Just a few of the many joys in Palestine.

It is very easy to become totally engulfed by the conflict here.  It is easy to feel sad, frustrated, confused, and angry.  It is easy to have conversation after conversation and argument after argument about what should happen here (although most the time these conversations and arguments go no where).  I have to admit that sometimes I fall so victim to the conflict that I fail to recognize the many (many) inspiring things that do exist here.  Before Christmas, I was reminded while working on an audio project with my country coordinators of something a Palestinian elder who attends my church said.  “When you live in a situation like Palestinians do, you have to learn to make joy and create joy.”  Throughout this Christmas season, one filled with great joy, I started to think about all the joy that does exist in my life right now.  So, I would like to share with you some stories surrounding those joys.

Ana ismi Santa mish Laureen….

 I was totally caught off guard on St. Nicholas Day when my Assistant Principal ask that I play the role of Papa Noel.  My initial thought was that I don’t even know how to say Merry Christmas in Arabic how am I supposed to be a believable Santa?! But when I was greeted by about 40 little Santas in the kindergarten class, I knew that I was up to the  challenge.  I suited up, complete with a creepy Santa mask and danced my way through the halls of Dar Al-Kalima.  The kindergarteners were of course the most excited, but they even quickly realized that it was Miss Laureen under the mask and no matter what I said in English or in Arabic (and I even tried a bit of German) they were not about to believe that I was Santa.  Still, they played into the fact that Santa Laureen had come to visit and I took pictures, handed out chocolate, and danced with them.  The joy on their faces  was absolutely priceless and it was one of the best days yet.  I have to admit that working in the kindergarten is my least favorite part of my job.  While the little ones are adorable, their lack of English and my lack of Arabic created a huge barrier in communication between us.  However, ever since being Papa Noel, we somehow have been brought together in a special way.  The kids love to ask if it was me under that mask and I of course answer “la” (meaning No) every time.  I am thankful that I had this opportunity to be Papa Noel, for anything, it reminded me of the pure joy that we all at one time expressed as children.

Playing Santa for the kindergarteners

Visiting the 9th graders

The generosity of strangers on my way to Ramallah….

Two of the YAGMs live in the northern part of the West Bank in a city called Ramallah.  It is about an hour drive in a shared taxi and for 20 shekel, you get a nonstop drive to one of the largest cities in the West Bank.  Despite the sort of crazy driving here (something that I have grown quite used to), it generally is a relaxing drive.  On one particular trip to Ramallah (a day when it was pouring down rain), about 15 minutes into the drive, our taxi was in a line of cars, buses, and other taxis stopped on a steep hill and it looked as though we wouldn’t be moving for a while.  Through the rain, I heard men yelling.  I perched up to look around and vaguely through the headlights of the cars ahead, I saw a group of men running up the hill.  I’m not sure if I had a look of confusion or concern on my face, but the woman next to me offered a comforting smile as she too looked toward the commotion.  I quickly realized that the oncoming traffic was having an extremely hard time getting up the hill in the rain.  As our taxi inched closer and closer toward the group of men, I saw that they were jumping on the back of cars to create enough weight on the cars, so they could get up the hill.  Each car was waiting patiently in line (and in most circumstances lines are never followed in Palestine and cars are never patient) for their turn to get help up the hill.  I don’t know who these men were or where they came from (we were miles away from the nearest town), all I could determine was that they were a group of men who felt a need to help others.  I was simply amazed at their hard work and generosity and despite it taking almost double the time to get to Ramallah, the kindness that these men offered is something I will never forget.

