A Nonviolent (?) Act of Resistance

My head is still spinning from the events of this morning.

I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, and many things have happened during that time: I went on a trip to Nazareth and Tiberias where I swam in the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River, I attended a week-long conference on the Palestinian Diaspora and heard speakers from all over the world, I harvested grapes on the top of the Mount of Olives, and I spent another weekend in Tel Aviv, making friends within the dance community there. Those were all exciting, positive things, of which I hope to post about in the near future. However, this morning was a different kind of experience all together…

Kristen invited me to join her and many others for a nonviolent act of resistance in Beit Jala, a town on the outskirts of Bethlehem. The intent was to have a small worship service, involving communion, led by a Palestinian Roman Catholic Priest. This would occur near the land where hundreds of olive trees are currently being uprooted in order to make room for the continuation of the separation wall. This wall, which is 3x higher than what the Berlin wall was, will eventually span the length of the West Bank, cutting off all of Palestine from Jerusalem and other parts of Israel.

Part of the separation wall between Bethlehem and Jerusalem.

The land that is being cleared is owned by five different Palestinian families, some Christian, some Muslim. It has been in their families for generations, and the annual harvesting of olives off of these trees contributes largely to each family’s income for the year. They say it takes the olive trees here about 10 years to produce a full crop. Many of the trees being uprooted in Beit Jala are hundreds of years old.  

When we first arrive, the bulldozers and tractors are hard at work. It’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed the clearing of a stretch of land. It was quite shocking; just the brutality of trees being ripped from the earth, their branches sawed off, full of almost-ripe olives that would have been harvested in another month’s time. The noise of it all is jarring as well – beeping, screeching, crunching. There are media crews here. Some people have brought a table for the communion service. I’m sticking to the back of the crowd. Observing. Listening to conversations in Arabic that I can’t begin to hope to understand. 

If you zoom in, you can see the olives on the branches,
only a few weeks shy of being ripe for harvest.

 

                                    

There are many IDF soldiers there with guns. A couple of tanks. The atmosphere is tense, but controlled. The military commander and priest talk across the tape barrier. Their conversation seems friendly enough. Though I begin to feel a bit uneasy when I notice that the camera crews are all carrying gas masks, as what I can only assume is a precaution against tear gas.

The gas mask is slung over his right shoulder.

One of the Israeli tanks.

Tape barrier that marked the area where civilians were not allowed to enter

There is some disagreement between the priest and commander as to how long the service can be. The priest wants 30 minutes. The commander says 15. A Palestinian man approaches where they are having the discussion. He appears very angry; as if his agenda is different than those here for a peaceful demonstration. He begins yelling at the military commander. He is told to back away. The priest stands in the middle, speaking fast Arabic, urging the guy to be calm and to let him handle it. The man does back away, but it is clear that he is not pleased with the direction things are going in, and he continues to be a source of conflict as the morning progresses.

More people join the growing crowd. Most of these are younger Palestinians who live in the neighborhood. Some are members of the families whose lands have been taken. They bring with them several baby olive trees, saplings. Turns out they are planning to try and plant them across the fence, where the bulldozers are uprooting the others. Though still a “non-violent” act of resistance, this is not quite what I had signed up for.

Suddenly, people start clapping and cheering. One man has gotten through the fence and placed one of the baby saplings on the cleared land. Immediately, soldiers start running towards him. There is lots of yelling. The media crews rush over to the scene, as does most of the crowd. Again, I hang back. Again, I wish I understood Arabic.

After a few tense minutes, I see a man being led away in the distance, his hands cuffed behind his back. He cries out loudly. I wonder what I am doing here. The dialogue ramps up between the priest and the military commander. They are still being civil to one another, but also very direct. Very clear. They speak in English, a second language for them both. 

The commander tells the priest, “I am letting you protest here. You don’t have a permit, you don’t have a right to be here, but I am letting you have your service – so long as you do it non-violently, peacefully. I am calm. There aren’t any problems. But if your people act out, there will be problems.”

The priest agrees to these terms, but then can’t help but reiterate his own perspective, “Ok, but we should not need a permit. These are our lands. Palestinian lands. We have a right to be here.” 

        “It is against the law for you to protest here.”

        “Against whose law? Your law, or our law?”

        “Against the law. Israeli law.”

