  The
sounds of Zababdeh:
3:00 AM, Rooster (3 sec.) 3:00 AM, Dogs (5 sec.) 4:45 AM, Muslim prayer (40 sec.) 6:00 AM, Church bells (40 sec.) 7:30 AM, National Anthem (40 sec.) 20 hrs./day, Generator (5 sec.) |
|
Sunday, 9/1/02: Today we reversed our roles of last Sunday - Marthame headed off to the Latin Church of Visitation for worship while Elizabeth caught up on overdue sleep. Having jumped right back into work, we're plugging along - slowly but surely - but finding ourselves worn out. It seems that the local fauna are conspiring against us. When the generator cuts off at 3:00 a.m. (in order to save on petrol, since no one has money to pay the bills), the roosters next door take the silence as a cue that daylight is near. When they stop, the dogs start in. And when they stop, the roosters take their place - a mellifluous menagerie. We're looking forward to a day or two off to catch up. At church, Deacon Stephen (the man formerly known as Firas) joined in worship leadership as well, fresh off his ordination yesterday. Today someone told us that while we were celebrating after the ordination, the Israeli military was busy in Tubas with another extrajudicial assassination. Army helicopters blew up a car carrying a wanted man, killing him and the other two people in the car. The attack also killed a seven year-old girl and a fourteen year-old boy, who were hit by shrapnel as they stood in front of their home. It also injured seven other people, including a seven year-old boy who was in critical condition. According to the human rights' group LAW, that's 148 killed in such extra-judicial assassinations, including 46 bystanders. A 2:1 target:"collateral damage" ratio. Unconscionable. We have many friends in Tubas, both Muslim and Christian - no doubt these two boys were somebody's nephews/cousins/neighbors. |
 Monday,
9/2/02: Happy Labor Day - we'd love to get a three-day weekend,
especially now. Then again, we'd settle for a two-day weekend (ours
is split between Friday and Sunday). School continues for us, but
not for many in the area. Reports in Ramallah are that curfews are
in effect the entire day (and night) except from 7-9 a.m. and 1-3 p.m.
(for school traffic). Nablus, however, is another story. There
are many college students in Zababdeh who study at An-Najah
University. We know several who and should have graduated with their
B.A. this past spring, but have been unable to take their final exams or
even get to campus because of the constant 24-hour curfews in Nablus
for the last few months. Last week, Nablus opened up for one day
- the University told all of the students waiting to finish up to come
to Nablus, and that their exams would take place as soon as possible.
They're still there - the curfew was lifted long enough for them to get
in, but not to get out (and certainly not to take an exam). It's
frustrating, and not a little bit scary, for their families. A curfew
is in effect in much of Jenin today, but somehow people arrived.
The way things do and don't happen here remain, even after two years, a
bit on the baffling side. One of our teachers in Tubas was near the
place where the car was blown up. "Our house shook like an
earthquake," he told us. The two children who were killed were his
cousins. "They were on their way to buy ice cream." We visited
with Deacon Stephen and his family today for lunch - it's nice not to have
to cook (especially in this heat!). |
 Tuesday,
9/3/02: Officially, the curfew in Jenin was supposed to be lifted
from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. today. But when one of our teachers from Jenin left
her house this morning with her children, she found Israeli tanks on every
corner and 50-60 soldiers milling   about.
They waited by the door for a break in the "action", then made a break
for the buses. They made it...Marthame received some visiting British
diplomats today whom we had met at William
Dalrymple's lecture at Sabeel recently.
They were coming on a tour of the area and wanted to see the school in
Zababdeh before heading into Jenin. Marthame went with them, tagging
along, since he knew the roads. It was pretty bizarre to ride in
a diplomatic vehicle with bullet-proof glass. They first went to
visit the Jordanian Civil Hospital recently set up near Jenin Camp - it's
a military field hospital, worked out in cooperation with the Israelis
and the Palestinians, in order to provide medical services - emergency
and otherwise - to residents of Jenin. Marthame had visited their
site in Nablus a few months back.
It's an impressive operation, seeing around 500 patients a day, most of
them from surrounding villages. One of the Jordanian doctors the
group met with was a Christian, a member of the Evangelical Free Church
of Jordan (we didn't even know there was such a thing!). The diplomats
then headed over to Jenin Camp to visit with folks working on its massive
clean-up operation. It's a $27 million operation, which the UAE is
acting as fiscal agent for, while the UN oversees the clean-up itself.
The central area of the camp's destruction is being dug out, and every
day they are still finding unexploded devices. One of the people
the group visited with, who has a military background, talked about the
battle here from that perspective. The military part of the Israeli
action he had no problem with - cornering the resistance fighters into
an area bounded by four main streets was good military strategy.
It was after that, in his view, that the Israeli army broke all rules of
combat, bulldozing and collapsing the area, denying emergency services
and relief agencies into the area (though allowing a select few Israeli
journalists in)...collective punishment. It was the first time either
of us has been back there since May - they've
made impressive progress in their work, but they've got a long way to go.
