Hiroshima Remembered

I wake up in my Vermont bed in a state of comfort and discomfort. I haven't written in my blog to you, my readers known and unknown, about my transition back to life at "home". I keep up with Micca's blog in Sulimania where she continues to have an amazing cultural experience. I was restless and stared my weaknesses in the face and did not stay the three months. I read about what is happening at the Rafah border where my friends continue the effort; the gate is open these few days and the organization and treatment of people is improved since the passage allowed at the end of June. The camp presence and witness can only be having a positive effect on the way the Egyptian "security" apparatus conducts itself with the Palestinians. Felton at Maryhouse reminded me that the corridor of Rafah is where the Holy Family fled previous oppression and danger. 

Now for a few days a week I am an occupational therapist roaming the halls of two nursing homes, helping the elderly to regain their strength and function in more circumscribed lives of agedness. I have managed to find gracious work within the "filthy rotten system" but I am still left with feelings of betrayal on some level. War taxes and a high per diem rate from Medicare dollars may be related to that feeling!

Our gardens grow in beauty and bounty despite the heavy rain and cool summer. We (Steven, Lauren, and I) are eating fresh pesto, ratatouille, sauteed green beans, and fresh milk from the neighbors. We swim in a spring fed, sun warmed pond next door, built by my brother's father-in-law 40 years ago. Ours is an idyllic summer life on the land here on this tiny Vermont farm. I thank my parents David and Tamar for finding it.

This morning I read from Granny's diaries about "materialistic Christians who deny God". I listened to Democracy Now yesterday where Jeremy Scahill talks about Eric Prince of Blackwater converting to Catholicism and going on Crusade in Iraq.  And today is the 64th anniversary of the atomic destruction of the civilian city of Hiroshima. We Christians crossed a line that continues to haunt the world today. In sackcloth and ashes is where we need to sit. A form of that is to pursue the corporal works of mercy; care for the poor. And to live on the fruits of empire (driving my Saab, overeating, and having a well built house) produces such incongruity in my heart. I have to remind myself that our hard work also provides for us as well. I am hoping to share our home with Catholic Workers who need respite from their relentless labor at the various Houses of Hospitality. 

July 29th, the Feast of St. Martha was also the anniversary of my baptism. I have a photo of that event, and the baptismal candles. I can't ignore the message in the fact that these artifacts are still with me. The crumbs from Granny's table lead me on in this precarious journey. I end with a quote I wrote down in a sketch pad in my twenties, I don't know the source. "Trust. That which is born in your dreams, grows in your desire, blossoms in your belief, and lives in your action inevitably, must come to pass."      

In The Arms of The Catholic Worker Again

I arrived at Heathrow in such fatigue and was promptly detained at passport control. The security woman who questioned me was not satisfied with my explanation that my purpose was to visit friends until the 23rd of July. Her line of questioning eventually led to me naively explaining that I would be helping out with the care of homeless women. After phone calls and accusations that we were dishonest people and her religion guided her better than us ours, my passport was returned to me and I happily met Maria at the arrival hall. My mother used to call these kind of people with a little power "two-bit Hitlers" but I understood it to be an exercise in humility and patience. A violent rage rose in my chest and I thought, so this is how Palestinians are made to feel, along with so many other groups of people over the course of our bloody history. 

But it is wonderful to be here and I have collapsed with flu-like symptoms in this safe haven. I can only image what being homeless or a refugee does to a person's physical and mental health.

I receive reports back from the border and the international group of activists have written eloquent testimonies as to what brought them to the Rafah gate on behalf of the Palestinian people. My favorite one comes from Ashraf who says this kind of pilgrimage is a holy duty that one must take on. He describes his awakening of two years ago when he learned more about the situation and was compelled to become involved. He, and the others in the group are all are people of amazing integrity, love, and commitment. They have heard the cry from their brothers and sisters, they understand the need for mutual aid, and they have a vision for a new state. We must support them with our prayers and even travel to the border ourselves to bear witness if we can. And there is always the call to do the works of mercy close to home as well. I am beginning to feel homesick after nearly two months of being away.      

