Nablus
Yesterday our group got a chance to go to Nablus. Nablus is an area where IDF incursions and Palestinian resistance is still very active and alive. Our group was escorted by a local and the police because here even other Palestinians are suspect as collaborators in the eyes of locals. Honestly, it was heart breaking. The refugee camps are so cramped and tight that at points you had to turn sideways to walk down the road! 35,000 people in 2km. Signs and tributes to martyrs killed by the IDF paint the walls. It was a whole new experience hearing about martyrdom and resistance so actively talked about— for many who have no money and no food it is the only way they feel they can react. Our guide told us that a large memorial is being built to tribute those who have died, either randomly killed or shot because they actively resist. We talked about the impact this is having on the children in Nablus and the two messages the children are receiving from their community: 1) they won’t forget those who have died on their behalf and 2) they wont forgive Israel for what they have done in massacring their loved ones. At this point, a friend grabbed me and said to me “tell me God is big, please? Just tell me God is bigger than this.” In fact, my heart is in my throat just recording what I am about to say.
My heart grieves for the children. Parents in America get concerned about the psychological impact of violent video games. In Nablus, the kids are constantly exposed to real blood and violence. Our guide was telling us about a person killed by a shell the other week…his body ripped apart and kids were picking up and playing with his severed limbs. That’s not right. No child, no person, deserves to have that life. To have a severed leg as a play thing? No, that can’t be life. Yet, somehow it is. That is normal. I weep at this. As a Christian I know a God of hope but it is here that against all hope I, like Abraham, must believe that there is justice for this. That there is a reason why I was born into such a place of privilege. To have dolls, not severed hands, as my toys.
We learned about occupied houses. The military shows up in the night and forces the entire family into one room. They are not allowed to leave the room even for food or the bathroom. The military will use the house as a base to observe or carry out military actions for up to a week, the family huddled in that room the entire time. There is no way of knowing a house is occupied. Some of the NGO’s we met with often are asked by extended family members to go check on a family that has failed to show up for a celebration. That is the only way they find out. These aren’t just actions during the intifadas, these are the past week. Two 16 year old boys were assassinated the night before last because one was expected to have militant connections. The other? Just an unfortunate walking companion. Sometimes you do get arrested and given a trial, but other times it seems like the trial is a gun.
Bullet holes coated the walls, street lamps (re: the above comment on cut electricity), windows, everywhere, similar to the spattered pain aimlessly flicked off an artist’s brush. I haven’t written about it before, but the bullet holes aren’t unique to Nablus and you can find them everywhere here. The frightening thing, however, is knowing some of these were fresh. Mom: All the violence occurs in the night so in the daylight, and with our local accompanists, we were not in danger. We were reassured this many times from multiple sources.
There are too many stories. Like how its common for 6 and 7 year old children to be interrogated by the army because they are more easily frightened and intimidated and they hope to gain information from these innocent witnesses. Or how when our guide’s friend was shot by soldiers during curfew— you aren’t allowed to leave your house even for medical emergencies— our guide had to use his fingers to plug the neck wounds for two hours until the curfew was lifted and they could leave to get medical aid. Or the story of the first martyr of one of the neighborhoods- a bomb was planted in his phone that was later detonated, exploding his head.
I’m not returning home the same person. In the beatitudes, Christ says “blessed are those who mourn”. I am beginning to understand the significance of mourning, of grieving, of witnessing.
On a brighter end, the day ended with a chance to enter a Samaritan village. According to the Samaritan priest we met with, only 730 Samaritans exist in the world today (Bible buffs: think good Samaritan, woman at the well). The Samaritans actually serve as an interesting meeting point between Palestinians and Israelis: They are guarded by an Israeli checkpoint and are Israeli citizens but they identify with the Palestinians and only speak Arabic. They hold three passports: Israeli, Palestinian and Jordanian. Daily, they pray for peace. We also drank from Jacob’s well— the same well where Jesus told the Samaritan woman that he was the only living water that would quench her thirst. Did you know “living water” was so important because the Jews would only purify themselves with water that had an active source, thus it was ‘living’? It was really, really neat! And the best quote of the day overheard in our group after drinking from the well…”Jesus was right, I am thirsty again!”
Please remember I am only recording what I am witnessing, what I am learning and hearing. There are always multiple perspectives on the same event and the unfotunate tragedy is a lot of this violence is ingrained and systemic. I know many Israelis who are outraged at these events, too. I would be saddened to learn that my blog has caused personal hatred or bias between any parties. This is just reality as I’ve been experiencing it and I think it is important to be spoken.
