First of all I am safe and sound…..
Second of all nothing like this has happened to any of the teachers before in the past two years.. and hopefully it won’t happen again..
Last night at 2am in the morning I woke up to incredible pounding on the front door of the apartment. I have never had someone bang on my front door with authority. This being a Muslim country I really didn’t feel comfortable answering the door as a women or in my pajamas but the guys in my house didn’t seem to be coming to the door so I wrapped a blanket around me and swung open the door ready to yell at who ever had been so rude as to disturb my sleep and got the shock of my life..
Six or so very armed soldiers ready to attack who ever opened the door… me….. I actually don’t know who was more shocked and frightened? Me or them… a blond American women in her pajamas was the last thing in the world they were expecting.. Six scary Israeli soldiers was equally shocking to me.. You could see it running through their heads, do we treat her like any suspected terrorist or not? I asked them, “how can I help you”… They all spoke some English and asked me where I was from and what was I doing there… I explained that I was an American and a volunteer teacher at a school in town. They wanted to know who else lived there, and didn’t quite believe me when I told them it was three Americans. They asked me for my passport and I asked them if they minded if I put on some more clothes.. what I was wearing simply wasn’t decent. They thought that was a good idea.. I have learned from my experience in Japan, that you never know when you are going to be taken away to jail in your pajamas so it is best to put on some clean ones.. I came back with my passport and more clothes and was asked to go and get the others. I went to their doors to knock and wake them up. Announcing that the soldiers were there… and for a moment I realized I didn’t know which soldiers they were.. I had assumed they were Israeli but wait they might be Palestinian or who knows which country… So I looked back at them. There was nothing on their uniforms that shouted Israeli soldiers to me.. but this is how it works.. from everything I had heard from my students, coworkers, and from reading… The soldiers come around 2 or 3 in the morning to arrest (or as some call it, kidnap) who ever it is that they are going to take. So they had to be Israeli, right?
I shouted out again that the Israeli soldiers were here and they needed to get up and come out with their passport.. I think the guys were as shocked as I was, if not more.. They kept muttering, that in the two years they had been there nothing like this had ever happened.. that I was bad luck for them and that this ended their suspicion that I was a spy for the Israelis..
The soldiers quickly and efficiently questioned the guys and turned around to leave.. as they were leaving they each turned to ask us questions…
“do we know who lives in the building” -which we didn’t
“how do you get further into the building”- go all the way down walk out to on of the other doors facing the street and go up their stair way
They might have even apologized.. I don’t remember.
Adrenaline was pumping too hard for me to just fall back to sleep.. I ran over to my window to look down to see what their cars/ jeeps looked like. It was a stretch hummer/jeep thing… like that I had seen at the checkpoints..
For the next hour or so I could hear them pounding up and down our stairs going into other apartments. Doing the same thing..
Eventually I fell asleep wondering if they found who they were looking for and what happened when they went into other peoples homes. Where they as polite to the Palestinian people as they were to us?
When I got to school the next morning I told some of the staff what had happened.. they of course were freaked out, shocked and relived that we were taking it all in stride.. these things happen..
One of the teachers, the one that I co-teach with who grew up for part of her life in the states, pointed out that now we know what their lives are like. The same thing happened to her family last November. Her father is a professor at the university. One night last November all the professors across the city were rounded up and taken away.
Most of my students and co-workers have stories of this, hers ended okay, her father was let go after a few days.
But in light of the problem we had been having at school this week with fighting it got me thinking about what a violent culture I was living in. At school this week we had a problem with two, usually sweet boys, taking a younger one into the bathroom and beating the crap out of him. When I asked my other students about it, they told me that the younger one had said something bad to one of the older ones so it was deserved. I asked them how anything a second grader did merited getting beat up by the forth graders? And they seemed to think I was crazy for thinking this way. The Arabic staff seemed divided on the issue and in the end the two boys were hardly punished at all.
While all of that was going on , we were working on a worksheet in class that had to do with similes. The first words on the page were rock and stone. It is amazing how often those words have come up in class or at school. Once the word rock is mentioned the kids all have to tell me wild stories of them throwing rocks at Israeli soldiers.. they get so animated that obviously this is what they live for. When they go on this tirade I try to point out to them that they are throwing rocks at people in tanks and soldiers with big guns. It doesn’t faze them. This is their culture. This is the way things are done. I remind them that if someone hits you, you shouldn’t hit them back. They look at me like I am crazy, of course you should.. their mothers and fathers told them they should.
But the crazy part is three weeks ago I had the same conversation with an adult Israeli in the old city.
Booth my students in Palestine and the Adult said the exact same thing and truly believed it.
Silly me I thought everyone believed that you don’t fight back, that you turn the other check.. but then it hit me. This whole thought process of turning the other cheek belonged to Jesus.. It isn’t Muslim or Jewish way.. it is a Christian way and the way of countries founded on Christian principals. I really do love these kids and want them to learn not to throw the rocks… to be bigger than that…. But how to?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
sick
Well, it had to happen given the recent turn of events these past weeks and considering how many kids I come in contact with everyday, I am SICK!!!
Bronchitis and a fever and a very sore throat and all kinds of allergy issues...
the weather here has changed and it is now getting hot and the sand storms that I have been hearing about for the past three weeks are starting to pick up, not a good thing for a girl with Asthma like myself.
I told my boss Lana that I was sick and she called one of our student's mom's who is a doctor to ask which type of antibiotic I should be taking. Then an hour later or so the school secretary came in to my class (yes i have to teach even when i am sick and can't talk) with the meds.
