I loved the Jesus Trail. It was really hard physically and at times I wanted nothing more than to fall over and stay down. When we sat down for lunch or at ruins, it was so hard to stand up. It was more physically draining than anything I’ve ever done. But the spiritual renewal was incredible.

First of all, I had no idea my body was capable of that. God truly does amazing things. He has created incredible beings and he gives us amazing strength we don’t know of. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as empowered as I did on the trail. Ever. God is great!

Second, I have a spiritual connection to the Galilee now. It’s not because Jesus walked there. It’s because I walked there.

This drew me closer to Jesus not because I felt his presence, but because I connected to the same land he connected to. We love the same hills. We walked the same-ish paths. We ate the same-ish things. And we took shelter in the same-ish places. I’m sure he was just as relieved to reach Cana at the end of his journey as I was that first day. I feel like my friend shared something they love with me, and we are closer for it.

Highlights of the Jesus Trail –Ěýmembers of the 91¶ĚĘÓƵ team

1. Visiting Nazareth Village and staying in Fauzi Azar Inn with all of its stone arches and beautiful painted ceilings.
2. Reading the Beatitudes while sitting on the Mount of Beatitudes (we hiked to three possible sites where Jesus may have given his Beatitudes sermon)
3. Visiting the Synagogue in Migdal, the town which is the birthplace of Mary Magdalene and the most verifiable location of a place where Jesus actually sat and talked about the Torah.
4. Hiking to the Horns of Hattin (these may actually be the real Mt of Beatitudes)
5. Staying overnight at the organic, vegan Yarok Oz Goat Farm. We spent a night there and it was peaceful and quiet and the food was amazing!!
6. Hiking down the cliffs of Arbel, which resembled a movie set from Lord of the Rings
7. Swimming in the Sea of GalileeĚý

Our Guide on the Trail –ĚýĚýEthan Mathews

Besides the vast beauty of the area we hiked in, our guide also added to our experience on the Jesus Trail. He was a twenty-eight-year-old Israeli who had decided to take the path less traveled by not going to university after his military service. Instead, he decided to travel and become a tour guide, and in my eyes, a pretty good one.

When we first met our guide he told us that he was a secular Jew. I know, a secular Jew teaching us about where Jesus walked? He did an amazing job respecting Christianity regardless. Our guide was an interesting guy to hang out with and talk to as well, even when some of the conversations had to do with the conflict. After he was brought up to speed on our dual narrative trip, he was very open and honest about his point of view on this conflict. He was also willing to listen when an idea that he didn’t exactly agree with came up.

Sharing in Community Work in Bethlehem –Ěýmembers of the 91¶ĚĘÓƵ team

Service is an important part of cross-cultural learning. ĚýIt is hard to truly see local culture while being a tourist on a big bus. Sometimes, our big white bus feels like an alien ship landing in little villages. While we have stopped at many places for short visits, there is something really nice about unpacking our bags and living in a place for a few weeks. While our group lived in Bethlehem, we lived with local families and spent time in community work placements. ĚýThe goal of this was to learn to see and experience “ordinary” life in Bethlehem and the adjacent towns of Beit Sahour and Beit Jala. What does it feel like to be part of a local organization? ĚýWhat do we learn when we are asked to help with local work? What do we learn from building relationships with local people that last more than a day? ĚýThis report gives a glimpse of the different types of activities individuals participated in during our time in the Bethlehem region. ĚýIt is based on excerpts of the student journals written during this time.

ĚýAl Basma

Lydia Haggard describes working at Al Basma, a center for young adults with disabilities. “I worked on projects such as weaving rugs, coloring and learning numbers, working in the gardens, and making recycled paper. My most favorite activity was laying stones in the garden. It was creative as we made mosaic shapes and patterns with little stones. It was beautiful to see the students caring for plants by watering them and also being creative with the stones. They also showed their generosity to me by collecting small square stones form the bucket and handing them to me to us. It really showed the cultural norm to include everyone and practice giving. I loved the shared experience of everyone contributing and helping each other. ĚýI got at least ten high-fives a day from students… Although I didn’t always feel like I was contributing much help because of being new to the routine and having a language barrier, I realize that my presence there was showing the students and teachers that there are people who care and support their work.”

Ěýł˘â€™A°ůł¦łó±đ

Andy King describes working at ł˘â€™A°ůł¦łó±đ Bethlehem, part of the L’arche international network of organizations offering therapeutic, social and economic assistance to people with disabilities by creating a space that cultivates self-expression, self-esteem, and participation in an accepting environment. The social objective focuses on the outside community to create communal responsibility and to better show the reality of the situation at hand. The economic objective works to give the students the opportunity to feel like valued members of the society by teaching them vocational skills and paying them for their work. ĚýAndy writes “I was given the opportunity to work alongside students who were making wool nativity scenes, though it was difficult to communicate at times I laughed more that day than I have in a while, especially during the communal dance party that broke out over lunch. I witnessed one of the students playing with a bag of marbles that he was able to buy with his own money from working at ł˘â€™A°ůł¦łó±đ and how overjoyed he was. I gained a new respect for the importance and significance of ł˘â€™A°ůł¦łó±đ’s work after seeing that.”

ĚýArab Women’s League

Owen Mussleman noticed the smiles and friendly demeanor of every one of the disabled people he worked with at the Arab Women’s League. Ěý“Despite life not giving them the easiest pitches, they still stepped into the batter’s box. They refused to let their day go badly. They were not angry, bitter, or wallowing in self-pity. All they wanted was to feel valued.”

ĚýBeit Sahour Municipality

Some 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students worked with the city government in Beit Sahour, the village adjacent to Bethlehem (Beit Lahem). ĚýLindsay Acker worked to edit the city government’s website and worked on newsletters, a project report and a project proposal. Lindsay says, “I learned a lot about Beit Sahour. I edited documents about their tourism industry and all of the recent development work. I edited about 100 pages. ĚýThere are a lot of religious sites in Beit Sahour, and they are trying to rejuvenate the old city, and they are proposing a project to empower women.” ĚýOn several occasions, Lindsay met the city mayor and even shared a taxi ride with him to the Bethlehem city center.

Adrienne Derstine and Alice Maldonado used their Spanish language skills to help translate a 30-page funding proposal written first in Arabic and then English into Spanish for a Spanish-speaking donor to fund a museum and artisan center. Adrienne writes, “I came away feeling like I had gained valuable experiences with the Palestinian culture … and happy to have offered my help. We exchanged emails and hope to hear if the funding comes through on the proposal.”

Greek Orthodox School

A group of 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students volunteered in a school with 7^th grade kids. Ella Reist writes, “[the teacher in the class asked us to] help the students write about time and date in the past and future. ĚýSome kids really responded to the coaching and learned the meaning behind the words and how to apply them.”

A group of 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students volunteered at Al-Rowwad, an artistic center in the Aida Refugee Camp that organizes “play-based” programs that build self-esteem and life purpose. ĚýIts logo is “beautiful resistance.” Andy King comments on his appreciation for the Al-Rowwad mission: “Their vision is to start by building a human. Teach kids to think and give them a sense of belonging. Give humanity to them, being the agent of change.Ěý A little humanity would go a long way in this conflict.” ĚýElla Reist comments on the given instructions to paint a wall and how they all (the 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students) learned to take it from there. “I came to see what needed to be done and could delegate tasks to others when it felt like it was my place to give some leadership. ĚýThis was affirming and felt like growth in my leadership skills.”

Rebecca Waje writes: “I was given a picture of a boy and they asked me to paint the boy on a huge wall! ĚýI have never done a mural before. ĚýI tried to get the drawing as close to the photo as I could. I sketched the drawing on the wall and then I started painting. ĚýI had to call on fellow 91¶ĚĘÓƵ student Kwaunte Stewart to help me because we were running out of time! ĚýI told Kwaunte “lets just paint and hope for the best.” We started painting and a young student walked by and said, “I know him!” We felt then that we had done well.”

