The Road Home

“I hate this place so much,” I thought.

It’s was 7:46 PM and the checkpoint to get home was closed early. “Why does it have to be so hard?!” I breathed away the tears. 

This is what it’s all about, isn’t it? They want the Palestinians to hate being here. They want to drive them out by nickel and diming away their sanity. 

Side roads are closed with massive boulders so a hundred feet away another path must be made to the same road. Main roads have been bulldozed so already dilapidated cars take an even greater beating. 

Every nugget and every crumb adds to an almost certain resignation, but then why can’t I see it in Palestinian faces? How do they smile? How do they find something extra in nothing to share with me and their neighbors? How do they find joy given the incessant chipping away of peace and stability? 

We are forced to turn around at the checkpoint, behind us was a Palestinian. We yell, “as-salamu alaykum,” out the window and they stop to roll down theirs. We yelled the town we were trying to go to, the driver nodded his head and said to hurry. We raced through the town following them. They were going to lead us home. Even though they are the ones who this labyrinth is designed to inconvenience, their faces show us nothing but kindness and warmth. With smiles they gladly help us. The only time tonight I can find a smile is looking back at them. 

I don’t hate this place. Even though they want us to hate it, even though they want them to hate it. I love Palestine, and they love their home. Their spirit will be unbroken and inspired by their beautiful resilience. The tears come again and my heart is filled by their spirit.

Serving in the Garden

One of the most dangerous places we serve in Masafer Yatta, our location in the West Bank, is what is called the Garden. It is not a garden in the typical sense but rather a massive platform of stone, rock walls, shrubs, struggling olive plants, cacti and dirt. 

The view, however, is incredible. One can see a panorama of sloped grazing farm land, the local village and an illegal Israeli settlement. The family who owns the garden has worked the land for decades and holds a 100 year-old deed for it. Twice a day, he takes his goats and sheep out to graze, 6:30 to 10 AM and 4:30 to 7 PM. Two of us accompany him because he is harassed daily by Israeli settlers, soldiers, military or some combination thereof.

The point of the harassment is to push him off his land. It would be easy to give up after decades of persecution but this man and his family do not. They are practitioners of “samud,” steadfastness. Generations before them have resisted, therefore, they resist, always nonviolently. 

The farmer keeps going out into the garden to feed the sheep and goats, knowingly facing harassment. Each day before we serve in the garden, the farmer treats us to cups of warm sweet tea and perhaps a treat. Then we follow the animals and him to the garden, maintaining a short distance. 

We are to be the buffer between the harassers and the farmer. At some point, settlers, police or military approach us and ask for passports. They photograph them or take them even though that is forbidden by the United States government. They research our backgrounds to see if we are Palestinian sympathizers or members of organizations Israel considers terrorist. The irony of a nonviolent peace organization ever being considered a terrorist organization is not lost on me.

The conclusion of these interactions can result in a wide-range of possibilities from simple harassment to deportation. I had been enjoying the landscape and photographing the view when a settler told border patrol I was filming the illegal guard post on the farmer’s land. Border patrol took my phone, looked through the photos and discovered I had only shot panoramas and photos of my friend. They returned my phone and my passport and warned me not to photograph the empty guard post because it is classified.

Despite these disturbing interactions, we have the satisfaction of protecting the farmer who is able to do his job. In addition, we can look over the landscape, and enjoy the natural beauty of the West Bank and build relationships.

Why do Palestinians resist and persist under such stressful circumstances? Faith, history, love of land and samud. I see it in the farmer’s body as he contentedly crouches on a rock, sipping a coffee, smoking a cigarette, watching his sheep and goats graze.

This is his legacy.