Transitions and Gratitude

I apologize for my long absence from the blog-o-sphere. In my defense, it has been a very, very busy month of transitions. About a month ago, on July 21st I packed up my belongings in Jerusalem, went for a run around the Mount of Olives with views of both the West Bank and the Dome of the Rock and got ready to fly back to the United States.

I arrived back home and had only one short week (actually really just five days) to spend some much needed time with my family and friends, unpack and wash all of my clothes and belongings, repack all of my belongings and move into my new house with some dear friends from college and start orientation for an Americorps position at a refugee agency. I have now worked for three weeks at the agency and I am really enjoying the work, and my colleagues.

I have been reflecting a lot about my experiences of the past year in Palestine and I keep coming back to all I have learned about gratitude. In Ramallah, I had the honor of becoming part of Farashe, a nonprofit yoga studio in the heart of the city. Farashe’s vision is to bring the health benefits, the peace and the inner joy of yoga to the Palestinian people under Occupation. It is an amazing place.

Yoga taught me that it is hard to be feel upset and grateful at the same time, so when you are feeling really angry, frustrated or annoyed about something that you cannot change right now, it is effective to instead redirect that energy toward taking stock of the things for which you are grateful. In the yoga studio our instructor started and ended each yoga practice with gratitude to ourselves and to each other. Living in the midst of military occupation can be really frustrating, so I really appreciated spending that mental energy seeking inner peace and strength instead of boiling in anger. Of course, it is good to have some anger in order spur change, but you simply cannot seep in it all the time. I marveled at how powerful it was to dwell on gratitude instead of anger.

Perhaps dwelling on gratitude came more easily to my Palestinian yogi comrades, since Arabic is a language of gratitude. It has been described as something of a formal dance, similar to a waltz. The first person curtsies and the second bows in return. The entire dance becomes a series of formal give and take. So it is with Arabic, one formal phrase of gratitude begets another such phrase in response. There are many, many more ways to say “thank you” in Arabic than there are in English.

In her book Mornings in Jenin, Susan Abulhawa writes, “In the Arab world, gratitude is a language unto itself. ‘May Allah bless the hands that give me this gift’; ‘Beauty is in your eyes that find me pretty’; ‘May God extend your life’; ‘May Allah never deny your prayer’; ‘May the next meal you cook for us be in celebration of your sons’ wedding… of your daughter’s graduation… your mother’s recovery’; and so on, an infinite string of prayerful appreciation. Coming from such a culture, I have always found a mere ‘thank you’ an insufficient expression that makes my voice sound miserly and ungrateful” (169-170). While learning and practicing Arabic, I found the formal exchanges of gratitude to be indescribably beautiful. When someone gives you a cup of tea, in Palestine you would respond with what in English would be, “Bless your hands”. Such eloquent language for the articulation of even minor gratitude makes one think about the importance and power of expressing gratitude.

With these beautiful models of gratitude in mind, I must express my gratitude for the incredible experiences I was fortunate to have this past year in Palestine. I am humbled with gratitude for the teachers and students at the School of Hope from whom I learned so much about education, resilience and hope. I am grateful for my yoga studio, and yoga teachers with whom I found some peace, laughter and friendship in the midst of a military occupation. I am grateful for my choir, Zaridash, for sharing the solace of community and music in the midst of occupation. I am grateful for my awesome Arabic tutor, Mohammad, who patiently taught me how to read, write and speak in Arabic but also taught me about Palestinian culture and the importance of a mid-lesson cup of mint tea. 

I am so grateful for friends in Palestine who made Ramallah my home. I am grateful for the church communities and organizations in Palestine and their work toward building peace. I am grateful for the other YAGM volunteers and for our fantastic leaders who walked with us through the fun and, most importantly, the struggles of living in Palestine. I am grateful for the YAGM program and the ELCA for their incredible support to volunteers living abroad. I am grateful for all that I learned about myself in the midst of the challenges I faced this year. I am also immensely grateful for the fun, the laughter, the play and the joy. I am grateful for the opportunity to travel around Israel and Palestine, to learn a new language, to eat amazing new foods and to have the honor of calling a new city home. 

Please accept my deepest gratitude for you, dear supporters. It is an honor to know that I have had such great individuals cheering me on throughout this adventure. Shukran/Thank you! 

I have decided to keep blogging since it has become a fun exercise in writing and reflection. Therefore make sure to continue to check back and hear about my adventures and reflections in the United States! :-)

Breaking the Silence

I recently had the incredible opportunity to attend a tour of the South Hebron hills led by an organization called Breaking the Silence. The organization is made up of veteran combatants who have served in Israeli Armed Forces during or since the Second Intifada (which means in the last 12 years). The veterans involved are individuals who want to inform Israelis and others about the reality of the Occupation as it is on the ground. They share testimonies of their experiences and give tours of Hebron and the South Hebron Hills to explain the work of soldiers in these areas. 

