Today is our fourth day on the trip, but marks our first full day in Palestine; we crossed the border yesterday. We have seen so many miraculous sights, between the Dead Sea, the Church of Annunciation, the Jordan River (in which we were “rebaptized” as Christians), the Church of the Nativity, among countless others. Yet, nothing has struck me quite so deeply as learning about the conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians.
We recently watched a film at Bethlehem University about the history of both Israel and Palestine, and just what led up to the conflict existing today. From what I could gather, certain Jews who moved to and lived in Israel wanted to create a state purely for Jewish people. These people were called Zions, who took any means to move Palestinians, or any one who was not of the Jewish faith, off of their land. Even though Jews from other countries did not support this, the Zions continued to violently force people out of their homes and land, into refugee camps. With strong and constant military presence, these camps were only supposed to be temporary, but decades later these displaced people still reside in these poor conditions, in the midst of hostility, merely because of their religious affiliation; I cannot wrap my head around it. Did the Holocaust teach us nothing? One of the brothers told us that some of these people had owned their homes for generations and held on to their house keys, thinking they would soon be able to return. Especially years later, I cannot imagine the lives of those residing there today, like the children and young adults. What must it be like to feel out of place and unwanted in the only place you can now call home? To not have witnessed or partaken in the creation of this religious rift, yet to have to suffer from the repercussions must be a difficult way to live; it sounds confusing, and its like these people are told they are “bad” when really, at this point, they have done nothing wrong. At least this is my opinion- the innocent are now held captive. It makes me so angry, but that anger empowers me to do more, to want to help, to take action. I am eager to visit the refugee camps in a few days to have some of my questions answered. It is so ironic that such violence has occurred in the places where Jesus was born and lived, scared to those across the globe.
At mass today, which we attended in the Church of the Nativity, there was a young boy of about eight or nine who acted as an altar server especially for this mass. He had cancer, and his family and he traveled to this specific church purposely in hopes of curing him. From the altar, the boy’s face was illuminated with happiness like one of the bright candles sitting before him, as he clearly loved his special job. One of his family members displayed a cross made out of tape upon his head, which I took to be his way of supporting the boy, who had lost his hair. The family could not take their eyes off of the boy, taking pictures of him, smiling humbly and in some instances, crying. I noticed especially his younger sister, who did not look older than five or six, breaking into sobs throughout the mass; yet, the family stuck together, supporting one another and not letting themselves emotionally break down. I thought to myself how mature this little girl must have been, to know so much about the fate of her brother that it brought her to tears. She prayed intensely and behaved well throughout the entire mass, something that is can be difficult for children of that age. I was in awe. But that must be how many of the children living in this area are; you grow up fast when you live amongst political turmoil. I learned a lot about the family unit in the area of the world, specifically Palestinians. Despite injustices or hardships placed before them, they are people are of strong constitution, maintain pride in their race and a deep faith in God. It is inspiring, really.