“It tastes like something our moms make”

Megan (another YAGM volunteer), and I decided one Friday night that we were going to make dinner for a group of our Palestinian friends.  For those of you who know me quite well, you know that my cooking skills are well, non-existent, so as we discussed what we were going to make,  I grew increasingly nervous  about this dinner.  We finally decided that we wouldn’t make a Palestinian dish.  We knew that we wouldn’t be able to compete with their mothers (some of the best cooks in the world!) so we would make something they have never had before…chili and corn bread.  The first task was to find the ingredients.  Things that are common in America aren’t so common here (or they aren’t labeled in English in the market) and we quickly realized that we would have to make our own chili seasoning and just play it by ear on the corn bread (we couldn’t actually find corn meal).  Megan was in charge of the chili and I was in charge of the corn bread.  We spent hours in the kitchen.  Okay, maybe not hours, but for the sake of the story, let’s say hours.  The chili was tasting mighty tasty and well the corn bread looked like corn bread, but tasted more like a cake with corn in it.  When our friends finally arrived, I think they were a little skeptical about our dishes but as they tried it, we could see that they were surprised that they  actually liked it (ok, they didn’t actually like the corn bread, but the chili was a hit).  And we were surprised when they said, “It tastes like something our moms would make!”  They didn’t realize it, but that was probably one of the best things we have heard since we have been here.  Megan and I were so pleased to have gotten to share something we enjoy so much in America.  It was a fun night and maybe next time we will try out a Palestinian dish! ***Major props should be given to Megan who actually cooked the Chili, but hey I was there for moral support .

Enjoying the chili!

My failed attempt at corn bread

I have only shared with you three of the many many joys I have experienced while living here over the last four months.  These stories, these joys are something that I have learned to cherish.  While the occupation, the conflict, can disturb one’s life in incredible ways, these joys are what make this land, these people some of the most inspiring people I have ever met and I feel completely blessed to get to share their stories with you.

 

It was their first time in Jerusalem….they live less than 7 km away.

I have found myself getting increasingly angry lately when talking to other internationals I meet (primarily those who are just here for quick trip) about the situation that faces the region.  I join in with them in debating what would be the right “solution” to the conflict and what “should” be changed in order for peace to happen.  Whenever I reflect back on these conversations, I find myself frustrated with those I had been previously talking to, “the situation” here, the media, and primarily myself.  I’ve discovered that these conversations revolve around the politics of the situation and tend to forget that whatever happens here is about people’s lives and stories…not just about land or an Israeli state vs. a Palestinian state.      I have grown even more frustrated reading stories written in the media.  I’ll be the first to admit and know that a journalists/editor’s task is not easy and what is reported does indeed tend to be the information that needs and should be reported, but what makes me angry…what makes me sad is that many (which does in fact include myself) become so engulf by what is read in the media and the debates that are happening on the ground that many lose sight of the story of the people living here, both in Palestine and in Israel, and forget that that story is so much more than the physical Wall that now divides people or the illegal settlements that have displaced millions from their homes.  So I would like to dedicate my blog to telling the “real” stories of the people who I work with, live with, those who are my neighbors and those who are my friends.  While I think it is important that you continue to read what is going on here, I hope that you find the stories I tell as a reminder that whatever decision is being made, whatever bid is being debated, whatever negotiations or deals that are happening, millions of people’s lives are being affected and they too deserve to have their story told.

It was their first time in Jerusalem….they live less than 7 km away. 

About a month ago, a group of Germans who are from a “sister-school” of my school, Dar Al-Kalima (DAK) spent a week in Palestine.  They stayed with host families and spent most of their days at school doing different activities with the students at DAK.  Toward the end of the week, they were scheduled to go to the Old City of Jerusalem with their host families and as the school “photographer,” I was also joining them.  I quickly went from “photographer” though to group “leader” when we learned that it would be too hard for teachers from my school to get permits to cross the checkpoint and go to Jerusalem, especially since it was a Jewish holiday.  (***here, if a Palestinian wants to go to any part of Jerusalem or cross any checkpoint, he or she must have a permit from the Israeli government in order to do so.  Typically, permits are granted for medical reasons or work-related reasons however on certain Jewish holidays even those with permits are not allowed to cross the checkpoint).

