Discovery #48: Some days the pains of injustice leave you hopeless.
Yesterday I crossed over the wall again. This time, I left with more anger than anything.
My group went to meet with students from Bethlehem University, a Catholic-run university in the West Bank. After being split up into smaller groups, the Palestinian students in our group took us to a few of Bethlehem's famous places. We saw Nativity Church and the Milk Grotto. Then they took us to Aida Refugee Camp, which is ironically located about 10 paces from the town's Intercontinental Hotel.
While at the camp, one of our friends began to tell us about some of the issues Palestine's 4.8 million refugees face. At one point, he told us of the "f***ing Zionists" who came into the camp one day and shot and killed a group of children.
At first, I raised my eyebrows at his adjective choice. "Surely, that was unnecessary," I though." But after our lecturer classified Zionism as a "racist ideology" and I heard the students talk about how Israeli soldiers came and occupied refugee's homes for weeks, how they tore down walls in the resident's meager homes, how they gave the children nightmares -- I began to understand. Yet, a feeling of hopelessness overwhelmed me.
What am I supposed to say when one of the students tells me he doesn't want his future children to grow up having nightmares of men with guns? I'm sorry? Thank you for sharing? How much more can I say, because this most certainly not my life. At the end of my day, I have all the opportunities in the world open to me and I can cross back over that wall and know that if any Israeli soldier threatens me, all it takes is one flash of my passport and I'll be scot free.
"We have no opportunities here," one students said. "I'm in university now, when I graduate, what am I going to do? There are no jobs here and I can't cross over that wall."
I nodded my head asking myself, "How can there ever be peace when children are exposed to such hatred?"
Some days, hope turns its face. Some days, it doesn't.
Yesterday I crossed over the wall again. This time, I left with more anger than anything.
My group went to meet with students from Bethlehem University, a Catholic-run university in the West Bank. After being split up into smaller groups, the Palestinian students in our group took us to a few of Bethlehem's famous places. We saw Nativity Church and the Milk Grotto. Then they took us to Aida Refugee Camp, which is ironically located about 10 paces from the town's Intercontinental Hotel.
While at the camp, one of our friends began to tell us about some of the issues Palestine's 4.8 million refugees face. At one point, he told us of the "f***ing Zionists" who came into the camp one day and shot and killed a group of children.At first, I raised my eyebrows at his adjective choice. "Surely, that was unnecessary," I though." But after our lecturer classified Zionism as a "racist ideology" and I heard the students talk about how Israeli soldiers came and occupied refugee's homes for weeks, how they tore down walls in the resident's meager homes, how they gave the children nightmares -- I began to understand. Yet, a feeling of hopelessness overwhelmed me.
What am I supposed to say when one of the students tells me he doesn't want his future children to grow up having nightmares of men with guns? I'm sorry? Thank you for sharing? How much more can I say, because this most certainly not my life. At the end of my day, I have all the opportunities in the world open to me and I can cross back over that wall and know that if any Israeli soldier threatens me, all it takes is one flash of my passport and I'll be scot free."We have no opportunities here," one students said. "I'm in university now, when I graduate, what am I going to do? There are no jobs here and I can't cross over that wall."
I nodded my head asking myself, "How can there ever be peace when children are exposed to such hatred?"
Some days, hope turns its face. Some days, it doesn't.
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