pure and unpolluted from the temptation to hate, encouraging me to remember the way a Jewish carpenter confronted injustice and inequity without demonizing those who perpetuated the two. And he told me not to find my identity in the issues about which I am most passionate. He said that when he burrows back to finding himself as a follower of Jesus, he is then able to be more effective in his actions. As we talked, Jewish and Palestinian children ran by us throwing water at one another, laughing as they played.

That evening, Alex Awad from Bethlehem Bible College spoke to the group about “The History of the Conflict from the Palestinian Perspective.” At one point, Mr. Awad said something that I hope affected everyone there: “I do not want the United States, or anyone, to be pro-Palestinian. I want them to be pro-justice and pro-equity.” I spent some time talking with my dad in the lobby later that night. I may be very much against certain ideologies, but I never want to be anti-people, because when I do that I hate, and then I might as well go home because I will not help anything. This land has too much hate for me to add to it.

On Tuesday, we went through the New Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and then went to the Garden Tomb through the Damascus Gate. After seventy-two people filed into the ancient room, we gathered for a reflection, led by Rich, who spoke of the transformative power of the Resurrection and the symbolism of rebirth and renewal in the message of Jesus. We journeyed to West Jerusalem and visited an incredibly impressive model of the city in the late Second Temple period. We then went to the Vad Veshem Memorial to the Holocaust. One cannot understand the Israeli narrative without first understanding the significance of the Holocaust.

I had been to Yad Vashem before in 2001, but it was just as depressing and as moving now. I trembled as I walked through, looking at the pictures and reading the notes and listening to recorded stories of survivors recounting one of the worst periods in history. I still cannot fully fathom that people can do such things to other people. Jesus’ quoted prayer from the Psalms, “Father, forgive them because they don’t know what they are doing,” seems to be an adequate appeal for much of human history. But something else struck me as I walked by the walls filled with horror-pictures of murder and people being forced from their homes. Many survivors came to Palestine looking for a haven from the persecution they had known for so long. But some of these same people who were killed and kicked out of their homes began to kill and kick out the people who were living in this land before them. Past injustices cannot, and do not, justify present or future injustices.

Our good friend Mahmoud Abu Eid spoke to the group at the Notre Dame that evening, and did an excellent job. My two distant cousins, Holly and Betsy, went to Ben Yehudah with Adam and Sean after the lecture. I was not keen to return, and Alisha wanted to explore the Old City on her last night in Jerusalem, so I led her around, showing her the view from the Citadel Youth Hostel, sneaking up on the ramparts of the ancient walls, and walking through the Muslim cemetery at the foot of the Harem al-Sharif facing the Mount of Olives.

We left early Wednesday morning and crossed over into Bethlehem. A good friend of the family, Edward Tabosh, owns a shop just inside the Wall, so we took the group there to shop. This group really liked to shop. Sean and I took two small groups to walk along the Wall and view the graffiti and the House with Seven Walls. We then went to the Church of the Nativity. For some reason, I have re-noticed something on this trip about Jesus’ birth. The first people who honored this newly-born child were impoverished, local shepherds and wealthy, foreign rulers. The symbolism of that story is remarkable.

I opted not to go in the church and instead walked down the street to the Holy Land Trust and chatted with Anna and Leif for a little while before meeting up once more with the group. We made our way to Beit Sahour and the Shepherds’ Fields before going to the Al-Basma Center, directed by Mr. Abdullah Awwad. I met him two years ago, and he is one of the most passionate people I have met. A Palestinian Christian, his center provides care for mentally handicapped in the area that have been rejected by their families. The Al-Basma Center provides jobs for them making Christmas ornaments, cards, and other objects. Mr. Awwad and his wife accompanied the group for lunch at the Tent Restaurant, and he spoke to us about hope and service and quoted William Wordsworth.

The group went to meet with Dr. Salim Munayer, who is in charge of an organization called Musalaha (reconciliation in Arabic). Among other things, Dr. Munayer takes Israelis and Palestinians into the Negev Desert for several weeks and attempts to deconstruct prejudices as they tell one another their stories. Unfortunately, Sean, Adam, and I weren’t able to attend because we had a meeting in Ramallah. Mahmoud’s son, Jamey, had been with us during the day and came with us to Jerusalem. As we went through security, the soldier was confused as to why Jamey had a Jerusalem ID, because Jamey was speaking excellent English. Jamey explained that, obviously, he is a Jerusalemite.

