I just wanted to say a formal THANK YOU for all of you have been reading my blog and supporting me in this mission. It was truly a "life-changing adventure in faith," to steal the words from my favorite summer camp, Lutherlyn. It was really neat to give my presentation about this past year, and hear the number of you say how much my blog meant to you. One reader told me it was neat to remember me as a little kid and church, and then to see how many big thoughts I had. Another reader told me about researching places, people, and things, after I talked about them.
My expectations were met and exceeded with this blog. It started out as a way to post pictures or tell stories, but it became a deeper form of processing what was going on in my life, from day to day. I tried to vary my writings, so it wasn't just ranting or just cute stories about my kindergarteners. I am deeply honored by hearing how much this blog has done as far as helping people learn more about Palestine, the YAGM program, and everything else that has gone into this year.
Is this the end of this blog?
I don't know, honestly. I feel like I'm still working through the "stuff" of this year. I'm still processing and remembering what has happened. I feel completely disconnected from what is going on there right now, and I still have many friends and connections there. The mood may strike me to continue to blog random articles or thoughts from time to time, on these sort of topics.
Additionally, I should probably tell you about my next "plan." I'll be serving as a Short-Term Recruiter for the ELCA. This means that it will be my job to travel the East Coast and talk about the YAGM program. I will visit universities, churches, NGOs, and anybody else who will listen to me talk about volunteer opportunities.
While that's my "job," my roommate Nikki expressed this coming year in the best way: "We've spent a year here, but we're only half-finished with this year." It's now time to educate people, in-person, about my year. If you, or anyone you know, would be interested in having me come speak to a group about volunteering, volunteering with the ELCA/YAGM, Palestine, Middle-East politics, Middle-East religion differences, or a combination of any of those, please feel free to contact me. meredith.harber@gmail.com
Thanks again for your constant love and support through this year!!!
Peace...Shalom...Salaam.
Much love,
Meredith
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Sermon
I was asked to give a sermon/homily/speech for my home congregation while our pastor was at the National Youth Gathering in New Orleans. I wanted to share that with you all here.
"Jesus said, 'Make the people sit down.' Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisified, he told his disciples, 'Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.' So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, 'This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.'" The Word of the Lord.
I'm addicted to taking pictures. No, really. The habit started when I was in 6th grade. I began taking more and more pictures, and joyfully organizing them into albums as soon as I got them developed. In fact, I don't think I let people look at them until they were in albums. This habit, or addiction, as I should properly call it, has grown with me, as I have grown in age. Do you want to know the damage of this year? Now, let me make a point to say that I have a digital camera, which has kept my addiction cost-effective. Over the last year, since moving to Palestine, I have taken, are you ready for this? 5, 388 pictures. In one year. I take pictures to remember and to share. I love being able to take a piece of something I know and giving it to someone who hasn't been there or see it. I was feeding this habit in the ruins of Capernaum one weekend, after hiking from Nazareth to Tiberias, with some friends. It's a rather long hike, to say the least. We were checking out the different villages along the Sea of Galilee, including Tabgha, Capernaum, Tiberias, and so forth. I was taking pictures in the ruins of Capernaum, where the Ancient Synagogue, the one Jesus preached in, is. What is believed to be the first church, as in, ever, is also in Capernaum. Archaeologists surmise that there is a currently a Catholic Church built on top of the ruins of a church, built by the Byzantines, which was built upon the ruins of Simon Peter's house. This would make it the first church, because Jesus said, "You are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church."
As I was feeding this addiction for more pictures, I was photographing the beautiful inside of the current church standing on these ruins. The church itself is built high on pillars, to protect and preserve the ruins below. It's shaped in an octagon, which is identical to the Byzantine Church just below it. There are big windows all the way around, which look out into the Sea of Galilee and the Ancient Synagogue. There are new benches and beautifully carved wood pieces with the Stations of the Cross. I was caught up in the beauty of the modern church. There was a group of American tourist filing in. They seemed to be setting up a mass of sorts and finding song sheets. I decided to excuse myself, since I had finished taking pictures and I appeared to be the only in inside the church, that wasn't part of the tour group. I walked down the steps and out to the gate, and I found that it was locked. I had been locked in. I looked around and one of the sisters who helps maintain the property came over to let me out. She didn't have the most pleasant demeanor, to say lightly, and she asked what I was doing. I told her that I was just taking some pictures and I had been locked in. She said, "Oh, you're not with the tour group?" I said no, and she opened the gate, watched me walk out, the re-locked the gate.
I became infuriated. Simon Peter's first church was just locked, because an American tour group wanted to have a private mass inside. Living in the Holy Land for a year has made me quite used to seeing tourists, but especially Christian tourists who want to revere the sites that Christ walked on, lived in, and ate hummus and pita at. I was heartbroken, though, that the close-knit, tour-group worship was more important than leaving the door open for any person to experience God's word.
In John's telling of the 'feeding the 5,000' story, he talks about the disciples looking for bread and fish for the 5,000 followers, when they thought there was none. There was in fact five loaves and two fish, that when spread amongst the people, provided for all, with 12 baskets of leftovers. Speaking as someone who has not been professionally trained in dissecting the bible, but also as a person who understands how one snapshot, one photograph, can make something appear, I read all the gospels' retelling of this story. John is the only gospel writer that mentions where the disciples got the bread: from a young boy. It seems rather insignificant. Bread and fish, from a kid. Got it. I would like to argue the contrary though, that bread and fish coming from this young boy, from someone untrained and not named as one of "THE" disciples, as one of "THE" Christians, like the American tour group.
Before I make anyone nervous that I'm throwing Christ out of this equation, let me back up and say that Christ provided the bread and fish, but he provided it through this small boy and through the disciples. Christ, in this parable, could have easily pulled two loaves and five fish out from under his robe. He could have gone to a store and bought them. He could have turned rocks and sand into a meal to feed 5,000. He didn't. He provided through a little boy, a kid, and the boy provided for the disciples, who then in turn provided for the 5,000.
This is where my point of contention with the American tour group comes in. By locking that gate, they locked me out. They locked everyone out. They provided solely for themselves and left the rest of us to find the bread and fish on our own. Imagine if Christ and his disciples had seen the 5,000 coming, and snagged the bread and fish from the little boy and ran. There wasn't much food. It would have made a perfect meal for Jesus and a close group of friends. The problem with this? 5,000 of the rest of us would have gone unfed. We would have been without. When Jesus and the disciples shared, 5,000 + were fed and there were 12 baskets of bread left over.
John's gospel says that the 5,000 ate and were satisfied. The other gospels mention being filled or satisified, or otherwise physically content. The gospels don't list how the disciples or followers felt cheated or hungry or craving more. The American tour group chose to lock the gate, so they would have the bread and fish for themselves. It left me feeling unsatisfied and hungry. And that, is the exact opposite of what Christ has called us to do. The church is to be a place of support and community for the many members that make up the body of Christ.
Christ has provided the bread and the fish, the hands, feet, face, heart, life, but he has provided it through a small boy, through disciples, through your neighbor, through your bagboy at BiLo, through your dentist, through your pastor, through your child, through your parent, through your postal worker. Most importantly, Christ is providing through you. Right now. I have the choice to lock the gate, to keep the bread and fish to myself. It's my right as a human. I also have the choice to keep the gate open, share the bread, sit on the grass with a small group, eat, and be satisfied. Be filled. Be content. Share richly with those around me, in whatever way is possible.
"I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."
"Jesus said, 'Make the people sit down.' Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisified, he told his disciples, 'Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.' So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, 'This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.'" The Word of the Lord.
I'm addicted to taking pictures. No, really. The habit started when I was in 6th grade. I began taking more and more pictures, and joyfully organizing them into albums as soon as I got them developed. In fact, I don't think I let people look at them until they were in albums. This habit, or addiction, as I should properly call it, has grown with me, as I have grown in age. Do you want to know the damage of this year? Now, let me make a point to say that I have a digital camera, which has kept my addiction cost-effective. Over the last year, since moving to Palestine, I have taken, are you ready for this? 5, 388 pictures. In one year. I take pictures to remember and to share. I love being able to take a piece of something I know and giving it to someone who hasn't been there or see it. I was feeding this habit in the ruins of Capernaum one weekend, after hiking from Nazareth to Tiberias, with some friends. It's a rather long hike, to say the least. We were checking out the different villages along the Sea of Galilee, including Tabgha, Capernaum, Tiberias, and so forth. I was taking pictures in the ruins of Capernaum, where the Ancient Synagogue, the one Jesus preached in, is. What is believed to be the first church, as in, ever, is also in Capernaum. Archaeologists surmise that there is a currently a Catholic Church built on top of the ruins of a church, built by the Byzantines, which was built upon the ruins of Simon Peter's house. This would make it the first church, because Jesus said, "You are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church."
As I was feeding this addiction for more pictures, I was photographing the beautiful inside of the current church standing on these ruins. The church itself is built high on pillars, to protect and preserve the ruins below. It's shaped in an octagon, which is identical to the Byzantine Church just below it. There are big windows all the way around, which look out into the Sea of Galilee and the Ancient Synagogue. There are new benches and beautifully carved wood pieces with the Stations of the Cross. I was caught up in the beauty of the modern church. There was a group of American tourist filing in. They seemed to be setting up a mass of sorts and finding song sheets. I decided to excuse myself, since I had finished taking pictures and I appeared to be the only in inside the church, that wasn't part of the tour group. I walked down the steps and out to the gate, and I found that it was locked. I had been locked in. I looked around and one of the sisters who helps maintain the property came over to let me out. She didn't have the most pleasant demeanor, to say lightly, and she asked what I was doing. I told her that I was just taking some pictures and I had been locked in. She said, "Oh, you're not with the tour group?" I said no, and she opened the gate, watched me walk out, the re-locked the gate.
I became infuriated. Simon Peter's first church was just locked, because an American tour group wanted to have a private mass inside. Living in the Holy Land for a year has made me quite used to seeing tourists, but especially Christian tourists who want to revere the sites that Christ walked on, lived in, and ate hummus and pita at. I was heartbroken, though, that the close-knit, tour-group worship was more important than leaving the door open for any person to experience God's word.