I left school as soon as my classes were done and took a shared taxi to the Souk, market, and found a pharmacy. I know I could have asked almost any of my students to bring me medicine tomorrow, most all of their parents are either doctors or pharmacists, but i needed something right away. The pharmacists spoke perfect English and gave me some Swiss expectorant and a large supply of cough drops. All for about 10 dollars and with out a prescription. I then walked through the market and bought a large bag full of very fresh veggies for about $1.75 in the states it would have been easily 15-20$ and took a shared taxi home.. I can't seem to sleep cuz i can't breathe but hopefully sleep will come..
I know i know i need to write about my easter and passover experience... will do so when i can think straight again and the fever has passed...
Bronchitis and a fever and a very sore throat and all kinds of allergy issues...
the weather here has changed and it is now getting hot and the sand storms that I have been hearing about for the past three weeks are starting to pick up, not a good thing for a girl with Asthma like myself.
I told my boss Lana that I was sick and she called one of our student's mom's who is a doctor to ask which type of antibiotic I should be taking. Then an hour later or so the school secretary came in to my class (yes i have to teach even when i am sick and can't talk) with the meds.
I left school as soon as my classes were done and took a shared taxi to the Souk, market, and found a pharmacy. I know I could have asked almost any of my students to bring me medicine tomorrow, most all of their parents are either doctors or pharmacists, but i needed something right away. The pharmacists spoke perfect English and gave me some Swiss expectorant and a large supply of cough drops. All for about 10 dollars and with out a prescription. I then walked through the market and bought a large bag full of very fresh veggies for about $1.75 in the states it would have been easily 15-20$ and took a shared taxi home.. I can't seem to sleep cuz i can't breathe but hopefully sleep will come..
I know i know i need to write about my easter and passover experience... will do so when i can think straight again and the fever has passed...
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Good Friday
I know this is a really really long blog but there are several things i have been putting off talking about until i had time to sit and write them....
Life is amusing at times. This morning when I woke up, I had a few hours before I needed to leave for my weekend in Jerusalem. It seemed like the perfect time to blog or even journal. I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea, got my journal, a pen and my computer and snuggled myself back in bed ready to let my thoughts gush forth…. I had not a thing to say! I couldn’t think of a single interesting event from my week… so instead of using my time wisely I played tetris for two hours, an absolute waste of my time. I then cleaned my room, packed my things, and took a shower which I needed because I stilled smelled like and was covered in ash from the huge Samaritan Passover bonfires I went to the night before.
I don’t think I am as traumatized by the shower as I was the first two weeks. I hope I am getting used to it. When I first arrived, I prayed a lot before taking a shower. I prayed for hot water. I prayed that the filth of the bathroom wouldn’t somehow attack me. I prayed that I wouldn’t freeze to death on the process. I was all very traumatic and I guess being the drama queen that I am didn’t help. But then Isabel, the Scottish teacher scrubbed that bathroom and I found some Lysol and sprayed it down. It also warmed up a few degrees and mostly I accepted the situation and I don’t like showering but being clean has its rewards. I also started documenting how many seconds of hot water we get. On average it is 35 seconds of hot water followed by 2 minutes of icy cold water, over and over again. I have asked every Palestinian I know what their hot water at their homes are like and they promise that they get at least ten minutes of it at a time. I asked my housemates why we haven’t complained or obviously gotten the broken water heater fixed and they said that the apartment we are in is new. Before December they lived in a house about a mile down the street. The teachers lived there for a year and a half and all 13 of them complained nonstop for a year and a half about the hot water situation there. They complained so much that the school finally moved them to this brand new building and they didn’t feel like they had the right to utter one more word about it. Fair enough, I guess……
Weekends here are on Friday and Saturday. Friday is the holy day for the Muslims and Saturday being the day for the Jews. Christians are not as important in this part of the world, we are seen as neutral and somewhat bothersome, like a kid sister who wants to play in the war games going on. However my school out of respect for my faith has given me Easter Sunday off this year so that I could come down to Jerusalem to celebrate the holy of holies in the holiest of cities in the world. I would have come to Jerusalem anyways to work with Sudanese refugees here anyways but it is pretty awesome to run over the church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built over Golgotha, the exact spot where Jesus was crucified and in the same church and building is the tomb where Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. Last week when I was here I spent some time researching when and where things would happen this week so I knew I needed to be here by 3pm and I from my experience I knew it would take around three hours to get here. What I hadn’t taken into account was that it was Friday in Palestine so NOTHING would be open or running AND it was Friday of Passover here in Israel so NOTHING would be open or running and that Security would be impossible.
Usually it is really easy to catch at taxi or shared taxi from my apartment or even my street. And if for some reason that didn’t work if I just walked to the main street there would be plenty of taxi’s driving by there. I had to walk for 30 minutes through the Palestinian checkpoint almost to the center of town before any taxi passed by, and lucky for me there was one seat left in it. As he was dropping everyone off I looked around and realized there was no way that I was going to be able to find another shared taxi to the checkpoint with out having to wait an hour or two. Shared taxi’s don’t leave until all the seats are full and on a day like that when there wasn’t any one around it could take a long time. So I asked the driver if he would drive me all the way to the first checkpoint and I would pay. He dropped me off and the checkpoint was abandoned except for the dozen or so Israeli guards manning it. They very politely checked my passport and visa and let me through. I then went over the “Services” the shared mini-van taxi’s to sit and wait an hour until 6 other people came through the checkpoint who all wanted to go to Ramallah. They put me in the front seat which I suspected because this has happened several times before was to make the car look less likely to have terrorist in it since obviously I as an American wouldn’t have anything to do with that and maybe it might make it easier to get through the next few checkpoints. The Israeli guards balance out being polite to the Americans and interrogating the Palestinians who come through. Maybe with my presence we can get through faster and easier, I don’t mind being used. While I am waiting one of the drivers/ guys hanging out there strikes up a conversation with me. At first I was hesitant to talk with him because it is forbidden for this type of conversation to take place between men and women. He should be respecting that I am a woman and leaving me alone. Plus from my perspective it can get old everyone trying to practice their English on me and asking tons of personal questions that they translate to everyone standing around making me even more a spectacle then I am. But his English was amazing and he spends most of the year living in New York City and we have actually a good conversation about the outrageous rents there compared to Los Angeles where he used to live. About 25 minutes into the conversation the other drivers yell at him that he is not respecting me and to leave me alone. He realized what he has done and apologizes for intruding on my space and leaves me to read the book that I have in my bag. Eventually the taxi fills up and we are on our way. Five miles later we hit the next checkpoint. Unlike the first one we can all stay in the taxi and don’t have to switch to a new one. Usually Israeli soldiers just glance into the car and do a “spot check” but because it is Passover they ask for everyone’s ID’s and permits to be in this part of Palestine. They inspect each car carefully and open every trunk and look in every box and bag before letting the next car move on. While inspecting us, someone has taken our Passports and ID’s to call them all in. We pull through the checkpoint and wait for a soldier to bring us our documents.
