Departures

Over three months have passed now, in what seems like a fleeting glimpse of an intricately complex picture. Like a movie you watch again and again, where you discover something new each time or something profound that you didn't see before, my stay in Palestine has been an impression that continues to unfold. Five days from now I will be back in the States, enjoying the comforts of life as I knew it before, a world contrasting deeply to the one where I find myself at present. That I will be shifting back into American life has not quite hit me yet, perhaps it won't until I step off the plane in Geneva and then in New York. It might be the small things that will affect me most - the music playing in the background, the coffee, or the vehicles. This will be my second reentry into the Western world after short stays abroad, the first being in 2005 after nearly 6 months in Asia, and it's hard to know what to expect upon return.

What is interesting, however, is that I have made that transition here, in a lesser way, a dozen or more times in the last four months. I am referring to traveling back and forth from Israel, the West Bank, and Jordan. I was in Tel Aviv several days ago, visiting an Israeli friend I met in Hawaii many years back, and while sitting in a posh bar, sipping Israeli Gold Star beer, the stark contrast of the atmosphere was mind boggling. I had left Dheisheh an hour prior, the environs of which I have described before, and after a short bus ride I was surrounded by wide streets, malls, and all of the convenient amenities of Western life. It is difficult to explain what that feels like, and in spite of it being a return to the social world I was raised in, it is a little disconcerting as well. Other than the exposure to it in the news, movies and documentaries, or personal travel, the 'divide' exists here literally just miles apart. That continual exercise in contrasts does help to build perspective, and I feel fortunate, albeit a bit guilty too, to be able to experience it.

I haven't spent much time writing in my blog lately, though not for a lack of good material to share, however. After a recent experience, the content of which was deeply affecting, it would be a shame if I didn't express it as best I could here. The Israeli friend I mentioned above helped to facilitate one of my last journeys in Palestine, and perhaps one of the most significant in terms of its implications. It will help to give you a little background first. This woman I am referring to, Mikhal, was an Israeli Army sniper instructor (during her 2 year mandatory service), grew up on a Kibbutz in the Negev, and is a second generation Israeli-born Jew of Russian descent. Having knew her for only a short period of time in 2002, I wasn't sure what she would think of my present living situation and volunteer work in the West Bank. I took the risk and made contact again and was thoroughly surprised by her perspective. As in any country, the spectrum of political perspectives is broad, and through Mikhal I have been exposed to one Israeli families very open and forward looking take on life in the Middle East.

Mikhal and her family work directly with a few Palestinian communities in the West Bank, and the opportunity was presented to join them on a trip to a village outside Nablus to acquire an intimate sense of the kind of work that they do there. I had little idea as to what I should expect, and was convinced that this would not be an experience to pass up.

The morning began at 7 a.m., at which time my friend Eric and I ventured north from Bethlehem. Most of the ride was familiar, both of us had traveled to Ramallah and beyond on many occasions, but we also drove through areas of incredible beauty that we had not seen before, and it was uplifting to see many untouched and fertile areas of the West Bank. 2 hours later, after three taxis, we arrived at Zatara checkpoint, replete with Israeli soldiers smoking cigarettes next to their jeeps, clad with heavy gear and wielding their guns, though they didn't pay us much mind. We soon met Mikhal and her parents, hopped into their car, and our journey in the West Bank with three Israelis had begun.

As soon as our drive had begun we received an introduction to the activities we were to engage in for the day. For several years Mikhal's family has been building connections with a number Palestinian communities most affected by the Occupation, and although the essential purpose of their engagement is to form intimate bonds with particular families in great need, they have done this by facilitating medical care, rights advocacy, and in offering agriculture expertise. We were told that we would be visiting a number of families, talking to them, catching up, and coming to understand their unique stories, but our first stop was a little more formal.

Because it is illegal for Israelis to enter West Bank villages and territories, they have a special arrangement with the Israeli Army. Namely, abrogating all responsibility for the Army over their protection when they enter into 'dangerous territory'. A necessary formality, we entered the Israeli base near Nablus, driving by rows of armored personnel carriers and unassuming structures, to sign the requisite forms. We were directed to one building in particular, and upon entering we could see that it was a communication center of sorts, run by a group of young women, whom, I was told, were quite confused as to why we wanted to visit a Palestinian village, believing it to be a suicide mission of our own accord. Of course, upon hearing the stories of their cohorts whom control the areas via checkpoints, or those whom are ordered to make incursions into the camps and villages, it is easy to see why they consider it dangerous. But we were neither military or naive tourists, and our friends, I found later, had incredibly deep bonds with much of the community we were soon to visit.

The area we were entering has been isolated from the outside world for many years, controlled on all sides by settlements, military checkpoints, and Israeli-only roads. We walked through one checkpoint on the outskirts of the village by foot and a Palestinian man met us on the other side. Cramming into his 4x4, it was a short drive to his home, where we met some of his 8 children and sipped tea and coffee for a good hour or two. This man we were visiting, who I will call Imman, had an especially tragic story to share. Years ago he and his brother were walking together and were caught in a demonstration unaware. As they were walking the younger of the two was shot by an Israeli soldier and was fatally wounded. After this incident the Israeli government rejected Imman's worker status, fearing reprisal for his brother's death, and cut off his only source of income. With few options before him, Imman continued to enter Israel for work, sneaking across the border at various points, and on one occasion was shot by the border police, destroying his pelvis.

This is where my Israeli friends came into the picture. They coordinated the money and transportation and facilitated for Imman the surgery he direly needed, in many ways saving this man's life and his families welfare, a 'debt' that has bonded the families forever. To watch as Mikhal's mother coddled Imman's two month old baby was really a sight to see, and was certainly counter to the impression one might have of Israelis and Palestinians as 'enemies'.

We left Imman's home and headed on to visit one of his relatives, a woman and her children whose father was sentenced to prison for 8 years after unknowingly driving 'terrorists' in his taxi. The man's wife was an incredibly vibrant woman, with an air of humor and vitality that I will never forget, and to again see how this family related so personally to Mikhal's was truly amazing. We stayed only a short while, just enough for coffee and tea, as is the unavoidable and heartwarming custom here, and moved on to an area in the heart of the village.

As we walked towards the next home we were met by dozens of sheep, goats, and one donkey, coming in from grazing in the hills. The family we were visiting there survived by cultivating the land and maintaining a small number of sheep, goats, and cows. Some time ago the father, Anan, was shepherding his flock in the hills above the village and was confronted by a local Israeli settler, who proceeded to harass him (not wanting Arabs in the area I was told) and shot both of Anan's dogs. Mikhal's family found him a lawyer and took the case to court, and eventually the settler was found guilty, and although in one way the animosity between the two communities was manifest, this one Israeli family successfully maintained a personal bond that has survived to this today.

As one of my last experiences here in Palestine, I am incredibly grateful to Mikhal's family for allowing me to observe and take part in their courageous efforts, and the courage and openness of the Palestinian families I met there. Until last week, I was unsure if I would be able to acquire an authentic Israeli perspective on the conflict, and although it was perhaps not the mainstream experience I witnessed, it nonetheless afforded me an opportunity to rethink my preconceptions about the walls, and Wall, that divide people in this region.

3/4 Full

The thrill of off-road adventuring has always maintained my attraction - the rugged unpaved byways leading you away from the conventional and towards solitary locales that seem to affect some innate sensibility for the natural. My sense of comfort in the out of doors has been perpetual, though having such an experience while in Palestine was not in my first line of thought. I had such an adventure yesterday, but the comfort was accompanied by a trace of melancholy, for at our destination I found myself looking miles into the distance to the area where the heritage of my two accompanying friends lay literally in ruins.

Bouncing up and down in our pint-sized Hyundai Getz, snaking our way around olive groves and grape vineyards on a rough, dusty road, three friends and I headed east from Bethlehem over ancient terraced hills towards the Green Line, the '47 border between Israel and Palestine. Aside from a few scattered villages, distinctly Palestinian with their slender minarets rising above concrete homes, the hills were mostly uninhabited and it was easy to imagine that they haven't changed much over the millenia. In the sparse terrain below, young olives and pine grasped at the limestone soil from seeds planted in a not too distant past. Even though the area was within the internationally recognized borders of Palestine, few of its residents have been able to maintain there subsistence farming there, access for them has become much too difficult in the last 40 years.

In the distance, just past the Green Line, verdant pine stands planted and maintained by the Jewish National Forest Service stood in stark contrast to the hills beneath our feet. Many of these forests have been planted within the last 60 years over what were once Palestinian villages, now deemed 'nature reserves'. The originial village of my companions lie within these reserves, now virtually inaccessible but vaguely visible only a few miles away. Our brief adventure brought them as close as they might come to the land where their families had lived for hundreds of years, and as close as I might ever come to understanding what it might mean to never be allowed to return home.