Kyle Good also helped with the mural. Ěý“We painted a portrait of a young boy who had been killed by an Israeli sniper while he was playing by the gate. We also decorated the walls of the hallways. It felt weird painting what will effectively become a shrine which all the other children will walk past, being a reminder daily of the occupation and injustice.”

ĚýShepherds Field Nursery

Sara Byler writes, “I spent my time playing and participating in their games. It took some time for the kids to warm up to me. ĚýWhen I started saying the few words I know in Arabic to them, they got excited! One boy liked to play “Store” so I used my vocabulary of “shekel” and “shukran” and “Shu?” ĚýHe loved it! ĚýI learned that kids can be great teachers when learning a new language. I felt free to practice my very hesitant Arabic. ĚýEven though my speaking produced many giggles from my little girls, they were a very understanding audience.”

Austin Sachs volunteered at the BFTO, an NGO working to promote fair trade in Palestine, specifically the Bethlehem region. They work with artisans ranging from olivewood to ceramics, disabled groups like the ł˘â€™A°ůł¦łó±đ community, and women’s associations doing embroidery. ĚýTheir goal is to give artisans the tools through training and international reach of BFTA to give them economic independence. Austin helped BFTA with their marketing and by editing their English language materials. Austin writes, “I felt as though I was helping their organization reach a wider audience and in turn helping their artisans. I also was able to learn a significant amount about Palestinian handicrafts. From the tradition of passing down handicrafts through families, the intimacy of ceramics and hand-blown glass to the culture behind embroidery, it is easy to see the growing pride in traditional Palestinian crafts.”

Ben Beidler worked at the Siraj Centre, a company focused on bringing tourists to see the nature and rural lifestyle of Palestine. ĚýBen says, “I did work utilizing social media and worked to engage their secretary in being responsible for regularly posting and creating an online following.” ĚýBen also went on a full moon hike with the Siraj Centre, including a hike through the desert to a Bedouin camp at 3 a.m. with the full moon. ĚýThe rest of the 91¶ĚĘÓƵ group became acquainted with Siraj Centre later in our trip. ĚýSiraj Centre organized a bicycle ride from Jenin to Sebastia for our group. ĚýThe route went through Palestinian villages and olive orchards where families were picking their olives.

Miranda Schirch Goldberg worked at Masar Ibrahim, an organization that promotes a series of trails, hiking and biking routes throughout Palestine that represent the footsteps of Abraham and his descendants. ĚýMiranda states, “I worked for their communications team. They had many documents in Arabic about small Palestinian villages along the Abraham path and they would send them through an Arabic to English translator, and I would read through three or four of these each day and correct grammar, spelling, structure and formatting. I also read through interviews of tour guides for the trails, and I would compile the information into one summarized document about each guide. I was given my own desk in a communal office and I had use of a computer to do all of my editing work.”

One thing that struck all the student volunteers was the amount of Arab hospitality they received. In every placement, tea and coffee and snacks were shared with 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students. ĚýThe community opened their lives to us. We are grateful for this privilege of learning. And we hope that at least some of the work we contributed proved useful to the community. ĚýAndy King remarked that the volunteer placements demonstrated how welcoming Palestinians are to outsiders and also that a little hard work can go a long way in restoring emotional and physical health.

Listening to Different Narratives in the West Bank

– Lydia Chappell-Deckert

On one side of my notebook I have notes from our visit to “Youth Against Settlements” in Hebron. ĚýOn the other side of the notebook page, I have notes from our talk with the Jewish spokesperson in Hebron. ĚýOn one side rests a quote from a Youth Against Settlements spokesperson saying Israelis are “living on the suffering of others” and on the other side rests a quote from a Jewish spokesperson saying that there is no evidence to back the so-called “Suffering of the Arabs.” To quote the Jewish spokesperson further, “The primary aim of the Arabs is to finish the work that Hitler started… to throw us into the sea.”

This afternoon, Ella Reist and I were sitting at lunch with a woman volunteering from England. We talked to her and it became clear to us that she was very pro-Palestinian. I felt myself growing angry at the strength of her opinion. ĚýShe left no voice for the Israelis. In my opinion, that is just as damaging as blatantly ignoring the suffering of Palestinians. The refusal to humanize the other is innately destructive.

In our conversation about the Women Wage Peace event in which Israeli and Palestinian women walked together to the Dead Sea with representative Huda Abu Arquob, she stated that this conflict is one of “identity and narratives.” The push for one sole narrative to rise and conquer the captive audience of history books has and will continue to crush entire nations. Holding the extreme narratives of the settlers in Hebron alongside the stories from the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem or the streets of Ramallah is a seemingly impossible task. ĚýThere are times that I actually call it impossible.

Reflecting on this I think the understanding of extremism of opinion, as well as action, could be key. What makes groups of people become radical? ĚýTrauma? ĚýHatred? Isolation? Fear? ĚýAll of the above? ĚýI wish we could sit these groups down, as if talking to cranky preschoolers, and ask them what they need.

Right now, Palestinian needs are more clear to me. I see the message of Palestinian organizations that we visited in the West Bank as acts of insurmountable bravery. For example, Al-Rawwod or “Beautiful Resistance” working in Aida refugee camp to help youth develop goals and self-esteem and Freedom Theatre in Jenin refugee camp are trying to give youth other ways of expressing their anger and frustration at the situation. ĚýSomeone said “Every act of existence is an act of resistance.” ĚýThese efforts are brave and are very clearly fighting to show their Palestinian existence. However, I also see what Sami Awad called a “surplus powerlessness” in the multitude of NGOS working in the Bethlehem area almost making peace work a type of competition. ĚýWhich NGO can do the “best” work?

On the other hand, I see clearly that the Israelis are hurting. I see them struggle to maintain an identity, a face, a voice. I see their intense fear – staring at me in the form of the gun resting on Hebron settler’s hip when he spoke to us.

Nationalism, and nationalistic movements are so powerful. I’m still working through what Nationalism specifically means and how it is woven through this mess. I know that it is important in some ways to many people and destructive in many other ways to many other people. One of our speakers said the following during our time in Bethlehem. Ěý“Sorry, I don’t want to die for any country. ĚýI want to live for the world.” This is the approach that I think would shift the conflict dramatically. The trick is making that personal shift and commitment. This becomes extra scary and difficult in a context that constantly labels the other as “terrorist.” ĚýThere must be a way to get past this.

Though our time in Bethlehem and our experience listening to an Israeli settler in Hebron, the youth in Aida refugee camp, the Gaza border tour to hear Maha Mehanna and Roni Kreider speak about their relationship in and outside the walls of Gaza, and a visit to the Bedouin village Um Al-Khair, I have settled into the solution of “narrative swapping.” ĚýThe question of “one state” vs “two state” or “one and a half state” solutions is overwhelming to me right now. I feel as though trauma healing must happen and must be pushed forward in a stronger way. ĚýChanging border lines will not erase psychological damage on either side.

That said, we cannot heal the trauma of millions of human beings before acting on an unjust situation. ĚýSo, I guess, the talk of solutions and the order in which they happen can be never ending. ĚýPerhaps that is why my brain latches onto healing through narratives, through stories. ĚýIt is an individual action that prompts mass action. ĚýPeacebuilding used as a way to create revolutionary conversationalists is fantastic. It sounds radical, it is radical, and it is something that everyone can practice.

