June 2002

Dear Friends,

Last fall I went to Israel and the occupied territories of the Palestinian West Bank as a Christian peacemaker with twelve other Presbyterians organized by Presbyterian Peace Fellowship.

Though there is plenty to write from the U.S./Mexico border, the violence in Israel and Palestine is on my heart right now. After my experience there, it is easy to imagine the fear of suicide bombings in Israeli communities and the terror of full-blown Israeli military operations in the West Bank. Here are some excerpts from the e-mails I wrote to Kitty and Teo during my time in Bethlehem and Jerusalem.

Teo, I think of you so much because I’m meeting many children about your age. Two days ago in Bethlehem, I met a 6-year-old girl named Safa. I wish you could meet her. Even though you don’t speak her language, Arabic, and she doesn’t speak English or Spanish, I know you would have a great time playing with beanie babies and horses together. She goes to first grade just like you do, although she couldn’t go to school at all last week because there were soldiers in her city who said that no one was allowed to go outside. So
for ten days she and her brother George couldn’t go outside to play and couldn’t go to school either. They live one block from the church that is built where Jesus was born, so maybe this year when we celebrate Christmas we can think of them and their family.

Kitty, it really boils down to “It’s the occupation, stupid.” I’ve never seen anything like this. Boundaries are so tightly drawn around communities, or even neighborhoods, that Palestinians can’t move. Soldiers are everywhere, although I’m learning that I, as an international, have little to fear from them and a great deal more to fear from the settlers, who truly are Zealots and loose canons. One secular Jew we met this week said that some 150,000 ideological settlers are holding everyone hostage—moderate Jews, the Israeli government and military, and, of course, all Palestinians.

To the best of our knowledge, we were the first international visitors to Bethlehem since the military siege began. I have photos of a four- or five-block neighborhood with some tourist shops that was completely destroyed on the first day of the occupation here. This apparently had never happened in Bethlehem before. We walked down the street interviewing, mourning with, and just trying to be supportive of families who had lost everything.

What’s hardest for me is watching parents interact with their children. A man named Magdi whose home was shot at repeatedly invited us into his home and shared their story while his wife served us tea. His 4-year-old son climbed into his lap as he spoke. As he spoke, sniper fire sounded, and he nervously checked the windows to decide whether he needed to move us all into a backroom. I met his 12-year-old niece, who was shot in the chest a week earlier as she was sitting at her kitchen table. Magdi and his brother took turns carrying her through the gunfire several blocks to where the ambulance could arrive. (She’s OK, at least, physically.)

For the last ten days, children wake up each morning and ask their parents whether the tanks are gone and they can go back to school. It reminds me of the way we would check for snow each morning when I was growing up in Pennsylvania, except that we looked forward to snow days. When I think of how what this must be like for these children who are Teo’s age, it almost breaks my heart.

It was so good to be in Bethlehem for the Israeli pull back this morning. Children went back to school, cars were in the street, and people were walking around. The clean up was already beginning where the worst of the destruction took place.

I met an engineer in his forties who describes himself as an Israeli, a secular Jew, and a moderate. He served six years in the Israeli military and lived for fifteen years in the United States. He now lives with his wife (a U.S. citizen) and their 4-year-old son in a beautiful neighborhood of condominiums in east Jerusalem, which many Palestinians would refer to as an economic settlement. From his balcony he can see the neighborhood of Gilo (another area Palestinians would call a settlement), which is perched on a hill across the valley from Beit Jala, a Palestinian city, and only a couple of miles from
the outskirts of Bethlehem. Gunfire and shelling between Gilo and Beit Jala is a regular occurrence. Here are a few of his thoughts:

“There are two defining realities that affect everything. One is the military occupation of the West Bank, which is totally destructive on both sides. The other is the Intifada, which affects everything: mood, economy, feelings, safety, etc. We’ve never seen anything like suicide bombers, and there is no known remedy. When my family goes anywhere in public, we wonder about the possibility of a terrorist attack. When I put my son to bed at night, gunships are flying over our neighborhood. The major difference between us is that Palestinians hate us, and we are afraid of them, afraid to walk in our own cities. Both sides are running out of time. We can all imagine the possibility of a calamity. Imagining the challenge of peace is to imagine how we’ll create true democracy.”