Getting to the bus station

The collective punishment continues on the West Bank. It has been two week since the 3 boys have been "kidnapped". We have a curfew of midnight. Some seem to not take it very seriously while the rest of us make sure to be home well before. The IDF have orders to shoot and ask questions later, so I would much rather be home with family than out and about anyway. 

I have been teaching a wonderful group of Palestinians. Some are high school but most are my age. It's interesting to get their perspective on what's happening. The other day we talked about traveling. Many want to travel to America some day. I began thinking about a topic we were talking about the last few days at DHS. 

We were discussing the American Dream and whether is was dead or not because of the recession. I guess to people who live under continuous occupation and are threatened with constant "security threats" arrests America is a dream come true. 

For many in Hebron it's life goes on. They go to work, well most do if the are permitted if they aren't stopped by road blocks and blockades. 

We fall asleep to the sound of gunfire and teargas and sound grenades going off in the distance. I am lucky I live on the far south side of town so we only here it. I have friends that get woken up in the middle of the night because their window was shattered by a sound grenade. Another coworker sometimes doesn't make it into work because soldiers surround her house and she can't leave because it's not safe. Her and her family are lucky because they have not entered the house yet. Like I said I'm the lucky one.

We wake up in the mornings to find out that others have been rounded up and sent off to prison for "security" reasons. Meaning they can't find anything to charge them with, but they may be a threat.  With the morning news comes with more news of murders and home searches and demolitions, but yet life goes on. We get up and do what we came to do. Teach English. 

Right now I'm sitting in a van heading towards Al-Quads (Jerusalem) for you non Arabic speakers. I am taking a three day vacation up to Nazareth and to Mars Elias Education Center to go hear Abuna Chacour speak and then get to hang out with one of my favorite missionary people. I think it will be good to get away for awhile. 

I am on a van full of Hebronits, who are all trying to get through the checkpoint for one reason or another. The borders are closed and they are not letting Hebronites through but they are all trying. I am sitting next to a Dr. from Al Quads who hasn't been able to get to work since the closure. He is hoping to get through the checkpoint to see his son graduate. He said he has a 90% chance that he won't get through but he is going to try. His uncle is American and waiting at the Embassy to try and help. The resonance of the people is amazing. I don't know that I would even bother taking the journey if I knew I was going to get turned back.

I'm the lucky one I have an American passport. The passport lets me come and go as I please. 

So the Dr. I was sitting next to was very very helpfully and he was able to get through the checkpoint because he had a special work permit. The rest if the people, he told me lived in Jerusalem so they had no problems either.  The Dr. was nice enough to help me find my way to the light rail. At least he pointed me in the right direction. (Points for me for not getting lost). I met a very nice little boy and his mother while waiting. His name was Mohammed. I introduced myself in Arabic (I forgot how to ask him how old he was so I asked it in English) his mother helped me count. I told her I was just learning.

We got on the light rail and sat across the aisle from each other. When it was time to get off I told Mohammed bye and he waved at me.

When I got to the bus station I was totally confused on what to do or where to go, but I figured I had 3 hours to burn so I would get it all figured out. After spending 3 weeks immersed in Arabic I felt totally lost.

I finally asked some guy at a small market where the to buy a ticket. He looked at me like I was stupid or something and pointed next door and said in English "The station is next door."

I still had to buy a ticket and that required finding the ticket office. I looked around and figured out the ticket office was on the third floor. When it was my turn to buy a ticket a told the ticket guy where I needed to go and he told me how much. Now in the states when you purchase something usually people say something like "thanks, have a nice trip" or something equivalent. Not this guy, he handed me my ticket and said nothing. I looked down at my ticket and had no idea where to go cause it was written in Hebrew! Everything is in Hebrew! I asked the lady at the info booth and she very kindly told me which gate. 

I still had a few hours to kill so I decided to explore.