On Being Overcome

There are some moments where it gets too much, when it overcomes you. Tonight's one of those times.

Today I went to join the olive harvest once more but I saw more guns than I picked olives. We were driven away by settlers and soldiers. In every place where the settlers attack the harvesting Palestinians the military come and close of the area - a closed military zone. This just means that the settlers get what they want - the Palestinians are prevented from reaching their olive trees.

There were no shots fired today, no tear gas, just intimidation. The soldiers used their M16s and the settlers used their numbers to drive us out, onto the road. There was so much media - international and local. There were many photo opportunities: people yelling, chanting, arguing; soldiers shoving, laughing and joking; settlers yelling, smiling and taunting. So many photo opportunities.

Snapshot: You're Either With Us or Against Us

There was an Israeli activist in the protest today. He gave us some leaflets, but they were in Hebrew so we couldn't read them. However, he explained to us that he was part of a group that was against the settlements. When the Israeli soldiers were driving us away, a group of settlers approached the man and began to argue with him. One of the other Birzeit students who was there explained to me later how the settlers began to shove him. She said that the army came to separate them but instead of telling the settlers off for assaulting an Israeli citizen, the soldiers pushed the man into his car and ordered him to leave. I saw him as he drove away, he winked at us and said 'you do good work'. His comment seemed to be directed at M., one of the leaders of the Stop the Wall Campaign. M. did not react to this. Maybe he did not notice.

Harvesting Olives

On Thursday many of the other international students and I joined the olive harvest. We were hosted by the Stop the Wall campaign and they drove us out to the villages that were requiring internationals to help harvest their olives. The villages struggle either with the Israeli army or Israeli settlers, who prevent the inhabitants from picking their olives by either blocking off the area or attacking them. And so, during the olive harvest, internationals flock to the Palestinian Territories to stand with the Palestinian farmers in the hope that their presence will dissuade soldiers and/or settlers from approaching. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This time, for us, it worked and we weren't bothered. Though one of my classmates who went to a village near Bethlehem to harvest wasn't so lucky and the group she was harvesting with was set upon by tear gas and rubber bullets. Needless to say, they ran and the olive trees were left unharvested - for the moment at least.

We harvested in a village called M-, which is near Nablus. We were directed to focus on the trees near the Israeli road, as that was where they had the most trouble. There were about twenty internationals and we got through the trees quickly, though perhaps a little unskilfully. I have two snapshots from this experience.

The First Snapshot: A Family Affair

Picking olives is a family affair - from grandparents to babies there is a role for everyone, with perhaps the exception of the youngest. Walking through the olive groves you come across babies and young children asleep in cribs or bundles of blankets in the shade of the trees. Their families labour nearby, coming over to check on them occasionally and carrying them to the next area once they have picked all the nearby trees. The grandparents sort through the olives that have been picked, removing small branches and leaves and placing the olives into sacks ready to be carried home at the end of the day. The women gather the olives that have fallen onto the ground, weed the areas around their olive trees, brew tea and prepare meals for the family. The men climb into the trees or on ladders to reach the highest branches and strip them of olives. As visiting internationals, we do a bit of everything - though the women don't let us help with the food and tea as we are their guests.

The Second Snapshot: Picking the Olive

The best part of harvesting is when you begin a new tree: the branches are covered in olives and you can just fall upon the tree and strip them away with ease. We use a small comb devise that can strip the small branches with a single swipe. It's such a satisfying feeling hearing the olives fall on the tarp that is stretched out at our feet to catch them. After this preliminary stage the process becomes slower as you search and struggle to find and pluck the stray olives. This is when you receive the scratches on your hands and arms that are inevitable when harvesting as you must reach through the branches, balancing on your tip-toes, struggling for that single olive you see dangling tauntingly above you.


We were fed lunch and after harvesting two more trees the bus returned and we prepared to leave. As we walked to the buses, D. (one of my classmates) approached me and asked if I was interested in spending the night here and returning to Ramallah tomorrow. I wasn't sure if it was possible but I agreed to ask with him. The secretary of the municipality said it was not possible for us to spend the night in this village, however one of our classmates had already arranged to spend the night in the next village over, A-, and we could join him there.

Altogether, five of us spent the night in A-. Originally we were going to spend the night in their Municipality building; however when we went to one of the villager's homes to use the bathroom, the family invited us to spend the night with them. The house was actually home to two families - each taking up one half. The two halves had separate entrances and could operate independently of each other, though there were also doorways that connected the two halves so the two families could pass into each other's homes. The men of the two families were brothers. For the purpose of our stay there, the family segregated along gender lines and all the men (including D. and L., my classmates) stayed in one side of the house while the women (including me, C. and R.) and the children stayed in the other.