I have a little more than four weeks left in Dheisheh before I return to the States. My volunteer service has transformed considerably since I arrived 3 months ago. I began by facilitating strength training for the various sports teams, instructing on warm-up regimes, training the teenage girls in basic martial arts (for self-confidence and coordination for their dance training), conducted various interviews to get a better sense of life on the ground in the camp, and worked somewhat consistently with young boys and girls basketball teams. There have been challenges and the evolution of my involvement has not played out precisely as I had envisioned initially, but I was under no illusions that it would (I was shooting a little too high at first, I admit).

In the last several weeks I have conducted several trainings for the 4th generation dance troupe, a group of 15 youth in their mid-teenage years. The purpose of the workshops was to help them to critically examine their perceptions and feeling about a number of issues, including their 'identity' as refugees, the value of self-expression, understanding stereotypes, expressing both their fears and dreams, assessing their perceptions of the value of maintaining cultural traditions through dance, media, and the importance of sharing their personal stories. The subtext of the workshop was to prepare the youth for a documentary film in which they will have the chance to articulate these perspectives for a Western audience. I came up with the idea for the film after seeing another short documentary made by my cohort here at Ibdaa, the resident media expert, Pablo Pitcher. Although amateur in its overall construction, Pablo and I are hopeful that the content will provide a meaningful and affecting glimpse into the lives of the Dheisheh youth.

The documentary will be one of my final tasks here and, in addition, I have a considerable amount of work related to my Master's to complete, including the formal interviewing of Dhiesheh youth as well as experts on youth refugees and Palestian youth in general. My only cross-border trip in the Middle East will be to Jordan in the coming weeks, where I will have the chance to meet with the Chief UN Field Officer for Palestinian refugees there. I am afraid that the time ahead will transpire far too quickly, but I am convinced that my future service in Palestine is far from over.

If you are interested in keeping updated on the latest news from the Middle East, please follow the links below. Massalame.

http://www.haaretz.com/

http://www.imemc.org/

http://www.maannews.net/en/

http://www.aljazeera.net/en/

A Clash of Narratives

"With the Annapolis Conference just around the corner, and the 60th anniversary of the Arab-Israeli War only months away, is the climax of this intractable conflict coming near? We are here to ask what Palestinian refugees have to say about this, the most recent in a string of 'peace processes' that have over time done little to stem the violence on both sides of this struggle for land, for security, for recognition, and for peace. We are coming to you live from the Dheisheh refugee camp in the West Bank, Palestine. " Although not verbatim, this was the essential message conveyed by Katya Adler, the BBC World reporter who was beamed live from Dheisheh last Saturday.

The BBC team came to Dheisheh to get a sense for the mood in the street on the coming peace conference, the content of which seems to have been dampened so thoroughly that Israel and American officials are merely calling it a "meeting". Whether male or female, young or old, teacher or student, the responses were essentially the same. The people here, all refugees (as are most of the Palestinian population), have little faith in this contemporary effort at resolution and are exceedingly skeptical about it producing any tangibe results, most sparing no energy at all in thinking about it. Although the refugees were quite optimistic initially, after the abject failure of the Oslo peace process in the 90's, during which the confiscation of land increased dramatically and the number of Jewish settlers doubled in the West Bank while suicide bombers penetrated the 'heart' of Israeli society, it is not hard to see why. As for the role of my country in this proces, the present lack of trust in the US as an "honest broker" seems acute.

I did have a desire to spend my time here in Palestine deep in political analysis and examining the high-level processes at work, but my involvement has been on a much more micro scale. I have spent the last 3 months immersed in the Dheisheh community, hardly an extended period of time, but nonetheless enriching and deeply affecting. One can hardly describe what it is to live with a refugee community in Palestine (though I hope that my entries here have given you a small taste of it), and it is probably far different from what you might expect it to be, it sure has been for me. When I first arrived here I was hesitant to poke my head around, for fear of stepping on someones toes, but the community has helped me feel so at home that I walk freely down the cement alleyways and up the narrow roads, shaking hands and exchanging smiles.

Though not everyone feels content with my presence it would seem. I do not view life here through rose colored glasses, and it isn't all hunky-dory when it comes down to it. I do have my own critiques of course, but I won't venture there with you yet. So many foreigners have visited Dheisheh over the years, and once eager to ensure that the world would not forget them, not much has changed on the ground for the veterans of this community. Yet they are always cordial, humble, and outwardly accepting, and the children are always playful.

Interestingly, while writing the previous paragraph the Israeli Army entered the camp and stayed for awhile, just below the Center. Two armored personnel carriers and one jeep stopped at a house at the foot of the building, and out of the clunky metal doors jumped at least 8 soldiers, most equipped with night vision goggles. Minutes later several emerged with a man, a government ministry employee and supposed Hamas leader, and swept him away in a small jeep. Most of the soldiers remained while some searched the house, others tasked with making sure the space was secure. In and out, not much to see, though the feeling certainly lingers.

Yesterday afternoon I traveled to Hebron with two friends. The destination was a glassblowing and ceramics factory, so I tagged along thinking it might be of interest. A third generation family business, the factory was situated adjacent to the main street leading into Hebron and was more of a large modified garage with a brick, oil-fired glass oven in the center, several rooms in the rear for ceramics painting and baking, and a large shop with the finished products. The artisans focused intently on their handiwork as I wandered around and took photographs, all of them seeming to enjoy the spotlight.

The trip to Hebron is always an interesting one. Some of the most contentious issues in this conflict are reflected in the Old City there, where mostly American-born Jewish settlers of usually extreme persuasions have established fortifications in the middle of the city and in the surrounding areas. Just yesterday an Israeli television channel broadcast scenes of settlers abusing Palestinian residents, "kicking Palestinian children," and spewing profanities at them. Although not always the nuetral peacekeepers, the "Israeli police officers and soldiers expressed their exasperation at the settlers' continuing behaviour".

The settler issue in the West Bank is an extremely sensitive one and is a critically important part of the coming peace process. The first step of the "Road Map" for peace is that Israel dismantle the illegal settlements built after 2001. There are 106 illegal outposts in the West Bank, illegal under international and Israeli law, in addition to other "neighbourhoods" encroaching deep into the Palestinian territory. The growth of the population in the settlements is three times that of Israel, according to Israeli government statistics, and has reached nearly 270,000. Such settlers, usually driven by a fierce ideology that considers all of original Palestine as intrinsically Jewish, will not abandon their "caravans" so easily, posing a major problem for Ehum Olmert and the current Israeli government, and also making it impossible to establish an independent and viable Palestinian state. The road ahead is a rocky one. To get a visual understanding of the inherent challenges, here is a link to a map developed by the Israeli human rights organization, B'tselem, with the settlements in blue:

http://www.btselem.org/Download/Settlements_Map_Eng.pdf

In the past two weeks I have been engaged in an email 'dialogue' with a Jewish woman living in California. By chance, or perhaps by a twist of fate, I became embroiled in an internet conversation with this woman and up to now we have exchanged at least 6 lengthy pieces covering a number of issues, from the settlements to misconceptions we both believe each other to have. It has been a pleasure for me, for this has been the first instance in which I have exchanged sentiments with an American, after being here for some time, about the Palestine question, and to make more it thoroughly captivating, she is a die hard supporter of Israel. It has been a clash of narratives to a great degree, but there are no easy answers, and I believe it important for me, as a student, to critically examine every perspective I come across, especially my own. Having spent some time here, experientially coming to understand how the facts on the ground play out, I have developed a different perspective from those who have not. This is not to say that my perspective is any more infallible than this Jewish American woman I have come to know recently, though it is easy to see how conventional arguments, which tend to be easy answers to difficult questions, are quickly refuted when you see things with your own eyes.

I'll give you an example. A very conventional argument made is the "security" one - that the illegal Wall and the settlements and outposts are to ensure Israeli security from Palestinian terrorism. It sounds good, logical, appeals to our human sensibilities, but in reality is far more subtle and nuanced. The American woman, who has never been to Israel or Palestine, believed that most settlements are near the Green Line (the de facto border of Israel and Palestine) and serve as a buffer zone. For one thing, placing kindergartens and shopping malls, and thousands of affordable housing units between you and the 'terrorists' doesn't seem to me a brilliant strategic option. For another, the actual placement of several of the settlements around Bethlehem, exclusively Jewish hilltop sanctuaries directly adjacent to Palestinian hillsides, are easy targets. It would certainly be hard to argue against the separation Wall if it was constructed on internationally recognized lines of demarcation, but it encroaches so deeply into Palestinian territory that it is more than double the length that it should be if it were. Some see a security 'fence', some see land annexation.

So the settlement issue and the Wall are some of the most controversial and emotional of the conflicting undercurrents here. Insofar as these issues are not dealt with in a just manner, not to mention the issues which are really the heart of the matter - the refugee situation and the status of Jerusalem - little progress will be made, 60 years and counting.

Conflict Transformation

The sun was just setting west of Al Khadr, a small town adjacent to Bethlehem and no different in its outer form with its pale grey buildings, scattered olive groves, and dusty amber veil, as we entered into the only local soccer stadium to watch a game between Ibdaa and Thakafi, a team from Tulkarem in the north. As we sat on the cement steps and in the chilling wind we looked down upon the emerald turfgrass and could see that this was going to be no ordinary game. Both teams entered and lined up midfield, on either side of a 15' poster with several photos of a handsome and smiling Tha'ar Hassan from Bethlehem, now a martyr and once a soccer player himself. The game would be in commemoration of this 23 year-old Islamic Jihad fighter who was killed in his home by the Israeli Army one year before to the day.