“Then why are you traveling with these people?” the solider asked aggressively, motioning to the three of us.
“Because they are friends of my family,” Jamey said.
The soldier then made Jamey go back through the detectors five more times before allowing him to leave. We stood there the entire time, refusing to walk ahead and leave our friend.
“I’m sorry,” Jamey said as we left.
“Don’t apologize to us,” I said, almost sharply. “This is not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

We met Flo, Kirsty, and a few others at a restaurant near Clock Square and discussed the near-future of the Palestine Monitor. Flo would soon be leaving (and is now, sadly, gone) and Kirsty is going on holiday for the remainder of our stay. So, the operation of the Palestine Monitor will fall to us. Kirsty will be available for help if we need it, but we will be in charge of reporting, editing, and publishing, making sure that the purpose of the Monitor continues to be fulfilled. We were rather humbled by the trust they were placing in us. At first, we were a bit daunted, but if we work together and with the others who will be around then we will do fine. This kind of thing looks very good on a résumé.

We returned to Bethlehem that night, getting a taxi to the wall. As we walked through to the other side and into the caged walkway down to the street, we realized that all three of us really needed to relieve some very full bladders. Toilets were a little scarce in that vicinity. Then, almost in unison, we looked up at the towering slabs of concrete beside us. We lined up in the shadows and let loose on that structure of segregation and fear. I have never felt that good about the act of peeing, or the object on which I peed, in my life. We call that “peeful resistance.”

We walked to the incredibly fancy Intercontinental Hotel where the group was staying (for a very discounted price). I dropped my stuff off and took a taxi to the Church of the Nativity, walking down to Anna’s apartment. I visited with her and her roommate, sitting up on the roof. The stars shone brightly over Bethlehem.
(To be continued . . .)

The Tour in Pictures

Bil'in and Ni'lin

June 6th, 2008 The Flat , Ramallah, the West Bank
My hosts were asleep on Sunday night when I came in and asleep when I left around 7 the next morning, so I left them a note thanking them for their hospitality. Anna had offered to make coffee, so I went back up to her flat and drained a mug to help me stay awake the rest of the day. Anna gave me directions and I was on my way, going up the hill and through the market to the bus for Jerusalem. We were held up for some time at the checkpoint in Beit Jalla. The soldiers took the IDs of fifteen or twenty people for over thirty minutes before handing them back, but not before pulling two people from the bus.
Maxie was on the same bus to Ramallah and we hurried straight to the office for an editorial meeting, arriving a little after 9:30. Sean and Adam were there. They had taken a weekend trip to Tel Aviv, sleeping on the roof of a hostel across the street from the Mediterranean. Sean said he used “A Boy Named Sue” the day before to teach in English class.
We were given a lot of stories to cover in the meeting. Most of them were small, but we knew we would be fairly busy during the week. After awhile, Kirsty said we had a meeting in the conference room, so we all jumped up the stairs into the other office. A large cake topped with white icing and fruit sat in the conference room table, surrounded by several of the workers who had gathered to wish me a happy birthday. We sat around for awhile, slicing up the cake and passing it out and enjoying talking with everyone who filed in. I really appreciated that a lot. These are a great group of people with which to work.
At around 4 we left. Adam and I got some food at the little bakery down the street from our flat. I took a shower and felt like a new man. I’ve gone several days without getting wet a multitude of times, but for some reason this time was particularly uncomfortable. A hot shower and hot food were refreshing. We did little until 7 when we walked up the street to the home of Anne Roberts, the lady from Jackson, Tennessee, that we met in Ni’lin. Around ten people came to watch three short documentaries by B. H. Yael, an Israeli-Canadian filmmaker. They were very interesting, one of them dealing with the massacre of a Palestinian village in 1948. We discussed each one and our impressions of the situation. Understandably, the political and social occupation is a constant topic of conversation here. Back at the flat, we watched a movie and chatted with Maxie and her boyfriend Felix.
I sat at the office for most of the day on Tuesday working on the story about Claire Anastas’ home in Bethlehem. Adam returned to Salfit for the day to take pictures for a story he was writing. Later in the afternoon, Sean and I took a taxi to the medical relief headquarters to meet with Flo, who was going to show us how to publish on the website. The training took awhile because the Internet was acting a little sporadic.