I was excited, but nervous to learn that two of the Palestinian host families decided to try to get across the checkpoint even without permits.  The three Palestinian students and their mothers “strategically” sat next to the Germans as to blend in as we were going through the checkpoint.  By the grace of God or the maybe just the kind Israeli soldier who checked our bus, we crossed the checkpoint without any hassle.  The kids let out one of the loudest cheers and I knew that it was going to be a fun day.  You see, for Demitri, Layal, and Elias, it was their first time ever visiting Jerusalem even though it is just a short 7 km away from their home of Bethlehem.  They have grown up with the Wall in their backyards and with the hassle of having to obtain permits to cross the checkpoints, going to Jerusalem was something they had only dreamt about.

The sparkle in the kid’s eyes when we visited the top of the Mt. of Olives and got a peek at The Dome of the Rock was absolutely beautiful.  They explained to me they had only seen it as a picture in their history books.  They were memorized by the site, yet after taking pictures with it as their background, they too became kids just like any other kid in the world, wanting to see who could blow the biggest bubble or take silly pictures with their new German friends.  For them, it wasn’t about getting to see the sights of the Old City it was more about being free to move about their country, their home, something they have been denied for their entire life.   Demitri is a shy eight-grader who is a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for.  Elias, an incredibly smart eight-grader,  loves to rap and play football and basketball and I think knows the English language better than I.  And Layal, Elias’ little sister, exudes so much beauty and love with just her smile.  These three kids are so incredibly beautiful and don’t deserve to have to worry about crossing checkpoints in order to visit places that literally are in their  backyards, yet they continue going on with their lives, playing football, rapping, studying just as you and I did when we were their age.

They are the reason I am excited to wake up every morning and go to school, they put a smile on my face everyday despite whatever frustrations I might have living here, and I feel blessed by God to have them in my life, even if it is just for the course of this year.  Through the debates, negotiations, deals, etc, I pray that Demitri, Layal, and Elias’ stories are not forgotten for they give this region laughter, love, happiness, and hope.

Me and Layal blowing bubble gum bubbles atop the Mt. of Olives

Elias and his new German friend.

Layal showing off her bubble blowing skills.

The German group and the DAK group atop the Mt. of Olives

Just hanging out at the Holy Sepulchre

 

They call me ‘Miss Laureen’

I never thought I would be a teacher.  In fact, I have always been very vehement when saying,“I will never become a teacher.”   Something about growing up with a parent in the education profession has led me toward different paths, paths far from teaching.  However, my YAGM journey has led me to become the very thing I have been against for so long, I have become Miss Laureen.  Truthfully, I am more of a teaching assistant/school photographer/administrative assistant/English language expert (which anyone who knows me quite well, might find hilarious J)/coach than I am an actual teacher, but the name still stands and for the next year I will be Miss Laureen.

My school, Dar Al-Kalima School, is one of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Jordan and the Holy Land’s (ELCJHL) schools.  It is K-12^th grade with around 300 students.  I primarily help in upper level English classes, write numerous reports for the administration, and coach different activities during the extra-curricular program, fondly known as ECP.  My time thus far as Miss Laureen has been quite interesting, as I have come to terms with the fact I am teaching for the next year.  Luckily, other than in rap club (and I did just say rap club) and grading English presentations, I am rarely left alone with a class.  Well, this was until today.

ECP on Mondays consist of me helping out Mrs. Linda, the school volleyball and ping-pong coach, with 9^th grade volleyball.  I know teachers aren’t supposed to have their favorites, but I have grown quite fond of the 9^th grade class as they have been the most patient and accepting of my slow Arabic language learning.  Usually, Mrs. Linda takes the lead and then I mimic whatever volleyball drill she is doing with the other half of the kids.  Volleyball is always a blast, as one doesn’t really need a whole lot of Arabic training to bump or set a ball.  However, today was quite a different story.

