Back To Gaza

Dear Janina and Johannes,

I was able to visit Gaza yesterday for the first time since February. Our friends send their love and long for the day when you might be able to visit again. You are much remembered and missed.

Entering Gaza has changed a little since you last visited. Now, just a kilometer or so after clearing Erez checkpoint and entering Gaza, you have to stop at a Hamas checkpoint. They examine your passport and take information and sometimes examine your luggage. The first time I was a bit unnerved by this (Hamas has a copy of my passport?!?!?), but now it's another part of the routine. I have always found the men at this checkpoint to be cordial, polite, and professional. Much more so than some other people who man checkpoints around here.

Everyone we know is as well as can be expected, but I worry more and more about Dr. M. He remains as gentle and gracious as ever, but his tired, saddened eyes and stooped shoulders tell the strain and burden of life there.

I'm sorry to say nothing has improved in Gaza. Which means it is worse. Every day that goes by without change means another day of poverty, no work, ill health, little food, and confinement. Nothing has been rebuilt or repaired since the destruction caused by the war. Nothing. Israel lets nothing in that is needed for repairs, saying the materials could be used for bombs or rockets. The UN is supposed to be taking in 20,000 tons of cement, but so far approval is still not given. No hurry, it's only people's lives. We wouldn't want to go too fast and cause diplomatic awkwardness. Tony Blair, Envoy for Only-God-Knows-What, is still encamped at the $400/day American Colony Hotel here. I do hope he's comfortable enough.

I also have some positive news for you, though. Yesterday I sat in on some training for staff in Gaza to learn how to deliver psychosocial counselling and support. This is almost universally needed after two years of embargo and deprivation, and the war/slaughter of January. So even though this activity was made necessary by so much suffering, still it's wonderful to see something positive, constructive, and life-affirming arise out of it. I don't believe I've seen people there so energized and enthusiastic about anything in the nearly two years I've been going.

I'm sorry the world despises Gaza so, because we are missing a chance to see such wonderful developments. To see people figure out how to ennoble themselves against all odds. To enrich themselves, to save themselves. Or maybe the world doesn't despise Gaza, maybe we are just afraid. Or don't understand. Or ignore. It's a shame. We have alot to learn from the people we hurt the most.

I know you well enough to know how you miss going to Gaza and how you hurt when you hear the news from there. I look forward to the time when we might go again together.

Love,
Harry

id-dars 'arabi (the Arabic lesson)

Dear Mary and Doug,

This comes with fervent hopes that your summer there has backed off its relentless blazing heat. The summers here are very warm - alot like a normal S Texas summer - but nothing like you're experiencing this summer. Inshallah bikher - God willing, all will be well.

I was studying Arabic the other day and had an ah-ha moment which made me think of both of you and the dinner which we enjoyed together at your home when I was visiting recently. You asked me to say Grace in Arabic.

The ah-ha moment came when my new lesson got me all excited because there was so much new vocabulary in it that I would really be able to use alot.

Then it hit me - the new words and phrases that I was learning and realized I would be using: to confiscate property, imposition, 4 verbs related to imprisonment, to become a martyr, to be killed, incendiary, to become poor, to be fired

I thought about what I know how to say. Of course, many most common words. I can say coffee, table, tomato, house, walk, car, etc etc. But almost before learning those, I learned how to say settlement and checkpoint. And war, rockets, bombs, soldiers. Yet, I confess to you with reddened, little-boy-ashamed face, that I do not yet know the liturgy in Arabic or words related to it. Of course some others here learn those words first, but I haven't. I guess I'm moving in a different context.

I'm sure there are profound quotes about what words mean in our lives, but I don't know them. But in trying to learn a new language at this advanced age, I am very aware of how language is the currency of our daily lives. Since my time (and neurons) are limited, I've tried to learn how to talk about what I encounter every day. And as recently dawned on me, those particular words are sometimes a very dear currency.

Sahaatkum! wa alla ma'kum. Thankfully, these words flow easily - good health to you and God be with you.

Harry

We Shall Overcome

This blog contains language which may be unsuitable for some readers. Precaution is advised.