(written June 7th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)
Sean left a little earlier than I did to meet with someone from the Youth Center. I worked for a little while on publishing my Bethlehem photo-story on the Monitor’s website. I then walked the forty minutes or so back to the flat and got some food at the bakery down the street. We did little that night.
Sean and I met Flo, Kirsty, and Maxie at Al Manara in order to drive to Bil’in. The 3rd International Conference on Nonviolent Popular Struggle was beginning on Wednesday and meeting through Friday. Palestinian Prime Minister Dr. Salam Fayyad, Louisa Morgantini, vice president of the European Parliament, and Mairead Maguire, the 1974 winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, were among the speakers. Some of it was very good, but nothing incredibly new or progressive was said. Most of it was in Arabic, so we had to listen to monotone translations on a headset with the Arabic blaring over the loudspeakers. Adam showed up later with Anne Roberts. The three of us quietly snuck out around lunchtime and met with one of Sean’s English students. A volunteer with the relief society, he showed us around to a table filled with food. We piled it on our plates and went to the top floor of a building where we were soon joined by the other participants of the conference. We opted not to stay for the entire day, because the conference was running late into the evening, so we caught a taxi with a young Irishman back to Ramallah. Adam and I spent some time at Karamah before finding food and hanging out at the flat.
The weather is becoming increasingly warmer, and this makes it difficult to sleep at night. Sean’s and my room was incredibly hot and I woke up sweating. The three of us spent the day at the office working on stories. I wrote a brief article about the fact that the conference was taking place. Sean left around lunch to get ready for English class. Adam and I ate at Obama’s Pizza directly beneath the Monitor’s office, visiting with the owners, both of whom have spent extensive amounts of time in the U.S.
Adam decided to stay at the office for awhile and work on a story; I left for the flat. I read a little and pretended like I was working on the computer while watching some TV. At 5:30, I met Adam in Clock Square and we went to Stars and Bucks, an obvious rip-off, but which had a great location above Al Manara. One of Sean’s students was having a small birthday party so we visited for much of the evening, hookah smoke filling the air and cars circling around Al Manara below. Our Irish taxi-mate from Wednesday, Fiachra, was there also. Sean had seen him walking around Ramallah earlier and invited him to come along. Everyone slowly left, leaving Sean, Fiachra, and me. A piece of his left ear is missing, bitten off in a boxing match. Even though he’s from what is technically designated as Northern Ireland, he is very adamant that he is Irish and not British. He is fine with people saying they are British, but he is very proud of his Irish heritage and claims that completely. Adam had invited him to stay with us, so we led him back to the flat, picking up some food at the bakery and the grocery store as we went.
We rarely sleep in. The sunlight and the heat and the cars serve as very effective alarm clocks. Fiachra left soon after we woke up. We were lazy for awhile, watching The Sting on one of the few English-speaking channels before deciding to be productive. Sean had the cramps, so Adam and I left him behind and went to the bus station behind the Monitor’s office. We were soon on our way back to Bil’in. We saw Sean as we were leaving, so he would join us later.
The service (pronounced ser-vees) dropped us off where the conference met on Wednesday. No one was there, so we went down from the town toward the mosque. The demonstration was taking place not far away. A bunch of people had been playing soccer when the soldiers began firing at them, dispersing the crowd. We met Tom Greenwood from England, who has been here since October making an independent documentary. The huge number of people gathered again and we all began walking down the road to a doublewide fence in front of stone barriers, behind which the soldiers stood. Large cries of “Free Palestine!” echoed across the fence to the hiding soldiers. Soon, the shooting started. This crowd was a little more experienced than the protesters at Ni’lin, because they stayed put, ducking when shots were fired. But the barrage kept coming. A teargas canister landed directly behind me. I was able to move without breathing it, but the chemical floated through my clothes and my skin felt like it was burning. Sean and I stuck around for awhile, crouching