In John's telling of the 'feeding the 5,000' story, he talks about the disciples looking for bread and fish for the 5,000 followers, when they thought there was none. There was in fact five loaves and two fish, that when spread amongst the people, provided for all, with 12 baskets of leftovers. Speaking as someone who has not been professionally trained in dissecting the bible, but also as a person who understands how one snapshot, one photograph, can make something appear, I read all the gospels' retelling of this story. John is the only gospel writer that mentions where the disciples got the bread: from a young boy. It seems rather insignificant. Bread and fish, from a kid. Got it. I would like to argue the contrary though, that bread and fish coming from this young boy, from someone untrained and not named as one of "THE" disciples, as one of "THE" Christians, like the American tour group.
Before I make anyone nervous that I'm throwing Christ out of this equation, let me back up and say that Christ provided the bread and fish, but he provided it through this small boy and through the disciples. Christ, in this parable, could have easily pulled two loaves and five fish out from under his robe. He could have gone to a store and bought them. He could have turned rocks and sand into a meal to feed 5,000. He didn't. He provided through a little boy, a kid, and the boy provided for the disciples, who then in turn provided for the 5,000.
This is where my point of contention with the American tour group comes in. By locking that gate, they locked me out. They locked everyone out. They provided solely for themselves and left the rest of us to find the bread and fish on our own. Imagine if Christ and his disciples had seen the 5,000 coming, and snagged the bread and fish from the little boy and ran. There wasn't much food. It would have made a perfect meal for Jesus and a close group of friends. The problem with this? 5,000 of the rest of us would have gone unfed. We would have been without. When Jesus and the disciples shared, 5,000 + were fed and there were 12 baskets of bread left over.
John's gospel says that the 5,000 ate and were satisfied. The other gospels mention being filled or satisified, or otherwise physically content. The gospels don't list how the disciples or followers felt cheated or hungry or craving more. The American tour group chose to lock the gate, so they would have the bread and fish for themselves. It left me feeling unsatisfied and hungry. And that, is the exact opposite of what Christ has called us to do. The church is to be a place of support and community for the many members that make up the body of Christ.
Christ has provided the bread and the fish, the hands, feet, face, heart, life, but he has provided it through a small boy, through disciples, through your neighbor, through your bagboy at BiLo, through your dentist, through your pastor, through your child, through your parent, through your postal worker. Most importantly, Christ is providing through you. Right now. I have the choice to lock the gate, to keep the bread and fish to myself. It's my right as a human. I also have the choice to keep the gate open, share the bread, sit on the grass with a small group, eat, and be satisfied. Be filled. Be content. Share richly with those around me, in whatever way is possible.
"I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."
Monday, July 20, 2009
Back in the USA
I haven't blogged in a pretty long while, mainly because packing and saying goodbye to a year's worth of relationships is rather time consuming. Not to mention it's physically and emotionally draining. I'm hoping to write some profound synopsis blog in a few weeks, when I feel like I've processed this year, not that I will have ever truly processed this year. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm back in the United States, alive and well. I also wanted to tell you the first few things that I've noticed as "different" or as a part of my reverse culture-shock.
- I think I should know all white people, because, well, they're white and they speak English.
- I can read street signs? And menus? And ingredient labels?? CRAZY!
- Cars go slower here and honk waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay less.
- American tomatoes? Disappointing.
- I am really friendly with people at stores, because I'm used to saying thank you. My mom thinks I'm just practicing my English.
- It's cold here. Really cold. I sleep in a hoodie and sweatpants.
- I'm pleased that I can leave my house in shorts and a tye-dye t-shirt, or sweatpants.
That's about what I have for now. I'll try to blog again with some more thoughts and some details about my future life. It's only the beginning of this crazy life. Thanks for all of your continued thoughts and prayers!!
Much love,
Meredith
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Fear.
Realizing that my time here is growing smaller and smaller every day, I wanted to take a few minutes and let you all know some personal information about me.
I'm afraid to come home.
I'm afraid to stay here.
It's not like a "monster under the bed" fear, but a much less obvious fear. It's like, an anxiety over compromises. When I am back in Pennsylvania, am I who I was when I left? Or am I who I was in Palestine? I've made some lifestyle changes. Some small, some large. I look different. I feel different. I am different.
I don't feel like I've been in very good contact with a lot of friends in this year, by both sides' choosing. Will we pick up where we left off?
I miss MTOs, driving, church services in English, walking out the door and not getting stared at, wearing gym shorts out in public, coming in the turn lane and crossing the railroad tracks into Marion Center, watching my mom water the plants, and so many other things that I can't even began to fathom right now. I feel like I'll be writing a similar list of things I miss from Palestine in a few months. I'm just curious how long after arriving home, that I'll say, "I miss Palestine."
I guess where I'm going with this rambling is to say that I love Palestine. It has become a huge part of my spiritual, political, and emotional self. And yes, I can label my "political" self. Palestine is very important to me. I think the fear in the begining of this blog post comes from being terrified that I'm going to come home and everyone's going to glaze over after my third story of the conversation. Or worse, people are going to ask, "So, how was Israel?" or only want to know about the "holy" sites.
I saw Israel. Tiberias is beautiful. Visiting the churches in Capernaum was amazing. Eilat was different. Tel Aviv is hip and happening, and still a beach town. So, yes, Israel was cool. However, I saw Israel build new sections of this massive concrete wall that kept my friends, coworkers, and students from visiting the town where their families grew up. I saw soldiers deny feeble, old women wanting to go to the hospital. I saw soldiers quickly carry a man by his limbs into a tiny room at the checkpoint, while we were waved through. I know that one of my five-year-olds was strip-searched by Israel's Defense Forces. I heard a teacher tell the story of standing and watching her cousin get shot dead by the IDF, in front of their house. I could go on, and on, and on, but I think you get the point. Please understand then, if you choose to ask me "So, how was Israel?" I might be less than positive with the answer.
Additionally, some of my least favorite interactions have been with tourists at the "holy" sites, besides the IDF of course. I had a man stop and ask me to show him the video footage my mom wanted of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, because he didn't want me to catch him on film. He would lose his soul. I was rudely kicked out of a church in Capernaum, so that a tour group could have a private mass. Again, I could go on. Please understand that asking me just how the "holy" sites are, while interesting, will still prove to be a frustrating conversation for me.
So what can we talk about? Ask me about Palestine. Ask me if I was afraid living with "Arabs." Ask me about my crazy kindergarteners. Ask me about the amazing Palestinian food. Ask me about blowing glass in Hebron, face-painting a bunch of children and adults with special needs, being a woman in the Middle-East, my Arabic teacher, or so much more. I sense that if you're reading this, you probably have gotten a better sense of my life than those who haven't kept up with my blogs.
I'm not saying all of this to be rude, but to rather prepare you for who I am now, and what that will mean for our relationship when I come home. I'm also saying this for my own sanity. I need to put it out there and be completely honest with myself and others that this transition home is terrifying.
I've said several goodbyes over the last few weeks and none have really hit me like they should. I cried when I said goodbye to the kindergarteners, but they didn't know it was really "goodbye." Which then means, all of the grieving over those goodbyes are going to compound and hit me like a train when I step off of the airplane.
This is the list of things that a former YAGM and current Global Mission staff member, Andrea Roske-Metcalfe, wrote in regards to understanding how to approach a YAGM re-entering the United States.
10 Suggestions for Helping your Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM) Return Home
1. Don’t ask the question, “So how was it?” Your YAGM cannot function in one-word answers right now, especially ones intended to sum up their entire year’s experience, and being asked to do so may cause them to start laughing or crying uncontrollably. Ask more specific questions, like “Who was your closest friend?” or “What did you do in your free time?” or “What was the food like?” or “Tell me about your typical day.”
2. If you wish to spend time with your YAGM, let them take the lead on where to go and what to do. Recognize that seemingly mundane rituals, like grocery shopping or going to the movies, may be extremely difficult for someone who has just spent a year living without a wide array of material goods. One former YAGM, for example, faced with the daunting task of choosing a tube of toothpaste from the 70-odd kinds available, simply threw up in the middle of the drugstore.
3. Expect some feelings of jealousy and resentment, especially if your YAGM lived with a host family. Relationships that form during periods of uncertainty and vulnerability (the first few months in a foreign country, for example) form quickly and deeply. The fact that your YAGM talks non-stop about their friends and family from their country of service doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, too. It simply means that they’re mourning the loss (at least in part) of the deep, meaningful, important relationships that helped them to survive and to thrive during this last year. In this regard, treat them as you would anyone else mourning a loss.
4. You may be horrified by the way your YAGM dresses; both because their clothes are old and raggedy and because they insist on wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Upon encountering their closet at home, returning YAGMs tend to experience two different emotions: (1) jubilation at the fact that they can stop rotating the same 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, and (2) dismay at the amount of clothing they own, and yet clearly lived without for an entire year. Some YAGMs may deal with this by giving away entire car loads of clothing and other items to people in need. Do not “save them from themselves” by offering to drive the items to the donation center, only to hide them away in your garage. Let your YAGM do what they need to do. Once they realize, after the fact, that you do indeed need more than 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts to function in professional American society, offer to take them shopping. Start with the Goodwill and the Salvation Army; your YAGM may never be able to handle Macys again.
5. Asking to see photos of your YAGM’s year in service is highly recommended, providing you have an entire day off from work. Multiply the number of photos you take during a week’s vacation, multiply that by 52, and you understand the predicament. If you have an entire day, fine. If not, take a cue from number 1 above, and ask to see specific things, like photos of your YAGM’s host family, or photos from holiday celebrations. Better yet, set up a number of “photo dates,” and delve into a different section each time. Given the high percentage of people whose eyes glaze over after the first page of someone else’s photos, and the frustration that can cause for someone bursting with stories to tell, this would be an incredible gift.
6. At least half the things that come out of your YAGM’s mouth for the first few months will begin with, “In Mexico/Slovakia/South Africa/etc…” This will undoubtedly begin to annoy the crap out of you after the first few weeks. Actually saying so, however, will prove far less effective than listening and asking interested questions. Besides, you can bet that someone else will let slip exactly what you’re thinking, letting you off the hook.
7. That said, speak up when you need to! Returning YAGMs commonly assume that almost nothing has changed in your lives since they left. (This happens, in part, because you let them, figuring that their experiences are so much more exciting than yours, and therefore not sharing your own.) Be assertive enough to create the space to share what has happened in your life during the last year.