Behind the poster of Tha'ar, with his gleaming smile and long black curls, were 10 Palestian youth weilding bagpipes, and as they played the Palestinian national anthem each player held a hand over his heart and all spectators rose in unison. For a period of time an assortment of well-dressed men gesticulated and spoke emphatically to the modest crowd from a wooden podium in a manner akin to a passionate sermon. Unfortunatley, my comprehension of Arabic was insufficient. A bearded man, dressed more casually in blue slacks and dark shirt, then sat down in front of the poster of Tha'ar and sang verses from the Qur'an.

In the meantime, all of the players leaped as high as they could and then scuttled forward and back in rapid motions in an effort to warm up their lower limbs, their own weapons of choice. It was an average game, but its symbolism reached farther than any potent kick might have. The parents of Tha'ar were there, as was a brother one year his junior, Moataz, who was playing for Ibdaa that day. It took some time for the significance of that experience to sink in, and some serious reflection.

I recalled that during the halftime break a large white screen was carried out onto the field and a short video in memory of Tha'ar was unveiled for the first time. Many of the images might have been startling to you - of this young man cleaning his rifle, expressing his will with passion while standing before an Islamic Jihad flag, live footage of the Israeli assault and his last stand, and even his corpse. If one were to have no personal context or intimate understanding of the people here, their struggle under the very oppressive circumstances they have no choice but to endure, I think it would be very easy to feel shocked and even fearful by such imagery. Even more so if a sense of prejudgement and blanket stereotyping is immediate.

Upon reflection, I think it might be important to understand several things in this case. Tha'ar is seen as a hero. He was willing to sacrifice his life for the dignity of his community, and he chose a conventional path (one accepted by most humans the world over) to do that. Though it might be easy for most to view him as the 'enemy', a 'terrorist', or any of the other ambiguous characterizations of this community writ large, I assure you that not everyone here supports the method of armed struggle as a useful tactic. But they do see it as struggle nonetheless, and anyone who struggles, no matter the method employed, has a place in a community psyche under occupation.

It is perhaps more important to grasp another kind of struggle that is much less exposed, yet fundamentally more powerful. Think of Tha'ar's younger brother, Moataz. Sitting with arms hugging his knees, Moataz observed visions of his brother on the screen in front of him, a brother as close in age as my elder is to me. He had many choices before him. It would have been acceptable in this context for Moataz to revenge his brothers death, to take up armed struggle in his memory, no one would have objected to his gut-level enmity for his brothers killers. Yet...he was choosing to play a game of soccer instead. Can you also imagine the fortitude of Tha'ar's parents, sitting quietly in the crowd as a soccer game was played in memory of their slain son? I know that I may forever struggle to fully grasp the significance of this event, but I am beginning to see that conflict transformation is happening everyday here. The deep resolve of this community is impressive.

I can offer you countless cases in which this conflict is being transformed at its most fundamental level, by the Palestinians themselves. The ex-political prisoners I have interviewed, all of whom were kidnapped, tortured, and humiliated in their youth by the IDF have emerged believing that their struggle is not effectively fought with armaments, but with action - education and by forging lives of meaning. Another...a woman who was shot and imprisoned. She can now only use her right arm as half as well as she should be able to, and she supports her two daughters in playing on the Ibdaa basketball team so that they might find nonviolent avenues for their daily struggle. As the two girls coach, my proximity to such activities brings me great pleasure.

"The revenge feelings", as my friend here tells me, "will never go away, only the avenues chosen to express them." In this way the 'cycle of violence' that often dominates the discourse is being halted, and the reality is being transformed into something sustainable and life-giving instead, and by the people we are easily persuaded to assume are at the center of the cycle itself. For me personally, to not forgive and to revenge with a retributive intent that reaps a similar level of suffering is guaranteed to continue the cycle of misery, stagnation, and pain. But this is the world in which we live and we have much growth to do together. There are a growing number of persons whom operate unnoticed or at least unrecognized, navigating their way through their own shadows and the darker sides of our human psyche, holding a small flame in their heart with which they light their way. This is truly conflict transformation -- through personal transformation.

Thief in the Night

Yesterday's blog probably left you in suspense and with a certain level of anxiety in light of the edgy experience that I alluded to in the last paragraph - my inaugural witness of an Israeli military incursion into the Dheisheh camp. My intention was not to leave you in the dark for long, so this will be the primary topic of today's entry.

Late in the night on Thursday I was engaged in my typical routine of returning emails, perusing websites for the latest news, and watching a bit of TV four stories up in the Ibdaa restaurant. What happened next was undoubtedly one of the most unique encounters I have ever experienced. The only light in the large space of scattered tables and chairs emanated from my computer and the small television set in front of me, while outside in the streets below the descending quietude made the half-lit atmosphere, save for a few barking dogs and rogue taxis, especially eery. Around 2:30 a.m. my ear caught what first sounded like a horse's cantor clacking on the hard cement and I ran to the western row of windows to look down over the camp to get a better view.

Directly below, in a tight alley framed by 6' cement walls, and lit only by the faint visual echo of a distant streetlight, I could see four lumbering bodies running in my direction. The olive drab helmets, robust packs, and lithe black M-16's immediately revealed the identities of this nocturnal quartet. The crew of four ran to the base of the Ibdaa building, stopping at every corner to cover for any threats that might have been looming in the dark. As they navigated their way around the building I ran to the other row of windows and was literally right on top of them, watching their every move. They were very young, each couldn't have been more than 20, and trying to secure the area below me by shuffling along the high walls, stopping to kneel and point their rifles to cover each others positions, and making short, low-volume commands in Hebrew that I couldn't make out. One wouldn't have to be a proficient linguist to understand how they were instructing one another.

It felt like I was another member on their mission given my proximity, and obviously at a much better vantage point than they were. I could hear their rapid, sometimes shaky breathing, could almost sense their adrenaline levels rise, and I could tell that they were scared. I was scared too, though with the rush of fear I also felt a jolt of excitement rising up my spine, the surging bioelectric current making my palms tingle. However, I was aware that I was safe for the most part, for the local military is well aware of Ibdaa's typical international contingent. Yet I wasn't about to make any brazen, daring act to get closer to the action. It was no time for impulsiveness, this was a full-force military incursion and they were in the camp for a reason.

I was alone in the restaurant and felt it would be wise to have a seasoned witness to share the experience with, so I called Ziad to come take a look. In the meantime, I glanced again towards the street of the soldiers origin and there in a well-lit square 100 yards away was an armored transport vehicle half hidden behind a tall cement wall, diesel engine idleing loud enough to hear from a distance. My friend arrived in the restaurant and for the next two hours we sat in the dark, whispering to each other behind drawn curtains and doing our best to remain in the shadows while still holding a clear line of sight on the action below.

Scattered beams of light from the soldiers gun-mounted flashlights shone on the cement walls and in the gardens around the area as they got closer to reaching their destination, the home of the Al Fandi family, about 40 yards directly west of the Ibdaa building. Several heavy fist blows on the metal front door of the home resonated throughout the camp, and moments later the entire family was shuffled out of the house. Peering from behind a slit that I fashioned from two curtains I kept an eye on the front stoop, hearing the pop and crunch of a porch lamp, and I soon saw several soldiers moving throughout the house. They were looking for something. As the time transpired I could hear glass, kitchenware, and other assorted fragile material crash and shatter on the hard floor. Meanwhile, the small group of armed men on lookout, stationed in the shadows below, kept an open eye for potential opposition.

It was kind of amusing actually, because initially these soldiers on the ground seemed exceptionally alert, kneeling in proactive poses with guns ready and gazes scanning the area around them. Soon, however, their legs seemed to tire because they began to change positions frequently, leaning on the wall occasionally, with one actually sitting down on his rear end next to his friend when he couldn't seem to bear the weight he was carrying. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, and how much patience it takes, to be a soldier in such a prolonged operation.

The soldiers have recognized that it is hardly an easy operation either. In '02 and '03, when incursions into the camp were much more frequent, they would be shot at occasionally, though no soldier has ever been killed here. Today, it's the teenagers who pose the greatest threat, lobbing stones on the soldiers from above or by quickly emerging from and then dissapearing into the dark alleyways after they are able to express their angst through momentary acts of frustrated aggression. Based on what I have observed, though it may come as a shock to you, I can hardly blame them for it.

