Dear friend,
This my last day in Israel and in the West Bank. I am making this entry at Ben Gurion Airport, about an hour before my flight. It has been a wonderful trip, and full of the unanticipated events which is why I come. Thanks for following my journey. I never felt alone.
Today, we caught a "serveece" to a small Palestinian village called Beit Umar. It is south of one of the largest settlement blocks in the West Bank, and a few kms. from Daher's Orchard, home of the Tent of Nations. Me and my two traveling companions, Christy and Ridgely went to this village to meet with Mousa Abou Maria, a young 30 year old activist. I had met Mousa in his home, exactly two years ago on a Presbyterian Peace Fellowship Delegation trip. At that time I was commissioned by the delegation members at the end of the tour to plant thirteen olive trees in the name of each of the delegates. You see, Mousa is a farmer as is Daoud. They have much in common.
While the group departed for Jordan's Petra and for home afterward, I had the opportunity to re-enter Israel, travel to the Bethlehem area and rejoin Mousa and some children to plant the young trees. I did so. In the weeks prior to this, the Israeli settlers nearby acquired 200 acres of his land. We planned to plant the trees next to their new settler fence as a statement of non-violent resistance to such aggression . I had someone take a picture of the two of us shaking hands. When I returned home, I made a copy of the picture and taped it above my computer. Each day I sat down to work, I thought of the courage he had shown over the last couple of years and his persistent, peaceful opposition to the occupation.
Just a few months after I returned from that trip, I heard that Mousa had been placed under arrest with no charges made. He was under "administrative detention" which meant the authorities could keep him in jail for 90 days without bringing a charge against him. Today, during our conversation on the open deck of his house, I would hear his account of the 13 months he spent behind bars.
The warm morning sun poured down on us as we sat together on the tile deck that faced his neighbors' small plots of land. Also within our view was the community green house that contained hearty young cucumber plants. For me, that tent which had been destroyed by a settler bomb at least once, was symbolic of the Palestinian determination to maintain a presence on the land in spite of the oppressive conditions under which they were forced to live.
As we sat down around some cups of hot mint tea, I could feel the warmth of not only the physical environment surrounding us, but in contrast to the noisiness of the city streets of Bethlehem I had witnessed earlier that morning, there also was the presence of fellow travelers. It was a satisfying change. It was just a nice day to be alive. You know the feeling. There, on the deck with me were several young international volunteers and friends of Mousa, talking about plans and sharing visions for the future. Before the day was over, Christy, from Oklahoma; Mav from Ireland; Paulo from Russia, as well as several of Mousa's curious neighbors joined the group to tell their stories and share hopes for the days ahead. I was aware of the youthfulness of the group. If I were twenty something again, I'd be doing what they are doing. Somehow, I didn't feel uncomfortable with the distance in age. Kay always said I was in denial. I felt welcomed there. Mousa would say to me as we departed in the late afternoon in his awkward use of English, but clear intention in meaning, "We need more old bodies like yours, with good hearts to do the work together". I took that as acceptance for my frailties.
As we sat there, I listened and recorded digitally our conversation with Mousa which went on for nearly three hours. He had been arrested in the Spring of 2008. The security chief in the town invited him to his headquarters in the village for coffee. Mousa called his bluff and said, "You can come to MY house for coffee, but I suspect that it is not why you wish to see me. It is not coffee you are offering me, and we both know it".
He went down to the headquarters anyway, and was arrested as he knew he'd be. The security officer said that Mousa's Jewish wife (Mousa married an American Jew, Becka, and they both had worked together to organize the Palestinian Solidarity Project. I had also met her also on my visit in '07). Furthermore, if he would just become a collaborator for the Israeli police, they would free him. He refused to do so. The ante went up a notch more when the officer said that Mousa's wife would require money to live in the style she was accustomed to in the States. He once again, refused to agree to any terms. What he said was that he would always be transparent to not only the police but to people in own his community about his convictions . To do other than that he said, would not only be a betrayal of his own conscience but a betrayal of the truth he owed to all.
He spent the next ten months in jail. At the end of that time, he was again offered a deal. He refused. (I hear the call to board the plane. Will return tomorrow.....)
And, here I am a day later, safely home and so full of stories like the one above, I hardly know where to begin. The time will come I know when I find the particular experience that will drive me in the days ahead to share what's in my heart for that is what you will hear, and perhaps remember. Maybe it's this one?
Continuing....when Mousa returned to his home after the incarceration, he did so under severe restrictions. He was released not to his village, but transported to the Israeli border with Jordan and told he could not return to the West Bank for three years. It's important to remember that he was never charged with a legitimate offense. When he got to the border, Jordan refused him entry. He was caught in the middle. Eventually, he traveled back to his village, in violation of his parole, where he continues to work to build a non-violent resistance movement known as the Palestine Solidarity Project (PSP).
This soft spoken, gentle young man, has created an energy, that even the harshest enemy can not thwart. As we talked together on the patio on my last day in the West Bank, just as I had when we planted trees together against the settler fence two years, I had again, great admiration for his courage. There, on the patio of his home, where many internationals come to visit and work throughout the year on various projects,there is strength and solidarity. Next week, he and Israeli activists will meet in Israel, a first, for such travel for Palestinians requires special permits. Some 70 people will meet to talk about how true peace and justice might happen. His PEP organization will send two internationals and two local villagers there. Mousa himself will probably not attend because of his "house arrest". He does not want to call attention to himself for fear that it will serve as a distraction to the real purpose of the meeting. There are others who can go in his place because of the organizational style he has developed, I think.
Such an event, is a response, a steady feeling I am getting now for over a month about the measures we must take to bring an end to this madness for both Israelis and Palestinians. At the Sabeel Conference in D.C last month, Richard Falk, the UN Provocateur for Palestinian Human Rights said, "change will come as a result of both a grassroots movement and "political impossibilities". Grassroots, because our governments will not resolve the issue. Like many movements in the past involving civil rights, he said, it will come from direct action by the people in the streets. "Political impossibilities" are solutions that are not presently seen and recognized as strategies. I think such actions, as Mousa is taking through the PSP, is a "political impossibility" if multiplied, that might seize the moment for a just peace.
As I left the home of Mousa that late afternoon, climbed in the van with others, and headed back to Bethlehem, I couldn't but help feel that I had been a witness to a new day in Israel and Palestine. I got off at Kilo 7, to make one more visit to Daher's Orchard and the Tent of Nations. Though it was getting dark, the walk to the farm was a mile away, and the return uphill past incoming Israeli workers from Hebron to their adjacent settlement a little tense, I wanted very much to step again on the farm to feel for a final time, the energy of the land. IT is one of the few places I felt completely free during my stay in the West Bank. I wish my Palestinian friends may feel that same spirit some day through all of the freed occupied lands, so that they may have true peace and justice, and that the Israelis ultimately realize that in being part of such a transition themselves, they too will have the security they deserve and desire. By visiting Daher and Amal on farm at the very end of my trip,and knowing I would see Daoud in my home the next day, I wanted to carry back to him the assurance that all is well. For it really is.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Wilderness, Meditation and Relationships
Dear faithful friend,
The physical activities of the last few days (walking through out the city, hiking up the Judahian hills, and talking with folks left little energies for entries, what's more, yet reflection.
Here is a summary of the last few days. After a wonderful day Saturday on the Farm, and contributing slightly to the building of a new cistern, planting a few trees, talking with two large groups of visitors from the U.S and the UK about Fotonna, and our work to support the Tent of Nations, I was ready for a little less serious activities.
A friend coordinated a trip by taxi to the Wadi Quelt, a wilderness area near Jerico that I had not seen before. It was the valley that Elijah passed through (a few years before!) and also the path along the canyon below that Jesus might have traveled from Jerico to Jerusalem. It reminds me a little of the bad lands in the the Dakotas for its stark and dry landscape. What was wonderful about the trip, beyond the beauty of the hills and valley, were the relationships that were shared.
Said, a young Palestinian youth, who has training in sports fitness and trip guiding, but like many Palestinians,is unemployed and living a small village. Such skills are a wasted resource, and the potential of losing this generation to a hopeless, and violent future is great. So, enabling Said to pull together this trip: acquiring the transportation, purchasing the food for a barbecue for a feast by the stream and the Monastery (St. Georges, commemorative of Elijah's trip through the area), and guiding the tours of that area and a tour of the Herodian (Herod's mountain palace) was part of the deal. The benefits to all were mutual. We also all had a moment of meaningful worship at the peak of one of the hills,as Christians and Muslims with one God. OF course, it was more than appropriate to pull out my harp to play a bit during our meditative time. It was a nice break and as we shared a meal, hot tea and coffee, we forgot about the occupation for awhile, and enjoyed sharing stories with each other.
On Monday,I was still very concerned about the return of soldiers to the farm and the potential evacuation of the Nassar family. I walked to the Bible College after a stroll through the old city of Bethelem which is my routine. I then went on to meet with Jihan Nassar for the purpose of reviewing her comments and recommendations to the book of poetry that the women of the village of Nahelin had written about their feelings for their land. Kay formatted the book and is waiting for the changes. I could tell that this piece of work is very important to Jihan as a tangible expression of what it means to the women to see the fruits of their sharing together this past year.