People are getting angrier. Tempers begin to flare. There are armed soldiers in the background. Palestinian and international supporters in the background. Destruction of trees in the background. And the table is set for communion

The Palestinian man who had tried causing trouble earlier is back at it again. He pushes his way through to the front of the tape and yells at the soldiers standing near there. Others try to pull him back, the priest tries to calm him, but to no avail. He begins a chant in Arabic that a handful of people join in on. I am told later that it translates to, “Israel is a terrorist state.”

The military commander approaches, the guy takes a swing at him. And all hell breaks loose. Soldiers run forward, Palestinians push towards them. People are fighting. Others try to separate them and get tossed around in the confusion. A soldier falls to the ground. A Palestinian falls to the ground. A soldier kicks him. Women are crying. A child yells. These men are their husbands, their sons, their fathers. The priest puts himself in the middle, trying to stop the wave of violence, trying to quell the tide of anger that is rising with each push, with each shove.

Eventually, two more arrests are made and those men are taken away. The tension dies down. People care for those who were injured in the struggle. There are some sprained and broken fingers, a few deep cuts and scrapes. The priest returns to behind the communion table. We all gather in for the worship service. His hands shake slightly as he holds up the bread and wine.

The service is in Arabic, so I don’t understand what is said. I join the other voices in the Lord’s Prayer, however, everyone speaking it in his or her own language. Each sentence takes on new meaning as I speak it in the midst of the destruction, the fear, the chaos. I get a lump in my throat as I say, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespassed against us.” I think about the families whose trees are being uprooted. I think about the young Israeli soldiers who are just following their orders. I think about the angry men who came out that morning looking for a fight – and about how this life of oppression and entrapment leaves them with no other means of feeling heard. I think about the trespasses done on both sides. I wonder where Jesus would be in the midst of it all.

The priest breaks the bread and invites us to communion. I approach and he dips a wafer into the cup and places it in my mouth. I hear the sound of the tractors constant bulldozing; the bread of life being given while trees representing life are uprooted. 

“This is his body, broken for you,”

…as trees are stripped of their branches and trunks are ripped from the ground.

“This is his blood, shed for you,”

…as mothers cry out in sadness and fathers cry out in rage.

I want to reiterate that, throughout all the conflict and outbursts of violence, I was on the outskirts of the crowd. I did not run towards the clashes, but hung back, observing – trying to understand what was happening from both sides. I’m still shaken by what I saw: the destruction, the anger, the violence, the despair. I struggle to see a way out. I struggle to see hope.

But, today is just one day. Tomorrow will be another. As I returned home to my apartment this evening, I was greeted by two of the children who live above me (my apartment is housed within a small complex, owned by a Palestinian family who are Israeli citizens, and are thus allowed to live in Jerusalem, on the other side of the wall). The girl is 7 and the boy is 4. The girl is learning English in school, and is always eager to practice it with me. I said hello to them and chatted a while, and then they followed me to my front door.

They asked, with the directness only children possess, if they could come in. I said yes, and they cheerfully rushed past me, eager to discover what lay inside; opening drawers and cabinets – the boy going so far as to examine the contents of my fridge. I showed them my guitar. I gave them chocolate. I tried speaking Arabic. They tried speaking English. After 15 minutes or so, they headed back home for dinner, with a promise to come back and visit tomorrow.

Even after the stress and sadness of today, I couldn’t help but smile as they said “goodbye” one last time while shutting the door. The little girl said, “I love you!” (her favorite way to both greet and leave me), and I replied, “I love you too!” If only love was that simple and easy to come by. If only the angry man chanting and the young soldier standing could go back to an age where a square of chocolate made you friends for life.

Ant Invasion

I don't like bugs.

Growing up in the south, I learned to tolerate their existence: mosquitoes, grand-daddy long legs, cockroaches, june bugs, random spiders. However, one thing I could never get used to was when insects that were meant to live outside, suddenly found their way inside. This is partly why the two weeks on the farm were so challenging for me - I shared my cave with a wide assortment of multi-legged and winged creatures, that loved to say "hello" to me in the middle of the night.

Therefore, as you can probably imagine, I was thrilled and relieved to return home to my apartment in Jerusalem. An apartment with solid walls and a door - an apartment in which I could lock myself inside and lock all other living organisms out.

At least, that was the plan. Until I returned home on Saturday and discovered swarms of ants in various areas of my apartment.

This is the first step into my apartment, near my front door. This is just one of several large piles of them that I discovered as the evening progressed...

You might not be able to see from the picture, but about half of those ants in that pile have wings. This became rapidly apparent to me, as some were also flying around my apartment... After some extensive online research (and panicking), I learned that winged ants are the female, breeding ants. And, if you suddenly discover swarms of them in your home, that likely means that it is mating season, and new ant colonies are being developed.

