There is a certain guilt I feel when I tell my family that I am going to Jerusalem for the day because I feel like I am somehow flaunting the fact that they can not go there.
I can't say how many times here I have questioned why I was born to hold this magic blue passport that lets me go where ever I want. I have never really thought about how precious my freedom of movement is until being here in Palestine. There are checkpoints and walls that separate families and friends, Palestinians from Palestinians. Many people here have never been able to swim in the Mediterranean (which I have swum in several times in the period of the past 5 months) or even get to the Dead Sea (half of which is technically in the West Bank according to the Green Line).
I returned from a day at the Dead Sea a couple weeks ago and my host mom asked me how it went. I told her about the fun of lounging in the sea and spreading mud all over ourselves; how we almost weren't allowed in because our bus driver was Palestinian (we had to do some negotiating with the soldiers at the checkpoint). She was happy that I had a good time, but there are no words to describe the look on her face as she said, "Well, we can never go there."

I spent Saturday with a friend in Ramallah. We wandered through the markets downtown, grabbed a coffee at "Stars and Bucks," the Palestinian knockoff of Starbucks (in its own way it is so much better). We each got a new piercing and did a bit of shopping. I really had a blast speaking in my broken Arabic to the shopkeepers-inshallah I am improving my language skills every day.
We wandered into a gold jewelery shop and the owner was so happy to discover that we are living in Beit Sahour and volunteering with a group involved in non-violent resistance, that he sent an employee out to buy us a cold drinks from the store next door and welcomed us to his home for dinner the next time we are in Ramallah. He told us of the difficulty of movement for the Palestinians, that they cannot even go to the beach for the day. He was eager share with us the world's misconceptions about Islam and assure us that it is, in reality, a peaceful religion that respects other religions and holds Jesus in very high esteem.
My friend was able to get in touch with her friend who lives just outside of Ramallah- They met at a youth peace delegation in Egypt four years ago. It was great to see them reunite after so long. We did a little more shopping, stopped for ice-cream and then went back to her house in a nearby village.
The landscape just took my breath away as we wound up a road surrounded by hundreds of olive trees. We picked some peaches from the trees that lined the driveway before going inside the house. From the upper balcony on a clear day, you can see to Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean Sea in one direction and then to the mountains of Jordan in the other.
There is something about this land. It is hard to describe what it is exactly, but it has this enchanting quality-so much blood has been shed over it.
As always, when welcomed into a Palestinian household, we were offered several cups of coffee and tea and were fed until we were about to pop.
Before leaving, we listened to our friend's mom speak about her experience since the Nakba ("Catastrophe" in Arabic referring to 1948-when Israel declared independence and Palestinians were expelled from their lands). She told us the story of her Aunt who was displaced from her home in what is now Ein Kerem, Jerusalem and forced to live as a refugee- her house still stands and is now occupied by and Israeli family. She told us of her husband's land surrounding their house that was stolen by the nearby Israeli settlement: How the water resources are being channeled to these settlements while Palestinians often go days without water. Her husband had to spent ten years working in the States in order for the family to keep their land and their house because there is very little employment in Palestine- she raised her children alone those ten years.
But in the end, she spoke of her hope: that Occupation will not last forever and Palestine will one day be a nation. It was so inspiring to hear her speak of this hope- Even I have fallen into periods of despair here in Palestine and I am only witnessing the situation -she has endured it her whole life.

We took a shared taxi home from Ramallah after it got dark. There is a checkpoint between Ramallah and Bethlehem (despite the fact that it is a Palestinian only road in the middle of the West Bank). As we were passing through, the Israeli soldier happened to shine the flashlight in the car and saw me and my friend in the back. He started yelling for us to stop- Several soldiers ran over to the car and yelled at the driver:
"Where are you going?!"
He replied calmly, "To Bethlehem"
Then they turned to us- blinding us with the flashlight-
"Where are YOU going"
"to Bethlehem"
"Where are you from"
"Bethlehem"
Again the soldier asked, "Where are you going?!"
(By this point I was getting a bit fed up)
"We are going to Bethlehem. We LIVE in Bethlehem"
"Where are you from?"
"America, but we live in Bethlehem!"
"Do you know where you are going?"
"YES. WE LIVE IN BETHLEHEM!"
"ok, have fun," we heard them remark sarcastically as they slammed the door.
We drove away and everyone in the taxi burst out laughing.
A perfect end to an awesome day.