I also met a newly arrived visitor who is here for two months as a volunteer, and wanted to see the farm. I also met Gunn Berit a young Norwegian woman/traveler who is "seeing the world". She will be on the land for two weeks as a volunteer. What a spirit she is and what a collective spirit all the young people are that work there. If I were 20 again, that's where I'd be. After the meeting, I had chance to be a guide for the first time by leading my two new friends to the local bus depot and caught a bus to Kilo Sabatosh (Km. 7). We walked up the ridge past the road to the Neve Daniele Settlement and then down the valley to Daher's Orchard. IT is so inspiring every time I see the farm from above, nestled in the valley and surrounded by settlements with a population in total of about 35,000.
We arrived at the gate and there was Daher waiting to let us in the gate that he had replaced for the one the Army had torn down just two weeks ago. The resilience of this family is inspiring. There were a few visitors already there. Two were a part of an Australian/American group that is documenting political art through out the West Bank. I inspired by their spirit. Seeing young people doing creative work moves me to do more. After leading a small group around the land on a tour I have heard the Nassar do many, many times both on the land and there in the states, I was about to leave when I heard that group of Israelis and other internationals were coming to the land to pray. It was International Grace Day. Who would have known? I decided to delay my departure for Jihan Nassar and the children and a warm meal and good fun. I never avoid a little Grace.
The group met in the small arena used during the youth camps in the summer months to act, dance and sing. There in the corner, were a dozen people from all backgrounds including the US, Spain, Palestine, and Israel. Each year, around the world on this day, people gather to pray. The leaders began the session by reading emails of solidarity from around the world. This, I realized it was a moment not to missed.
I sat down in the circle with mostly people half my age.
After greetng and some meditation, members of the group read a prayer in different languages and words filled the dry air on the mountain top. I was facing the ettlement on the high ridge before me. After reading, the group was invite to share moments of Grace since last year's celebration. As I listened, I heard many people talk about how meaningful it had been for some of this group to have been together last year and then again today. That was grace.
I listened particularly intently to a Bedouin sheepherder of approximately my age, share in Arabic his reason for being there in the group and how he saw the meaning of Grace. I should share that before the meditation, he was one of the visitors I first saw sitting in the shade when we walked into the land that morning. He introduced himself as Mohammad and shared a few words in English. I must say that his rugged appearance and poor dental condition, put me off in my haste to talk with the young internationals. They were much more appealing. I should have known better. What a loss that was for me as I heard his story as a shepherd in the prayer group some five hours later. Somehow he had heard of this group meeting last year and had journyed from the nearby hills again this year to share his soul. His words were translated by one of the Jewish Israeli leaders. All of us were struck deeply by his simple words about the meaning of Grace to him. I had been so shocked by his presence in the circle in the first place, I couldn't fully hear the words of translation by the leader, but I was awed by his weathered face and the flow of his Arabic. I can't recall what he said. I can only say that the aura around him was captivatingly simple and warm. I was attracted to his words without know what they meant.
Unfortunately, I had to leave the group early, as my traveling campanion, Ridgely, the new volunteer, and I needed to get back to Bethlehem before dark. I felt a little uncomfortable leaving the group, but I had shared my thoughts through the poem I had recited exactly a year ago a few feet from where we all sat. I don't if it was understood by all as I shared it in English. I wonder if those who didn't speak English heard my inner voice?
When Ridgely and had gotten to the main highway, the sun had already set, but I felt confident that we could get a taxi or a bus. We were there at the stop but for two minutes when a small vehicle pulled off the road and an occupant rolled down a window as they drove towards us. I said, "Babyscot-Bethlehem". They murmured something in return, rolled down the window and took off. I saw the Israeli license plate and knew they must be settlers from Neve Daniel, the same place I had been staring at when I was in the prayer group. We were not wanted was the message. I remember the feeling of rejection. IT was a feeling I rarely felt any where, even here, but one my Palestinian friends must feel several times each day.
We arrived in Bethlehem in the dark. I pointed my friend Ridgely in the right direction to get to the place where she could catch her next bus to Beit Sahour. I then took off to Bet Jala and the apartment Nassar family stay in when not on the farm and I was about two hours behind schedule. As I was climbing the long hill of more than a mile, I could feel the fatigue of the long day in my legs. The hills around Bethlehem are like those in San Francisco. I wasn't so certain of the location of the building in the dark either. I followed my instincts and got to the apartment a half hour later.
Jihan was there at the door and so were the voices of her children as I entered their home and collapsed in the nearest chair. I was home! Shadin brought me a cookie and Jihan some hot spinach soup, rice and chicken. What a feast! She went out to do some errands while a joyfully watched and played games with the kids. What a great day to end my day. After Jihan and I talked about the day, mostly about what their lawyer thought of the present situation on the land, I said I had to get home for some rest. I thought I could walk home after a good meal, especially since it was down hill, but Jihan looked at me and thought better and ordered me a cab. I was intensely grateful for her wisdom. In minutes, I was back to the hotel and in the shower.
In short, I should add the status of the land is this. There will probably be no evacation of the land by the soldiers this time. The lawyer assured Jihan of this. Apparently, he had talked with the lawyer who was representing the settlers. They were behind the Army's actions it seems! What will happen, as has happened several times in the past two years, is that the Nassars will receive papers which show violations, such as building a place for the animals, or the raising of tents for the volunteers and visitors. They will then have to pay a fee along with the application. The permission will be denied, and they will lose the money they have paid. And so it goes.
The physical activities of the last few days (walking through out the city, hiking up the Judahian hills, and talking with folks left little energies for entries, what's more, yet reflection.
Here is a summary of the last few days. After a wonderful day Saturday on the Farm, and contributing slightly to the building of a new cistern, planting a few trees, talking with two large groups of visitors from the U.S and the UK about Fotonna, and our work to support the Tent of Nations, I was ready for a little less serious activities.
A friend coordinated a trip by taxi to the Wadi Quelt, a wilderness area near Jerico that I had not seen before. It was the valley that Elijah passed through (a few years before!) and also the path along the canyon below that Jesus might have traveled from Jerico to Jerusalem. It reminds me a little of the bad lands in the the Dakotas for its stark and dry landscape. What was wonderful about the trip, beyond the beauty of the hills and valley, were the relationships that were shared.
Said, a young Palestinian youth, who has training in sports fitness and trip guiding, but like many Palestinians,is unemployed and living a small village. Such skills are a wasted resource, and the potential of losing this generation to a hopeless, and violent future is great. So, enabling Said to pull together this trip: acquiring the transportation, purchasing the food for a barbecue for a feast by the stream and the Monastery (St. Georges, commemorative of Elijah's trip through the area), and guiding the tours of that area and a tour of the Herodian (Herod's mountain palace) was part of the deal. The benefits to all were mutual. We also all had a moment of meaningful worship at the peak of one of the hills,as Christians and Muslims with one God. OF course, it was more than appropriate to pull out my harp to play a bit during our meditative time. It was a nice break and as we shared a meal, hot tea and coffee, we forgot about the occupation for awhile, and enjoyed sharing stories with each other.
On Monday,I was still very concerned about the return of soldiers to the farm and the potential evacuation of the Nassar family. I walked to the Bible College after a stroll through the old city of Bethelem which is my routine. I then went on to meet with Jihan Nassar for the purpose of reviewing her comments and recommendations to the book of poetry that the women of the village of Nahelin had written about their feelings for their land. Kay formatted the book and is waiting for the changes. I could tell that this piece of work is very important to Jihan as a tangible expression of what it means to the women to see the fruits of their sharing together this past year.
I also met a newly arrived visitor who is here for two months as a volunteer, and wanted to see the farm. I also met Gunn Berit a young Norwegian woman/traveler who is "seeing the world". She will be on the land for two weeks as a volunteer. What a spirit she is and what a collective spirit all the young people are that work there. If I were 20 again, that's where I'd be. After the meeting, I had chance to be a guide for the first time by leading my two new friends to the local bus depot and caught a bus to Kilo Sabatosh (Km. 7). We walked up the ridge past the road to the Neve Daniele Settlement and then down the valley to Daher's Orchard. IT is so inspiring every time I see the farm from above, nestled in the valley and surrounded by settlements with a population in total of about 35,000.
We arrived at the gate and there was Daher waiting to let us in the gate that he had replaced for the one the Army had torn down just two weeks ago. The resilience of this family is inspiring. There were a few visitors already there. Two were a part of an Australian/American group that is documenting political art through out the West Bank. I inspired by their spirit. Seeing young people doing creative work moves me to do more. After leading a small group around the land on a tour I have heard the Nassar do many, many times both on the land and there in the states, I was about to leave when I heard that group of Israelis and other internationals were coming to the land to pray. It was International Grace Day. Who would have known? I decided to delay my departure for Jihan Nassar and the children and a warm meal and good fun. I never avoid a little Grace.
The group met in the small arena used during the youth camps in the summer months to act, dance and sing. There in the corner, were a dozen people from all backgrounds including the US, Spain, Palestine, and Israel. Each year, around the world on this day, people gather to pray. The leaders began the session by reading emails of solidarity from around the world. This, I realized it was a moment not to missed.
I sat down in the circle with mostly people half my age.
After greetng and some meditation, members of the group read a prayer in different languages and words filled the dry air on the mountain top. I was facing the ettlement on the high ridge before me. After reading, the group was invite to share moments of Grace since last year's celebration. As I listened, I heard many people talk about how meaningful it had been for some of this group to have been together last year and then again today. That was grace.
