December 4, 2002 — Mudeif Productions

*11th Graders in Zababdeh decorating for Christmas*

Yesterday, as the school bus entered Jenin to bring the kids home, it was stopped by the Israeli army manning the roadblock. The kids were taken off the bus and made to sit on the ground while the bus was searched. Certainly nothing on the level with yesterday's killing of the old woman, but certainly enough to frighten the children as they sat on the ground surrounded by soldiers, jeeps, and tanks.

*Zababdeh chalkboard with Christmas messages in English and Arabic*

After the 'Eid il-Fitir break, exams begin next week. We simply hope that the non-Zababdeh students will be able to come. Since tomorrow will begin the Muslim holiday (and thus a school break), many of the Muslim students and teachers from villages and cities flung "afar" have taken off early - especially given the road in front of them today. Marthame's eleventh grade religion class spent the period decorating their room in preparation for Christmas. Their Muslim colleagues joined in, a wonderful confluence of simple celebration.

After school, we grabbed a shared taxi down to Jerusalem. Sharing the ride with us were a student from the Arab-American University, two professors (one with car-sick daughter in tow), and a woman from Ramallah living in Jenin with her two children - ten people in a taxi built for eight. The first checkpoint was worrisome. Cars had lined up on both sides at Tayasir, at the checkpoint next to the Israeli camp built on confiscated Latin Patriarchate land. The gate was closed, and no soldiers were around to speed up the process.

*The long, tedious, unpredictable wait at the Tayasir checkpoint*

We eventually saw them coming back from training exercises. Two snipers took up their posts while one soldier checked the ID papers and luggage of each car. As we got close, our driver mumbled under his breath. Apparently, he had had a run-in with the same soldier yesterday who had turned him back. He rolled down the window and the two stared at each other for a while. The driver couldn't take it. "He's just staring at me," he mumbled in Arabic to no one in particular. The two played a cat and mouse game, neither one willing to understand or speak the other's language. Finally, one of the professors - headed home for the 'Eid - intervened as Hebrew-Arabic translator: "He's asking if he told you something yesterday."

"Yes. Turn around and don't come back."

"Then what are you doing here?"

At that point, Marthame chimed in - sometimes it helps to let the Israeli soldiers know that they're dealing not just with Palestinians, whom many view with disdain if not outright disgust (sometimes it has no impact) - "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there is a problem. He doesn't have a passport to go from here."

The driver presented his ID and got out to open the trunk. Usually, this involves just a glance at the luggage. But this time, he was made to open every bag to search their contents. The usual security game had given way to a grudge match between the two. We waited, two snipers' sites focused on our taxi, half-assuming that the luggage check would finish with us being turned back just for spite. Fortunately, we passed on.

The rest of the trip was unremarkable, if long, due to the skirting of the tougher checkpoints and the blocked and forbidden roads in front of us. Nerves were short, too, on the last day of fasting during Ramadan.

Elizabeth chatted with the woman, whose son she used to teach at the Latin School. She was taking her kids to her family in Ramallah for the 'Eid - it had been a year and a half since they had been together. Her husband stayed at home, assuming that he wouldn't be allowed through. Marthame chatted with one of the professors who had received his PhD from the University of Paris. He, too, was headed home - to Bethlehem (the trip to Qalandia, our destination, is only half of the journey). Similarly, he hadn't been home in a year. It was unclear, given the situation there, whether he could get in or not. His car-sick 5 year-old contributed to the conversation - on Marthame's sleeve and pants.

In the back seats, folks were faring only a bit better with the winding, bumpy, narrow Palestinian "bypass" (i.e. bypassing checkpoints) roads. Elizabeth felt fairly urpy and the sixth-grader was having dry heaves - it's no fun to be car-sick while fasting.

We arrived in Qalandia, bid farewell to our companions, and were dropped off in Ar-Ram, just down the road. We walked across the checkpoint there with a simple wave of the passports and into a waiting shared taxi for Jerusalem. We jumped out in Beit Hanina and met up with American friends who are working here in an educational ministry and kindly offered to host us during our stay.

*Sunset over Beit Hanina, just outside of Jerusalem*

Together, after Marthame changed clothes, we enjoyed a glorious sunset - ribbons of yellow, red, and orange on a pale blue canvas - as the mosque's call to prayer from its green-lit tower acknowledged the end of the fast and the end of Ramadan. Kul 'am w-intum bi-kheir. Happy feast.