This is my fourth day in Israel. The longest period of time I have ever spent this side of the "green line" and every changing boundary. The contrasts of life in Israel for the Palestinians are sharp compared to life in the occupied territories. The "occupation" I fear is more subtle on this side of the  Line but just as destructive. I am reminded of my experiences in the three day prison stay I had during my Outward Bound days in Colorado. After two days. I learned that there is the phenomena of choice between doing "good time" and " hard time". Good time is when you decide to leave all connections with the outside world, and hard time is when you try to maintain contact with your family and previous activities. Such an approach as the latter means that the days drag on for you as an inmate. Most don't have a choice.  I liken the "choices" to what the Israeli Palestinian must do in order to survive, or at least consider. The discrimination,both subtle and apparent, is restrictive in different ways.

This past year, from January to June, according to Mosawa, the Israeli Arab human Rights Organization, the Knesset considered over 37 bills to restrict the Arab citizen lives such limiting moving into some areas of the State, or denying the Arab to live with a spouse from the West Bank Israel. The door is closing more and more.  Most all Arabs in Israel speak both Arabic and Hebrew. I have spent some time with a family here who have been successful academically and vocationally. However, I sense there are some limitations that I need to learn more about such as access to certain higher income jobs because of the importance of service in the army as key to one's future. But in spite of any form of discrimination, they persist.  Imagine what they could do with greater opportunities.

Life with the family here in Isofia is quite wonderful. The daughters of the family who live
nearby come regularly with their children.  It makes a connection for me with my own family.
By now, I am a familiar face to all of them.  When I played my harmonica last night, it was an instant
success, and the harp continues to do its magic.

On Tuesday, through the graces of Ted and Jane Settle who are in the village of Ibilin for the school
year as volunteer teachers, I had a meeting with a small group of Menonites from Canada.  Cathy
Bergen, from the Quaker Meeting Center in Ramallah, was leading the group.  We met with
Father Elias Chacour, the Archbishop of the Greek Church in the Galilee.  I last heard him at
opening worship at the General Assemly meeting in 2008 when he said, |"pray not the Palestinians,
they will be fine.  Pray for the Israeli peace activists, they are in great need".  When I mentioned
that to him, he said, "And today, there are no more peace advocates".

I was struck by Abuna's approach to the group when he dismissed his piety, and said,  "I have
nothing that important today/  IF you have read my books, you know my story.  If not, you should
buy my book when you leave,  the first one."  And then he said, "What you all are thinking, is more
important.  What brings you here?"  And then, each of us shared our story.  \\After  he heard from
us, he thanks us, and talked about conditions at the present for the Palestinians.  He referred to what
he heard the group say previous and made ties to that with his own narrative.

As he told his story, he talked about the roots of the present people and remarked that we are simple\
people, "We live close to the ground.  We are farmers" Jesus of 2,000 years ago walked among us, attended our weddings, visited our homes, "hung around with our children".  Abuna the said, "I have a fig tree outside my house.  Every time I walk beneath it, I can\t help but think about Jesus's
story.  He then referred to Pentacost and that Jesus did two things.  First he cleansed the earth and then sent the Holy Spirit.  He said that Jesus called us all to be children of God.  That applies to us
today, each one of us.

In reference today's Palestine, he said, "My passport has a 02 stamped on it.  The Jews have 01.  I don't mind a 2 every one else has it also, or that we all are 1's.  My passport also says,"Arab" for nationality.  Arab is not an nationality.  He then talked about the denominational break down of
150K Christians in Israel, all divided by where we sit around the communion table.  "For what?", he said.

Moments of Grace: Reflections on Daoud’s Fall ’12 Tour. On the Fall ’12 tour of Tent of Nations, I had the special privilege of traveling with Daoud Nassar, a Palestinian Christian farmer from Bethlehem for 21 days, visiting over 14 cities/towns and speaking to some 47 audiences about his non-violent approach to resisting the Israeli Occupation of Palestine and Gaza.

 There were several moments of grace during that span of time. One of those moments of God’s grace occurred for us towards the end of the trip in Jackson, Mississippi. Bishop Ronnie Crudup, spiritual leader of a large evangelical Christian church there, hosted that portion of the trip. At that point, we were a little weary from the journey across the breadth and width of the country, but at the same time, also galloping along with renewed energy and “smelling the barn” as the tour had nearly ended.