I listened particularly intently to a Bedouin sheepherder of approximately my age, share in Arabic his reason for being there in the group and how he saw the meaning of Grace. I should share that before the meditation, he was one of the visitors I first saw sitting in the shade when we walked into the land that morning. He introduced himself as Mohammad and shared a few words in English. I must say that his rugged appearance and poor dental condition, put me off in my haste to talk with the young internationals. They were much more appealing. I should have known better. What a loss that was for me as I heard his story as a shepherd in the prayer group some five hours later. Somehow he had heard of this group meeting last year and had journyed from the nearby hills again this year to share his soul. His words were translated by one of the Jewish Israeli leaders. All of us were struck deeply by his simple words about the meaning of Grace to him. I had been so shocked by his presence in the circle in the first place, I couldn't fully hear the words of translation by the leader, but I was awed by his weathered face and the flow of his Arabic. I can't recall what he said. I can only say that the aura around him was captivatingly simple and warm. I was attracted to his words without know what they meant.
Unfortunately, I had to leave the group early, as my traveling campanion, Ridgely, the new volunteer, and I needed to get back to Bethlehem before dark. I felt a little uncomfortable leaving the group, but I had shared my thoughts through the poem I had recited exactly a year ago a few feet from where we all sat. I don't if it was understood by all as I shared it in English. I wonder if those who didn't speak English heard my inner voice?
When Ridgely and had gotten to the main highway, the sun had already set, but I felt confident that we could get a taxi or a bus. We were there at the stop but for two minutes when a small vehicle pulled off the road and an occupant rolled down a window as they drove towards us. I said, "Babyscot-Bethlehem". They murmured something in return, rolled down the window and took off. I saw the Israeli license plate and knew they must be settlers from Neve Daniel, the same place I had been staring at when I was in the prayer group. We were not wanted was the message. I remember the feeling of rejection. IT was a feeling I rarely felt any where, even here, but one my Palestinian friends must feel several times each day.
We arrived in Bethlehem in the dark. I pointed my friend Ridgely in the right direction to get to the place where she could catch her next bus to Beit Sahour. I then took off to Bet Jala and the apartment Nassar family stay in when not on the farm and I was about two hours behind schedule. As I was climbing the long hill of more than a mile, I could feel the fatigue of the long day in my legs. The hills around Bethlehem are like those in San Francisco. I wasn't so certain of the location of the building in the dark either. I followed my instincts and got to the apartment a half hour later.
Jihan was there at the door and so were the voices of her children as I entered their home and collapsed in the nearest chair. I was home! Shadin brought me a cookie and Jihan some hot spinach soup, rice and chicken. What a feast! She went out to do some errands while a joyfully watched and played games with the kids. What a great day to end my day. After Jihan and I talked about the day, mostly about what their lawyer thought of the present situation on the land, I said I had to get home for some rest. I thought I could walk home after a good meal, especially since it was down hill, but Jihan looked at me and thought better and ordered me a cab. I was intensely grateful for her wisdom. In minutes, I was back to the hotel and in the shower.
In short, I should add the status of the land is this. There will probably be no evacation of the land by the soldiers this time. The lawyer assured Jihan of this. Apparently, he had talked with the lawyer who was representing the settlers. They were behind the Army's actions it seems! What will happen, as has happened several times in the past two years, is that the Nassars will receive papers which show violations, such as building a place for the animals, or the raising of tents for the volunteers and visitors. They will then have to pay a fee along with the application. The permission will be denied, and they will lose the money they have paid. And so it goes.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
When Force meets Nonviolent resistence
Dear Friend,
When I reflected on today's activities, I thought of Walter Wink's book: "Jesus Christ: A Third way- Non violence." In his book, Wink describes the call to action through phrases like "walk the extra mile" and "to turn the other cheek, not as passive acts, but as agressive moves in the face of the Roman Empire.Today was to be loosely configured. We'd see how the day unfolded and go with the wind. I took my usual early morning walk down to Manger Square and back to the hotel. I stopped for some mint tea. As I emerged from Paul VI Street into the Square, I was unaware how quickly the day would take shape. Something told me that I should take the bus to Hebron and stop off at Daher's Orchard at the 7 Km marker. As I got on board, I decided to let Amal and Daher know I was coming and to unlock the gate. I was unable to reach Daher at the farm, and called Amal as a backup.
I reached her at the hospital where she works as a physiotherapist for young babies. She sounded frantic and disturbed on the phone. Without a whole lot of wasted words, I learned that the Army had visited the land yesterday, and two soldiers leaped the fence and confronted Daher, and issued him a warning that he could no longer live on the land, and that his family should leave immediately. Papers would follow in two days they were told. I was on my way to the farm as it was predestined. Hang on Bill, once again!
I began thinking about what I might do. I could contact the Interfaith Peacebuilders group that was just here last Sunday and were still in the country. I could contact the U.S Consulate who have visited the land, though with a different set of officers. I could go and just be present as an American citizen which is what I finally concluded. I got off at the entrance to Neve Daniel, the Settlement closest to the Nassar Farm. The Palestinian bus I got off was full, and the road connection led to the settlement, next to the path to the farm. I wondered if any one on the bus would watch which road I would take. I intentionally walked in the direction of the dirt road, so as to avoid judgement by the passengers. But did they really care that I might be a settler or not? As Iooked at the rear bus window and crossed the busy highway, I saw a face peer out the rear window. I felt vindicated by my choice.
I called to Daher by phone to meet me at the gate. He walked down and greeted me as always with a wonderfully warm "Marhaba!" I was home again. He then told me personally what Amal had shared over the phone. He emphasized his response with "I would not leave my land and that I had lived on the land longer than his Captain and he and lived from birth." As always his retort was not in anger or hatred. It was the same persistent response of "Our land is our mother, and our mother is not for sale." Daoud's wife was there also, and a group of American travelers with Daher. Also present were two members of the Ecumenical Accompaniament Program. They are the real heroes outside of the inhabitants of both sides of the wall. I had met Andres yesterday at the village of Masara at the demonstration. He is a former oncologist on a three month assignment with the program. These volunteers are stationed at the checkpoints to bring an international prescence, particularly, but not solely, at the Bethlehem Gate. They are saints, and no doubt much more aggressiveness would go on at the check point if they were not there. Their stories about the brutality and the manipulations by the young soldiers is horrifying. IF the world only knew of the inhumanity that goes on everyday for Palestinians, and the costs to Israeli soul, there would be a peace with justice in a matter of days.
Maria, a church of Norway pastor, also an EAP person, was appalled at what she had seen in the first days of her assignment. No doubt she will have many powerful sermons to share with her parishoners. ThE EAP volunteers have only been in the country for a week. They were also present for the Nassars. I do not know who called them. But the were there.
Jihan was very busy preparing the meal for the visitors, and working in the gift shop when I walked up the hill from the gate with Daher. We took a few minutes to talk. She had desperately tried to reach me yesterday, but my phone was off during the demonstration. I had missed her call.
When the visiting group returned from their tour of the farm in time for lunch, I recognized Father Jacek of the Francisans at St. Camillas in D.C, a group we had visited last April when Daoud was in D.C. It is a small world we live in. The timing was good. They heard, first hand of the lastest incursion by the soldiers, two weeks ago as well as what happened the day before. They no doubt would share what they saw and what they heard when they returned home. Ah, another resource. Strength was building.
I was also able to make sure travelers received a handout about our Fotonna organization and explained how we are supporting Tent of Nations and the Nassar family. Soon afterwards, I went off to walk the land and clear my head from the events of the morning, and the hectic street life of Bethlehem. I was gone for an hour, and felt refreshed by the hike, and angry at the settlement across the canyon with its bright red tile roofs and SW stucco facade. I noted that since '07, that settlement had expanded to nearly twice the size. So much for the freeze on expansions we hear talked about since before Sharon's last days. I quickly checked the trees we had planted two years ago for our Fotonna families. Bill Mims, colleague and friend, noted last year that the George Bush tree perished last November (hMMMM?) The replanted Bush bush of a year ago, was not doing quite as well as the Obama tree that I had planted only yesterday. The Obama Peace tree was twice as big already!
As I climbed the several hundred feet to the top of hill, I aked the German volunteer if I could climb down the ladder into the new sistern she was diggging to collect the needed winter rains. As I went below the ground I wondered how safe being below ground was. Daher assured me the ceiling was stronger than the walls that were being hewed out, and made way for the badly needed water. I trusted him, but also gained a huge amount of appreciation for the international volunteers who do much of the labor on the farm. They are wonderful young people and their period contagious. I was glad to take a few wacks at the wall and ascend the ladder to clear air and sunshine. I wouldn't be a good miner.
No sooner had I climbed out of the sistern, but I saw another international group with a few Americans in tow. Ah ha! Another opportunity to gain support and provide ways for them to become friends of Tent of Nations. In one day, there were over forty such folks seeing the injustice of the illegal settlements surrounding the little farm with a grand spirit and the bright light of justice. No guns could ultimately dim such a beacon. My fear of the jeeps and the U.S equipped and funded soldiers diminished.
When I reflected on today's activities, I thought of Walter Wink's book: "Jesus Christ: A Third way- Non violence." In his book, Wink describes the call to action through phrases like "walk the extra mile" and "to turn the other cheek, not as passive acts, but as agressive moves in the face of the Roman Empire.Today was to be loosely configured. We'd see how the day unfolded and go with the wind. I took my usual early morning walk down to Manger Square and back to the hotel. I stopped for some mint tea. As I emerged from Paul VI Street into the Square, I was unaware how quickly the day would take shape. Something told me that I should take the bus to Hebron and stop off at Daher's Orchard at the 7 Km marker. As I got on board, I decided to let Amal and Daher know I was coming and to unlock the gate. I was unable to reach Daher at the farm, and called Amal as a backup.
