The sun had just finished its descent over Bethlehem and the call to prayer rang crisp in the evening air. I breathed in the sent of Arabic coffee mingling with olives and lime trees while sitting with Samir Sababa on the back porch of the Sababa house.
We were both sipping the warm coffee, which was really more like a shot of espresso than a cup of Maxwell House. Squinting into focus some whirring figures just past the low garden wall, I could make out the silhouettes of children piloting their bikes back and fourth on the neighbor’s crumbled patch of macadam. Although I could not understand their Arabic, it was enough to hear the joy in their laughter. “Surely this could not be the Palestine I have always imagined,” I thought to myself. Where were all the extremists and constant gun battles that the American news had told me about?
No, the only extreme I could find there on the porch was the deep brown of Samir’s Palestinian eyes which were staring off intently. He represents the fourth generation to live in that house and now shares it with his parents, Fáud and Louris. He is 28 and married, with a child of his own, Salina.
Samir had completed his undergraduate studies in engineering in his early twenties, but there was little work for him in that field in Palestine, so he works the days away in his fathers mechanic shop slaving over dusty engines. At night he comes home to work just as hard at being a father.
I remembered how, that morning, he had taken me to the unfinished second floor of the house. With an air of gauged accomplishment in his voice, he led me through the rough concrete walled structure holding the future for his young family.
“That room is for Salina and this one is the kitchen,” he pointed, as we stepped over some water and electric lines which dove down through a hole in the floor. I imagined the new space with its final coats of paint and tiled floors smooth with the satisfaction of living well.
Interrupting my thoughts, Samir said, “Here it is like a big jail.” I thought I understood what he meant, but quickly realized that I never really would, I couldn’t. For it was not the grey walls of his second story construction that he was referring to, but another wall, one whose height sprung just as far above the ground; only it served a much more strangling purpose.
“During the last intifada,” he said, “the tanks drove up our road. We had to leave, to hide in the city.”
With the immediacy in his voice I felt as though he half expected me to feel the ground beneath them shiver under the 65 tons of an Israeli Merkava Mark IV tank crawling just outside his bedroom window.
I followed his detached gaze to an oddly vacant lot across the alley. “They blew up our neighbor’s house,” he said, as he turned to measure the weight his words had on his silent listener. It was clear that the cold steel tread and the concussion of the 120mm shells still weighed heavily on Samir like a mallet of judgment for sins he had not committed.
I could still hear the laughter of the children on their bikes, only now it was layered by giggles and squeals coming from Salina. I caught a glimmer in Samir’s eye as he looked contentedly at his wife and daughter.
Then I began to understand that he was not driven by the fear and frustration of those memories, but by hope. His daughter was his hope, his wife and parents were also. They were the freedom and peace that no walls could smother and no tanks could crush.
The Mennonite Mission Network and Franconia Conference Nazareth Village Youth Venture Team will be sharing on Sunday, September 23rd at Franconia Mennonite Church at 9am and at Rockhill Mennonite Church at 7pm about their recent trip to Israel and Palestine.
Join them as they share what they have learned and stories of people in the region.
A time for questions, conversation and refreshments will be available after the sharing time at Rockhill Mennonite Church.
Today was a high emotional day for me. I have been running on adrenaline for the last couple of days. Going to bed at Midnight and waking up with the call to prayer some time between 5 and 5:30 Am has really caught up with me. The culture and lifestyle here is so different than I’ve been use to. People stop you in the middle of the street and take you into their stores to drink tea and coffee. Everyone is extremely friendly and nice. This morning, Maoz took us on a tour of Old City Nazareth. We visited a few churches as well as walked through the market place. At one of the churches we visited, the English translation on the sign said that this is the church where Jesus ate a stone. Needless to say we all started laughing. As we exited and more people read the sign, one of the other people on the tour asked me, “Is that in the Bible.” I smiled and said no, that story is not in the bible. Looking back, it really makes you wonder what else is out there and what people are being taught.