Life goes on.

I am finding that in the few free moments I have to sit down and write about my time here in Palestine, I am at a loss of words. Perhaps because it takes too much mental, emotional and spiritual energy to write about my experiences here. When I first arrived, I wanted to shout about all the injustices I see here , to expose what is really happening on the ground: what the rest of the world just can't see through such the limited lenses of the media. But it gets harder and harder to only speak the oppression and the suffering without rejoicing in the beauty of the people and the culture here in Palestine that cannot be marred by the ugly wall that closes in on all sides.
Everyday I wake up to a rooster and the man yelling "caik caik! ...caik caik!" outside my window. I sit and have delicious thick-as-mud coffee with my host mom before heading out for the day. By the time I huff and puff up the gigantic hill that takes me to the old city of Beit Sahour, I meet the "caik" man pushing his cart of bread and a woman sitting on the ground with a spread of grape leaves for sale. I hold my breath through the alley where they keep chickens and sell fakous (a mix between a zucchini and a cucumber, famous here in Beit Sahour). This week I bought a kilo of fakous for 5 shekels and brought them in to the clinic for the staff- just a meager offering for their continued kindness- they are constantly giving me food and tea.
After spending the morning at the clinic, I catch a rickety old bus up to the Bethlehem bus station and then hop in another shared taxi to get the Bethlehem Bible College where I have Arabic class. The heat is sometimes unbearable sitting shoulder to shoulder in that taxi... and perhaps I feel slightly more claustrophobic as we loop around next to the Wall and the Azzeh Refugee Camp that houses thousands within a half square kilometer. I find that you can't quite escape from the presence that wall , the watchtowers and the graffiti that continually asks "Where is the Peace?"
I love walking through the market from the bus stop in Beit Jala to Manger Square in Bethlehem. I don't have to buy anything, but just to walk through and take in the sights and sounds and smells is enough. When I practice speaking Arabic with shopkeepers and they find that I am living here in Beit Sahour and volunteering, I am not just a tourist but a friend... By the time I reach Manger Square I am full from sweet tea and coffee and great conversation.

At the clinic yesterday one of the doctors asked me how I find the people of Palestine. I replied that I love the people, that they have welcomed me as family. He said "then you must go home and tell them that we are nice, the Palestinian people. People do not know this."

wedding bells

My host mom's sister got married last night.
I borrowed a dress from one of the women in the family (I don't know who exactly) after trying on several to no avail- apparently I am taller than most women here.
My host cousin decided he would pay for me to get my hair done. (He also later decided to be my body guard for the evening). My host mom did my make up: I don't think I have ever worn so much blue eye shadow in my life.
The wedding party was a blast. After the church ceremony we all proceeded to the reception hall- There were about two hundred people, which is a small number of guests, considering my host mom had over 600 people at her wedding. Inevitably the guest list grows as my host mom put it, in Beit Sahour "if you are not family, you are a neighbor or a friend."
When the bride and groom arrived everyone hit the dance floor and they were quickly lifted up on chairs above our heads as everyone clapped and danced to the live band.
There was so much food, music and dancing. I think I may have done some permanent damage to my feet from dancing in such high heels, but it was well worth it!
We finally stumbled into bed around two-thirty in the morning...

Margaret Thatcher.

I think this exact conversation has repeated itself about 10 times in the past week, not including 4 times today:
(Meeting someone for the first time)
Me: Marhaban! (Hello)
Reply: Ahlan wa sahlan! Kief halik? (Welcome! how are you?)
Me: mabsuta, shukran (I'm good, thank you)
Reply: Shoo Ismik? (What is your name?)
Me: Margaret
Reply: Margaret Thatcher!!