Reflection

 We are all relieved that Oct 7th passed relatively uneventfully. Compared to when I was last here, over 25 years ago, Palestinians are less likely to greet each other with the traditional greetings, expressions of peace and the goodness of the day. The truth is the last two years have been especially difficult, often lacking in peace and goodness. Everyone here in the West Bank has friends and relatives in Gaza, where a classroom full of children have been exterminated by Israel, with US weapons, every single day for the last two years. For the anniversary, I started reading some of the names of the 18.5k children killed. I got through 5%, just over 900 names. I invite you to read 50 of them. Spain has recently found the courage to stop arming Israel, but as everyone says here, the US is the mother of Israel, so I don't expect our own government to follow suit.

I write from the Southern Hebron Hills, where I am taking "a night in" at the international volunteer flat after staying with five different Palestinian families (sleeping in their main room -- a living room/dining room/bedroom/den/study all rolled into one -- on thin foam mats on the floor with several family members) over the last six nights. The families are all scared of the ever increasing, and increasingly violent, settler attacks from illegal Israeli outposts, and have requested international protective presence. These attacks can range from trespassing to property damage to lynching, as the illegal settlers aim to make clear that they want these last holdouts of tiny villages to be wiped out, depopulated, like so many others before them, so they can take the land. This article from a few years ago summarizes the situation well.

We have played frisbee and soccer with kids, had grandmas correct our Arabic, eaten lots of good bread and olive oil, and kept close watch on the hills for any settlers looking to attack. We record and photograph these (thankfully so far just trespassing on private Palestinian owned land during our assignments), to keep track of these incursions.

The 2025 Oscar winning film No Other Land is about this area, and though it's hard to find in the US, I strongly recommend seeing it. It makes the same point as Sunday's first reading from Habbakuk -- patience and steadfastness to the vision (samud in Arabic): "For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late." This and the reading from Amos our first Sunday here have been especially poignant.

The olive harvest is just beginning, which is a time people go back home, like we would for Thanksgiving, in order to help their families and be together. We may get to participate in that, which again has become increasingly fraught as a time of potential violence. The night before last 150 trees were uprooted by the army to make way for an outpost in Umm al-Kheir, where one of the producers of the aforementioned film was murdered by a settler three months ago, just meters from where the trees were just uprooted.

The Palestinian people are strong but this relentless push to drive them off their land is exhausting and stressful. The news of the ceasefire talks are welcome but also make people nervous, as it could also come with more localized violence. Still, sitting on a mat on a concrete floor, watching the news with a simple shepherding family, I am amazed how knowledgeable and informed they are. "This village is old and beautiful," I said in my hesitant Arabic. Ali, the shepherd grandfather, simply nodded.

Habakkuk 1:2-3; 2:2-4

How long, O LORD?  I cry for help
 but you do not listen!
 I cry out to you, "Violence!"
 but you do not intervene.
 Why do you let me see ruin;
 why must I look at misery?
 Destruction and violence are before me;
 there is strife, and clamorous discord.
 Then the LORD answered me and said:
 Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets,
 so that one can read it readily.
 For the vision still has its time,
 presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint;
 if it delays, wait for it,
 it will surely come, it will not be late.
 The rash one has no integrity;
 but the just one, because of his faith, shall live.

Rooted in History, Al-Khalil Under Attack

 Standing in the center of the shop in the Old City of Hebron, known as Al-Khalil to Palestinians, stands a 300-year old sesame press. Hisham, the shop owner, lights up when we ask him to talk about its history. Hisham shows us a photo from when the press was in use and operated by camels, and points out the various parts of the building that were used to process the sesame seed into various products - from oil to tahini to something like halwa, the sweet dessert so well-loved in the area. Before the sesame press was in the building, however, possibly even as long as 800 years ago under the Ottoman Empire, olive oil was made there. Standing there in the presence of such history, I feel the immensity of what it means to try and keep this history - these stories in place - alive.