It'll be a while. |
|
Wednesday, 9/4/02: These days, many people are coming by the school and asking Fr. Aktham for assistance - there is little he can do other than a handout here and there and give them applications to various relief organizations in Jerusalem (and then deliver the papers for them). One lady came in from Jenin, from the Christian community there, asking for help. Her daughter is studying at Birzeit University, which has yet to open - and will probably spend the entire year alternating between being open and shut. As she explained her problem to Marthame, she broke down in tears. It's a difficult thing to see, particularly because everyone is in the same situation - no work, a lot of fear about the future...it's a terrifying time for a lot of people. In the evening, we did an interview with the Diocese of Sioux Falls' radio program Catholic Views. When we first arrived, they brought a group to Zababdeh and have been a great source of strength ever since. We had done an interview last year (audio - 16 minutes) - this one (audio - 16 minutes) will air this Sunday morning. We are hoping to encourage someone from there to come and teach in the school next year. |
|
Thursday, 9/5/02: Nothing new except the shifting curfews in Jenin. It seems to change from hour to hour - during the day, Jenin teachers and administrators get updates from friends and families so that they can determine how/when to go home. The city was closed most of the day, but reopened in time for the buses to get in. Meanwhile, Zababdeh remains strangely silent. Back home, melting our brains, we came across the Polish sattelite station and its broadcast of a rap duet featuring Polish rapper Liroy and Ice-T (audio - 5 sec.). His follow up samples Lionel Richie's "Hello" (audio - 5 sec.). Where would surrealism be if it weren't for Poland? |
 Friday,
9/6/02: At 3:30 we were awoken by a loud bang - could've been
anything, really. A sonic boom (we get a lot of those, but not at
3:30 am), a tank shell (haven't been many around here, but not unheard
of - the grinding of tank wheels soon after  indicated
this might be the case), a dynamiting of a building (never happened here,
but plenty of precedent in nearby towns)...The dogs got excited soon after,
which excited the roosters, and then - well, 3-4 am is not a restful time
(even without explosions). The story that eventually emerged, as
we sorted through the haki fadi (gossip - lit., empty talk) and
rumor, was that the Israeli army entered the village about 3:00 and went
to one of our neighbor's houses looking for their son - apparently, he
was part of the Jenin Camp resistance but escaped. They then dynamited
the lock on the door and stormed the house, taking the son into custody.
In any case, it was loud and jolting for those of us nearby. Marthame
had an early morning anyway (but not that early), joining Father Thomas
in Tubas for worship. Before he was a priest, he was a P.E. teacher
in nearby 'Aqaba - he showed off some of his ping-pong skills in the church
hall. For our  film
project, Marthame joined Fr. Thomas behind the iconostasis, filming all
of the ritual that takes place back there. Orthodox services are
notoriously long, and this was no exception. Staying behind the iconostasis,
though, you begin to understand why. As much of the chanted liturgy
is taking place among the congregation, the priest is busy preparing the
eucharist. Marthame had sat behind the iconostasis  before
in Zababdeh and noted the many details of it: the specific prayers over
each element, each liturgical garment, at each icon; the meticulous carving
of the eucharistic bread representing the crucifixion, the martyrdoms,
the congregational intercessions; the emergence from the "temple" of the
chanted/spoken word in epistle, gospel, and homily (audio
- 5 sec.). It is an intricate and elegant ritual, full of symbolism
(e.g. the gold piece that stands over the plate which Marthame thought
simply a practical item to hold cloth over the plate without touching
the bread is actually a representation of the manger). As Fr. Thomas
put on his liturgical clothing Marthame couldn't help but notice the similarity
of his dress to that of a butcher before the slaughter - the sacrifice
of the lamb of God re-enacted? In the midst of this, something of
great historic importance happened (which we can't discuss publicly for
another 1000 years, but if you drop us an
email...).
The buzz in the congregation was about damage to the Greek Orthodox Convent
at Jacob's Well due to Israeli fire - damage of the entrance or  something.
It's been a long time since we've been able to get down to Nablus with
its constant curfew - we hope we can do that soon to reconnect with friends
there. In the evening, the Catholic clergy (three Rosary Sisters,
two Deacons, and a priest who was born in Jordan - to be sung to the tune
of "Twelve Days of Christmas") visited with Fr. Thomas, Marthame boldly
representing the Protestant tradition in the ecumenical gathering. |
|
Saturday, 9/7/02: Today is Rosh Hashana, the Jewish new year feast, so the curfews around Palestinian cities are extra-tight. Saturday is a school day here, but Marthame has taken advantage of his class schedule to spend the day working from home. Unfortunately, no one informed him ahead of  time
that today was Mass for the students (after two years here, we haven't
gotten used to how news travels through the village - however, we have
gotten used to the idea that it often doesn't travel to us). Marthame
headed up to the University with Deacon
Firas/Stephen to make a copy of his ordination video. The problem
was one of formatting, the camera we're using being American system and
video machines here being Middle East system. In the end, it tok
a long time, but thanks to computer technology, he got his copy.
We wandered around the campus a bit, which is getting ready to return to
term next Sunday. Administration and faculty are busy, students are
beginning to congregate, and lots and lots of construction is underway.
In the evening, we paid a long overdue visit to our old  neighbors,
who had moved into a new place six months ago. Being foreigners,
we get a special dispensation when it comes to the local customs.
The father used to work in a hotel in Jerusalem (which has been closed
for two years). His salary at the time was about $700/month, with
which he supported his family of five boys. About a year ago, he
began driving a taxi after working some handout jobs around town.
