Dear Holy Land Tourist Lady,

An infant car seat,
saved from the bulldozers

I used to be just like you. Five years ago, with my fanny pack and sensible walking shoes I trudged up the Via Dolorosa in the Old City - imagining what those last moments of Jesus' life might have been like, before the world changed. I remember the comfort of the tour bus, and how our guides were always telling us to drink more water.

I bet you paid a lot of money for this life changing trip. And I understand why... here before you is the Sunday School play set of your childhood dreams! When you close your eyes, and listen very carefully, you can imagine what it might have been like to be here when Jesus walked the earth. Did you wonder, as you passed that hill, if it was one that he walked?

Rubble from the
demolished 2-family home

Listen... your Holy Land adventure will never be complete until you come with me. Travel the dusty, narrow road just a few miles away through Silwan and up a steep hill to the village of Jabal Al Mukabbir you will find a pile of rubble. That pile of stones are no more or less holy than the ones you just saw at the Wailing Wall when you crammed in the little bits of paper prayers your church friends sent with you. Prayers for healing, prayers for comfort, prayers for peace.

This pile of stones was a two story double family house at 3:59 this morning. That's when the soldiers came and woke the ten children under 8 - they are just babies. At 4, it began to be a pile of rubble. That's when the bulldozers revved their engines and caused two sets of young parents to scramble around and try to move their small children and every last little piece of their belongings to safety outside.

The two oldest children, no more than 8,
help load items into a truck

At 6 am is when the relatives and friends began to show up, carrying their condolences and offerings to help. When we arrive a few hours later, they will have determined a system. First, they will offer you a chair in the shade of an impromptu tent. Then they will thank you for coming, and offer you a cold bottle of water. After a few minutes they tell you some of their story, and you will be given a strong cup of Arabic coffee followed by a cool and sweet mint tea.

The grandfather, the patriarch on whose land you stand, will tell you that he had a lawyer and paid the steep fines for building without a permit. "This is the Occupation, what can we do?" he says. He will point to the rubble and tell you that this is the true terrorism, and you will nod your head knowingly because it sure seems random and violent and scary to you.

Destroyed child's bike

Let me tell you, it will definitely feel a little awkward when you look in the eyes of the oldest two children who saw the bulldozers topple their home and you will see they are as strong as grown men. These boys should be in school, but since their bags and books are in the bottom of the rubble they are here to get you a chair and serve you tea instead. One of them is wearing new soccer cleats, because those were the first he could grab before running out of the house. His father says to you "my son is six, he sees his house demolished, of course he will want to start problems when he is 16!" 

Household items the family saved

When you have stayed long enough to pay your respects, you'll return to your safe place thinking that this holy land is broken. And you'll wonder if the world has any idea, and if they do, why isn't someone doing something, anything, to make it stop? And the echo of the grandfather's last words to you as you were leaving become a mantra that you cannot forget: "Thank you for coming, tell the world what you see here!"

Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School

Some ride the family donkey to school

A 20 minute drive down a remote desert road, past piles of garbage and a reeking cesspool of black water runoff from a hilltop dump, just a hundred feet past a group of tethered donkeys lies the Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School. The staff of 15 provides educational services for 85 boys and girls from 1st through 9th grade living in the small Bedouin villages of Abu-Hindi and Abu-Noir.

The school is 20 years old. It was first created as a one-room tent by a teacher who still works there. A second school was built in 1998 but was later demolished by the civil administration. This, the third school, was made in partnership with an Italian NGO 'Vento di Terra' that gets very creative with building materials (you may remember my post on the Tyre school). Unlike most 'permanent' structures in this part of the world it is made of bamboo, mud and wood. It is made this way because there is a governmental injunction against building with concrete and cement.

The Bamboo School

At the Bamboo School, transportation for students and teachers is very difficult. Many of the schoolchildren walk 6 km each way from their homes to their school. They often have to pass nearby settlements where they are threatened and harassed. The journey on foot takes 2-3 hours. In the summer, it's scorching hot and in the winter it is cold and rainy, with potential flash floods. There is a sewage pipe they cross over that is frequently backed up and spills onto their path. The lucky ones are able to ride their family's donkey, but not all can afford to do this.

The headmaster of the Bamboo School has asked the Palestinian Authority for a bus, but he was told there is no money. Now, he is working with various international NGO's to see if anything can be done to fix their transportation issues. Last month, four of the teachers were arrested and interrogated for 5 hours by the police on their morning commute to school. The crime? Riding together in a carpool with an old, unregistered car on the school's long dirt driveway (which is actually perfectly legal, according to Israeli law). After the teachers paid the eight thousand shekels in fines, their case will be brought before the court on May 27th. No one knows if further fines will be levied, or if the driver will lose his license.

