Blogs

When I sat down to write a summary of the PSE program I realized what
a daunting task it was. How could I possibly write about all the
things we have taken from this experience? It was all immensely
different for each of us. We all came from different places in our
lives, different countries, and for different reasons. I suppose the
best I can do is speak of my experiences and hope that my writing does
some justice to our common experiences.
When I first came to the West Bank I was impatient. I wanted to save
the world. I’ve learned patience here. I’ve learned about despair and

Three weeks in and I realized that a month-long journey to Palestine is inadequate. After spending time in the cities and talking to people on all sides of the Israeli-Palestinian issue, I see that three weeks is barely enough time to scratch the surface of things here. And with every sideways glance as I walk alone down the street, with every awkward attempt at communication, with every wrong turn I make, with every cultural faux pas and political misstep, I find myself asking What was I thinking?

So a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step...but when that journey is to Palestine, that first step better be accompanied by one hell of an alibi and a smile that could charm the pants off a pedophile, or your journey could find itself ending in the arrivals hall at Ben-Gurion Airport. And although I had pretensions to cruise through customs like James Bond, with seemingly effortless and immaculate English charm, it seemed my inner Daniel Craig deserted me.

I have never been so proud of humanity as I have been in Palestine. Despite the overwhelming oppression and difficulty to survive here, there are people in the West Bank struggling not only to survive but thrive. I am in Café Sima now, owned by a Palestinian woman who graduated from Le Cordon Bleu and has returned home to Bethlehem. No matter how silly it may seem, I swear that every cappuccino and dessert she serves is an act of resistance.

little girl

all dressed up
with no place to go.
you’re smiling at us
and I don’t understand why
you choose to show that emotion
in this place of all places—surrounded
by memories of death and a feeling of being
trapped
in poverty and injustice
barricading you in—a Wall whose harsh, raw concrete
glares down at you and tells you that you are nothing.
but it does not reflect your spirit, somehow intact within.
if God has any mercy, may God somehow leave that

In traffic that can only be described cacophonous, I entered Bethlehem, the city of Jesus’ birth. And that’s the strangest part about coming here. In the most fleeting of times does it hit me that this is the place where it all went down - where the shepherds walked, where Boaz lived, and where the birth of the one who was to change the world came into humanity. Maybe one expects to feel different. To see the desert and the people and be flooded with the internalization of the story, and come to some sort of immediate epiphany. That doesn’t seem to be how it works. It’s slower than that.

This morning I came to a both a sad discovery and a reminder of why I am here. My host mother, a tiny 72-year-old woman who looks much younger than her age, has told me multiple times that she gets "nervous." Her English not being quite good, and my Arabic being quite terrible, I try to stick to conversations in which either she or I do not have to give lengthy answers to questions.

This session has been in one word: intense. A really good intensity. Through my volunteer placement, Arabic classes and cultural nights, it can be easy to slip into a routine where you start going through the motions of the program. However, this program is being held in Palestine, and nothing is routine here.

Food consciousness has been a big part of my experience on this trip. This has included fasting for me, as well as being overwhelmed by the sight, smell, feel and taste of the bread with the family in Artas that reminded me so much of my grandmother. Today, as part of our overnight trip to the north, we visited the Golan Heights. Here, in Syrian land occupied by Israel, I ate lava-red cherries from trees in my ancestral homeland. These remarkable treats, in their firm, moist texture and deep earthy sweetness spoke of experienced hands, fertile fields, clean water and a blessing from God.

Before leaving for the Palestine Summer Encounter, I began researching agriculture in Palestine for my graduate program. In my search, I came across an article on Daher’s Vineyard, a farm in the Bethlehem area that was surrounded by Israeli settlements on four sides and under constant threat from settlers, soldiers and the Israeli legal system. The article left me in suspense as to what might have been the fate of this Palestinian family’s struggle to keep their land and their livelihood, so I had it in mind to visit as soon as I could, assuming it was still here.