On a good day, that is, a day when Jenin is open, he takes home 50 shekels
(about $10). A month of good days nets him $200-$250, half of which
they pay in rent. Most days aren't good, though - today, for example,
his take-home was 8 shekels (less than $2). How they're surviving,
other than by the grace of God, baffles us. Nevertheless, they treated
us to a feast - home-made pickles, cheese pizza (without tomatoes - they're
5 shekels/kg), hummos, babaganoush...Yet another humbling experience of
Arab hospitality. |
 Sunday,
9/8/02: Thank God for Orthodoxy. So we said as we rolled
out of bed at 9:00 and headed to St. George's 9AM services - rolling admission
is par for the course in the Eastern tradition. It's been a while
since we've worshiped at the Anglican Church, but with the priest under
constant curfew in Nablus, there's little chance that the congregation'll
be able to worship  there
anytime soon. It's locked up, and the parishioners are slowly
drifting to the other communities - one church opens, another as good as
closed...At St. George's, we found ourselves on the congregation side of
the iconostasis. Watching communion is always wonderful - the children
line up (the Orthodox answer to the children's sermon - we'll take the
eucharist over puppet shows any day) ready to receive, many of them weren't
even able to walk when we first arrived. After worship, we went to
visit with one of our dear friends - her son lives in Chicago and is a
friend of ours from our time there. She had been in Ramallah for
a long time with another of her sons, but missed Zababdeh (and couldn't
stand the near-constant curfews). When she came back, she had to
cross out of Ramallah at the Qalandia checkpoint, but the soldiers were
forbidding her. Her son argued her way across, but then the soldiers
wouldn't let her son help her (she can barely walk, let alone carry/transport
luggage). Finally, he handed his ID to the soldier and said, "I'll
get this when I come back." And so they went. We sat on her
porch and slowly watched the world go by - a favorite Arab past-time.
All we need is a rocking chair. In the afternoon, as we prepared
for school tomorrow, we heard shooting - a strange sound, since the military
camp has been abandoned. We looked out the window to see two Israeli
tanks on the road from what used to be the camp, up through what used to
be the shooting range, towards the two settlements up over the hills.
They must've come out of Jenin by way of Qabatia. |
 Monday,
9/9/02: More curfew in Jenin. It's supposed to open up
between 2 and 6 in the afternoon - we have some business there, but the
risk of getting stuck is too high. It'll have to wait. One
of the teachers who lives on the other side of Jenin has decided to move
into Zababdeh in order to keep her job - the hassle of getting to and from
home every day is too much (she often ends up spending the night with her
sister in Jenin rather than try and get back out of the city). Marthame
spoke with Fr. Hossam to check in. Not all of Nablus is under curfew
(thus Fr. Justinus could come to Tubas last
week), but the area around Raffidye - a mostly Christian neighborhood
- has been tightly locked down recently. He has to come to Zababdeh
soon for a wedding celebration in the Anglican church, but he's not sure
how to get here. Meanwhile, his new bride (mabrouk!) is waiting
for the area to open long enough to take one final and finish her junior
year of college. Planes buzzed overhead today all along the valley
between Jenin and Tubas, flying very low - we could see four of
them at once (audio - 7 sec.). Ugh. |
|
Tuesday, 9/10/02: Jenin and Qabatia are cut off from the rest of the area today. The school buses left Zababdeh to pick up the students, but found all of the roads closed - the road by the "abandoned" military camp, the round-a-bout road by way of Misilye, the "roads" that go between the olive trees... Calls poured in from various teachers and students and parents about the buses (the villages were open within their "boundaries", but not to outside traffic). One-tenth of our students and teachers were absent today - a heavy subbing load for a school our size. We were expecting the year to be like this, but we were also hoping that we would be proven wrong. Meanwhile, the situation is "quiet" according to the news reports - guess we better re-learn what "quiet" means...Marthame filled in for the English teacher, who eventually managed to walk through the hills and olive orchards from Qabatia to Zababdeh. No one else arrived. Marthame switched over to subbing for the Arabic teacher (who didn't walk here from the other side of Jenin). In the evening, Marthame walked around town to do some shopping and get his $2 haircut. The talk is all about Iraq and what the Bush Administration will do. Everyone here remembers the Gulf War and the impact on the Palestinian population - full curfew, even in places like Zababdeh, empty stores...after two years of near starvation and strangulation, how much more can the people here take? We have begun to make our contingency plans - not for fears of safety, or anti-American backlash, but rather from the sense we had last April that there's more that we can do with some freedom to move than locked up in a prison. Unlike most of the people here, at least we have a choice. Prayers for our discernment are welcome. |
|
Wednesday, 9/11/02: The anniversary of 9/11. All of the channels have been full of programs about the events of the past year - candlelight vigils, documentaries on al-Qaeda and the WTC, statements from politicians and heads of state...Even our little school assembly had a remembrance. One of the ninth graders wrote and presented his reflections on the events of last year: "Terrorism is evil because it cheapens the value of human life....We must unite in prayer for those who died and for their families." Later, Elizabeth was interviewed by Free Speech Radio News - as was Fr. Aktham - about September 11th. The world is joining in mourning once again. Last year, 9/12 was a terrible day around here, the heaviest Israeli military action in the area to that point - perhaps the world attention being turned to NYC was the reason; who will ever know. In any case, we expected today to be similar around here - the intense military action in and around Zababdeh yesterday (the tight closure of Qabatia and Jenin, the Israeli surveillance planes slowly circling overhead, the tanks passing by) has everyone nervous. Even so, everyone arrived today - one of the Jenin teachers arrived at 11:00, though (school begins at 7:30 and finishes at 1:30). She'll be moving to Zababdeh to rent an apartment soon - ridiculous that a six mile commute necessitates a move. The teacher from Qabatia who walked here yesterday told us about his travel back home after school. Even the "road" between the olive trees he took was cut off, which gave him the opportunity to explore a part of Qabatia he had never seen before as he tried to get home. Even in the midst of the absurdity here, there is optimism for some reason. |
Thursday, 9/12/02: TGIT (Thank God it's Thursday), our "weekend"
arrives tomorrow. School passed without incident today, everyone
arriving and surprising the masses. Marthame discovered how it is
that our school buses still come and go in spite of curfew in Jenin.