The two sisters-in-law were very excited to have other young women to speak with and to have an opportunity to practice their English. They were twenty-one and twenty-two years old, having been married at the age of sixteen. They had two and three children respectively and were curious as to why we were not yet married, repeatedly asking when we were going to get married? Finally I said that we would get married after university and this satisfied them - L. (the eldest) nodded soberly and said 'you are clever, it is good to get education'. They said that they were currently studying through open learning as they planned to be teachers, but L. said that she was doing poorly because with her three children (one only a baby) she had no time to study. We asked if she would be having more children and she said 'inshallah no' (God willing no). Both seemed melancholy at their situation, though L. particularly so. Perhaps it was just because they were faced with us and the possibility that we represented - being university students and not yet married with children.

I have several impressions from this night, but I will record here just two.

The Third Snapshot: Henna from Mecca and a Hijab

L. asked if I liked Islam. I replied diplomatically that Islam is lovely but I am a Christian (I find it's always best to avoid saying that I am not religious). She struggled to express her words as her English was not very good, but her body language was clear: her face lit up in ecstasy and she lifted her hands and face skyward as she said 'Islam is beauty'. I could tell she wanted to continue the conversation, but her sister interrupted by bringing in her wedding album. As we poured over the photos complimenting her on her beauty (we also looked at L.'s album but she was more self-effacing and didn't seek out our compliments) we began to speak about the difference between our clothing and Islamic clothing, so the sisters decided to dress us in their hijab and dress (a single piece of clothing that hides the shape of the body and covers wrists to ankles, buttoning right up to the neck). One by one we were dressed and the sisters laughed, though L. particularly stressed to me that this is a good way for me to dress. We also had our right hands and nails painted with henna that was a gift from their parents-in-law from Mecca. On my hand they painted a flower and a letter 'M' and on my nails all different designs: a heart, two swirls, a little flower and a diamond.

The Fourth Snapshot: Lessons in Patriarchy

L.'s daughter was playing with a ball and cup - throwing the ball and trying to catch it in the cup. She laughed as she played and we often joined her by throwing her the ball and trying to catch it when she threw it to us. Then the smaller boy (her cousin) took the ball and held it behind his back. She tried to reach for it but missed and began to cry. L. came and took the ball from the boy returning it to her daughter but then the boy began to cry so L. took back the ball with the cup and gave him both. She then picked up her wailing daughter and took her to sit with her by the wall, holding her in her lap and silencing her protests. The girl struggled to stand and reclaim her toys, but L. held her tight. The boy appeared to taunt her as he stood before her with her ball and cup in hand. He then began to play with them, laughing and running around after the ball. This was a lesson in patriarchy and both children were being schooled - the boy was learning of his superiority and the girl was being made aware of her lower status. This is how it seemed to the Western witnesses of this scene.


We did not get much sleep that night, as the sisters wanted to keep us up as long as possible so that they could enjoy our company and the children were rowdy with all the excitement. But still, we were woken early so that we could join the family for another day of olive harvesting. It was a peaceful day with the family, all of whom were so kind to us. They kept giving us food and tea and coffee until we were almost bursting at the seams. Though even in this happy time our ideas were challenged.

The Fifth Snapshot: Prejudice and Suffering

The mother-in-law of our hosts, the grandmother of the family, was a lovely woman: hospitable, welcoming and strong. She is the headmistress of the village girl's school and her husband is the headmaster of the boy's. She asked us many questions and spoke with us at length. She was obviously a headmistress, a woman of status. She was more confident in her English than her husband, despite the fact that she had not used it in years and often struggled to convey her meaning. Over lunch she turned to L. (a German) and asked if it was true that six million Jews had been killed by the Nazis, because she had heard that it was a lie. His reply was unequivocal: 'Yes, it is absolutely true.' She looked at him sceptically and said that she did not believe that this was the case, but that even if it was, what does it matter now? Israel is killing Palestinians every day.
Such a lovely woman, and a Holocaust denier.

I forgot to mention that she has two sons in gaol, one arrested only recently and being held without charge. Because the Territories are under the jurisdiction of the military court, Israel is able to arrest people in this way without charging them with anything. It is called an 'administrative arrest' and it was first introduced by the British Mandate. A person can be held for six months, though this can then be redeemed. The longest term that someone has been held under administrative arrest is about eight years.

I also forgot to mention that just one month ago a fifteen year old had been shot dead by the Israeli military at the edge of the village for being suspected of trying to attack the settlement that sits on the hill above. The end of the village is only about one hundred metres from the edge of the settlement. This boy's eldest brother had been shot dead in the same place a few years earlier. After this latest death, the middle brother who is seventeen years old, was arrested without charge.