The Israeli response to this 'misbehavior' is to lob non-lethal stun grenades, also known as "flash and bang" devices, in order to give them a little larger window for escape. Two such grenades were detonated Thursday night, their blinding flash and deeply concussive blast shaking me up a bit, and I was at least 150 yards away. It was obvious then that the soldiers were on their way out, and was confirmed as I saw a larger group of soldiers scramble towards Ibdaa and the main street. Two vehicles began to creep down the alley and I was ultimately able to count 8 trucks in total; two armored carriers and six military jeeps, one white, signifying the intelligence officer. Later sources confirmed that 30 soldiers made their way into the camp that night, and after 3 cars were vandalized, one stolen car retrieved (belonging to a Shinbet - or Israeli FBI - officer), two homes ransacked, and a community was kept awake for three hours in the middle of the night, their mission was complete.

Frankly, I have been anticipating such an experience ever since I arrived, and perhaps before, to the chagrin of those who care for me perhaps. In some way this may result from my boyish affinity for covert operations or my tendency to be overconfident in times of stress, though I would like to think that the most fundamental reason emerges from my knowing that such an experience will bring me much closer to understanding what life is like under the Israeli occupation. I would be naive to assume that the soldiers were present in the camp that night for the sake of harassment alone, they had a job to do, though in combination with how I am observing this occupation play out elsewhere on a daily basis it would also be naive to assume that great intentions lie beneath the unfortunate reality that has existed for the last 40 years, which is at best obdurate and at worst tragically brutal.

I don't wish to leave you on a solemn note, so allow me to briefly share with you my trip to a Palestinian water park with 40 young Dheisheh friends. Yesterday, around mid-morning, I had the opportunity to join the Ibdaa youth to a private water park 20 min. south of Dheisheh in the village of Beit Sahour. 'Water park' might not be the two words that come to mind when you think of Palestine, but rest assured than when you put water and children in one place together the formula will yield standard results. I spent about an hour immersing myself in the unheated and rather refreshing 50m pool and tossing young boys into the water from the poolside. The children were exuberant and it was a temporary solice to see them enjoying themselves as any children would. Such an experience strengthens the foundation underlying my decision to spend this short 4 months of my life living in a refugee camp in Palestine.

The Calm Before the Storm

The evening before last, while relaxing amidst the casual Middle Eastern ambiance in the Ibdaa restaurant, four stories above the raucous, bustling streets surrounding Dheisheh, I experienced my first Levantine downpour. The sun had just set over Al Khadr in the south and there was a faint golden glow cast over the camp as a blanket of gray clouds moved in from west over the Meditteranean. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the jagged, pinkish rods of lightning striking just over the hills south of Dheisheh, and they were moving right towards us.

As the electrical front moved nearer to the camp the accompanying thunder began to rattle my interest, and with every momentary jolt of raw energy I couldn't help but make verbal exclamations out of sheer excitement. Pretty soon, the heart of the storm was on top of the camp and I could hear the slight tapping on Ibdaa's aluminum roof soon turn into a heavy cocophony of resonant sounds from the rain connecting with the variety of surfaces above and below. As I peered down to the shimmering streets the pungent smell of at least 6 months of dirt and grime began to fill the air. The storm was shortlived, but in combination with the cooler temperatures descending on the area every night as of late, we are sure that the significant seasonal changes are upon us.

There is another storm that seems to be looming over the region, more existential in terms of the Palestine question, and which is certainly rearing tumultuous and tangible elsewhere in the Arab world. "Middle East Peace?", read the headlines from Al Jazeera to Yahoo News, and although Ms. Rice, who made a visit just a few miles from here two days ago seems "optimistic", the future resolution of this nearly 60 year conflict is still unclear as ever.

I am moving into an area where 'the truth lies somewhere in the middle' approach just doesn't seem very truthful based on my experience here. I want to help you understand why by hearing the sentiments of two individuals which are far more noteworthy than my own, from one Israeli and one Palestinian whom I have had the chance to listen to recently.

An Israeli academic, activist and longtime friend of my mentor here, visited Ibdaa recently. He shared with us his overall perceptions about the formulation of the conflict, the reasons behind the failed peace processes, the apparent fundamental agenda of the occupying power, the question of the illegal settlements, and how the prospects for peace have changed drastically in the last few years, among other impressions. Many of his points stood out to me, and though I wish that I could offer you the complete recording, soundbites are all that I can offer here. This Israeli friend started at the beginning, and framed the conversation with the idea of a "strategic conception" underlying the emergence of the Israeli State, which is perhaps this conflicts most permanent inner contradiction - how to build Eretz Israel (the name for all of Palestine in the Jewish religion) as an exclusive Jewish state in spite of the presence of the indigenous Arabs.

The early Israeli leadership, at least Israel's prime architect, David Ben-Gurion, had no reservations about his assertion that, "The Arabs will have to go." Could it be possible that peace has never been acheived not because Israel "has no partner in peace", which is the status quo interpretation, but because peace goes against Israel's prime objective, to acquire as much of Palestine as possible? Ariel Sharon, the former Prime Minister, stated at one point that "the war of 1948 is not finished", which in simple terms was a war to determine the future borders of Israel. Particular ideologues in the Zionist leadership have as their supreme objective to Judaize all of historical Palestine and fixing borders, which has been one of the principle issues of the ongoing peace negotiations, would be an end to that process. It has been and continues to be a process of colonization and disposession, beginning with the systematic "ethnic cleansing" of Palestinians between the years of 1947-48, and it is unlikely that peace will take hold here until such a process ends.

So what would a future Palestinian state look like? Since the Oslo years (1990's) the hardline leadership has supported a 'cheese-block' policy. On the ground this has meant that Israel continues to build illegal settlements scattered across the West Bank, in essence cantonizing the Arab areas and in some cases completely surrounding them. Condaleeza Rice has taken objection to this, and rightly so, by asserting that it will be impossible for Palestinians to have a state if there is no continuity to their territory. Because a "Palestinian continuity is an Israeli discontinuity", the plan has metamorphosed into a contiguous model, meaning a 3-dimensional approach to the problem by building tunnels, bridges, and exclusive access roads around the Palestinian areas.

I want to highlight just two more points that our friend shared with us, the Wall and Israeli domestic support for peace. First, it was mentioned that the Wall has become very popular across the board in Israel, not only for security reasons, but by literally concretizing the idea of separation. Out of sight out of mind, as it were. The issue of Palestine has in the last several years become more of a nuisance to Israelis than much else, like a bout of excema that can cause some discomfort occasionally, but nothing a little cream can't soothe. Although most Americans may not be aware of it, in the 90's Israeli public opinion was in favor of peace via giving some attention to the Palestinian demands, namely statehood. Unfortunately, the Oslo process failed horribly during this period, which historians have now categorically proven was a result of Israeli manipulation and false commitments rather than Palestinian sabotage, and as a result of the frustration and worsening of conditions in the West Bank and Gaza, violence against Israel spiked. Now, years after the second Intifada, the number of Israelis who support peace with the Palestinians has become a very tiny minority, and mobilizing Israeli solidarity for the Palestinian cause might as well be a foregone conclusion aside from a very brave and forwar-thinking few.

This conflict is understandably complicated, though perhaps more in the differing perceptions it has imbibed than in the actual facts on the ground. In the last thirty years a wealth of archived material has surfaced from personal diaries, correspondence, and formal statements from the Israeli and Palestinian leadership, leading to the emergence of what has been termed the "new history" of the Israel/Palestine issue. This historical analysis has remained elusive in the US, but with this material historians from both communities have pieced together what they believe is a more accurate interpretation of historical events, and the above statements are born out of this area.

To understand the perceptions of the 'peace process' from the average Palestinian is perhaps most important, for these are the resilient people living under the occupation on a daily basis. Hope is a feeling that no one I have met here wants to relinquish, yet it was shared with me by a friend that to assume that they have anything to gain from the most recent peace effort would be exceedingly optimistic. The push for the Annapolis conference can be viewed more realistically as a temporary effort to appease the more significant players in the Middle East, such as Iran and Syria, and will very likely have little affect on the lives of the average Palestinians. The current peace process will most likely be based on the decades-old overwhelming power imbalance and the outcome will again be determined by Israel, with the US acting in a very limited way as a broker, though hardly the 'honest broker' that this conflict deserves.

There are hundreds of examples occurring on a daily basis, and endless more reaching back more than 60 years, that can express the challenges of living within an armed conflict environment. I have described my experiences at the checkpoints before, as well as a number of stories from others. These were my only frames of reference for understanding what life is like under occupation, but that all changed last night. Unfortunately, you just might have to wait for the next installment to come to know my first experience of a military incursion into the Dheisheh Refugee Camp.

World's Apart

Who knew that such a small country could be so surprisingly diverse. This past weekend was my first extended foray through Israel proper (with co-pilot Eric), during which we navigated our way from Jerusalem to, literally, the highest heights - the Golan Heights to be exact - and consuming every cultural and geographic wonder we had the chance to encounter along the way.

On Friday, in our metallic silver Ford Focus and with only vague impressions of our destinations in mind, Eric and I sped out of Jerusalem and headed west towards the Mediterranean. The city of Haifa was to be our first terminus point, a port city and resort town famous for its sandy beaches and turquoise sea. Haifa is pretty much a straight shot from Tel Aviv, and aside from the roadside solicitations in Hebrew and the funky foreign cars - the Citroen 'Jumpy', for instance - it might have been easier to believe that you were in northern California.