Unfortunately, this sort of thing isn’t new at Bil’in, or many other places in the West Bank. Every Friday, someone gets hurt at this protest. I saw several people go down from extreme exposure to teargas. I wasn’t sure, but I think someone was shot. The medical relief team lifted him on a stretcher, his arm dangling off the side. Perhaps I’m naïve (but I choose to think not), but I am still disgusted that people sit around and concoct things with the intent of inflicting pain on other people. We have serious problems.
We went back to the spot where people had been playing soccer and spread out across the field. Armored jeeps sat behind tall fences across from us. The sixteen-mouthed teargas launcher was mounted on top of one and soon it belched every single one of its canisters. Sixteen spears of teargas cut through the blue sky and a massive cloud of smoke rose from where the canisters landed. I got caught in it. I couldn’t see and I stumbled over the rocky terrain, coughing and spitting. My throat felt like it was being scraped with sandpaper and my eyes turned blood-red. I fell out of the burning mist and regained my composure. But another onslaught came and the wind blew the smoke toward us. Sean and I went racing across the field, barely escaping down a hill. We returned once the air was clear and watched as kids pelted the side of jeeps and bashed the fence with rocks. After awhile, we walked back to the town with Tom and caught a service to Ni’lin. We were going to another protest. Apparently, swallowing teargas twice in one day wasn’t enough.
Dr. Mustafa Barghouthi spoke to a crowd of people in the top room of a building in the town center. The speech was in Arabic, so a man sat next to us and translated the main parts. Once Dr. Barghouthi finished speaking, we joined a massive amount of people in the square and hiked out of town to the neighboring hilltops. People were beating on drums and blowing whistles and banging pots and pans. The purpose of this creative protest was to disturb the nearby settlement of Modi’in as they prepared for Shabbat. The time was opportune because the soldiers would not be present at this hour. Part of me was a little hesitant about disturbing people on their religious holidays. But, these settlements and the bulldozers disrupt the villagers’ entire lives, and the noise being made that evening was meant to represent a small amount of what the Palestinians experience everyday. Sometimes you have to step on people’s feet to be heard. Or beat loudly on drums as the sun goes down.
As the discordant noise of rebellion rang out through the ravine, people in the settlement began to appear on their porches. Several kids ran down the side of the hill and then up to the fence surrounding Modi’in. The sun was setting behind us, and the protesters on the hill were silhouetted against the fading light. Sean and I decided to join the kids on the other side, so we descended down to a stream that ran at the crevice of the two hills. A disgusting stench issued from the water, because this stream that lies on Palestinian land holds the sewage from the settlement. The water was a sickly green and lumps of brown clung to the edges of small inlets. We were careful as we crossed a large tire to the other side.
Before we could climb very high, the kids started flying past us. Settlers came out with sticks and some were actually shooting from their rooftops. Also, the military had arrived. We jumped back over and sat halfway up the hill on some rocks, watching as teargas canisters spiraled to the ground. I felt like I was watching some perverted fireworks show. We moved with ease away from the fumes. The wind was on our side in the evening, very unlike earlier at Bil’in. Sparks from canisters caught the dry grass on fire. Adam, Sean, and I hurried over to the spreading flames and began stamping it out and flinging dirt. Hindi quickly slid down and handed me a tree branch and he and I then beat the fire until all that was left was black earth.
The teargas kept getting closer, so we continued to move up the hill. Someone shouted and pointed and we all looked down to the water: fifteen or twenty soldiers were crossing and starting to move up the hill. They had never chased us before. The deep pop of rubber-coated bullets resounded, accompanied by a higher pitched click: live fire. We rushed over the summit of the hill and stood by some trees. But the soldiers kept advancing, their helmets and muzzle flashes soon visible over the ridge. The military were lowering their guns and taking aim. Slings were twirling and rocks were whistling. But the soldiers kept charging. We turned and sprinted across the rocks, hurdling over the stone walls and ducking as shots were fired. I crouched behind some cactuses (or cacti; both are appropriate) to take a few pictures. I saw one soldier aim and fire at a group of teenagers beside a tree. The bullet knocked off a branch not two feet away from a kid’s head. We were near the town, so we joined Hindi and Tom on the road. I turned to look at the chaos behind me. A rubber-coated bullet hit the ground about ten feet in front of me and bounced just over my head, whizzing past Adam and Sean.
