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July 21, 2005  Live from the West Bank

July 29th, 2005 Now you Always Have a Home in Bethlehem

 July 29th, 2005 Now you Always Have a Home in Bethlehem - by Rivers

Ed. note -  See www.ismboston.org for the first part of this report,
entitled, "Live from the West Bank"

After a few hours of laughing and talking politics, H's cousin and friend
left for their homes.  His friend is a refugee from Dheisheh and his
cousin lives within site of H in Bethlehem.

The 3 of us stayed out on the balcony, relaxing and sharing stories.  Then
H's phone rang.  "Fuck."  It was his cousin.  The Israeli Defense Force
(IDF) was in his house.  His cousin watched from a distance as 30 soldiers
raided his home, forcing the rest of his family (2 children, mother and
father) to sit outside under armed guard.  H paced as he spoke on the
phone in rapid arabic.

H, Sri, and I climbed up to the roof to see if we would be able to see
anything.  "Don't move too quickly.  They won't be able to tell that
you're internationals," H said, as he crept closer to the edge of the
roof.  The 3 of us watched from the shadows as the IDF searched the house.
 We could hear things smashing and see the shadows of the soldiers as they
moved from room to room.

H was worried.  He kept calling his cousin but he wouldn't answer.  We
knew the jeeps were moving because the dogs all over the town were barking
like mad.  People were whistling to let others know where the soldiers
were.  "Don't be surprised if they show up in my house soon," he said.  He
thought they were going to the homes of people who had cars with Israeli
plates (which he has).  After a little more than an hour, H's phone rang.

The soldiers broke a lot of things and took the car of H's cousin.  They
arrested his neighbor, but said, "don't worry.  he'll be back tomorrow.
we just didn't want to go back empty handed."

We moved back out to the porch, and H said he needed to smoke the argeela
again.  Sri made a comment about people smoking a lot here.  "They smoke
to forget," said H.  "What else can you do?  during the Intifada when we
couldn't leave our homes, all there was to do to stay sane was to smoke
the argeela and talk to our girlfriends."

We sat on edge every time a dog barked or a jeep drove by.  The soldiers
finally left the town alone around 3 in the morning.  We watched the moon
turn bright orange as it approached the horizon.  We sipped arabic coffee
and finished the argeela.  H would not let me sleep in my regular clothes,
so he lent me some of his pajamas.  We slept a few restless hours.

In the morning, H took us to a cemetery.  30 small graves were in 2 rows,
a few olive trees and many pictures and flowers were scattered throughout.
 "one day my friend started telling me," H said, "that when he died he
wanted me to put him next to an olive tree and to make his grave big so he
could relax in the earth."  H paused, eyes turning glassy.  "a few days
later, he was killed.  I went to the cemetery and saw his family digging a
place for him.  I told them what he had told me and then dug his grave."

H walked over to one of the graves.  He leaned over and stretched out his
left arm.  He rested his face on his shouler.  He repeated this six times
as Sri and I watched, silently.  "Sometimes I thank God to be alive, and
sometimes I'm ashamed to be alive," said H, as he wiped the tears from his
eyes.

H brought us back to our group.  We hugged and thanked him for everything
he did, for being so welcoming and showing such hospitality.  He smiled
and said, "Now you always have a home in Bethlehem."

July 21, 2005  Live from the West Bank:  by Rivers in Deheisha refugee Camp

"So are you ready to go?"  H asked Sri and I as we left for his house.  We
left Dheisheh refugee camp around 7PM to stay with H, a smiling 23 year
old college graduate who is staying by himself in his family's house while
they are spread out over Jordan and Dubay.  H stays in Bethlehem and
volunteers at a place called Shiraa, an organization with zero budget that
teaches kids how to do circus acts and skits.  As we climbed over a pile
of brick and metal that once was a house, H started talking.

"I remember when this house was destroyed.  The tank came and parked right
in front of my house and fired at Dheisheh.  That was a hard time.  I used
to have 12 close friends.  Now I only have 4.  Imagine seeing your friends
all covered in blood, nothing you can do.  All you can do is put your hand
in it and put it on yourself, so they will be with you always.  That was a
hard time."

We stopped at a shop on the way to his home to pick up hummus, juice, and
coal for his argeela (water pipe).  When we arrived at his house, H showed
us where we would be staying and brought us drinks.  He had already eaten,
but cooked enough food to feed 8 people for Sri and I.  Two Palestinian
salads, fried tomatoes, hummus, zatar, and on and on.  We ate until we
couldn't eat anymore.  The hospitality of the Palestinians does not cease
to amaze me.

>From his balcony we could see all of Dheisheh camp.  The sun was sinking
into the horizon, and the 3 of us were relaxing--drinking tea, eating
fresh fruit, and smoking the argeela.  H kept asking us if we needed
anything, because "this is your house," he would tell us.  As the 3 of us
sat in the cooling evening air, H kept telling us more.

"One time I was studying and I heard a big boom coming from my neighbors
house.  I went to see if he was ok, and when I got there I had to pick up
his pieces.  Imagine having to do that.  At a certain point you don't even
think anymore, you just do.  That was a hard time."

"One time I told my friend that I would meet him at 11 for lunch.  So 11
rolled around and I went to his house.  When I got there I found his
funeral.  Imagine thinking you are going to see your friend and when you
arrive you find him dead.  That was a hard time."

"One time my neighbor was going through a checkpoint, and the Israeli
soldier said that he would let him through if he got down on his hands and
knees like a dog and barked.  My neighbor refused, but then the soldier
said no, you will do that or I will not let you go at all.  So he had to
do it.  Imagine being treated like that, like an animal.  If I was
occupying Israel, I would not treat people like that."

Later in the evening, 1 of H's friends and one of his cousins came and
joined us on the balcony.  We laughed, and laughed, and drank soda and
smoked.  I felt totally at home and welcome.  It amazed me how these
people who have suffered and continue to suffer so much have it in them to
laugh.  "If we don't laugh, if we don't smile or sing, we die from
thinking," said H.  "We have hope, That is all we have."