Our guide served during the Second Intifada as part of a unit that performed night arrests. This means when they had suspects to take to prison, they would go to their homes at night and arrest them. Sometimes they would do as many as ten arrests in a single night. He said that he and his fellow soldiers did their best to be “good soldiers”. The soldiers found it hard to see how upset the Palestinian children were when they saw their father, mother or sibling being arrested. He said that he would try to look the kids in the eye and show that he was a good man.  Eventually, he started carrying candies to give to the children so that they would not be as upset.

Our guide further explained that when they took over Palestinian homes to serve as their home base for weeks or months at a time (a regular part of Israeli Military policy in the West Bank), they would do their best to clean up the house afterward when they gave it back to the Palestinian inhabitants. All in an attempt to be good soldiers.

However, our guide said that he eventually came to the conclusion that he could be the best possible soldier, but that did not change the fact that what he was being asked to do was immoral. The Occupation may be completely legal under Israeli law, but that does not make it moral. To hear a former combatant questioning the morality of the Israeli government policy toward Palestinians was extremely powerful.

One important thing that this tour and the organization in general highlight is that military occupation is obviously bad for the people being occupied, but it also damages the occupiers. These former soldiers will never forget the things they were asked to do, the things they experienced and what they witnessed during their terms of service.

I am deeply impressed by Breaking the Silence and the former soldiers involved. I can only imagine the courage and personal moral conviction it must take to stand up against a system in which you actively participated. I am so honored to have learned from our guide for the day and have renewed hope that change is possible. When people within the system see it as unjust and are courageous enough to work for change, it is a bit easier to believe that a further shore is reachable from here.

The Good Earth

After school got out, I had some vacation time so another volunteer and I decided to spend our vacation helping out at an organic farm in the West Bank called Tent of Nations. To my delight, we arrived just in time for the last four days of apricot season on the farm. 

Apricot season is quite short in Palestine: one or two weeks at most. It is therefore something to be savored while it lasts. At the beginning of the year, one of the first Arabic phases we learned was “bukra fil mishmish” which translates to "tomorrow in the apricot". The phrase has the sense of “when pigs fly”. The apricot season is so short that to say, “it will happen in apricot season” is a akin to "it will happen when pigs fly".

In a later Arabic lesson, the first Arabic tongue twister I ever learned was, “hada mishmish mish min mishmishna”. It means, “this apricot is not from our apricot tree” and the phrase is really fun to say fast! Between these two phrases, I was already feeling an affinity for Palestinian mishmish by the time that mishmish season rolled around this year. I had my first taste of real Palestinian apricots and khelas (that's it), I am in love. The apricots here are so sweet and full of flavor. I do not know what I have been eating in the United States that has paraded itself as an apricot, but it is nothing compared to these delightful little fruity morsels.

Picking a golden, Palestinian apricot

The edge of the Apricot grove

At Tent of Nations, I got to spend some time in the organic apricot grove. The grove is deep in a rocky valley and has approximately forty apricot trees. We rode down from the hilltop farm early in the morning to do our picking while the air was still cool. We were blessed with the absolute most beautiful, blue sky sunshine days. I will never forget the sun shining through the green leaves of the trees as we searched for the elusive last fruits of the apricot season. 

Working close to the sun-warmed earth, the only sounds I heard were the lazy buzz of insects who were equally interested in the mishmish, the noises of herds of goats in the surrounding hills and the satisfying thump of apricots filling buckets. I quite enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin, the coolness of the shade under the trees, the rocky ground beneath my feet  and the gentle breeze. I was surrounded by the sweet perfume of ripe apricots. Best of all was the occasional taste of these perfect fruits. I can say with certainty that the best food I have ever eaten is a fresh-off-the-tree, still-warm-from-the-sun, organic Palestinian apricot. 

I have spent the past ten months living in the "Holy Land" but the closest I have come to a mystical experience here was in that sun-filled apricot grove, admiring the miracle of fruit. Fruit trees turn pure sunshine, gentle rain, and nutrients from the soil into delicious, golden food. Amazing. I was filled with such unbelievable gratitude. I found myself thankful for the sunshine, the breeze and the earth. Thankful for the plentiful rain this year that made the apricot harvest so bountiful. Thankful for the combined effect of the quiet solitude of harvesting fruit and the company of my fellow pickers. Thankful for the health of my body to be able to pick and the renewing health of my soul in the sunshine, the warmth and the earthy sweetness. After ten months of city life, filled with honking horns and crowds, I felt utterly renewed in communing with the good earth. 

Miraculous abundance

Daher, the farmer who owns the land, took great joy in harvesting. He pointed out the cave where his Grandfather used to sleep during harvesting season in order to be able to work earlier in the morning and longer into the evening. He checked up on the progress of  his nearby apple orchard and grape vineyard. He had such admiration for his apricot trees. He pulled out a branch with six apricots all in a row next to each other and said, “Look at that! Where’s your camera? We must take a picture!".