Salah Khawaja was waiting at the entrance to a courtyard and directed us inside. I think this was the home of a doctor. We ran up the stairs and onto the roof, kneeling down and peering over the edge of the wall. Everyone was surprised that the soldiers actually came all the way to the town. A field spread out below us, dotted with a few olive trees; the road was to the left. I could see the creeping soldiers through the knotted branches and cactuses. Several stone-throwers jumped onto the road and started pushing the soldiers back with slings. Soon, the rocks stopped hurtling and the bullets stopped roaring. Whatever the reason, the soldiers turned and moved back toward the settlement.
We got a service back to Ramallah, but as we entered the main road a police jeep sped past us. The driver immediately whirled around and returned to Ni’lin. A checkpoint was being set up just down the road and we had too many people in the bus. We got out and waited until word came that it was safe to leave. Adam and I found a plastic plate and used it as a Frisbee. Sadly, it broke, but a kid found a bucket lid that worked even better. A small crowd watched as we threw in the dark, impressed with our skills. We had some light for a few minutes as real fireworks were set off. I gave the bucket lid to one of the boys and we left, taking a back road into Ramallah.
Instead of going to Al Manara, we got off with people in our service and went to the restaurant at the top of the Royal Suite Hotel. Sean, Adam, and I were joined by Hindi, his fiancé (or girlfriend; we haven’t really figured out which she is) Vivien from Holland, Tom, Benoit from France, Maxie, another guy from Germany, and Vanina from Italy. Several others, who had not been at the protests, arrived later. We had a good time, telling stories and discussing the day, including the settler who was posing as a photographer. A large, red-faced man with two cameras and a ball cap worn backwards had told some of us very different stories abut who he is. Apparently, he is in reality a settler. Vivien said he took pictures of quite a few people, including Sean and me.
At 11:30 we began the short journey back to the flat. Clock Square was just up the street, so we were in our lodgings in around twenty minutes. I went to bed soon after. A cool breeze found its way in through the window, which made sleeping much more comfortable that night.
I came to the office early this morning. Adam was not far behind. Sean has the day off, so he’s not sure what he was going to do. He’ll join us later in Jerusalem. Adam went to a small demonstration at Al Manara and found some people we had met yesterday in Bil’in: Jo, a girl from Ohio, and Ian from D.C. They came back to the office with him and the four of us went looking for food before settling in at Obama’s. Interestingly, they are living for several weeks with the incredible woman (whose name I is Zalinca Mustabe, or something like that) I met in Hebron last Sunday, who was harassed by the settlers. They had heard of our encounter with the settlers and came back after awhile to record my version of the story. I took them to the conference room and Jo asked me questions about myself, such as where I’m from, how I became involved here, and what I am doing this summer. I then told them the story from Sunday and my impressions of it. Jo ended with a few questions about the protest yesterday in Ni’lin and whether or not I think protests are effective. Ian filmed Adam and me pretending to do work for B-roll footage and then the four of us chatted on the balcony before they left.
On Sunday morning, we will hike up the Mount of Olives and meet my dad, my grandparents, two of my uncles, and my professors from Australia (who are two very close friends). My dad is leading a tour of the traditional sites, as well as introducing those involved to the Palestinian side of the situation. Call me biased, but I can’t think of better people to lead this tour. My dad has spent a lot of time here, as has my uncle Rob. The two of them are coordinating the group. My dad’s parents (who have been archaeologists, writers, and professors) have been to the Middle East almost forty times. Many people decided to come on this tour because of them. This is going to be a very unique experience for the people on the tour and I hope to share stories of my experiences so far with them. I am not much for tours, but this is a good way for people who have not been before to see the famous sites and to here seldom-heard perspectives. Sean, Adam, and I will be traveling with them for the next week-and-a-half.
I am very excited about seeing all of these people. Basically, I’m having a small family reunion. I do, however, feel a little guilty because of this little holiday. The people with whom we are living and working are not able to just take a break from occupation.