8. Recognize that living in a very simple environment with very few material belongings changes people. Don’t take it personally if your YAGM seems horrified by certain aspects of the way you live – that you shower every day, for example, or that you buy a new radio instead of duct-taping the broken one back together. Recognize that there probably are certain things you could or should change (you don’t really need to leave the water running while you brush your teeth, do you?), but also that adjusting to what may now feel incredibly extravagant will simply take awhile. Most YAGMs make permanent changes toward a simpler lifestyle. Recognize this as a good thing.
9. Perhaps you had hopes, dreams, and aspirations for your YAGM that were interrupted by their year of service. If so, you may as well throw them out the window. A large percentage of returning YAGMs make significant changes to their long-term goals and plans. Some of them have spent a year doing something they never thought they’d enjoy, only to find themselves drawn to it as a career. Others have spent a year doing exactly what they envisioned doing for the rest of their lives, only to find that they hate it. Regardless of the direction your YAGM takes when they return…rejoice! This year hasn’t changed who they are; it has simply made them better at discerning God’s call on their lives. (Note: Some YAGMs spend their year of service teaching English, some are involved in human rights advocacy, others work with the elderly or disabled, and at least one spent his year teaching British youth to shoot with bows and arrows. The results of this phenomenon, therefore, can vary widely.)
10. Go easy on yourself, and go easy on your YAGM. Understand that reverse culture shock is not an exact science, and manifests itself differently in each person. Expect good days and bad days. Don’t be afraid to ask for help (including of the pharmaceutical variety) if necessary. Pray. Laugh. Cry. This too shall pass, and in the end, you’ll both be the richer for it.
Without having actually experienced this, I can't necessarily confirm everything, but I've already joked that someone's going to find me in the fetal position in the corner of Wal-mart somewhere. And the 70 flavors of toothpaste? That will be me.
I guess I'm just asking for your patience and prayers. I'm having a really hard time with this, and I don't think that I'm going to have an "easy" time with coming home until I've been home for a significant amount of time. I'm thinking at least 6 months here, folks.
Yup. That's about it for this blog post. Nothing profound. Just fear. I guess fear is pretty profound.
Peace and love,
Meredith
Thursday, June 4, 2009
"Too many tears have flowed. Too much blood has been shed."--Obama
My last blog was written from pure emotion and frustration. Here's the blog entry that revisits these issues in a different light, and with different emotions. It's also an appropriate reaction to the situation.
On Wednesday, I had the greatest lunch invitation I've had here thus far. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but Palestinians eat their big meal of the day at around 2pm, when kids are done in school. Many businesses close for a few hours for this mealtime. It's also when I typically get invited to someone's home. It can be difficult, because I usually come from school. I'm tired and hungry, but it's time to interact with a family. For this particular invitation, I was going with a kindergartener's family. I know his family from school and church. His family also speaks absolutely no English.
I ended up staying at their house for about six hours, before they gave me a ride home. I can't necessarily explain why it was so great, but it was. We ate lunch, which was specially prepared for me. His grandmother explained how happy she was that I was there, calling me "habibiti" every other word. We ate our lunch, then visited the church cemetary. Their family actually cares for the cemetary that serves the Lutheran churches in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. They proudly pointed out to me anyone that I could possibly know a relative of. We walked back to their house and had the traditional fruit and coffee. I can't remember the order of all the events at this point, but we Skyped some of their relatives in Jordan, picked mulberries, talked about the kids, played soccer with the kids, learned about the hospital that the grandmother recently had a surgery from, looked at pictures of the different family members, etc, etc, etc. I think my favorite part was just sitting with his grandma on the porch. We talked about whatever we could, with my limited Arabic being the only language we had to share. She took my hand and showed me her garden of tomatoes, facurs (some sort of squash with a bit of fur...not sure if we have an English word for them), other squash, olive trees, escadinia trees, etc. She wants me to come visit her every day, but especially wants me to come again soon, so she can teach me how to make one of the REALLY yummy Palestinian dishes with squash stuffed with rice and seasonings.
I think part of why this was so nice, was because I felt so comfortable. I was just sitting on their porch, listening to the dad water the plants, watching the sun begin to lower, feeling the breeze, and munching on the pretzels she put out for us. She taught me some new Arabic words and kept kissing my cheeks. It was pure. It was love. On one hand, I want to say, "And this is why I get so fired up about this Palestinian slaughter! Israel is a big jerk, blah blah blah." However, this is also where I can, and prefer to say, "Okay, so, I hurt because I love these people, but look at them!"
We didn't talk about the Occupation at all, while sitting on that porch. We talked about the beauty of the weather, kids, vegetables, school, church, work, her family, my family, and most importantly, we shared expressions of love. I think that's the part of the peace process that I ache for more of. It's easy to say, "They should just figure this whole thing out and get along!" It's not that simple by a long shot. It's extremely complicated. It's people and homes and opinions and history. It's not black and white. What can help this though? Relationships and love. For me, I was blessed to have this awesome afternoon with this sweet woman and her family. They wanted to show me their home and eat with them. They gave me love and joy and peace, on top of an amazing lunch. I'll go on to say that I think I probably got this afternoon in part because I was so angry and sad over the Palestinian story.
This place is so difficult to live in, both as a local and as a foreigner. I don't know how to even sum it up to explain it when I come home. I don't know what to piece together and say, "And this is the end of the story!"
Another little piece of my own personal peace came recently in reading Obama's speech in Cairo to the Muslim world. I'm not sure how well advertised or discussed his speech is, seeing as it would have been televised at 3am in the United States. I would strongly recommend all of you to read his speech, because he's very direct in what he believes needs to happen in a variety of situations. I was inspired and pleased that the president of my country, of our country, The United States of America, took a stance. I am proud that he spoke against the atrocities for, essentially, everyone in the world. Prior to writing my previous blog entry, I had been emailing my mom. She asked if I was okay, because she heard about the men attacked near Ramallah. I went off in my email about how it hurts so much to think about coming home, because I don't think people will care as much about the Palestinian struggle. She kindly pointed out to me that yes, people do care, but the Palestinians are the only ones suffering. The Air France plane incident, Darfur, Afghanistan, etc, etc. The list goes on and on. It's important for me to remember that there are these big issues out there, that are different from the Israeli-Palestinian horror that I live in everyday. So, while I would encourage you to read his speech yourself, I included my favorite quotes for thoughts.
"So long as our relationship is defined by our differences, we will empower those who sow hatred rather than peace, and who promote conflict rather than the cooperation that can help all of our people achieve justice and prosperity. This cycle of suspicion and discord must end."
"Of course, recognizing our common humanity is only the beginning of our task. Words alone cannot meet the needs of our people. These needs will be met only if we act boldly in the years ahead; and if we understand that the challenges we face are shared, and our failure to meet them will hurt us all."
"Given our interdependence, any world order that elevates one nation or group of people over another will inevitably fail. So whatever we think of the past, we must not be prisoners of it. Our problems must be dealt with through partnership; progress must be shared."
"Six million Jews were killed – more than the entire Jewish population of Israel today. Denying that fact is baseless, ignorant, and hateful. Threatening Israel with destruction – or repeating vile stereotypes about Jews – is deeply wrong, and only serves to evoke in the minds of Israelis this most painful of memories while preventing the peace that the people of this region deserve. On the other hand, it is also undeniable that the Palestinian people – Muslims and Christians – have suffered in pursuit of a homeland. For more than sixty years they have endured the pain of dislocation. Many wait in refugee camps in the West Bank, Gaza, and neighboring lands for a life of peace and security that they have never been able to lead. They endure the daily humiliations – large and small – that come with occupation. So let there be no doubt: the situation for the Palestinian people is intolerable. America will not turn our backs on the legitimate Palestinian aspiration for dignity, opportunity, and a state of their own."
"It's a story with a simple truth: that violence is a dead end. It is a sign of neither courage nor power to shoot rockets at sleeping children, or to blow up old women on a bus. That is not how moral authority is claimed; that is how it is surrendered."
"No matter where it takes hold, government of the people and by the people sets a single standard for all who hold power: you must maintain your power through consent, not coercion; you must respect the rights of minorities, and participate with a spirit of tolerance and compromise; you must place the interests of your people and the legitimate workings of the political process above your party. Without these ingredients, elections alone do not make true democracy."
"It is easier to start wars than to end them. It is easier to blame others than to look inward; to see what is different about someone than to find the things we share. But we should choose the right path, not just the easy path. There is also one rule that lies at the heart of every religion – that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. This truth transcends nations and peoples – a belief that isn't new; that isn't black or white or brown; that isn't Christian, or Muslim or Jew. It's a belief that pulsed in the cradle of civilization, and that still beats in the heart of billions. It's a faith in other people, and it's what brought me here today."
The last thing I want to include in this is a poem my mom sent me in one of those silly email forwards (sorry, Mom). It was one of those, "Send to 11 people" numbers that drive me mad. The point of the email though, was to send Saint Theresa's Prayer, as in Mother Theresa. I think it goes along with my sentiment of this day and this blog post.
Saint Theresa's Prayer
May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be confident knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.
I think that's about what I have for now. It's starting to get back to that Middle Eastern heat here, so it's back to sweating a lot.
I, like Obama and Mother Theresa, wish you God's peace. I wish for peace of heart and mind to understand not only your innerself, but the world at large. I pray for my own peace in this as well. I pray this finds you all well.
Namaste,
Meredith
Monday, June 1, 2009
Broken hearted.
I know I haven't blogged in awhile, and I apologize. I can blame this partially on being so busy and hectic that sitting down to blog was the last priority. I can also blame this on being so totally overwhelmed by living in an apartheid, that I can't even process God or faith or politics or anything related to anything of substance. I know we've been told not to blog when we're highly emotional, but here it is.
**Israel handed out 28 house demolition orders for the town of Nablus, in the West Bank. What does this mean? It means that Israel will bulldoze 28 houses, probably while people are at work or unware, within 10 minutes. It means that they'll do this in another country, technically. It would be like us showing up to Puerto Penasco, Mexico, and bulldozing houses, because we want the land. http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=38242
**6 Palestinian men were beat to a bloody pulp as they stepped out of their car, on their way to work, to move the rocks that illegal Israeli settlers had placed in the road. http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=38222
**Report shows that 30 Palestinians have been "seized" from Bethlehem and it's surrounding villages (Beit Sahour, Beit Jalla, Deheishah, etc), in the month of May, alone. Seized means you were essentially kidnapped from your house in the middle of the night, or by force some other way.