 It was then that we met John Perkins, a sharecropper’s son who grew up in New Hebron, MI amidst dire poverty and who after his older brother was murdered at the hands of the town marshall, and after spending time in California to escape the desperate conditions of the South for Black people, returned to Mississippi to begin his ministry there. “His outspoken nature and support and leadership in civil rights demonstrations resulted in repeated harassment, beatings and imprisonment.” * I had not heard of John Perkins before this trip to Mississippi and his name had not crossed my radar and my own experience during the civil rights period.

 After we walked past several converted houses which appeared to have been converted into community service centers, I knew when we entered his home and that this place was special. After we were welcomed by a member of his family at the door, we were ushered into the living room, and there he appeared out of nowhere it seemed from my vantage as the last of three of us to enter the door. An escort and protege of John’s introduced Daoud and I and he just welcomed us graciously while motioning to four chairs we might use to seat ourselves.

 We sat face to face. John was opposite Daoud, just four feet away from one another, and the escort, Vince, the youth director opposite myself, a perfect square. As we sat there, and after briefly introducing ourselves, I was struck by an aura in the room, not just surrounding John as he was a humbled person with little pretense for who he was, but the moment felt special. I have been in the presence of only a few great people in my life, and they don’t have to tell me of they’re greatest. They just are. Here was a man who had great difficulties and challenges in his life, and suffered from poverty, and from the inhumanity dealt by the segregated southern white society , and who did not dwell on the fact. You just knew that he had witnessed personally something few of us today, know about in any deep sense.

 My introductions seemed pointless after awhile, as John seemed to sense something deep within Daoud already, and a kindred spirit at that. Whether he had been briefed before hand, or just surmised such a perception on his own, it was a moment of Grace in any case. He asked Daoud about his story, and listened intently. After some time, when Daoud had finished, John commented that he felt admiration for Daoud’s courage and conviction, and indicated that Daoud had had a much more challenging experience than his own there in Mississippi. I found that astounding. What could match his own struggle for civil rights during the 60’s in the deep South, I wondered? John then said, what I had that you didn’t was my own land and property, and my community. “Your situation denies you both”.

 During that conversation, I could sense a special bond between the two of them that I could only describe as grace. There was an understanding that only the two of them could appreciate, and mine to admire. After some time, John spoke of his own moments of physical and mental torture. It was not out of anger or resentment that this sharing came. It was a natural release of a common experience which he had recognized in Daoud’s story. The insight came from his recognition that out of the depths of that period of suffering, came a strength that only can come from such punishment. Faced with either increased anger towards his captors, and a refusal to be an enemy, he chose the later. It was at this nexus that he and Daoud crossed similar paths for that was Daoud’s message too. The phrase appears on a stone outside the gate of his families’ farm.

 You could feel the connection immediately in the words that were shared, and in the contact they had in their eyes. I felt at that moment that I was in a privileged and rare human space of authentic intimacy. Towards the end of the time we had agreed to limit to an hour at the beginning of our meeting, John shared a few words. He mentioned that the gospel has to remain authentic. With that, I thought he meant that there had to be more than mere words, but actions in the face of pain. He then said something that I can only believe that Daoud understood. He said, we need to be “living with the pain, and witnessing in the contradiction”. I took that to mean we must, in Daoud’s words, to be steadfast in the faith, even when it is difficult. And then, just before he prayed for us all, he said, “I guess using our witness in seeking justice is all that we can really do”. John was gracious in his praise for Daoud and for our time together, though I had thought for myself, that I was the feeling the gratitude as it was a conversation between two men who share a special path in life that only few can truly understand.
 I left the house overwhelmed by a sense of God’s grace and gratitude for experience I had just witnessed. *from his biographical sketch on his website. WBP-11/27.

