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
1 comment:
Love you. There will always be fuzzy almond boys. You're right. All you can do is love them.
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