**The United Nations just sent a team of officials into Gaza to research whether or not there were war crimes during Project Lead (the war in Gaza in January). 1,400 Palestinians killed during a three-week assault. Phosphorous was used. Bombing schools was used. Any cruelty you can name was used. War crimes? I surely hope that's an affirmative.
I'll refrain from continuing, because this probably not my most eloquently written blog, nor is it fair to connect this particular blog entry to the the church and my work here. I must be honest and say though, when this is just a tiny sampling of the daily news stories, that I am frustrated. I don't know where to tell you God is in all of this war and hatred. How can I explain that Christ's love is abounding, when I know that every day, in my town and my neighboring towns, children get harrassed walking to school, adults get kidnapped, families fall to desperation, and people die. This is not the Holy Land. This is not God's land. This is the work of men and of evil. I cannot possibly tell you, in all of this pain and chaos, where I see God right now.
I apologize if this isn't the light-hearted blog post about the cool "Jesus sites" or about my travel adventures. This is the truth. We can try to ignore it and push it out of our minds, but it is still there. It is always there. The loss of lives and the loss of quality of life is a constant in Palestine. The variable is just the amount per day per village per family.
I pray for all of you. I pray that you may critically analyze not only Israel, Palestine, Hamas, Fattah, Israeli government, IDF soldiers, PNA soldiers, citizens, haters, and lovers, but critically analyze yourselves. Where are we in all of this? Have we contributed to this problem? Have you contributed to the Occupation Wall that segregates families from being together or from picking olives? Have I contributed to the children that get rocks thrown at them? Have I contributed to men being brutally beaten? Have I created war? Worse yet, have I allowed all of this to continue, while remain placidly content in my comfortable American lifestyle? How does all of this connect to our relationship with Mexico? Or, any other country in the world, for that matter?
I will end here before I further alienate any of my friends, family, and other people, who are reading this ranting blog entry. This was written purely from sadness and rage at the immediate moment of reading the news articles that I've been avoiding for a few weeks, so I could live without feeling helplessly miserable for a bit.
-Meredith
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Hic id'dinya.
It's been over a month since my last blog post, which I think is a new record. It's not a positive record, so I apologize for being so delayed. April was a VERY full month. May is becoming the same, if not worse. I'm going to keep it brief though, especially on my travel logs.
Easter in Jerusalem
Yes. Easter in Jerusalem was awesome. I spent Maundy Thursday processing out of the Old City of Jerusalem to the Garden of Gethsemane. It was a really strange sensation to be walking with a large group of Christians, and singing different songs, which made us "those" Christians. Those people who walk around and broadcast their faith. It was a really uncomfortable feeling for me in that sense. I think the image that sticks in my head from that walk is seeing an Orthodox Jewish family pass me on my right side and a Muslim family pass me on my left, simultaneously. That's really the epitome of what it means to live in the "Holy Land." I, as a Christian, am brushing shoulders with two other major world religions on a daily basis. I'm also the minority, as that Christian. Walking through both families also gave me a sense of what my goal as a Christian in the Holy Land is. It's not about God calling me to make Christians or evangelize. It's about walking the same roads, but perhaps in a different direction. I get the sense that the biggest acts of discrimination happen between Jews and Muslims, and that the majority of issues lie within the interactions between those two communities. Christians are certainly a part of that, but there is a very small population of Christians still here. Those that are here are not harassed in the same way many Muslims are at checkpoints and such.
I went to the Good Friday service at the Lutheran church in Beit Sahour, which is the town neighboring Bethlehem. Granted, I understood only a very limited bit of what was happening in the liturgy, but it was a different feeling for a Good Friday service than I'm used to. The service was light and positive, complete with a social hour of falafel and hummus afterwards. It wasn't the somber, dark service that I've been raised with.
Sunday morning was phenomenal. There was a sunrise service on the Mount of Olives. I watched the sun rise over the Jordanian mountains, while I sang the same victorious Easter hymns I adore.
Negative story of the Easter week? One of the kindergarteners was strip-searched at the Occupation Wall Gilo Checkpoint, because she was considered "dangerous." She was on the way in Jerusalem, on a special religious permit that only lasts for one month, to go to the Palm Sunday walk with her family. Five years old? Yup. She's certainly dangerous enough that you, meaning the Israel Defense Forces, should force her to take off ALL of her clothes.
Egypt
Easter Sunday evening, I left Palestine and headed to Egypt for a week with some friends. We spent a few days in Alexandria and a few in Cairo. It was really interesting to find myself comparing everything in Egypt to things in Palestine. I wasn't comparing to the States, but just to Palestine. It was also strange to come back to Bethlehem, and not feel like I was coming back to a foreign country. I was coming back home. Oh, and the Pyramids are REALLY cool.
Jesus Trail
This past weekend, I hiked the Jesus Trail from Nazareth to Cana, as in, the Wedding Feast Cana. We hiked from somewhere in the middle of nowhere to Arbel Cliffs as well, and then up near Capernaum. It was an absolutely BEAUTIFUL hike. At covering the distance of approximately 30 miles in three days, though, my calves ached a bit. The most powerful moment of that trip, and in all the "holy" sites here, was at the old village of Capernaum. It's basically rubble now, but there is a new church built on the remains of the first church built by Peter. The first church rubble is still there though. It's so crazy! There's also the Ancient Synagogue, which was built on the remains of (again...I know) the synagogue that Jesus preached in. THE synagogue. I don't know if these sites hit me the hardest, because they were pretty clearly the actual sites, or because they're different than the sites I see every week. They both sit about 20 feet from the Sea of Galilee, so it's really a beautiful site.
I had a minor fit when we were at Capernaum, because I had been inside taking pictures of the new church, which sits on top of the remains of Peter's first church. A tour group from the United States came inside and starting getting set up for a mass there, because Capernaum is maintained by the Franciscans. I'm pretty used to seeing tour groups holding their own masses in these little churches that have some connection to Christ's life. It's totally normal. My issue? I finished taking pictures and walked outside. I walked down the steps and realized that they had locked the outside gate. Meaning, I was locked in. More importantly, it means that the church was locked, so that nobody could enter the church during this group's mass.
While I respect that it's frustrating to worship if people come in and out and make noise, which I hope is the reason for locking the door, I am absolutely and utterly livid that a door would be locked on a church to celebrate God's service. That is completely contradictory to Christ's call to us as Christians. It is a very concrete example of how I feel many Christians live. I have been raised in a traditional, high-church, Lutheran Church. I love incense, the pomp and circumstance of a full-bodied processional, towering pipe organ, chants, etc, etc, etc. I love it. I respect that many people believe, as do I, that a service of the word is to worship God and all of his beautiful creation. We use these pieces to show respect and reverance to our God. The moment that the focus leaves God and locks a gate, to keep your community of Christians tight, that's when our Christian faith falls to pieces. What if someone had stumbled upon that mass and decided to stay, feeling reconnected to God in a way they hadn't felt in years, or ever? They couldn't. The gate was locked. We are so caught up in keeping people out, that we forget to dine with the tax collectors, lepers, or other dregs of society. In fact, we don't even welcome each other, even without the leprosy, in the way that Jesus welcomed everyone.
I'm sorry that this was a bit of a complaining rant. It hurt my heart to be Christian when this happened. Not to mention, when I walked out and one of the sisters realized I needed the gate unlocked, she looked at me and said, "I thought you were with the group." I said, "No, I was just visiting the church." She just shook her head, unlocked the gate, and walked away. Thank you for respecting my right to visit a holy site, even though I'm not wearing an atrocious yellow hat, ascot, or name badge, like the other tourists. Not.
Hic id'dinya (This is the life)
Life is normal. I have 13 days of school left. My sister's coming to visit in a few days. I leave Palestine in two months. This is moving rather quickly. I'm starting to piece out things for the fall, but the thought of leaving here and re-entering the American culture and lifestyle is terrifying.
God, thank you for giving me the physical and emotional strength to live and work in this context. Thank you for friends and family that support me. Thank you for sunsets, wildflowers, children, pinatas, and so much more that you've given me to encourage and inspire me every day. Please be with Cinnamon's family as they are mourning her leaving this world and joining you. Please also be with all those preparing to leave a place they're comfortable with to go to a place that holds discomfort. I ask all these things in your son's most heavenly name, Amen.
Salaam a'lekum. (Peace be with all of you).
Meredith
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Quiet Christian.
My mom told me, jokingly, that I shouldn't blog about "mundane things like chocolate bananas." Well, Mom, here's a mundane blog about eating lunch.
I work with kindergarten, as you all are well aware. One of the kindergarteners asked me to lunch the other day. It was really sweet, because I wouldn't have pegged him as one of my "buddies," but he really wanted me to come for lunch. His mom has very little English, and her Arabic has an accent that I'm not really familiar with. Each village has a different accent, so "Kief hallick?" (How are you?) becomes "Chief hallick?", "Kiefick?", or "Cheif-in-hal?" Her accent has a lot of lisps too. Regardless, it was rather difficult between her English and my Arabic, to even communicate that she wanted me for lunch and when I could come. We figured it out though, and I met up with her and her son on Tuesday, after school.
We walked to their house, which is actually in Dheisheh Refugee Camp. Though we talk about refugee camps, they're permanent villages now. Dheisheh was established in 1949. There's actually a bad stigma attached to people living in refugee camps, because some people see them as lazy and land-stealers, because they were placed there in 1949, or later, and continue to live there. I've heard teachers and other community members talk about how poorly misbehaved students from Dheisheh and the other camps are.
There are actually three refugee camps in the immediate Bethlehem area: Dheisheh, Aida, and Al Aza. I live about a block away from Al Aza and my school is right in front of Dheisheh. You don't recognize them as refugee camps, because they're like building developments.
"Under UNRWA's operational definition, Palestine refugees are persons whose normal place of residence was Palestine between June 1946 and May 1948, who lost both their homes and means of livelihood as a result of the 1948 Arab-Israeli conflict. UNRWA's services are available to all those living in its area of operations who meet this definition, who are registered with the Agency and who need assistance. UNRWA's definition of a refugee also covers the descendants through the male line of persons who became refugees in 1948. The number of registered Palestine refugees has subsequently grown from 914,000 in 1950 to more than 4.6 million in 2008, and continues to rise due to natural population growth." (http://www.un.org/unrwa/refugees/whois.html)
Back to my mundane lunch...