Highlights from a Week at Tent of NationsĚý– members of the 91¶ĚĘÓƵ team

1. Climbing trees to pick olives
2. Seeing the sun through the olive branches
3. Having sage tea five times a day
4. Sitting on a rock and admiring the view
5. The puppies
6. Shoveling manure and friendship
7. Campfire nights
8. Olive the jokes (“All of” – “olive”)
9. Compost toilets
10. Finally, some cold weather!
11. Meditation
12. Morning snack of hummus and baba ganoush
13. Sunrises and sunsets
14. Baseball with the volunteers
15. Working outside
16. Two glorious minutes of shower for the week
17. Sitting in the greenhouse dirt and soaking up tomato smell
18. Hearing the Muslim call to prayer start in the distance
19. Being in the center of a hurricane of tension between the expanding settlements and threatened Palestinian villages surrounding Tent of Nations
20. Late night conversations under the stars to find out it is only 9pm
21. Making it through a week without a shower (okay, this wasn’t a highlight for anyone)
22. Moving rocks to make a rock fence (okay no one said this either)

Rejected Blog Titles

(Note: the theme for several of these has to do with our Jesus trail hike, and the realization along the way that there are many places that claim some aspect of biblical history. Many times, it was the marketing of that location over time that associated it with the event and not necessarily much proof that the most famous location is the actual site)

• Only a few more kilometers to hike. ĚýWe’re almost there.
• How come the ones at the end get the shortest break?
• Did you see the Mount of Beatitudes? Ěý. . . Which one?
• The Prophet Jonah was buried here. ĚýOr maybe here. ĚýOr maybe here.
• Jesus sat on this rock
• Hey kid, I’ll give you 50 shekels for that walking stick

In the US, a honking horn almost always expresses anger—get out of my way, you cut me off—that sort of thing. Don’t get me wrong, that happens in Bethlehem as well, but a honk can mean so much more here:

• Warning, I’m behind you on a small street
• I want to merge in front of you
• I’m going to merge regardless of whether or not you want me to
• Don’t try to merge, I’m not letting you in
• hurry up and merge, I’m letting you in
• Thanks for letting me in
• Move over!
• Why have we stopped!?
• Please come out of that store and move your car, it’s in my way
• Come out of that store, I’m here to pick you up
• I’m going around you
• Hey, I know you, how are you?
• Oh, I’m doing well, how about you?
• Do you need a ride?
• From taxi drivers: Where are you going? Want to go to Jericho?ĚýHebron? Dead Sea? Tel Aviv? Beit Sahour? Beit Jala? The Nativity?
  • The last one is usually when I am about 1/4 mile from the Church of the Nativity. I don’t know where they wanted to take me or how, but my backpack and white skin immediately identifies me as a “lost tourist” no matter what I am doing.
• Go!
• Stop!

The list goes on. ĚýSlowly, we stopped jumping in shock at the sound of honking and learned that the person is most likely not angry and is just driving behind us on the cramped street and wants to let us know they are coming through. When this happens, we casually move closer to the wall, praying there is enough room for the person to scrape by without hitting us. The nuance of a car horn really is amazing.ĚýI think we have deciphered the message within the length and number of honks—so we are really learning three languages here—Arabic, Hebrew, and car!

The only one that still really bugs me is the long, blaring honk in stopped traffic.ĚýWe get it, you are not moving . . . but continuing to hold down the horn for twenty seconds isn’t helping you move either!

A Visit to Um Al Khair

On the morning of October 2nd, our group drove from Bethlehem to the Bedouin village of Um Al-Khair, unrecognized by the Israeli government. An unrecognized village receives no services, meaning no connection to water, electricity, or sewers. As we approached the village from the main road, the contrast with the settlement next door was astonishing. Um Al Khair is aĚýsmall village with pieced-together houses of scrap metal, wood, and plastic, Ěýwhile the settlement of Carmel has nice houses, green grass, street lights, and running water. We were in Um Al Khair to help tend their olive trees and learn about how and why the Israeli government has issued demolition orders on their homes.

Before the establishment of Israel, Bedouins moved around the land herding their sheep and goats. But after 1948, they were given a choice: either serve in the Israeli military or leave their land. This community chose to leave their land, which had been located near the city of Arad. They were moved to a remote and unoccupied part of the desert. They built small tin and mud brick shacks and remade their lives. Now they are surrounded by Jewish settlements and new developments of Western-style houses. The Israeli government tells them that even though they recognize that the Bedouins have legal ownership of the land they were moved to in 1948, they do not have permission to build anything on their land. No new houses, no house additions, no mud ovens to bake their bread, no major repairs—nothing!

Home demolitions occur in Israel due to the lack of building permits. Palestinians living in Area C (an area of the West Bank that is completely under the control of the Israeli Military Administration) are required to have a building permit before any additions or buildings are built, however, they rarely are approved a permit. After years and years of waiting for a building permit, some people just decide to build without one. When the villagers build a new house or an addition to an older house without a permit, the Israeli military issues a demolition order, meaning the newly built structure will be destroyed. Palestinians can challenge this in court, but they rarely get permission to build.ĚýPetitions in court are usually only able to delay the inevitable demolitions. Demolition orders may be delayed for weeks or years. Thousands of Palestinians have been displaced after waking up to soldiers who—in the best case scenario—tell them they have 20 minutes to pack what they can before the bulldozers come. These repeated intrusions leave an environment of confusion and depression amongst the people in Um Al-Khair and other unrecognized communities, never knowing when or if an order is going to be carried out.

We stepped off the bus and a Bedouin community member ushered us into their communal tent. As our group was drinking generous amounts of sweetened sage tea, we heard story after story of abuse of the people and their land from settlers throwing rocks into the village late at night to rattle the people, to the multiple times the village’s oven—used for baking bread for the entire community—was demolished, rebuilt, and demolished again. They told us of the sewage runoff from the settlement that flows into the village’s olive groves, which can poison their goats that graze in the same area. The injustice of this situation was overwhelming … and this is just one village. In the last month, there was more to deal with: some members of the neighboring settlement take time out of their evenings to come to the edge of the fence and send a powerful message to their neighbors by throwing rocks onto their tents and tin roofs— screaming, “We don’t want you here!” and continue to harass them with hopes of them leaving. The Israeli police are responsible for the community’s safety, but when community members call the police, the police say they can do nothing to help.

We then heard yelling from a nearby house. The shouts grew louder and louder, closer and closer until the yells were standing in the same tent as we were, shouting very passionate Arabic. This 88-year old woman lived in one of the houses that rocks were thrown at nightly, a tin-roofed house where the sounds boomed all night long and she was unable to sleep.

Tariq, our guide for the day, quickly ran over and tastefully translated bits and pieces of what the woman was saying. This is (loosely) what was said:

“We have international groups here all the time. They look at us, they learn about us, but nothing changes. The Israelis forced me to move from my town in Arad when I was a young girl. And now they are going to force me to move again as an old woman? These people hate us. ĚýHow can they say they are religious? They throw stones at us! ĚýI can’t sleep at night because they throw stones on my roof! ĚýI am an old woman! ĚýWhy do you come here and listen to us? Are you actually going to do anything about it? Or are you going to leave and forget about us tomorrow? ĚýI don’t want any more groups here because nothing changes. This is our reality; we live next to these people who must not believe in any God because they throw stones at us. I don’t want any more people here if they’re not going to do anything. No one knows our story.”

The woman’s shouts persisted for quite a while. ĚýShe was angry. ĚýAngry at the Israelis for making her live this way. ĚýAngry at the settlers for keeping her from sleeping. And angry at us, or at a generic us, visitors who come, drink tea, say “it’s a shame this is happening”, and then move on. ĚýShe had a right to be angry.

After tea, we made our way down to the fields to start our service work for the community. After the woman’s angered speech, I wasn’t sure that anything we could do would help. We walked down a long dirt hill to a valley beneath the Bedouin village and Jewish settlement. ĚýIt was hot, dry, and dusty. ĚýWe worked for about four hours in the heat of the day digging trenches around olive trees and placing stones around the trunks to prevent weeds and preserve the scarce moisture in the soil. ĚýSome of us were singing, some of us were quiet. ĚýAll of us shocked by our powerlessness to help. ĚýAnd all of us exhausted. That exhaustion, that shock, that ringing in our ears, felt like nothing compared to the hurt of the community. As I worked, I was weighed down by the fact that through this physical work, in my mind, I was doing nothing constructive to help the long-term situation. We knew the Israeli military might come with a bulldozer and destroy all of these olive trees. We know that happens all over.