After the first bell rang to start the ECP program, I frantically looked around for Mrs. Linda but she was unfortunately nowhere to be found.  I saw some of my 9^th grade class gathered around outside, also questioning each other as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Linda, but accepting that she wasn’t there and then going back to being their teenage selves.  I, however, was thrown three balls from the gym coach and told to start volleyball, in hopes that Mrs. Linda would arrive shortly.   That’s when I made my first mistake: When the kids saw me with the balls, they yelled, Miss Laureen with the hands out for the volleyballs and I did just as they asked, I threw them the three balls.  This would have been okay except for the fact that we were practicing on a football (soccer) field with two football goals and ask any student at Dar Al-Kalima about their favorite sport and they will without a doubt start talking about football.  That’s when I realized that volleyball practice was turning into pick-up games of football.  It was extremely hot outside, I was getting quite nervous about having to run in the middle of some football games to regain control of the volleyballs, the only Arabic word coming to mind was ‘yalla’ (meaning come on or let’s go), and the kids laughed when I attempted to say it.  I was growing quite frustrated as I was failing at my first attempt of controlling a class as Miss Laureen.  As it seemed more and more apparent that Mrs. Linda wasn’t going to show up any time soon, I was getting ready to give up hope.

Then, unexpectedly, a ball rolled right toward me and as I picked it up, a few of the 9^th graders followed me toward the volleyball area.  I was fortunately able to convince them to round up the rest of their class, however I still had quite a tough task ahead of me: getting them to line up for our warm up drills.  I motioned the signal for line up, but nothing happened.  Again, I was growing quite frustrated.  That’s when my emotions probably got the best of me and I yelled “yalla!”  While I was surprised that I had actually yelled at the kids, I was even more surprised to see the kids actually lining up for the drill.  For one brief moment, I felt like I had earned my title as Miss Laureen and well, I felt at peace.  That peace was short-lived after a couple of drills, but even for that brief moment, I was quite proud of myself and the “teacher” that I was becoming.  Fortunately, Mrs. Linda eventually showed up and took over control of volleyball for the rest of the day.

While today was extremely frustrating, I did realize that in that brief moment of getting the students to line up, that my role as Miss Laureen isn’t necessarily about feeling accomplished because I am teaching, as there have already been and will continue to be times in my YAGM journey when I feel like I am not accomplishing anything.  However, there will be these little moments (even if they aren’t short-lived) when I make a discovery or just get the students to line up and those will be the moments that will mean the most for me as a YAGM.  Being Miss Laureen may not be my “calling” in life, but I have a feeling that I am going to learn a lot from my students (like how to sternly yell, ‘yalla’) and maybe just maybe, I too will be able to teach something of my own to them.

Volleyball gone football game at Dar Al-Kalima

***Disclaimer: Though I do not want to be a teacher, I do greatly admire teachers and the work they do as I think working in education may be the hardest job one might have.  Special thanks to all the teachers and professors I have had over the years, for if it weren’t for you all, I wouldn’t be Miss Laureen today.

 

The hopes and dreams of….Salaam!

Salaam (meaning peace in Arabic) is more than just a causal word here in Palestine.  It is more than a way to say hello or goodbye, more than offering at church, and while the word is used quite often, it possesses a much deeper meaning, one of inspiring hope and great dreams.

Most anyone is probably aware of the Palestinian bid to recognize a state of Palestine (the application was submitted just hours ago).  I am not at liberty to, nor do I wish to comment on the politics of the situation, but I would like to share my reflections on the attitudes of those living within the very area whose fate may be shaped today (Friday).

This week I have noticed hundreds of new Palestinian flags flying everywhere on the streets of Bethlehem.  Palestinians display the flag proudly on the windows of their cars, high above their homes, and in their store windows.  There is a real sense of hope here, a hope that is incredibly inspiring.  But this hope is more than just a hope for the recognition of the state of Palestine, it means more than having a government that can participate at the global level, it represents the very meaning of the word Salaam, it is a hope of peace.

Unfortunately though, with the level of attention that is now on the UN bid, many seem to forget that the real story isn’t about a government or even a two state solution for that matter, it is about bringing peace to two groups of people (and to those around the world) who have been without it for so long.  I have been privileged with getting to help edit a short book of stories from young Palestinians writers who have made it their goal to tell the Palestinian story…the story that is bigger than the United Nations.  These writers bring stories of heartbreak, of violence, of frustration; stories of checkpoints, refugee camps, home demolitions, fighting, and death; stories of loneliness, lost childhoods, sadness, and confusion.  But most importantly they tell stories of their dreams and hopes.  These dreams are dreams of freedom, equality, opportunity, recognition, respect, safety, identity, and peace.

