Realities Unfold in the Old CIty, Settlements and Sheikh Jarrah

We started off the delegation today with a tour of the Old City, visiting all of the holy sites was a great way to introduce everything. It was a reminder of historical and spiritual weight that drives the discourse of land ownership and "home." We saw the famous stations of the cross, the dome of the rock and the wailing wall. For Christians, Jews and Muslims, these are some of the most historically and spiritually significant sites on earth.

Women praying at the Western (or Wailing) Wall

On our way to the Dome of the Mount, we saw these riot shields. A small reminder of who holds the power here. 

The Dome of The Rock 

Ihsan is related to the family who historically holds the key to the Church of the Sepulchre. It is open from 4:30 am to 8:30 pm. We had the privilege of taking a look. Amazingly the person most connected to this land (the key has ben passed down in his family since 1187) was almost not let into the country.

A woman praying outside Jesus' Tomb

For the Muslim Palestinians in the West Bank (and the Christians as well, for that matter), visiting them is an impossibility due to restrictions on access to occupied East Jerusalem. We came across a few ideological settlers escorted by personal body guards subsidized by US funded NGOs. These are people who are living in the Old City as a political statement to prove the right of the Jewish people to this land, though it is illegal under international law and by the UN-designated borders. A few of them entered the Temple Mount (as is called by Israel, or Haram Al-Sharif, as called by the Muslims who worship there) again with armed body guards. As the entered, we heard many people engaging in a small of act of non-violent resistance. They chanted "Allahu Akbar" (God is great) as these settlers entered this holy site. It is becoming clear how even small exertions of power contribute to the systematic oppression of the indigenous people here.

A settlement in East Jerusalem, complete with gates and barbed wire.

An interesting contrast in some of the T-Shirts being sold in the streets of the Old City. "Free Palestine" next to "America Don't Worry, Israel is Behind You"

 We met with Jeff Halper and debriefed with him on his work as the head of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions (ICAHD). He talked about the power that language has around the occupation. For many Israelis, the word occupation is not in their vocubularly. Even the word “Palestinian” steals away the comfort of unquestioned ownership that Israeli Jews have the privilege to live with. Settlements are not a tool of colonialism in ther eyes, but simply Jewish communities. They are happy with the status quo, and who can blame them? White Americans turn a blind eye, or even a slightly sympathetic but complicit eye (myself included) to the atrocities the US government perpetuates in our name both in our own country and abroad. Jeff told us about the 28,000 Palestinian homes that have been demolished, and the many more with demolition orders on them now.

A demolished Palestinian home, that was once a 7-story apartment building.

A view of Jerusalem. You can see the apartheid wall in the background, and settlements sprinkled throughout. We were reminded that this wall is not, in fact, for security. It often divides Palestinan towns from other Palestinians, and does not lie on the actual (supposed) borders between Israel and Palestine. 

It became quickly obvious how well the implications of occupation are hidden from those who benefit from it. This pond is simply for show, while most Palestinian homes have their water shut off for many days out of the week. Aggressive wastefulness. 

Garbage collection does not occur in East Jerusalem, by law, for "security" reasons. 

 We also saw settlements where 300 year old olive trees had been uprooted and relocated. Settlements that are accessible by Israeli only highways, and that receive 92% of the municipal budget, though they make up only 60% of the taxes collected.

We made a stop to visit some of the graffiti on the wall. 

Finally we met with the Kurda family in Sheikh Jarrah, undergoing constant violence and harassment from the settlers in their neighborhood along with constant threat of their house being taken over. They described being bitten by dogs, shouted at, and attacked.The oldest member of the family predates Israel's conception. She was sent to Sheikh Jarrah as a refugee by UNRWA in 1956, but in 1999, Nahalat Shimon International, an ideological settlement organization claimed this their territory, and the Israeli government claimed they were living there without a permit. For months, even up to a year, displaced families nonviolently resisted by living in tents in the street after having their stuff thrown into the street, and were forced to pay for the labor of those who threw it. The most heavy of this visit was that Melissa Kurda's mother was there to share with us, and was obviously disheartened and losing hope-- and for good reason. She has been living under occupation for almost all her life, and talking with people like us for years. Things have only gotten worse for her and her family. She told her daughter not to waste time speaking with us, and she had every right to feel this way. We, however, have a responsibility to stand in solidarity, and prove to her that talking to us might not be useless. Her daughter encouraged us to use social media to tell their story, and to lobby, lobby lobby!

Daoud showing us a photo of undercover IDF soldiers pretending to be activists. They provoked a clash between settlers and residents, and proceeded to arrest the Palestinians engaging in nonviolent resistance. 

On the way out we saw this little Handela on the wall outside the Kurda house :)

Though this settler violence is a very real threat to Palestinians, and this should certainly not be denied, we also reminded ourselves to remember that they are a piece in the greater system committing these crimes. Especially the non-ideological settlers who live in settlements that are marketed as affordable housing for working class Israelis. They are not inherently evil, they are a part of an evil system that must be collapsed. Much of the time the realities of occupation are only apparent to those being restricted by it. The comfort of the status quo and the huge efforts in making occupation invisible to the unquestioning make it easy for this oppression to continue its destructive existence.