There is curfew, under penalty of steep fines (700 shekels - $150) or,
depending on the situation, being shot at. Fortunately, during most
days, the streets aren't full with Israeli army tanks or jeeps, so people
can slipout in spite of the curfew. And so, our buses enter the city, and
if they find a tank or a jeep, they simply find another path to take to
pick up the kids. Schools in Jenin have been closed, but the students
in Jenin who study at the our school have been able to come. We listened
to the radio program Elizabeth was interviewed for, but they didn't use
any soundbites from her. However, Fr. Aktham spoke, as did one of
Marthame's former students (audio - 3 minutes).
An ad appeared in one of the major Palestinian newspapers the other day
announcing a scholarship opportunity in Great Britain. The number
of folks who have come to us asking for help with their cv's is not surprising,
but depressing anyway. Everyone wants an escape. |
 Friday,
9/13/02: Today is our intentional sabbath. The last two
years, we haven't done a very good job of 
carving out a day set aside for rest and non-working. We're taking
another stab at it, and we were pretty successful (it's only a Commandment,
you know!). We slept in, read Scripture, prayed, and avoided work
and the news all day. Even so, the news intervenes - seven Israeli
tanks and APCs churned up the road near the abandoned camp as they headed
back towards Jenin from Tubas. The
grinding gears meshed with the Friday calls to prayer in a way that speaks
about Palestine (audio - 13 sec.).
Later on, seeing that the road was clear of military traffic, we took a
walk in the hills. It has been a while since we've done that - Sabbath
gives us an opportunity to do so. Even though the land is parched,
it has its own elegance and beauty - Texas-like shades of brown and yellow,
the various harvest, dust covering the olive branches and giving them a
silvery hue. The church bells chimed 6:00 in the distance.
Elegance. |
 Saturday,
9/14/02: Several members of the Orthodox community headed up
with Fr. Thomas today to the church in Burqin (to the West of Jenin).
Burqin
is one of our favorite sites, the purported fourth oldest site of Christian
veneration in the world, the believed site of Christ's healing of the Ten
Lepers (Luke 17). For twelve years, Fr. Thomas has shared responsibility
for this community with two other priests - one in Beit
Sahour, one in Jerusalem.
For the last two years, neither of them has (or has been able) to come,
leaving Fr. Thomas effectively responsible for three parishes - Zababdeh,
Tubas, and Burqin. Balancing these is a   trick,
so Zababdeh worships on Sunday, Tubas on Friday, and now Burqin on Saturday.
The place was newly cleaned up for Christmas
2000, but in the past several months local vandals have turned their
attention to it - the newly-tiled staircase has been busted up, anti-Israeli
(stars of David, comments on Sharon) graffiti has been scrawled across
the ground and wall outside the church. It seems aimed at singling
out the minority Christian community here, but the anti-Israeli bit is
strange - and not a little bit disturbing. No doubt that praying
on Saturday contributes to it. Hopefully things will get sorted out.
Burqin has always prided 
itself on good relations between its majority Muslim and minority Christian
populations. The Byantine liturgy is other-worldly, and the chorus
- who play a key role in said liturgy - was largely made up of folks from
Zababdeh's congregation who know it inside and out (audio
- 10 sec.). In the afternoon, we heard the bells at the Anglican
church ringing out - something we haven't heard in months! Indeed,
Fr. Hossam had arrived from Nablus to perform
a scheduled wedding. He had to take an ambulance to the edge of Nablus
and then walk down a steep hill of debris (which used to be a road) to
get a taxi on the other side of Nablus. The curfew there has been
going on for three months - not only has he been unable to arrive in Zababdeh
to pray, he hasn't even been able to lead worship in Nablus. Unlike the
curfew in Jenin, the curfew in Nablus is very tight, and people really
cannot go out except for specific liftings of the curfew, which last perhaps
a day, usually a few hours. That, or use an ambulance. Every Sunday,
he worships with his wife and the Orthodox family who help take care of
the church compound. Nevertheless, we were able to celebrate - however
subdued - a wedding in Zababdeh. Marthame joined with Fr. Hossam,
Fr. Aktham, and Deacon Firas for some conversation and collegiality after
the ceremony. Ecumenism at work. |
 Sunday,
9/15/02: Today we headed to St. Matthew's Anglican Church, not
knowing when the next time there'd be Sunday worship services there. Marthame
assisted Fr. Hossam in the service. As Fr. Hossam began his homily,
he explained to the congregation what the situation was, and why he hadn't
been able to come for so very long - Zababdeh culture, like most, is given
to a lot of talk, and he wanted to combat a bit of
haki fadi (lit.
"empty talk", gossip) and explain the situation. He told them about
the situation in Nablus, and how he is unable to lead worship there - all
of his time is spent sitting at home or working on hospital administration
(traveling to and from work via ambulance). If there is an emergency
visit, he does it - also via ambulance. At least one time, the Israeli
military has held up his ambulance for two hours, making him wait, and
forbidding him to use his cellphone to call 
his superiors that he might move on his way. "Frustration" doesn't
begin to cover it. The food prices in Nablus are through the roof
for produce that would normally be thrown away, but no one has money anyway.
Students
have been able to attend school only a day or two so far this year.