These hopes are now echoed on the streets of Palestine.  They are echoed in the flags that are proudly flown, in the demonstrations that are taking place, and in the kids’ cheers on my school bus ride home.  Despite what happens today and in the coming weeks, I pray that the stories of the Palestinian people are not lost and I too hope and pray for peace….Salaam.  As one young individual wrote, “ We know that after night comes day and the sun shines again.  We take hope as our guide, and with God on our side, I dream that the occupation will end and there will be peace.”

The Wall near the Bethlehem 300 checkpoint.

 

 

Dreams and Nightmares

I have been wanting to post for some time now about my first week in Jerusalem/West Bank, but truthfully I have been struggling to find the right words (if there are any) to describe the most amazing moments, the unexpected moments, and the hard moments that been part of my time here thus far.  So instead of a lengthy post of descriptions about my days here, I thought I would post some pictures…pictures of my dreams for the upcoming year and pictures of the nightmares that I have about the upcoming year.  (I must say, that I actually stole this idea from a photo exhibit at the Lajee Center–a community center serving the people from the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem so credit for the idea must go to them).

I have nightmares of the language barrier that now exists.

I have dreams of overcoming such a language barrier because of the similar values that we share.

I have nightmares about not doing justice to the stories of my neighbors who have been forced out of their homes.

I have dreams about telling the stories of amazing people I meet, like my arabic teacher, Aida, who teaches so much more than the language we now speak.

I have nightmares of living in a place of such deep conflict.

I have dreams of working with those around me to try and understand the conflict in which I am now faced with.

I have nightmares about getting lost, in more ways than one, in this place.

I have dreams of being inspired by the pure beauty of the history, the people, the experience, and the land of the complex place I now live.

I know that this may not make sense to many, believe me I am still trying to make sense of my time here so far, but I will say that I am in a beautiful place with beautiful people and I am excited to see how these dreams and nightmares play out in the coming year.

 

A time…of reflecting.

A time of waiting.  A time of relaxing(?).  A time of worry.  A time of missing.  A time of joy.  A time of uncertainty. A time of frustration.  A time of reflecting.  It is interesting the time that my fellow Jerusalem YAGMs and I are in right now.  While most of the YAGMs who are spending their year in either the UK/Argentina/Uruguay/Mexico/South Africa/Malaysia have made it safely to their countries of service, we sit in the Lutheran School of Theology Guest House, not sure of how to react to this delay.  We are of course “dealing with it” as it is out of our control and we remain optimistic that we will be off to the Middle East as soon as we can.  If anything this time has given me a chance to process the last week of orientation and I am certainly blessed for that.

I’m not going to lie, the last week was intense.  Sessions on religious pluralism, filling your spiritual backpack, experiencing different cultures, etc., were very helpful and a bit overwhelming.  While, I attempt to really process what was taught and experienced in these different sessions and while, I know these topics will become more clear in the coming months of service, it is something else that became very apparent to me throughout the week and that is the value I have placed on relationships, both new and old.

The situation our YAGM group was placed in was a bit unnatural.  We had met for a weekend in April, unsure of what country we would be living in, who we may be living with, and only scratched the surface of who each of us were as individuals.  Some of us left the weekend and remained in touch with certain people, while others didn’t stay in touch at all.  We then arrived in Chicago excited to see familiar faces (even if we had forgotten names).  We laughed together, sang together, interluded together, worshipped together, cried together, and most importantly shared in an amazing week with each other despite the fact that we would be leaving and going our separate ways for an entire year.

It’s interesting to me how we can allow ourselves to become so vulnerable and open to new relationships in just a week when such openness may not be possible for a year due to lack of communication or business in our new lives. (this is true with many other relationships  I have entered throughout my life, knowing that they may eventually be interrupted different life experiences).  I can honestly say that I shared things this week about my past and my faith that those who have been in my life for years don’t know.  Maybe it’s because most of my new YAGM friends are in the same point in their lives or maybe it’s because of this kind of “camp” context we were living in for the last week.  Whatever it is, I am happy that it happened and while saying goodbye to the other country groups a few days ago was one of the hardest goodbyes I have had, I am happy that I now have 50+ new friends, who although thousands and thousands of miles apart, are both with me in my time of waiting and in this new journey that we are all now on.