Dear Nancy, Mike, and Doss,

All of us are children of the '60's. Vietnam and the riots, protests, and demonstrations. The Kennedy and King assassinations. We all graduated from college in the spring of Kent State and the invasion of Cambodia. Through all that, I don't know about you, but I was never tear-gassed...

Until yesterday.

There is a village in the West Bank called Bil'in. A few years ago, the "security barrier" came through its environs and confiscated much of the land and farmers' fields. Nothing much new in that, since the barrier does this for alot of its route. In this case, though, an Israeli court ruled this course to be illegal. The barrier is still there, however, because claims of security here trump all.

So about 4 years ago, villagers began to hold demonstrations against the Wall. The demonstrations continue on every Friday. I had never been, but went yesterday with my friend Anne who has been going for years.

I was very skittish about it. Soldiers stand at the barrier. Sometimes they shoot. Over the years about 10 people have been killed, the last one only about 3 months ago. At first, they used real bullets, but after Israeli's starting participating, they now only use rubber bullets - a euphemism if ever there was one - or aim tear gas cannisters at demonstrators. Other people have been seriously injured. A young American man shot a few months ago lies in a hospital now in a coma from which he will likely never recover.

The leaders of the demonstation urge everyone to stay non-violent, but nowadays there are always a few who throw rocks at the soldiers. Recently, it was discovered that some of these people have been Israeli infiltrators. But most are not.

Yesterday, the soldiers just used tear gas and a new weapon, the "Skunk". A truck carries a huge water cannon on its roof and a spray is shot into the air which contains a chemical that smells like, well, shit. Nice, huh?

There are photos in the slideshow on the left. The clouds on the ground are tear gas and Skunk-juice. The posters are of the young man who was killed recently.

Thankfully, no one was injured yesterday. But the service driver on the way home said we smelled "mesh kwayyes" (not good).

Between ducking the tear gas and Skunk, often unsuccessfully, I talked to alot of people and also wondered why we were there. Them I can't speak for, me I can.

I'm not sure why I do these things here. So often my behavior here is very different from in the States. Of course, I live in very different circumstances here. I guess the unknown is what my behavior will be when I return to the States to stay. You all may wind up avoiding me like some kind of freak.

It seemed to me that yesterday we were "demonstrating". Showing something. I don't know about everyone else, but I think that I was demonstrating both to the soldiers - no matter what you throw at us, we are not going to let you do this in silence or invisibly - but probably more to the people who live in the village - you have not been abandoned. We will get gassed and shat on with you. There are people who know this is not right and are not going to just look away.

Does this mean anything to either group, really? Does it change anything? Does it help? Does it hurt?

I don't know, but why else are we all here in this human family?

Looking forward to seeing you when I get back, hopefully smelling better than yesterday.

Harry

Summer Showers

Dear Jane,

Thank you for your recent email. You have the most wonderful way of putting words together and it always lets me see something in a slightly different way. So when I read your words about the "thread" of my vocation drawing me "joyfully," it set me thinking.

I frequently return to the Buechner definition of vocation - where our joy and gladness meets the needs of the world. Then I recalled a conversation with a friend when I was in the US recently. I was explaining something that happened here, one of the awful things that happens all too frequently, and he said, "ok, and you are there becaauuuse....?" His remark brushed me back and at the time made me think he doesn't "get it," doesn't understand how wonderful it is to be here.

Then the penny dropped.....

I almost never write here about the joy of being here. I do go on about the angst, don't I? In part, that's probably my naturally dour personality, but I suppose also because the harsh realities are more compelling and because it's the injustices that I want people to be aware of, to engage with. But in fact, we also have alot of fun here. There are so many wonderful people, so much going on. We frequently have beautiful musical events. There are many museums (and of course churches) full of beauty. Many times of laughing and enjoying our lives here. I'm sure that in those times there's an element of tension release, because there is certainly plenty of that, but there is also sheer joy.

But mostly, like anywhere else, it's the people and friendships who bring the most enjoyment. A few days ago, I watched some men haul some furniture up to a second floor by ropes. Look at the photos below. These were huge, heavy pieces of furniture with plenty of effort and exertion needed. But they had fun with it. Look at the celebration in the last photos. Joyful at a job well done. These are the moments I don't write much about here, but they happen all the time.