After the tour, we went to Nazareth Village to volunteer in the afternoon. By this point we were all exhausted, and really had no desire to do a lot of hard work, today. (The weekend was a blast, but very tireing.) Â Which kinda worked to our benefit. The girls and Dave sewed for a while, until Evon came in and told us it was good but wrong. Khallas!!!!!!!!!!(finished in arabic). We were done at that point.
Then we were all called into the conference room, where Bethany and our group were thanked for all the hard work that we had done. After that we went back to Janelle’s and cooked Bethany her last meal in Israel for a while. “Maklubee” (which means Upside down). It was so good. (Rosemary thanks for the recipe.)Â
As we left Janelle’s and said good-bye to Bethany, I realized that tomorrow we would be leaving at 1:30 friday morning. As I realized this I felt the tears welling. I really do not want to leave this place or this culture. There is something refreshing about the hospitality that is displayed here in Israel and Palestine. Whether it was meeting people at our hostel like our friend Erik from Switzerland, or going to our host families in Bethlehem and having them treat us as family from the second we walked in, it all affected my life.
In the end I know that I will be back to this part of the world someday. Whether it is for another short term trip, a summer trip, or more substantial period of time. I have truly been blessed by the culture, by the sites, and by the people we have met along the way. God is truly amazing.
As this trip comes to a close, I am grateful for the new friends I have made. These friendships are across the united states and across the world. I am grateful for the challenges that God has given me, so that I could grow personally and spiritually. This trip has been packed with many challenging experiences, and I think that it will be weeks and maybe even months before I know exactly how this trip has fully changed my life. So as we prepare to leave, and say Goodbye to the friends we have met and will be leaving behind, I know it’s not forever, it’s only for a while.
Today was a long day. It began with saying goodbye to our host families. Staying with them was such a blessing. I was more effected by the situation in Palestine from our conversations with them, than I ever could have imagined. So saying goodbye was bittersweet. We had an amazing breakfast followed by a cup of coffee on the back porch before we headed out. (Ben had two cups…)
After meeting together with the group, we shopped around Bethlehem for about an hour. Ben and I found a wine store run by two 8 year olds, LOTS of souvenir shops, desperate shopkeepers, the market… and in the market, a vendor stopped us and invited us in to his shop for a quick cup of coffee. We accepted, knowing full well that this was my 2nd, and Ben’s 3rd cup (more like shot) of coffee in an hour. A “cup of coffee” here is what Americans consider to be an espresso shot. The vendor, Bags, didn’t want us to pay for the coffee, just to hear a bit of our story, and perhaps to bring us to purchase something else. Either way, it was a nice gesture.
After our shopping spree, Aiman took us as far as he could along the wall to the checkpoint where we passed through with great ease. There were many other people there with us, Palestinians I assumed. Where we simply had to show our passports through the glass as we passed through, these other people had to have special permits, their passports, and give their finger prints in order to pass through. I can’t get over how much privilege and responsibility we, as Americans, have in traveling to this area of the world. I can’t let that go to waste…
A quick shopping spree in Jerusalem, filled with walking and haggling for a full hour led into my first, and probably last, visit to the Dome of the Rock. Standing up there looking at this HUGE mosque inside walls and very secured entrace ways made me think of a big club house. There were a lot of Muslims and tourists, a lots of kids running around playing soccer outside of the mosque. I liked them. It’s neat that on this such highly religious and fought-over piece of land, children still run around and play wherever they like. They don’t have a care about it.
Then we went to the Holocaust museum. The complete opposite of what we had encountered in Palestine. It still disturbs me to see those images, but it’s even harder after spending time in a Palestinian community that has been literally walled-in in order to keep them under Israeli control. Makes me think where this situation is heading…
The group got one last 6 shekel falafel and we caught the taxi home. Finally back in good ol’ Fauzi Azar, we talk about our experience for a few hours and also about what we can do with our knowledge. I think we all are completely confused about the situation still, but we know we must share these stories. We must.
I’m a little worn out from being exposed to so much in one weekend. But there’s still hope.
What if we pick the olives for the farmers?”, he asked as they sat in the Beit-Sahour cafe over a plate of hummus and pita.