I was disgusted with the unfairness of the world. How do I justify being a “poverty tourist”, coming in and listening to a few stories of pain? How can I communicate my thoughts when I can only say a few simple phrases in Arabic? What about my privileged life gives me any right to communicate my thoughts? Language barriers make communication and understanding arduous. I could not say, “I see the injustice”. I could not form the words “I’m sorry”. I could not even say, “I see you”. The loss of the phrase “I see you” was the hardest thing about this day. But would it even have mattered to this woman who probably heard this, in Arabic, from many other tourists who left and went on with their lives, never giving another thought to her and her life?

After rehydrating with water and more sage tea, we climbed back up the mountain. The community shared their precious water with us to wash our dirty hands and sweaty faces. They had prepared a meal of rice and lentils for us. ĚýWe sat and ate, mostly in silence. ĚýĚýMost of the time our group has lots of questions and are eager to talk. ĚýBut today, we could not put words to our feelings. ĚýWe didn’t have questions because we now understood.

This is the story of one village that is not seen by the rest of the world. ĚýBut their pain and suffering are real. We saw it. And we need to never forget it. The injustices done to them continue to happen every day. The people of Um Al-Khair live in complete neglect. They have no reliable sources of water—only purchased water bottles from an hour out of their village—no electricity, waste management, transportation to and from school… the list could go on. Yet, they are being watched by the Israeli Government 24/7. If they try to build a small oven to bake bread,ĚýIsraelis will come and tear it down and explain that they need a permit. A permit to bake bread.ĚýBut the government won’t give permits. The point of the permit system is to make it so miserable for these people that they will leave and go somewhere else. ĚýBut the problem is this community, which already moved once, has nowhere to go. The Israeli government wants the Bedouin land so they can build more nice homes for Jews. But what will happen to the Bedouin children and families? We, as a group, feel the weight of that question.

We must listen to the 88-year-old woman who is exploding with rage at the injustices of her world. However, we must also make the choice to believe that the healing of the hurt (that can be found in all corners of our world) materializes through the sharing of stories. This is the choice that I believe will transform the unproductive nature of “poverty tourism.” I have chosen to view our group as a team of story collectors. In order to make any kind of change, we must share our collection.

Note:

The community of ĚýHere is also a link where

There is also a short film about ĚýThe 2 minute film shows his art about the home demolitions. The famous Chinese dissident artist Ai Wei Wei came to Um Al Khair. ĚýHe worked with Eid Hadaleen, a self-taught artist from Um Al Khair, and they had an exhibition together in Germany about dislocation.

Roots: ĚýPalestinians and Israelis working . . . together ?

On Tuesday, October 3, we went to see a person many Palestinians would refuse to talk to. ĚýWe drove just a few miles outside of Bethlehem to a completely different world – a settlement.

[Editor’s Note: ĚýA settlement is an Israeli “city” in the West Bank. ĚýSome are small with just a few hundred people, the largest with over 40,000. ĚýAll are located in the West Bank on land disputed between Palestine and Israel. All are considered illegal by many world governments. Many start small, but once acknowledged by the Israeli government they get all kinds of special treatment including security walls, military protection and for some, private roads that only Israeli Jews can drive on to connect them with other settlements or Israeli cities in Israel proper. These roads, also illegal, sometimes cut Palestinian villages in half as they exit the community, and one is literally a tunnel under Bethlehem. As these settlements grow, they encroach more and more onto Palestinian lands. ĚýThey are seen as one of the major obstacles to a two-state peace solution because Palestinians cannot have a state when their state is constantly divided by Israeli cities they cannot enter and roads bisecting their land.] Ěý

After getting off our Palestinian bus (it needed a special pass to get through the settlement gates), we were guided through the settlement community by our host, Rabbi Hanan Schlesinger. He had to meet the bus because it was only allowed just inside the gates. ĚýIt could not drive through the community to his house. We passed student dormitories, trees with leaves changing color (a first for us on this trip), and patches of green grass. It is an island of Jewish paradise separated from the city life and Palestinian suffering found just a few miles away from the bordering fence.

Rabbi Hanan Schlesinger welcomed us to his home and we settled in to listen to a new narrative for our group: a settler. Rabbi Hanan self identifies as a Jew, a Zionist, and a Settler. He started his story expanding on these three identities:

As a Jew, he is a member of the Jewish nationality, tracing their roots back to Abraham. He identifies with Old Testament main characters like Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and others. He also identifies with the Promised Land as holding his historical roots and memories.

As a Zionist, he believes both secular and religious Jews have a connection to the land and a desire to be in that homeland. This is a unique feeling of a Jew who finally belongs somewhere when for many centuries Jews were kept on the outskirts of societies or banished from them or killed if they did not flee or convert.

As a Settler (a Jew who lives in the West Bank), the land of “Judah and Samaria” (Israeli names for the West Bank) is historically significant as a place where the Jews lived in Biblical times. He and other settlers want to be on the land of their ancestors, not on the Mediterranean coast where Jews do not have as much connection to the land historically or religiously.

Rabbi Hanan sees the settlements in a way that is different even from most Israelis. After explaining what these three descriptions meant to him, he began to share a significant turning point in his life. He came to ask a perplexing question “How can I have lived 33 years in Israel without meeting a Palestinian?” Considering that there are Palestinians living all around the settlement, it seems very unlikely geographically that he would never see a Palestinian or interact with one. And yet, this was reality in a closed community with special roads and military security.

Rabbi Hanan answered his question: he was blinded by the narrative of his people. If he is a Jew who belongs with his people in the Promised Land, then anything that contradicts this is a threat to his identity and the identity of his people. Therefore, Palestinians, who were already living in this land, are not part of the narrative. They just don’t fit. So they don’t exist. If they did exist, Jews would have a lot to explain to themselves.

When Rabbi Hanan finally talked with a Palestinian, it changed his narrative . . . and his life. Or rather, it gave him a new narrative to hold in contrast with his own and a new understanding of the non-Jewish people who live around him. Since then he has been working with , a peace organization bringing Palestinians and Israelis together for dialogue and for hearing each other’s narratives. Rabbi Hanan believes that holding many narratives is the best way to be able to move forward. He understands that many people on both sides are blinded by their own narrative, at best blocking out the existence of the other. At worst, it makes the other a monster. Hearing and talking to the other opens the door for understanding and seeing humanity on the opposing side.

In response to holding multiple narratives, Rabbi Hanan described his hope for a 1.5 state solution (different from the current discussions of a two-state or one-state solution). Also called , this solution would ideally admit that all the land belongs to Palestinians and all the land belongs to Israelis. Politically, the solution would have a central, national government, but two different states that have certain governing powers over specific territories. It seems ideal, but realistically this would be very hard to implement, especially with the current levels of tension and distrust.

What no one seems to be able to answer is how to handle two families who claim to own the same plot of land or house – the Palestinian family that was expelled in 1948 and the Israeli Jewish family that moved into the “empty” house. Many Palestinian families have not released their grasp on their previous house keys, passed down to younger generations, hoping and expecting to return. For many Israelis today, the home they have in this land is the only one they have known. So who will live there? As Rabbi Hanan pointed out, the solution, whatever it is, will be unjust.

Dialogue is not as easy as it sounds. Despite his efforts to talk with everyone, many Palestinians refuse to talk to Rabbi Hanan because he is a settler. To them, he is still living on Palestinian land. A few days later, one of our other speakers, Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac, challenged the rabbi’s approach of dialogue: will talking really change anything? Talking to Palestinians does not erase the fact that Rabbi Hanan is still a settler, benefitting from the occupation and the Israeli protection, and living in the West Bank, basically eliminating the possibility of a two-state solution. Rabbi Hanan also had some criticism for Christ at the Checkpoint, an effort that Rev. Isaac is involved with. The Rabbi said the Christian speakers had underlying anti-Semitic tones rooted in the tradition of replacement theology. If these Christians believe the Church is now the Chosen people, are Jews then the abandoned people? Claiming that Christians are now God’s family takes away the Jewish right to this land. When Jews claim the land, it sounds anti-Palestine. When Palestinians claim the land, it sounds anti-Jewish. So you can see . . . dialogue is difficult.