Im Nadim was so excited to have me to her home. She and Nadim were beaming from ear to ear as I walked home with them. She asked if I was okay walking the 5-10 minutes to their home, or if I would prefer a taxi. I walk about 40 minutes home everyday, so I gladly walked. She welcomed me into her home and almost instantly took off her hijab. The hijab is the scarf that Muslim women wear on their heads. It was strange to see her dark hair, instead of the bright pinks, blues, silvers, purples, greens, etc, etc, that she and other women normally wear. I asked her about her hijab and did she like wearing it. She exclaimed excitedly that she loved it. She said, "It makes me closer to my God!" In the Muslim tradition, women cover their heads for basically all men that they're not blood-related to. Her husband, children (regardless of age), brothers, father, uncles, etc, and all women, may see her head. Non-blood relative males, such as her brothers-in-law or father-in-law, and any other men, even doctors, are not permitted to see her head uncovered.
She kept her hijab off, until one of the non-biological male relatives would visit. She would quickly wrap her head with ease. Her mother-in-law was there and saw me watching Im Nadim cover her head, and she asked if I had ever covered my head. I saw no and she asked why. The only answer I could really give was, "Because I'm Christian and I don't do that." It felt like a really strange answer to give someone who believed that this brought her closer to God.
After awhile, Im Nadim suddenly got flustered and realized that she had missed the earlier prayer time. Muslims pray five times a day. Men go to the mosque for some prayer times, but women only pray in their homes. Im Nadim went and washed herself, which is a key part of preparing oneself for worship in the Islamic faith. Most big mosques have fountains and places out front to wash their feet, hands, and faces. They wash to purify themselves before praying to God. She put on a long white skirt and a white shirt, that was like a long shawl with a hood. She was so, so, SO excited to pray! She kept saying, "I get to see my God!" She's only a year older than I am, so it was so strange to see someone that excited for praying, especially someone as young as I am.
I left so she could pray in peace, though she didn't want me to. It seemed like a good time to leave. It was a really neat experience to spend this time with a Muslim family and learn more about their faith.
While I said I was blogging about mundane things like lunch, I'm also blogging about a bunch of different experiences I've had recently. I'm going to keep them brief, so I can tell you more about them in person.
Tent of Nations
We spent a few days retreating at the Tent of Nations. The Tent of Nations is an organization that has been built by a family to protect their family land from encroaching settlements. The Nasser family has owned the land since the turn of the 20th century. As each new country took over the Palestinian Territories (Jordan, Turkey, etc), the family acquired documentation to prove the land was theirs. They have continued to do this to protect their home, where they grew up. The land is on top of a beautiful mountain, but is surrounded by three major settlements. As it stands now, the family isn't allowed to build structures, nor do they have water or electricity. They've fought hard to keep their land, though, so they invite internationals from all over the world to come and plant olive trees, gardens, or anything else that can prove that they are using the land to its fullest extent. In theory, this will help protect it from being taken by Israel. The next concern is that settler roads will be built, which would cut off the land from being accessible. They'll still own their land, but they would be allowed on the surrounding land, so it would be impossible to get to. The Nasser family is also very connected with the neighboring village of Ni'ilin. They host English classes for women, as well as keeping computers for the village use. The list of programs they are doing is endless. The family is incredibly nice and works so hard to show people what hope and faith can do in the face of oppression. It's also especially close to me, because many of the different Nasser children, from the sons, go to my school and my church. When we went on retreat there, we cleared a field of stone and planted some olive trees. I would encourage you to check out their website. http://www.tentofnations.org/
Palm Sunday
The most common thing that people told me when they learned I was coming to the Holy Land was, "Oh! You get to spend Christmas in Bethlehem and Easter in Jerusalem!" Why, yes, yes I do. I spent Palm Sunday attending the church service at Christmas Lutheran in Bethlehem and then going on to the Palm Sunday procession in Jerusalem. At church, they do the palms differently. There were two major palm branches in the sanctuary. Then, each child had a palm bouquet of sorts. It's like a bouquet of flowers, but with palms intricately designed to be crosses or weaves. The children processed in with their palm bouquets. Nobody else had palms though, so that was a weird sensation for me. I really wanted my traditional palm, because that's how I defined Palm Sunday. It's strange here though, because palm trees are as common as pine trees in Western Pennsylvania. I'll be walking in the street and see massive piles of palm branches, where someone trimmed their tree. It hurts me a little, because I know how special palms are when I get one in Indiana or Greensburg. Here, though, palms are very normal.
After church, I headed into Jerusalem with hundreds of people to walk the walk Jesus walked from Bethphage to the Old City of Jerusalem. It was a mix of emotions, really. On one hand, it felt like we were all heading to a sporting event. On the other hand, here we were, walking down the Mount of Olives, towards the Garden of Gethsamene, waving palm fronds, and seeing the Dome of the Rock in the background. It was so surreal. There people from all over the world, including a musical group from Spain and a particularly large group from South Korea. The other big moment for me, apart from seeing the Dome of the Rock covered by waving palms, was walking up the hill into the Old City. We entered through Lion's Gate/Saint Stephen's Gate, and it really felt like we were "the crowd" entering the Old City walls. It was like being in a movie. It was awesome.
Maundy Thursday
Maundy Thursday was a strange experience for me. We went to a church service at the Lutheran Church of Redeemer in the German/Arabic chapel, which is quite large. It was filled with a plethora of different Christians from all over the world. The service included prayer petitions in English, German, Arabic, Swedish, Danish, Finnish, and probably some languages I'm forgetting. It's not out of the ordinary to have a worship service in this many languages in the Holy Land. I've gotten quite used to praying the Lord's Prayer while hearing it being said in several different languages around me. After the official service, we walked through the streets of Old Jerusalem, in our "language groups," singing songs like, "Jesus Remember Me" and "Were You There?" I've walked those streets many times before, but this was the first time where I was broadcasting my Christianity to this world, especially to Jerusalem, which is now predominately Jewish and Muslim. In fact, this made me really uncomfortable. I don't like being a "loud" Christian, through words, but rather through daily actions. And here I was, the "quiet" Christian, walking through the streets of Jerusalem, past shopkeepers and businessmen, past women and children, past IDF police, past hundreds of people, singing my Savior's heartache. It was hard.
One of the most profound moments for me was following the crowd of Christians, and looking up to see an Orthodox Jewish family passing me on the right and a Muslim family passing me on the left. THAT is the epitome of being a Christian in the Holy Land. We are walking the same roads, doing the same things, but in different directions. And sometimes, I feel like, we, as Christians, are the peacemakers between the feuding religions here. There are peacemakers among Muslims and Jews, do NOT get me wrong. I guess I am biased through my work of being with and among people, to educate others on what is going on in this city, for real.
We ended our walk at the Orthodox Church of Mary Magdalene. It's just a few feet up from the "recognized" Garden of Gethsemane. I say recognized, because I feel like the Garden of Gethsemane was quite a bit larger than what is preserved right now.
It was an interesting experience, but made me really uncomfortable overall. Some people watched with interest as to what we were doing. Some completely ignored the massive herd of people walking through the tight streets of the Old City, singing songs in a variety of languages. Some people made nasty comments.
Life
Life in general has been decent. I'm feeling comfortable, but I'm realizing how quickly this year has gone. I leave Palestine/Israel in three months. Less than two of those months will be actually spent still in the school. It's flying by! And yes, I'm anxious to get home for some things, but I'm terrified to leave here. This has become such a part of my identity and life, that I'm worried about coming home to a country of people who haven't seen the heartache here. They haven't heard a 5-year-old scream how angry she was at the Israeli Defense Force for making her take off her clothes at the checkpoint on Palm Sunday, before crossing into Jerusalem, because she was a "security risk." They haven't watched the Annexation Wall being built from their front porch. They haven't walked the Old City of Hebron, where fences have been built across the streets, to prevent the glass bottles of urine and trash from being thrown onto Palestinians from settlers. They haven't watched the absurd amount of soldiers, police, and even plain citizens, holding machine guns...everywhere. They haven't watched women and children get denied from the checkpoints. They haven't been yelled at for supporting Israel. I could go on, and on, and on. They, and you, have also not seen the joys of being here. You all haven't seen how a child's face light up when she says, "Hello! How are you?" to me in English. You haven't seen how an old woman's face lights up when you say, "Good evening!" in Arabic. You haven't seen a young Muslim woman excited to pray to her God. You haven't seen the tears on the faces of Christians walking the Via Dolorosa. You haven't eaten Maklube, Musakkhan, stuffed grape leaves, Malfuf, and all of our other delicious dishes. And just as I can go on and on with the negatives, I can go on and on with the positives. My year here has been a struggle, every day. Some days are harder than others. Some days, I walk home cursing under my breath and fighting back tears. Some days, I smile and say hello to everyone. It's been phenomenal. I can't even fully process what all of this has meant to me yet. To be a Christian, a young, educated, affluent Christian, in this place, has been a blessing.
I feel like I should write some reflections on being a Christian here or what my work means, but this has been a pretty long post. I'll save the deep thoughts for another day. I have a lot of prayer requests though, so please pray for one another.
Heavenly Father,
I thank you for this time here. I thank you for showing me the pain that rests in the hearts of Palestinians, Israelis, and Internationals alike. I thank you for teaching me about what it means to be a "human" dealing with all of these things. I thank you for all of my joys and successes. To say that I have been changed in living here is an incredible understatement. I pray that you are with all the people reading this. I pray that they can learn from my experiences, and together, we can create a more peaceful world. I pray for the people living here, fighting the daily struggle to get food, permits, sanity, medical care, and everything else you must FIGHT for here. I pray that you be with me, and other volunteers, that we continue to be present and in the moment, but prepare us emotionally to leave our home here in Palestine, to teach others about what it means to live in the Occupation. I pray for all those who are weak and suffering, especially Megan, Nelson, Cinnamon, Andrea, Aphora, David, Dana, and all those who love and care for them. I ask that you be with us as we remember your Son's sacrifice for our freedom today. All these things and more, I ask in your Son's most holy name.
Amen.