 Another moment came when we first arrived in Jackson. We were greeted at the airport by a local pastor who had started a church of his own after many years of abusing his body with drugs and other illicit experiences. His community were the poor and the dispossessed. He shared some of his own journey in the ride from the airport, during dinner at the local “food trough”, all-you-can-eat restaurant, and the drive to the first venue after just landing two hours before. We pulled up to the large church just a half hour before we were to present. There was only one other car there and was probably owned by the church sexton who opened the door to the church. The sanctuary was immense, and cavernous. The chancel alone had over fifty chairs for the choir. I could only imagine what it must be like on Sunday morning if all the pews were filled, and the band and full choir were singing. It must be a rockin’ pace, I thought.

I then drifted to the reality that this same space seemed real empty with only fifteen minutes to go for the scheduled evening event. Where were the people, the huge audience to justify such a space? This was my first lesson in the pace of southern life, particularly in the Black community. The pastor arrived at ten minutes to 7:00, welcomed us heartily and then responded to our concerns for equipment for sharing Daoud’s powerpt. which seemed pointless at that moment. No one else was there. Gradually, a few people trickled in and Daoud and I began to see if anyone had knowledge of how to connect the LCD projector high above in the balcony of the church. It didn’t seem fitting to go through such efforts when the audience would be more familial and not immense.

 At 7:00, the Pastor began with an introduction and then a prayer for the evening while Daoud was up in the balcony furiously trying to attach his computer to the video equipment they had there. By then, there were about a dozen people scattered randomly through out the large sanctuary. What was the point, I was thinking. I began to resent being there. Is this what we were going to experience at our last venue that had taken five hours to get to from the last site in Chattanooga that morning? During the prayer, there had been a few “amens” from some of those few gathered. Gradually over the next fifteen minutes, others trickled in, many youth who had come for their regular Friday night meeting venue. IT seemed like a last moment invitation, to help provide an audience. I was feeling a little more resentful of what appeared to be poor planning by the organizers.

Then, the pastor introduced me which was a real surprise since we had not talked about that before hand. While Daoud was struggling with the machinery with the local choir director, I began to provide background to our evening together to what seem to be a reluctant audience. I was filling time at first. Then as I got into the moment, and shared some of my own first impressions when I heard Daoud on his family’s farm some six years before, and soon I could feel more direct connection with the audience which was continuing to build. I felt some feelings of being a spectacle as as the only one man in the room. Soon there were 70 people in the pews, and Daoud was walking to the front of the church to sit down. I quickly introduced him to the audience, and sat down, relieved that he finally arrived for I had nothing else to say but perhaps read the telephone book as I had seen members of Congress do when filibustering.

 Daoud began with his usual introduction. My name is Daoud which means David in English. I am from Bethlehem and am a Christian. Some people ask me when did I become Christian, and I say, two thousand years ago...” After a short while, I could feel the audience warm up to his personal story. There were a few more Amens. Then, Daoud did what he had in every venue we had visited. He adjusted his story and style to the needs of the audience. Soon he was saying, “Can I get an Amen”, after every profound comment he made. He was rewarded for his efforts to reach out to the community with increased verbal shouts of joy and understand which increased in cresendo with every passing moment in the 45 minutes he spoke.

 They were with him on every word. They had recognized his journey against oppression of one they or their parents had traveled also. When Daoud finished with the last slide of his powerpoint with a picture of his son at age four or five, seated behind the wheel of the tractor, Daoud then said a the dream of my father lives on in my son whose name is Bishara which means the “new word”and his middle name Starvos which means the Cross. The ovation that followed reflected the spirit of the room that had become filled not in numbers, but in the spirit of faith, hope and love that Daoud had demonstrated.

 Then, the pastor thanked us and said, “What time is it?” to which I thought it might mean to call it a night. But the response was, “It’s happy time!” I had not clue what that meant, but then the pastor said, “You have heard a moving story from this man, and it is time to share our support for him. I might say on such occasions to empty to your pockets of what you have. At that point seated with Daoud at the very front of the church and near a table where the sextant had placed a metal-meshed trash can. Then with the sound of a song they sang together which was picked up a cappela and reflected the spirit of giving or some similar message, I am not certain because or the awkwardness of the moment with us five feet from the basket by which all 70 would pass with their offerings. Coins sounded as they were thrown into the can by the youngest of the gathered followed by what clearly could be seen as green bills of varying denominations. All gave what they had. I was reminded as stood by, of the story of the woman who brought two coins to the altar in one of Jesus’s parables and he said that her gift was best of all. The evening ended with a wonderful spirit that I hadn’t sensed or even anticipated earlier when no appeared. For me it was a moment of grace.