As bad as things are in Zababdeh, they begin to look like paradise to people
in Nablus. All of this in the shadow of a gospel lesson on forgiveness...powerful.  After
worship, we paid some visits to neighbors. Some kids showed off their
rabbits (which will soon be part of lunch). In the past, we didn't see
any rabbits, and this year we've seen many. Our neighbor explained that
people have started keeping rabbits because of the economic situation,
as rabbits offer a cheaper food source. People here are truly more fortunate
that city dwellers, who don't have the space or ability to produce much
of their own food. Reports of malnutrition especially among children in
Gaza remind us of this. In the afternoon, Marthame headed down to Jenin
to take care of some overdue business - the city was open to outside traffic
for the first time in weeks. The place is in ruins, though - bullet
holes through pharmacy windows, cars crushed under the wheels of tanks,
it's really sad. We spoke with another friend in the States who commented
on how "quiet" it is over here. Yes, cities under house arrest, unemployment,
malnutrition, collective strangulation are a quiet death. About an
hour after Marthame left and headed back to Zababdeh, curfew was reimposed.
Many folks who had headed in from Zababdeh to take advantage of an open
day got stuck and had to sneak out. In the evening, we discovered
that our telephone had been cut. Once again, someone else in our
building hasn't paid, so we all pay the price. The Israelis clearly
don't have a monopoly on collective punishment. |
Monday, 9/16/02: Marthame was hoping to head to Jenin again today
to take care of our telephone as well as some other business, but was told
that Jenin was closed. When he called the office in Jenin, he expected
not to hear an answer, but someone picked up. Taxis were heading
into the outskirts of Jenin, but there was a tight curfew in the middle
of the city. Marthame was able to head up there with the few who
wanted to brave the roads and took care of some unfinished business, but
- alas - the phones'll have to wait. Paltel was within the curfew
zone. Several streets away from the taxi stand, dark smoke was rising
into the sky. No one was anxious to venture a guess, or to venture
a few blocks away to see the cause. In the evening, with no telephone
to provide us with distractions like the internet, we went out on the town.
People visit here incessantly once the cool of the evening comes, something
we are often reluctant to do because of the overwhelming feeling of work
left undone. But we are never disappointed when we do. As you
walk through the streets, everyone invites you in for coffee, tea, snacks...you've
never felt so welcome anywhere in your life. And the views of the
village and the fields remind us that, for all of the chaos of this place,
we'll miss it when we leave. Well, OK, this part of it. |
|
Tuesday, 9/17/02: The talk around town is about the two bombs planted in Palestinian schools in Hebron by Israeli militants - five were injured in one, the other was defused in time. This is not the first time - the last time it happened in Palestinian schools in Jerusalem. |
Wednesday, 9/18/02: The phone has been reconnected! It
turns out we weren't being punished collectively after all - rather, after
a dozen phone calls, we learned the true cause. They thought our
phone bill had remained unpaid. We had paid it at the Zababdeh post
office, but the paid invoice hadn't reached the central office. Six
miles away is an impossible journey these days. In the evening, we
visited the new pizza parlor in Zababdeh, aptly named "Pizza Pizza".
Marthame tried to convince the new chef to offer New York and Chicago styles
of pizza - for now we'll be happy with Zabdawi (Zababdehite).
The University, and the presence of all
of the new students, is providing a surprising economic boost - or, rather,
shift - to Zababdeh. People are opening new restaurants, bookstores,
hardware shops. In a time of massive West Bank unemployment, this
income is very welcome. Not many other places other than Zababdeh
are experiencing this. As we left school we heard about a suicide
bombing in Um-al-Fahem, the first one in about six weeks. |
|
Thursday, 9/19/02: Another suicide bombing today, this one in Tel Aviv - not good news. Five more innocents killed, along with a nascent glimmer of optimism among Israelis. During the lull, many were begininng to feel a taste of calm, some reduction in fear and a growth of hope after over a month without any Israelis killed. Palestinians however didn't have any such lull in the violence: the past month for them brought more than 70 killed, 2/3 of them civilians. "But it's been so quiet," people say. Indeed. At least the school continues at full capacity. |
Friday, 9/20/02: Another Friday, another sabbath. A greatly needed
one at that. We slept and slept. And woke up, Elizabeth reading The
Red Tent (a great retelling of the story of Dinah, Jacob's only daughter)
and knitting, Marthame surfing the internet. And then we ate and slept
again. Then we had a few visitors. And we went out visiting families (and
playing puppets with their kids). And then we slept. Even with the
news at Arafat's compound (or what remains of it) we didn't turn on the
TV. We need at least one day to decompress from this place from time
to time. Besides, the news always seems like we've heard it before.
"Nothing new under the sun." |
|
Saturday, 9/21/02: Marthame is taking advantage of no classes on Saturdays to take care of non-school-related business. Next semester, he expects to be teaching a college-level course in Church History in Ibillin at the newly-opened Mar Elias Theological Institute, so now is intense preparation time. Meanwhile, at the school, the seniors are busy preparing themselves for college. Most of them will probably end up at the Arab-American University of Jenin (for convenience more than anything else), though a handful will probably go to Birzeit (near Ramallah), An-Najah (in Nablus), and the Jenin campus of Jerusalem Open University, although it doesn't look promising for any of those institutions to have a regular school year any time soon. Some might go overseas to continue education, but those who have tried recently have repeatedly found visa troubles. After 9/11, many Western countries are increasingly unwilling to give visas (student, work, tourist) to Arabs. And even those with valid visas often face a new process of interrogation, fingerprinting, and profiling at American points of entry. 
Marthame is also preparing the Christian students for an application to
North
Park University in Chicago which provides a scholarship every year
for a Palestinian Christian student. All are eager to succeed - we're
eager, too, but there are many of them and only one scholarship. After
school we rode the school bus up to Jenin. We wanted to  pay
a long-overdue visit to friends from the Christian community there, and
the only way to do that these days is to make a weekend out of it.