Some Israelis are fond of the euphemism that they have 'made the desert bloom', and upon seeing the abundance of flowering oleander, towering eucalyptus, and vast fields of citrus, it is easy to see why that little anecdote took root so quickly, so to speak. Driving alongside this familiar greenscape, with the windows down and the sweet ocean air filling the cabin of our modern voyagers vessel, we eventually found ourselves within just feet of a very unexpectedly luxurious beach. We gazed in awe that we had traveled only one hour from Palestinian refugee camp to oceanside refuge -a topic I would like to address further in a moment - but it didn't take us long to kick off our sandals and go for a stroll in the surf.

The ocean was sublime and refreshing after hours of dusty wanderings and the waves were large enough to keep us locked into bodysurfing for the whole of the next day. The beach had a European feel about it with the help of speedo clad men and the Slavic speaking Haifa residents, though it wasn't difficult to realize that I was very much in Israel when I saw an old man with a silver Star of David the size of a his palm hanging around his neck.

In Haifa you can find another religious symbol of global import, the Baha'i World Center. Situated on the pristine and finely groomed garden terraces cascading down the northern slope of Mt. Carmel (the Carmelites were founded there) is the world seat of the generally unfamiliar and world's youngest and most diverse religion. The city itself is often portrayed as a 'mosaic of peaceful coexistence' - it has a significant Arab population, too - though this does conceal some major social rifts between the communities, however covert to the casual observe like myself, and both suffered much from the rain of rockets fired by Hezbollah from southern Lebanon last summer.

With a little more 'country' in mind my cohort and I left Haifa on Sunday morning and wound our way through the Galilee, past the apocalyptic valley of Megiddo (Armageddon), through the city of Jesus' childhood, Nazareth, and down onto the Sea of Galilee, an enormous deep-blue lake replete with dueling jet skis. After sailing along the coast we crossed the Jordan River and finally entered into the Yehudiya Nature Reserve, a 16,500-acre park in the heart of the Golan Heights. Upon finding a map of the park (the only legitimate map of our entire journey) Eric and I head across a barren and rocky field, past grazing cattle and savanna grass, by a 3rd century BCE site of stone ruins overlooking the Sea, and eventually climbed our way down into the Zavitan canyon.

What we found there was truly a desert oasis, a series of clear pools carved out of the basalt rock by tumbling waterfalls. Fascinating to ponder that the pools have been used by various peoples for over 3000 years, and that my friend and I were jumping off the rocks and doing laps in the cool waters, maybe just as the Holy Lands ancient inhabitants might have also. After ascending the canyon walls via a steep rocky incline and steel rail ladder we walked back among the ruins of Sheikh Hussein and through the sparse, dry terrain. My friend and I contemplated camping in the park but discovered that Yehudiya camping was just a little peculiar relative to our camping standards in the US - a fallow field with rows of white tents and within a stones throw of a cow pasture. No thank you.

So we headed a few miles north in our trusty Ford until we hit the Israeli town of Katzrin, a 70's-born hamlet with an "unmistakable feel of a place that never quite bridged the gap between planning board and reality," according to the Lonely Planet guidebook. The shwarma, a pita packed with meat and random veggies adopted from Palestinian cuisine (as is most of Israeli food), was tasty despite the town losing out on most other counts.

Our next destination was Majdal Shams, a Druze town in the northern most part of Israel in the Golan Heights. The region of the Upper Golan is a geopolitically tense range of mountains, valleys, and strategic military outposts. Driving through the area is literally driving through a battlefield - Israel wrested control of the Golan from Syria in the Six Day War of 1967, and annexed the area in 1981. Winding their way around the barren peaks covered with surveillance equipment would be a military buffs delight to be sure. We passed at least three Israeli military bases, stocked with rows of armored personnel carriers, battle-hardened tanks and artillery, and we even got to sit in a disembodied turret of an Israeli tank, overlooking a valley where Israel's fiercest battles were fought. In spite of the militaristic feel, however, the regions cool climate, windswept highland fields, and spring greenery help to make it the prime weekend destination for Israelis.

Upon arriving in Majdal Shams, a town of 20,000 on slopes of Mt. Hermon, and home to Israel's only ski slope, we were introduced to a mutual friend and spent the evening in his very accommodating apartments in a community development building. We took some time the next morning chatting with our new acquaintance, the director of a very successful development NGO that is exceptionally unique in this context and an effective model of community organizing, offering the best community medical services in Israel in addition to its array of other community development activities. It was our candid discussion pertaining to the Golan Heights, however, that really captured our attention.

The community of Majdal Shams, although living in an area annexed by Israel in 1981 (though technically it is still occupied) consider themselves Syrian citizens first. They are the remnants of nearly 50,000 Golani Syrians that he says were pushed out of the area in 1968 by the Israeli Army. The area is still a contested one, and the reasons for its current status are not as complex as other irredentist claims in Israel tend to be. The conventional interpretation for Israel's control of the region is its strategic importance, it is the high ground after all, and it is obvious that this policy is reflected elsewhere in Israel and Palestine. A more accurate analysis, though, is informed by the understanding that it was the water, not the military positioning, that is the real resource of strategic value.

The Upper Golan is the headwater of all the H2O that flows into Israel, and an abundant agricultural zone as well (the best apples in the Middle East come from there). To 'make the desert bloom' requires a tremendous surplus of water as you might imagine, and assuring sustainable access to this resource has been vital to Israel's existence. For feeding the thousands of Israeli greenhouses along the Jordanian border to filling the swimming pools in the California-like settlements, the founders of Israel long ago strategized about its importance.

Upon leaving the Golan and retracing our steps back towards the Sea of Galilee, the desert quality of the region descended upon us like a stuffy blanket molding itself to every square inch of our bodies. South of the Sea there was little to capture our interest, other than the rows of date palms, bananas, and military vehicles buzzing by like clockwork about every 3-5 minutes. After about an hour or so of the sweat-inducing, sweltering wind we entered into the northern most point of the West Bank. Our path paralleled the Jordan River, the de facto border between Jordan and the P.T., though the atmosphere was so full of 'dust of the Holy Land' that we could barely make out the other side of the river.

The only stimulating thing about the trek was the border fence - a set of three barbed wire fences, one electrified - and the occasional border guards, in olive drab hummers mounted with M-60 machine guns and at least 4 soldiers, blazing on the military-only road and kicking up a limestone dust-storm in their wake. Eric and I noticed a war memorial at the crest of a hill, only about 30' from the fence, and recognized that it was a fleeting photo opportunity. We parked the car across the highway and jumped a short metal guardrail to get to a number of large boulders with what I guessed were the cogs and assorted parts of a destroyed tank. With Israeli flag fluttering above I posed briefly, revelling in the idea of where we were at that moment, and as Eric was looking off into the distance he caught my attention sharply when he said, "Oh shit, the hummer is coming back."

My eyes scanned the road and there was the Israeli hummer racing down the road. "Is it coming for us?", we wondered. Needless to say, we were back in the car in a flash. As I started the engine and was about to pull out the hummer came up alongside of us. The soldiers looked our way, I smiled and waved - not a word exchanged - and put the car in drive and off we went. They followed us for awhile and eventually fell behind, and our anxiety levels gradually returned to normal. We figured they were just doing the routine check-up, and realized that we were just a couple of guys taking a nostalgic photo at the memorial. No harm done.

There is little else to tell about our journey. Before leaving you, though, I would like to return to the subject that I did not address earlier in this blog entry, the disparity between the two worlds I am commuting between. It is difficult for me to explain the feelings generated by the opposing experiences on the two sides of the Wall. Going from refugee camp to California-like beach in a matter of an hour is easy enough by car, but it does strain the psyche considerably. What is most troubling to me is that the Israelis are generally oblivious to life as it is lived in the West Bank, hardly different from the malaise affecting my fellow Americans as well. The only difference is proximal.

In talking with the average Israeli I have found that they do recognize that "life is tough over there", but most spend little time reflecting upon it deeply it would seem. I choose not to blame them for it given the context - they are doing what they have to do to get by, maybe can't afford the time to give a thought to such issues, and their government has become quite proficient at creating the psychological and overtly physical rift between the two sides. It is a somber admission that most Israelis will never know how adversely the Occupation has affected the Palestinians, and most Palestinians will never be able to see the world that lies just miles away.

Can you imagine how exasperating it must be for my friends in Dheisheh that I am able to travel freely around this country, including the Palestinian Territories, as a carefree foreigner digesting all of the beauty that they may never be able to access? In spite of this they accept my interest in the entire experience here, and are patient and hopeful that they too may someday jump into the Yehudiya pools, stroll along the beach, and experience what a life unoccupied is really like. I have yet to experience the fullness of what it means to be Israeli, but I do know that I am incredibly fortunate to experience first hand what life is like on this side of the Wall, and I have many great friends here that have been willing to show me the way. The day after the anniversary of Christopher Columbus, I could not imagine a more compelling journey.