By the way, I believe that the man on the left in the last photo, signalling the victory of the job done, is the hardest-working man I ever encountered. I thought my father was, but I don't think he could keep up with Maher. And his buddy on the right is one of God's most delightful creatures - affable, gregarious, charming, and delightful. Both these men are far too talented and able to be hauling furniture up the sides of buildings but their circumstances leave them nothing else.....

Oops, I did it again. Finding pain in the joy.

You know those summer showers that we get in South Texas, rare enough to be noticeable, when in the middle of a heavy rain shower the sun shines through? Because of some particular conformation of clouds and climactic conditions. Every day is like that here. Sun in the midst of rain. Hour of gold, hour of lead.

There is a line in the Talmud which has been adapted into a tune that many people learn when they come here. It says,

"Ten measures of beauty God gave to the world: 9 to Jerusalem, 1 to the rest.

Ten measures of sorrow God gave to the world: 9 to Jerusalem, 1 to the rest."

Thank you, once again, for pastoring me toward new understanding.

Harry

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Dear David,

It's been awhile since we had a visit in New York in April and I haven't had a chance to check in with you since coming back here in May.

Somewhat to my surprise, but also my delight, it's like starting over. As a "free-lance" volunteer now, without affiliation, I feel a new energy and a new spirit about being here. But with the advantage of knowing where I am, how things work, and slightly improved language skills. I am finding enjoyments which were lacking before and an unfamiliar vitality in being able to delve into something that sounds interesting, without having to censor myself about it.

My primary focus and commitment this summer is on teaching Anatomy & Physiology at a nursing college in Qubeiba, a village in the West Bank which is one of the four reputed Emmaus sites (although probably the least likely of the four). It's a new branch of Bethlehem University, just two years old. I love being part of something new in the West Bank where so much is stifled, stunted, and worn out.

Our classes are small with only about 13 students in each, divided just about evenly between males and females. The secondary schools here teach English, but not all teach it very well, so most of the students come to nursing college knowing little. Much of their first year is spent on English (the University requires instruction in English) and I am amazed every day by how quickly the students pick it up. So they are not only studying new, complicated, technical material, but they're doing it in a foreign language. I can barely say "Where is the bus station" and they're learning cardiovascular physiology!!

My admiration for the students and staff is part of what I love about being included in this program, but it's also because this college is giving some young people a chance for a good career where there aren't that many. I feel like part of a community of possibility.

I will teach there in the fall, also. The second half of Anatomy & Physiology and Pediatric Nursing, as well. I met recently with some faculty at a medical school in Nablus about teaching there also but I'm not sure about that. There would be some logistical issues involved in commuting there so I might not take it on, even should they invite me.

And from time to time other opportunities are coming along that bring that sense of "vocation". Tomorrow I'm going to a village near Hebron. A friend lives there and invited me to come visit the Red Crescent clinic in the village. They need medicines and supplies, so I'm going to see what the situation is and then see if I can get someone in the States or Europe interested in helping out. I also accepted an invitation to write some articles for an NGO about the work they're doing. So I'll be visiting people in the West Bank and Gaza who benefit from their help to write their stories. It will let me get to know more people and something about their lives. To know them in their homes, drink tea, and discover how alike we are.

When I was in the States recently, I imagined I would come back here and get involved in lots of human rights issues. I may do, but since coming back I'm finding that my enjoyment really comes mostly from being able to be with people individually. To get to know them. Spend time and listen to what's on their minds. Share the good, share the bad, share the ugly. I love kidding with my students, but also sitting with them and figuring out what we can do to help them grasp the material better so they can succeed. Or enjoying their delight when they make an "A" on a quiz. Or try to encourage when they make a "D".

Back in February 2008, which feels like a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I wrote here about asking "What am I doing here?" I've been asking it alot again lately in this new context. For me, it's critically important to do that. Of course, an old analytical introvert like me would love that stuff anyway, but I actually do think it's important especially in this kind of venture. But I believe it must also apply in anything we do. To ask: Really.....no, REALLY.....what are we doing here? Are we here because we want to help? That's noble, but is our help needed or wanted? Do we ask first if someone wants or needs help, or do we assume because we have so much and they seem to have so little? Do we give them what we think they need, or do we ask what they need?

