An American in the West Bank, Palestine

A book being written which is a collection of experiences that I was fortunate and at times unfortunate enough to have as an American traveling through the West Bank of Palestine while working for the aid agency PCWF (Palestine Children's Welfare Fund http://www.pcwf.org). ). For safety and security reasons for myself and my contacts,
I will not use individual's names, and for the children we sponsor, to which we provide money and resources, I will only provide the child's first names.


Jayyous:

Background

I traveled to Jayyous, Palestine during December of 2006 and witnessed the suffering of the individuals in this village in Palestine. I spent several days reviewing the situation, speaking with community members and providing aid work through PCWF. During my conversations with the village members I formulated a plan which I designed to provide immediate and long term solutions to the problems of unemployment, illness, poor living conditions and lack of food and water. Jayyous, like an individual who needs immediate medical attention, will require several phases and steps of treatment which need to be administered to save the life of this village. Like CPR, the village of Jayyous needs immediate assistance to stop what could be the inevitable death of this village and its people. Like a blood transfusion, they need an infusion of funds for a short term solution to resolve their ills, and like ongoing medication, they need a plan to maintain the village and allow it to operate on its own and no longer require outside assistance to keep it functioning. A solution to the problems of this village, like most cities in Palestine, will not only increase the base living conditions of the average person, but also provide security and safety to the country of Israel, by providing employment, stability, hope and a reason to live. Individuals, who are happy with their lives, can feed their families, have a good education and have a reason to hope for the future, for them and their children, will not pick up guns or suicide belts and kill themselves, as they will have a reason to live. However, failure to address this issue just promotes the hopelessness, helplessness and the inevitable animosity that continues to fuel reasons for hatred, retribution and terrorist activities in the Middle East.

History:

Jayyous is a village that consists of 4000 residents. During the construction of the separation wall between Israel and the West Bank, this village was separated from its source of income and its supply of water. During construction of the separation barrier a large portion of the trees which provided income to the village were destroyed. The remaining ninety percent of the village olive trees, orange trees, lemon trees etc… were placed on the opposite side of the separation barrier. Along with the trees, the villages 5 generator wells were also separated from the village and are now used by the Israeli's to support the greenhouses and settlements in that area. The Israelis have provided a gate for village individuals to have limited access to their land; however, individuals who are under the age of 45 can not pass through this gate, leaving only approximately 65 individuals who can pass. Of those 65, several are unable to work, due to medical or age related conditions, leaving just a small number of people to access the land. Some families have land on the other side of the barrier with trees that they can not access, because no family members meet the criteria to pass through the gate, due to security reasons. Because of the limited number of individuals able to access the land, olives and other fruit went to waste, or were collected by the Israelis, this year due to the limited number of people available to harvest the fruits. PCWF (Palestine Childrens Welfare Fund) has been able to raise the funds to build two wells and start a third and has raised funds to plant 300 olive trees on land adjacent to the village which is not separated by the barrier. However, this amount is far less than the village needs to be self sustaining. Because of ongoing restrictions regarding the flow of money and a limited amount of donations, PCWF is not able to meet the needs of this village, and the village conditions are deteriorating rapidly and if additional support is not found, this village and these individuals will perish. With the number of Palestinian villages already absorbed through settlement, separation barriers and deportation, the world stands to lose the Palestinian culture altogether. Like any living thing on this earth, the extermination of these people, is a great loss to humanity, mankind and the cultural diversity that makes this world a great place to live.

The United Nations has invested a large amount of funds to build a large school with a playground for the children. So immediate educational needs of the young children are presently being met, however, the school does not provide immediate assistance and without additional assistance as listed below, the UN investment will be wasted.