So, evidently, while I was away, some ants decided to turn my apartment into a brothel. These mating swarms come out only in the evening hours, and then disappear by morning. The only sign that they were there just hours before is a small pile of dead bodies - a handful of the males who successfully did their duty and then passed on. Though I'm generally not a fan of dead bugs in my home either, I was grateful for this small calling card. It helped me know that I was not actually going crazy; that there had, in fact, been thousands of ants in my apartment the night before.

I contacted my landlord and explained the issue. It was a bit of a challenge, since I didn't know the Arabic word for "ants" and he wasn't sure what kind of insect I was talking about (it also didn't help that I was speaking extremely fast - because of the panic - and that made my english harder to understand). He told me he would look for some poison. I told him I would do the same.

Later that day, I found a nearby grocery store (super excited about this discovery, by the way. It's just a couple streets from my apartment and they have milk and eggs and other food basics there, hoorah!) and purchased some ant poison. I then scampered home, ready to get rid of these pesky insects before dusk fell.

However, when I got home and pulled out the can of spray to read the directions, I realized they were written all in Hebrew....

After some more searching online, I decided the poison is probably best to spray directly on the ants, but I could spray it on surfaces/areas that they frequent as well. Since it wasn't night yet, I didn't see any piles, so I just began general clean-up of my apartment (aka sweeping up dead ant bodies), and spraying the places I had seen them the night before. As I was doing this, however, I opened a cabinet to get a storage container out, and suddenly felt things crawling on me.

I then noticed that there was a swarm of ants inside my cabinet, which were then also collecting on me as I stood there with hand on the door of it.

I might have freaked out a little bit. I screeched, did some jumping around my apartment as I flicked ants off of my legs and arms. And then I grabbed my Hebrew can of poison and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed.

I was eager to put an end to at least one pile of the ants, but this plan backfired slightly - the aerosol can sprayed so forcefully that it actually blew the ants off of the door and sent the winged ones into a poison-filled flight. It was like I had turned them all into little kamikaze pilots, spiraling in ten different directions. More screaming ensued as I dodged the bodies.

I did eventually manage to spray all the areas. And then cleaned up all the carnage. They didn't return that night, and I went to bed feeling like I had won some huge victory. Of course, I had to sleep surrounded by poison fumes since my apartment has very little air circulation, but that was a price I was willing to pay.

1 Month Reflections

I've made it a month! 4 weeks ago today I was arriving in Tel Aviv - jet lagged, anxious, and ready to discover what exactly I had gotten myself into for the next 11 months. Each week thus far has felt like a kind of milestone; small steps on a much larger journey, but significant ones nonetheless. I've told myself that if I can make it one week, then I can make it two, if I can make it two, then I can make it three, until, finally, today, I tell myself that if I have made it for one month, I can make it for ten more.

The emotions that I have experienced during this time period have been wildly varied. I have had both highs and lows - times of elation and excitement, as well as times of panic and helplessness. The fact that I am here, in Israel/Palestine, for almost an entire year, still feels surreal to me - there are movements where I just sit with that thought and am in awe. Even though I am here, it doesn't quite seem real. And yet, even with this roller coaster of thoughts, I have not once wished to go home or doubted my calling to serve here. Quite the opposite, really - even in the moments where I have felt the most lost, on buses where no one spoke English, or walking in neighborhoods in which no one was dressed even remotely like me, I have still deeply felt like this is where I need to be.

There has been a lot of adjustment required, though. And I very much feel like I am still trying to settle in and find my bearings. I thought it might be interesting to create a list of 8 things that have been most surprising to me since arriving (not in any particular order):

1) You don't put toilet paper in the toilet here. Instead, you throw it away in a small trashcan placed next to the toilet. The sewage systems here are very old, and so it's a rare place that has plumbing capable of handling paper. This applies to bathrooms in houses, as well as public places.

2) Israel is a desert. I guess I should have known this, but for some reason the full reality of what that meant didn't occur to me. There is dust/sand everywhere. If you spend a day walking around in sandals, your feet will be covered by the time you get home. It really gives a whole new meaning to the biblical stories of washing feet.

3) Instant coffee is evidently a thing here. Like, a big thing. Nescafe is sold in practically every store. It's just a powder you add to hot water to make "coffee." Even though I only just started enjoying coffee about a year ago, I have come to really miss it while here. Thankfully, there are plenty of coffee shops that make delicious cappuccino and espresso. But I just never would have thought instant coffee would be so popular here.