I reached her at the hospital where she works as a physiotherapist for young babies. She sounded frantic and disturbed on the phone. Without a whole lot of wasted words, I learned that the Army had visited the land yesterday, and two soldiers leaped the fence and confronted Daher, and issued him a warning that he could no longer live on the land, and that his family should leave immediately. Papers would follow in two days they were told. I was on my way to the farm as it was predestined. Hang on Bill, once again!
I began thinking about what I might do. I could contact the Interfaith Peacebuilders group that was just here last Sunday and were still in the country. I could contact the U.S Consulate who have visited the land, though with a different set of officers. I could go and just be present as an American citizen which is what I finally concluded. I got off at the entrance to Neve Daniel, the Settlement closest to the Nassar Farm. The Palestinian bus I got off was full, and the road connection led to the settlement, next to the path to the farm. I wondered if any one on the bus would watch which road I would take. I intentionally walked in the direction of the dirt road, so as to avoid judgement by the passengers. But did they really care that I might be a settler or not? As Iooked at the rear bus window and crossed the busy highway, I saw a face peer out the rear window. I felt vindicated by my choice.
I called to Daher by phone to meet me at the gate. He walked down and greeted me as always with a wonderfully warm "Marhaba!" I was home again. He then told me personally what Amal had shared over the phone. He emphasized his response with "I would not leave my land and that I had lived on the land longer than his Captain and he and lived from birth." As always his retort was not in anger or hatred. It was the same persistent response of "Our land is our mother, and our mother is not for sale." Daoud's wife was there also, and a group of American travelers with Daher. Also present were two members of the Ecumenical Accompaniament Program. They are the real heroes outside of the inhabitants of both sides of the wall. I had met Andres yesterday at the village of Masara at the demonstration. He is a former oncologist on a three month assignment with the program. These volunteers are stationed at the checkpoints to bring an international prescence, particularly, but not solely, at the Bethlehem Gate. They are saints, and no doubt much more aggressiveness would go on at the check point if they were not there. Their stories about the brutality and the manipulations by the young soldiers is horrifying. IF the world only knew of the inhumanity that goes on everyday for Palestinians, and the costs to Israeli soul, there would be a peace with justice in a matter of days.
Maria, a church of Norway pastor, also an EAP person, was appalled at what she had seen in the first days of her assignment. No doubt she will have many powerful sermons to share with her parishoners. ThE EAP volunteers have only been in the country for a week. They were also present for the Nassars. I do not know who called them. But the were there.
Jihan was very busy preparing the meal for the visitors, and working in the gift shop when I walked up the hill from the gate with Daher. We took a few minutes to talk. She had desperately tried to reach me yesterday, but my phone was off during the demonstration. I had missed her call.
When the visiting group returned from their tour of the farm in time for lunch, I recognized Father Jacek of the Francisans at St. Camillas in D.C, a group we had visited last April when Daoud was in D.C. It is a small world we live in. The timing was good. They heard, first hand of the lastest incursion by the soldiers, two weeks ago as well as what happened the day before. They no doubt would share what they saw and what they heard when they returned home. Ah, another resource. Strength was building.
I was also able to make sure travelers received a handout about our Fotonna organization and explained how we are supporting Tent of Nations and the Nassar family. Soon afterwards, I went off to walk the land and clear my head from the events of the morning, and the hectic street life of Bethlehem. I was gone for an hour, and felt refreshed by the hike, and angry at the settlement across the canyon with its bright red tile roofs and SW stucco facade. I noted that since '07, that settlement had expanded to nearly twice the size. So much for the freeze on expansions we hear talked about since before Sharon's last days. I quickly checked the trees we had planted two years ago for our Fotonna families. Bill Mims, colleague and friend, noted last year that the George Bush tree perished last November (hMMMM?) The replanted Bush bush of a year ago, was not doing quite as well as the Obama tree that I had planted only yesterday. The Obama Peace tree was twice as big already!
As I climbed the several hundred feet to the top of hill, I aked the German volunteer if I could climb down the ladder into the new sistern she was diggging to collect the needed winter rains. As I went below the ground I wondered how safe being below ground was. Daher assured me the ceiling was stronger than the walls that were being hewed out, and made way for the badly needed water. I trusted him, but also gained a huge amount of appreciation for the international volunteers who do much of the labor on the farm. They are wonderful young people and their period contagious. I was glad to take a few wacks at the wall and ascend the ladder to clear air and sunshine. I wouldn't be a good miner.
No sooner had I climbed out of the sistern, but I saw another international group with a few Americans in tow. Ah ha! Another opportunity to gain support and provide ways for them to become friends of Tent of Nations. In one day, there were over forty such folks seeing the injustice of the illegal settlements surrounding the little farm with a grand spirit and the bright light of justice. No guns could ultimately dim such a beacon. My fear of the jeeps and the U.S equipped and funded soldiers diminished.
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Barbed Wire Has Two Faces
My faithful friend,
The old city, where I am, is so beautiful on these moonlit nights with the narrow, whitish yellow walls. After dark, the streets are mine. In the day they are crowded with cars, people and merchants moving in a frenzy. At night, it is peaceful and clear, with weather not unlike Northern California.
I went to a demonstration against the wall this morning in a village to the south of here. Along with Palestinians, there were young farmers from southern France, Canadian and a few of us Americans who marched through the streets in solidarity to the beating drums of the young and in celebration of 20 years since the fall of the Berlin wall. The French marchers sang the words of a resistance song used during the Second WW which referred to the occupation by Germany. The parallels were obvious for those of us standing in front of the young Israeli soldiers with the barbed wire between us. The internationals were encouraged to speak to the soldiers face to face since the Palestinians could not do so without recriminations.
The old city, where I am, is so beautiful on these moonlit nights with the narrow, whitish yellow walls. After dark, the streets are mine. In the day they are crowded with cars, people and merchants moving in a frenzy. At night, it is peaceful and clear, with weather not unlike Northern California.
I went to a demonstration against the wall this morning in a village to the south of here. Along with Palestinians, there were young farmers from southern France, Canadian and a few of us Americans who marched through the streets in solidarity to the beating drums of the young and in celebration of 20 years since the fall of the Berlin wall. The French marchers sang the words of a resistance song used during the Second WW which referred to the occupation by Germany. The parallels were obvious for those of us standing in front of the young Israeli soldiers with the barbed wire between us. The internationals were encouraged to speak to the soldiers face to face since the Palestinians could not do so without recriminations.
After the French farmers and others finished singing their song together which sounded much like the Le Marseilles- and done with same vigor! I was ready to march forward. I could not understand all of their words, but I could feel their youthful spirit. Rather than make a larger spectacle of myself than I was, I chose two young soldiers nearby at first, to share one of my poems about walls and barriers. They were ordered by their officers, not to say anything nor have eye contact. As I introduced my self as an American from the Washington DC area, who was concerned for the well being of both Palestinian and Israeli people, I could not help but notice a slight softening in their faces as they glanced from the Palestinians to my right, to direction of the sound of my words. They heard me I know. I recited from memory the poem that came to me some four years ago when I saw the walls here and felt their impact on the humanity on both sides. It was a gift to me. I shared it with them in the same vein. .
After I finished speaking to my soldier friends, I could sense their discomfort. I suspected that they didn't want to be there at age 18 or so in the face of a non-violent group. They were embarrassed if not a bit frightened, I know. I moved down the line to the others including a young African in uniform, who really seemed out of place amongst the ranks of white, European-like Israelis. I spoke to him with the first words I could find which referred to the fact that he must truly know within his heart from his own experience in this country, about the pain of a life separated by one's identity. He too seemed moved, or at least, I wanted to believe he was.
As I moved back to first young soldier, the wind shifted a little, and the razor wire caught the material of my pants, and I struggled to keep it from tearing the clothe. As I worked with my predicament, I glanced across the wire, and the young soldier with full battle gear on, had suffered the same bad fortune with his fatigue pants. There we were standing their holding the same wire and our world joined together in such an amazing way.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Don't Bother me, I Live in Bethlehem!
Hi!
Just walked back through the now deserted part of the old city of Bethlehem, from Manger square, (because all the shops close at sunset) where I had a glass of wine with a good friend here. The discussion we had was around how does one support the local people who are doing some amazing activities, while not interfering with the local politics. What I learned again was how important it is that any partnership should be a mutual affair; meaning both sides are equal partners in any venture together. For myself, I learned that I need to begin linking people and groups at home with small grassroots projects that are all about relationships. Supporting a young man with a degree in Sports fitness and no job, with teenagers who have nothing to do with their time, is a good investment.
This morning I had traveled back the 7 kms to Daoud's farm via the local bus, and then hiked the mile from the highway past the settlements, up the hill and into the valley below where the farm is. There I found a group from the States there with Jihan, hearing the famlies' story, and a group of German, Canadian and Swedish youth digging a sistern for water. What a place to be! I wheeled a barrel of rocks brought out from the 15 feet hole where two women volunteers were chopping and chipping the stone just to feel a part of the ambiance.
I moved on to quickly take pictures of the developments on land and the Obama Olive tree I planted for him yesterday. Daoud and Jihan have dug out a six foot deep hole in the ground and built a home for themselves which is not visible from Israeli air surveilance. It is complete with two bedroom, a kitchen and bath, all undergroudn. They are anticipating getting cut off from Bethlehem very soon.