PS This is the link to the story about the home in Bethlehem, called “The House with Seven Walls”: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article450. Relief Web, which is “the world’s leading on-line gateway to information . . . on humanitarian emergencies and disasters,” picked up the story and published it as well. Pretty darn cool.

Hebron

June 3rd, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank
Flo and Kirsty instructed me to leave the office early on Saturday. I wasn’t going to argue. Kirsty told me that I should take a day off, because I’ve been working nonstop since I arrived.
“Well, I am tomorrow,” I told her. “I’m going to Hebron.”
“Oh, well that’s not a day off,” she said.
I went back to the flat around 2:30, took a shower, took stuff out of my backpack, put a few things in my backpack (and tied my sleeping bag onto the bottom of it), and boarded a bus to Jerusalem.
I hiked to the Mount of Olives and sat in a shaded corner of a miniature amphitheater, reading an article by N.T. Wright about what it actually means to say that the Bible is authoritative. I really like N.T. Wright. I traversed the winding road back to the Damascus Gate where I sat for over an hour watching the people that funneled in and out. I then plunged into the Old City and wandered. The sun set as I sat on a bench in front of King David’s Citadel inside the Jaffa Gate. An older man was walking by and noticed the patches on my backpack. He introduced himself as Mike, an Israeli, and he joined me on the bench. We talked for over an hour. He had traveled extensively and we conversed about the world and everything in it. He reprimanded me for saying “Yes sir.”
“We do not say this here,” he said. Mike had to correct me a few more times.
I asked him if he was Jewish. He shrugged.
“Well, I believe in God, but I am not religious,” he replied. “You?”
“Oh, it depends on what you mean by religious,” I answered smiling. “I’m a follower of Jesus.”
As we talked, he wondered why so many people seem to take such an interest in the situation here. He thought that places like Darfur and other parts of Africa are experiencing far worse problems. He asked if I thought the rising activism among internationals with Palestinians had anything to do with suppressed anti-Semitism.
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I don’t really think so. At least, I know that is not the case for me. As a follower of God through Jesus, I cannot be anti-Semitic. To hate another person is not of God. I am in Ramallah to serve. The Christian Scriptures, at one point, say that religion that God finds to be pure and perfect is to serve those in need. That’s what I want to do.”
“You answer very boldly and very well,” Mike said nodding.
He was surprised when I told him my age.
“You speak like someone much older,” he said. “I think that you give me hope for younger people. And for Americans.”
I was glad I could be of assistance. He thought I was very unusual for an American, even though he knew the U.S. is a big place.
Mike is a very superstitious person, he told me. Whenever he sees a black cat, he has to walk around it.
“And I sleep without any cloth,” he said, “because of superstition. And also because this is more comfortable and natural.”
He has had many travelers stay at his home and he apologized profusely for not being able to invite me to come. He, unfortunately, had to meet someone that night and early the next morning. But he got my email and told me that I had to come and visit sometime. I stood as he prepared to leave, and we thanked one another for the wonderful conversation
“Speaking with you makes me feel young,” he said before walking away. “And it is good to feel young.”
I had planned to go to Bethlehem for the night, but my conversation with Mike went too late to get a bus. So, I climbed up to the Citadel Youth Hostel and inquired about space on the roof. Of course, there was room. I stepped out onto the roof in the breeze and saw that fantastic view of the city. I threw my sleeping bag down and sat in a chair with my feet propped up.