We drive about ten more miles to the next checkpoint and go through the same process again.
These two checkpoints weren’t in existence two weeks ago and now they are getting tighter and tighter every week. However I heard that two weeks ago they opened up completely a few other checkpoints that were even tougher. It is a strange world to live in, trying to figure out Israeli and Palestinian checkpoints.
Eventually a million and a half speed bumps later, (The speed bumps are all over and were put in by the Israeli army to slow people down and to make get-aways more challenging) we arrive at the bus station in the center of Ramallah. Usually this city is hopping and a crazy place but it has completely shut down for Friday and I quickly walked over to the bus station to catch a bus to al-quits, or Jerusalem. Again we have to wait a long time for the bus to fill up. I am so thankful for my time in china where I was trained well to wait for buses to fill up. I think my entire first year there, I was so mystified to why busses didn’t run on schedules and why we would have to wait hours in big empty stations for the possibility of people coming. I now 12 years later like that this means that there will always be a bus waiting for me, that I can’t ever miss a bus. That it gives me time to read a book. I environmentally it makes sense that busses should run full and not empty just because of following a schedule. It all actually makes sense to me now and waiting is just part of traveling. And I like that it is out of my hands. When I drive in America I feel like if I were to drive more aggressively or figure out how to beat the traffic lights I could get places on time. But here, inshallah you make it on time or if you need to, pay and take a taxi.
It is always fascinating to see who and what walks through a bus station. Palestinians have large families so it isn’t strange to see them walk through with 5 or 6 kids. The some women wear head-scarves and some don’t. Everyone has their own way of expressing their style and level of belief with their scarves. Some women wear the full thing where only their eyes show. One lady had mitten and all kinds of clothing on to ensure not a single spot of skin would show. Most wear a colorful scarf around their head. But how they style the scarf and how the coordinate it with the rest of their outfits just fascinates me. And still other women don’t wear scarves at all. Those women have the most amazing hairstyles and always look like they just stepped out of a salon. In Ramallah there are many different international aid organizations staff by internationals from all over the world. They mix right in and it can be really hard to spot them. Unlike when I was in East Asia and it was easy to spot a foreigner a mile away I can’t tell them apart from the crowd. So many Palestinians have either lived parts of their lives overseas or have family who does and sends them back shoes and clothes, that my usual tell-tale signs don’t work here. So many of them speak English or other languages well that just listening in on a conversation doesn’t always help either. But yesterday there were a few obvious foreigners wondering around the station, I could spot them because they weren’t as fashionably dressed as everyone else and they seemed as lost and confused as I usually feel here.
The bus finally took off for Jerusalem, well for the final check point. Until this point I hadn’t left Palestine. All of these checkpoints so far were to control travel amongst local people from village to village. If you really want to get around a checkpoint and have a car, it wouldn’t be impossible to do at all. The night before when I went to the Samarian village and asked my students how to get through their checkpoint after it closes at 3 every afternoon they said that you just crawl under it. I didn’t understand them so they acted it out.. they literally every afternoon crawl under the gate to get home after school. They looked at us like we were idiots not to see the obvious.
The strictest and most secure checkpoint is at the border between the West Bank and Israel. They put airport security, even at the most stringent of times to shame. You stand in a series of metal coral pens and go through revolving gates to get to the x-ray machines. If things get heated up you can get trapped in the revolving gates and have to wait inside them until everyone calms down. Then have your bags x-rayed and a very sensitive metal detector before presenting your travel documents to the very thick bullet proof windows with people with all kinds of guns strapped to them. It is intense and if you hadn’t figured out by then, you really realize that you live in a war zone. It gives all kinds of perspective.
After going through all of that, you go and get on a bus and wait once again for it to fill up. Depending on what happens at security, you may or may not be back on the same bus with the same people.
From there the bus follows the outside of the wall built around portions of Palestine for a while before making its way into Jerusalem. The first time I came through I was amazed that the two cites are only a few miles apart.
Because it took so long to get down here this time I don’t stop at my friends apartment to drop off my stuff and let them know I made it safely. Instead I headed right over to the old city to Notre Dame hotel/ church where the Legionaries have daily English mass and today, had Good Friday services. They were amazing and there was such an interesting international mix of people there. One guy and I kept looking at each other. I swear I went to college with him in Ohio years ago. And some of the consecrated Regnum Christie women were equally familiar looking from all the different times I have met them or been on retreats with them. However since it was Good Friday it didn’t seem the time or place to go and have a chat and afterwards I really wanted to get over to the Holy Sepulcher for the prayers there.