 When asked to close the evening by the pastor, again one of those spontaneous moments which became the pattern for our tour when we allowed it, I shared my poem, “Walls, Lines, Fences and Borders”, and invited the audience as I often do, to join me in on the repeating the chorus during my recitation. I have done this many times before gatherings, but seldom along with my harmonica as an interlude between verses which felt my respond to the spiritual culture of the Black Church, and rarely received the force of the chorus of “WALLS, LINES, FENCES AND BORDERS” as I did that night. For who better than they, know the impact of such barriers on their own personal journeys? The next day, the Pastor gave me a check for $1,000. twice as much as we had asked from each venue along the tour. We had 8 more events on this venue yet to experience. What might lie ahead of us, I thought? We were not disappointed. God was working in his own time and our work was richly rewarded.

Newsletter- Holiday issue- “Seeds of Hope” On November 18th, Daoud and I concluded his Fall ’12 Tour of 14 cities and 9 States and the District of Columbia in a 23 day, 47 event filled experience that took us from California to Massachusetts, from Wisconsin to Mississippi, Indiana to Maryland, and to several states in between. We changed time zones so often, we seldom knew the hour. In that span of time, over 3800 people personally witnessed the telling of the Nassar family story at one of those events and who contributed more than $12,000 beyond the cost of travel and lodging expenses, to the Tent of Nations Project. Because of these gifts, women will enroll in education classes, refugee camp youth will attend summer workshops, new cisterns will be be dug, and new farming and irrigation projects will be strengthened. This indeed was the most ambitious and fruitful tour by FOTONNA of the 10 prior tours since 2007 thanks to your support and that of our Advisory Council. But far greater than the numbers, and dollars were the human experiences along the way. There were the hosts who opened their homes in Berkeley, Livermore, Santa Cruz, Fort Wayne, Indianapolis, Fitchburg, Annapolis, and their campuses at Stanford, Harvard, Taylor Universities and Edgewood and Bryan Colleges. There were folks who drove the team hundreds of miles to various venues, and greeted us at the airports and fed us fresh meals. Most of all, there were the audiences at every venue who welcomed a story of a Palestinian Christian farmer whose non-violent resistance efforts and “refusal to be enemies” message resonated with their deepest hopes for an alternative to violent activities driven by fear. The spirit and words of his story reflected one of “faith, hope and love”. This also was a message for all the many Israelis and Palestinians, regardless of their faith, who might support a just peace in order to bring an end to the occupation not for just one family, but for all who live as” occupiers and the occupied”. A final story. In Jackson, Mississippi where Daoud shared his story to a small gathering of ministers in a predominately Black church, one staff member confronted Daoud and I as we were seated and debriefing the experience together. He looked at us individually, and then said, “ I am not going to apologize for what I am about to say, and you may not be happy with my message, but here goes.” Neither Daoud or myself knew what to expect, but he got our attention. We rose from our seats. As he spoke he gestured for us all sit, not three feet a part. He then said to Daoud, “ I am extremely angry about what you said!” Our blood pressures began to rise a bit with the tenor of his voice, and the vehemence in his face. He then said, “ I have never heard that story before.” It has always been the message from one narrative for me. You have changed my life forever, and filled my mind with new questions to which I must and will search for answers.” And then he rose to embrace Daoud and thanked him for his message of hope.” In almost every audience there were many who said, “I never heard this story before.” Many new “seeds of hope” were spread throughout the country during those three weeks. Gratefully, Bill Plitt from all of us at FOTONNA

Many Grieve the Loss of Scott Kennedy, Peace Educator, Friend

It is with a deep sense of loss that I add the final blog for this tour. Scott Kennedy, one of the co-leaders on my first trip to Israel/Palestine in 2006 with Interfaith Peacebuilders, died in his sleep in Santa Cruz, CA next to his wife Kris on November 19th. It was just one week after returning from his 39th trip there, and the last of many delegations which he has led since 1975.