The Path of Most Resistance

Sitting on the white plastic lawn chairs, a light breeze blowing over the crowd and the half-moon hanging above, the crimson satin fabric and long green headresses flowed back and forth across the stage. A troupe from Ramallah traveled to Dheisheh last evening, with an entourage of folkloric dancers, musicians, and mesmerizing pieces of traditional Palestinian physical culture. It was a stunning display of Middle Eastern art with the enchanting music, whirling vibrant colors, and lauding crowd. A truly intercultural experience that I wish I could have shared with you.

Earlier in the day I traveled to Jerusalem for a meeting at the Ambassador Hotel. Although I was there in my personal capacity, I was able to sit with the director of Search for Common Ground in the region (a former Canadian diplomat), an SIT alumni, and the founders of an NGO in Canada - the Peace it Together Project. The NGO brings groups of Israelis, Palestinians and Canadians together on a Vancouver island to work on dialogue and conflict resolution skills, and to facilitate their learning about and eventual mutual creation of short movies that have to be relevant to the conflict in some way. Through the media training and in coming together to create a final production, the founders hope to ease tensions and forge relationships across the divided communities.

Such work may not seem particularly sexy to most Americans, most of whom have come to percieve the high-level political peace processes as the only legitimate means of inter-state conciliation. It doesn't help either that those peace processes and agreements more often than not fail abissmally, for a variety of reasons. And then the average person is left with a feeling of disdain for diplomacy and a more deeply entrenched perception that war is inevitable, a part of human nature, and there is nothing we can do about it. Such is the idea that I am spending a lot of time and energy to dispel.

Out of 35 peace accords between and within countries from the end of the Cold War to 2005, 34 failed. The reasons for this are quite complex of course, but I believe such a trend unvequivocally reveals that diplomacy alone (or military intervention for that matter) do little to avert the cycles of violence in the end. But there has been a sea change in the international conflict arena in the last 20 years that has sought to address that unfortunate status quo inclination, though most people operating 'within the box' know little to nothing about it.

What has been previously coined as 'Second Track' diplomacy (First Track being the government to government method) has now become a more widely accepted and promulgated approach towards peacebuilding. I say "previously coined" because the term has now expanded into a 'Multi-Track' model, meaning that peace-making is facilitated not only by diplomats and international lawyers, but also regular civilians as well (although I have found that there are quite profound things about them!). Such is the approach of building bridges between conflicting communities through media and sports (such as between China and the US in the 70's by using, of all things, ping pong) and forging relationships that work to attend to some of the underlying causes of conflict, or at least initiate a process that may eventually lead to addressing the core issues at stake.

Myself and literally hundreds of thousands of regular citizens from around the world, trying to live unconventially in a presently conventional political theatre, are the ombudspersons of the peacebuilding process, the cultural ambassadors on an increasingly globalized planet. The work may not be sexy to the normal person, but it is nonetheless provocative, sustainable, and deeply life-changing.

Reverence for Reality

Palestine will not leave you wanting in regards to stumbling upon sites of cherished religious significance. In one month I have experienced a few of them - I have gazed into the cave of Jesus' supposed birth, stood above Abraham's tomb, been inside the Old City of Jerusalem, and as of today, while in the ancient city of Nablus, walked by the well where Jesus was recorded to have spoken to the Samaritan woman. To be honest with you, though, I am left feeling a shade bereft because the romanticized impression that I had previously projected onto this region has so far been unfulfilled.

Perhaps it was the swarms of religious pilgrims (mostly from Eastern Europe it seemed), or the overly zealous postcard peddlers, or perhaps I have only myself to blame for not drawing forth the pious veneration they may have deserved. Perhaps even more significantly, in my summation, is the general malaise of experiencing a 'life occupied', the symptoms of which are far from subtle.

Travel here isn't determined by kilometers, but by Israeli checkpoints. It took four such checkpoints to get to Nablus, some operated by two young men with M-16's, others by concrete citadels serving as sniper roosts, and there were turnstiles, x-ray machines, barricades dressed in mangled barbed wire, young men (and women) with grenade-launching versions of the generic US assault rifle, and some with even heavier caliber machine guns. But I have spoken of this before in earlier entries. I just wish I could offer you the complete picture, literally, but taking photos isn't the most favored of activities there.

Standing at the Hawara checkpoint, one of two main entrances into Nablus (both Israeli controlled), scores of Palestinians stood waiting in long lines, letting out a wistful cheer when any one member was allowed through to the surplus of canary yellow taxis awaiting them on the other side. As an American, it was a little easier, though I still had to put my bag through a mobile x-ray vehicle and relinquish my passport. Some of the time the young soldiers engage in light conversation, but most look rather annoyed, edgy, and tend to behave that way too. I know I would be if I had to stand in the sun all day with heavy gear with the principle task of making people frustrated with you.

It was equally as intense to walk through the Balata refugee camp, the largest in the West Bank with around 20,000 persons, and to see the tight streets lined with posters of armed martyrs pasted on the side of every grey, tattered building, all the while young boys running around with plastic handguns and AK-47's playing 'Israelis and Palestinians'. Despite the imagery, I wasn't affected much by the young boys antics.

When I was their age I was just as interested in weapons, and in fact had more 'advanced' versions than the ones they were wielding. Upon reflection I sense that the main difference between my boyhood years of gun playing and theirs is that they have a tangible 'enemy', whereas mine were only imaginary. And it's not hard to see why they would, despite the shocking nature of that statement to many of my countrymen. Even as an American, who carries with him a one-up position (via my passport) here, I occasionally observe retaliatory and antisocial visions wander across my mind, albeit brief as they are. I can assure you that it does take an exceptional person to witness military occupation every day for 40 years and not take up arms in struggle. It would be helpful to understand that by having to walk through the Hawara checkpoint every day (which the UN mentions is the sole contributor to the 80% unemployment rate in Balata) and still remain civil is a powerful form of nonviolence, and most people here live that way every single day.

I don't want to seem as if I support violent struggle. Even though resisting against military occupation is legal under international law (if the occupied party attacks the military forces only) I still have a very hard time accepting the justification it. Today I was told that the Balata refugee camp is famous for its martyrs, of which 170 have been killed by the IDF (I think I saw at least 20 or 30 of their faces on the streets walls). Although it is a tragedy for everyone involved, that is the reality faced in Nablus.

So with all this I hope you can forgive me for not taking the time and being in the space to revere the Holy Land as many people might imagine they would. It is enough to be able to make your way down the main street in Balata and encounter inquisitive children who want to shake your hand and walk with you for awhile, and give to them the respect and warmth they duly deserve.

A Different Story

What is a suitable role for an American in Palestine? Having without doubt contributed to the Occupation in a tangible way (US tax dollars are used to construct illegal Israeli settlements and US funding of Israeli Defense Forces weaponry is irrefutable), is it even possible to have a constructive role, or are the contradictions too pervasive and restraining? I have left members of the community here to answer that pressing question, a question that I began to consider myself long before my arrival.
And the message has been pretty clear. Because most Palestinians are aware of the tacit support provided for Israel by the US, and that the US media's jaundiced view of Arabs and Muslims breeds more fear and contempt than conciliation, it is 'by sharing a more nuanced and realistic perspective with my fellow Americans that they believe some progress towards justice and peace can be attained'. At the heart of it is countering misperceptions and harmful generalizations of Palestinians by providing a more authentic narrative.

In the conservative and recusant circles of cross-cultural analysis in the US you might find such anecdotes like, "All terrorists are not Muslims, but all Muslims are terrorists," or, "All Palestinians (or Arabs more generally) support suicide bombing and hate Americans." On the other hand, an opposing view, just as unsophisticated and vitriolic, might suggest that, "Suicide bombing and terrorism can be justified if they are acts of resistance," or, "the Jews are responsible for 9/11." My personal feeling is that the truth lies unnoticed (and silenced) somewhere in the middle.

But what is 'truth' in this context? That depends on who you ask I suppose, so I set out to do some interviews to find out. Moayed, a 21 year-old Dheisheh man, was a star runner in his youth, confident and happy, given the circumstances. But life was hard for he and his family; food did not always find its way onto the table and he had to live within a 14' barbed wired fence until he was 8. In 2000, with the second Intifida boiling up and over in his community, his life began to change dramatically.

Moayed was young, full of angst, and decided to take out his energy by throwing stones at soldiers, tanks, jeeps, whatever he and his cohorts could. He acknowledged that the stones were virtually harmless, but they symbolized taking action, defiance of a brutal military occupation that had taken his friends life while standing next to him. In his defiance he recieved an M-16 round centimeters from his heart -for throwing stones- still there to this day, and years in an Israeli jail. In the jail he was sometimes beaten and humiliated, but he looks upon those years with surprising affection, it seemed, because he was educated in a way that he never imagined he could be.

He came to realize that through education and by thinking more strategically he could resist the Occupation and struggle in a way that was far more productive and meaningful. Ultimately, his identity as a defiant young man evolved into a deeper Palestinian identity, one that pushed him to go to college, work to educate the next generation, and dedicate his life to nonviolent struggle.