Rabbi Hanan left us with the challenge to be Pro-Solution. No matter what challenges face the Rabbi, he believes there is a solution that people will agree on after they have the chance to acknowledge narratives other than their own.

Rejected Blog Titles:

Our group has a lot to talk about, and I’m sure everybody will hear more about it when we get home. In the meantime, here are some more blogs that we just couldn’t get to writing. Enjoy

[while on a tour of Bethlehem, our guide wanted to make sure we understood a few things]

• Uses for a cellar:
  • storing furniture
  • Giving birth to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ
• I Met a Celebrity! He Sells Fake Hookahs. [He was on Conan. No joke.Ěý ]
• Everywhere You Go, There You Are
• Morning Horse! [after learning that “good” is very close to “horse” in Arabic]
• There’s a Rocko in my Chaco
• Tomorrow in the Apricot [this is actually an Arabic saying, meaning something like “when pigs fly” or “when hell freezes over”
• I’ve sweat so much I no longer have to pee [heard while working at Um Al Khair]
• That’s a Gnarly Nargile Sweater [while editing translations]
• First graders laughed at my Arabic
  • I showed them my letters and they laughed harder
• Singing in the Raindrop [after the first rain since we arrived. I felt one drop]
• Pass the Sponge [heard while learning that the communal restrooms in Ummayad palaces would share a sponge to “clean up”]

Contributing writers:

Larissa Graber,Ěý Lindsay Acker,ĚýAlice Maldonado,ĚýLydia Chappell-Deckert,ĚýLydia Haggard

Throughout our time at Kibbutz K’tura the group has listened to several lectures and participated in a variety of Kibbutz activities. Perhaps the most memorable for me was the visit to K’tura’s “Off the Grid” village. As an initiative stemming from the strong emphasis on environmentalism and research, Kibbutz K’tura has created a village to simulate various possible “off the grid” devices.

We began the session discussing the three stipulations that categorize any location as “off the grid”: No connection to state-provided water, sewage, and electricity. Of course these three resources are essential to a healthy life and instead of focusing on living without water, sewage and electricity, the village provides innovative ways to provide the three conditions through inexpensive, renewable energy sources that do not need to be connected to any national system. We began in the village garden which receives water from a well attached to a portable solar panel pump sending water up to a retention basin (giant bucket) three feet off the ground. The portable solar panel pump was designed by Engineers Without Borders to ensure mobility and efficiency at a low cost. The garden uses a low-pressure drip system to trickle water out slowly but constantly.

In order to truly be considered “off the grid”, the village would need to be equipped with composting toilets to eliminate any sort of sewage system. Unfortunately, K’tura’s village does not have any restroom accommodations, however, they currently have a solar-powered water filtration system to ensure the recycling of water for continued use. Our guide pointed out what looked like a satellite dish pointing up towards the sky. Water is pumped into this dish and pushed through filter pipes that are heated from the sun. The process distills the water so purely that the water actually needs to be re-salinated and mineralized before being used on crops or it will actually pull salt from the ground and ruin the crops. Unfortunately, because of where the Arava desert sits on the sun-radiation scale, this water purification system can only be used during the winter months because the dish gets so hot that it would melt the metal pipes that carry the water through the purification process. However, in most other parts of the world (where it isn’t 114° Fahrenheit in the summer) the system would be able to work year round.

Next we toured three different “huts”Ěýbuilt to represent varying climate conditions and needs around the world. We began in a wooden structure fitted with one solar panel to provide electricity for light, phone/computer power, and a fan. The most interesting feature was a solar oven. In several pictures you can see what looks like black lights but instead are double walled glass tubes with vacuum space in between and a tube of black aluminum in the center. The sun comes in as light and goes through the first layer of glass, the vacuum, the second layer of glass and then gets turned into heat when it reaches the black aluminum. The heat, which cannot travel through vacuum space, remains on the inside of the glass and creates a miniature oven inside the tube. Although it is small and would require lots of time to cook a complete meal, the ingenuity is incredible. The oven can heat to 300° C in full sun, and was deemed fully functional by 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students after testing its power by baking coconut cookies (see photos).

There were two other notable gadgets; the first were sky lights made from filled water bottles inserted into the roof. Second, a compost bin used water and organic materials to create methane. Patented under the name “HomeBioGas”, this system is noteworthy because it can be taken to any place where people will have organic waste, and the methane can be used as a free source of cooking gas. Places struck by a natural disaster or facing large quantities of refugees could benefit immensely from having essentially free cooking gas that does not necessitate continual use of wood or coal or other polluting burnables.

It was refreshing and inspiring to spend some time exploring the gadgets that are being created in response to our unstable resource bank and surroundings that bend to nature. After three days discussing environmental degradation and resource depletion, it was fun and comforting to eat cookies baked by the sun while brainstorming ways that we as humans can adjust our habits to use less while still enjoying life and community. It has been challenging on this trip to not grow weary from negativity and burgeoning awareness of the complicated issues that face the Middle East and the world. Day after day of peacebuilding lectures can be overwhelming, however, visiting the off-grid village put my heart at ease knowing that there is still good in the world. It was a reminder that every step I take as an individual makes an impact, and perhaps with continued awareness, the efforts of another individual will become the efforts of many and the results will be evidenced through a lesser need of violence and conflict in our world.

-Adrienne Derstine

Kasui Sand Dunes – Spirituality in the Desert

It was over 100 degrees at 5pm when we began our hike up the rocky Kasui Mountains. If it weren’t for water/sweat evaporating so quickly, we would have been drenched before we reached the top. After the 15-20 minute hike to the top, we were greeted by shade, breathtaking views and very soft sand. We received a short explanation of the mountains, the sand and “spirituality in the desert” from Sara Cohen of Kibburz K’tura. She gave us time to run, roll, jump, etc. in the sand, up and down the dune. After our “play”, she requested that we go to a nearby spot, away from another member in our group, and sit in silence, listening to the sounds of the desert and thinking about why it has called so many prophets. Then we wrote down our thoughts and feelings of those moments.

Being from the tropics (Florida) I’d never experienced an extreme desert environment, much less “spirituality in the desert”. As I chose my spot at the top of the mountain I couldn’t help but notice God in every bit of the land and sky — the beautiful pallet of colors as the sun set, the change in color of the mountains, the howl of the wind as it made sand waves on the dunes (and covered us and our belongings in sand), the shapes of my friends as they took it all in too. And most important, the serenity in the midst of it all.

When we finished, we gathered under the stars for a dinner of freshly baked pita bread, hummus, veggies, and falafel. When our bellies were full we split into two smaller groups and shared our experiences. Some wrote poems about the landscape, others talked about their thoughts, some reflected on their past and families, and a few discussed their time with God.

Then, some stargazing.

I think we would all agree that this time in the desert has been one of the highlights of our trip so far, and something we won’t forget for a long time to come. Regardless of where each of us are on our spiritual journey, there surely is something to be said about the desert and what comes from it.

-Alice Maldonado

A Desert Heartbeat Ěý–Ěý A poem by Andy King

The constant roar of wind drowns out all but the silence

Millions of sand particles fly from dune to valley, never still

Sunlight dances through shades of crimson and violet, giving a final bow to the stars above

Brave beetles wander through an endless ocean of erosion

I am here; roaring, flying, dancing, wandering—thriving.