My last contact with Scott was in the lobby of the Paradise Hotel in Bethlehem. He had been absent from a presentation by Daoud Nassar on the Tent of Nations Project which the delegation had visited the previous week. Scott, in his wonderful manner said, "Well how did it go?" "Great as always!" I responded. And he said, "He always does a great job." And so it was, always encouraging us, ever supportive of what we were doing. That was Scott's way. If it hadn't been for IFPB and his leadership, our work would not likely have ever happened. He also served on the Advisory Council of Friends of Tent of Nations North America, one of many formal associations he belonged to.

I remember one event early on during my first delegation with him in 2006. It was the end of the tour, and we were to return to the States the next day as a delegation. I had extended my stay in order to travel and visit friends in Beit Jala. He asked me late at night if I wanted to travel to Gaza the next day with him on an official tour sponsored by Hamas. It was a tempting offer, but I had to think about it over night as such a trip, considered dangerous by some State Department officials at the time, was not part of the bargain with my wife prior to coming on the delegation. While I was certain Kay would support such an opportunity, I wasn't sure I should do so without checking with her. After all, there were some risks, but not the kind the State Department regularly raises in it's official capacity as arbitrator of safety. After much prayer and reflection, during the night, I decided to join Scott.

In the morning I indicated to Scott that I would be willing to accompany him on the trip. He seemed relieved that I would join him, and indicated he would get back with me later in the morning. As it turned out, the Israelis denied my entry on such short notice, and I didn't travel with Scot. As he later revealed, it was an incredible visit, and a rare inside look of the work of Hamas. He and I always regretted that the joint trip never occurred. It is a memory of the invitation that I shall carry for the rest of my life.

His loss will be felt by many who also considered him a friend.

May his family rest assured that Scott holds a special place in all our hearts this day. May his hope for a just peace become a reality. May we not rest until it is so. Bp

Co-existence:The Kibbutz and Village Revisited

 
I returned to the Kibbutz Metzer by car with Dov Avital, the community's former general secretary, marking four years since I last visited there and promptly wrote the article on the co-existence between the Kibbutz and neighboring village of Maiser. As we passed through the electronic gate and through the entrance, there are on the left, is a large, open-air building that houses 300 milking cows. You know already that this is a unique place.

For those who haven't followed the blog over the last 4 years, you must know that the Kibbutz was founded by 100 Argentinian emigres in 1953. The young socialists parked their Kibbutz on land right next to the village of Maiser, an Arab agricultural village and offered cooperation to their neighbors. They said to the Arabs, " We have little skills in farming but lots of energy and youth, and you are wiser more experienced with the land in this harsh conditions. The village elders agreed, and told their people “We know Arabs and Jews are suppose to fight, but let's see what we can do together, and if it doesn’t work then we can fight!"

The first task the Kibbutz encountered was to find a viable source of water. The Arab leaders offered "We have a small well, you are invited to use it".  The government also dug a larger well in the kibbutz, both sources of water were and are still interconnected. The kibbutz insisted that all other infrastructure developments brought to them by the government would be also enjoyed by Maiser. From there, a long history of co-existence began and continues to this day.

On this trip, I wanted to see more of the Kibbutz and its life there than I had on the first trip, nearly four years ago when I wrote an article for Christian Century Magazine on the story there. I wanted to know in what way Dov Avital, the then general secretary, had seen changes since he had been there and also what if any thing, had occurred since my visit. I wanted to know what keeps him there and what were his plans for the Kibbutz in the future. He thoughtfully responded to these questions by taking me on a tour of the cooperative and mentioned he was leaving his post at the Kibbutz to run for Mayor of the region where he could effectively deal with larger issues. He had my attention.

As you look out on the property from its highest point, you can see the Arab village of Maiser, just a few hundred yards away. In architecture, it differs greatly from most very plain Arab structures found on the West Bank, and looks more like the red tiled roof, and light yellow homes of Israeli settlements. What a contrast, I thought! 