When we arrived, Jenin was technically under curfew. Curfews can be strict
(as we've seen in Hebron and heard about recently in Nablus) or loosely
enforced. Right now in Jenin, there are not enough Israeli soldiers
to enforce a strict curfew, so when there are no tanks coming and going,
people tentatively go out - to work, to market - always ready to get off
the street at the approach of the IDF. The last time we rode the Jenin
school bus it was because of tanks on the road, in order to assure an "international
presence" for the children. This year, there are usually tanks around,
and our bus drivers take all sorts of circuitous routes to avoid them.
Yet, our presence is no longer requested - Ta'wadna - "we are used
to it." People say that a lot these days. After a thankfully
uneventful bus ride into a deserted Jenin, we shared a late lunch and an
even later dinner with our friends. In the cool of the evening, we enjoyed
chatting with them in their courtyard, complimenting their new garden and
fountain (complete with water-spewing dolphins and brass waterwheel) which
our host had just finished building. For a place that has known a lot of
chaos recently, Jenin seems quiet - periodic shooting, the distant rumble
of tanks - nothing too unusual. |
 Sunday,
9/22/02: Not long after our heads hit the pillow, we could hear
the regular sounds of war - tanks (audio
- 9 sec.), shooting  (both
Palestinian - audio, 1 sec. - and Israeli
- audio, 2 sec.), and - of course - roosters
and shooting (audio - 3 sec.). At
about 3:00, we heard announcements over a loud speakers. We weren't
sure what was being said, but later we learned they were telling everyone
in two nearby buildings to get out and stand in the street. We drifted
back off to sleep, only to be awoken at 6:00 by a loud thud - the building
shook (as did we). Our friends rushed in to check that the windows
in our room were not shattered. Fire was pouring out of a building less
than a block away. We ran upstairs to our host's parents' home to
look from their windows. A tank was slowly moving away - Marthame
wanted to take a picture, but this clearly made our hosts nervous.
"They'll see you, and then they'll shoot at us!" Sometimes reality
melds with imagination and fear here. Not long after, a fire truck
arrived, but far too late to save the foundations. They were already buckling
after being heated up by the flames. Explosions continued for a while
after (audio - 1 sec.). We found
out later that the man who was building the house (he hadn't finished it)
had a son
involved in Hamas, wanted by the Israelis. For this, they destroyed
his father's future house by dynamiting the place. The house next  to
the target was even more shaken by the blast than we were, the doors being
pulled from their hinges and broken glass lay scattered all around.
No one was hurt, as they had been told to leave their homes at 3:00 am.
Elizabeth chatted with a few of the women neighbors, who were shaken and
tired, busy dealing with tired and shaken kids. A rude awakening for all,
especially for a Sunday. Because of this, and because of the continuing
siege on Arafat's compound (and the collective taking to the streets of
the Palestinians last night in protest), the city was under a tighter curfew.
Even so, Fr. Alphonse called to see if he should wait for us to start Mass.
We arrived, doubling worship attendance - one difference between here and
Zababdeh is the presence of altar girls. Because of the curfew, it
was not a full service, but rather a daily Mass (little music - audio,
5 sec. - and no homily). The city was barely above a hum as people
were managing to move around. We decided to do some shopping with
our hosts, only to find people scrambling to get out of the road (tanks
on the way). We saw one of the school's English teachers reversing
rapidly, almost causing several  accidents
as he hustled to get out of the streets. Then we heard the tell-tale
"rat-a-tat-tat" (translation: "tanks are coming, don't dare get in our
way" - audio, 1 sec.) from the nearby garage.
We went back into the church building and
headed upstairs. From the second floor we could see the tank, followed
by an armored personnel carrer, trailed by a dozen young boys throwing
stones. They didn't do much damage. And as soon as the procession
came, it left, and the streets began to trickle with people. After
some (delayed) shopping, we visited with a family from the congregation
whose kids all attend our school. A week ago, the tell-tale "rat-a-tat-tat"
busted through their kids' bedroom window - one of the girls was studying,
but fortunately on the other side of the room. No one was hurt, but
everyone was terrified. This kind of stuff happens daily, and sometimes
it seems amazing that so many people remain uninjured here. Perhaps
a moment of grace. We went back to our hosts' peaceful home and ate
and visited until evening came, even managing to celebrate a birthday (audio
- 4 sec.). It was a Jenin weekend in a nutshell - a dynamiting of
the neighbor's house, a little prayer, a few tanks, and some birthday cake.
What could make more sense than that? We're hoping for a quieter
night than last night. |
|
Monday, 9/23/02: We passed a (thankfully) quiet evening. Early on, some knucklehead nearby fired at a tank, which stopped in the road for a few minutes, but that soon passed. We joined with the Jenin kids in their morning commute. Standing in front of the house, we again heard a nearby tank, followed by the firing of a tank shell, machine gunfire, and smoke rising from the hills. 
The bus showed up and we headed off, towards the smoke (to pick up some
of our kids). We were the only non-military traffic on the road,
with a strictly-enforced curfew in effect until 7:00 (we left 
at 6:30), each intersection becoming a potential hazard. The bus
peeked, out, saw no tanks or jeeps, and took the road. Meanwhile,
the kids stood outside waiting for us to arrive and pick them up.
At one point, we did see a tank on the road ahead of us, but it didn't
seem to mind us. The kids are clearly unnerved by this new arrangement,
but are persisting. Two days in Jenin is enough for us right now.
In the evening, we visited with a friend from Zababdeh who works as a nurse
at the French Hospital in Nazareth, Israel. Today was the third day
he went to the checkpoint to enter Israel, only to get turned back.