I know a lot of people are put off by that church since there doesn’t seem to be a mail alter or place of worship but instead it is winding halls with such special things in them without labels or notifications. And because the different Orthodox Catholics and the Roman Catholics can’t agree for a thousand plus years about anything in that church it is even more chaotic. It lacks all organization but I love it. I feel like I could get lost their for hours and that I can always find a nook to go and pray/ meditate in.
There is just something so special and divine about spending Good Friday at Calvary… it was worth all the effort to get there!
Life is amusing at times. This morning when I woke up, I had a few hours before I needed to leave for my weekend in Jerusalem. It seemed like the perfect time to blog or even journal. I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea, got my journal, a pen and my computer and snuggled myself back in bed ready to let my thoughts gush forth…. I had not a thing to say! I couldn’t think of a single interesting event from my week… so instead of using my time wisely I played tetris for two hours, an absolute waste of my time. I then cleaned my room, packed my things, and took a shower which I needed because I stilled smelled like and was covered in ash from the huge Samaritan Passover bonfires I went to the night before.
I don’t think I am as traumatized by the shower as I was the first two weeks. I hope I am getting used to it. When I first arrived, I prayed a lot before taking a shower. I prayed for hot water. I prayed that the filth of the bathroom wouldn’t somehow attack me. I prayed that I wouldn’t freeze to death on the process. I was all very traumatic and I guess being the drama queen that I am didn’t help. But then Isabel, the Scottish teacher scrubbed that bathroom and I found some Lysol and sprayed it down. It also warmed up a few degrees and mostly I accepted the situation and I don’t like showering but being clean has its rewards. I also started documenting how many seconds of hot water we get. On average it is 35 seconds of hot water followed by 2 minutes of icy cold water, over and over again. I have asked every Palestinian I know what their hot water at their homes are like and they promise that they get at least ten minutes of it at a time. I asked my housemates why we haven’t complained or obviously gotten the broken water heater fixed and they said that the apartment we are in is new. Before December they lived in a house about a mile down the street. The teachers lived there for a year and a half and all 13 of them complained nonstop for a year and a half about the hot water situation there. They complained so much that the school finally moved them to this brand new building and they didn’t feel like they had the right to utter one more word about it. Fair enough, I guess……
Weekends here are on Friday and Saturday. Friday is the holy day for the Muslims and Saturday being the day for the Jews. Christians are not as important in this part of the world, we are seen as neutral and somewhat bothersome, like a kid sister who wants to play in the war games going on. However my school out of respect for my faith has given me Easter Sunday off this year so that I could come down to Jerusalem to celebrate the holy of holies in the holiest of cities in the world. I would have come to Jerusalem anyways to work with Sudanese refugees here anyways but it is pretty awesome to run over the church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built over Golgotha, the exact spot where Jesus was crucified and in the same church and building is the tomb where Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. Last week when I was here I spent some time researching when and where things would happen this week so I knew I needed to be here by 3pm and I from my experience I knew it would take around three hours to get here. What I hadn’t taken into account was that it was Friday in Palestine so NOTHING would be open or running AND it was Friday of Passover here in Israel so NOTHING would be open or running and that Security would be impossible.
Usually it is really easy to catch at taxi or shared taxi from my apartment or even my street. And if for some reason that didn’t work if I just walked to the main street there would be plenty of taxi’s driving by there. I had to walk for 30 minutes through the Palestinian checkpoint almost to the center of town before any taxi passed by, and lucky for me there was one seat left in it. As he was dropping everyone off I looked around and realized there was no way that I was going to be able to find another shared taxi to the checkpoint with out having to wait an hour or two. Shared taxi’s don’t leave until all the seats are full and on a day like that when there wasn’t any one around it could take a long time. So I asked the driver if he would drive me all the way to the first checkpoint and I would pay. He dropped me off and the checkpoint was abandoned except for the dozen or so Israeli guards manning it. They very politely checked my passport and visa and let me through. I then went over the “Services” the shared mini-van taxi’s to sit and wait an hour until 6 other people came through the checkpoint who all wanted to go to Ramallah. They put me in the front seat which I suspected because this has happened several times before was to make the car look less likely to have terrorist in it since obviously I as an American wouldn’t have anything to do with that and maybe it might make it easier to get through the next few checkpoints. The Israeli guards balance out being polite to the Americans and interrogating the Palestinians who come through. Maybe with my presence we can get through faster and easier, I don’t mind being used. While I am waiting one of the drivers/ guys hanging out there strikes up a conversation with me. At first I was hesitant to talk with him because it is forbidden for this type of conversation to take place between men and women. He should be respecting that I am a woman and leaving me alone. Plus from my perspective it can get old everyone trying to practice their English on me and asking tons of personal questions that they translate to everyone standing around making me even more a spectacle then I am. But his English was amazing and he spends most of the year living in New York City and we have actually a good conversation about the outrageous rents there compared to Los Angeles where he used to live. About 25 minutes into the conversation the other drivers yell at him that he is not respecting me and to leave me alone. He realized what he has done and apologizes for intruding on my space and leaves me to read the book that I have in my bag. Eventually the taxi fills up and we are on our way. Five miles later we hit the next checkpoint. Unlike the first one we can all stay in the taxi and don’t have to switch to a new one. Usually Israeli soldiers just glance into the car and do a “spot check” but because it is Passover they ask for everyone’s ID’s and permits to be in this part of Palestine. They inspect each car carefully and open every trunk and look in every box and bag before letting the next car move on. While inspecting us, someone has taken our Passports and ID’s to call them all in. We pull through the checkpoint and wait for a soldier to bring us our documents.
We drive about ten more miles to the next checkpoint and go through the same process again.