You can also see the borders of the Country from one side to the other, as it is one of the narrowest pieces of the land of Israel. To the west are the coal fired furnaces that supply electricity to the region on the coast where coal is imported. East of there is the "green line" of the '67 borders. About a half of kilometer, further to the east, is the "fence" that separates the kibbutz from other neighboring Arab villages. Some of these villagers are also separated from their farm land. There is a slight possibility  as proposed by the Israeli Foreign Minister Liberman of a land swap where this land would be ceded to Palestine, and in exchange for some portions of the larger settlements such as Ariel. Dov doesn't feel that this would be possible as the Palestinians with Israeli citizenship would never accept such a deal, and as citizens they have a voice, even in Israel. There is also a large city being planned which the Kibbutz opposes and which would eventually subsume every entity around it.

In many ways, the socialist bound Kibbutz is a real democracy. All issues are discussed in small neighborhood forums, and major decisions are made as a community. There are joint decisions but people also have choices. All are promised a job, but not everyone has to work. Those who choose not, still share in the profits and receive basic services such as health and education but do not enjoy the subsidies the kibbutz grants to working and retired members . Kibbutzniks also can elect to work off the kibbutz, but donate their pay check to the community. Dov's wife is chief nurse in the nearby psychiatric hospital, and travels there each day.

Metzer also owns and operates together with its partners its own high school, There are 150 children in the Kibbutz and the younger ones attend school there, and go to the high school when they are of age. The high school, according to Dov, is one of the finest in Israel, and is cooperatively owned by three other Kibbutzim. Families outside the Kibbutz can also attend the school, but must pay for the tuition. The children of Arab citizens in the area could attend the high school if they wished, but generally they prefer to offer their language and cultural background in their own schools.

Homes are provided in simple form for members, while land ownership is kept by the kibbutz. If they decide to renovate or expand their homes, they can do so at their expense. When occupants eventually die, the home to go back to the Kibbutz, and the equity earned from the expansion efforts are passed on to the heirs. So, as you look around the tree-laden, scrub and flower covered community- irrigated by potable water from their own reservoir- you see both the simple buildings and the two storied modern structures spread through out. In short there is place for individuality and community.

The expansion of land area beyond present borders is no longer possible for the Kibbutz , but there are vacant lands within the 1200 acres that are undeveloped. There is a long waiting list of potential members, and plans are to begin building on these lands in the near future to accommodate new residents.

The Kibbutz has several sources of income. There is the dairy farm which produces high quality,low fat milk, and finds a ready market in Israel. There is also organic farming too that is nourished by gray water conversion on the Kibbutz. As you may know Israel is a master of sustainable water projects, and the Kibbutz has a factory which produces emitter inserts for plastic tubes which "clean" water for agricultural use. Though their operation is small in comparison with the larger producers in China and Germany, the Kibbutz is apparently the most sophisticated producer because of their design patents and high standards of quality control. As Dov said, "we are small so we have to be smarter". I watched some machinery, which the Kibbutz also sells, reject certain cylinders because of irregularities and shuts down the operation when the system discovers a problem. The whole department is completely run by robots and employs seven workers on two shifts. The factory employs about 140 workers, 40 of them kibbutz members and most of the others coming from nearby Arab communities.

There is a beautiful "football" field on the Kibbutz which is the practice field for the neighboring Arab children’s team, and also their home team space which they share with the Kibbutz. A restaurant located outside Metzer is a place where Arabs and Jews often bring their family and friends and dine together. Dov's intention is find new ways to improve and increase the co-existence with Arab neighbors which has flourished for more than 60 years. He feels this is the future for the two societies, but thinks first that the Palestinians must be freed from the occupation and put on their own before the land becomes a truly shared one. He also feels that Hamas is problematic.

There is also a community building which serves as the center for the Kibbutz and has a cafeteria and meeting space. Dov feels that the center is underused at the moment and new ways need to be found to heighten its use.

When I wrote about the Kibbutz much earlier in my five year journey, I told the story of long history of collaboration with its neighbors and about the incident in which a young woman and her two young children,were killed by a young Arab from the area of Tulkarem, and not from the local area. Two older members, one of them the then General secretary of the kibbutz. were also killed. The story received world wide attention. I also reported that Arabs from all the villages around attended "shiva" or days of mourning where by tradition, friends can offer condolences to the families who have lost love ones. The co-existence, though tested was not broken as seen when driving through the gates and seeing the village on the left beyond the Jersey cows. A memorial park for the deceased stands underneath several trees. It is constructed on the natural rock which lays a few inches beneath the grass surface, and water washes down from a small pond built there. Naturally water from occasional storm will pour down and disappears through the cracks produced from the persistence of water. The rocks represents the land which may change form but persists, and water keeps coming and flowing over it, which is the persistence of life. Their memories live on.

