September 22, 2002
The neighbor’s house, engulfed in flames.
Not long after our heads hit the pillow, we could hear the regular sounds of war - tanks, shooting, and - of course - roosters and shooting. At about 3:00, we heard announcements over a loud speakers. We weren't sure what was being said, but later we learned they were telling everyone in two nearby buildings to get out and stand in the street.
An altar girl in Jenin’s Latin Church.
We drifted back off to sleep, only to be awoken at 6:00 by a loud thud - the building shook (as did we). Our friends rushed in to check that the windows in our room were not shattered. Fire was pouring out of a building less than a block away. We ran upstairs to our host's parents' home to look from their windows. A tank was slowly moving away - Marthame wanted to take a picture, but this clearly made our hosts nervous. "They'll see you, and then they'll shoot at us!" Sometimes reality melds with imagination and fear here. Not long after, a fire truck arrived, but far too late to save the foundations. They were already buckling after being heated up by the flames. Explosions continued for a while after.
One of Jenin’s Christians praying at Mass.
We found out later that the man who was building the house (he hadn't finished it) had a son involved in Hamas, wanted by the Israelis. For this, they destroyed his father's future house by dynamiting the place. The house next to the target was even more shaken by the blast than we were, the doors being pulled from their hinges and broken glass lay scattered all around. No one was hurt, as they had been told to leave their homes at 3:00 am. Elizabeth chatted with a few of the women neighbors, who were shaken and tired, busy dealing with tired and shaken kids. A rude awakening for all, especially for a Sunday.
Israeli tanks parading through downtown Jenin.
Because of this, and because of the continuing siege on Arafat's compound (and the collective taking to the streets of the Palestinians last night in protest), the city was under a tighter curfew. Even so, Fr. Alphonse called to see if he should wait for us to start Mass. We arrived, doubling worship attendance - one difference between here and Zababdeh is the presence of altar girls.
One of Jenin’s Christians next to the hole that an Israeli bullet left in her bedroom window.
Because of the curfew, it was not a full service, but rather a daily Mass. The city was barely above a hum as people were managing to move around. We decided to do some shopping with our hosts, only to find people scrambling to get out of the road (tanks on the way). We saw one of the school's English teachers reversing rapidly, almost causing several accidents as he hustled to get out of the streets. Then we heard the tell-tale "rat-a-tat-tat" from the nearby garage. We went back into the church building and headed upstairs. From the second floor we could see the tank, followed by an armored personnel carrer, trailed by a dozen young boys throwing stones. They didn't do much damage. And as soon as the procession came, it left, and the streets began to trickle with people.
After some (delayed) shopping, we visited with a family from the congregation whose kids all attend our school. A week ago, the tell-tale "rat-a-tat-tat" busted through their kids' bedroom window - one of the girls was studying, but fortunately on the other side of the room. No one was hurt, but everyone was terrified. This kind of stuff happens daily, and sometimes it seems amazing that so many people remain uninjured here. Perhaps a moment of grace.
Celebrating, even in the midst of hardships.
We went back to our hosts' peaceful home and ate and visited until evening came, even managing to celebrate a birthday. It was a Jenin weekend in a nutshell - a dynamiting of the neighbor's house, a little prayer, a few tanks, and some birthday cake. What could make more sense than that? We're hoping for a quieter night than last night.