Snapshots

I walk into the kitchen and on the table is an amazing spread of meat, cheese, olive oil, za'atar, halva, eggs, and apricot jam. The smell of fresh warm pita bread invites me to sit down at the table. "Saba halhair!" It is a good morning indeed. The sun is shining and the view of Beit Sahour through the kitchen window is beautiful. Grandma comes up from where she lives downstairs and sits with us for a while. I listen to her and mama chat away in Arabic and try to understand words here and there. 

Walking through the Old City of Jerusalem we are beckoned by a shop keeper to come look at what he is selling. "No charge for looking!" Ooh, I spot some pretty jewelry, so Dara and I step into the tiny shop. "From where you are?" "Canada." "Ah, beautiful country." I try to calculate in my head how many times I have been asked that exact question... Too many times to count. We spot a pair of matching rings that fit us. "How much?" "140 shekels." A quick calculation in my head determines that is just less tham $50. I laugh and put my bartering face on. After a few back and forth exchanges, I am still not happy with the price and motion Dara to follow me out of the shop. The shopkeeper, realizing that he is about to lose us as customers, calls after us with a lower price, "Two for 90!" "La" (No... still too high). "Two for 80!" We keep walking. "Two for 70!" Dara and I look at each other... yes. We walk back in and make our purchase. A ring for $10? Not bad. We walk away with smiles on our faces and new rings on our fingers.

We hear that we are going to visit a refugee camp this afternoon. At first I do not understand who lives in this camp or what we will do there. As soon as we arrive I begin to understand. The inhabitants of the camp are Palestinians who were displaced when Israeli forces took over their homes and their land in 1948. My heart is heavy and I feel sick as I listen to numbers, statistics, and stories of injustice from a young man who was born in the camp. As we walk around the camp the wall looms over us and I see a lot of graffiti, some of which I understand, others which has a deeper meaning that I don't understand. I am overwhelmed by the situation. How can people be refugees in their homeland for over 50 years, and I have never heard of this before? Am I so ignorant and uneducated? "We Will Return" "Don't Give Up The Fight, Bring The Truth To Light #unoccupy" These words stir my soul, but I am at a loss. I don't know what to do or what to say.