home

I wrote this poem when i first arrived back to Minnesota after being in palestine for 2 months. the transition was, let's say, still is, difficult.


i'm home.

safe.
safe
SAFE.

and sound
s-o-u-n-d
the sound of the tv buzz
fills my head
keeps me limp and avoiding
the reality that no longer makes sense
that never did

for five days
lying on the couch
eating and sleeping

refusing to look at the semblance of myself
because when i do
i don't recognize the grey in my eyes
as i shrink back

today i finally got off the couch
stumbled to the kitchen
looked at the newspaper
front page--
cadet ready to go to iraq
the blood already stains her hands
as her family gathers
pride gleaming in their eyes

and that blood never smelled so fresh
to the semblance of
this one
small
human
back from the not-so-holy
land
drowning out the dissonance

today
only able to feel the weight

unable to begin
to look
for a way up
and out.


i'm happy to say that the few times that i have used my voice publically in the past month, and the mountanous support that i have received from loved ones has helped me begin to sort some of this out.

Not Everything is Lost

Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal
by Naomi Shihab Nye

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,please come to the gate immediately.

Well -- one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew -- however poorly used - she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we're fine, you'll get there, just late, who is picking you up? Let's call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English.

I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and would ride next to her -- Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies -- little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts -- out of her bag -- and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo -- we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers --non-alcoholic -- and the two little girls for our flight, one African-American, one Mexican-American -- ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar, too.
And I noticed my new best friend -- by now we were holding hands -- had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate -- once the crying of confusion stopped -- has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen, anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

To my Family on Passover

I wrote the following letter to my family and asked them to read it at their Passover Seder, which at my house means a large gathering of mostly Jewish friends and family. I am proud to say they agreed to read it and I wanted to pass it on to others:

To my family on Passover,

Ah, I feel so far away when I think of you all gathered around the table, soaking in the warmth of the best Jewish holiday, reveling in the wonder that is my mom and step dad (especially my mom, isn't she fantastic?), stuffing your faces with the most delicious food of the year. So much of me wishes that I could be with you this Pesach, but I am also still very present where I am--in the rolling hills of Palestine.

This Passover I am celebrating the holiday of freedom with friends in Palestine, in the small village of Haris where I live. I arrived here one month ago to volunteer with the International Women's Peace Service (IWPS) as the natural next step on my three month journey full of paradoxes and parallel universes that define the state of Israel and the West Bank. I participated in the Birthright Israel trip and then in an alternative program, called Birthright Unplugged that takes North American Jews on a tour of the West Bank to witness the lived experiences of Palestinians. I would love to talk to you more when I get back about my specific travels and experiences, but mostly tonight I wanted to send you my love and to give you a picture of what my Seder will be like, celebrated only a few hours before, and a few thousand miles away.

Tonight we are having 25 friends gather in our living room: Palestinians, Israelis, and Internationals. Present will be our friends Um and Abu Abed* who live in Haris and are the advisers for so many people in the village, including us. Um Abed's smile melts me when I walk by and I know that I can ask her any question and she will answer with love. Our friend Jamal and his family will also join us, who live in the nearby town of Qira. Jamal's 5 year old daughter, Saja, had a serious kidney condition when she was 6 months old and needed a transplant. They could not find her a donor until they became friends with Kris, a volunteer from IWPS who fell in love with the family and agreed to help them. Before Kris could go through with the operation, however, she was arrested and deported for participating in a nonviolent demonstration with Palestinians in protest of the Separation Wall that cuts them off from 100s of acres of their land. After one and a half years of human rights groups petitioning the Israeli government, Kris was allowed to go a hospital in Jerusalem where she gave Saja a kidney. Today Saja is healthy and strong but despite the binding connection between Kris and Jamal's family, they cannot meet again because Israel prevents her re-entry into Israel.

Huda and her daughters will also celebrate with us tonight from another village. Huda is one of the strongest women I have ever met. After her husband left her and her 5 children, she founded a women's organization, which is a collaboration of Palestinian women organizing to create positive change in their community. They create income for families through selling artistic embroidery and they have youth programs for music and for girls. Her daughters are impressive young women who love to sing and dance and speak perfect English that they learned from bad American movies.

Good friends of Huda's family are 8 sisters from yet another village who teach us what it means to be resilient and keep spirit alive. After having a slumber party at their house, they showed us the view out their kitchen window where I could see Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean Sea in the distance, although they are not allowed to go there and have never been. They joked that when we leave to go back to the U.S., they can watch our plane take off from the airport. The Separation Wall is located right outside their home and will soon encircle their village entirely. One of the eldest sisters is a student at An-Najah University in Nablus and her commute to school used to take one hour before the wall. Today it takes her 4 hours to go around the wall and through checkpoints to school.

