My first impression of the West Bank, driving from Tel Aviv to Bethlehem was the walls. Miles and miles of walls stood tall like sentinels along the highway, an ominous presence, separating the freedom of being Israeli from the Palestinian confinement by military occupation. Reaching Bethlehem, I saw their quiet protest written in red paint on concrete walls that hugged the sidewalks as the driver and I wound our way to the Holy Land Hotel.
More than the walls is the prejudice of the occupiers that we see reflected in our media. “Dirty Palestinians” is one epitaph; but the worst stereotype is “Palestinian terrorist.” We heard many times from the mouths of priests, parents, and children: “We are not terrorists”. And we believe it is true.
In a country plagued by unemployment, economic instability and isolation, where many young people have to leave the country to seek a college education; they seldom come back. As dismal as this reality is, the biggest surprise of the trip to Palestine is how much hope we found there.
The Mar Elias School in the hilly town of Ibillin, close to the Prophet Elijah Mountain (translated “Mar Elias”), was only one source of hope we saw but an impressive one. Our visit began with the passionate talk by the school’s principal about the school’s ethos of mutual respect and living peacefully with religious differences. No place for bullying here; leave that to the military presence at the check points. Instead, following the International Baccalaureate curriculum, the school of four thousand focuses on academic achievement and is listed among the top ten schools in all of Israel.
The middle and high school students we met were curious, grateful to see us and met us with huge grins of welcome. They asked some challenging questions: “Is there discrimination against Arabs in the U.S.? Tell us about racism. We see U.S. TV and we wonder if every American carries a gun. Is it true? Tell us about Halloween.”
At the end of one class, a seventh grade girl held out her hand offering me her lady-bug earring. She asked for something of mine in return. We exchanged tokens and a friendship was born. A sign of hope.
My 85 year-old husband, Jack, was glowing with pleasure when I found him after a math class during a passing period. Surrounded by a half dozen eager students, this retired math professor was writing some equations and prime numbers for this cluster of excited learners. Surely it was a highlight of his trip. Hope is found in human exchange.
In Nazareth we learned more about hope rising from despair when we met Nabila Espanioly, a Palestinian Christian and life-long activist working for the well-being of children and the empowerment of women. I asked her what was the most challenging form of discrimination: being Arab in Israel, being women without power, or standing up to a conservative political system? Her response: “There is no hierarchy of oppression. Where there is injustice there is a need to change systems, so we must act.” I asked her about successes over the years and where she found hope. Nabila replied, “I am not privileged enough to be pessimistic. The oppressed must always hope or they couldn’t continue to strive for change.”
A woman of courage who acts on her convictions, a priest who believed some 30 years ago that the path to dignity for Palestinians was through the education of the children, and the children, always the smiling, curious and eager children. There lies an abundant hope for peace.