From the school window we could see the funeral procession (in Islam, people should be buried the same day they die) as it headed up the road past the University.

Just because a Palestinian has official permission to travel doesn't mean it will be accepted by soldiers at a particular checkpoint at a particular time.

The soldiers are usually just bemused by the insane foreigners who are choosing to live in the West Bank, and we are usually given a superficial security check (passports, a question or two).

That means six Americans who have left in the last week - all for various reasons, but it's depressing to lose such a significant part of our ex-pat community.

The Qalandia checkpoint, which is between Jerusalem and Ramallah, is as close as most Palestinian people and drivers can get to Jerusalem.

We had to brave the chaotic roads along the way - main roads have been cut, and the settlers' bypass road we used to take back in the days of vehicle-owning is now closed to all but settlers and soldiers.

The Melkite Church here has fallen into severe disrepair after sixteen years of neglect, though the community remains and worships among Zababdeh's other parishes on Sunday mornings.

Even with all that's been happening in Jenin lately, Marthame was assured that all was 'aadi - that is, normal.

But here, in a land where hundreds (becoming thousands) have been killed both in and out of combat, a murder is a rarity.

There was also a surprisingly extensive environmental center with natural specimens and displays about pollution, water issues, recycling and other local concerns.

We joined the school's Islam teacher and her family for a picnic. We lugged a couple of blankets, the requisite tea and coffee, and a big bucket of tabboule (Arabic salad) out to feast in the fields.