Here are some more rejected blog titles:

• We’re a Complicated Family
• “Let’s Not Burn Down the Desert” – Uncle Bill
• “Anyone Up for a Game of Avalon?” – Ben Beidler aka Papa Tank
• “Buddy is eating all of our sins!!” – Levi during the Taschlich ceremony on the dunes where the dogs eat the bread (sins) cast on the sand dunes (usually water)
• “Those 91¶ĚĘÓƵ students are so polite we almost feel sorry for stepping in front of them in line” – several Kibbutz members about our inability to move forward fast enough in a food line

We will pack the experiences from Kibbutz K’tura and carry all that we learned here about Zionism, Judaism and the environment. Next, our travels continue four hours north to Bethlehem, Palestine. Inshallah, we will not forget our Hebrew as we switch our studies to Arabic! Our group will be divided to live with ten different Palestinian-Arab Christian and Muslim families throughout the city. Onward in the Holy Land! Expect to hear from us relatively soon. Shalom. Salaam.

Hu is He, He is She!

Hello from the Negev Desert! It’s hot. Last week it was 100 degrees at 8:00pm and they told us “a heat wave is coming”. ĚýIt got up to 114° two days later… a bit much for a Kansas girl.

Bleary-eyed and exhausted from the first four days exploring Tel Aviv, Jaffa, Haifa, Akko, and Jericho, our group stumbled out of our bus onto Kibbutz K’tura on Wednesday, September 6^th. We were greeted with fresh fruit AND cold water! Glory be! We had been going almost nonstop since the moment we put our feet on the ground in Tel Aviv, then five days ago (now 20+ days ago when I’m writing this).

This place, at first glance, appeared to be a place of rest and refuge, an actual oasis in a desert, a body of green and trees after a long drive through arid, sandy mountains and flatlands.

To answer your first question: what is a Kibbutz? Originally, a Kibbutz was set up as an intentionally socialist society. All of the income from the members of the Kibbutz (whether working on Kibbutz or off) goes into one pile o’ cash. No job is more important than the next (Head of Kibbutz gets paid the same as the date picker). They eat in a common cafeteria, their kids go to the same school and originally slept away from their parents in “children’s houses” (sharing common caregivers so the parents could work more). Cars are shared between all members of the Kibbutz (20 cars for 200+ adults), etc., etc., etc. These Marxist influences made their way to the desert via European Jews making their “Aliyah” to Israel (fulfilling their birthright to return to the land that was promised to the Jews by God in the Bible).

Jews emigrated to Israel from far and wide who were passionate, imaginative, incredibly dedicated to being Jewish, and, in my humble opinion, a tad bit crazy. They came with practically nothing and decided to settle in a desert. Just to give you an idea of the heat, it’s nearing the end of September and we’re lucky if the temperature doesn’t spike over 100° F every day. Luckily, they have a pool! There are many incredible stories about each individual Kibbutz and how it specifically was started, but we mainly heard the stories of three Kibbutzim: K’tura, Yahel, and Lotan.

First and foremost, K’tura. This lovely Kibbutz has been our home base and is the host of the , where we have been studying for the past two and a half weeks. We are all so incredibly grateful for their wonderful hospitality. Many groups only stay here for a couple of days, maybe a week. Some just stay for a meal and a tour of the off-grid village (more on that in Adrienne’s post).

A typical day here on the Kibbutz looked like this:

7:30 Wake up (our leaders and Levi tend to wake up an hour or so earlier)
8:30 Breakfast (yes, they get to breakfast before us as well)
9:30 Lecture #1
10:30 Lecture #2/Group check-in/Another kind of outing/extended lecture #1
12:30 Lunch
2:00 Lecture #3/Hebrew on some days
4:00 Break (a.k.a. nap/sleep/read/journal/frisbee/pool/play Avalon)
5:30/6 Dinner
7:30 Hebrew(?) or Evening off or lecture or meeting or other Shabbat/holiday programming

Let me tell you about Hebrew class. ĚýHebrew class was a very, very unique experience. Our wonderful teacher, David, burst into the room on the first day, didn’t speak a word of English to us, started playing the beat of “We Will Rock You”, and jumped in front of my face and shouted “SHALOM! ANI DAVID!” (This really happened). I almost screamed. There were countless funny moments that can only be found in a language learning setting. One of my favorites was the time that David stood up while attempting to teach us pronouns and proclaimed, “hu is he, he is she!”. The comment was met by silence and then crazy laughter. And none of us will forget him climbing into the laundry shoot to pull out a blue t-shirt so he could explain the word for “blue”. We have learned so much from this crazy energy-filled man in the past two weeks. We will always remember him and his deep love for the Hebrew language.

Most of the lecture periods in our schedule were speakers connected to the . We also heard from members of the kibbutz in a community talk-back setting or a Kibbutz tour setting. We did not have a lecture that we didn’t enjoy and/or learn from. We spent our time learning primarily about our surroundings – the water crisis in the Middle East region, desert ecology, solar panels and alternative energy solutions, environmental leadership, kibbutz culture, “Nature knows no borders”, and talks discussing the intersection of peacebuilding and environmentalism, Reports and stories of ongoing projects in the surrounding area, the list goes on and on. Two of my favorite sessions (although, it is incredibly hard to choose a favorite) revolved around Kibbutz culture.

The first of my two favorites was a talk-back opportunity with three members of the Kibbutz – one of the founders who has been here since 1973, a child of Kibbutz members who is considering becoming a member, and a wonderfully sarcastic woman who told us what was wrong with the Kibbutz. Our group split up into three mini-groups and spent about 15 minutes with each person, asking questions about life on the Kibbutz and about their own personal stories. We learned about the process of entering into a Kibbutz community. It’s not as easy as you might think. First there are interviews, psychological tests, and more interviews. Then, there are invitations to stay for a weekend, then a week, maybe a month. A yes vote lets you come for a one or two year absorption period, and another yes after that means a one-year decision process. ĚýAnd then you’re pretty much in . . . for life if you want (they have a cemetery behind the Kibbutz where those who are here their entire life are buried). Kibbutz K’tura is a very open and pluralistic Kibbutz. Some Kibbutzim are stricter on the level of “Jewishness” expected of their participants.

My second favorite opportunity interacting with Kibbutz life was a mock Asepha session. Asepha is the main decision-making meeting, where everyone is invited to participate. That’s 150+ members here if all attend. We were given real cases with difficult subject matter that were first presented to committees on K’tura and a couple of the 11 neighboring Kibbutzim to read over and discuss. We had an environmental group, an education group, and type of head council group. Our group had to review the case, present it to the wider committee, open the floor for questions, and present our solution (followed by more discussion). This activity was perfect for our group. We have turned out to be quite the lively group – questions are our favorite. We had fun slipping into our roles and finding an argument to a solution just for the sake of arguing. However, later on we were told that we portrayed a very mild meeting, what was known as a “boring asepha”. The “fun” meetings are when people yell back and forth for hours on end, argue constantly for their point . . . only to laugh and hug after the meeting and accept the group decision. I personally loved this activity because it helped burst some of the apparent perfection of this Kibbutz. I found myself thinking, “oh, so they do have real, human problems on this Kibbutz” that may sound silly to some of you, but seriously if I didn’t have something to remind me that the people on this kibbutz weren’t in a constant state of happy, I would have exploded long ago.

We visited Kibbutz Yahel our first night at Kibbutz K’tura. There was a wedding at K’tura with over 900 people attending and we needed to be elsewhere. We arrived at Yahel and had a short tour and lecture. Compared to K’tura, Yahel is more politically conservative and has actually strayed away from some of the characteristic community living principles. For example, each family makes their own income and only part of it goes into the big pile o’ cash. And jobs have a variable wage scale on the kibbutz. They’re smaller than Kibbutz K’tura and have less of an emphasis on environmental sustainability. After our introductory tour and first speaker (and a brief moment when I thought that I was going to pass out from hunger), we made our way to the dining hall for a meal. Unfortunately, my stomach was not doing too hot and started viciously gurgling. Giving up on food, I stood up and walked around the outside of the dining hall, in need of air and generally curious. I didn’t see anything blindingly amazing, but I instead thought about general Kibbutz culture. It was a familiar concept to me – intentional community. Right? I couldn’t quite place why I felt so uneasy. We went back to our lecture space and heard about how the kibbutz hires foreign workers to farm date orchards, dairy farms, and other big agricultural projects in the various Kibbutzim. Many of us had difficult questions as we compared this situation to migrant and guest workers in the US.