I left the Kibbutz after four hours thinking if I lived in the region, I might consider joining and teaching in the high school, and working in the restaurant as a folksinger and blues harpist. I also thought that my next trip might be to the Arab village for their story. I wonder what they might say? Would they have me ? Dov says, “Most definitely. I will arrange it.”
BP

Reflections on the 2011 Tour

On a whole, this trip as all I have travelled on, was unique and maybe the most satisfying of all. The highlights included:

Being with the Nassars of Bethlehem and on the farm, the Hallouns of Isfiye, the Awads of Beit Sohour and Jados of Ramallah

Traveling with the Interfaith Peacebuilders delegation and introducing friends to the Tent of Nations there on the Farm

Traveling to the Galilee and cycling a portion around the Sea

Witnessing and experiencing a new phase in the development of the Tent of Nations Project on the land with friends

Spending an afternoon on the Kibbutz Metzer with Dov Avital and hearing of hope for co-existence with his neighbors

Enjoying the relationships with the staff at the Grand Hotel in Bethlehem, meeting PCUSA staff and attending worship with
the Nassars at the Lutheran center, and spending time with my favorite little town- Bethlehem

Sharing the beautiful moon on the Farm with friends and new friends around the campfire.

The Stresses were few but present for me:

Going through the Checkpoint in Bethlehem and seeing the indignity once again Palestinians experience while feeling uncomfortable about the cordiality of the soldiers to an American with a passport

Contrasting the rich abundance and "relative freedom" between persons living in Israel and those living in the occupied territories

Traveling logistics of currency, sleeping space, food acquisition, bodily needs, cell phone maintenance, passport ID, camera care and not having a place as a base/having freedom to take advantages of new opportunities and new stories on the other hand

Possible themes:

"Playing the harp on the road to the Carmelite Monastery at Maraka"

"Contrasting life in Israel and in Palestine"

"Traveling along the way from Tiberius to Capernaum by Bicycle"

"Seeing the tip of the Iceberg of non-violent resistance to the occupation on the farm"

"The Arab and Israeli hospitality of strangers and families for the traveler"

"Pre occupation of the occupation"

"Friends 'seeing' for themselves and being changed by the experience forever"


I thank God, friends, my church community, my hosts and most of all my family
for support on this journey that continues to nurture each time I travel and to remind me of
the beauty of life in the midst of darkness.

bp

A Shared Journey with Friends

One of the major reasons for this most recent trip, in addition to the primary desire to show our support for the Tent of Nations Project, and more personally, support for Daoud and his family, was to share some time with friends with whom I have walked life's roads for many years: Todd and Paula Endo, and Bob and Pat Smythe as well as Bud Hensgen, a relatively new friend. They had decided that they had had enough of my story telling, poetry writing, arm twisting, and were going to seek the truth with their own "cameras". I declined on the opportunity to lead such a group, but offered to join them on an extended tour experience after they had traveled and seen themselves with other Interfaith Peacebuilders delegates, and some trusted leaders in that program who would provide them with a rich assortment of stories and narratives of people to hear. There were other new friends too. Some were back for a second trip and brought friends of their own to our "Middle Eastern house of Hospitality" in Arlington, just prior to their departure From the states.

As I often like to do, I "cherry picked" from the itinerary of IFPB and chose to connect with the friends at places where I either needed a ride via their tour bus to get to some destination of my own, or just a bed in one of their hotels on the tour where I could lay my head. So sprinkled throughout their 12-day intense encounter with activists on all sides of the fence, a brief visit and "peaked in". I could almost see the mirror of my own experience as I emerged amidst them two to three times. They were still weary from the travel, some feeling sick from a virus or new food, and others just overwhelmed by the enormous amount of stimuli they were receiving both in the visual form of the landscape of occupation, and the narratives of the sojourners there. With mouths agape, eyes tired, but alarmed, and bodies and bags scattered, they moved on in constant rhythm of the drone of the bus engine and shouts of "Yalla, Yalla" of their guides and leaders. I know, I had been there.