Of these young persons that I have begun to interview - and the material could fill many more paragraphs in these electronic pages - I have stumbled upon profound stories of resilience and personal transformation amidst the most extreme adversity. In my view, the young men here acted as any young men elsewhere might also (I remember my own relentless snowball attacks on cars and I had no reason at all!). They are regular people, affected deeply by the violence around them, yet striving to live fulfilling and secure lives. They are genuine, supportive, and still love life. So far, this is the message that they would like me to share with you.

Perspectives

As I had anticipated, this has been a true journey of discovery. In my last blog I briefly described some of the conversations that have been taking place around me - the tanks, snipers, torture, and humiliating oppression, for example. Coming from a place where such 'trauma' is effectually imponderable, these stories may sound contrived to you. Until now, I have had no prior reference point in regards to these very real experiences, save for a few readings I may have done or impassioned speeches I was able to entertain.

But to call it 'trauma' is to miss the real essence of what it's like to live through it, so I gather. Is it really a trauma when an entire community has suffered from it? Or can it be more accurately described as 'normal reactions to abnormal circumtances'? I was speaking with an Italian psychologist last evening, someone who has worked in Palestine for many years exploring just that. Putting on my researchers hat I began asking him if counseling or 'therapy' has any value in this environment. He admitted that it does very little, aside from some extreme cases, becuase so many members of the community suffer from the same thing, you can call it trauma or whatever you like. His experience has revealed that the most beneficial type of activity for persons living through such a context is simply having something to do, something to occupy their time in a constructive and meaningful way, precisely that which the Ibdaa Cultural Center has strived to do for over 10 years.

But Ibdaa is not alone. Foreign funders and enlightened local actors (not the cinema variety) have been collaborating in Palestine for many years in order to offer the types of activities that create something to cheer about. Ask most Americans about Palestine and the conversation becomes unsophisticated rather quickly, no fault of their own in most cases I will grant you. Yet if they were able to be present in a stadium filled with roaring fans lauding their respective soccer teams, attend a championship basketball game between Christian and Muslim Arabs, or sit with hundreds of enamored onlookers as a broad-minded poet (educated in America) moves the audience to tears with his narration, maybe they would feel that people here aren't that different after all.

It is understandable that Americans would be fearful of the Arab world, maybe of Muslims in general. I too have been influenced by negligent and circumspect exposure to the real experience of people making their way through life as best they can in this part of the globe. We know only of suicide bombers and 'terrorists' with black masks wielding AK-47's, with virtually no context or more penetrating comprehension whatsoever. Not to say that there aren't persons here of extreme persuasions (as there are in every country), but how pervasive is it really when a white, blonde, blue-eyed man (and American) stands among thousands of Arab males and he recieves only smiles, hello's and handshakes? I'll leave you to ponder that one.

The real story is of everyday people trying to make the most of what they've got, which isn't much here in Palestine. What they do with the little they have (meaning little land, money, freedom, and so on) would amaze anyone who has an inkling of what it might be like growing up under military occupation. It would offend my colleagues here, however, if we were to assume that they are a charity case. My impression of what they need is solidarity, not charity, people to stand shoulder to shoulder with them in order to help maintain the dignity and respect they rightly deserve, to collaborate in order to offer something tangible and meaningful to future generations. Right now, this is how I am coming to make some sense as for my presence in the Dhiesheh refugee camp in the West Bank, Palestine.

The Game of Life

The 8th day of Ramadan. The moon descended slowly, transforming from pearl to amber as it hung above a large date palm just outside the Jericho Municipality International Stadium. An extensive entourage travelled from Dheisheh to Jericho this evening for a soccer game with Beit Safafa, a team from East Jerusalem. All but a couple of us rode aboard Ibdaa's new bus (donated by a town in Spain) and the trip had its ups and downs. Not least because the road from Bethlehem to Jericho is a windy one with rapid descents and steep climbs, and laden with relentless unmarked speed bumps.

I have made the trip before, at least 4 times, passing through the various Israeli checkpoints and Palestinian villages that dot the scenery, but this one was particularly discouraging. At the first checkpoint the soldiers asked all of Ibdaa's players (and fans) to step out of the bus, line up, and hand over their I.D. cards. This was not particularly unsettling, they are quite used to such scenarios, as I have become also in only three weeks here. What was unsettling was that the soldiers took two of the players to a holding room, releasing one, and arresting the other, a cousin of one of the players and only 20 years old. This evening that young man ate a homecooked Ramadan meal with his family, hopped on the bus to go cheer on his cousin, and is now sitting somewhere inside and Israeli jail.

No one knew what he had done, I couldn't get an answer from my friends as to why they would have arrested him. Was he a collaborator, who did he know, was he a terrorist? Perhaps, perhaps not. One thing is for sure, he is the oldest male in his family and its sole supporter. Now, the routine has once again begun, the calling of lawyers, exploring for contacts that might have an 'in' on the young man's whereabouts, a process that may take weeks or months.

Few Americans are faced with the reality of driving through military checkpoints, listening to heart-rending stories of children assasinated, houses demolished, photojournalists running for cover as menacing Apache helicopters hover overhead, or a friend's little brother shot by a sniper as he stood looking out his window at the scene below. Few also hear of community led initiatives that try to give hope to an entire refugee camp (for a whole community that could be diagnosed with PTSD) by providing a place for children to hang out, sports activities that can occupy their time, workshops and trainings, and most of all, an example of resilience and fortitude in the face of adversity.

Last night we ate dinner with an English screenwriter (you might have heard of The Last King of Scotland) and a CBS/freelance videographer, one of the best in Palestine (and there are a lot of those here). The Englishman is writing a movie about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and they dropped by to talk story with Ziad, rather, to listen to his personal testimony of a life lived through both Intifadas and the momumental shifts of the world around him, though the most arduous elements seem to have remained the same.

Dheisheh has had its share of suffering, and it has also offered its share of resistance to the Israeli occupation, 5 suicide bombers have emerged from its narrow streets, including the youngest female bomber from Palestine, at 17. So Ziad knows well the facts on the ground as it comes to such things. It is both disconcerting and fascinating for me to hear he and his peers talk about their experiences growing up. Whereas I am used to adult males boast about their salvitic moments on the football field or that unfading memory of the time they landed 15 lake trout, here they talk about climbing on tops of tanks, waking up to a soldier's boot in their face, or getting shot in the ass. The truly fascinating thing is that they laugh about it all, perhaps as a defense mechanism, or simply because for a human to experience such things is so heinous and absurd that it becomes laughable.

In Order To Learn

After a week of assimilation I have finally begun to interact with the Ibdaa youth. One of Ibdaa's primary functions is youth empowerment and leadership development and it is in these areas that I have been given some room to explore how I might learn from and share with the young people of Dheisheh.

I have engaged twice with a group of about 10 boys (aged 14-16) in a way that my experience in life and work has compelled me to. Our first encounter was an introduction to what I would like to offer them, which is a mixture of my martial arts and sports training, leadership education and teambuilding experience, and an introduction for me to what the boys feel they need at this pivotal time in their lives. Most of them expressed a need for guidance and support, someone to create the space for them to be active, learn functional life skills, and most importantly, to play ball. Talking to them about what they want from our interaction was a valuable and thought provoking exercise that has helped to shape my ideas of how I can best serve this community as a volunteer in solidarity with their mission.

Speaking now about how this community, specifically broader Palestine, has served me I wish to highlight my brief excursion yesterday to the city of Hebron. Hebron is a large city in the center of biblical Judea and is one of the oldest continually inhabited regions in the world. It is also one of the most controversial areas in all of Palestine.

Hebron has been a sight of discord between Jews and Arabs since early in the last century, and both communities have suffered from it. For example, in the late 1920's, 67 Jews were targeted and killed by Palestinians, and between '48 and '67 under Jordanian rule, many synagogues were ransacked and destroyed. Since the '67 war the Israeli Army has controlled the West Bank, Hebron being in the south of it, and Jewish settlers (now numbering around 800) have moved in and dominated life in the middle of the city. There is one soldier for every settler there, settler's who happen to be some of the most radical in all of Palestine, and most coming from Brooklyn, in fact. In 1994, for instance, the American-born doctor, Baruch Goldstein, entered the Cave of the Patriarchs, a mosque that houses the tombs of Abraham and his descendants, and opened fire on a crowd gathered for prayer. 29 Arab men and boys were killed before he was overtaken by a wrathful crowd. I could still see the missing chunks of stone, now filled in with plaster, from the bullets that exited his military-issued assault rifle.

As I and three American doctors wandered through the ancient city, up and down the maze of secluded corridors, past the immutable stone walls and winding tunnelways, we were aroused by the remote past that seemed to seep from the cracks. Hebron is a meaningful city to many, and it was easy to see why.

On our way out of the inner-city corridors, a Palestinian man, accompanied by his dishwater blonde boy, asked us if we knew our way or needed aide to exit the labrynthine walkways. Next thing we knew we were climbing the steps into his elegant home, tucked away behind a 10 meter stone facade. He was a humble man, softspoken yet obviously honored to share his pride for his family, including his two sons who were in their twenties. The troubling thing was, though, that he spent most of his breath on describing how wearisome life was in Hebron.

