Musings

The drive this afternoon is beautiful. Hills terraced with olive trees. The city in the distance disappearing from view. We’re heading to a town now. Our mouths quiet, either reading protocols, scrolling on our phones or sitting and thinking about the days to come.

This morning we left our flat to head to the servis (pronounced "Sir-VEES"). Our bags are heavy and the air is hot and sticky. The streets lined with people going every direction. The street vendors yelling in Arabic. I can only imagine they are saying things like, “bananas here,” “wonderful lemons this way,” “come and get some cucumbers.” It all looks so delicious, I want to stop and eat it all! But there is no time. We must get to the station to catch our servis. Sometimes it's hard to find one going where you want to go. 

They tell us the drive can take three to six hours. In the United States we understand heavy traffic, but this is such a small area, how can this be? How does the drive take this long? How could it possibly be doubled? I’m told the Israeli Occupation Forces regularly just close roads. I think back to life in Wisconsin, how lanes sometimes close and inconvenience us, but this isn’t like that. There are no repairs being done on Palestinian roads. They are not closed because there is a major accident. Our driver has to regularly stop to check with other drivers to see if he can continue the way he knows. The Palestinians are not regularly updated with current road closures. 

So why? It hurts my heart to think of chipping away at a people’s sanity. Since COVID we have all realized the impact our mental health has on the quality of our lives. All people should have the right to live in an environment they have comfort in, feel safe in. That said, what about my Palestinian brothers and sisters?