Kibbutz Lotan was a different experience entirely. We arrived better adjusted to the intense heat of the desert. Lotan’s teaches and explores permaculture techniques. ĚýWalking around we saw structures made out of all kinds of recycled materials. We toured their organic gardens, saw compostable toilets, and marveled at their mud houses. We made mud bricks, built arches that we could stand on, ate lunch, did some more touring of their gardens, heard about work that they’ve done locally with this mud brick material that’s so perfect for the desert climate, and hung out in their solar-powered tea house. At this point, we felt more comfortable pestering our speakers with questions so pester we did. I loved this visit and was comically thrilled when I was able to stand on top of the arch that our group built. Our guide thought we were hilarious when we turned practically everything we did into a competition (Lindsay and I obviously had THE best mud brick mixture). All in all, the day was hot but wonderful.

We have had so many wonderful opportunities while staying here. We’ve been snorkeling in the Red Sea (our leaders and Levi went twice). We hiked and explored Timna Park (where King Solomon’s mines were located), and spent a magical evening in the middle of the desert playing in the sand dunes and sitting in quiet reflection. One particularly amazing morning, most of us woke up very early and walked up a mountain behind the Kibbutz. Humming “Sedona” by the band Handmouth under our breaths we sat on the sandy rocks and watched the most amazing sunrise over the Edom mountains of Jordan. We’ve had the opportunity here to grow closer as a group, spending evenings together playing Avalon, talking, watching the stars, going for walks, and singing the Hebrew alphabet song.

Sometimes walking around from activity to activity we as a group rant and rave about the Kibbutz, their incredible hospitality, and the amazing lectures we’re having. Other times our conversations concern how there has to be a hidden side to Kibbutz life that we are not seeing. The culture is still new, and sometimes I have to wonder about some of their policies. They live in a desert, but their houses are surrounded by grass. Kids run around without a care in the world and if they are out late parents don’t worry because they know they are somewhere on the Kibbutz and thus safe. This starkly contrasts with the short but incredibly wild few days we had before coming here and, as we prepare for our time in Bethlehem, I can’t help but wonder how much our perspective of our time here on the Kibbutz will change.

-Lydia Chappell Deckert

Towels –ĚýA poem by Anna Ressler

We appreciate the gesture
but we’re drowning in clean towels

Really,
we would still feel welcome
if we used the same towel twice
(and didn’t I make my bed yesterday?!)
We say as much
but instant hospitality renders our request invalid

We appreciate the gesture
but the towels are invasive in my closet
the generosity is overwhelming
Isn’t two weeks enough to wear out our welcome?
(And weren’t we promised that the cookies were a one-time deal?)

It’s not that we’re complaining
We appreciate the gesture
but there are mounds of neatly folded towels
on bed
table
and floor
constant reminders of our burdensome position
of honored guest:

The uncomfortable imbalance of giving little
and receiving the world
in towels

The Black –ĚýA poem by Larissa Graber
I will never under-acknowledge the first sip of Turkish coffee—
the soulless black curdling my lip,
the squish of steamed grounds in between my teeth
—the third sip gathers a revolution that revolts the black into my brain.

The black persuades me,
“I have awoken. I will conquer.”

Turkish proverb (related by Uncle Bill)

Coffee should be hot as hell, black as death, sweet as love

This blog is brought to you by the blogging team:Ěý Larissa Graber, Lindsay Acker, Lydia Chappell Deckert, and Alice Maldonado

With generous support, occasional lattes, and probably too much editing from: “Uncle” Bill Goldberg and “Mama” Lisa Schirch

Guest-star writers for this issue include Andy King and Anna Ressler

Saturday, September 2, 2017: Tel Aviv, Jaffa

Shalom! Here we are in Tel Aviv, Israel. Our feet have carried us for 29 hours in this exotic city. My first impressions of this land: The sand is hot, the sun brilliant, the skin leather. I feel as if our foreign presence is obvious. We walk around dripping with sweat like everyone else and we squint from the overbearing light – just like everyone else – but the lingering stares from the locals feel heavy (I think it is because of our Chacos, water bottles, and backpacks!).

Now, I hesitated to substitute the word “locals” with “natives” because of Israel’s distinct and complicated history. In Tel Aviv, it is different because every religion, style of dress and language is welcomed with open arms. However, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is ever-present. To put it simply (and pleasantly), Arabs lost their homes when the Jews arrived, yet the Jews fulfilled their prophecy to acquire the Holy Land. There seems to be a silent tension when the conflict is discussed from a one-sided perspective. I have been feeling as if the people that speak to us about their opinions are not spilling all that lies on their hearts. Instead of being open minded, it seems to me that most people we have encountered maintain their stagnant, silent attitude and avoid discomfort at all costs. When our group walked down the coast to Jaffa – a one hour walk south of Tel Aviv – it felt like were the only people in the streets.

Our guides, Elad (Moroccan Jewish) and Alaa (Palestinian, Israeli citizen and a graduate of 91¶ĚĘÓƵ’s Center for Justice and Peacebuilding program),Ěýexplained in a careful tongue that Old Jaffa holds burdensome Arab Palestinian history, which entails a negative connotation for the Jewish Israelis. Despite this, most Palestinian homes in Old Jaffa have been repurposed into boutiques that overflow with vivid paintings, jewelry, spices, and napping street-cats. It hurts me to know what happened to the Palestinians who used to call these places home.

Even in the most shadowed corners of Old Jaffa, the winding stone walls still prove capable of absorbing the brilliant heat. It is a port town, aging close to 5,000 years. Each stone path is chipped with biblical history. On our first full day in Israel, our feet have carried us across sand where the disciples once walked. We have waded in warm Mediterranean waves, stuttered our newly-learned languages of Hebrew and Arabic, and seen the house of Simon the Tanner where Peter slept after he raised Tabitha from the dead, and where he had a vision from God commanding him that “what God has cleansed you must not call common” (ActsĚý10:15).

Our feet ache with heartbeats of a new adventure, and our mouths still fall agape at the sight of this beautiful land. I feel overwhelmed with this unfamiliar place, its deep internal conflict, the languages, and the stares. I do not have much to say about our first week in Israel. My mind, however, proves opposite of my mouth. It has become feral like the Israeli street cats – constantly stirring and pulling up emotional garbage – and I can’t seem to twist my thoughts into comprehensible words. Regardless, I have an immense hope for the good that could come from this diverse desert. The friendships I am forming hold a sense of genuineness I have rarely felt before. I will move onward, ±ő˛Ô˛őłó˛ąâ€™A±ô±ô˛ąłó (Arabic for “if Allah allows” or “God willing”) to tomorrow, where our feet will further carry us in the Holy Land.

-Larissa Graber

Contradictions

Sunday, September 3, 2017: Tel Aviv, Neve Tsedek, Jisr Az Zarqa

Walking through the streets of Tel Aviv we hear a different narrative from the day before. Our guide, Abraham Silver, a long-time resident of Israel with American Jewish roots presents the story of a youthful city with a history of only 107 years, started mainly by people in their teens and low 20s. ĚýYes, 60 families, mostly made up of people our age helped to build the first Jewish city in what would become Israel. Abraham shows us a picture of the families, on a sand dune, with a barren landscape behind them, waiting to be tamed.

Walking through Tel Aviv we look up into glass buildings that reach new heights. We walk on sidewalks that cover old sand dunes. The “New York of Israel” is a success story woven with the pain and fear of a thousand years of living in ghettos and fleeing pogroms. We feel the effects of massacres in Rome, Spain, Kishinev (Google it), and across Europe. All is cross-stitched with the bravery, imagination, and the stubborn (blind) determination only present in teenagers.ĚýIsrael was founded by young adults with nothing to lose. Moving to the U.S. would have been the responsible choice, with job opportunities, family, and pre-existing, thriving Jewish communities. Israel was the dreamer’s choice. The end result is a victorious fairy tale that overshadows all else. Our guide stood in the center of Neve Tsedek, the first neighborhood of Tel Aviv, proudly singing the song of a found people.