After studying in England and working as a dental engineer, Hisham came home in 2014, when the Hebron Rehabilitation Committee offered to restore the old stone building to once again be a destination for tourism and culture. "If the HRC was going to restore this shop, my father wanted to make sure one of his sons was here to run it. I was the obvious choice."

Hisham shows us a display of gorgeous blown and painted glass for sale.

Back in the 1980s, he tells us, they would take the glass blown in Hebron and drive it to their friends, relatives, and colleagues in Gaza to be painted. "It would take just under an hour," he says. Since the increasing enclosures of the West Bank and Gaza Strip, however, that routine changed drastically in the last 25 years. "We had to take the blown glass to the border of the West Bank in one car, then go through a checkpoint with all of our materials and transfer them into another car in order to drive through Israel. Then we'd do the same when we got to Gaza." Since October 2023, however, all of that movement and exchange of craftsmanship has stopped. The blown and painted glass for sale in the shop is all old, and people in the West Bank and Gaza Strip remain trapped in place by the cruel Zionist project of colonization and military occupation.

Although Hisham continues to open his shop every morning and greet people all day with an "Ahlan wa Sahlan - Welcome!" he struggles to make a living. Like most of the stores in the once bustling Old City, there are more and more days that Hisham's shop remains completely empty, and isn't even visited by one single customer. Hisham, as well as all of those who stay to run their shops do so not only as an act of resistance to their own ethnic cleansing but also out of a deep love for their homeland.

Hisham is just one of the shop keepers we have been asked to visit on Saturday evenings, during the weekly invasion of illegal Israeli settlers and international Jewish visitors - many from the U.S. - who have come to tour the old city. For the last fifteen or so years, starting at around 4 or 5 pm, dozens of heavily armed Israeli soldiers and their APCs (armored personnel carriers) clear the streets of Palestinians and international journalists. Between one and three soldiers armed with live ammunition for every Jewish tourist force Palestinians to close their shops or wait out the scenes of violence.

During one such terrifying invasion, our own team witnessed a soldier harassing an old man and his 2-year-old grandson. The soldier forced the 2-year-old from his tricycle and then drop-kicked the bike across the street. The grandfather asked us to send him the video we took of the abuse, hoping a complaint could be made somewhere. Sadly, the complaint will almost definitely go nowhere - another shopkeeper we have befriended showed us the damage done to his son's car from one of the APCs, but when he has complained in the past, he was told by the illegal settlers, "If you complain, next time I will do the same damage to your face."

Every morning here, we wake to learn of the many nightly bombings and invasions that have taken place by the Israeli military in Palestinian neighborhoods, towns, refugee camps, and villages across the West Bank, some of them nearby. Such violence and destruction continues to force people into poverty. Children continue to beg us for money, and shopkeepers are desperate to have us into their empty shops to purchase their wears.

It is clear that the Israeli military, led by its government, is determined to continue their practices of utter brutality until they gain complete control over all of the land here, and that they are willing to use consistent violence and dehumanizing tactics to get what they want. It is hard to sustain hope that a just peace will ever be possible.

Reflections on Arriving to Falastin

 On landing to Ben-Gurion on the evening of Rosh Hashanah in the year 5786, it was unmistakable to me that I was arriving to a nation at war, the pictures of hostages lining the walls of the arrival hall.

While in line for entry, a male U.S. traveler remarked to another U.S. traveler that he "hoped to see the Iron Dome in action" while simultaneously stating he was there "to walk in the steps of his Lord and Savior."

This twisted violent contradiction left me speechless in its cruelty as I resolved and reminded myself why it is necessary to do solidarity work so necessary for the Palestinian people in a world complicit in genocide and unspeakable violence combined with an infuriating combination of ineffectual words.

Masub Abu-Toha writes in Things You Find Hidden In My Ear, "Borders are invented lines drawn with ash on maps and sewn into the ground by bullets."