Our Long Arrival

After two days of orientation and excited preparation, we finally boarded the plane last night at about 6 pm. We entered the plane with a sense of camaraderie. As Sydney put it, we are like siblings on a big long road trip. Flight #1 to Frankfurt was uneventful and smooth. We had to go through another special security gate to board our next plane to Tel Aviv. Israel is the only country that has security personnel in every airport in the world. We all made it through OK, and were anxiously waiting to board when a man in a bullet-proof vest and combat boots came storming through, obviously upset about something. It turned out that one of the gates between the waiting area and the boarding area had not been properly locked, all 240 passengers had to go through the security line AGAIN. This delayed things about 40 minutes and was an exhausting process. As I passed through the security line again, one of the Israeli personnel was looking at me suspiciously and began speaking to me in Arabic. When I returned his aggression with a confused look, he relaxed and said "ah, OK she is not Arab. Pass." This of course upset me, but not as much as seeing the real implications of the unfettered racial profiling that Israeli institutions indulge in. Though to many my brown skin and "exotic" (barf) eyes classify me as a potential threat, once they hear my father's name (yes, the immigration officer did ask...) that cause for concern is immediately alleviated, a privilege that not everyone on our delegation has. Once we arrived in Tel Aviv, three of our members were held for 2-3 extra hours for extra questioning.  They are all Palestinian (big shocker, I know). My heart was heavy as we pulled away from the airport, knowing they would have to wait to prove their very existence is not questionable, a burden most of us did not have to face at all, and a reminder of all the systems that are set up to protect certain groups, at the expense of the oppression of others.

We saw this theme again and again as we drove from the airport to our hotel in Jerusalem. The wall that divides not only illegal settlements from Palestinian villages, but Palestinian villages from each other. Families from families. We drove on roads designated for Israelis only. We saw the black water tanks atop each Palestinian home; a dark reminder of the scarce (usually only weekly) access to water that their neighboring settlers don't have to think about (even though they pay the same, sometimes more in property taxes). We saw the red warning signs that adorned the entry to every Palestinian village, cautioning settlers of the threat these people pose by simply existing and complete with gates and roadblocks. ALl of this was incredibly overwhelming, especially on such little sleep, and I found myself constantly on the verge of tears.

A general sense of the landscape.

A settlement still under construction. This is illegal under international law, and is part of the general plan of land annexation. 

One section of the wall that divides two Palestinian villages. 

We arrived at the hotel, and immediately ate a delicious dinner and enjoyed each other's fellowship, processing together and commiserating in our sense of collective shock. I am so excited to see what lies ahead, and to have the chance to explore these issues further! Our room overlooks the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem's Old City, a reminder of beauty and resilience in the wreck.

The Countdown Begins...

About a week or two ago, panic began to set in. Now, let me be clear. My version of panic does not include flailing, hyperventilation, or loud noises. I think of myself as a turtle when I am panicking. I sense the heaviness of the unknown, I crawl into my shell and become completely shut out to the rest of the logical world. I can't complete thoughts or sentences (and I mean really can't, worse than my usual scatterbrained nonsense), I can't remember what I said ten minutes ago. I really am not a joy to interact with (sorry, friends...). It's a defense mechanism. It shields me from listening to my irrational anxieties, but also from listening to the truth. And that is precisely what I am going on this delegation for!

As I keep reminding myself of this, slowly the panic begins to melt away. Like a ripening fruit turning starch into sugar, I am becoming prepared. Packing my suitcase today was ripening myself for the journey. I have spent the past few months telling people about my summer plans. I always tailor my answer to the questioner. Certain words might leave the inquisitor feeling offended or confused, neither emotion is one I feel like coaxing away in casual small-talk with an acquaintance. What I ended up telling people most is that I am going to Palestine to listen. This felt the most honest and true. It also feels like the only thing I can say with certainty. I will listen and I will document. I am basically all packed for my journey in 6 days. I am equipped to listen well and share well. This I know to be true!

A Brief Thank You

I am a feeler. I think with my heart, I remember with my heart, I act with my heart. When I first found out that the possibility existed for me to go on a delegation to Palestine/Israel with Interfaith Peace Builders, my heart knew before my head did that it must happen. I filled out the application and left it on my desktop for a week. Eventually the feeling of being called to bear witness in Palestine became impossible to ignore, and I sent in the application. The real leap of faith came when a few weeks later I made the decision to send in a deposit, knowing the trip was going to cost way more than I could afford. I took a leap of faith, and I was right to do so. I was able to pull together a few grants, I spent hours making baked goods with friends and selling them at midnight, and I asked for help. I asked for people to have faith in me as well. This was most difficult for me, but also most rewarding. I set up an online fundraising account, and donations came from all walks of my life. From people I have never even met, to people who were there the day I was born. From housemates, dear friends and Friends,  to colleagues, and partners in the fight for justice. It became quickly apparent to me how lucky I am! My community believes in me more than I believe in myself sometimes. It really pushed me to listen to myself and what I am being called to do, to take more time for expectant silence and worship. 

I am incredibly grateful to everyone who donated. It is so affirming! A million thanks to you all for your monetary support, and for all the other support you have given me that has brought me to where I am today. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU. I would not be going on this trip if not for each of you. I am seriously blown away every time I think of how lucky I am to have each of you in my life. Expect a more thorough and personal thank you upon my return :)