I wish you all a joyous Easter.
With Christ's love and sacrifice,
Meredith
Pictures:
Tent of Nations stuff: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013555&id=175200680&l=c01ed77b96
Palm Sunday: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013576&id=175200680&l=0840347fe6
Hebron: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013577&id=175200680&l=d0981e3b98
Can someone comment or email me and let me know if these photo links work? I can't really test them, since they come from my Facebook albums. Thanks!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
New Pictures.
New picture links:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013400&id=175200680&l=1e9c742dec
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013380&id=175200680&l=815512b9af
Enjoy!
Fuzzy almond boys vs. chocolate banana women.
I just experienced the two polar extremes of my life here in Palestinian, or even Arab, culture. I literally just walked in the door, set my bag down, turned on my computer, and started writing this post. Okay, so I went to the bathroom and got a glass of water, but otherwise, this is straight from the experiences.
I'll start with the negative, so we end on a positive note. Chelsea and Paul, two other volunteers in my program, left my house yesterday afternoon, after a rather lovely brunch of chocolate chip banana pancakes, and walked up the hill near my house. Apparently, they were stopped by a group of young boys and offered fresh almonds. It's almond season right now, and what we don't know, since we buy our almonds in a can or in a party mix, is that almonds actually come off the trees with these little green, fuzzy coats on them. You can't even identify it as an almond, until you bite through the fuzzy flesh. Chels and Paul stood and ate the almonds on the street with the boys, and continued merrily on their way. I was walking down the hill and ran into the same group of boys--I assume. They asked if I wanted an almond and I responded politely, "La shukran" (No, thank you) kept walking down the hill. They were walking uphill, and I suddenly saw a small rock fly past my legs. I turned around to see some of the boys intentionally not looking my direction, then turn around. They saw me looking at them, so they kept walking up the hill. I didn't say anything, until one picked up another rock and launched it down the hill at me. I yelled at him to stop, and then I decided to encourage him. I said, "Camaan marra!" (Another time!) He through another, and I yelled, "Inte mish cawil. Hellas. Ruh min hone." (You're not strong. Stop. Go away.) He then said, "Inti mezhnoona!" (You're crazy!) I responded, "Inte mezhnoona ikteer ikteer!" (You're very, very crazy!) He walked away.
While I admit that it wasn't the most polite, dainty "Christian missionary" attitude, it's the sort of attitude that someone needs to live here. I'm not saying that you should scream at kids on the street. I'm saying that sometimes, when someone throws a rock at you, you should probably call them out on it and tell them that it is unacceptable behavior. Had I been able to communicate better with him, I may have pulled him aside and gently asked him why he felt like he needed to throw stones at people, and what he was hoping to accomplish. Realistically? I don't have enough language to do that, nor do I think that the boys would care what I had to say.
I wish I could say this is the first time that I, or somebody I know, has had stones thrown at them, or some other mildly violent form of expression. Why is that? Honestly, I don't know. I would attribute a portion of it to the Occupation. Children here only see tourists that swoop in for Nativity Church and leave immediately. They see tourists who are often rude. They see tourists spending little money in their families' stores. They also see the tourists, who unknowlingly or knowlingly, are supporting the country that is disabling their people to thrive. American tax dollars go to building the separation wall. American politicians also support it. Hillary Clinton called the West Bank settlements "unhelpful." There are over 20,000 people living in just one settlement, that I can see from my porch, whose sole purpose is to take the land from the Palestinians. Israel has some settlements that are considered "religious settlements." What does this mean? This means that they provide subsidized housing for conservative Jews to pray all day, with no employment. Literally, those settlers are living there solely to keep land from Palestine. The American people are therefore supporting the Occupation as well, by not stopping this. These kids are angry and frustrated. They don't see hope, when new sections of the Wall go up each day. They don't see hope when their relatives are arrested. They don't see hope, when they're counting down their last days to be allowed into Jerusalem, before their sixteenth birthdays. After that, 16-year-olds are not permitted in Jerusalem, unless that have a very special, one-day permit.
I don't want to give all the credit of violent children to Israel. They have enough other things I can blame them for. It's sort of like saying that a child in America is violent because he plays war-focused video games all the time. Yes, that certainly has an impact, but where are his parents, teachers, friends, etc, etc? You can't just blame one factor. I wish that kids weren't so angry and hurt, but I wish that parents would monitor them more.
I was in school the other day, and one of the kindergarteners ran past me and punched me, pretty hard too, in the stomach. I stopped him and asked what he thought he was doing. He just smiled and ran off. His mom happened to be right behind him, since she was visiting the school. She just sort of smiled and waved her hand. It was a "oh, that's just him! Don't worry!" expression. I was shocked. Your child just punched me in the gut and you see nothing wrong with that? Nice.
Let me also add that these aren't ALL children. There are some though, that are extremely violent. It's difficult to work with them sometimes.
Now, it's time for the positive!
Before my almond interaction, I was walking down the main street in Bethlehem. I had parted ways with some friends, after checking out the Bethlehem market and grabbing falafel. As I was walking, two teenage girls had crossed the street and started walking with me. It was clear that whatever pace I walked at, they were walking with me. We exchanged hello, and then they started interviewing me. They wanted to know where I lived, how old I was, how many brothers and sisters I had, what my husband's name was, etc, etc. We talked for awhile as we walked, but they were 13 and 14, respectively, which meant they giggled and side-chattered like 13 and 14-year-olds. We eventually turned the corner and they were still walking with me. They point to the street in Aza Refugee Camp and said, "Tfadali." (Welcome.) I thought for a moment, and then decided to go with them. It's not the first time I've met someone on the street who wanted me to come drink tea at their house, but it was the first time I said yes to someone.
We walked through the camp, which is really a permanent neighborhood. You wouldn't know you were in the refugee camp unless someone told you. It's more cramped and the apartments are not as nice, but tourists could easily stumble through. We walked for awhile and eventually came to the door of the one girl's aunt's house. She had explained that her aunt had recently given birth to twins. I asked again, "Mish muskala?" (Not a problem?). Here I was, following two random strangers on the street, into someone's home. Not to mention, this someone, had just given birth to twins. Was she really up for entertaining?! The girls insisted, so I followed. We walked up the steps, which were actually concrete ramps with strips of 2x4's nailed in, to place your feet on. It was a difficult trek to the third floor, to say the least. One of the girls stepped in to the house and, I assume, warned them/asked if it was okay. She came back and we went in. The mother of the house had in fact just given birth to twin boys, ten days ago. One of the twins was still in the hospital, because he was born "too small." Their apartment was very, very simple. The only furniture I saw was her big bed, a few plastic lawn chairs, and couch bed in another room. There were a few other women visiting her, including one of the girls' mothers.
We did our best to communicate with my Arabic and their English. The girls gave a summary of my life details: mother, father, husband, who I lived with, etc. They asked why I didn't have a husband. I said, "Bidish. Ana mashgul hella. In'shallah, baden." (I don't want one. I'm busy now. God willing, I'll be married later.) They then asked how old I was. Upon learning, they decided that I was still very young to have kids. Having kids at 22 is not young. It's well beyond normal. I know people who are 26 and have four kids.
We continued to sit and talk about what we could. They wanted to know if chocolate was better in the States or in Palestine. They thought my hair and eyes were very pretty, but that my nose was ugly. People are rather blunt here, to say the least. The girls whispered for awhile and convinced one of the women to ask me in English, which house I'd like to sleep at tonight. It's pretty common here to be asked to spend the night somewhere. Fortunately, I have plans tonight, so I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't. One of the women asked if I'd come eat breakfast at her house tomorrow. I can't because of church, but I'm going to try next Friday.
My brilliant conclusion? This, THIS, this Palestinian hospitality and love is like none other. They wanted me in their home, even to spend the night, and they had never met me. We weren't really able to communicate well, but they just wanted to sit with me and learn what they could about me and my life. Also, this poor woman, who had just given birth, served me juice, chocolate, and bananas, in the course of 45 minutes I was there.
I'll admit that the whole interaction was slightly awkward, but being there, with those families, and feeling so included, even though I'm a stranger to them, is profound. It's out of this world.
I'd like to think that's what it should mean to be Christian. These families were Muslim, but I think Christ has called us to be welcoming and inclusive. While we are "saved" by simply having faith, we are called to "do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God." It's easy to make a comparison to loving kindness when I get free chocolate and bananas, but it can be a struggle overall. I saw God in these people today though. I saw God when strange girls pulled this random, funny-looking American, into the house of their relatives, just to be near. While I'm sure part of it was just pure fascination (they told me that all Americans are tall, because, look at me!), but it was also wanting to share what they have. They live in a simple home, without steps, really, and yet I was served food and entertained. I would have been given a bed and probably a lot more food, had I decided to stay longer.
God doesn't want us to have fancy dinner parties and give directions to hotels. God wants us to just GIVE. Unfortunately, with the state of "safety" in our modern world, I can't say that this is always easy or even a great idea. I can safely say though, that being able to give like this, with no strings attached, and purely with love, is one of the most profound things I've ever seen. I've talked before about doing everything you do with love. That's what Christ has called us to do. This may come in the form of opening your home to a stranger, but it comes in how you interact with people and what you're willing to do for others.
I'm starting to fade off, because I need a nap badly, so I think this is starting to make less and less sense. My point was to compare trusting that God has led me to this place and has put me in situations with fuzzy almond boys and with chocolate banana women, to show me the vast differences in people, so I can appreciate the chocolate banana moments that much more. I think it's fair to say that you, yourself, have experienced fuzzy almond boys and chocolate banana moments. What are those? What do you do with them? Do you share the joys with others? Do you talk about the problems and why it bothers you? Do you use those moments, both good and bad, to then interact more positively with the next group of people you meet? Maybe, I need to just eat the fuzzy almond next time, and I won't get a stone thrown at me.
With all of this disorganized rambling, I hope you enjoyed this update. Quick note, I had a lot of fun with my mom here, but it was very tiring to be a tourist again. I'm used to being an international volunteer here, which is the step above tourists.
Prayers:
**Cinnamon
**Aphora
**Andrea
**Ryanne's sister
**Victims of Gaza
**Residents of North Dakota
**The fuzzy almond boys in your life.
I hope, as always, whether this makes you smile or frown, that you are well and enjoying experiencing life in Palestine through me.
