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.