His papers are all in order, everything is legal, and sanctioned by the
Israeli government. He's not breaking any rules, any laws, has no
political affiliations, nothing. And yet he's turned back, and not
given any reason as to why. Tomorrow he's going to try and go an
illegal route. This is the daily stuff that makes no sense and also
makes it so difficult to explain this place to people who have never been
here (or even to those who have). |
|
Tuesday, 9/24/02: News of the new UN Resolution is welcome, but the stance that the US has taken (abstaining) merely underscores more Palestinian frustration with American policy in the Middle East. Can't say we disagree with the Palestinians on this point. Marthame went off in the evening to the school to join in the soccer activities. It's been a few months, and quite a bit of rust has collected. At least everyone seemed to notice that he wasn't up to his usual abilities - a silver lining to an otherwise dark cloud. |
Friday, 9/27/02: Our sabbath came once again. Today is
the feast of the raising of the cross (on the Eastern calendar), 
celebrating St. Helena's finding of the true cross on her pilgrimage to
Jerusalem. Unfortunately, we were unable to attend services.
We had to go to Jenin. Elizabeth needed some bloodwork done, and
the lab at the little Anglican clinic here in Zababdeh isn't outfitted
for it. Jenin is under curfew today, especially since it's Friday,
but there was at least one taxi willing to take us. We didn't wait
for it to fill up with passengers, but rather paid for the full load ourselves,
and went. The streets were eerily empty, but fortunately absent of
an Israeli military presence enforcing the curfew. During prayer
time, there's usually little activity anyway, but this seemed quieter than
normal. While we waited for results, we walked around town, running
into the patriarch of the family we stayed with last week in town.
He was surprised and elated to see us. The bloodwork came back normal
(the only thing normal about today), and we went home. In the evening,
the mosque began to sound, as did the church bells. Tomorrow marks
two years since the beginning of this Intifada so all of the young
men in town were out to demonstrate their political affiliations.
Their numbers were buoyed by the  presence
of the University students in town. Nothing much to see, just more
sloganeering and a few gunshots fired emptily into the air (audio
- 4 sec.). There is a notable lack of energy about the Palestinian
defiance these days. Marthame is reading a book set in the days of
the first Intifada, where the Palestinian collective defiance was
focused and had a sense that it would yield results. Now, rather
than fierce determination, the tone is more one of anger and fractured
hopelessness, a lashing out. The suicide bombings are the evil face
of it, but for the most part, people simply want to live and are not being
allowed to do so in a million different ways, both big and small.
The ability of Palestinians to adapt to increasingly difficult situations
is both their greatest asset and liability - an asset in that they are
able to survive, and a liability in the sense that their desire to survive
overwhelms their desire to make a change. For many, it is better to survive
today than to risk so much for tomorrow. Why engage in civil disobedience
and peaceful demonstration if the price may be your life and still nothing
will change? It's easy enough to point to Gandhi and Martin Luther King
Jr. from a safe distance, when it isn't your own life or that of your kids
which may be lost. In the 80's, many felt their sacrifices could make a
difference, and people rose up, some peacefully and some violently, and
many died. Unfortunately, many fewer people now feel their sacrifices can
make a difference. A dedicated few still risk everything for justice and
peace. And a few turn to revenge and murder, shrouded in the sacrifice
of suicide, in the misled belief that these can make a difference. They
do make a difference, but not the kind that brings deliverance or justice
or peace. How sad to watch, how sad to live, how sad to understand. |
Saturday, 9/28/02: 
Two years ago, Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon, flanked by a thousand
Israeli troops, strutted onto the Temple Mount/Holy Sanctuary. From
that day, the death toll has continued to rise: more than 1700 Palestinians
(with 20,000 injured), more than 600 Israelis (with 4000 injured).
It's sick. And both Israelis and Palestinians are doing the only things
they know to do: on this side of the Green Line, defiance is the national
past-time. Even if it's empty, it's still there. On the other
side, militarism reigns. The school assembly this morning was longer
than usual. Students read speeches and poetry, sharing love of land
and the like. Many wore small kaffiyes, the Palestinian headscarves,
draped around their necks. (Red and white is traditionally Bedouin and
often symbolizes the PFLP, black and white is the traditional Palestinian
style, which has come to symbolize the PLO.) Thinking back on the
last two years, it's difficult to summarize succinctly, except to say that
we hope there's very little more down the road. Watching people die
is hideous - watching people die slowly is gut-wrenching. It
would be too easy to say that those who favor war have never seen it, but
it's certainly true to say that those who embrace it without nuance have
never lived through it. And that's dangerous. It's time to
turn swords into ploughshares, and not the other way around. Which
are we doing - personally, nationally, globally? At break time today,
the grades continued their soccer tournament.  Each
year, as  weather
permits (that is, without rain - and there won't be some for a while),
the different grades match up in a soccer tournament. Today pitted
7A against 7B (whom Elizabeth teaches). 7B was victorious, pleasing
Elizabeth - she attributed it to their English language education this
year. In the early afternoon, the Kindergarten teachers organized
a group birthday party for the children who had birthdays in the last month.
