June, 2002
First Presbyterian Church of Wilmette was our worship home for two years while Marthame was on staff there.
Elizabeth's mom brought with her the morning Lubbock Avalanche-Journal which had a two-page spread written by the religion writer from our interview.
The frescoes of St. Nicola and Agnese had been rescued from two chapels in Rome, peeled off the walls and mounted for display. Elegant and enriching.
We headed out this morning to the National Wildlife Refuge near Muleshoe, a town an hour west of Lubbock.
Marthame and the pastor, Davis Price, preached a dialogue sermon using the two texts to reflect on different understandings of "family" - both from a West Texas and a West Bank perspective.
Elizabeth's mom brought a group of her friends and neighbors over for a party tonight.
We spent much of the afternoon at the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal talking with the religion editor Beth Pratt.
The bags are packed, our tickets our confirmed, and we have a big fat bowl of ice cream waiting for us in Texas when we arrive!
The soldier who stopped us spoke very little English, but was very good at pointing and shouting. He flipped through our passports, and looked at our cellphone, asking, "you have in Jenin?" With his middle finger he then thumped Marthame's throat, on his clergy tab, saying, "What this?" How fresh! Finally, he handed us our passports - "take...go." It takes all kinds.
The town was deadly still - no lights, save from the University, making the stars plain to view; no sounds, save the barking of the dogs and the distinct rumble of an Israeli tank.
In the afternoon, Marthame met Abuna To'mie Daoud at the Greek Orthodox Church for 5:00 prayers. Twice a day, in the morning and evening, he prays at the church in Zababdeh, usually accompanied by one or two of the congregation. It's a discipline that he keeps faithfully.
Today was every bit a reminder of the hardships, though - the Israeli army is in Tubas today, where they've instituted a curfew. None of the teachers could come. What a day for a party.
We caught a taxi and headed back towards Zababdeh, expecting to walk the twenty minutes downhill.
We sat out on the porch eating supper and listening to the evening sounds of the city: helicopters, gunfire, the usual. We hope tonight isn't the night either.
A local engineer shared our walk, talking about his nearly twenty years living, studying, and working in Texas and West Virginia. Like so many others, he returned to his homeland with the onset of Oslo, believing that finally peace and independence were on the way to Palestine. Now, he and his wife and kids are stuck here, with little work and little hope.
Every incursion brings some more destruction - sometimes it seems rather arbitrary, like the busted up pedestrian crossing sign. And every departure means more straightening up.
We were hoping to visit a student in Qabatiya who is moving back to Romania next week, but tanks parked on the road make our visit unlikely.
All eyes were on the skies and the constant flares fluttering off to the West. The Israeli army had re-entered Jenin and had also gone to the nearby village of Jaba. The talk in the streets was that they would come to Zababdeh tonight, but fear has a way of multiplying itself beyond reality.
Because of the Israel re-incursion into Jenin, the two busses from there and beyond (and the students and teachers therein) didn’t come. We continued with exams for the rest of the kids - the Jenin students will have to catch up when it opens up again.
People here are tired of the violence, tired of the coming and going of the Israeli army, tired of being unemployed and poor, tired of having no freedom of movement.
We shared some Damascus sweets and Iraqi dates with our fellow teachers who were both glad to see us and jealous of our mobility and ability to travel places they cannot go.
Things are relatively peaceful now - news is much more about the World Cup than about the situation...
Elizabeth headed off with a small group to look for rugs and gold in the Old City's markets.