I noticed in the beginning, that beneath the caffein-driven days, the jet-lagged bodies, and the sleep deprived faces, there was great confusion about what they were experiencing, Then, at midway, questions and observations emerged about the incredible reality they were encountering for the first time, and about a political situation that seemed intractable. As the formal tour ended, and they could "smell the barn door" with questions that began to emerge like "what can I do, who do I speak to, what is my story?"

At that point, my five friends, joined by two additional travelers for a part of the time met in the lobby of the Paradise Hotel in Bethlehem where their formal tour ended, and a three day extension would begin. After leaving behind the baggage of both their tour, and carrying only the necessary clothes for a few days on the Nassar Family farm, we began the the long walk through the "old city" of Bethlehem to the Manger Square and the Church of Nativity on Star Street which got its name from the traditional belief that this would have been the path from Jerusalem of the WIse Men as they searched for the "babe".

I had arranged a few experiences for the tour that might compliment their formal experience but not add to their fatigue. There was no more room for new information, and I could see it still in their faces. So, we tried to strike a balance with where they were emotionally, and physically, but still leave them satisfied with their decision to extend their days with us. I think they felt three days later that it had been worthwhile. In Bethlehem, I proposed meeting a wood carver friend, off of Manager Square, getting a brief tour of the Lutheran Center and having a nice lunch on the balcony dining room there before heading off to the farm and time with Daoud who had just returned from his tour in the States.

On formal IFPB tour when the whole delegation, including my friends arrived at the Nassar Family Farm/Tent of Nations, Daoud asked me to tell the family story, the recent struggles to hold on to their land in a non-violent way, and about the constraints of the Israeli occupation. It was an opportunity for me to put myself in Daoud's shoes and explain to others what it was that was that is so special when you visit this space where more than 8,000 visitors and volunteers had come to work or see in the past two years. I could see after the half hour, that my effort to tell the story had an impact on many members of the group, and they could visually see both the resistance to the occupation in the construction of caves - in defiance of restrictions- and the reality of "facts on the ground" - in the encirclement of settlements. They got it! Like me, they would never be the same.

So once we took the taxi to the farm through the backroads and villages as the family was now forced to do because of the road barricades from the Hebron highway, they began to understand the occupation in a new way, and the stated as such with such remarks as how steep the hills were, how trashy the roadsides seemed, and how uncomfortable the roads were. This way had taken them nearly three times that time it had taken them on the delegation route. We returned to the farm and were met at the gate by the heart-filled welcome of Daoud's older brother, Daher, we were home! The air seemed sweeter here.

I had invited several people to join us during the next three days, but all of them canceled at the last minute because of other
commitments or unanticipated events. They were are former soldier from the IDF, a staff worker from Mossawa, a Palestinian Advocacy group for "Palestinians with Israeli citizenship, a friend, newly appointed Ambassador for the Palestinian Authority, and an Israeli eco-horticulturalist. I thought their informal presence on the land would provide yet another perspective on what my friends had seen, and an opportunity for the visitors who would "see" this farm and the project for what i might mean to them in their work. Closing that loop didn't happen. I strongly believe that after you have done your best to make things work, it's all you really can do. I also believe the difficulities my guests all faced were yet another element of the occupation which makes life that much harder. Besides, I think the travelers just needed space, and what better way to do so than to just "hang out and chill" in space which I have found spiritual and calming in a sea of storms. I think they found it too.

The deeper looks at the strategies of nonviolent resistance, the full moonlit night around the campfire-singing with other international volunteers, visitors and family members, the "down time" to rest, write and reflect, all contributed to a
peaceful interlude before heading home three days later.

I really enjoyed being with my friends in a place I had found only not great purpose, but an atmosphere of hope, in a world perceived as full of darkness at times. The 100 acres has even more recently become for me, more than a farm, more than a beautiful family, more than a place where people can encounter one another, but also a place where the spirit of non-violence springs forth around what now is a global feeling of the need to change they way we know each other. This project will not end the occupation, but does remind us that journey toward obtaining the human dignity for us all is a road worth traveling , including my friends here. Bp