Personal Observations:

The aid visit occurred during the month of December in which weather conditions were rainy and temperatures ranged between 0 and 10 degrees Celsius. During that time, only a limited number of houses had heat of any source, and those that did, could afford to use a kerosene heater only one or two hours per day. Due to lack of building materials, the houses were constructed of concrete and most houses only had one room with tile floors, no carpets but consisted mostly of cold, damp concrete floors. The restrooms of some or the houses were simply holes in the floor which were cleansed by pouring a limited amount of water in them to remove waste. Due to the limited amount of water, only a small amount could be used, leading to unsanitary conditions. Electricity was sporadic and routinely was not available between ten in the morning and five at night and then again between 10 at night and about 7 in the morning. The houses were not water resistant from the rain and I myself had to sleep on the floor with a blanket while the floor was wet, the blanket was wet and I was wet. During my stay, I was not dry during any period of time and neither were my hosts. Most children had no shoes to wear and the clothes they had were not designed to keep them warm during these conditions. Most were second hand clothes or clothes that were donated and were either too small or too big for most children. During my stay I noticed that a family of six people, two adults and four children, routinely had a small amount of food which consisted of a couple of eggs, some processed meat, crushed avocado, and some olive by-products. Individuals, especially children, stayed in a constant state of illness due to the above described conditions.

(Excerpt)

In a minute or two my contact arrived, introduced himself, and we soon caught a cab to Jayyous, which was not far from Qalqilyah. By this time, it was pouring down rain, and we took the cab to the center of Jayyous, where we then walked through the village to his home. Even in the rain, it was clear to me, that Jayyous was a village that was suffering. I would soon hear the stories why, but even the worst slum locations in Baltimore, where I am from, looked like the Taj Mahal compared to this small village. He welcomed me into his home, where I met his wife and three children as well as his niece, who was an Al Quds University student, studying English, in Qalqilyah. My contact spoke some English, but his niece was there to act as a go between to make sure that we were able to explain to each other exactly what we needed to converse about.

The first family I visited was the home of Abdul. Abdul was very sick, very thin and could not work. He barely had the strength to greet us when we entered the home. He had several beautiful children, but it was clear that the family was very, very poor. When I entered the home, I could see that the living room had a tile floor with two couches and a table. I peered down the hallway and saw that it was concrete and that the other room in the house had just a concrete floor. The floor in the other room was wet with water from the rain and I was shocked to see the children running through the house with no shoes. Here I was, wrapped in long underwear, insulated boots, a high dollar Starter ski jacket, scarf, gloves and a hat, and I was freezing. I saw a pair of children's shoes at the door, but it is customary to remove your shoes when entering a home in an Arabic country, so I didn't think anything of it. The children were in clothes that were ill fitting and not designed for the 2 degree centigrade temperature and rain that was the weather for that day. When one child went outside they wore the one pair of sandals and when they returned they took them off and then another went outside wearing the same sandals. It soon became clear that among the four children, they had to share one pair of shoes. The children were very thin and would be considered dirty by American standards, their noses were running and their eyes were weeping. I was offered coffee again and felt obliged to accept, knowing that this may be the only warm drink they had in the house. I was also offered a pastry, that was filled with some sort of grassy substance and even though it meant a lot to them to offer it to me, I had a very rough time choking it down. I did my best, but could not finish it.

I presented the family with a sponsorship gift of $260.00 dollars which was donated by their sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, and it was hard not to notice the tears in the eyes of Abdul. I was required by law to gain a receipt for the gift, since we would have to prove to the American government that the money went to a family, and not to a terrorist organization. In an attempt to salvage his dignity, I pulled out the receipt for him to sign and quickly changed the subject, while I had the pen out, I started writing the children's names in Arabic. Mohammad, Miriam etc… I tried to write their names with my limited Arabic writing skills and the children got to laugh as they assisted me in the simple task of writing names. I too, had to divert my attention as tears were also filling my eyes as I thought of the life I lead in America, the clothes I was wearing, and here they were, freezing and the whole time smiling, happy as could be that they were smarter than I was, when it came to spelling their names. We spent some time with Abdul and his children before we had to move on. As I stood to leave, Abdul struggled to his feet and shook my hand with tears in his eyes and also in my eyes and said "shukran, shukran, shukran" at least ten times. Shukran is Arabic for thank you, and this is an experience that I would live through for the next 5 days, as one after another family, with tears in their eyes, could not explain to me that a simple gift of a couple hundred dollars meant that their family would actually be able to eat, for the first time in who knows how long, maybe buy some warm clothes, buy some kerosene for heat, or buy another pair of shoes for the children to share.