(written at the flat)
I visited with a couple of Brits and a girl from Poland who had recently arrived in Jerusalem. One of the Brits, a guy named Daniel, and I walked through the Old City for a little while, grabbing a few snacks at the Jaffa Gate. Johnny, our golden-haired English friend who has been backpacking the Middle East, was still at the Citadel. I was glad to see him again. He had left for awhile, going back to Egypt, but was back now for a day or two before leaving. We sat in the lobby, swapping stories of our experiences over the last two-and-a-half weeks. He was a little shocked by my descriptions of the protests. I was happy to snuggle into my sleeping bag once more on the roof of the Citadel.
I got up at 6:45, rolling up my sleeping bag and walking to the Damascus Gate. The Old City was just starting to stir, though most of the shops were still closed. I caught a bus to Bethlehem, where I would be meeting Anna, Leif, and their group from the Holy Land Trust with whom I went to ICAHD. I went through the checkpoint and walked along the Wall to where all the taxis waited. Several drivers hurried up to me, offering low prices to entice me into riding with them. They were rather disappointed when all I wanted was to verify my directions. I kept walking, going past Claire Anastas’ house, and on to Manger Street. Unfortunately, I went a little too far and turned on the wrong street. So, in the end, I was forced to get a taxi in order to make it at 8:45. Most of the group had not yet arrived when I got there, but once everyone had boarded the bus we headed south for Hebron. On the way, I visited some with Julia, one of the participants of the Palestine Summer Experience. She’s from Wheaton, and she knows of my good friend Rich Little. The world keeps growing smaller and smaller.

