Olive Harvest

We were "on the road" 10/31 - 11/3. For two of those nights we stayed in hotels that were pretty empty. Tourism has really suffered here - which is most evident in Bethlehem. As we are coming into the holiday season, it is very strange to not see a lot of people in manger square.

On our way to Jenin, to visit the Palestinian Fair Trade Association (PFTA) and the Olive Harvest festival, we had to leave our bus and divide up between several vans. I think that the bus and driver did not have the 'proper' ID to travel in that area. The roads were insane and the drivers drove like it was the Audubon. One of the guys in the delegation was sitting up front with the driver and he was complimenting the driver on the music he was playing - it was a popular Palestinian artist. The driver then said "I like" as he put in a new tape. All of a sudden the van was filled with Hotel California (the live version). The lyric "You can check out, but you can never leave" took on a new surreal meaning.

In Berquin we saw where the fair trade oil is bottled and heard the story of the fair trade movement in Palestine. With the high unemployment rate due to the restrictions on movement, agriculture has a renewed importance in Palestinian life. After touring the facility we traveled to the Harvest Festival where the farmers were celebrating their efforts. It was an off year for the olives, made worse by the difficulty in accessing their land. The music was intoxicating and I even danced - but the stars of the night were Esther and Adam, two others from our group. The oddest moment was when one of the women asked if I spoke German.

We left the festival for our home stay families, and there was some confusion of who was going where. I am not sure if I ended up where I was supposed to be, but I ended up where I needed to be. On the way we stopped at olive processing plant, where the men were very proud to show us their work. When we arrived at the home where we were staying, I think everyone had already gotten ready for bed. But they were so gracious - the mother made tea and coffee and served cookies. Everyone in the house got up to talk with us - they were so interested in learning about us and in sharing their story. They had a lot of questions - I even took a stab at explaining American farm policy. The father (the local Fatah leader) had heard that in America we dump wheat into the sea. He also wondered how he can answer his friends when they say to him "Americans can go anywhere, why would they come here? - they must be spies". Later, after most everyone had turned in for the night, I had a very good conversation with the nephew Bakeer. He seemed to be really struggling with the "right" role for women. Earlier he had told us that all they wanted us to do when we returned home was to "Tell the truth - just tell the truth". I told him he had a job too, to tell the truth to the people he knows, that there are Americans that care, and aren't spies.

The next day we helped to harvest olives - though I question that we were much help. The family was most interested in talking with us and eventually we all ended up inside - the men on the back porch and the women inside. We met a couple of very charming sisters who delighted in sharing their English with us. This family had their own well, which we learned later was a rare thing. The father was very proud in offering us water to take with us when we left.

Later we learned more about PFTA and saw Jenin camp, where the Israelis had bulldozed homes and businesses in retaliation for suicide bombings (many bombers have come from Jenin and the "martyrs posters" were everywhere). We also took a trip to the martyrs’ cemetery and saw the Jenin horse which was constructed from cars demolished in the raid - even a portion of an ambulance was visible. That night we returned to Ramallah to stay at, yes, the Best Eastern (complete with an Olive Garden and Popeye's restaurants). I was lucky in getting my own room. I liked my roommate, but I was ready for some alone time. We had dinner with Jean Zaru, the clerk of Ramallah Friends meeting. It was good to hear about the work that they were doing. The next day we returned to Jerusalem.

Yalla Yalla

To anyone taking this kind of journey - I suggest take a couple of weeks out of "real life" after you return. Real life is jealous and guards its time against anything that would take you away from it. I feel guilty not devoting enough time to this "new life" but the old one, where so many responsibilities are, demands my attention. There are so many things I need to do, still; articles and letters I want to write, a presentation I need to finish and still yet more reading. Everyday more information floods in on this wonderful thing called the Internet.

Living Under Attack

On our second day we drove to Sderot where up to 50 Kassam rockets fall each day, launched by militants in Gaza. We had lunch at a café which provides opportunities for what we in the US would call Alternative Education. High school students that are having difficulty in school have an opportunity there to work and study outside of the traditional class room. In Sderot the drop out rate is very high – near 50%. This is – in part - due to the stress of life “under attack” but also because the population of Sderot is mostly later immigrants from eastern Europe, who have had a much more difficult time finding acceptance in the greater Israeli society.

Following lunch we met several members of the urban kibbutz Migvan. They spoke of their “seven years of hell” living with daily rocket attacks. But most astonishing was their lack of anger at Gazans in general. They understood (better than many we met later, who did not have that direct experience) that not only did the militants launching the attack not represent the broader population of Gaza, but also that the occupation creates the situation where people feel that violence is their only voice. One woman spoke quietly of her despair, “I am living in Sderot for 20 years. I never lost empathy with the other side. I find myself unable to sleep, not because of the kassams but because of the Israeli army. For a time they bombed 24 hours a day. They committed crimes. Sometimes I feel ashamed of what the occupation has made of the Israeli State.”

Later we were taken by Coby Harush, the military officer in charge in Sderot, to an overlook where we could not only see the northern border of Gaza, but also how close it is to Sderot. As we stood there Coby received word that a kassam and several mortars had been fired, but toward an area not near us. We later found out that the mortars did not make it outside of Gaza and the Kassam fell in a field away from any population.

As we were looking toward Gaza, greenhouses and homes were visible, but they fall with in the “no-go” zone. This is an area of several kilometers where Gazans are not allowed for “security reasons”. We could also see the listening posts and a couple of drones with listening equipment overhead. One of the targets of the missile attacks is the power plant at the northern border. Even the young woman who earlier had been very sympathetic to the Gazans was mystified at why they would bomb the source of power. She did not understand that the “power” the militants were objecting to was the power of the Israelis to use electricity as a tool of control.

Earlier, on our way to Sderot we stopped at Erez Crossing which had been the major point of entry into Israel for Gazan laborers. With the closure of the border by Israel, Erez was eerily quiet and the guards seemed bored. After leaving Erez a couple of Blackhawk helicopters flew over, heading toward Gaza. Our guide, very matter of fact, said “Someone will die today.” When we arrived back at the hotel we found out that in fact an insurgent and 4 civilians had been killed.