“You’d get shot!”, she said with surprise and caution in her voice.
He conceded to her point, but remained disturbed by his memories. That morning he had walked through an olive grove nestled in a valley outside Bethlehem. As the trees parted in front of him, he reached an impasse. Scoured through the valley lay a fence as far as the eye could see.
Fences are, of course, few and far between in the cultivated hill country of Palestine, and this one in particular, seemed very much out of place. So much so, he thought, it seemed likely that the land had never seen one like this before; and neither had he. For this was not just one fence, but three, with a road burned through the middle.
He wondered what place such an obstacle had dividing the valley so boldly. If someone did not want the farmers to access their fields, that someone had surely succeeded. The barriers began just in front of him with heaping coils of razor wire. Behind that lay open ground which ended against a high chain-link fence which was also lined with more razor wire on top. Just beyond that fence stood a fence similar the previous, but with the added “security” of exposed high voltage wire strung across it like something out of Jurassic Park. Past this was a road way, buffeted on either side by raked sand. This was prepared, he concluded, so as to catch the slightest inconsistency of an intruding footprint or evidence any un-groomed impression in its surface.
Another fence provided a bookend for the ghastly production on the opposite side of the road. It’s height and wire, dwarfed by the previous lines of defence, clearly revealed which side of the fence was meant to be “secured,” and he was on it.
Beyond the snaking concentric lines of the barrier, the olive trees, many older that any living man or woman could possibly remember, stood silent. The soil beneath them, rich from years without harvest and the branches above, laden with their ripening burden of perseverance.
They were finished the meal and as they got up to leave he thought to himself, “there must be a way.” Those weren’t even his trees and fields. The land meant little to him as a means of income or for supporting a family as it did for the farmers who owned it, yet he felt the waves of helplessness and dispare as if it did. He wished his memories were only memories and not the daily reality for Palestinians. Tragically though, they are real memories, real trees, real fences, real bullets, and real men, women, and children.
As was pointed out to us so kindly on Thursday before going to bed that this time next week we would all be on our way back to New York, and then back to our perspective home. After a few complaints and objections about this, we all went to bed and woke up to realize that we are leaving for Jerusalem and were so excited.
Upon arriving in Jerusalem, we were dropped off at the Damascus gate by our taxi driver, and then we entered. Damascus gate is one of the busiest foot gates into the Old City. Entering at around 10 AM was not too bad, but as we turned around a few hours later we got to push through the crowd. It was almost like being at home in Lancaster at the Green Dragon or even at Rices. So many people and well, so few places to go. So we continued to push our way up and out.
On Friday in Jerusalem we visited the Church of th Holy Sepulchre, where Christ is believed to have been crucified and then buried, as well as the Garden Tomb, which is a second site that it is believed that Christ is buried. As we were walking through these two sites, all I could think about was does it really matter? In reality, if it really mattered where Christ died and where he was buried, it would be some place, and we would know it. The fact is, that Christ was crucified, and he gave his life so that each and everyone of us can end up living in eternity with him forever.
Friday night, we spent in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, and in Western Jerusalem. We arrived at the western wall just before sundown and the start of shabat. We quickly learned that no pictures were allowed on shabat, but no picture could do justice to what we saw. We saw thousands of Jewish people, some orthodox and some people not Jewish, but just observing, praying. There was so much energy inthat space, it is hard to place into words. I think what I will never forget is the wide range of Jewish people that come together to pray. They come every Friday to celebrate what God has done. Could you imagine if at Sundown on Saturday night when our “Sabbath” begins, if all the Mennonites in the area would go and pray together. Conservative and liberal, or make it even broader than Mennonites but Christians. Imagine what could be done.
This trip has opened my eyes to so many things. I have learned so much about myself, my world, and God. God is here in this place, and there are good things happening around us. As we go through this last week, just want to thank everyone for your prayers and pray that you continue to pray for us as we discern and discuss what we do now with the experiences and information that we have received by talking to people and exploring the world outisde of the United States.
Proverbs 16:3 says: Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.