Settling In

Today I went shopping in Ramallah’s sooq (marketplace). It is busy and positively pulsates with life: the shouting vendors, the trolley boys and the keen shoppers. This was the first time I had ventured into the sooq myself; previously I had always been with another of the international students.

To put it simply: I loved it. I felt that I could almost blend in with the shoppers and just become part of the scene. I loved being able to implement my limited Arabic ability to ask for my purchases: onions, apples and bread. One of the trolley boys even asked me if I wanted to use his trolley in Arabic and I was likewise able to answer him (‘la shukran’ ‘no thank you’). It was only when buying the bread that I had to fall into English - I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me buy the bag of bread I'd picked up and it turned out that it was old and so they wanted to give me fresh instead.

These past few days I have seen and heard much to despair about. We have been learning about the 1948 war in my Palestine Question class and I have been presented with a side of the story that I had never heard before. This 'other' story that gets so little coverage in the West is backed up and supported by UN observer reports, old British mandate papers and Israeli historians such as Benny Morris and, more recently, Ilan Pappe. My professor who took us through it was obviously heavily affected by the material we covered, it was after all the Palestinian 'nakba' ('catastrophe'), and he finished our class early - a thing he had never done so far in the semester (for he loves to talk).

I read two chapters of Ilan Pappe's book 'The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine' and they shook me, because they forced me to realise that that is just what took place here. The only question is whether it continues to this day...

I feel that by dropping words such as 'ethnic cleansing' on Israel's doorstep I will lose my credibility and be labelled as a leftist who blindly adheres to the Palestinian cause, which is why I would normally shy away from such claims. All I can do is challenge those who disagree with me to prove their case, and make clear that I am perfectly willing to defend my position if people wish to question me. Though Ilan Pappe is far more eloquent than I would be so I recommend his book to everyone, or at least the first chapter in which he presents the definitions of 'ethnic cleansing' and evidences how what has taken place in this land fits within it.

It has not just been this class and these readings that have induced the despair I have felt of late, it has also been brought on through speaking with various people. One Birzeit student opened up to many of us international students about how she felt about the current situation and where she felt things stood. It was not a hopeful picture. The thing that struck me and many of the other students was her affirmation that she would not speak with an Israeli person, even if she had the opportunity: 'We are not equal. They live in freedom and I live in occupation. How could I forget that?' We asked if she thought that the two peoples (Israelis and Palestinians) could ever co-exist side by side and she said: 'Not this generation, and not the next. Perhaps the one after.' However, she emphasised that she did not represent all Palestinians, no one could do that. And she, like so many other Palestinians I have spoken with, emphasised that she can only present the story as she knows it and that while she would not speak with Israelis, she thinks that we should so that we can hear their perspective. Just don't go telling her about it. She doesn't want to hear if we find the Israeli people to be kind and sensitive to the Palestinian’s plight: how does knowing that they are really decent people help the fact that she is living in an occupation?

People's perspectives and beliefs vary so much here. It struck me that it's no wonder there is no effective Palestinian leader: how can one person lead and represent such a diverse group of people?

Another Birzeit student I have met recently and who strongly affected me is O., who was recently released from prison (an Israeli prison in the Negev Desert). He had been charged with rock throwing which allegedly took place at the beginning of the second intifada (six years ago) when he was a minor. For this 'crime' he was interrogated for seven weeks and imprisoned for six months. He had been 'turned in' by another who had been arrested and similarly interrogated to the point where he gave the Israelis any and every bit of 'information' he could. Even now that he is released his trials have not ended as he must still attend court. Need I tell you what a warm and engaging person he is? Obviously highly intelligent and still embodying a light air and liberal attitude, despite his recent experiences. He jokes that at least he got to see the Negev (which the Palestinians call the Naqab), which he had always wanted to do and as a Palestinian he would not have otherwise been able to (since the Negev is in Israel).

And, as ever, the image of the security barrier is in my mind's eye. As are the dilapidated buildings and piles of rubble that I saw in the Golan Heights that were once Arab towns and villages.

But then there's also the marketplace - alive and bubbling.

Towns that no longer are what they were...

Last week I had five days off classes and finally managed to make the journey up to the north of Israel with four other students. One of the other students, H., is half Palestinian and wanted to find the town where her father was from, called S-.

After travelling through Haifa, Nazareth, Tiberias and around the Sea of Galilee, we finally drove into S- well after sundown. Unfortunately, it was Friday, which meant sundown signalled the beginning of Shabbat in Israel. We had not even considered this because none of us had experienced Shabbat before - we had all previously only been in Palestinian areas.

