Change on the Horizon?

I haven't felt as inspired to write lately. Not because there aren't interesting thing to write about and not because my mind has stopped churning, but just because sometimes I am just in the mood to let experience sit, as they are, in their moment, without a thorough re-evaluation and reflection process afterwards. But now I am sitting in the office alone, dark clouds and thunder outside my window, and it seems, if only for a moment, that the heat wave might be ending as the rain ushers in a new season in Jerusalem. But then as I continue glancing outside I see the sun refuse to shy away and fight its way through the clouds, clearing away the few drops that fell and creating a strong odor of wet asphalt that reaches me even from 4 stories above street level. Perhaps this is some sort of metaphor for my experiences here. Dark clouds signal changes on the horizon, unclear whether or not they are welcome changes. Then the sun peeking provides a glimmer or hope, but hope that is always kept in check by the accompanying odor which reminds us where we are and where we have yet to go. So now, in the midst of this fleeting scene, tainted by the noise of sirens and construction below, I feel like I have some time to write about a few happenings from the past few weeks.

My life and work here seem to be constantly fluctuating between high-intensity stimulation and excessively slow periods of solitude and inactivity. This past weekend qualifies as the first category, thanks in part to the visit of a very close friend from Berkeley who brings light with her wherever she goes. It started with a protest in Hebron that I had a bit of a role in organizing with a few very prominent activists here. The process of organizing such activities has certainly been a challenge as I find myself sitting in on meeting, trying my best to stay alert, involved, and hopefully helpful, despite not understanding all the Hebrew, especially when it is all mixed together with a bunch of code words and references to places and laws and past events and people that I am not familiar with. I recognize that I am undergoing a learning process through immersion, but I can't help but feel unsettled and confused as I straddle the line between taking on responsibilities and taking on the role of an observer. Basically, my contributions thus far have consisted of making weekly visits to Hebron to coordinate plans with our Palestinian partners in the city, being designated as the contact person for people who want to sign up to participate in the protest, and video taping everything once the protest is already underway. Admittedly, I don't do much talking in any of these capacities because like I said, I haven't got Hebron and the role of all the different players there all mapped out in my head just yet and I don't know where I can insert myself in a more substantial way. It will take me some time to understand which areas are considered more high-risk for protests, which areas are accessible, and which types of actions are likely to make the most impact. The protest this past Friday drew a crowd of around 70 people (a mixture of Israelis, Internationals, and Palestinians) to a piece of land that belongs to a Palestinian family yet is being used by settlers as a parking lot and a make-shift synagogue (essentially a tent with a Jewish star on it). There the protesters built a Palestinian outpost to show how quickly such a structure would be destroyed in contrast to the Jewish outpost which remains untouched. The police and army urged us to leave because they had declared the area a closed military zone. This resulted in the arrest of a number of people who refused the order to leave and then stunt grenades for the rest who didn't back away quite far enough. In some ways these protests seem like mere theatrics or a game of cat and mouse between the authorities and the activists. The parts are well rehearsed and everyone generally knows the sequence of events: march, chant, confront, crowd dispersal, go home (with different variations on those basic parameters). When I'm there I feel a rush of adrenaline but rarely do I feel like I'm actually making a dent in the system or convincing anyone to correct injustices. So why do it? Why do I willingly enter a scene where I know there is the danger of tear gas or a tarnished name or sometimes even a blow from an angry settler? Well this is a question that I am still attempting to find good answers to but for now I feel like my rationale lies in my commitment to building relationships based on solidarity, challenging unjust practices by shedding light on (or creating noise around) the critical issues that otherwise slip by unnoticed, and being part of a movement that doesn't wait on broken promises, but rather mobilizes the people in nonviolent struggle to demand the recognition that they are denied. Also, these protests represent a community of people in Israel-Palestine that are kept hidden by mainstream media and I think it is important to know that they exist, they are fighting, and they are not "terrorists" trying to dismantle the country from the inside.

My weekend continued with a beautiful Shabbat dinner at the home of a very warm and welcoming family in Jerusalem. It's so rejuvenating for me to find such accepting people in a place where I have to always think twice before sharing myself fully, simply to avoid conversations that make me feel uncomfortable or ostracized. I had one such conversation with a stranger at a party this week and it left me feeling incredibly deflated and hopeless. The simple act of explaining my work here launched him into an upsetting rant full of offensive claims and impenetrable denial. I don't aim to interact with people as if we are facing off on a battlefield, and in fact I refuse to. Actually, even imagining such a situation seems strange because such an approach does not align with my personality at all. I am not a person to yell in your face and tell you you're wrong. I am one the one who quietly listens and tries to find points of connection and inclusion. So when I do decide to speak and give voice to the flurry of thoughts that spend most of their time tucked safely away behind my closed lips within my inner soul, I am so grateful for those who show me the compassion and patience to I need to feel confident, safe, and supported. That is the type of community I left behind in Berkeley and which I hope to be able to create anew this year.

The weekend came to a close with a day by the Dead Sea. I went to enjoy the marvel of this natural phenomenon and also participate in an event attempting to draw attention to the fact that the Dead Sea is in a major crisis as a result of climate change. It is drying up at an alarming rate and contributing to the formation of huge, hazardous sinkholes along its shores. I'm not going to attempt to explain the process by which this happens because it's too technical and geological for my brain to fully grasp, so if you are curious you can look it up (and I fully encourage you to do so).
The event had three groups, Israelis, Palestinians, and Jordanians, making human chains to spell out "350" (as in parts per million), which is the safe upper limit of CO2 that should be in our atmosphere, instead of the 390+ that we are at right now. Similar actions took place all around the world, and although I found it a bit ironic that aerial photographs were taken (as if planes don't emit tons of CO2) the intention behind such a global campaign is important because it helps people feel more empowered to make change instead of feeling like the task is too daunting and beyond our control.

In more personal news, I'm slowly starting to make more friends and find more creative ways to spend my free time here. I am taking a breakdancing class twice a week, where I attempt to spin on my back and my head do fancy footwork with a group a kids. I am starting an Arabic class today just to learn a few basics so I don't feel completely at a loss for words when I am interacting with Palestinians. And I'm always searching for more ways to convert those more dull and lonely moments here, into opportunities for adventure and learning through critical engagement.