Every 10 days or so Israeli soldiers drop into his home from above, without notice, and interrogate his family. His two sons have been taken often and held all night in the settler area, being namecalled, sometimes beaten, and otherwise harrassed for living there. He stated that the soldiers admittedly beleaguer the Palestinians in Hebron because, "This is an occupation, and we must keep our boots on your neck." He left us by mentioning that moving his family to Canada was an advancing reality and seemed convinced that the actions of the soldiers intended precisely that.

So I am learning a great deal here, about resilience, the power of the struggle to survive, and confounded as to how human beings remain positive even amidst ruthless adversity. It is a both a humbling and a beautiful thing, volunteering my energy in order to learn and share in this strikingly unexpected environment.

Encounters

This is a land of unforeseen encounters, not least because it is hard to envisage what awaits you on the other side of the Wall. This past Saturday I took a brief taxi ride from Dheisheh to the former sight of Rachel's Tomb, where now stands a looming concrete pillbox and massive metal gateway, the main entrance into the city of Jerusalem. After passing through a labyrinth of fencework, turnstiles, and x-ray machines, I took my first steps towards the ancient city.

Upon making my way through the security zone, a new friend, accompanied by two Israeli men, a German man and one Jewish American woman, picked me up at the Jerusalem side of the Wall and my first excursion into Israel commenced. The six of us, crammed like sardines into the rental car, sped away from the line of division (both a geographical and a cultural one) and headed for the Old City. It was an amazing sight to see, the timeworn wall, the Al-Aqsa mosque, and the new ultra-modern mall across the street. I was fortunate enough to have two Israeli tour guides in the car, both of whom quickly entered into a guide-off to see which one held the most esoteric information about each unique historical landmark. It was quite amusing, and informing as well.

Our inter-ethnic entourage was headed up to a small hamlet, Tay Beh, just north of Ramallah. Tay Beh is a city know for many things, including being a wholly Christian village and the sight of the only brewery in Palestine. It was the villages Oktoberfest celebration that led us there, and it turned out to be fantastic. The entire community seemed to join in the fun, and so did a great number of international journalists and beer/cultural connoisseurs. Although the festival was a hit, it was actually the journey there that made the most impact.

You see, two of my friends in the car were Israeli, and it is illegal (under Israeli law) for its country's citizens to enter the West Bank. In fact, my comrades had hardly ever travelled in the West Bank at all. Although we could have chosen to take the quick and easy route ( the bypass roads, an exclusive luxury) we chose instead to drive right through Palestine's most thriving city. Needless to say, there was an air of tension and vulnerability in the car. But, a serendipitous encounter sucked all of that air out as quickly as you could say Hoover.

We didn't really know our way to Tay Beh, and so we stopped to ask a taxi driver if he could direct us. What he did deeply affected all of us, particularly my Israeli friends. After our query was delivered the taxi driver shouted out, "Yala" (let's go), and gestured at us to follow. This complete stranger led us nearly the entire way to Tay Beh, saving us a lot of anxiety because we probably would have been lost for hours, and that wasn't even the greatest part. The most significant thing occurred when he stopped at a local convenience store, ran in, and emerged with a large bottle of lemonade and a stack of cups, saying, "Welcome to Palestine." It was a welcome that my friends had never expected, and with one simple cultural intimation, their perspectives opened like desert flowers after a spring rain . That one experience, combined with the beauty that can be found on the road from Ramallah to Tay Beh, held transformational qualities that nothing like a first hand encounter can convey.

The past week has been a challenge in acclimating to a new culture, environment, and reflecting upon my own ability to adjust. Yet, the people here have been open and supportive and it has been a remarkably easy transition for me given their 'nourishment' (there is no shortage of great food!). I feel that four months is hardly enough time to genuinely adapt to a new culture but I am hopeful that it will allow me time enough to come to realize, not simply understand, this part of the world more accurately. A new week and new perspectives begins today.

Reflections on the View

For several days now I have been attempting to assimilate into a hostile world. Hostile not in the sense of day to day relations, which in fact are charming, open and hospitable, but hostile in the sentiment it imbibes. I will never be able to articulate completely the feelings that are generated when standing below a 15' concrete barrier, looking down upon military-controlled roads lined with electric fences and snaking atop the barren landscape, seeing once-functional buildings, barraged by shelling, slowly deteriorate into rubble, and trying to fathom that all the while I have my feet planted in the Holy Land.

I have travelled along bypass roads here, zooming by Israeli settlements and checkpoints on roads so steep and windy that a rally car racer would teem with adrenaline upon sight of them. The landscape, an arid and dusty series of rolling hills, is actually full of life. In spite of the hardships and daily challenges that face Palestinian residents in the West Bank, they do seem to get by. Though it must take a tremendous amount of resilience, the source of which has to be something quite profound, to wake up each morning with hope, still watching with the naked eye as California-like settlements sprout up on the bluffs ahead, a man-made oasis replete with tennis courts and swimming pools.

The water here is an important topic. I have two colleagues that work on the water issue - gathering data, writing papers, doing extensive homework, and then facts are generated and callibrated - and the reality is not uplifting. The reality is that the water issues here are a prime source of the continuation of the conflict. Water flows downward, and in the case of Israel and Palestine, much of the water flows from the West Bank acquifers into Israel Proper. Under international law, states that are recipients of water in this way are required to share it, but in this case it is gathered, distributed to the areas deemed most needy, and the leftovers are sold back to the Palestinians. The continued violations are self-evident, albeit more complex.

It is not my intention here to enter into a diatribe on injustice. I admit that my understanding at this point is not a balanced one, but I also admit that this 'side' has no real voice where I am from and as these are the lessons that are before me now I feel compelled to express them.

As a conflict worker I am deeply interested in the spectrum of transformation methods (e.g. violence - nonviolence) for addressing conflict. I asked a friend today about the application of nonviolence in this context now (knowing that it has been used extensively and strategically in the past), and the remarks centered around the overwhelming reality that 'hope' in the broader community in Palestine might as well be a foreclosed option for the future. To get his point across more concretely we stopped a teenager on the street to ask him the same question. To paraphrase, "Of course I believe in peace, it is in my heart, but how can we have hope under this occupation?" We were mere meters from the wall. We thanked him and waved goodbye, and his face lit up with a smile.

Within my own self hope does spring eternal, but how can I or anyone ever know how deep that river of hope flows, ever truly empathize with the reality faced here? One of my hopes is to come closer to understanding this elusive labyrinth of emotion and will.

Tomorrow I enter into Ramallah for a cultural event with the dance troupe, the next day into Jerusalem, and the journey ambles forward.

Marhaba Palestine

Change is always swift when leapfrogging from one continent to another, it's just that some leaps are more far-reaching than others. Yesterday I was in Switzerland, today Palestine. It isn't difficult to imagine the transformation of the landscape, the cars, the food, the people, but it is something else entirely to experience it unfolding in front of you.

In the last week I had become accustomed to taking notice of marble archways, verandas overflowing with flowering vines, and steep, verdant peaks. Yesterday, travelling from Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv to my new home outside of Bethlehem, that composition became awash in an infinite sea of right angles, stands of cedar and olive, and arid hilltops. I arrived in Ad Dheisheh refugee camp yesterday evening around 6:00, a tangerine sun setting over West Bank highlands in the distance.

A brief and necessary history lesson: the Dheisheh refugee camp is not a 'camp' as you might picture one in your mind, though it did start out as a tent site 58 years ago. The municipality of Dheisheh (a l-sq-km area) has been leased by the UN Relief Works Agency since 1949 and is now a fairly built-up enclave of about 12,000 persons. Dheisheh was, until the Oslo Accords in the 1990's, surrounded by a 15' barbed wire fence and had only one entrance, controlled by the Israeli military, which remains today in the form of a rusty turnstile, a chilling reminder of perhaps the most restrictive policies ever imposed by the Israelis - 84 consecutive days of curfew during the Gulf War. The residents of Dheisheh come from 30 villages and from West Jerusalem, and inhabited the tent site in 1949 after their hometowns were either repopulated by Jewish immigrants, or demolished. Today, Dheisheh is headquarters for the world-renowned youth dance troupe, champion basketball teams, a media center, trade school, kindergarten, and a women's leadership initiative, all based out of the Ibdaa Cultural Center. It is my task for the next four months to understand the situation here more deeply - the realities facing Palestinian refugees as well as the legitimate concerns of Israeli citizens - and to offer myself in service in ways that I hope might be useful to the people here, based in some part on my training as a peace and conflict educator.

It is not likely to be easy, and I see that as a good thing. I can foresee myself being challenged to refine various aspects of my training in conflict studies, in developing a greater sensitivity to complex and seemingly insurmountable conflicts, to deepen my empathy for the victims on all sides of such tragic circumstances, to increase my ability to be open to new insights and learnings, and to become a better teacher (that is perhaps the most arduous of them!). If the past two days are any indication, it is going to be a great journey.