April 2, 2002
School began this morning. The students and teachers came from Zababdeh. None came from nearby Qabatiya, and a few (and only one teacher) came from Tubas. Only three students came from Jenin - perhaps to stay in Zababdeh rather than in that city.
An Israeli tank on the road between Zababdeh and Tubas, Palestine.
Before the first period was over, the parents in Tubas were calling for their children to come home - a new military checkpoint appeared at the edge of Tubas - right in the middle of what used to be Area "A". We sent the bus back to Tubas, the two foreign volunteers (read: us) accompanying the kids both to calm them and with the idea that a foreign passport still has more sway with soldiers than a Palestinian ID. The soldiers, after making us wait for a few minutes, merely waved us through. Other cars trying to enter Tubas waited, and those trying to leave were forced to turn around. We entered the village, taking the children directly to their homes. We saw about a dozen armed men wandering around. This place feels on the verge of unbelievable chaos.
We returned back to Zababdeh, waiting at the impromptu checkpoint for about half an hour. We could see some figures running through the forested hills away from Tubas through the rain. The soldiers seemed to see it too, and one of the three tanks went on the move - not a comforting sight. Eventually, all of the tanks headed back to the nearby military base, leaving the road open for the first time in a couple of days.
When we reached Aqaba, the village between Tubas and Zababdeh, we saw some kids with their shoes coated in mud - probably the same ones we had seen up in the hills. Some were no older than twelve.
A funeral procession through Zababdeh for the village’s first “martyr”.
A rainbow above Zababdeh’s lush fields.
We returned to school to continue teaching. We learned that a 20-year-old man from Zababdeh had just been killed as he opened fire at a checkpoint near Jenin. Zababdeh's first "martyr". The entire village turned out for the funeral at the mosque, as the church bells sounded the death knell. No one knows what will happen tonight, if anything.
We smiled weakly at the rainbow appearing over the fields near our home. A faint sign of hope. Tanks are moving through the middle of Tubas, Sharon is calling for Arafat's expulsion, and there is fighting in nearby Qabatiya. The picture of Palestinians forced to dig a mass grave in a hospital parking lot is only one of many hideous images burned into our memories. We decided, at Abuna Aktham's invitation, to sleep in the Convent.
We have moved into the Latin Church convent and packed our bags for a few days, just in case.
We've packed bags for a few days and are trying to decide what to do next.