We then went in the pouring down rain to the house of the teacher, who teaches at the UN school in the village. PCWF pays the salary of the teachers, even though the UN built the building. The UN built schoolhouse is a beautiful white building with a playground that reminded me of a school in the US, but the UN would have been better to buy the children food, shoes and clothes, as their education and play area could have been a back room and a small field behind someone's house. I'm sure they appreciate the money the UN spent on the building, but without food, clothes and shoes, all the education isn't going to provide the immediate assistance needed to help sick and dying children.

We sat and talked to the teacher for some time as he explained to me the plight of the children of Jayyous. It was a story very similar to the situation that I saw at Abdul's house, unfortunately, we only have a limited number of sponsors and even though Abdul and his family have a sponsor, there are many more children in Jayyous who do not. In Palestine, there is no safety net, no medical assistance, no food stamps, no organizations willing to donate clothes and food, such as in the US. Their only hope for the time being is the donations that people give to PCWF and similar organizations. Since the US government and Israeli government are withholding tax dollars belonging to the Palestinian people, the government can not even pay the salaries of the workers and teachers, much less have money to spend on social programs. So many children are constantly sick, they are always absent from school, and when they show, they have no food and therefore no energy to concentrate and study their lessons daily. Once again, I loved the school house, but without children in it, it is just a building in which a large amount of money was wasted, and like everything else in Jayyous, will eventually fall into disrepair and become abandoned as families either die or move on and the Israelis then occupy the area. I'm sure it will make a great school for Israeli settlement children and the Israelis will make great use of the building, built with UN, mostly US dollars.

In speaking with the teacher, it became clear to me that Jayyous needs immediate attention, or it and its people will disappear. The whole time I was in Jayyous, talking with families, community members and village leaders, I was formulating a plan for the resurrection of Jayyous.

We continued to walk around the camp, and I was able to get some pictures of the gate that separated Jayyous from its land. I also got pictures of houses, burned out by the Israelis during the building of the barrier, while international protestors were staying in the village, and those burned out houses were still homes of people who continue to live in them. I viewed tin shacks with plastic tarps over the top that were homes of families, inhabited houses with no windows, children running the streets in shorts with no shoes in the pouring down rain, with temperatures approaching 0 degrees Celsius, as well children removing food from trash, left behind by other residents. I think the saddest part was that people were passing by, seeing the same thing I was, and it didn't seem to be out of the ordinary for them. But for me, it was a travesty. I was personally devastated.

When I returned to the home of my contact, I spoke with my contact's niece once again and the subject got around to how she learned to speak English so well. She informed me that she was studying the English language in school and she has been fascinated with the language and the American people since she was very young. She was now 23, and in her final year in school. She became wispy and vague as she talked about her education and I questioned her further concerning her studies. With the loss of Jayyous' land to the Israeli separation barrier, 90 percent of their olive and fruit trees and all five of the village wells were either destroyed during the construction or were on the other side of the barrier, where they only have limited access , her family could not afford to continue her education. She was the first in the family to attend the University in Qalqilyah, and even though she has a 98% average or a 4.0 GPA, with this last year's failed harvest, her family can not afford to continue her education. In this semester alone, even with her grade point average, she could not afford the $15 a month for computer lab fees to cover internet costs at school so she could complete her classes. Her brother, who was also an excellent student, with a 3.9 GPA, is now sitting at home unemployed, unable to go to college, unable to find work, and unable to cross the gate to work the families land. It occurred to me that this type of intelligence being wasted is a breeding ground for hatred, animosity, and that such hopelessness could only lead to bad things.