These two checkpoints weren’t in existence two weeks ago and now they are getting tighter and tighter every week. However I heard that two weeks ago they opened up completely a few other checkpoints that were even tougher. It is a strange world to live in, trying to figure out Israeli and Palestinian checkpoints.
Eventually a million and a half speed bumps later, (The speed bumps are all over and were put in by the Israeli army to slow people down and to make get-aways more challenging) we arrive at the bus station in the center of Ramallah. Usually this city is hopping and a crazy place but it has completely shut down for Friday and I quickly walked over to the bus station to catch a bus to al-quits, or Jerusalem. Again we have to wait a long time for the bus to fill up. I am so thankful for my time in china where I was trained well to wait for buses to fill up. I think my entire first year there, I was so mystified to why busses didn’t run on schedules and why we would have to wait hours in big empty stations for the possibility of people coming. I now 12 years later like that this means that there will always be a bus waiting for me, that I can’t ever miss a bus. That it gives me time to read a book. I environmentally it makes sense that busses should run full and not empty just because of following a schedule. It all actually makes sense to me now and waiting is just part of traveling. And I like that it is out of my hands. When I drive in America I feel like if I were to drive more aggressively or figure out how to beat the traffic lights I could get places on time. But here, inshallah you make it on time or if you need to, pay and take a taxi.
It is always fascinating to see who and what walks through a bus station. Palestinians have large families so it isn’t strange to see them walk through with 5 or 6 kids. The some women wear head-scarves and some don’t. Everyone has their own way of expressing their style and level of belief with their scarves. Some women wear the full thing where only their eyes show. One lady had mitten and all kinds of clothing on to ensure not a single spot of skin would show. Most wear a colorful scarf around their head. But how they style the scarf and how the coordinate it with the rest of their outfits just fascinates me. And still other women don’t wear scarves at all. Those women have the most amazing hairstyles and always look like they just stepped out of a salon. In Ramallah there are many different international aid organizations staff by internationals from all over the world. They mix right in and it can be really hard to spot them. Unlike when I was in East Asia and it was easy to spot a foreigner a mile away I can’t tell them apart from the crowd. So many Palestinians have either lived parts of their lives overseas or have family who does and sends them back shoes and clothes, that my usual tell-tale signs don’t work here. So many of them speak English or other languages well that just listening in on a conversation doesn’t always help either. But yesterday there were a few obvious foreigners wondering around the station, I could spot them because they weren’t as fashionably dressed as everyone else and they seemed as lost and confused as I usually feel here.
The bus finally took off for Jerusalem, well for the final check point. Until this point I hadn’t left Palestine. All of these checkpoints so far were to control travel amongst local people from village to village. If you really want to get around a checkpoint and have a car, it wouldn’t be impossible to do at all. The night before when I went to the Samarian village and asked my students how to get through their checkpoint after it closes at 3 every afternoon they said that you just crawl under it. I didn’t understand them so they acted it out.. they literally every afternoon crawl under the gate to get home after school. They looked at us like we were idiots not to see the obvious.
The strictest and most secure checkpoint is at the border between the West Bank and Israel. They put airport security, even at the most stringent of times to shame. You stand in a series of metal coral pens and go through revolving gates to get to the x-ray machines. If things get heated up you can get trapped in the revolving gates and have to wait inside them until everyone calms down. Then have your bags x-rayed and a very sensitive metal detector before presenting your travel documents to the very thick bullet proof windows with people with all kinds of guns strapped to them. It is intense and if you hadn’t figured out by then, you really realize that you live in a war zone. It gives all kinds of perspective.
After going through all of that, you go and get on a bus and wait once again for it to fill up. Depending on what happens at security, you may or may not be back on the same bus with the same people.
From there the bus follows the outside of the wall built around portions of Palestine for a while before making its way into Jerusalem. The first time I came through I was amazed that the two cites are only a few miles apart.
Because it took so long to get down here this time I don’t stop at my friends apartment to drop off my stuff and let them know I made it safely. Instead I headed right over to the old city to Notre Dame hotel/ church where the Legionaries have daily English mass and today, had Good Friday services. They were amazing and there was such an interesting international mix of people there. One guy and I kept looking at each other. I swear I went to college with him in Ohio years ago. And some of the consecrated Regnum Christie women were equally familiar looking from all the different times I have met them or been on retreats with them. However since it was Good Friday it didn’t seem the time or place to go and have a chat and afterwards I really wanted to get over to the Holy Sepulcher for the prayers there.
I know a lot of people are put off by that church since there doesn’t seem to be a mail alter or place of worship but instead it is winding halls with such special things in them without labels or notifications. And because the different Orthodox Catholics and the Roman Catholics can’t agree for a thousand plus years about anything in that church it is even more chaotic. It lacks all organization but I love it. I feel like I could get lost their for hours and that I can always find a nook to go and pray/ meditate in.
There is just something so special and divine about spending Good Friday at Calvary… it was worth all the effort to get there!
Monday, April 6, 2009
forbidden
The other international teachers joke all the time about what is forbidden....
The first day I visited the school one of the American male teachers was introducing me to the Palestinian teachers and told me he couldn't introduce me to one of them because it was forbidden for him to talk to her. There had been some sort of miss understanding before and her husband said she was no longer aloud any contact with him in anyway shape or form... I wasn't sure how to take that all, and then last week when i realized they share the same classroom i realized how crazy it all was.
I know majority of what is forbidden is still unknown to me...