A Third Grader learns Mathematics

Another problem they struggle with is safety. A nearby military installation has left behind numerous unexploded ordinances and live ammunition in the fields where the children play or shepherd their family's sheep and goats. One child recently lost two fingers when he picked up a grenade, hoping to sell it for scrap iron. The teachers and the Red Crescent try to educate the students and parents about the safety risk through seminars and morning announcements, but children still pick them up.

Homework is an issue, because many Bedouin parents cannot read or write, and neither do they have the technology or electricity for their children to use. Teachers do their best to fit all the curriculum they can into the young minds of their students during the school day, but they know that assigning homework is a losing battle. Since the school's electricity is limited to half a dozen solar panels, they are unable to run all their technology at once. The nine classes take turns using the 2 laptops, a projector, and a printer.

English Class Poster by 9th grader Nada Hassan

Boys in particular seem to have a difficult time keeping still, and about half choose to work instead of going on to high school in neighboring Al-Azariah. Many girls graduate high school, and one student recently went on to receive teacher training at Al-Guds University. The headmaster beamed with joy telling us about her, and his dream of inspiring the rest of the children there to become teachers.

"We try to get the Minister of Education (from the PA) to explain that they should continue in the school and become teachers. Just think - you can become a teacher, and teach your children in this school!"  (Waled Abu Hilal, headmaster)

It struck me, as we were leaving, that despite all their challenges, the teachers and students here at the Bamboo School possess a hope in the future that is astounding. To be able to learn Arabic, English, Mathematics, History and Geography under such incredibly difficult psychological and physical conditions shows great strength of character. It's this attitude of thriving, despite great odds, that I've witnessed during my time here again and again and makes me think that once some peace and equality finally do break out there will be very little left to hold them back. May it be so, and may it be soon.

Thank you, Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School,
for your hospitality during our visit! We'll be back!

Proclaim Jubilee

“Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you; each of you is to return to your family property and to your own clan…In this Year of Jubilee everyone is to return to their own property.” (Leviticus 25: 10,13)

Imagine that you are a father of five teenage boys living in the small, overcrowded village of Beit Hanina, on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Your family hadn’t always lived here. Your true home, as your father tells the story, is the Negev. He and your mother (who has long since passed) were internally displaced in 1948 in what Israelis call the “War of Independence”.

The ruins of your home

Your family calls the war “al-Nakbah” or “the Catastrophe”. They remember it as a time in which 700,000 Palestinians fled their homes as some five hundred villages (including your family’s) were destroyed. Since that moment in time, your people have been living in an occupied territory. Even though it began ten years before you were born, your standard of living, access to religious sites and education, the jobs that are available to you, where you may live, even the identity of the person you are able to marry – all will be dictated by a political system in which you are not allowed to participate. Unlike other democratic countries, you may not vote for the representatives that make decisions on your behalf, because you are living under an occupation, you are not considered a full citizen.

One morning at 5 am you hear loud banging and shouts at your door. About 20 soldiers are there with automatic weapons and a large bulldozer. It breaks your heart to see your sons and wife so full of fear as you all get pushed outside so the movers can do their work. The men quickly move through your house, taking out some items and leaving others. You wish your sons had their backpacks for school, but you don’t see them on the pile – they must be under the rubble. You gather your family together in safety just as the wreaking ball begins to swing, demolishing the cement block home that you built with your own two hands just nine years ago.

An empty space where
your home once was

 You thought that the 40,000 shekels (10,000 USD) that you paid in fines for not having the proper building permit would help delay this dark day, but your lawyer was unable to have the case thrown out of court. And now, you will not only have to pay his costs but also the costs for demolition. You and your family are suddenly homeless. Sure, you could just leave and go somewhere else, but the only places available are the nearby refugee camps at Shu’fat or Qalandia – both rife with violence. That’s no environment to raise your teenage sons.

During our second week of placement as international human rights observers, we encountered the man I describe above and his family. Seeing the rubble of what had been their lives, their home base, their shelter and safety… well, there is simply nothing that can be said to ease that kind of helplessness.

More rubble and destruction

It’s a situation that happens quite frequently in Jerusalem. According to the Society of St. Ives Catholic Center for Human Rights, only 7% of building applications are approved for Palestinians while the remaining 93% are granted to Israeli Jew’s. In the Palestinian areas of Jerusalem, there is a housing shortage of 43,000 units. Since permits cost over $30,000 and 75.4% of Palestinians live under the poverty line and are unable to afford it, many have no choice but to build illegally and hope for the best. At this moment, 60,000 families are under demolition orders and are at risk of waking up to find a bulldozer at their door. And it seems, given the current political state, that it is only going to get worse. Unless we decide to do something about it.

Prayers are good, but advocacy is too. It’s been 50 years of unjust occupation, so let’s proclaim Jubilee today. Write your senators and congress people, ask them what they know about this situation which our tax dollars are supporting. Talk to your friends about it. Read up on the human rights abuses taking place here in this “Holy Land Full of Holes”. Better yet, come and see for yourself.