It seemed like such a waste of someone who loves English and the American people, and I thought what an atrocity to allow this person to be kicked to the side of the road, someone who could be an excellent spokesperson for her people to the American public And as I said, her story is just one of many stories of the best and brightest of the Palestinian children who are being left to go to waste, while we in America turn our backs on the very individuals who will not only grow up to be the leaders of Palestine, but those same children who at some time will have an influence on the security of Israel and in turn the security of the United States of America and the remainder of the free world. As you will see, this is a continuously recurring story. We have heard the phrase "winning the hearts and the minds" in military terms as a part of counter-insurgency missions to build guerilla forces in a military scenario such as Afghanistan. There is no greater way we can have an impact on peace in the Middle East than by providing the education needed to forge relationships with the next generation of government, of military and of civilian leaders of Palestine, showing them, and then letting them lead.

That evening we prepared posters and signs for the following day when we were to plant 100 olive and orange trees, donated by the sponsors of PCWF in an attempt to alleviate some of the suffering of the people of Jayyous. Unfortunately, with limited donations, though much appreciated, PCWF has only been able to fund the building of two wells, which are now completed, and one more under construction, and we have been able to plant only 300 trees. This is far less than the trees and wells either isolated from Jayyous or destroyed during the building of the separation barrier. Unfortunately, it takes about 5 to 7 years for these trees to produce fruit, so even these efforts are a small dent in the long term situation and does not do much to alleviate the immediate suffering. However, it is important to work on the future as well.

That evening, I, like everyone else was sleeping on the floor when the wind and rain increased to monsoon proportions. In a short period of time, the water flooded the area I was sleeping in and my blankets and clothes were soaked. In the middle of the night, at about 2 degrees centigrade, I and all my sleeping material were drenched. There was no place to go, no place that was dry, no heat, no protection and so I, like everyone else suffered through till daybreak. Fortunately, when the stores opened, we were able to purchase some kerosene for a small kerosene heater they had, and although we could not get dry, we could at least get warm for a short period of time. We watched the weather as it rained on and off through the morning, hoping for a break to plant the olive and orange trees that the donors from PCWF were kind enough to purchase.

We had made signs from the day before, so when just a glint of sunlight broke through the clouds, we made a dash for the field where the trees were to be planted, with my camera and signs in tow. Just as we approached the field it started to spit rain again, but we were passed the point of no return. With trees and shovel in hand, we started to dig the holes, plant the trees, had the children hold the signs, and got the pictures as quickly as possible. I was scared to death, as it was pouring down rain again, that I would ruin my camera, and all our hard work would be lost, but fortunately, we got the trees in the ground, got our pictures and headed back to the house, with mud up to our knees.

Since my clothes were drenched from the day before, and this set was now soaked, I did not have any dry clothes to wear that evening. The host family was kind enough to break out a hair dryer and even though they could not afford the electricity, when it was not cut off, they let me use it to at least dry them as well as possible and get a little bit warm. I spent the rest of the night with my host family in Jayyous and got to know them as well as my host family in Beit Sahour. I am not embarrassed to say that when I had to leave the next morning, I cried. Not for me, but for them and the conditions that I was leaving behind. Their kindness and hospitality, with the little food they had, once again, made me embarrassed to think of the life that I live in the US, and one Big Mac meal, one 12 pack of pepsi or two gallons of gas could have fed a family of six for a whole day. I am not also ashamed to say that of those who are reading this, I hope you are also embarrassed with the lives you lead in your countries, and what small luxury could you do without so that a child could have food, shoes, and a warm place to sleep at night.

I left Jayyous for Qalqilyah and on to Nablus. This is where the harassment by the Israeli soldiers started to gain in intensity. Since I had no television, radio or internet access, I was unaware at the time, that the Israeli government had passed legislation requiring that foreigners traveling to the West Bank now register with the Israeli government, declaring that when they enter Israel, they inform them of their intent to travel in the West Bank, what cities and area they will be visiting and the purpose of their visit. Upon leaving Qalqilyah, the cab I was in was stopped, searched and I, as an American, was singled out and harassed with questions about who I was, where I was going, was I a journalist, who was I staying with and who did I know. This would be a reoccurring theme for the next two days as I tried to make my way to Nablus, Belata, Faraa and back to Beit Sahour. Upon arrival at Nablus, we were required to disembark from our vehicle, stand in line and wait at the Beit Eba checkpoint for access to Nablus. Once again, as an American, I was singled out and questioned as before about who, what, where, when and why I was here. I used the excuse I was on a religious and archeological tour of the area, and for the most part this satisfied most of the questions.