In talking to the Palestinian teachers, I had asked them if any one had been to my apartment to visit the international teachers... they had made strange comments about how horrible/ primitive/ messy my place is. (which I had agreed, my new house mates are serious slobs) When I asked they reacted very odd. I had assumed they were afraid of the apartment or something. I asked about it last night to the Scottish teacher and she said they couldn't come because it is forbidden for them to visit since there are two unmarried women sharing a house with two unmarried men. I didn't realize how scandalous it is. I would love to live in a separate place away from my two male co-workers. The school is the one who put us all together into one flat. Isabelle the Scottish teacher had a dear friend die on Thursday. She spent the weekend in mourning and no one came to visit her, except on of the male Arab teachers from the school. And she said if it was ever found out that the male housemates weren't home at the time that he came it would be a serious problem. As it was him coming to visit her in her time of need was forbidden.
The first day I visited the school one of the American male teachers was introducing me to the Palestinian teachers and told me he couldn't introduce me to one of them because it was forbidden for him to talk to her. There had been some sort of miss understanding before and her husband said she was no longer aloud any contact with him in anyway shape or form... I wasn't sure how to take that all, and then last week when i realized they share the same classroom i realized how crazy it all was.
I know majority of what is forbidden is still unknown to me...
In talking to the Palestinian teachers, I had asked them if any one had been to my apartment to visit the international teachers... they had made strange comments about how horrible/ primitive/ messy my place is. (which I had agreed, my new house mates are serious slobs) When I asked they reacted very odd. I had assumed they were afraid of the apartment or something. I asked about it last night to the Scottish teacher and she said they couldn't come because it is forbidden for them to visit since there are two unmarried women sharing a house with two unmarried men. I didn't realize how scandalous it is. I would love to live in a separate place away from my two male co-workers. The school is the one who put us all together into one flat. Isabelle the Scottish teacher had a dear friend die on Thursday. She spent the weekend in mourning and no one came to visit her, except on of the male Arab teachers from the school. And she said if it was ever found out that the male housemates weren't home at the time that he came it would be a serious problem. As it was him coming to visit her in her time of need was forbidden.
my students
Today I was hanging out in the science lab with one of the Palestinian teachers at the end of one of her lessons with my third grade students. About three boys came up to chat and hang out with me after they did their experiment and the first question they asked was, "Miss Maggie who are your enemies?" It took me a few seconds to figure out what in the world they were asking because it was so out of context and they struggled pronouncing enemies. I immediately responded back, "I don't have enemies." Which shocked them as much as their question had shocked me.
They then explained that Israel is their enemy. The students all seem really concerned that I might not know about the conflict they face each day. One of the boys was explaining to me that his uncle died in the resent conflict a few years ago here in Nablus.
In my second grade class, I have a student who seems scared all the time and from the moment I met him, I KNEW he had been abused or traumatized in some way. It just took me two weeks to remember to ask. I was told that three years ago when he was four he was home alone with his father who was arrested in the middle of the night by the Israeli army. This child was also taken in with his father. They were put in a tank and driven to prison and we don't know how long the son was kept in captivity, but it was definitely a day or two. Who knows what else he has seen or experienced.
My first day of class on my own with my third grade students they interrupted the lesson as a collective whole to ask me if i was Muslim. I told them that I was a Christian Catholic and showed them the cross i wear around my neck. They were flabbergasted. Several of them wanted to know what the cross was or meant. A couple explained to me how to convert to Islam.
But they all wanted to know, Why? I simply said because I love God and Jesus which was enough to satisfy their curiosity for the moment. As soon as class was over I ran to the administrative offices and asked what they wanted me to say in the future or how to handle the students questions. They told me they trusted me and not to worry, feel free to answer the questions. Not a day goes by that one of the students doesn't ask to look at my cross or miraculous medal again.
It isn't to say that all Palestinians are completely innocent in this issue. Just this past weekend their was an issue with a Palestinian killing an Israeli child with an axe. The week before there was an issue with Israeli settlers shooting a Palestinian Shepard.
I spent this past weekend in Jerusalem with Israelis and Sudanese. I asked the Israelis dozens and dozens of questions about everything and really listened to what they had to say. Some of it disturbed me, like they want every non-Jew out of their country, God gave them this land and ever non-Jew (like me) needs to leave immediately. Other things they said made sense and was beautiful. Someone explained to me the Jewish thought/ theology about death and the grieving process for the family and friends left behind. It was so deep, beautiful and logical.
I love being in Jerusalem and felt so free and relaxed there... I don't feel that way here in Nablus all that often.
When my students or colleagues ask me what I did over the weekend, I can't be honest with them. They would be completely offended that I went over to the enemies side for the weekend. The foreign teachers have taken to calling Israel, "historical Palestine" when in mixed company to just keep tensions free. On the same note i am trying to find a good euphemism to describe where I live to Israelis with out offending them. any suggestions?
They then explained that Israel is their enemy. The students all seem really concerned that I might not know about the conflict they face each day. One of the boys was explaining to me that his uncle died in the resent conflict a few years ago here in Nablus.
In my second grade class, I have a student who seems scared all the time and from the moment I met him, I KNEW he had been abused or traumatized in some way. It just took me two weeks to remember to ask. I was told that three years ago when he was four he was home alone with his father who was arrested in the middle of the night by the Israeli army. This child was also taken in with his father. They were put in a tank and driven to prison and we don't know how long the son was kept in captivity, but it was definitely a day or two. Who knows what else he has seen or experienced.
My first day of class on my own with my third grade students they interrupted the lesson as a collective whole to ask me if i was Muslim. I told them that I was a Christian Catholic and showed them the cross i wear around my neck. They were flabbergasted. Several of them wanted to know what the cross was or meant. A couple explained to me how to convert to Islam.
But they all wanted to know, Why? I simply said because I love God and Jesus which was enough to satisfy their curiosity for the moment. As soon as class was over I ran to the administrative offices and asked what they wanted me to say in the future or how to handle the students questions. They told me they trusted me and not to worry, feel free to answer the questions. Not a day goes by that one of the students doesn't ask to look at my cross or miraculous medal again.