In the last four years, especially, I have met some of the most amazing people.  I love all my friends dearly and it makes me sad that I will be missing some important milestones in some of their lives and I can’t just send them a random text or give them a call whenever I want, or even be there when they need me to be. I know that some friendships will truly be tested in the next year while others will grow stronger with this incredible distance.  And I will meet new friends in the West Bank who although I will have to say goodbye to at the end of my year of service, I will still be open to, just like in the past week.

I think more than anything, I am starting to realize that friendships aren’t necessarily about how much time you spend with a certain person or how much you talk to a certain friend, but rather how you allow yourself to experience new things and doing so living a life that has been both influenced and changed by those who mean the most to you.

It seems as though my time of waiting will be over on Tuesday when we will hopefully leave for the West Bank (fingers crossed).  I know I won’t be able to talk to many of you for over a year, but please know that you have shaped the person I will be throughout this year and I will carry the experiences I have had with you as I serve in this new place.  I am incredibly blessed to continue to have many of you in my life (in whatever way that may be) and I am proud to call you my friend.

As I have said to numerous friends already, ‘I will see ya, when I see ya!’

 

A bit of challenging news

As many of you may know, my journey in the West Bank was scheduled to begin on August 24th.  Unfortunately, due to a rather delayed visa process, our departure has been postponed until the six of us heading to the Middle East have all received our visas. Our program orientation still begins tomorrow (Aug. 17th) so I am still off to Chicago then, but what this news means is that I will be staying in Chicago for the weeks following orientation.  While the news is at first a little frustrating, the six of us remain very optimistic that we will be on our way in no time.  And hey, I can think of a lot worse places to be “stuck.”

Thanks to everyone for your prayers and thoughts!

 

An Unexpected Adventure…

“But as it is written, What no eye has seen, no ear heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him” –1 Corinthians 2:9

I used to think that I had my life planned out.  To my surprise, nothing has gone according to plan.  Because of this I have learned that life is full of expectations, but it’s when those expectations change or fall short or exceed themselves, that life takes you by its hand and leads on an unexpected adventure.

For me the last four years have been full of pleasant, sometimes stressful, and life-changing surprises. Never did I expect to graduate with a communications degree (though I am quite proud of it).  Never did I expect to meet an amazing group of friends that would be willing to love and support me despite my sometimes craziness, blonde moments, late night phone calls/g-chats/facebook venting sessions, and my own outrageous comments about life.  Never did I expect to become part of a family (and I did say family) who thought it to be fun to hang out in a television studio for more than 40 hours a week even when we were pretty sure no was watching the channel.  Never did I expect to fall in love with an organization that has the word Engineers in its title (something I definitely am not—though I do love all the actual engineers I know).  And never did I expect to be preparing for a new adventure, one that is taking me to Jerusalem.

If you would have asked me a year and a half ago what I would be doing the year after graduation, I would have said without a doubt, I would be a reporter for a local television station in the middle of nowhere hoping to work my way up network ladder.  To be honest, I am not quite sure if that expectation will ever be fulfilled, but I have grown to learn that life isn’t necessarily about fulfilling expectations (though there are some we must), but rather about embracing life’s unexpected adventure.

So, as many of you know my new unexpected adventure will begin in Jerusalem/West Bank as part of the ELCA Young Adults in Global Missions program in late August.  I am not exactly sure what I will be doing there (as far as that goes, I have no expectations), but I do know that I will be serving in one of the world’s most troubled areas, will be growing in faith with people who speak another language, and will be surprised in more ways than one.

I am excited and feel completely blessed to be on this new adventure.  I am sure there will be multitudes of life lessons and “Never did I expect” moments, but that’s what makes life, life.

And with God by my side, I am ready for this unexpected adventure…