Nowhere was this more evident than in the city of Al-Khalil (Hebron), declared by UNESCO a World Heritage Site in 2017 while wracked by violence over decades and now at the epicenter of the militarization of the Occupation. I had prepared for the trip, both physically and mentally, but nothing can fully prepare you for the depth of the apartheid in the military checkpoints in a city which finds itself abandoned by tourists and entrapped by settlements and military.

My comrades remarked, "Oh wow, this is worse even than last year." The shops shuttered, garbage collecting on the sidewalks, with only a few humans in eyesight as we walk into what the tourist brochure dubs "the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world" and one of the holiest places in both the Judaic and Islamic worlds.

Alone on a once busy souk, we were quickly identified as internationals and approached by two former shopkeepers who told us the story of their livelihoods vaporized by the force of a nation at war. They told us that since October 7, 2023 five hundred and fifty more shops have closed in the Old City due to the strain on the economy and lack of tourist traffic as well as increased military presence and settler violence.

Part of a much larger exodus since 2000, they reported that a full 1800 shop owners have gone out of business. They also told of us of the 2000 soldiers in the military presence protecting 400 settlers in the four settlements within the city. Of this reality one said, "they treat us worse than the animals but we do our best to resist."

Later that morning as we monitored the checkpoint leading to Al-Ibrahim Mosque, we saw their words in action. As 300+ worshippers answered the call to Friday prayer, we bore witness to the indignity of checkpoint 10. Barely able to see into the turnstile, we had difficulty ascertaining what constituted the multiple delays we observed, we saw one man turned away from prayer at the Tomb of the Patriarchs, one of the holiest places in both Judaism and Islam.

The man walked away visibly angered as my colleagues debate the effectiveness of us tallying the numbers in a conflict the United Nations is obligated to monitor. Just five days earlier, the U.N. complains about the two boys aged 6 and 8 who are detained for playing soccer in the very alleyways we were standing in.

I reminded my colleagues that solidarity meant showing up, bearing witness, and doing as the people ask. The people of Palestine had not only asked us to be here and welcomed us by offering us chairs as we counted and gave us tiny cups of the delicious Arabic coffee. We sat and watched the checkpoint and reflected on how the will to resist stays alive.

Resistance stays alive in dignity and courage but most of all in kindness in the face of injustice. "Salaam alaikum", some called out to us, perfect strangers only recently arrived. Do not forget, these passersby reminded us, God is still good.

Al-Khalil does not forget what it means to be a friend to God in its sumud (steadfastness). Falastin has so much to teach the world-- I am honored to be here to listen.

Hope and Resistance

 At the conclusion of our morning tour with ICAHD, (formerly known as the Israeli Committee Against House Demolition and now an international coalition resisting Israeli apartheid), our tour guide Chaska- a local Israeli activist who has been working for decades to end Israel's illegal occupation of Palestine - painted a bleak picture of the future of the Holy Land. "We are nearing the end," she said. "This situation has to end at some point. And the way things are going, it is looking like Israel will succeed in not only in the total colonization of historic Palestine, but also in the normalization of that colonization. It will be much like the way the United States colonized Indigenous nations on Turtle Island, pushing the Indigenous people onto smaller and smaller island reservations, and making that completely normal." (We hope to give a fuller description of this informative experience in a future blog).

Our guide's prediction, which felt like a punch in the gut to me, is not unfounded. It is grounded in her decades of experience watching her government encroach deeper and deeper into the West Bank, stealing more land for the construction of bigger settlements (some with populations as large as 50,000) that are connected to one another through a network of roads and closures that make it impossible for Palestinian towns to remain contiguous with one another, systematically demolishing more and more Palestinian homes, and making life so difficult for Palestinians in the West Bank and Jerusalem that it becomes increasingly desirable for them to move out of their historic homeland and become a part of the diaspora.

Later that day, as we rode the bus to Bethlehem to visit a few friends and elders in the Palestinian nonviolent resistance movement, I shared with my team how hard it had been for me to hear this. Listening to, and seeing with my own eyes, all the facts on the ground, it seems quite possible that such a dystopian future might actually come to pass. I wondered aloud whether our hosts in Bethlehem, who had been bearing the brunt of this reality for a long time, would agree that they had no future in their own homeland.