It isn't to say that all Palestinians are completely innocent in this issue. Just this past weekend their was an issue with a Palestinian killing an Israeli child with an axe. The week before there was an issue with Israeli settlers shooting a Palestinian Shepard.
I spent this past weekend in Jerusalem with Israelis and Sudanese. I asked the Israelis dozens and dozens of questions about everything and really listened to what they had to say. Some of it disturbed me, like they want every non-Jew out of their country, God gave them this land and ever non-Jew (like me) needs to leave immediately. Other things they said made sense and was beautiful. Someone explained to me the Jewish thought/ theology about death and the grieving process for the family and friends left behind. It was so deep, beautiful and logical.
I love being in Jerusalem and felt so free and relaxed there... I don't feel that way here in Nablus all that often.
When my students or colleagues ask me what I did over the weekend, I can't be honest with them. They would be completely offended that I went over to the enemies side for the weekend. The foreign teachers have taken to calling Israel, "historical Palestine" when in mixed company to just keep tensions free. On the same note i am trying to find a good euphemism to describe where I live to Israelis with out offending them. any suggestions?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
from my window
Things out my window
I live on the seventh floor of an apartment building that stands almost to the top of one of the two mountains that Nablus runs through.
I never know what I am going to see…
Yesterday a bunch of Israeli tanks and jeeps came rolling by. The day before it was goats and a goat herder. Usually it is just taxis and kids playing out side. The taxi’s and kids are by far the loudest!
If I look out from the sunroom on the other side of the flat, I can see the whole city.
Nablus was originally located at the bottom of a deep valley. It is one of the oldest cities in the world. I am not sure how old that makes it, but Jacob’s well, from the bible is here.
It is a very narrow valley with two long mountain ranges running the length of the city. My apartment is located at the top of the eastern mountain at the extreme north of the city. If I look out north there is nothing but olive grooves, rocks, rocks and more rocks. I now understand all the references to stones and rocks in the bible. If I look outside my bedroom window, I can see a road, few houses further up the hill and the hill with pasture for the goats.
The walks I take help me understand what I see from the sunroom. Last night Lana, the vice principal who is an Arab American married to a Palestinian and Isabel, another teacher and housemate from Scotland and I went for a walk. Everything here is either UP or DOWN. The two sides of the city are just a series of switchbacks with dozens and dozens of roads leading off of them. I am not someone who is used to ever being lost and a week of driving the same way to school everyday, I am still confused. As we were wondering around for maybe only five minutes or so we came upon a banner over a driveway. When I asked what it was they told me it was one of the two refugee camps in the city. I was stunned… My thoughts of refugee camps are not neighborhoods surrounded by nice neighborhoods. Isabel was freaked out about going down and into it at night but Lana promised us we would be safe so off we went. Really it was just a ghetto of sorts, in the most ironic way. I know it is a totally loaded political issue here so I didn’t ask that many questions about it… Mostly I just walked and observed. This camp is really only five minutes down the road from me, there will be plenty of time for me to come back in the daytime and observe.
For now I was left wondering what were down all the little tiny walkways. And how was this place any different then a poor neighborhood anywhere? It is too soon for me to get wrapped up in the politics of it all. People are constantly eluding to the issues or to “the situation”. When I asked what exactly the situation was that people kept referring to (it seemed like there could be hundreds that they could be referring to I was told to go on you tube and search “two schools in Nablus” and learn… I will give you the link at the bottom. The girls’ school in the documentary is less than a mile away from my home and I pass by it everyday on my way to my school.
As we left the refugee camp we came upon the city park… it was nice. It gave the feeling that at one point and time Nablus must have been a nice place to live. Now it is such a mixture of old beautiful Mediterranean architecture mixed with bombed out buildings and new buildings that have been slapped up in a very efficient way. They type of thing you put up so that it meets your basic needs but that you don’t know when it might be destroyed again, so not much care was put into it.
While we were at the park I asked (once again) if they knew where the Catholic Church was. I have had this struggle every place I have been. How much do you bother people about helping to find a church? I remember that when I arrived in China, I asked everyone nonstop and it was obnoxious. In my questioning I found out there are three Greek orthodox churches and one Roman Catholic Church in Nablus. So from the park we walked back up and up and up a hill past the first Greek Orthodox Church up more to the Latin church (my church) to the second Greek Church at the top of the hill. That side of the mountain is called Rafutia. Apparently it was all-Christian at one time but the Christians there either converted or left for other countries. At that point we had to call Lana’s husband to pick us up. We had been walking for two hours, it was 10pm and we were tired…. There was no way we were walking two hours to get back home. He seemed a bit amused by our wondering.
I am proud of myself that I survived my first weekend in Nablus…
On Friday I woke up in a better mood than I had all week. It was the first time that I didn’t feel depressed and like the world was coming to an end. Even at the worst point last week, I knew things had to get better. That I couldn’t make a decision about leaving until the grief had lifted a little bit and I could see with clearer eyes what life here was really about?
I spent Friday (we get Friday and Saturday as our weekends here) doing laundry. When I came back from Jerusalem the good washer was working again. Then hanging up my clothes to dry and sitting in the sunroom reading. It was wonderful not to be so sad.