We can not wait to share our experiences with all of you at home.
Today was a pretty eventful day for me. This morning I was asked to help with some of the gardening at the Village. I like to garden and so I agreed to help. My job in the garden was to cut the grass around some of the plants with shears. I was working with this older women. I told her that my group and I were going on a weekend trip to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. She was talking about some of the things I need to see and visit while I was there. It was an interesting conversation.  Apparently our conversation was too interesting because I totally lost focus of what I was doing. I by accidentally cut the tip of my finger. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I was in the gift shop dripping blood all over the floor. Janelle, my boss, assisted me to the bathroom in an attempt to stop the blood. As soon as we looked at the cut we both knew that it was pretty deep.Â
I am one of those people who gets extremely grossed out when it comes to blood. I can’t stand the site of blood even my own. After seeing my cut I instantly felt sick and dizzy. Janelle sat me down and told me that I needed to get stitches. The word “stitches” sent a quiver down my spine. I had gotten stitches before and it wasn’t the best experience.Â
I didn’t want to deal with stitches. I also didn’t want to wait around in the hospital. Thankfully the local hospital was literally 1 min away. Dave went with me to the hospital. Which was a good thing because I knew that he was going to school to be a doctor. I was in good hands. We were both impressed how fast it took to stitch me up and send me out the door. Thank God my hospital visit went smoothly
I trusted God the whole time. I knew that he would protect me and keep me safe. While we were in the hospital I kept thinking of Proverbs 3:5-6 . “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understandings; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.” God uses little things in life to really make you think and put your trust in him.Â
The great thing about today was that I got to call my parents and tell them what happened. It was great to hear their voices. God also knew I really needed that as well. I am just realizing how many times a day God teaches me something. Its cool to know that he plans things like this to teach me and to strengthen me.
Miscommunication can have delicious results. I was commissioned to retrieve supplies for breakfast. As I sauntered (in my PJs) up to the first bread vendor I could find, I mumbled the words “Pita. I need 10″ and flashed a bill worth 100 shekels. Our team awoke to the pleasant surprise of 10 small, hot pizza’s.
This trip has taught me the value of improvisation. Making what you have work for the situation you are in. My friend Charles Ciepiel once told me “never underestimate the resources around you.” Each day God challenges me to discover the power of this proverb. There are many situations were people are convinced they are powerless because they aren’t creative enough to use the resources around them. Jesus modeled helped his disciples realize the resources God put in their midst.
Our team is drawing closer to each other. Yesterday after work we dined at the apartment of our new friends Janelle Zook and Bethany Rieff. Bethany made incredibly good lasagna and apple pie. During the dinner preparation Dave arranged a video conference call to the Franconia Conference Office. This call, though it was short and tough to hear what people were saying, really affected me. As I saw many of the conference leaders huddled around the computer wtih funny expressions on their faces, I felt something. It was hard to pinpoint. I had one of those moments that I knew would stick in my mind for eternity.
The older I become the more I feel as if time and relationships become a unified material that quickly slips though my fingers like sand. As a photographer I look at a lot of pictures. Within every picture is a piece of time that can’t be recovered. Every photo is like a fossil record that begs me to step inside and live out that moment until I tire of it. This is why people love pictures. They are given illusion of controlling a moment. There are many experiences our group has shared that I wish I could freeze and pack in my bag.
This place is not as foreign or inhospitable as people imagine it to be. In the midst of doing my laundry in a bucket I realized that it is possible to live without a permanent address. Jesus did this, and he challenged others to do this. Taking his words seriously is tough, but not impossible. I would like to thank everyone for your prayers.
As we walk by the shopkeepers and wave or nod a hello they confidently smile and say “welcome.” This is telling of the hospitality and generosity here in Nazareth.
Someone once told me “Americans live to work and everyone else in the world works to live.” I’ve thought about this concept daily as we work in the village here. It seems that nearly every time we are not busy working, the others (the locals who run the village) are calling us to come and sit with them to have a coffee break. The coffee is flavored with cardamom and is supposed to fight the heat of the day. I’m not sure if it works yet, but it is good and strong. Besides, we are willing to try anything, in addition to drinking multiple liters of water, as it has been around 104 F. for most of our stay. (today we enjoyed the 90’s).