Also sitting at our table tonight will be our friend Mohammad and his family who live in a nearby village called Marda. Mohammad is a local leader in the village, which is located directly under the second largest Jewish settlement on the West Bank, Ariel. The harsh reality of life in Marda is tragic. The sewage waste from Ariel is routed down the hill into the village. In the late 1990s, Birzeit University in Ramallah studied the water quality and determined that it is undrinkable even for animals. Families in Marda also experience virtually nightly raids by Israeli soldiers where boys and young men are woken by the soldiers, questioned, often physically assaulted, and returned to their homes or imprisoned. Last week two brothers--13 and 19 years old--were taken from their home, the eldest beaten by soldiers until he was unconscious. The soldiers took them into custody to question them about someone from the village throwing rocks on the main road--land that is 22 kilometers inside the West Bank, inside what is internationally recognized as Palestinian territory.

Several Israeli friends will also join us tonight who are eager to celebrate this holiday of liberation with their neighbors who are not free. They have seen and recognize that Palestinians cannot move from one place to another on their own land, they are willing to discuss real solutions for Israelis and Palestinians to live together. To our Israeli friends, Jews cannot celebrate Pesach without acknowledging and incorporating the hardship of the Palestinians into their story of today and the future.

This weekend I witnessed three young men in a neighboring village get arrested after a peaceful demonstration on their land against the wall that will fully cage them in when the construction is completed. I walked with the men--ages 16, 20, and 24 (the same age as me)--down the road while they were handcuffed and escorted by soldiers towards army jeeps that would take them into custody. I tried to find out why the men had been targeted since the protest had ended without violence or any confrontation with soldiers. The soldiers gave no explanation but they and everyone else knew that the young men had simply walked down the street at the wrong time. A pen in my hand, a camera, and a bright yellow vest, I walked next to the soldier who pulled the 16 year old by the plastic handcuffs that were tied too tightly around his wrists. I thought about Passover, about how that soldier no more than 20 years old, how I, how Jews all over the world can celebrate our liberation when the state of Israel was denying the freedom of peaceful protest right before my eyes.

Passover is my favorite Jewish holiday, in fact the only holiday that speaks to me in my gut. This year I am overwhelmed with the potential for real dialogue about the meaning of freedom when I can no longer look the other way at what is happening in Israel and Palestine, when I can sit at the table with friends who fight every day for their lives and laugh and sing and talk about hope.

I am with you tonight and send you my love.

Ma'salame,

Good night,

Nova Luna

*Names have been altered to protect identities.

Nose Pickin for Human Rights

That's right, folks, I have no shame. I will pick my nose anytime, anywhere. Have no confusion, though, this does not reflect on my effectiveness as a human rights activist at all. Not at all.

Hannah Heads Home

Well folks,

My time in the Middle East is coming to an end. It has been an exhausting and fulfilling journey for me. I created new roots in Deheisha refugee camp in Palestine, in the Bedouin community of Tel Sheva, and in East Jerusalem with a community of Internationals and Palestinians and Israelis. The trip began traveling through Israel and ended mostly in the West Bank.

I have learned a lot through spending time in the Deheisha refugee camp and traveling through various cities and towns in Palestine. I have heard stories of peoples villages lost and lives drastically altered by the occupation. At this point its all that many people know. I believe people must be able to move freely through their land or suffering, hatred and resentment will continue to build.

Nova has been my companion and support throughout the trip. Her solid presence has made this trip possible for me. Her boldness and curiosity have been an inspiration. It has truly been a pleasure traveling and living with Nova throughout much of my experience here.

I am heading back to the United States in a few days. This journey has impacted my understanding of the politics and people of this region and will stick with me for years to come.

If the world knew

Signs of a diseased nation poisoned with racism and hiding behind notions of 'security':

1. Israeli soldiers at the airport strip searching 10 year old girls because they have Arabic surnames.
2. Guards targeting a 79 year old holocaust survivor after she participated in a nonviolent protest on the west bank, strip searching and molesting her.
3. Soldiers strip searching a Palestinian American woman with Cerebral Palsy and refusing to return her maxi pad or let her purchase a new one.

These are true stories about women's experiences at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. There is a very powerful 13 minute documentary that you can watch (I highly recommend):
http://www.ifamericansknew.org/about_us/easiesttargets.html. This makes my phone disappearance at the Jordanian border seem minuscule, my heart sink, and my stomach turn. I'm less than excited to go to the airport.

Sweet Baby Gamla

Last month we spent 2 days on a farm in the Negev Desert (Southern Israel) with a Bedouin community and the Israeli project Bustan (www.bustan.org). Bedouin people are indigenous to the Middle East and are traditionally nomadic. Their lives have been drastically changed by statehood, land development, and Israeli laws. Most Bedouin living within the state of Israel have lost their land to the state, which has been used for military bases, creating Jewish towns and other developments, airports, etc. They have been relocated into townships, or urban dwellings, where they are detached from their land and poverty and crime fester without opportunity.

This community is working actively to try to maintain their traditional ties to the land and are creating a Bedouin agricultural and education center. But even their land is being threatened by land confiscation by the israeli government through house demolitions and forced removals. Their family has already been moved from their traditional lands and never received the promised compensation.