The bus dropped us off at the Bethlehem checkpoint - a mechanized opening through the monstrous, 30-foot high wall that snakes in and around the entire West Bank. It was quite easy to get through, as we discovered, as the Israeli army encourages Palestinians to leave Jerusalem. (It is much harder to return.)

As it had been over 16 years since I had last passed through this way, I was somewhat stunned to be confronted once again with the overwhelming force of this wall that enforces and concretizes apartheid rule. The experience of walking in the shadow of this imposing symbol of oppression overwhelmed us all; one of our team members who had lived and studied in Bethlehem 25 years ago broke down and wept with grief and anger as she witnessed the destruction of this place so beloved to her.

We then visited Wi'am, the Palestinian Conflict Transformation Center. Zoughbi Zoughbi (a Notre Dame graduate!) and several of his family members hosted us for an incredible lunch. Over chicken, falafel, hummus, bread, tomatoes, olive oil, and za'tar, we learned of their own mixed family's experience of the occupation. Since 2019, Israel has refused to allow Zoughbi's wife, an American citizen, to return to the West Bank to live with her family, despite having lived there most of her life. His two sons, one an engineer with a Masters degree from the U.S., have returned to Bethlehem to work as volunteers, with next to no pay, in solidarity with their father, because they believe not only in nonviolent resistance, but also in the importance of standing against the ethnic cleansing of their people, and remaining rooted in their homeland.

Speaking of the increasing enclosure of their beloved city, they pointed out their vulnerability. "We are like sitting ducks," they said. "The soldiers have threatened that if we do not fall in line, we will be the next Gaza."

The Zougbhi family witnessed to us what hope and resistance look like in the face of indescribable oppression. Despite the attacks on their marriage, their employment, and their physical well being (all direct attempts by the Israeli government to make life untenable in Palestine), they have chosen to stay rooted in their family, the community they love, and the land to which they belong - all while offering incredible hospitality to those of us who traveled to stand with them.

Part of the Zoughbi family's resistance includes a contagious sense of humor. Lookout over the domineering wall just a few hundred feet from their home Zoughbi Zoughbi pointed out a growing Walnut Tree. "We hope the roots of this Walnut tree grow so large," he said with a smile, "that it will break the 'wall' into nuts."

After saying goodbye to the Zoughbis, we walked to the Palestine Museum of Natural History, a stunning new project being built by Dr. Mazin Qumsiyeh (a biologist and geneticist who was recently nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize) and his wife. As one of his many acts of resistance to what he calls the "monoculture" of Zionism and the Israeli nation state, Dr. Qumsiyeh insists on studying, collecting, nourishing, and displaying the vast and beautiful biodiversity of Palestine - so that visitors and Palestinians alike can continue to fall in love with both its people and its ecology.

Dr. Qumsiyeh shared a story of one of his first acts of nonviolent resistance: in 1988, when the Israeli military banned Palestinians in the city of Beit Sahour from owning milking cows, he organized a dairy collective of people who literally hid a herd of 18 cows, which were deemed a "threat to Israeli security. "Later, when Palestinians in Bethlehem refused to pay taxes for their own occupation, the Israeli military surrounded the Church of the Nativity in a siege that lasted 49 days. Dr. Qumsiyeh and others recruited and organized internationals to stand with them and break the siege through nonviolent resistance, forming what is now known as the International Solidarity Movement or ISM.

Today, Dr. Qumsiyeh uses that same creative energy to organize volunteers at the museum to plant olive trees, cultivate herbs and vegetables, care for injured owls and other wildlife, experiment with hydroponics, and tend the land with care and determination.

Looking at the newly planted trees and other creatures on the land it is clear that those who are bringing this project to life envision for Palestine a future of beauty, flourishing, and meaningful life.

The struggle is not over yet.