March 29, 2002

Damascus Gate is unusually empty.

Good Friday. The death and burial of Christ. When the world felt the absence of God the strongest. The closures around Jerusalem seem to be air-tight - Damascus Gate, on a Friday morning, is completely dead. A trickle of people and almost no cars at all. Strange.

Good Friday bulletin artwork.

Since Elizabeth is nursing an ear infection, it didn't seem like spending the day in a Palestinian taxi that had no certainty of arrival at its destination was the best course of action. Instead, she headed on the well-worn tractor trail towards Jalame.

Marthame and our friend from the University drove up to meet her. On the way, they got a call that Sharon had called up 20,000 reservists and the army was headed into Ramallah. The question before us was whether it was better to be in Jerusalem or Zababdeh - both from a standpoint of safety and duty. On both counts, Zababdeh seemed much more appealing. We headed back on the muddy tractor track, dodging stuck cars and stalled trucks along the way.

The rest of the day was spent glued to the TV for updates from Ramallah. As Arafat's compound was under siege, word of another suicide bombing in Jerusalem came. It's really bad. Really bad. Good Friday indeed...