Today Tim, Karah, Dave, and I began work on rebuilding the second of two roofs over a house in the village. It is good to work and be with Tim after being apart for most of the time since high school. We have both changed and matured in many ways over that span, yet we quickly realized our senses of humor have remained the same. Needless to say, the work day is filled with laughter and enriching conversations in between other strange noises and flying clods of dirt. Aside from this lightness of mood and the afore mentioned adjustment to a difference in work ethic, we do work hard.
Since arriving here I have learned a myriad of details which clarify and enrich the biblical story. One of which is that Joseph was probably not a carpenter in a quaint woodworking shop as we might imagine. It is more likely that he was a sort of 1st century contractor who worked not only with wood, but also stone, mud, reeds, and mortar. He built houses, and Jesus would have worked along side his father, hoisting buckets of mud and stone like we have been doing for the last week.
I look at my hands at the end of each day and survey the damage. It usually consists of a few cuts and blisters from swinging a pick or hoe as well as the results of being sucked dry by the limestone and left raw from pulling buckets to the roof. I can’t help but think that Jesus was ripped and his hands must have been calloused from years of carpentry work.
After a busy weekend traveling over northern Israel, it feels like home to come back to our hostel in Nazareth. We were all pretty tired and parched from the heat and travel, but as Karah said, it doesn’t get much better than watching the sun rise over the Galilee and set over the Mediterranean.
It has been two years since I have been in this part of the world, and before coming back to lead this trip with Youth Venture, I was looking through some of the journals I had written from when I had traveled here in 2005. I found this journal (http://www.vivaelviaje.com/blogs/vivaelviaje/archives/000146.html), where I talked a bit about my Israeli friend Maoz, and how he had a vision to start a youth hostel in the Arab city of Nazareth to build peace in his country.
And coming back now, it’s amazing to see what has happened. Maoz’s dream, The Fauzi Azar Inn, has helped to revitalize the old city of Nazareth and bring life back to the semi-desolate marketplace and stones of the medina. He has helped to foster interaction and hospitality between international visitors with both Arabs from Nazareth and Israelis looking for a weekend getaway. Many volunteers for Nazareth Village stay at the Inn and visitors to the Inn visit the village. Those from Nazareth speak about Maoz with great respect, as they know that he has helped to build peace in the town of Jesus.
When we oriented ourselves to the village last week, we sat in the first century synagogue and discussed Luke 4:14-20, where Jesus returns to his home town after his time in the desert, and says:
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
As a group, we have been meeting many different people in this complex land, each with their own story and perspective. This weekend, we will be traveling to Jerusalem and Bethlehem and experiencing the heart of this country where more religions and people mix into a city that is unlike any other in the world.
Through becoming a part of the Biblical story and living amidst the stories of many others, we are continually learning what the Luke 4 passage meant both for those in the first century and us today. We are anticipating what it will be like to return to our home towns in two weeks and share this will our churches, families and friends.
On Sunday, we were at the beach near the ancient Caesarea aqueduct, hanging out with Maoz, his wife Shlomit, and their 18th month-old son Liad who is the happiest boy you could ever imagine. I feel priviledged to be here again and to be a part of the ever-developing story of the people in this region. It’s exciting to imagine what the next chapter, and how it may be connected to us all.
The sun had just finished its descent over Bethlehem and the call to prayer rang crisp in the evening air. I breathed in the sent of Arabic coffee mingling with olives and lime trees while sitting with Samir Sababa on the back porch of the Sababa house.
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The Mennonite Mission Network and Franconia Conference Nazareth Village Youth Venture Team will be sharing on Sunday, September 23rd at 
This place is not as foreign or inhospitable as people imagine it to be. In the midst of doing my laundry in a bucket I realized that it is possible to live without a permanent address. Jesus did this, and he challenged others to do this. Taking his words seriously is tough, but not impossible. I would like to thank everyone for your prayers.