The tale continues to be one success after another. We see the houses where the founders of the modern Hebrew language took a biblical tongue not spoken for more than prayers in 400 years and developed a colloquial language so that the eventual nation (already dreamed of by this time) could have its own language. We stand in the middle of a metropolitan sprawl looking at a tiny cappuccino kiosk, what had originally been the very first building of Tel Aviv. We sit in front of the first Jewish school for girls, one of many examples of the revolutionary Israelis. Finally, our guide tells us, “The Jews have a home. Finally, we are safe.” But there is a lot more to the story that we find out later. ĚýFor instance, that picture of those first 60 families, standing on a sand dune, with nothing but empty space behind them. ĚýWe later find out that had the photo panned to the left or the right we would have seen the Palestinian villages that already existed in this “empty land”.

Who do we believe? How can we get the full story? That is what we are here to do. And it is hard work . . . if it is even possible.

The contradictions continue as we learn about different types of peacebuilding efforts by Israelis and Palestinians and organizations made up of both. The Shimon Peres Institute for Peace and Innovation (started by Shimon Peres, former Prime Minister and President of Israel) swears that relationships are the keys to peace.Ěý But their building is built facing the seafront, blocking the view of Palestinians living behind it and very close to a Palestinian cemetery. Zochrot, the second institution that we toured, vows that there cannot be peace without justice – allowing Palestinians the option of returning to the land they were forced to leave. They have created a map that shows the Palestinian villages emptied or destroyed in 1948 during the “Nakba” (Arabic for “catastrophe”) when Israel became a nation.

The third institution we saw, Beit HaGafen, works with the shared humanity of art. Then we visited Jisr Az Zarqa, a poor Palestinian city in Israel, where recent development and tourism attempts show potential to bring better economic conditions to this town of 40,000 people.

Next to this, we hold within us frustrations over the language barrier and the joys of having fun with friends. We are still college students learning what it means to live in this world. We are sleepy and excited, exhausted and rejuvenated. We have more questions than answers, more processing in the works, and we all share a deep sense of something. When we figure out what it is, we’ll let you know.

-Lindsay Acker

Indiana Jones was Just a Movie

Wednesday, September 6, 2017: Jericho

TuesdayĚýnight we said goodbye for a few weeks to our guide Alaa after a day’s tour of his home city of Akko.ĚýWednesdayĚýmorning we left Haifa on our faithful modern-chariot [bus with air conditioning] for the old and new city of Jericho.Ěý We pulled into a quiet gas station just outside of Jericho and if not for the signs being in Arabic and Hebrew and the presence of several camels, it would be hard to tell that we are not in the American Southwest. After refueling and picking up our new guide, a local man named Hamudi, we drive into Jericho. Before crossing into the city limits (which are controlled by the Palestinian Authority), we must first part ways with our Jewish guide, Elad,. Regardless of how badly we want him to accompany us and vice versa, it is illegal for him (and all other Israeli Jews) to enter Jericho, which is part of the Palestinian Authority known as “Area A” (for more information on who controls which part of the West Bank,Ěý). It is with heavy hearts that we must continue without these two guides, who have quickly become friends. This is one of the first tangible lessons of the conflict. Shortly after leaving Elad we get our first true glimpse of the “Palestinian State”.Jericho is a cluttered canvas splattered with shades of grey, beige, and off-white. In some places it looks like a public service announcement about the developing world and in others a modern city. One of the most obvious signs of tension between economic development and stagnation is an “Oasis Hotel” and a casino – a massive, beautiful, modern building with doors locked tight and only “guests” allowed to enter. Unsurprisingly, the potential for explosive conflict is bad for the once growing business and has driven away much of the casino’s former clients, providing an even more powerful reminder of the stranglehold Israel has on Palestinian territories.

After a lunch of delicious shwarma (meat wrapped in a pita with various sauces and vegetables) or falafel (fried balls of chickpea and spices, wrapped in pita with various sauces and vegetables) we head to the tree that Zacchaeus the tax collector climbed to see Jesus as he passed by in Jericho. Today the tree is like so many other sites in the modern Holy Land – a tourist trap. A local vendor hawking his wares stopped to tell us the story before immediately returning to enticing us with scarves and trinkets. As thanks for the story, a few of us bought head scarves or other small items. I was personally pulled aside by a man selling dates and after some intense negotiation, I passed on his product which I knew was overpriced. I have to this point left out an essential character in our story, Ibrahim, our long suffering bus driver. Ibrahim is a man of few words, speaking only softly and seldom. Despite being quiet, his driving is anything but. After boarding the bus again, Ibrahim takes us to an overlook below the Mount of Temptation, and displays his skill behind the wheel that would make Mario Andretti blush. Through a combination of grit, determination, and what I’m certain were a few Arabic curse words, our bus makes its way slowly up the steep and winding gravel-strewn slope to the overlook of the valley. Above us built into the cliffs is a large monastery belonging to the Greek Orthodox Church. Below us spread out across the valley floor is a tapestry of brightly colored patches of garbage that looked as though the sun has melted a million boxes of crayons. As lovely as the image might sound, it was far from beautiful. The vibrant realization was that the source of color was just human-strewn trash. After a few minutes of melting ourselves in the sun, we boarded our bus and Ibrahim once again showed his talent on the way back down the mountain.

Finally, we arrived at our last sight-seeing destination in Jericho: the archeological excavation of the old city of Jericho. It was at this moment my inner child (and inner Indiana Jones) was set loose. My joy, however, was short lived. Despite the ongoing excavation and restoration, the current site of Jericho is far from the lost cities and ancient temples Harrison Ford came upon. In part, this is due to the logistical challenges of excavating a place where temperatures typically exceed 100° Fahrenheit, electricity and water are spotty, and the conflict makes it difficult for archaeologists to get permission for new digs. I still found the walls and tower to be impressive, and the portions of the site that have been renovated are even more incredible when you consider that Jericho is more than 10,000 years old. Layer was built on top of layer, but the original stones and bricks that make up its early walls are easy to distinguish from the renovations.

Whether or not the site is accurate to the biblical Jericho or whether the story of Joshua and his famous battle has any truth is up for debate but I found it to be undeniably awe-inspiring. The longer we spent walking the grounds of the site the more my initial disappointment faded. This was the remains of the ancient city of Jericho! While there was certainly nowhere to practice my Indiana-Jones-bullwhip-skills or hidden passages to explore (thanks to ropes and chains surrounding all excavation pits), my childhood dreams of seeing the wonders of the ancient world were rekindled. As we left the town behind us, I reflected more on what it was that made me fall in love with history in the first place. It wasn’t some vain idea of being a “world adventurer” it was the idea of seeing the places where people had lived their lives and to have the opportunity to walk in their footsteps, experiencing their holy places, and perhaps most importantly, meeting people like Hamudi who told their stories and kept their myths and legends alive.

We read the Biblical stories of Jericho aloud as we headed to our next destination.Ěý It was a good closer for the experience.

Rejected blog titles:

While we have not actually settled on a blog title, we have developed quite a list of rejected titles. Many are inside jokes, so you will have to ask us for the story.Ěý We hope you enjoy them.Ěý We will add to the list as more are proposed and rejected:

• Armageddon has a gift shop (and we really only stopped to pee)
• We cried at Chinese food (and a dog)
• Hey Andy look at the cat!
• Uncle Bill’s paying
• There’s an essential oil for that
• It’s Hot (pronounced with phlegm)
• Uncle Bill, why can’t I put sunscreen on your back?
• “It’s 100 degrees at 8pm and they tell us the heat wave is still coming!”
• ANI DAVID !!!!!

Next week, keep following our adventure for thoughts about Kibbutz Ketura, the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies, and various other things that fall on our minds.

-Owen Musselman