Daher, Daoud's brother,drove me down into the village past the women's center that our church supports, as I wanted to capture a picture of the beginnings of a new wall that will separate Daoud from the village, before returning to Bet Jala and lunch with Jihan and her kids. I listened to the girls each play the piano, and played Spider Man with young, five year old Bishara. They filled a void for me that I miss with my own grandchildren.
I have met several individuals these last two days who are doing some amazing activities with needy youth. I have lots of ideas how are church and others can provide support these folks with very little money. I need to read Three Cups of Tea. Mortensen is a great model for partnership development though I hear some of his schools are being destroyed. I wonder how his relationships are?
I really wish I had a few more weeks here, as it is there is just one to go and I am just feeling comfortable in the community. Bethlehem, in its simplest form, and away from the tourism frenzy, is really a lovely little town. I find the people always willing to help me, and do I need it. The Arabic phrase I learned today when near the church of Nativity area is Onnn Ish Hon. Which means, I am from here! (don't bother me with trinkets).
Just walked back through the now deserted part of the old city of Bethlehem, from Manger square, (because all the shops close at sunset) where I had a glass of wine with a good friend here. The discussion we had was around how does one support the local people who are doing some amazing activities, while not interfering with the local politics. What I learned again was how important it is that any partnership should be a mutual affair; meaning both sides are equal partners in any venture together. For myself, I learned that I need to begin linking people and groups at home with small grassroots projects that are all about relationships. Supporting a young man with a degree in Sports fitness and no job, with teenagers who have nothing to do with their time, is a good investment.
This morning I had traveled back the 7 kms to Daoud's farm via the local bus, and then hiked the mile from the highway past the settlements, up the hill and into the valley below where the farm is. There I found a group from the States there with Jihan, hearing the famlies' story, and a group of German, Canadian and Swedish youth digging a sistern for water. What a place to be! I wheeled a barrel of rocks brought out from the 15 feet hole where two women volunteers were chopping and chipping the stone just to feel a part of the ambiance.
I moved on to quickly take pictures of the developments on land and the Obama Olive tree I planted for him yesterday. Daoud and Jihan have dug out a six foot deep hole in the ground and built a home for themselves which is not visible from Israeli air surveilance. It is complete with two bedroom, a kitchen and bath, all undergroudn. They are anticipating getting cut off from Bethlehem very soon.
Daher, Daoud's brother,drove me down into the village past the women's center that our church supports, as I wanted to capture a picture of the beginnings of a new wall that will separate Daoud from the village, before returning to Bet Jala and lunch with Jihan and her kids. I listened to the girls each play the piano, and played Spider Man with young, five year old Bishara. They filled a void for me that I miss with my own grandchildren.
I have met several individuals these last two days who are doing some amazing activities with needy youth. I have lots of ideas how are church and others can provide support these folks with very little money. I need to read Three Cups of Tea. Mortensen is a great model for partnership development though I hear some of his schools are being destroyed. I wonder how his relationships are?
I really wish I had a few more weeks here, as it is there is just one to go and I am just feeling comfortable in the community. Bethlehem, in its simplest form, and away from the tourism frenzy, is really a lovely little town. I find the people always willing to help me, and do I need it. The Arabic phrase I learned today when near the church of Nativity area is Onnn Ish Hon. Which means, I am from here! (don't bother me with trinkets).
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
From the Streets of Bethlehem and the Local Internet Cafe
This is my second day in Bethlehem. I met with my friend Christie Reiners, who lives in the city six months a year. She is from California and is supp0rted by her Pesbyterian congregation there. She visited our church this summer and spoke to some members who are contemplating a trip to the Holy Land in the coming year. Christie knows everyone, it seems in this city, and that fact is verified as we seem to be greeted warmly by some one every where we go. As I mentioned, this particular trip, my fifth entry in four years, was quite different from previous trips. I always come to learn. This time I was opened to some new experiences, and Christie's contacts here were an excellent place to begin.
Just today, we visited the Captain of the Palestinian Tourist Police force who is also is a member of one of the largest families in the nearby village of Beit Javar, a center for quarrying exceptional Palestinian Stone. The Quarry has the potential to fuel a stagnant and captive economy when the walls finally come down. The potential take over by a local settlement though is a real threat, thereby preventing any real chance that the Palestinian people can have a vital economy, much less a future. Christie, through the young man I met and others, are trying to call attention to the plight of the workers here through union groups in the States. It is they, who could truly identify with the plight of the quarry workers here, she believes. Last night, we met with a Palestinian film maker who is planning to do a story on the stone workers and the potential problems they face in developing a badly needed industry. The ramifications of such growth would have immediate effect on some 150,000 Palestinians and their families.
We also walked down from the church of Nativity to visit Zougby Zougby at the Wi'am Center (Cordial or Civility) which is a conflict resolution center that provides training of woman and youth in the area. In the tradition of Arab hospitality, we drank our fifth glass of tea for the day, and heard about the work of his center. He also shared some hommus and filaphel before we returned to Naivity Square and a visit with a wood carver friend of mine who was crafting some gifts for me at home. We then walked across the city to meet with a family who house a center in their home to deal with the needs of some 15 handicapped children who receive no services from the schools nor community. The family provides and individualized educational experience for them on a daily basis. Most are from the nearby Refugee camps. We had tea and a local desert together as we heard Waffa share her family story and the need for support for their selfless act of humanity.
I walked back to hotel, again filled with amazement with the persistence of the Palestinian people, despite the windy, rainy cold day amidst the shadow of the walls of occupation. Tomorrow is another day.
Just today, we visited the Captain of the Palestinian Tourist Police force who is also is a member of one of the largest families in the nearby village of Beit Javar, a center for quarrying exceptional Palestinian Stone. The Quarry has the potential to fuel a stagnant and captive economy when the walls finally come down. The potential take over by a local settlement though is a real threat, thereby preventing any real chance that the Palestinian people can have a vital economy, much less a future. Christie, through the young man I met and others, are trying to call attention to the plight of the workers here through union groups in the States. It is they, who could truly identify with the plight of the quarry workers here, she believes. Last night, we met with a Palestinian film maker who is planning to do a story on the stone workers and the potential problems they face in developing a badly needed industry. The ramifications of such growth would have immediate effect on some 150,000 Palestinians and their families.
We also walked down from the church of Nativity to visit Zougby Zougby at the Wi'am Center (Cordial or Civility) which is a conflict resolution center that provides training of woman and youth in the area. In the tradition of Arab hospitality, we drank our fifth glass of tea for the day, and heard about the work of his center. He also shared some hommus and filaphel before we returned to Naivity Square and a visit with a wood carver friend of mine who was crafting some gifts for me at home. We then walked across the city to meet with a family who house a center in their home to deal with the needs of some 15 handicapped children who receive no services from the schools nor community. The family provides and individualized educational experience for them on a daily basis. Most are from the nearby Refugee camps. We had tea and a local desert together as we heard Waffa share her family story and the need for support for their selfless act of humanity.
I walked back to hotel, again filled with amazement with the persistence of the Palestinian people, despite the windy, rainy cold day amidst the shadow of the walls of occupation. Tomorrow is another day.
Monday, November 2, 2009
From the city of Siderot to Bethlehem
Much time has passed since I left D.C last Wednesday. I have been on the move since then, with little access to internet. This trip is very different from any I have been on. All the others were more formal, either Iwas traveling on a delegation, or attending a conference. The only fixed poin, prior to my trip, was my attempt to join the Interfaith Peace Builder's Tour group in Jerusalem on the 28th of October. I wound up in different hotel nearby them that night, which worked out well, actually.
The next morning we travelled together to a rural kibbutz near Gaza- Zikim and heard from a spokesman there who shared the history of his kibbutz. He is an American from San Francisco who was disillusioned with life in the States during the 60's, and looked for a new start in Israel in 1967. His empathy with the plight of the Gazans was powerfully told. He exposed the human side of the war, and shared how his Kibbutz had depended upon the labor from Gaza for labor for years, to do labor on their farms. They also were nostalgic about the happy days that had shared with them, attending each others' weddings and celebrations
I had a wonderful day, also with the Interfaith Peacebuilders group on a tour in the south to the city of Achelon, just north of Gaza as well as yo Erez Gate at Gaza and nearby Sederot. By far, hearing the story of Nomika Zion, and Israeli activist from "The other Voice" and her neigbhor, Erik Yellin,talk about their experiences with the Kassam rocket attacks, was stirring. Nomika, wrote the article that we received last year called 'Not in my name". (I recommend checking it out on the web if you haven't read it. It was a courageous act on her part. Being a peace and justice advocate is a lonely job in her area of the world. ) It was a letter addressed to the world, calling for an end to the bloodshed in Gaza, and sending a mesage that what occured there was not Jewish. I remember reading it and being stirred by her courage amongst a very hostile community, who interpreted her act as treasonous. The story of the neighbor, whose house and family were hit by a random rocket, was equally chilling. But still, both thought the incursion by the troops, and the incessant bombing, was not justified. They though such actions would only incurr more violence. They both called on us as Americans to complain to our government, register support for Gladstone report, call for sanctions that would end the support for such atrocities, and to save us from ourselves."