(written June 4th, 2008 The Flat, Ramallah, the West Bank)
Once we were in Hebron, we exited the bus and walked through the market of the Old City before coming to the Ibrahimi Mosque. We had to pass through several security checkpoints to get inside, repeating the same routine of taking everything out of our pockets and dumping our bags through a hole in the wall. Everyone removed their shoes when we entered the mosque, and the women were given cloaks in order to cover themselves completely. This place is also known as the Tomb of the Patriarchs, because it is the believed resting place of Adam, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives. Large, decorated cenotaphs commemorate the tombs of the fathers of three of the world’s largest religions. Several bullet holes chip the walls of the mosque, reminders of a horrific massacre. In 1994, American-born Jew Baruch Goldstein entered the mosque on the Jewish holiday of Purim, which is also during the month of Ramadan, and began shooting the praying Palestinians. The Jewish settlers, who have been living illegally in the city as early as 1967, erected a memorial as a tribute to Goldstein. Hebron is a disturbing place.
The Tomb is actually split in half: one half mosque and the other half synagogue. We walked around to the Jewish side, passing through more security to look around for a few minutes. Our next stop was a lady’s home that our guide knew. She welcomed us graciously, providing places for us to sit in her living area as she explained the difficult situation in Hebron. She had been forced to put a metal cage around her balcony to protect her from the settlers who often throw stones at her while she hangs her laundry. Just recently, her seventy-year old mother was attacked by young settlers. We were taken up to the roof of her house where a member of the Christian Peacemaking Team pointed out sites of the city. CPT is an organization whose purpose is to provide a presence in the West Bank. They accompany children to schools and go with people through checkpoints to ensure the safety of Palestinians. However, they have often been attacked as they attempt to serve and protect. Shuhada Street, which has a reputation as a very hostile settler road, runs directly behind the home. We decided to go walk on it.
The Palestinian lady led the group down to the street. As we did, we passed a young Jewish woman who, as soon as she saw the Palestinian, ran over to a group of soldiers and pointed her out. The guards caught up with us and asked to see our guide’s ID. Eventually, they were satisfied and allowed us to continue. However, we were soon stopped by three women, furious that a Palestinian was traversing “their street.” They began taking pictures of her with their cell phones, presumably to give to the authorities. I stood in front of the Palestinian lady, moving whenever the settler women moved so that most of their pictures were of my back. One of our group, Mark the Irishman, began arguing with the women, which didn’t help very much.
“Why does she need to be here?” asked the leader of the three women. “My grandfather was killed here, and we don’t want her to kill anyone else. She comes here to kill us. Let her leave. She has her own streets to walk on.”
I have rarely heard such racism and hatred and brainwashed nonsense. What happened to this woman’s grandfather is despicable, but this older lady leading us did not kill him. The Palestinians did not kill him. One person did, and that person does not represent an entire ethnicity. Suspicious hatred crawled up and down Shuhada Street. Mark’s arguments weren’t helpful, and Leif became nervous. As the leader, the safety of the group was his responsibility, and antagonizing the settlers, who have been known to attack not only Palestinians but also international visitors, was not going to improve the situation. I certainly had things I wanted to say. Technically, this street is the Palestinian woman’s street, because the settlers are there illegally. And what scriptures do these people read in their synagogues? Certainly not the book of Isaiah, or God telling Abram that he is to be blessed so that he will be a blessing to everyone else. But I held my tongue, realizing that an American is going to do little to create a worldview transformation in fifteen minutes. I simply stood, doing my best to prevent picture-taking and making sure that our group began to move away.
The husband of the most vocal of the women arrived. He was a civilian, but he had an M-4 strapped over his shoulder. The situation grew increasingly uncomfortable. For every settler in Hebron, many of which are armed with automatic weapons, four soldiers stand guard on rooftops or in the streets. 12,000 Jews live in the vicinity of Hebron. At one point, I knelt down in the middle of the road and prayed, “God, forgive us because we don’t have a clue what we’re doing. We’ve screwed up this world. Let your justice and peace roll down like a mighty stream.”
A band of soldiers soon joined us, once again requiring our friend’s identification. She was absolutely incredible. I have heard ridiculous sermons back in the States about Paul’s admonition to have joy in suffering. This passage is often relegated to situations like illness or schoolwork, examples that belittle the weight of the statement. This Muslim woman embodied the heart of Paul’s words. She stood quietly, complying with the unjust orders of the soldiers and ignoring the putrid insults of the settlers. She smiled kindly at the people around her and waited patiently as she was racially profiled. This woman displayed the kingdom of God.
One of the young soldiers walked up to me and said, “Don’t worry. Not all Jews are this crazy.”
The lead settler started spitting at him in Hebrew. I asked him what she said.
“She doesn’t want me talking to you.”
“Is that really her decision?” I asked him.
He shrugged helplessly, and nodded slightly.
The Palestinian woman was placed in a car and driven back to her house. We followed on foot and climbed the narrow staircase to her living room. We sat in silence for several minutes. As we left, I told her I was sorry.
“You have no need to be sorry,” she answered with a smile on her face. “Salaam alaikum. Peace be with you.”
The entire time we stood on Shuhada Street I repeated to myself “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” The settlers weren’t attacking me, but I was compelled to whisper these words so that my disgust for the peoples’ actions didn’t spread to the actual people. Anna told me later that it’s hard to hate someone who is so infected with hate. One actually feels sorry for them.
We were given a presentation of the situation in Hebron by an organization whose name I have forgotten. On our way out of Hebron, we stopped for lunch. I had an amazing falafel, and it only cost three shekels. The last stop of the day was at a refugee camp next to Bethlehem. I missed much of the presentation because my mom called to wish me a happy birthday. I have spent several birthdays in some very violent-stricken cities: the concentration camp at Dachau, Belfast, Jerusalem, and now Hebron.
We were led through the streets of the camp (which has become a village in the sixty years since these people were displaced from their homes) to a display of pictures and stories. The dreams and nightmares of children in the village were pasted on the walls. One kid wrote “I dream of freedom . . .”
Anna, Leif, and I got off the bus near the Church of the Nativity and sat on some steps for awhile, processing the events of the day. We walked around the corner to a hookah bar and restaurant next to the Holy Land Trust, getting something to drink and talking about the day and about lighter subjects, such as movies. Leif is a big movie buff too. Anna almost fell asleep from boredom.
Leif walked quickly to his house to retrieve his computer and joined Anna and me shortly at her apartment, which is down the road from the Church of the Nativity. Anna made a chocolate cake with peanut butter as the icing for a birthday cake. One of Anna’s friends, a girl from Canada, came over and visited for a little while. Anna has to renew her visa soon, so she and her friend are going to Petra in Jordan. Sean, Adam, and I are going to try and make a weekend trip there before we leave. The friend left, soon followed by Leif, and after awhile Anna showed me down the stairs to her neighbor’s flat, who had graciously offered me a bed. I had met this American couple at church the week before; they had noticed the Duke shirt which I changed into because he had studied at that fine institution. He wasn’t, however, a big basketball fan. A bed was pulled out in a den area and I was soon asleep. Midnight had come and gone quite some time before.
This had been an eventful birthday.