Holed Up In Munich

I am quite lonely without my new Egyptian friends and Paki at the border. It was a hot, sticky night in Cairo and I am now tired. Last night's report from Paki was about a Palestinian family stuck at the border with a grandmother who is in kidney failure, traveling with her son, the potential donor for a transplant, and his son and wife. They were refused flight from Cairo to France where the needed surgery is available. While waiting in the heat and in an attempt to get water, the grandson was hit by a soldier, the father defended his son, and was then taken to a "back room". The horrors of human behaviors. When the soldiers were told that the woman could die with this medical condition and no help, their response was "let her die".

But this morning my birthday present before leaving Cairo was a phone call from Paki reporting that there is hope for getting the family to France right away. Jean, one of our "saints at the gate" lives in France and has worked many years at the International Red Cross. She will be pulling strings to save another life at the Rafah border. We are not sure what happened to the man with diabetes and a recent leg amputation. These are crimes against humanity.

So I blog from my hotel room in Munich; I feel like a stranger in a strange land. There are sex shops down stairs, tall, young German men walking in tough groups, and Muslims walking with their family members. I feel tension here too. I picked up a piece of pizza for dinner from a Kurdish man working at the shop and was able to revisit Sorani, much to his delight. I stopped in at the Cathedral of St. Michael on Neuhauser Street to say a prayer of gratitude and the interior was stunning. We were soon shooed out of the church promptly at 7:00PM. I will catch my flight to London tomorrow and look forward to being part of a beloved community once again. 

Leaving The Rafah Border Sit In

The camp (named Camp Seabreeze by us who yearn for the beach( was quiet for a few days with just 4 of us holding the siege against the siege. I left today and our numbers were up to 14 with more expected. The Galloway convoy will be arriving in 2 to 3 days with 200 people we hear. We witnessed a convoy of 15 trucks loaded with food go through in about one hour the other day. It was sent by the Saudis. Minutes after it passed through the gates of Rafah a Palestinian family was denied entry, it was their 10th day of returning to the border in a futile attempt to pass. The soldier's faces change from being friendly to practicing cruel lies and it feels like a schizoid world which it is. The tension is quite high, they know Galloway is on his way and there is nothing that they have been able to do about our campout in their military zone. It is absolutely crucial to have an international presence, otherwise our brave Egyptian activists would be treated savagely. When many diverse groups of people work together, the power is multiplied greatly.
So I am back in Cairo with a bed and shower to celebrate. The bathroom facilities were locked against us at the camp in attempts to drive us out. We climbed the gate to use the toilets and running water. When buying calling cards they extort more money than is usually charged and they stopped letting us charge the mobile batteries. All of this is nothing compared to what the Palestinians suffer, and for so long. We met people who appeared dead in their eyes, the need to shut down rather than explode with fury was seen in so many faces.
I fly to Munich tomorrow, my birthday, then on to the London Catholic Worker house for 10 days. My heart remains in Rafah, where a few brave souls carry on against massively corrupt powers.

Back To The Border

We (Paki Weiland and I and Egyptian colleagues) have been in Cairo for three days and have failed 2 times to be allowed into the US Embassy to talk with someone about the closing of the Rafah border gate. We must have the correct names and paperwork in place despite the fact that the Egyptian government is unaccountable to anyone about accepting or rejecting paperwork of those who are trying to cross. It seems that arbitrary decisions and misinformation are the norm. We met one man from Houston, Texas who is American Palestinian and his wife and 3 kids were let through; he was not. They are now on the "other side" with no husband/father, money, or support. He was told to go back to Cairo (a day's trip away) to get another piece of paper and when he came back they still said no. 

We will try to follow up with the information given to us from our representatives about how to get into the Embassy, however it is the 4th of July holiday and no one was available on the 1st for this same reason. My contact from my representative's office said the Embassy does not know you are at the door or that you are US citizens. But we know that we have knocked on the door and have been heard. We also presented ourselves to the Foreign Ministry and they could not understand how we would even think that there would be help there. 