Saturday I had a meeting at school with my co teacher planning for this week and then we went with some of the other Arab staff members to explore the old city. We were going out in search of a cell phone for me, which was to be found on the far side of the city. It meant that I finally got to wind in and out of the Souk (downtown)… it was so similar to the old city of Jerusalem. Shop after shop of bright clothes, cloth, plastic house wares made in china. Mixed with stands and carts of people selling herbs: mint, thyme, and parsley. Fruit piled in to pyramids, and tons of vegetables of every color. I couldn’t be happier, my favorite veggies are eggplant and artichokes which are everywhere… today for lunch I had an eggplant sandwich with shredded cabbage, and pickled turnips!!! I seem to be eating turnips everyday and they are died hot pink which amuses me greatly for some reason. I just read that Nablus is a four thousand year old city and that the remains are from all the different time periods.
One last thing i can see out the balcony window..... Mosques and mosques and mosques.. the same way that i used to see churches outside my window in korea... or that you see redwood trees from my moms' windows in santa cruz
I live on the seventh floor of an apartment building that stands almost to the top of one of the two mountains that Nablus runs through.
I never know what I am going to see…
Yesterday a bunch of Israeli tanks and jeeps came rolling by. The day before it was goats and a goat herder. Usually it is just taxis and kids playing out side. The taxi’s and kids are by far the loudest!
If I look out from the sunroom on the other side of the flat, I can see the whole city.
Nablus was originally located at the bottom of a deep valley. It is one of the oldest cities in the world. I am not sure how old that makes it, but Jacob’s well, from the bible is here.
It is a very narrow valley with two long mountain ranges running the length of the city. My apartment is located at the top of the eastern mountain at the extreme north of the city. If I look out north there is nothing but olive grooves, rocks, rocks and more rocks. I now understand all the references to stones and rocks in the bible. If I look outside my bedroom window, I can see a road, few houses further up the hill and the hill with pasture for the goats.
The walks I take help me understand what I see from the sunroom. Last night Lana, the vice principal who is an Arab American married to a Palestinian and Isabel, another teacher and housemate from Scotland and I went for a walk. Everything here is either UP or DOWN. The two sides of the city are just a series of switchbacks with dozens and dozens of roads leading off of them. I am not someone who is used to ever being lost and a week of driving the same way to school everyday, I am still confused. As we were wondering around for maybe only five minutes or so we came upon a banner over a driveway. When I asked what it was they told me it was one of the two refugee camps in the city. I was stunned… My thoughts of refugee camps are not neighborhoods surrounded by nice neighborhoods. Isabel was freaked out about going down and into it at night but Lana promised us we would be safe so off we went. Really it was just a ghetto of sorts, in the most ironic way. I know it is a totally loaded political issue here so I didn’t ask that many questions about it… Mostly I just walked and observed. This camp is really only five minutes down the road from me, there will be plenty of time for me to come back in the daytime and observe.
For now I was left wondering what were down all the little tiny walkways. And how was this place any different then a poor neighborhood anywhere? It is too soon for me to get wrapped up in the politics of it all. People are constantly eluding to the issues or to “the situation”. When I asked what exactly the situation was that people kept referring to (it seemed like there could be hundreds that they could be referring to I was told to go on you tube and search “two schools in Nablus” and learn… I will give you the link at the bottom. The girls’ school in the documentary is less than a mile away from my home and I pass by it everyday on my way to my school.
As we left the refugee camp we came upon the city park… it was nice. It gave the feeling that at one point and time Nablus must have been a nice place to live. Now it is such a mixture of old beautiful Mediterranean architecture mixed with bombed out buildings and new buildings that have been slapped up in a very efficient way. They type of thing you put up so that it meets your basic needs but that you don’t know when it might be destroyed again, so not much care was put into it.
While we were at the park I asked (once again) if they knew where the Catholic Church was. I have had this struggle every place I have been. How much do you bother people about helping to find a church? I remember that when I arrived in China, I asked everyone nonstop and it was obnoxious. In my questioning I found out there are three Greek orthodox churches and one Roman Catholic Church in Nablus. So from the park we walked back up and up and up a hill past the first Greek Orthodox Church up more to the Latin church (my church) to the second Greek Church at the top of the hill. That side of the mountain is called Rafutia. Apparently it was all-Christian at one time but the Christians there either converted or left for other countries. At that point we had to call Lana’s husband to pick us up. We had been walking for two hours, it was 10pm and we were tired…. There was no way we were walking two hours to get back home. He seemed a bit amused by our wondering.
I am proud of myself that I survived my first weekend in Nablus…
On Friday I woke up in a better mood than I had all week. It was the first time that I didn’t feel depressed and like the world was coming to an end. Even at the worst point last week, I knew things had to get better. That I couldn’t make a decision about leaving until the grief had lifted a little bit and I could see with clearer eyes what life here was really about?
I spent Friday (we get Friday and Saturday as our weekends here) doing laundry. When I came back from Jerusalem the good washer was working again. Then hanging up my clothes to dry and sitting in the sunroom reading. It was wonderful not to be so sad.
Saturday I had a meeting at school with my co teacher planning for this week and then we went with some of the other Arab staff members to explore the old city. We were going out in search of a cell phone for me, which was to be found on the far side of the city. It meant that I finally got to wind in and out of the Souk (downtown)… it was so similar to the old city of Jerusalem. Shop after shop of bright clothes, cloth, plastic house wares made in china. Mixed with stands and carts of people selling herbs: mint, thyme, and parsley. Fruit piled in to pyramids, and tons of vegetables of every color. I couldn’t be happier, my favorite veggies are eggplant and artichokes which are everywhere… today for lunch I had an eggplant sandwich with shredded cabbage, and pickled turnips!!! I seem to be eating turnips everyday and they are died hot pink which amuses me greatly for some reason. I just read that Nablus is a four thousand year old city and that the remains are from all the different time periods.
One last thing i can see out the balcony window..... Mosques and mosques and mosques.. the same way that i used to see churches outside my window in korea... or that you see redwood trees from my moms' windows in santa cruz
Thursday, April 2, 2009
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