April 16, 2002
We decided to stay in Zababdeh an extra day. It has been a week since we last saw everybody, and it was good to reconnect - one day wasn't enough to do it justice. Neither, we suspect, will two days. Apparently the generator is low on diesel fuel - about enough for four more days. A new tank of fuel costs $5000, which the Municipality doesn't have right now. They don't have it because nobody is able to pay their electricity bills because there's no work. In order to save, they've been keeping the fuel-usage down by leaving it off between 5 and 11 AM, so the sleepy little town is even sleepier these days.
A friends shows off her newborn twins!
We had begun making our visiting rounds in earnest and stopped for lunch at friends who have new twins in the house. Their father is living and working in the Galilee, so we will bring him pictures when we see him sometime next week. They were showing off the spot on their roof where they can get spotty cellphone service (just what every home needs!) when we spied five tanks on the main road near the Israeli training camp. That was about this time that we began to regret staying here an extra day. There was some exchange of gunfire in the distance, but we're still unable to tell whose guns are whose. But there was no mistaking the firing of the tank.
A row of Israeli tanks on the outskirts of Zababdeh.
We had just sat down to lunch, when a sound shattered the air and shook the foundations of the village - or so it seemed. The electricity cut out at the exact same moment. Everyone gasped and hunched over. No one could really tell what was happening because everyone was too scared to go out or back up to the roof or even peek out the window. In the course of the next few hours, there was sporadic gunfire and two more tank shells. Their sound is reminiscent of a sonic boom in your living room. No one was without fear, though everyone tried to reassure each other - and especially the children - that nothing was wrong at all. The men all began joking about stripping down to their underwear and making their way to the Convent - like the scenes that have been repeated around the West Bank the past few weeks. We were trying to imagine what it's been like for people in Ramallah, Bethlehem, Nablus, and Jenin who have endured not just a mere handful of tank shells but hundreds upon hundreds, 24-7. One was enough to send us running and ducking under the covers (so to speak).
Eventually the collective "military wisdom" of the village discerned that the tanks had headed off to nearby Misilye and had left Zababdeh. The rest of the day, as we wandered around the village (but never too far from the apartment after that), several things were immediately evident. First was that living under this military Occupation is emotionally and physically draining. Everyone looked wiped out and had short fuses, and quite a few people are fighting colds. The other thing is that people are afraid. Everyone's trying to guess what'll happen next, and many are assuming that the Israelis will eventually do house-to-house searches in Zababdeh. In the afternoon, many families on the outskirts of town were relocating to stay with relatives in locations that are considered safer. Some are talking about sleeping in the Latin Convent tonight. The elders of the village were reminding Abuna Aktham to have his robe ready to wear when the soldiers came and gathered the men. The now steady and familiar sound of F-16s overhead adds to the paranoia and fear which just seems to feed itself.
We dropped off some relief support from the Sunday School children of Park Ridge Presbyterian and First Presbyterian of Wilmette - something sorely needed these days - and vowed that we will definitely head back to Nazareth tomorrow.