I recently finished reading the novel, The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck. It is a stunning chronicle of  the life of a farmer in pre-communist China. The farmer delights in his land. He puts the sweat of his brow and all of his trust, through good times and bad, into the earth. He pulls a life and a living from the soil. He admires the miracle of hard work and good land.

One of the buckets I filled on the second day

Between reading Buck’s book and working on the Tent of Nations farm, I now have a better understanding of the joy of working one's land. The wonder of coaxing a livelihood out of the earth. The connection one might feel to a particular plot of soil. I spent only a tiny amount of time in that apricot orchard, but I already feel deeply connected to it. Some part of my soul will ever be rooted in its warmth, light and miraculous plenty. I can only imagine what it must be like to work this land every year and to know that one’s family has trod this same soil and harvested these same trees for generations upon generations.

My fellow harvesters: Daher, Tina, Michelle and Anka

Unfortunately, like all of Palestine today, this farm has suffered. Since 1991, the family that owns the land has been in a legal battle with the Israeli government to keep their family land. The Israeli government has said that if the land is not properly maintained and cultivated it will be confiscated from the family. The government has also claimed that parts of the farm are on Israeli state land. The farm is surrounded by Israeli settlements in the West Bank (which are illegal under international law) and it is easy to guess that these settlements would like to use the farm for their own agriculture. This situation makes the miracle and beauty of the apricot harvest all the more precarious.

I hope and long for a just and peaceful solution to this conflict. This land is so unbelievably beautiful, that it is truly heartbreaking to see it filled with conflict and hate. May we all pray and work for justice and peace in the Holy Land.

 

Sunset over the Tent of Nations

Kindergarten Graduation

A few weeks ago I had the honor of helping with and attending the School of Hope Kindergarten Graduation. The five-year old's have completed their Kindergarten year and will be moving up to First Grade and the main campus of school next year.

Singing, aren't they fancy and hilarious?

Late in the afternoon, the Church Hall filled with excited Kindergartners and families, all eager to see the events unfold. The boys wore little ties or bow-ties while the girls sported fancy little dresses. They looked just like little princes and princesses! It was fun to see the families of my students all dressed up and excited for their little ones.

Me with Kindergartner Nara and her sister

The ceremony began with a not-so-solemn procession of the graduates into their seats beside the stage. You can be sure that they waved at their families. There were poems, songs, dances and skits. I had the honor of helping to narrate the English play, Cinderella. That is right, my students memorized lines from a very simple version of Cinderella I found and performed it on stage with costumes and props. I was so proud of them! It was so clever that they managed to memorize whole lines of English that they certainly could not understand yet. Their parents were definitely impressed.

At the end the students were called up one by one to receive their certificates and shakes hands with the principal. It is likely the most adorable graduation ceremony I have been a part of to date!

Schools Out For the Summer!

It is astonishing to write, but the last day of school has already come and gone several weeks ago. I must admit that there were days this year when I thought the school year would never end. Then, quite suddenly, the last day of school arrived. The students finished their final exams and received their yearbooks. I got a yearbook as well and it is utterly surreal to see my face featured in the teachers/staff section. In previous yearbooks, I have always been among the students, so it seems like quite the paradigm shift. I graduated college a year ago but seeing my face among those of the teachers makes it much more real. 

A visitor, Musa, Principal Michael and Randa

The best part of the yearbook is the large section featuring photos of all the events throughout the school year. It is awesome to look through pictures of events and find my face! It drives home for me the fact that I have spent an entire academic year volunteering in this particular school. I was there for the teacher’s breakfast in the early fall. I was there for the students’ Christmas show and the teacher’s Christmas dinner. I was there when the students from Norway came on exchange and learned about Democracy in Israel/Palestine. I was there for every part of the English Bowl. I was there for the important events this spring such as Graduation and the Dabke concert. Astonishing. 

Sue, Najwa, Me and Pastor Saliba

I understand better now the wealth of community that stems from working at a school. Between teachers, students and staff, a school is like a tiny village. We have shared joys, sorrows, challenges and successes. I am honored to have taken part, if only for one year.

After the students left, the teachers piled into each other’s cars and drove out to a nearby village for a group lunch. We feasted on salads and meats. We laughed about the adventures of the year and looked forward to the summer.

There was a short presentation where I received a small thank you gift from the teachers and staff. I was unspeakably honored. The lunch was a great opportunity to say a formal goodbye to the people who have been such an enormous and meaningful part of my volunteer work experience here.  I have learned so much from these incredible individuals.  I have learned about teaching and education, but also work environment and community. The importance of coffee hour and a good staff room vibe. I have learned SO much about Palestine and the lived experience of being Palestinian. I have learned about responsibility, humility and generosity. 