Yaniv, a member of Combatants for Peace who visited in our church last April, picked me up soon from the home of Namika and we drove south to his father's farm or "Maschad". It is not a kibbutz in that members of the community are permitted to make a profit though can gain help from the community if times get difficult. I joined the whole family that night to celebrate "shabot' along with seventeen other family members. It was a wonderful experience, and I of course, had a great time with the seven or more children who quickly enticed me away to play with them. I wish I had brought my "love you forever Book". The south of Israel, The Negeve Desert, is really beautiful, and quite isolated from the rest the world. It is easy to forget about "the other" and for that moment, that there was even an occupation going on..
The time with Yanif was special too. We had met him last spring on the Combatant for Peace tour. He was an Israeli soldier who layed down his weapon. I think I wrote about it in last year's blog. He invited me to his Mashad west of Gaza. His family had a farm there and he built his own home out of discarded materials. It was an experience just to spend the night there. He is a young man of 37 years, close in age to my own sons. We were kindred spirits, and enjoyed each other'company. I admire his courage to speak out in his community about violence. His family's support for him was inspiring too, though the come from a different era. Towards the end of the stay with him, we took a walk in the fields surrounding his village and he shared his early years as child, and time with children in the nearby Arab village. Those were wonderful memories, as he and his Arab and Jewish friends roamed the expansive free space that surrounded them. He drove me to the Bus Stop, and saw me aboard as I headed back after sabbath and sundown to Jerusalem where Iwould spend the night, before heading out the next morning for breakfast with my friend Daoud and his family in Beit Jala, outside of Bethlehem.
There in Beit Jala, I met Tony, Daoud's brother, and bumped into Christy Reiners, a fellow Presbyterian, and leader of my second tour with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship. She was heading towards a bus stop just a few feet from where Daoud let me office. This is a truly a small planet and a small place. The Interfaith Peace Builders group was at Daher's orchard so it was perfect timing for me to talk about Fotonna and the work we were doing to support Daoud and his family. I wish I had a couple of copies of Mark Braverman's book, The Fatal Embrace" and copies of the resource guide "Steadfast Hope: A Palestinian Quest for Peace" to distribute. While Douad wasn't able to be there with the group, the setting alone was all the group needed to conclude that it was a worthwhile project. Brother Daher and his sister, spoke from their hearts, a powerfuls story of persistence and courage.
I checked out the olive trees we had planted last year and they are beginning to mature. I also planted a tree for Obama, and plan to send a picture of it to him and an appeal to end the settlement expansions which are eating up Palestinian land by the acres each. It is human tragedy.
I am now in Bethlehem. Having a shower and clean clothes was a blessing. I must close for now. The trip has been rich and stimulating. Another amazing experience. I am grateful for my good friends here. Love, Bill
The next morning we travelled together to a rural kibbutz near Gaza- Zikim and heard from a spokesman there who shared the history of his kibbutz. He is an American from San Francisco who was disillusioned with life in the States during the 60's, and looked for a new start in Israel in 1967. His empathy with the plight of the Gazans was powerfully told. He exposed the human side of the war, and shared how his Kibbutz had depended upon the labor from Gaza for labor for years, to do labor on their farms. They also were nostalgic about the happy days that had shared with them, attending each others' weddings and celebrations
I had a wonderful day, also with the Interfaith Peacebuilders group on a tour in the south to the city of Achelon, just north of Gaza as well as yo Erez Gate at Gaza and nearby Sederot. By far, hearing the story of Nomika Zion, and Israeli activist from "The other Voice" and her neigbhor, Erik Yellin,talk about their experiences with the Kassam rocket attacks, was stirring. Nomika, wrote the article that we received last year called 'Not in my name". (I recommend checking it out on the web if you haven't read it. It was a courageous act on her part. Being a peace and justice advocate is a lonely job in her area of the world. ) It was a letter addressed to the world, calling for an end to the bloodshed in Gaza, and sending a mesage that what occured there was not Jewish. I remember reading it and being stirred by her courage amongst a very hostile community, who interpreted her act as treasonous. The story of the neighbor, whose house and family were hit by a random rocket, was equally chilling. But still, both thought the incursion by the troops, and the incessant bombing, was not justified. They though such actions would only incurr more violence. They both called on us as Americans to complain to our government, register support for Gladstone report, call for sanctions that would end the support for such atrocities, and to save us from ourselves."
Yaniv, a member of Combatants for Peace who visited in our church last April, picked me up soon from the home of Namika and we drove south to his father's farm or "Maschad". It is not a kibbutz in that members of the community are permitted to make a profit though can gain help from the community if times get difficult. I joined the whole family that night to celebrate "shabot' along with seventeen other family members. It was a wonderful experience, and I of course, had a great time with the seven or more children who quickly enticed me away to play with them. I wish I had brought my "love you forever Book". The south of Israel, The Negeve Desert, is really beautiful, and quite isolated from the rest the world. It is easy to forget about "the other" and for that moment, that there was even an occupation going on..
The time with Yanif was special too. We had met him last spring on the Combatant for Peace tour. He was an Israeli soldier who layed down his weapon. I think I wrote about it in last year's blog. He invited me to his Mashad west of Gaza. His family had a farm there and he built his own home out of discarded materials. It was an experience just to spend the night there. He is a young man of 37 years, close in age to my own sons. We were kindred spirits, and enjoyed each other'company. I admire his courage to speak out in his community about violence. His family's support for him was inspiring too, though the come from a different era. Towards the end of the stay with him, we took a walk in the fields surrounding his village and he shared his early years as child, and time with children in the nearby Arab village. Those were wonderful memories, as he and his Arab and Jewish friends roamed the expansive free space that surrounded them. He drove me to the Bus Stop, and saw me aboard as I headed back after sabbath and sundown to Jerusalem where Iwould spend the night, before heading out the next morning for breakfast with my friend Daoud and his family in Beit Jala, outside of Bethlehem.
There in Beit Jala, I met Tony, Daoud's brother, and bumped into Christy Reiners, a fellow Presbyterian, and leader of my second tour with the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship. She was heading towards a bus stop just a few feet from where Daoud let me office. This is a truly a small planet and a small place. The Interfaith Peace Builders group was at Daher's orchard so it was perfect timing for me to talk about Fotonna and the work we were doing to support Daoud and his family. I wish I had a couple of copies of Mark Braverman's book, The Fatal Embrace" and copies of the resource guide "Steadfast Hope: A Palestinian Quest for Peace" to distribute. While Douad wasn't able to be there with the group, the setting alone was all the group needed to conclude that it was a worthwhile project. Brother Daher and his sister, spoke from their hearts, a powerfuls story of persistence and courage.
I checked out the olive trees we had planted last year and they are beginning to mature. I also planted a tree for Obama, and plan to send a picture of it to him and an appeal to end the settlement expansions which are eating up Palestinian land by the acres each. It is human tragedy.
I am now in Bethlehem. Having a shower and clean clothes was a blessing. I must close for now. The trip has been rich and stimulating. Another amazing experience. I am grateful for my good friends here. Love, Bill
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Have Ya Been There?
Now have ya been there, have ya really, been there?
Have ya crossed the Allenby Bridge by day from Jordan
When such passage through the terminal maybe endless in time,
Where your success depends on the mind of a youth with a gun
Who knows you not by name.
Have seen the City of Jericho, whose walls came a tumblin’ down,
Been replaced by the new one of wire and steel
So as not to threaten the ones who farm their lands beyond?
Have ya driven up from the Dead Sea, passed the shanties of the Bedouin who flee,
Not because they are reckless, and feckless but because they simply are not free?
Have ya passed by the new Settlements,
that form new walls to the East, of the City that once was the scene of the Holy ones and their priests?
Have ya passed through the gates of that City whose babe was born long, long ago,
And is now a place so surrounded that even the wise men can’t go.
Have ya experienced the check points in origin that are meant to secure,
But instead, further divide the land, its people and their mature?
Have you traveled up from Ben Gurion, on up to the Galilee, raced down passed the city of Jericho, across to Jerusalem, Joppa and the Sea,
Without even a trace of the secrets that are within, the
Nearly four hundred miles of concrete for which it is a sin.
Have ya slept in a cave of the shepherds, pulled olives from their trees, and tried to take them to the markets, lined with walls as far as you can see?
Have ya been there? Have you really seen?
Have ya been to the old city of Hebron, that has endured death and desolation,
Walked down its old streets, passed the market shops
Now shuttered below from their clients, and stormed from above by the rain of garbage, and the epithets of the new “owners”?
Have ya been to the temple of worship where the bodies of the patriarchs abide, and reflect on the three great religions whose
Paths are more closely aligned, than imagined?
Have ya been there?
Have ya stayed with the families in Beit Sahour, whose Christian heritage is fading?
Not only because they’re sealed off from their roots, in the villages that were long ago invaded,
But because they can’t make a living, they and their families must go.
Have you walked the camps around Bethlehem,
Whose numbers near 20,000 or so, and whose children wander the Alleys, shooting cap guns and throwing stones,
Fighting an enemy they have seen take away their fathers and brothers and so?
Have you gone to the gates of Gaza - Rafa, Erez to name just a few?
Where inhabitants live like prisoners surrounded on all sides and the view?
Where the glass windows of the Crossing at Erez appear,
As some mall we might see in the land of the free, yet denies the tales within.
But the truth lies for those to hear, with over a million and half human beings,
Trapped by the fence that denies them their defense,
And Like shooting fish in a barrel, vulnerable and exposed.
Have ya seen the hungry children there, the men unemployed and depressed,
Because they have no meaning, no life and so they have much distress.
Until they promise to respect their captors, they have little of real life left.