With my deepest joy and pain,
Meredith
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Pack your most treasured possessions.
“Yesterday I saw a little boy walking home from school, and he was carrying a backpack that was much too large for him, and when I asked him why, I found that he had put his most treasured possessions in the bag, his family photos – he was afraid that his house would be destroyed while he was not there.”--Mazen Abu Diab
Israel is planning to demolish 88 Palestinian homes in Silwan, which is a village next to the Old City of Jerusalem. Now, as if 88 homes wasn't bad enough in our own understanding of homes, I should tell you that Palestinian "homes" usually contain multiple families, in the ideal situation. In the case of living in East Jerusalem, families are pushing more and more members into homes, just to keep their Jerusalem IDs. If a family gets evicted and/or their house is demolished, they move in with another family. Thus, 88 homes means that more than 1,500 people will be homeless. The reason? “The area … is one of the most important areas with regards to the history of Jerusalem, with holy sites important to Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. Because its significant importance to the more than 3 billion people of faith around the world, it is also a tourist destination.” Moreover, “It is important to the future of Jerusalem that this area be treated with the utmost strategic importance. Emek HaMelech [Silwan] is not intended for residential development but rather it is intended to be an open public space.” They're planning to bulldoze 88 homes, and uproot 1,500 people, for a park. They believe that the space is where the home of David, from the bible, was located. There is no certainty though.
In reaction to this, all of the West Bank had a "dr'ab" (strike) last Saturday. Pretty much all of the stores, schools, and other businesses were closed. It was monumental, because even the private schools followed the strike, which normally doesn't happen. The governmental, or public, schools strike more often. Bethlehem was basically dead.
This is a good article to read about the Silwan village demolitions.
My personal anecdote for this blog is completely unrelated to the house demolitions, but here it is. One of the boys in kindergarten crawled onto my lap the other day and started playing with my scarf. I wear a scarf/pashmina almost every day here, just to keep warm in the cold buildings. He first pulled it from side to side, then eventually took it off. He happens to be Muslim, which may or may not be why he did this. He gently touched my collarbone, which was now exposed from not wearing my scarf and he said, "Hada helway. Zay hic." (This is beautiful. Like this.) When I picked my scarf back up, he said, "La, la. Helway badoun." (No, no. It's beautiful without.) It was a really interesting interaction with him.
Personal note, those of you who know my mom and know that she's visiting right now, know that she got here safe and sound yesterday. We're going up to see Nativity Church and the Milk Grotto in a bit.
**Pray for the people of Silwan.
**Pray for peace for both Israel and Palestine.
**Pray for Michelle as she starts her new life in Afghanistan.
Salaam,
Meredith
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Greatest of These is Love...
(1 Corinthians 15)
1 If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 4 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. 7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. 9 For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; 10 but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. 11 When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. 12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. 13 And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
Today's blog post is a brief one and it's about love.Today's worship at Christmas included the infamous "love is patient" passage from Paul's letter to the Corinthians. I say it's infamous, because, well, it is, but also because it's typically used for weddings or other romantic occasions (*see the hospital sick scene with Mandy Moore in A Walk to Remember). I think this struck me today in church, more so than normally, about the type of love within friends and people. I thought of Randy's "Agape" meal during staff training at Lutherlyn every year. Agape love, which is the "Christian love" of the Bible, means affection, benevolence, good-will, high esteem and concern for the welfare of the one loved. It is deliberate, purposeful love rather than emotional or impulsive love.
So I then read this description of "love", and I can't help but to think about Valentine's Day. I've never been depressed on Valentine's Day, or "Singles Awareness Day" as a lot of people say. I've also never seen Valentine's day as a romantic holiday. The holiday has always meant getting cards and chocolate from my mom, and has recently included writing valentines to friends, very retro. I mean, come on, how many college juniors fill out Batman valentines for their friends? Valentine's Day isn't about roses and teddy bears. It's about love.
Agape love, or the concern for the welfare of someone, is very much like my Valentine's Day love. It's meant to make others feel loved and cherished, and not for a romantic purpose. Paul's letter to the Corinthians further supports this agape love. Listening to the EAPPI that read this passage in church today, perhaps because he's British and it just sounded that much more elegant, I feel like I understand it more now.
"If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing." I have by no means given away all of my possessions. In fact, I feel like I haven't given up much in being a volunteer here. I've given up some mere conveniences for a year, but that's not that much in the grand scheme of things. I get the sense that people at home feel like I'm doing something much bigger than I think I'm doing. I'm rambling now. The point is, that even with living here and "giving up" some basic things to live here, if I'm doing it for my resume or doing it so that I can say, "I lived in Palestine!" then I'm not doing it for the right reason. The motive behind why you do something speaks much louder than the action itself. I gain nothing if I do something without love.
I am here with love. I first wrote, "I think I'm doing this with love," but I changed it, because I am. I constantly tell kids that I love them, and they tell me. When asked how I find Bethlehem, I always respond, "Bethlehem helu ikteer. Behebo hone." (Bethlehem is very beautiful. I love it here.) I'm in love with my work, as difficult and trying as it is. I love the people. I love the landscapes. I love the food. I love the way they kiss 'hello.' I love that they welcome me here, and love me.
One of the kindergartener's moms saw me at church this morning. I had just said good morning to her daughter, who just sort of stared at me. Kids here either pretend like they don't know me or they're all over me outside of school. It was the former. I looked up at her mom and shrugged. Her mom, without any prodding, said, "They love you, Miss Merry. So much!" And I love them.
That was a somewhat disjointed blog post, and with no cultural significance, but they were thoughts I wanted to share.
With all my love,
Meredith
Friday, February 20, 2009
Dear future YAGM...
Once again, I've put off writing a blog post, not because I had too much to write, but I felt like I had nothing to write. I'm sure once I start rambling, I'll be proven wrong. Here we go.
I think the most pressing thought is that I've been sick...again. I know this blog isn't meant for you to know about my personal health ailments. Apparently, past YAGM have used this ministry tool to inform the world of each time they had a bad, eh, "food episode," if you catch my drift. I'll spare you those details. Though, I don't have any of those details yet...knock on would. Anyway, I have a virus. Again. I say again, and I say this in a blog post, because I've been sick here more in the last six months, than I have in all four years of college combined. I've been to the doctor three times here, and that doesn't include every sinus infection, cold, or other ailment. Most have been sinus/congestion related.
I want to use this opportunity to not only explain the medical world here, but also about the differences in environment that could be causing repeated illness.
There are a lot of doctors, clinics, and pharmacies here. In fact, you don't have to go to a doctor to get medicine from a pharmacy. I would like to think some stuff requires permission, but I had a friend walk into a lab, order a comprehensive blood test, get the results, and go about her merry day--no doctor involved. Pharmacies are really numerous here. For instance, when a friend of mine was sick a few months ago, she asked me to pick up her prescription for her. She told me to check if there was a pharmacy open on my way, just in case the one across from her house wasn't open. I counted something like, 5 pharmacies within a block of her house. She does live near the main intersection in Bethlehem, but still.
Most people don't have insurance here. Medicine and doctors are also really cheap here. I went to the clinic the other day, and my visit was 15 NIS and my CBC (blood test) was another 15 NIS. Both, meaning 30 NIS, converts to like, $8. So, $8 for a doctor's visit and a blood test is CHEAP by our standards.
There are slightly different sanitary concerns here. I say this to be educational, not to upset anyone or poorly misrepresent the facilities here. The doctors and nurses are well trained, most being trained in Jordan or the United States, but we, as Westerners, have different "standards." Neither we, nor "they", are wrong, but we're different, and that's okay! In my experiences, as I can ONLY speak from my experiences, rubber gloves are not popular here. I had blood drawn, no gloves. The needle came from a vacuum-sealed pack--don't worry, Mom! There was a mystery drop of blood on the floor from someone other than myself.
I feel like there were probably a few other "concerns," but I wasn't phased by them. Not only is this my third visit to a doctor here, but I'm going on six months living here. I'm not phased by much. In fact, this is why I don't have much to blog about. Not much seems "new" or "different." Life is life here. I work. I go to church. I hang out with friends. I take a yoga class. Life is life. As I said last blog post, life is good.
The other piece of the health thought was talking about the various environmental causes for potentially being sick as often as I have been. My roommates have also been sick as much as I have, if not more, so I feel like there are definitely outside factors. To start with, it is a completely different country, with different viruses, and different "air" as everyone says. We haven't had the necessary rain here, so a lot of "stuff" is still floating in the air. There is very poor ventilation...everywhere. Pretty much everyone smokes here. All the gasoline is leaded, no unleaded gas. Washing hands is not normal (my roommates got meat from the butcher a few weeks ago and found raw meat chilling on the outside of the bag). The buildings collect moisture, because of the stone, so we had a nasty mold problem in our house. It seems to have cleared up, but who knows what we don't see. I think the final issue, and probably the most pressing, is that I work with kindergarteners. Kids are gross. I love them, but I've had more snot and mucus on me, from them, than I need to ever have. I've come to the conclusion that Palestine should fight against Israeli occupation with chemical warfare...known as kindergarteners. The new and improved Weapon of Mass Destruction!
The illness issues are especially frustrating, since I specifically got a series of vaccinations before I came here. Granted, you can't be protected from everything. I understand this. I mean, I remember the year that my whole family got the flu shot, except me, and they all actually got the flu, and I didn't. There are no guarantees when it comes to communicable germs, except that you WILL get them if you're supposed to get them. I think I got the Hepatitis A, Hepatitis C, and Typhoid vaccination, in addition to a Tetanus booster. The joy of the Typhoid vaccination, was that I didn't get to start taking it until right before I left, due to a series of unfortunate events. Typhoid needs to be refrigerated. I flew out of Pittsburgh with my Typhoid on some ice cubes in a Ziploc baggy. I told the airport TSA staff that I had "medicine" that needed refrigerated. I didn't lie. I also didn't mention that it was live Typhoid. I flew from Pittsburgh to Chicago, with my iced Typhoid. I then got a cup of ice from Starbucks to restock my ice, once I got into Chicago. We had to wait for some others to get in, then a drive to the University of Chicago campus, where we were staying during our in-country YAGM orientation. I carried my Starbucks cup of ice and Typhoid with me the entire rest of the day, restocking it when I passed an ice machine. I finally found a refrigerator in our residence hall that night. I was dubbed 'Typhoid Girl" quickly, because I had to brag what I had in my Starbucks cup. Oh, and none of the other YAGMs heading to the West Bank or Jerusalem got the Typhoid vaccination. I was special.