Thank you for supporting me throughout this academic year and making it possible for me to have this awesome learning experience. I am ever grateful!

Where'd the water go?

Quite suddenly it is late June and I find that I have not blogged in far too long! I apologize friends, I have been very busy. Of course, that is no excuse since we are all always busy. I have approximately a month before I leave this country to fly to the US (inshallah), so I will try to keep you more updated on my summer adventures and this transitional phase.

In this post I want to tell you about a bizarre and uncomfortable incident that happened at my school. On the morning of the second to last day of school, I was getting ready to leave when I received a call from our host family. They informed me that the house was running very, very low on water and that we did not know when we would get more so we needed to be quite conservative in our water use. They suggest that we all take really short showers and avoid doing laundry until we knew more about the situation. I was a bit surprised that we did not know when we would get more water and I really did not understand the situation, but I wrote a note for my housemate and left for school.

An hour into school, one of the teachers came out of the bathroom and said that there was no water left. The administrative assistant responded that we had not received water from Israel for three days. In fact, she said that all of Ramallah had not received water from Israel for three days. I was shocked. What did she mean we had not received water from Israel for three days? How could they just not give us water? Who is not giving us water? Why? When will they give us water again? What would we do without water until that time?

The practical issues of not having water were quite severe. There are about 450 students and 50 teachers and staff at my school. When they say there is no water, they mean literally: No. Water.  As in, cannot even flush the toilets. Take a moment to imagine a school of 500 people, ages 4 through 60-ish with no flushing toilets for EIGHT HOURS. IN JUNE. Woof.

The students and teachers were surprisingly un-emotional about the lack of water. We got out hand sanitizer and everyone tried to avoid needing to use the bathroom. We went without our normal glasses of tea and everyone was annoyed but no one seemed surprised by the events, except me.

After school the house seemed to still have water but I wondered how long it would last... That evening I went to choir practice only to discover that the facility where we rehearse was out of water too. Once again, no one seemed particularly surprised by the lack of water. We did the best we could.

The saddest part of the entire incident is that no one was surprised. Being suddenly and mysteriously out of water is apparently a normal part of life in the West Bank and everyone just dealt with it.

Alhamdilileh, water came back the next day. As far as I could tell the water reappeared as mysteriously and unexpectedly as it had disappeared. I still do not know what to make of it. Who exactly in Israel did not give the water they were supposed to? How widespread was the absence of water? Why did it happen? Why was nobody surprised or talking about it? Why was it not covered by news sources?

Perhaps the most important thing to take from this is that the politics of water are brutal in this place. Access to water in a desert is literally a matter of life and death. And on a lesser note, being unable to flush the toilet is really annoying.

The incident served as an important reminder about the necessity to always be careful with water. It is such a precious resource and we must conserve it, even when we think that we do not live under scarcity.

Rupper pand

Right now, it is final exam time at the School of Hope, so I have been doing a lot of work to prepare exams. It is somewhat stressful work since the exams are so important and carry a lot of weight in the students' grades. Plus EVERYONE at the school is stressed out during exam period.

Today, I was alone in the office for a while, working on preparing next Monday's exams. A younger student, probably second grade, who I haven't met before came in and asked me for something in Arabic. Over the course of the year between working in a school every day and taking Arabic lessons, I have gotten pretty good at the standard school words in Arabic. If he had asked for a "mastera" (ruler), "alam aloah" (dry-erase marker) or "mahai" (eraser), we would have been set. Unfortunately, he was asking for something which hadn't yet come up in my vocabulary lessons. I tried to get around it by asking who it was for but it turned out to be one of the religion teachers, and that didn't clarify anything. I asked why she needed it and he pointed to his head, which only made it more mysterious. I asked if she was cold or had a headache. He said no and no.  Baffling.

We stared at each other for a few minutes, neither of us sure what to do about our predicament. Finally, he gave me the "wait one moment" hand signal (put your first two fingers together with your thumb to make a very soft fist and gently bob it up and down about three times) and ran off.

I found out afterwards that he ran down the hall and found the first teacher he could, the school administrative assistant, and asked her what the word he needed was in English. She told him and he ran back down the hallway to the office repeating the word over and over to himself.

Returning to my perspective, the boy ran back into the room, slightly out of breath and says, "rupper pand!" Unfortunately, this did not immediately clarify for me what he needed. After a moments consideration, I figured it out! Arabic speakers who are new to English sometimes have trouble deciphering between b's and p's since there is no p in Arabic. What he wanted was a rubber band. It turns out that one of the students needed to put her hair up. Ah, of course. Now if he had just said the word "shar" (hair) earlier, I might have understood... but really, who knows?

In any case, it was a good, humbling reminder that there is always more to learn.