But how can that be, from the land of the free, of mercy and justice.
A State that denies so much,
Must really have an alternative agenda, for which they feel is their destiny or some other disguised motive.
The captors have really lost their souls it seems.
Who can blame those within for their rockets, when a generation of children have nothing
To dream about, to strive for, to reach out amongst the forgotten.
So take a trip and see for yourself, and get up from that table!
Go to the land of strained enchantment if you are able.
Don’t take a route of comfort, nor just to see the historical stones.
Travel to its cities within the walls themselves, to the camps, and valleys below,
The settlements that rim above, the stolen trees and demolished homes.
For that is where you’ll find me, amongst the living stones.
Bill Plitt
Feb. 9, 2009
Now have ya been there, have ya really, been there?
Have ya crossed the Allenby Bridge by day from Jordan
When such passage through the terminal maybe endless in time,
Where your success depends on the mind of a youth with a gun
Who knows you not by name.
Have seen the City of Jericho, whose walls came a tumblin’ down,
Been replaced by the new one of wire and steel
So as not to threaten the ones who farm their lands beyond?
Have ya driven up from the Dead Sea, passed the shanties of the Bedouin who flee,
Not because they are reckless, and feckless but because they simply are not free?
Have ya passed by the new Settlements,
that form new walls to the East, of the City that once was the scene of the Holy ones and their priests?
Have ya passed through the gates of that City whose babe was born long, long ago,
And is now a place so surrounded that even the wise men can’t go.
Have ya experienced the check points in origin that are meant to secure,
But instead, further divide the land, its people and their mature?
Have you traveled up from Ben Gurion, on up to the Galilee, raced down passed the city of Jericho, across to Jerusalem, Joppa and the Sea,
Without even a trace of the secrets that are within, the
Nearly four hundred miles of concrete for which it is a sin.
Have ya slept in a cave of the shepherds, pulled olives from their trees, and tried to take them to the markets, lined with walls as far as you can see?
Have ya been there? Have you really seen?
Have ya been to the old city of Hebron, that has endured death and desolation,
Walked down its old streets, passed the market shops
Now shuttered below from their clients, and stormed from above by the rain of garbage, and the epithets of the new “owners”?
Have ya been to the temple of worship where the bodies of the patriarchs abide, and reflect on the three great religions whose
Paths are more closely aligned, than imagined?
Have ya been there?
Have ya stayed with the families in Beit Sahour, whose Christian heritage is fading?
Not only because they’re sealed off from their roots, in the villages that were long ago invaded,
But because they can’t make a living, they and their families must go.
Have you walked the camps around Bethlehem,
Whose numbers near 20,000 or so, and whose children wander the Alleys, shooting cap guns and throwing stones,
Fighting an enemy they have seen take away their fathers and brothers and so?
Have you gone to the gates of Gaza - Rafa, Erez to name just a few?
Where inhabitants live like prisoners surrounded on all sides and the view?
Where the glass windows of the Crossing at Erez appear,
As some mall we might see in the land of the free, yet denies the tales within.
But the truth lies for those to hear, with over a million and half human beings,
Trapped by the fence that denies them their defense,
And Like shooting fish in a barrel, vulnerable and exposed.
Have ya seen the hungry children there, the men unemployed and depressed,
Because they have no meaning, no life and so they have much distress.
Until they promise to respect their captors, they have little of real life left.
But how can that be, from the land of the free, of mercy and justice.
A State that denies so much,
Must really have an alternative agenda, for which they feel is their destiny or some other disguised motive.
The captors have really lost their souls it seems.
Who can blame those within for their rockets, when a generation of children have nothing
To dream about, to strive for, to reach out amongst the forgotten.
So take a trip and see for yourself, and get up from that table!
Go to the land of strained enchantment if you are able.
Don’t take a route of comfort, nor just to see the historical stones.
Travel to its cities within the walls themselves, to the camps, and valleys below,
The settlements that rim above, the stolen trees and demolished homes.
For that is where you’ll find me, amongst the living stones.
Bill Plitt
Feb. 9, 2009
“Think about the Other”
Yaniv Reshef, a former Israeli soldier, watched from a distance of 12 miles, the bursting mushroom clouds high above the Palestinian cities and towns of Gaza caused by exploding bombs dropped by fleeting F-16’s. He felt the ground, farmed by his family for as long as he could remember; shake beneath his feet with each new cloud.
He thought about his own experiences as a foot soldier in one of the most elite and feared brigades called the Golani. Memories of times when he threw shock grenades through the windows of sleeping Palestinians for fun, or held his gun to the head of a child within an innocent household, now stirred his conscience.
Yaniv also recalled the meetings he helped organize for Combatants for Peace in the neighboring Israel town of Sderot so that the people there, who had been recipients of crude rocket fire from the other side of the prison-like fence, could hear his Palestinian and Israeli partners tell their stories.
Bassam grew up in the ancient city of Hebron, and remembers as a young boy seeing an elder in his community shot from behind by an Israeli soldier. The memory remained with him. At 17, he was caught planning an attack on Israeli troops, and spent seven and half years in prison for that act. Inside those walls he learned Hebrew, and saw a film about the Holocaust. He heard the story of the other. He knew that continued violence was not an answer.
In 2005, he co-founded Combatants for Peace and like Yaniv and others, he refused to use weapons again. Even when his 10 year old daughter Abir was gunned down two years later by an Israeli soldier from behind as she left her classroom, Bassam remained committed to ending the violence.
On March 24th, over 100 gathered in the sanctuary at Trinity to hear the stories of the two former soldiers who hadn’t known each other before the 30-day tour of East Coast cities, but who had become intimately close during those days on the road. Many of those in attendance came from outside the Arlington community. What they heard was riveting. What they recognized was a courage of conscience for which the Combatants had received an award just a week before at the Peace Abbey in Sherborn, MA.
Later that week, at the closing ceremony for the tour at St. Columba’s Episcopal Church in D.C, Bassam was unable to attend the meeting. Yaniv filled in for him, and told Bassam’s story which revealed how deeply he had come to understand his new friend’s inner voice and outer experience. Growing up just several miles from one another in the southern regions of their now separated lands, neither of them was given that opportunity to know each other before. At the closing, Yaniv translated a poem by a famous Palestinian poet, Mahmood Dawish.
Think about the Other
When you are making your breakfast, think about the other.
Don’t forget the food for the doves.
When you are making your wars, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who seek peace.
When you are paying your water bills, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who drink from the clouds.
When you are returning to home, to your home, think about the others.
Don’t forget those who live in tents.
When you are sleeping and counting the stars, think about the others.
There are some who can’t find a place for sleep.
When you are given your spirit a space to fly, think about the others.
Think about those who lost their right for words.
When you are thinking about the others, the distant others,
Think about yourself, and say, “I wish I were a candle in the dark.”
The Kibbutz and the Village: A lesson of hope
The Kibbutz and the Village: A Lesson of Hope
By Bill Plitt
On the final day of my recent trip to Israel and Palestine in November ‘08, in the old city of Jerusalem, where I was staying, a colleague suggested that I take a diversion on my way home and venture up just south of Galilee to the Israeli Kibbutz Metzer. So, along with my Quaker traveling companion and one other American, we hired a taxi and drove north for nearly two hours to the interior of the state of Israel, to a place I hadn’t been before.
As I sat down in one of the four, plain metal chairs around the small table in the trailer office of the Kibbutz Metzer, I stirred my coffee slowly and wondered about the appearance of the commune’s simplicity. I wondered also about the journey of its people and those in neighboring Israeli Arab villages. Dov Avital, the secretary general for the kibbutz, who had poured us each a cup of coffee, as is custom among the people of the Middle East, was as eager to tell his story as we were to listen. We knew little about this place that grew out of the idealism of the 50’s. We were not prepared for what he was about to tell us.
On Nov.10th, 2002, a lone Palestinian gunman entered the kibbutz and murdered three adults and two children. The mother had just finished reading her children a bedtime story. This violent act shook the kibbutz and neighboring villages, and the shock reverberated throughout Israel. What events could have led up to this?
Dov shared with us that in 1953, one hundred and twenty Argentinean émigrés formed the kibbutz in a barren area in central Israel, a practice that had been replicated many times since 1948 when Palestinian villages had been emptied and Arabs expelled during what was called ‘the war of Independence’ by the Jews or ‘the disaster’ by the Palestinians. In this case, the land was taken by the émigrés as granted by the “Armistice Treaty” of ‘48. From the very beginning, however, the founders chose to practice coexistence with the surrounding villages whose people were Arab and who today make up about 20% of the Israeli citizenry.
The cooperation was two-way from the very beginning. When the Kibbutz could not locate viable water, the nearby Israeli Arab village of Meiser connected Metzer to its own small well; that action would not be forgotten. Other acts of kindness would follow over the 50 years of working together: dousing a threatening brush fire together near the Kibbutz; sharing sports activities with neighboring villages, including the use of Metzer’s swimming pool; even forming a joint soccer team which competed in the regional league. In the words of Avital, the community ‘became a close knit, multi-generation tradition.’
In 2002, a few weeks before the murders in the kibbutz, the Metzer’s board protested against the building of the ‘security fence’ across the Green Line because it would cut through the olive groves belonging to the West Bank village of Kefin; it would deprive the farmers of 60% of their fields. Metzer’s leaders had scheduled a meeting with Israeli Defense Ministry for the 11th of Nov. to argue the case. The meeting never happened, for on the evening of the 10th, the terrorist committed his horrible acts. But the long history of coexistence between the Kibbutz and the neighboring villages endured the onslaught. The terrorist was not from those villages.
