I’m back in Palestine for the first time in twelve years.
We are staying in Beit Sahour, a town just “down the hill” from Bethlehem. Beit Sahour is a predominantly Christian town and is famous for the Shepherds Fields, where the angels appeared to proclaim the glory of the birth of Jesus.
Some of the most famous words from that story sit with me: Do not be afraid.
Before we left, many friends told us to “be safe.” While this is not surprising, I sometimes wonder what each person imagines may endanger us. Bombs? Guns? Protests? Israeli soldiers? Checkpoints? Palestinians?
What are we afraid of and why?
The other day, following an agency visit, I left the group and returned to one of my new favorite places, The Walled Off Hotel in Bethlehem, famous for its collaboration with the artist Banksy. The hotel sits meters from the Apartheid Wall which cuts Bethlehem off from Jerusalem and Palestinians from their land.
Here I walk the streets alone, cross roads in front of cars, and engage in conversations in broken Arabic. My body knows - remembers - how to do this without fear. My body, mind and spirit have a relationship with this land and people.
That day I grabbed a taxi to return to our guesthouse in Beit Sahour. The taxi driver, a Muslim man, was eager to engage me in conversation. He had just had an experience with an American man who told him that he had come into the West Bank and “left his family in Jerusalem” because he had been warned that if you enter the West Bank with your children, you will return empty-handed. (Meaning, they would be kidnapped.) The driver was so distraught about this.
Given that I’d shared that I had lived here before (everyone wants to know how you know Arabic), he asked me if I’d ever heard of such a thing - kidnappings in the West Bank. I told him no. He knew I had brought my children with me, so he asked me how I felt about that.
I paused. Then I said, “In the last eight weeks, my son’s school has had five lockdowns. In America, we never know if our children are safe in school. There are so many school shootings. In America, guns are a huge problem. I inserted the Arabic word for ‘crazy’ to make my point. But here, my children go out walking and I don’t worry about them, because I know the people. I know they are safe.”
He was speechless. This man, who lives under military occupation, was speechless. He had no idea what to say in response to a society that threatens its own children.
I hoped I’d answered his question.
The conversation moved to religion. We were both smiling at the end of the ride.
The only children that disappear on this side of the Apartheid Wall are the illusions we’ve nurtured. Will we, like the shepherds, respond in fear to the things that arrive to liberate us - relationships with those who are marginalized, true stories of heartbreaking dispossession and creative acts of resistance?
The situation in Palestine will break your heart, and you must be courageous enough to let it.
Close up of the Apartheid Wall in Bethlehem, where art and wit merge to form an act of resistance by imagining a view of the holy city of Jerusalem.