April 5, 2003

Fortunately, the chaos of the last three days in Zababdeh seems to be like past chaos - here for a couple of days, gone for a few, an off and on kind of thing. In other words, the situation here is "normal," not escalated. Case in point: this morning, all of the students were able to come except for the Jenin kids. They've been stuck in curfew for quite a long time now and have missed a lot of school. This, unfortunately, is the definition of "normal" here. One of Elizabeth's students there had sent her an adorable e-greeting when we were in Cyprus. Looks like we need to send him a "miss you" e-greeting now.

We arrived at school for assembly (as Elizabeth always and Marthame never does). We followed Fr. Aktham past the lines of students as the national anthem played. A ripple of whispers, then spontaneous applause. Cool. This is why it's good to be back, to be welcomed back. We were missed. What's strange, in addition to the welcome by the students (each of our classes also applauded our return as we taught them) and the rest of the village, there is also a sense of relief coloring our welcome. There seems to be an assumption that, because we have been returned, that means there won't be any problems in Zababdeh from here on out. Either they think the American government has a tighter control over our travel than they do, or that the Presbyterian Church has incredible inside information. In any case, it's good to be back.

We spent time speaking with people about the curfew. Several houses were surrounded, looking for wanted young men. One was the home of a teacher in the school. Her brother-in-law was taken at gunpoint, barrel against the back of his skull, and told to lead the soldier room by room to show that there was no one there. "If I see anyone, I'll shoot." It turned out they had the wrong house. They wanted the neighbor's house, the house about whom we had written an article a few months ago. They were looking for the same student. Apparently he hasn't been seen since that day, so the idea that they'd find him where they last looked seems kind of odd. But back they were. They did the same to several other houses, arresting some, frightening many, many others.

Fr. Firas paints the newly repaired wall.

The old bell will soon be replaced.

Marthame also stopped by the Melkite Church to check on the progress. The electricity is finished, lighting (including chandeliers and external lamps) is in place, painting is on the way, the windows are coming, and a new bell is ready to be installed. Fr. Firas will buy stones to build the altar, and will - for the time being - use the old pews. His eyes have the glow of a child on Christmas Eve, hardly able to wait to open his presents, this one being the church.

In the evening, we went up to the University to catch up with the ex-pats there. It was good to reconnect. When we left for Cyprus, we particularly felt like we were abandoning this community, but clearly the feeling wasn't mutual. We shared stories of the last two weeks, here and there, news and updates. The day the war started, two of the teachers walked into the cafeteria. The students there burst into spontaneous applause, appreciative of Americans who stayed in obvious defiance of the situation.

News also came today from Jenin. Another of the International Solidarity Movement folks was wounded this afternoon, hit by shrapnel in Jenin as he and others broke the curfew. They had been sitting for hours in the open, watching the soldiers patrol. Residents found this curfew particularly frustrating/goading, since no searches were taking place, the usual reason given for curfew. As the internationals got up to leave, a tank opened fire on the ground in front of them, sending bits flying. One was hit in the leg, a minor injury, thankfully.