4) Religious observances take on a whole new level of importance here. Even if you aren't religious at all, you still have to be aware of each of the three main faith traditions (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism), and what days each celebrates as their sabbath/holy day because on that day shops and businesses owned by people of that religion will be shut down. So, on Friday you can't eat at a Muslim restaurant, Saturday the Jewish shops are closed, and on Sunday most Christian places have shut down. This applies to public transportation too!

5) People drive crazy here. Honking is less like a spice added to a meal, and more like the main dish itself. Road signs are taken as suggestion, and both sides of the road are utilized whenever there's a traffic buildup. Almost every car has a handful of scratches and dents in it, and being a pedestrian can sometimes feel like a contact sport.

6) There is so much diversity here! It is so easy, in the U.S., to spend your whole life only around people who look exactly like you. That is an impossible task here. There are so many religions represented, so many different countries of origin. Walking down the street you're likely to encounter a variety of languages, accents, and ways of dress, all different from your own.

7) There are so many steps here. Land space is limited, so houses and businesses are built up, and built down. Hills are everywhere as well, which also contributes to the number of stairs everywhere. It definitely isn't a very handicapped-accessible place to visit.

8) I have been able to find most products here that we have in the states. With the exception of two things: flavored coffee creamer, and root beer. Talking to other internationals, I've discovered that root beer is mostly an American thing - several Europeans had never even heard of it before! I have found myself missing both of these things, and they are at the top of my list of things to look for every time I encounter a new grocery store.
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There are plenty more observances and new things that I've had to begin regarding as normal, but these are just a few that stuck out to me. It will be interesting to see how my perspective on what is "normal" or not shifts and changes as the year goes on.

The End of Summer Camp

The summer camp has come to a close. I am now officially back home in my apartment, freshly showered, with reliable access to internet once more. 

Yesterday was the last day of camp, and the kids prepared a festival of sorts, showcasing all the different things that they have made and learned during these last two weeks. They also prepared a production for their parents to come and watch, consisting of several songs, a dance, and a play. They all worked very hard on it. So did the volunteers. We are all a bit sleep deprived and exhausted, but even so, it’s been a good camp, and we were all excited to see the fruits of our labor yesterday evening. Here are a few pictures to help illustrate my time there:

One of the projects the children did during the camp was completing a tile mosaic and painting to decorate the walls of a new kitchen area.

Several of the kids at the camp play brass instruments as part of an ensemble called Brass for Peace. They learned three new pieces of music during the camp, which they’ll play during the festival on Friday.

Here is a picture of my side of the cave. I shared it with another volunteer who happens to be from Chicago. Though it is really great, temperature wise (cool even during the heat of midday), there is kind of a mustiness that never leaves it…also, mosquitos are a problem here, and even with a screen door, they manage to come in during the evening. 

(My roommate and I spend about 45minutes each night stalking them and killing them with our hands. I was squeamish about it for the first couple nights, but when the other alternative is bug bites while you sleep, you get used to it. We’ve turned it into a game to practice our Arabic. We count our kills with Arabic numbers and compete to see who can get the most on any given evening).

 

As I take a (brief) minute to reflect on my time spent here on the farm, I have realized that there are a few things that I have truly missed during my two weeks here, as well as some things that I know I will miss now that I have returned to my apartment. I’ve listed several of them below:

Things I have missed:

-Showering on a daily (or even biweekly!) basis

-Clean clothes (you re-wear clothes for several days here)

-Time to journal and blog

-My guitar

-Free time

-Exploring new places on my own

-Real coffee

Things I will miss:

-The other volunteers who have become close friends after eating, working, and living together for two weeks in a row

-The daily classes in Arabic, and being tutored by the camp children when I attempt to have conversations with them

-The challenge of trying to put a camp together with people from all different backgrounds and cultures, and all the chaos and beauty that comes with that

-The traditional Palestinian meals served for lunch and dinner, and the great conversations that happen at meal time

-The familiarity of routine and knowing what each day is going to consist of/what needs to be accomplished

-The breathtaking sunsets every night, viewed from the hilltop where the farm is located

It was amazing watching the sunset every night at diner.

It’s been a busy two weeks. Extremely stressful at points, but also extremely rewarding. I’m both relieved and sad to see it end. But, next week will bring yet another new adventure – Kristen is now back in Israel, and I will start my work with her in the Methodist Liaison office early next week. I'm excited to see what this next chapter will bring!