I relive this strange adventure, not to remind other YAGM of their second interaction with me, the first being our interviews. I also do not tell this story to make any of you concerned to travel, not knowing what others might actually be carrying in their Starbucks cups. Lastly, I don't tell you this to inform you that I am now, unsusceptible to Typhoid--which I am...in theory. I tell you this story for this purpose:
Dear Future YAGM or World Traveller Extraordinaires,
Skip the Typhoid vaccination. Buy a plastic bubble suit, complete with usable arms and legs.
Love,
Meredith
I don't think that this post has been the most useful to your own personal lives, but I hope it was mildly amusing. It's the mood I'm in right now.
A brief, slightly more sweet story, is that my neighbors invited me in for dessert a few months ago, and lunch a few weeks ago. I wanted to repay them, so I brought them some cake. At which point, they served me the cake they had made. This wasn't insulting my cake, but it was that hospitality they're known for. I played with their kids, two of which go to Dar Al-Kalima, and take swimming with me. Their one daughter saw me in school a few days later and asked me to come to their house after school (with no English...I understood her Arabic. Score.) I couldn't promise her that day, so I went back the next day. I went over later in the evening and played with the girls for awhile. They had balloons and were just having a blast. Their mom told them it was time for bed, but they were protesting. I swooped them up and tucked each one into bed. They loved it. I loved it. They didn't fight! It was so sweet to be able to just kiss each of them on the forehead and know that I made their night as special as they made mine. The family also gave me a gift of a scene from The Last Supper, hand-carved out of olivewood, because that's the father's business. It is so, so special to me! I insisted he autograph the back of it. I stood up to leave a bit later and the parents insisted I stay longer. It wasn't fake. It was real. We watched TV, talked about Obama, talked about the kids, talked about America, anything and everything. The mom has awesome English and the dad has none, so I did my best in Arabic, but she had to translate some. I learned like, ten new Arabic words just from that evening alone though. I'm really thankful for their family and that night. :)
I also think I mentioned that Paul was coming back awhile ago. Well, he's back! His sister Anni is responding really positively to the cancer treatments she's been getting. Anni is 19 and has had cancer like, five times since she was 12. This is the best she's ever received a treatment though, so we're all really happy! Keep praying for their family though.
Prayer Requests:
**Pray for eternal peace for Mrs. Wolfe. She passed away this week. She will be greatly missed, but as my mom said, "She'll be with her Nevin." Also, please pray for her family.
**Pray for Cinnamon and her family.
**Pray for Andrea and Aphera.
**Pray for those struggling with finding a future or understanding a past.
New Facebook photo albums:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013045&id=175200680&l=40869
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013046&id=175200680&l=d81af
They mostly contain pictures of my kindergarteners at DAK. There are some pictures from the Holmans' housewarming party (the Pastor Mark and Marcia, of Redeemer Lutheran in Jerusalem), an engagement party, and welcoming Paul back.
With great joy,
Meredith
PS...service at Redeemer Lutheran in Jerusalem last Sunday was PHENOMENAL!!! I can't totally explain it, but the music was great, there were a lot of people, and just a good worship planned. Kudos, Pastor Mark and Pastor Mike. My favorite new hymn was there too, which is #723 in the new cranberry hymnal. It's call the "Canticle of Turning." I feel like I've referenced it before, but here it is again. It's really very powerful to me right now.
My soul cries out with a joyful shout that the God of my heart is great,
And my spirit sings of the wondrous things that you bring to the ones who wait.
You fixed your sight on the servant's plight, and my weakness you did not spurn,
So from east to west shall my name be blest. Could the world be about to turn?
Refrain:
My heart shall sing of the day you bring.
Let the fires of your justice burn.
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near,
And the world is about to turn.
Though I am small, my God, my all, you work great things in me.
And your mercy will last from the depths of the past to the end of the age to be.
Your very name puts the proud to shame, and to those who would for you yearn.
You will show your might, put the strong to flight, for the world is about to turn.
Refrain
From the halls of power to the fortress tower, not a stone will be left on stone.
Let the king beware for your justice tears ev'ry tyrant from his throne.
The hungry poor shall weep no more, for the food they can never earn;
There are tables spread, ev'ry mouth be fed, for the world is about to turn.
Refrain
Though the nations rage from age to age, we remember who holds us fast:
God's mercy must deliver us from the conqueror's crushing grasp.
This saving word that our forebears heard is the promise which holds us bound,
'Til the spear and rod can be crushed by God, who is turning the world around.
My heart shall sing of the day you bring.
Let the fires of your justice burn.
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near,
And the world is about to turn.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Life is life. Very good.
Masa il'her! (Good evening!)
By the time I come home in July, I expect you to all know the amount of Arabic I've used in my blogs, so we can communicate. There will be a test.
I haven't written in a few days. It's not because I haven't wanted to, but it's because I feel like I've lacked anything significant to write about. I think that's significant in itself. People ask me how I'm doing and if there's anything new. I seriously don't have anything new to say, because life is life here.
My mom's coming to visit me soon...one month from today, actually!!! I've been thinking about what will seem peculiar to her when she's here, versus what I think is peculiar, now that I've lived here for almost six months.
On my list, I could only come up with a few things that still stand out as "odd" to me. The shepherds will occasionally herd their flock through the streets of Bethlehem. I'm still not over that. In fact, there are a few shepherds that bring their flock into our front yard to eat garbage. I went to dump water off the porch one day and would have dumped it onto six sheep nibbling on our porch. The fact that there are an absurd number of police officers on the street right now, that direct traffic, rather than installing traffic lights seems odd. I think that's about all I can come up with. I mean, I'm fairly used to being honked at constantly. People honk here for a wide range of reasons--taxis offering rides, friends saying hello, cars letting other cars know that they're behind them, to "flirt" with young women walking on the street, and probably other reasons too. I'm so used to honking now, and not turning around for a honk, unless my name is used, that I actually almost got hit by a small bus tonight. Good times.
I think it will be interesting to have her come here and realize how many things are normal. I mean, I was in Jerusalem the other day, on the bus, and one of the Muslim prayer times had just ended. Traffic was backed up and the Old City walls were on the left and we had just come through an intersection where you can see the Dome of the Rock. There were over one hundred hijab-clad women and men carrying prayer rugs. That is so normal for what I see on a daily basis. That's not normal in my Marion Center or Greensburg or Butler life. It's just not.
I'm sure what is "normal" changes with each place you live. I mean, I went to New York City last spring, for the first time actually, with my mom and my sister. My mom grew up on Staten Island, NYC. Watching her in the city was like watching a beautiful swimmer or a skilled pianist. She was so in her element. She knew how to get around, despite living away from there for at least 30 years. It was phenomenal! She lives in Marion Center now, where knowing how to use crosswalks (NYC crosswalks, that is), the subway, and how to hail a cab, aren't exactly helpful. Her "normal" has changed. My normal has changed. I don't think I know how significantly it has changed yet though.
On a brief note, school was good this week. The kids were half misbehaving severely and half extremely darling and sweet. For instance, the little boy that used to fill the soap dispenser with water decided to slap my butt on Tuesday. He slapped it so hard, that I yelped, and grabbed my butt in pain. It hurt! For a five year-old, that kid has a hard hit! I told him I was very upset and asked him if that's how he treats his friend. He just sorta smiled devilishly. The teacher walked in the room right as I asked him this, so she asked what happened. I told her. I left shortly after that, so I don't know what happened that day. The next day I went in though, his two cousins, who are also in the class, came over and said, "Yessin mit esef, habibti." (Yessin is sorry, sweeheart.) I just said, "Tayyib." (Okay). I kinda had forgotten about it at this point. It was a new day. I wasn't holding a grudge against a five year-old. I have more important things to hold grudges about! He looked really upset and was sitting by himself though. When I finished helping the student I was working with, I stood up and Yessin came over. He gently took my hand and said, "Ana mit esef, habibti. Bihebick, habibti." (I'm sorry, sweeheart. I love you, sweeheart.) And proceeded to very sweetly kiss my hand. I melted. :)
Yessin's cousin, Nadim, also had an interesting English breakthrough this week. I'm not really sure where he learned it, but he suddenly started saying, "Very good", while holding a 'thumbs up'. He clicks his tongue and sort of winks after he says it too. It's so funny!
One of my favorite recent successes was last week sometime. The kindergarten teacher, Miss Halla, handed me a bunch of things to hang back up on the bulletin boards. I hung her laminated Arabic letters first, because they were just magnets and I know which way they go. She had also handed me these little foam numbers with plus, minus, and equals signs. It took me about ten minutes, but after looking at the number chart on the wall (with no English on it, mind you), I put the equations on the board. Math equations read right to left, just like words do, so it wasn't quite what I expected. After I finished rearranging it several times to be correct, I stepped back and just sort of nodded my head. Miss Halla was working with the class on the carpet, and she noticed what I had done and started yelling excitedly, "Shatra ikteer, Miss Merry! Inti shatra! Shuft, tulab, heyay mumtaaz!" (Very clever/smart, Miss Merry! You're smart! Look, students, she's very interesting!) The kids didn't seem nearly impressed, but I think it's because they still haven't figured out that I don't actually speak Arabic. In fact, at least one kid, almost daily, asks Miss Halla why she talks to me in English. I have to remind myself that they're five years old. :)
The custodian/random woman (they seem to have a lot of people here that act as "whatever needs done, I'll do it" type of people) has started trying to teach me more Arabic. It's really sweet, because I thought she hated me. She just seemed unhappy and would walk past me everytime I said good morning. I think we're finding our relationship now though.
I think that's all from the Holy Land.
Remember: questions, comments, or concerns are always welcomed!!!
**I ask that you continue praying for Cinnamon. It sounds like things are getting worse and much harder for her family. Pray for her mom especially.
**Pray for Andrea. She has experienced a great loss.
**Pray for Aphera. She has also experienced a great loss, and doesn't know how this will affect her work.
**Pray for Paul coming back to us, but also for Anne and his family.
Just love. It's sometimes all we have, but that's like saying all you have is a-bazillion dollars.
Always,
Meredith
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