And so we will continue to play David and Goliath and hope that our GI tracts will keep supporting the effort. Paki is teaching me much with her amazing experience as an activist. This morning's daily reading in  John:2024-29  speaks about Thomas who had to put his hands into the wounds of Jesus to believe. I am putting myself into these wounds of the Holy Land and yes I believe we can keep up the struggle only with God's invisible hand providing comfort and protection. 

The press conference went well yesterday and we hope the wall of silence will be penetrated. Leaving Suli for this is mind blowing but every step of my way seems to be orchestrated for a good reason. The sit in is into the 22nd day, spread the word and send more people. Love and being willing to feel the pain of the other is the only solution.   

ongoing vigil at rafah border

I arrived on June 28th the 15th day of the International Movement to Open the Rafah Border vigil. The border was open June 27, 28,29. On those days over 5000 Palestinians were allowed into Gaza. It had been more than a month since the border was open to people without special medical needs. The scene at the border was horrific. People were made to stand for 5 to 10 hours in the sweltering heat and they were herded by the Egyptian police with no respect to their human dignity. There were severe limitations on sanitary facilities, and drinking water was sold at an exhorbitant price. This degradation of our Palestinian brothers and sisters is not being reported to the world and is being carried out with complicity between the US, Egyptian, and Israeli governments. A great sense of resignation, brutality, and dehuminization prevades the sight at the gates. Trash floats in the air and piles up near walls. The smell of feces and urine can be detected. The campers have been sleeping under a roof for shade, thank God, on the pavement. The flies swarm about throughout the day. My first night was very noisy with trucks roaring past a few feet from the tent, and men loosing their tempers and screaming. The next day we heard jets passing over and the thud of bombs were heard in the distance. I am terrified and very stressed but feeling good in the company of friends and activists.
I am pondering over what is the cause of this truely unnatural human disaster. What can we do other than be here as witnesses to this unspeakable and unneccesary suffering.

A Farewell To Suli

My bags are packed and I must go to the airport at midnight for a 5:30 AM flight to Munich. Not sure what will take so long but that is the way it is. 

Yesterday's day at the park was loud with the 100 plus kids screaming the entire time while competing in egg toss, eating and singing contests (the boys voices were exquisite as they sang traditional Kurdish songs), balloon blowing, and other games. I spent part of the time with Aro who is 6, on my lap. He is one of the students who constantly wanders out of his seat during class. Aro, my nemesis! Another boy gave me a lovely yellow canna lily and I was so embarrassed that I couldn't really recall him among so many kids in our classes. They were very sweet.

We had a picnic on the mountain above the city at sunset; my first time "out" of Sulimani. I see poverty for the first time as well. The van climbed up the mountain for a 20 minute ride and it was nice to be on the range that I have spent the last 5 weeks looking at from down below. Sirwan, Banaz, Michelle, AJ, Micca and I had our last evening together. The crescent moon turned orange as the sky darkened into twilight. We stopped by the side of the road and pulled out chairs and a table and ate fruit, olives, nuts, and salad, all very delicious. We were perched on a narrow ledge where the mountainside plunged straight down below us.  As stars came out the city lights brightened, stretching down the entire valley. It had been a hazy day and the top of the mountain range to the north (I forget the name) was obscured. It was soon dark and the warm (nearly hot) night wind blew across my face and I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I found myself wondering what it will be like, being under the stars in Rafah, with new company. It was a comforting thought as I sat, feeling outside the current conversation going on. It was so nice to be outdoors and out of the city. 

The heat continues to be intense, the nights loud with the build up of the elections. I last reported that there were two parties but it is three; the PUK with Talibani, the KRG with Barzani, and the Reform party with Mousavin. People have commented that the youth are out in full force during these street "demonstrations", maybe acting on concern over the issues and future, maybe looking for excitement. Al Jezeera reports an increase in violence across the country as the June 30th date approaches when the US military moves off the streets and into the bases. Who will take their place? The Nation reports on a group called Iraqi Special Operations Force, armed and trained by the Green Berets. Taken as boys a few years ago, they will be accountable to a small branch of the US military, the latest installment of death squads. Heaven help us, when will this ever end? 

Until my next destination, I will write again. I am trembling about the situations of the poor people of the world.