November 14, 2002 — Mudeif Productions

Today is Irony Day in Palestine - in 1988, while in exile, Yasser Arafat declared Palestinian independence. Now, the day is celebrated - however, there is little resembling political independence here. Perhaps it's refreshing to remember that the American Declaration of Independence was issued in 1776, but the fledgling nation didn't have its first president until thirteen years later. The Palestinians, meanwhile, have had fifteen years, and they have a president, but no independence.

*Elizabeth’s students presenting their Independence Day reflections at morning Assembly.*

The actual day is tomorrow, but celebrations in the school are taking place today. It began with Elizabeth's 8th grade students leading the morning assembly in English. They led the students in the Lord's Prayer and Scripture reading before sharing some reflections they'd written about their national holiday.

As they were finishing, the Jenin bus pulled up. Elizabeth had chosen one of her Jenin students to read his reflection, and he had been looking forward to sharing this morning. We all waited as he stumbled off the bus and hustled over to the microphone. Breathlessly he shared his thoughts, particularly poignant in light of his daily commute to and from school. He said, "This day is important to the children because they want to live free without the Occupation and to have smiles on their faces."

The new art teacher was busy setting up displays in the hallway of the students' artwork - she has been an absolute blessing to the school this year, bringing energy to an area that has been neglected.

*Parents look on during the celebrations.*

*Families gathered for the celebrations.*

The school day finished early for a parent-teacher conference, which was far more pleasant than the one we first attended two years ago. Unfortunately, the Jenin parents were not allowed out of that closed city, so they missed the meeting. They also missed the party, which included a few speeches, some traditional dabke dancing, and a wonderful skit prepared by Sister Nadia. The 3rd graders re-enacted the story of King Solomon deciding between two women arguing over a newborn baby. He offers to cut the child in half and give one half to each of the mothers. The true mother is revealed to be the one who would rather preserve the child's life than compromise (I Kings 3:16-28). The story has relevance for today, as was intimated by the anachronistic toy rifles held by King Solomon's guards. Indeed, we have heard this story used as in reference to a one-state solution. But we seem to be lacking King Solomon in all his wisdom. The kids finished by singing, "Peace, peace, to the people of the Lord everywhere."

In the evening, we went to visit our friend Jihad who teaches at the Arab-American University. He and his family lived in the States for nearly a decade while he studied before returning here to teach. Their little kids are bilingual and adorable, and he has an amazing sense of dignity, human rights, and fairness. He is in the process of opening a department of human rights and conflict resolution at the University, and we chatted about ways that our work and ministry might intersect.

*Dabke - traditional Palestinian dance.*

Since it's Ramadan, we joined them in ftuur, the breaking of the fast at sundown. The traditional practice in these parts is to do so with a small bowl of light soup, a date, and a glass of water before having the meal. We did so, then shared some joyous msakhan with them. The power went out not long before we arrived and stayed out long after we left - it had a wonderful calming effect, though we're beginning to wonder about the benefit of joining the power grid was if we lose power for five hours every five days. However, it's preferable to the voluntary three hours each day.

A while after the meal, some of their friends came over as well. It seems to be customary here that as soon as a critical mass of people are in a place, they divide into two groups: male and female (perhaps this is not so different from the States, if memory serves). Elizabeth chatted with the women about a number of things. Not surprisingly, discussion turned to their kids (several of whom were playing around us). Elizabeth asked the ladies how many kids they had. One quickly replied "two;" the other hesitated. "I have two now," she said, indicating the little girl pushing her infant brother around in a stroller. Then, with a sad, resigned look, she pulled out from her purse a picture of two small boys, perhaps 11 and 7. "These were my sons, too." She went on to tell Elizabeth how her sons were killed last year in an Israeli attack on a building in Nablus. They were playing on the street next to the building. Elizabeth was at a loss for words. The woman named her infant after the older son who was killed. "This is my Bilal now," she said.

We walked home in the quiet darkness of Zababdeh's electricity-less night.