The streets were empty and dark with the exception of the odd pedestrian in Orthodox dress who glared or stared in surprise at us driving along in our car. We had booked ahead for a hostel and had the address but little idea how to get there. We asked several of these pedestrians for directions but the only ones who answered us were new to the area themselves and couldn't tell us. We even asked a group of soldiers, but they had only been in the area for a few hours and couldn't help. Though they did tell us it would be best to park the car and walk: 'The locals won't like the fact you're driving round.' They even seemed slightly nervous as they spoke with us, like they would be blamed for our violation of Shabbat.

Fortunately, we had the owner of the hostel's phone number and after about twenty minutes of directionless searching, he came in his car and led us to the right spot. He was a lovely man, but obviously perplexed by the obvious culture shock we were experiencing at the Shabbat. He also probably also noticed that something wasn't right with us, that there was a tension in our group.

H. had been silent as we drove down the empty streets with only Orthodox Jews in sight. Everything was modern and had a European feel: the houses, the roads, the infrastructure.. It was a modern town, not the town that she had been raised on stories about. This was not the S- of her father.

She asked us over and over throughout the course of the night: 'what can I tell my father?'

We were all tired and hungry, yet Shabbat meant that no shops were open. The hostel man offered us what food he had leftover - some eggs and bread - and said there was a hotel that would have some food, though it would be expensive and we were on a budget.

The other four were uncomfortable here. It was not only the turmoil H. was experiencing that made the tension around us palpable - everyone else was also bothered by their surroundings: the near dead-silence, the low-lighting, the absence of activity, only the occasional Orthodox Jew appearing from the shadows and passing us by. And yet I was not uncomfortable.

I was awed by the strictness of the Shabbat in this place. I wanted to walk the streets and experience it more fully. I wanted to join the other people I had seen upstairs in the hostel who were eating their Shabbat meal together, singing their prayers. I wanted to wake up in this place and just observe.

But the others were distressed, and H. was distraught: 'this is the most horrible place I have been in in this whole place,' she said. 'What can I tell my father?'

We decided to leave. We would return to Tiberias (on the coast of the Galilee), where we knew some of our friends were spending the night.

It took about half an hour to make this decision to leave S-, all the while the hostel man hovered nearby wondering what we would do. We stood in a huddle just outside the front door. By the time we went to find the man to tell him we were leaving we didn't even have to say the words - he knew we would not be staying.

As we drove out of the town H. sobbed.

My head was full of questions. For the current residents of the town, S- is home. It is now an Israeli town with a strong Jewish culture. It has been that way since 1948. And yet, it is also still home for people like H.'s father - but not as it is, as it was. Two different S-'s.

Can you blame the people now living in S- for what happened there sixty years ago? Many of whom know no other home. The town has been in its current form for about three generations, but as one of the others said: 'does that make it right?'

Does it?

S- represents dispossession, and perhaps even cultural cleansing: the Arab culture of the past has been completely replaced with a Jewish one.

But what is right? Are things like right and wrong really so black and white? And even recognising it as wrong, what can be done? The Palestinian S- doesn't exist anymore, the Israeli S- does. This is how it is.

And yet the Palestinians still suffer. H. sobbed as we drove away. She sobbed for the town that was but no longer is. Just as so many Palestinians grieve the transformation of places that were once home: villages and towns that they still hold in their minds and hearts.

Eid al-Fitr: the end of Ramadan

This year Eid al-Fitr (the celebration that marks the end of Ramadan) coincided with Rosh Hashana (Jewish New Year). This meant that both Israel and the Palestinian Territories effectively came to a halt with no public transport (or servees) and very little open. Rosh Hashana also meant that Israel closed all borders with the Territories to Palestinians, though not to internationals; another example of the privileges a foreign passport brings you here.

I would have liked to go to Jerusalem and wander the Old City where, no doubt, both Israelis and Palestinians would be celebrating. However, I fell ill on the eve of celebrations and found myself bed-ridden.

But today I did get a little taste of Palestine during Eid: necessity forced me to leave my dormitory and go grocery shopping.

Here's a small snapshot:

All the cars that pass are filled with families: fathers, mothers and oh so many children. All sorts roam the streets carrying grocery bags and falafel sandwiches: old women, old men, middle aged women, middle aged men and of course the children! There are always a high number of children on the streets, but today they seem so much happier, and they are accompanied by adults. Instead of the usual groups of people loitering on street corners, everyone seems to be moving along happily with places to be. Even the cars are less aggressive, driving along slowly but still with a sense of direction. Everyone is wearing their best and the young men have even more than the usual amount of hair gel in. The shopkeepers hand out balloons to the smallest children and big smiles to their parents. It's like Christmas, only it's Eid al-Fitr.