We had the opportunity to work in their garden, gather medicinal plants from the desert, and spend time with their family in their home. We had some of the best hospitality of our lives, as well as a wrestling match, acrobatics, yoga, singing and dancing, and an arabic-hebrew-english game of telephone with the women and girls in the family. And, of course, spent some time with a one day old camel.

Muslim Prayer outside Demascus Gate

Al Aqsa Mosque inside the Old City in Jerusalem is one of the holiest Muslimssites in the world. You have probably heard about the controversy with the excavasions under the Mosque, as people are outraged that the Israeli authorities would jeopardize the foundation of their holy site. Every Friday, hundreds of men go to the Mosque to pray but for several weeks, men between the ages 18-45 are not allowed into the Old City. Hannah captured this photo of men praying on the street outside Demascus Gate, the entrance into the Old City in East Jerusalem. Israeli soldiers stand over them, ready to squash any resistance.

Rosie come back

Who knew that circus performers were taking over the west bank?

And of Course, One Donkey

My Day
by Nova Luna

Today I went with my teammate at the International Women's Peace Service to a nearby village in the Salfit distriction in the northern West Bank. This area is where the separation wall reaches the deepest inside the West Bank, 22 km east of the 1967 internationally recognized border. We sat down with the mayor of this town and began to gather information about house demolitions and land confiscations in the village. When the separation wall is finished being built, 40 percent of their land will be lost to Israeli military control. They also have 17 current house demolition orders from the Israeli government, most likely on the basis of not having building permits. This is, by the way, land supposed to be within jurisdiction of the Palestinian Authority.

We left the mayor's office to go meet with a 56 year old woman who recently returned from the hospital after being shot by the Israeli military by a rubber coated lead bullet in the face. She was walking home one day when the Israeli army had instigated and responded to children throwing stones in the village. she walked up a hill, approaching a corner. Two soldiers were crouched down behind a wall aiming to shoot. One soldier fired a bullet at her face that hit her nose and detatched a section of her right nostril. She had 20 stitches and the doctor has to remove skin from another place on her body to resculpt her nose. With a slightly sharper angle of the wrist, this woman would be dead. Her family was very sweet and gave us fruit.

Then we went and visited another family. Their 20 year old son had been taking us around the village and was very excited to give us samples from his perfume business. He not only gave us small bottles to take home, but doused us as we sat on the couch with old lady poperi. Then his sister in law took us out back and her mother took us into the small room where they make bread in smokey fire pit and keep the farm animals--2 rabbits, 1 duck, several chickens laying eggs, and of course, 1 donkey. Outside there was the most beautiful 2 year old girl and her mom, let's just say she is most definitely part of our team, as they say.

Then we visited a close friend to the organization and her fabulous family. They hold
women's strength at the forefront and are not afraid to shine and take risks. Her oldest daughters sang and all her children danced for us when we traveled on the Birthright Unplugged trip last month. We ate good food and as we were leaving the village in a car, we almost hit a horse running straight at us.

Of course, the day cannot end without me eating 4 or 5 chocolate cookies and refilling the hot water bottle that i carry around with me in absense of heating and good slippers.

Tree for You

Wow, we have actively avoided writing on this blog for one month! I, for one, have been overcome with a sense of paralyse when I think about how to communicate all that I have experienced in the last month. Now to take it one step at a time.

Here is a poem that I wrote a month and a half ago after learning more about the history of tree planting in the state of Israel, sponsored by the JNF (Jewish New Fund, governs a large portion of all land in Israel). Many Jews around the world have childhood memories of putting quarters into charity boxes at synagogue to support planting trees in Israel. Supporting the ecological environment of the holy land seems like a simple, non-political, of course situation. But I have learned that many of the forests that have been planted by the JNF in Israel were strategically placed to cover up destroyed Palestinian villages when they were pushed off their land in 1948 and the state of Israel was formed. There were 531 Palestinian villages destroyed during this war. This history is rarely told.

Many visitors to Israel have planted a tree in the Holy Land as a commemoration to loved ones, or a way to connect with the land. My sister was one of these people several years ago and she planted a tree for our grandfather, the most gentle and loving man in the world, who was dying with cancer. This was a huge gesture of love, amidst untold tragedy. I think the poem can take it from here:

Tree for you

Here is a tree for you, Grandpa

a strong Jerusalem Pine in the holy land

planted as a seedling with hope

and memory of your strength and love

a gift from your granddaughter

a way to connect to what is sacred

and spiritual

and alive

A tree for you, Grandpa

covering the ashes of a fallen village

a cemetery of lives lost

with no tombstone

a forest planted to make israel beautiful

and to hide the blood spilled

the voices distant and muffled

by a cement wall

A tree for you

when millions of people live without a safe home

without the means to protect their land against rape, theft, and destruction

without hope

There is a tree planted for you, Grandpa,

where homes used to keep families warm

while today young children grow up in cages

There is a tree just for you,

my dearest Grandfather,

a token of my sorrow

a dream that some day fear will not allow us to turn our backs

and pretend we do not see.