Are we here because it makes us feel good? When who we encounter and how we meet them are incidental to our "goals". I do that sometimes and I see it alot here. There are countless people who have been here dozens of times over 20 or 30 years. But they don't speak a word of Arabic or Hebrew and the only people they know are those with their agency, church, or organization. They have only slept in hotels and have never had a meal with someone who wasn't on the itinerary.

I don't want to be "institutional". That can do enormous good - raising awareness, raising money, setting policy, seeking justice. All important. But I don't think that's what I'm doing here. I'm not good at it and it feels, to be blunt, empty to me. I'd rather spend Wednesday afternoon going over his lecture notes with Mohammad than sit in a high-level meeting at the UN or Knesset. Bless those who do that, but it's not what I'm doing here.

So here I am, still crazy after all these years and still stumbling around trying to sort stuff out. Please know that your support and encouragement throughout this long journey have been a wonderful gift. Thank you for that. I look forward to sharing what's left of this journey with you.

Harry

Letter #1

Dear Friends,

It's Saturday in the Holy Land.

Holy Land.

Wow. Sounds Important. Sounds Special. Sounds Serene and Prayerful.

We're in the middle of our three consecutive days of sabbaths in this place, this "holy" place, which most of the world's people place at the center of their religion and spirituality.

....I live in predominantly Arab, predominantly Muslim East Jerusalem near Al-Aqsa Mosque, one of the most venerated sites in all of Islam. For Friday Prayers many people want to pray there. But sometimes men less than 50 years old are not allowed by Israeli police and soldiers to go there for their prayers. A "security threat". One Friday during the Gaza war I was walking to a market not far from Al-Aqsa when suddenly the street was full of men standing quietly in rows filling the entire block. It was prayer time, but the soldiers had set up a checkpoint outside the Old City and these men were not allowed in to their mosque to pray. So they stood quietly and did their prayers right there in the street.

I thought that these men praying as best they could was something holy. I thought what the soldiers were doing was not.

...One Friday evening I was returning from my Arabic lesson and came to a streetcrossing. While waiting for the light to change, a man whose clothing identified him as a conservative Jew asked me if I am Jewish. I said no and he began to ask me for something. Through his broken English I understood he wanted me to come to his home and help him with something - changing a light bulb I think. I thought it must be high up and he couldn't reach it. Or something. But his asking my religion first made me nervous. You need certain sensibilities here. So I declined and walked on. A block later, I realized what had happened. He had asked my religion because it was Shabbat and he was not allowed to "work"; ie, change the light bulb, so he was trying to find a goy to help him out.

I have no doubt this man believed that he was behaving in a holy way, honoring his creed as best he understood it. But it left me confused: does God really want this man to have to bring some stranger into his home rather than change a light bulb?

...a young friend here, an Arab Muslim man tells me he can't sleep lately and his heart hurts. He is from the West Bank and he comes to Jerusalem to work because the pay is better. However, he is supposed to have a permit to come here but he can't get a permit, so he comes illegally and dangerously. And because he has no permit and no recourse, his employer here treats him like a slave with low wages and no benefits or vacation. His girlfriend, who he loves very much, got married to another man last summer because my friend doesn't have enough money and her father made her marry someone else. My friend's best friend got married last summer and kind of abandoned him because he's never around now, having to go to Jerusalem to work and having to stay here for weeks because he has no permit to come and go.

At 22 years of age, my friend sees his life "closed". No university, no travel, no girlfriend, no best friend, no decent job. No opportunities. No future.

Because he's Palestinian and some other inhabitants of the Holy Land do not want him here so they keep him behind a wall, make him have to have a permit for every move he makes, and close his life.

My friend is a sincere and prayerful Muslim, but I wonder if he thinks this land is "holy"?

I suppose they call this place holy because of things that were said to happen here some few thousand years ago. OK. But today - right now - this can be the un-holiest of places.

Millions of people come here every year to see the "holy sites" and hear endlessly about what was said and done in the ancient past. I would rather they come here, ignore the sites, and bring some holy compassion, justice, generosity, and fairness to those here now. Aren't the people here more holy than the land?