On a national day of mourning, it seemed odd to have a celebration, but
such are the contradictions that make up life here. The ones with
birthdays were allowed to dance (and each got to blow out candles), but
all of the kids got a piece of the cake - something that could be learned
by the negotiators and world leaders. |
|
Sunday, 9/29/02: This morning we worshiped at the Latin Church of Visitation. It's been almost a month since we've been there on a Sunday morning, having spent one of the past Sundays in Jenin. When the Melkite Church re-opens (n'sha'allah - God willing), that'll take another Sunday out of our worship schedule. But it's wonderful to participate in the life of all of these congregations. We're very fortunate. Fr. John, one of the priests at the Latin Seminary in Beit Jala, delivered the homily this morning. He's up in the area checking on the Seminary students who are back in the village this year due to its temporary closure (due to the dangerous situation and the fact that their students from Jordan had so many problems getting visas from the Israeli authorities). Marthame and Deacon Firas served communion together - Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, and Melkite all leading worship. 
We then went with Fr. Aktham on an archaeological adventure to a small
collection of houses called a village just off the main road. Archaeology
having severe political consequences in these parts, we can't say much
about it except to say that there were no distinct identifying markings
on the artifacts (crosses, stars of David, Arabic calligraphy), making
the political ramifications a little less worrisome. The amount of
stuff around here is staggering, though - civilization after civilization
have passed through, leaving their mark. Some times, such artifacts
turn out to be Christian from the Byzantine period, and the Muslim
population is aware of this deep history and thus will often contact the
nearby priest to come and survey it. There's also, of course, the
hope of financial compensation, as was made clear to us as one of the residents
showed his collection of olive oil lamps - some possibly Roman, some Byzantine,
some Islamic. We didn't pay the "special price," but  were
given a couple ancient (and beautiful) glass beads anyway. Returning to
Zababdeh, we made good on a lunch invitation. With our archaeological
detour, we were late, and the family had already dined - in fact, some
of them were taking their afternoon naps. That was of little importance,
though, and no matter how much we resisted, we were forced to stay and
eat - rice, meat, and okra, in a tomato broth. We don't easily tire
of other people cooking for us. The news was bringing stories of
the Israeli pull-back from Arafat's compound at the urging of the White
House. Such things don't do much to demythologize the US' role as
power broker here. We're looking forward to seeing a positive impact
on the lives of ordinary people - for that, it seems we'll wait a long
time for White House intervention. We had a few minutes to rest before
a friend's wedding in the afternoon. The wedding was scheduled to
begin at 4:00. Even then, as the sun was beginning to go down, it
was stiflingly hot. In true Arab fashion, the bride arrived at 5.
It was only our second  wedding
at the Orthodox Church - our first one was two
years ago when Fr. Thomas' son was married (which was also the first
time we had set foot in the church). Then, we stood at the back,
not knowing what was appropriate. This time, Marthame took his place
with camera up at the front. Our relationships with the clergy, as
well as the excuse of the film project, have given us great access to events
in the lives of the community (audio -
11 sec.). The most striking aspect of Orthodox weddings is the crowns
that the bride and  groom
both wear - it is their coronation day, set in the context of the Biblical
history of couples. Elizabeth went with the older women to the couple's
new home. The groom's mother places a lemon leaf (which doesn't yellow
with age) on the wall, a symbol of their eternal love. The women
dance and sing (audio - 13 sec.) in celebration,
waiting for the couple to arrive - they join in the dancing soon after.
There is also a lot of ululating and the traditional congratulatory rhyming
poems (audio - 6 sec.). Elizabeth
had one sung about her: "Elizabeth, you are very thin. You are as
tall as a giraffe. Let's go to Nablus and eat knaffe." (in
Arabic, it rhymes) Elizabeth, inspired by being the pink poodle of
the evening, sang her own verse: "I like you, ladies. I like you
more than water." (trust us - it rhymes, too) The party continued
at the Latin Church hall, where there was singing and dancing - though
not much, as is considered appropriate for a time of national mourning
- as well as food for everyone. The traditional wedding meal is mansaaf,
meat and rice with a spiced yogurt sauce. We don't easily tire of
other people cooking for us. |
Monday, 9/30/02: We were hoping that today would be a normal
school day, and it seemed like it would be. As the school bus drivers
arrived at the end of the day, though, they told a different story: tanks
stood at the entrance to Tubas (to the south) as well as at the old Israeli
military camp (to the north), and were turning back all traffic.
The school now has three buses: one to Tubas,
one to Jenin, and one to Qabatia. After some consultation, Marthame
and the Vice-Principal accompanied the Jenin bus, expecting to need to
negotiate through the 
checkpoint. One older student became nervous, since she had brought
a box cutter to school for a Biology project. She showed it, and everyone
was very distressed, to Marthame's surprise. Surely a threat on an airplane,
the box cutter didn't seem like much to worry about in a schoolgirl's bag.
Marthame took it, assuming the Israeli soldiers would be less likely to
bother an American than a Palestinian for possession of a box cutter.
It turned out we worried needlessly, as the military presence had left,
though the tell-tale signs of tank tracks and the like were all around.
When the bus arrived in Jenin, the student asked ironically for her box
cutter, "May I have my weapon back, please?" The Tubas bus
passed through the checkpoint without a
hitch, but the town soon went under strict curfew. We'll see if they
can make it tomorrow. In the evening, we went out to the fields to
visit our shepherd friend in his tent neighborhood to the East of Zababdeh.
Some Norwegians are in the area volunteering with the Red Crescent Society
and tagged along. As we chatted, drank tea, and watched the sunset,
we also gazed at three F-16s flying overhead towards Tubas. We didn't
hear any of the dreaded "booms" we expected, thankfully, but who knows
what the night will bring. For some odd reason, we ended up singing,
"Can't Buy Me Love" (soundtrack courtesy
of the Beatles - 3 sec.) - perhaps that's what passes for Western folk
music. Our host refused to let us make our way back in the dark alone
and guided our footsteps. |
|
|