Despite the emotions that rocked Israel, the secretary general said at the time, “Although the thirst for revenge is natural, we need the strength to remember our message and remain firm believers in our desire to live in peace with our neighbors.” He then said, “Most Palestinians are not terrorists.” During Shiva, the Jewish period of mourning following death, many Palestinians from several villages visited the Kibbutz to express their sorrow.
Even after this tragedy, the members of the Kibbutz continued to extend invitations to maintain their long history of coexistence with Arabs across the Green Line. In 2004, when the ‘security fence’ or ‘separation wall’ was constructed, it prevented the villagers from tending and irrigating their olive trees that lay between the Green Line and the new “separation” fence. The Kibbutz offered to construct a tunnel under the wall to receive sewage, circulate the waste in their own holding ponds, and pump the water back to their neighbors for irrigation.
As we heard this story, I was truly amazed at the contrast between what I had seen over the previous two weeks of my visit in the occupied areas of the West Bank and at the Erez Crossing in Gaza, a walled prison containing more than a million people, and the Metzer-Meiser experience.
As we prepared to catch the train from Haifa to Tel Aviv, we couldn’t help but be captivated by the thought that in the darkest hours, human beings are capable of drawing from their common well of humanity, and as President Obama put it in his inauguration speech, “extending hands and unclenching fists”. We thanked Dov for his story. Our coffee remained cold and untouched. The lesson of hope warmed our hearts.
By Bill Plitt
On the final day of my recent trip to Israel and Palestine in November ‘08, in the old city of Jerusalem, where I was staying, a colleague suggested that I take a diversion on my way home and venture up just south of Galilee to the Israeli Kibbutz Metzer. So, along with my Quaker traveling companion and one other American, we hired a taxi and drove north for nearly two hours to the interior of the state of Israel, to a place I hadn’t been before.
As I sat down in one of the four, plain metal chairs around the small table in the trailer office of the Kibbutz Metzer, I stirred my coffee slowly and wondered about the appearance of the commune’s simplicity. I wondered also about the journey of its people and those in neighboring Israeli Arab villages. Dov Avital, the secretary general for the kibbutz, who had poured us each a cup of coffee, as is custom among the people of the Middle East, was as eager to tell his story as we were to listen. We knew little about this place that grew out of the idealism of the 50’s. We were not prepared for what he was about to tell us.
On Nov.10th, 2002, a lone Palestinian gunman entered the kibbutz and murdered three adults and two children. The mother had just finished reading her children a bedtime story. This violent act shook the kibbutz and neighboring villages, and the shock reverberated throughout Israel. What events could have led up to this?
Dov shared with us that in 1953, one hundred and twenty Argentinean émigrés formed the kibbutz in a barren area in central Israel, a practice that had been replicated many times since 1948 when Palestinian villages had been emptied and Arabs expelled during what was called ‘the war of Independence’ by the Jews or ‘the disaster’ by the Palestinians. In this case, the land was taken by the émigrés as granted by the “Armistice Treaty” of ‘48. From the very beginning, however, the founders chose to practice coexistence with the surrounding villages whose people were Arab and who today make up about 20% of the Israeli citizenry.
The cooperation was two-way from the very beginning. When the Kibbutz could not locate viable water, the nearby Israeli Arab village of Meiser connected Metzer to its own small well; that action would not be forgotten. Other acts of kindness would follow over the 50 years of working together: dousing a threatening brush fire together near the Kibbutz; sharing sports activities with neighboring villages, including the use of Metzer’s swimming pool; even forming a joint soccer team which competed in the regional league. In the words of Avital, the community ‘became a close knit, multi-generation tradition.’
In 2002, a few weeks before the murders in the kibbutz, the Metzer’s board protested against the building of the ‘security fence’ across the Green Line because it would cut through the olive groves belonging to the West Bank village of Kefin; it would deprive the farmers of 60% of their fields. Metzer’s leaders had scheduled a meeting with Israeli Defense Ministry for the 11th of Nov. to argue the case. The meeting never happened, for on the evening of the 10th, the terrorist committed his horrible acts. But the long history of coexistence between the Kibbutz and the neighboring villages endured the onslaught. The terrorist was not from those villages.
Despite the emotions that rocked Israel, the secretary general said at the time, “Although the thirst for revenge is natural, we need the strength to remember our message and remain firm believers in our desire to live in peace with our neighbors.” He then said, “Most Palestinians are not terrorists.” During Shiva, the Jewish period of mourning following death, many Palestinians from several villages visited the Kibbutz to express their sorrow.
Even after this tragedy, the members of the Kibbutz continued to extend invitations to maintain their long history of coexistence with Arabs across the Green Line. In 2004, when the ‘security fence’ or ‘separation wall’ was constructed, it prevented the villagers from tending and irrigating their olive trees that lay between the Green Line and the new “separation” fence. The Kibbutz offered to construct a tunnel under the wall to receive sewage, circulate the waste in their own holding ponds, and pump the water back to their neighbors for irrigation.
As we heard this story, I was truly amazed at the contrast between what I had seen over the previous two weeks of my visit in the occupied areas of the West Bank and at the Erez Crossing in Gaza, a walled prison containing more than a million people, and the Metzer-Meiser experience.
As we prepared to catch the train from Haifa to Tel Aviv, we couldn’t help but be captivated by the thought that in the darkest hours, human beings are capable of drawing from their common well of humanity, and as President Obama put it in his inauguration speech, “extending hands and unclenching fists”. We thanked Dov for his story. Our coffee remained cold and untouched. The lesson of hope warmed our hearts.
“The Nakba, Memory, Reality and Beyond”
The Seventh International Sabeel Conference, Nazareth/Jerusalem, 2008
By Bill Plitt
Josef Ben-Eliezer is a holocaust survivor. As a young Israeli soldier in 1948, he participated in the “Nakba”, the expulsion of Palestinians from their homes and villages. His military actions in Ramla, a small village near the coast, recalled his own childhood when his family was forced out of their home in Poland, marched to the Russian border, and taken by train to the camps of Siberia.
He shared his story with us one evening at the Sabeel Conference which met that night in the Israeli City of Nazareth. It was a gathering of 175 Christians from five continents concerned about peace with justice. Josef’s story was powerful, and he recognized that what he had done in1948, was precisely what had happened to him at the hands of the Nazis, a few short years before. He no longer could remain in the Israeli army or in the country to which he had been drawn. His strong need for personal survival, as well as the drive to preserve his new homeland’s existence, dissipated as he realized the connection between his own horrors as a ten year old, and those he was inflicting on others, as a soldier.
You could have heard a pin drop during his retelling of the story. Every word was measured. There was not a dry eye in the room, when Josef described his return to Israel some years later, and his subsequent conversation with a survivor of Ramla. It was then that he revealed, he had asked for forgiveness from the Palestinian for any pain he may have wrought as soldier.
When Josef had finished his story, a lone Palestinian of similar age, rose slowly from the back of the hall and said in a critical tone, “I appreciate the sincerity of your words, but it is not enough. More like you are needed to stand up and share your stories. I thank you for your courage.” He paused and then said, “I wish you many long and happy years!” The two former adversaries shared that night a message of reconciliation and forgiveness, two necessary ingredients for true peace with justice. The moment was symbolic of the entire week as we heard more of such stories and more attempts to disclose the Palestinian narrative from both sides, so long buried in time.
After a week of digging more deeply into the events of what happened to the 750,000 Palestinians who had been forced to leave their villages in 1948, as well as hearing attempts by some Israelis to right the wrongs of that era, the conference participants were greatly moved to make their international presence known in some meaningful, non-violent way. 48 participants rose together that night in the Deheisheh Refugee Camp, outside of Bethlehem, planned our strategy and rented a bus to Gaza the next morning. We could no longer be content to just sit and listen to more stories of pain. It was a call to action.
The news report from the day before indicated that the Israeli Military in Gaza had refused representatives of non-governmental Organizations (NGO’s) their right of entry into the city for a second straight day. The bus arrived at the terminal building of the Gaza gate of Eretz, a large, modern edifice with a glass facade that stood three stories high, and extended the width of parking lot some 150 yards. The building denied the presence on the other side of a city of 1.5 million Palestinians under siege. Only the flies revealed their existence.
We were there to stand in solidarity with the health care organizations and media that had been denied rights guaranteed by international law. Mairead Maguire, a Noble Peace Laureate from Ireland, stood with us, as we encircled the NGO’s, who were holding an impromptu staff meeting in the center of the empty parking lot, to discuss the implications of being prevented entry into what appeared to be the world’s largest outdoor prison.
The next day, the NGO’s were allowed to enter, and shipments of food crossed the gate for the first time that week. There is no indication that our presence made any difference. But the NGO’s felt supported by our presence. We had felt we had made an attempt to act on our call to stand with those who mourn. At that point, the conference became more than a series of panel discussions and stories. It had become a call for an end of the occupation for both Israelis and Palestinians.
The week was full of rich worship experiences, memorable visits to destroyed villages and the stories of their inhabitants, stirring lectures by distinguished scholars like Rashid Khalidi, impassioned speeches by diplomats such as the former Prime Minister of the Netherlands, Andreas Van Agt, and descriptions of heroic acts by both Israeli and Arab citizens to expose the horrors of the disaster, the Nokba of 1948.
Submitted by Bill Plitt, December 23, 2008
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