I arrived in Nablus and caught a cab to the Ab Douar area of the city where I was to meet my contact. This area was a large market, and since I had no clue who I was meeting, I was once again lost. Again I used my cell phone to contact the person I was to meet, and once again I was told to hand the phone to someone walking down the street. I found a fruit vendor who looked friendly and even though he spoke no English I asked if he would help and pushed the phone to him. He spoke to my contact in Arabic and smiled. He gave a description of me, what I was wearing and where he was located. In a matter of just a couple of seconds my contact greeted me, I thanked the vendor and we were on our way.

I would like to point out at this point in time, that in the cabs, alone on the streets, going to people's houses and being isolated in the West Bank, AT NO TIME, was I ever threatened or treated unkindly by a Palestinian. When I think of the comments of people in America who are so ignorant as to make, and I have heard them say, "if they don't speak the language, they shouldn't be here." I am certainly glad that the Palestinian people are not as rude and ignorant as some of my "so-called" American friends. I will say that all things considered, this has been a learning experience that will stay with me for however long I am lucky enough to continue to walk this earth. From the starving children, to the brutality and harassment of Israeli soldiers, to the ignorant comments of my fellow Americans, I will never forget my experiences and the kindness and love shown to me by the Palestinian people. People I was led to believe would be a threat to my life, but in reality, had saved it on so many occasions, when they had the chance to abduct, rob, attack and insult me, they were nothing but kind.




Faraa Refugee Camp.

Background:

I traveled to Faraa during the same trip and directly from Jayyous during my travels in the West Bank. I passed through the Beit Eba checkpoint, where I was harassed by Israeli soldiers. I visited Nablus, the Belata refugee camp and also Faraa., and was in those locations until the time I left through the Hawara Checkpoint. At Hawari I was singled out, physically abused by the soldiers as well as taunted, tormented and harassed. Their tactics ranged from stripping in the cold, using rifle butts to push and intimidate me as well as constant in my face questioning, screaming, hollering, insulting and threats.

All of this is a pre-planned action developed by the Israeli intelligence that is specifically designed to instill fear in the average foreigner, making it so that they would never consider returning to this area again. Actually, their tactics and propaganda work so well, that the average American and Israeli, is scared to death to come to these areas. However, to me, if they have so much to hide from an American citizen that they have to treat their biggest supporter in this fashion and try to scare them away, as an aid worker, an advocate for human rights, a person who can not be intimidated, and an American tax payer, that is exactly the wrong tactic to use. To me, it only indicates that there is all that much more reason that I need to continue to go back there. If they are so afraid of what I will see, then I have to go see it, and report back to the rest of the world, what actions they are committing that they find so important to censor and hide. (I would just like to at this time, refer back to the previous section where I clearly and factually describe how safe I was lived with and around the Palestinians, and that the greatest thing I had to fear in Palestine were Israeli soldiers.)

History

Faraa was the location of one of the original British prisons, infamously know to Palestinians as The Al Faraa Prison, and was used at the time of the British Colonization. It was used extensively during the period of time between the end of World War II and 1948, when Britain was still trying to maintain it's grip on this section of the Middle East. By 1948, it was abandoned by the British, absorbed by the Israeli's and used as a detention center during the original war of 1948 and subsequent wars and skirmishes up to the first intifada. Several people that I got to speak with and had the pleasure of becoming friends with, served time in this prison. They only spoke briefly about the small rooms and the torture, so I never pressed them for additional information, as it was something they were obviously pained by. I would like to add that a lot of these people who were imprisoned, tortured, beaten and shot by Israeli soldiers during these time periods, are people I have personally spoken with and are some of the leading advocates of peace with the Israelis. And presently, they are paying a great price for turning the other cheek.

The refugee camp's history is vague, but it appears to have been a small Palestinian village prior to the construction of the prison. After prison construction, it developed an economy based on the support of the local prison as well as an agrarian society based on farms and cattle. After the Israeli's were granted independence, they utilized the prison as a method of deterrence, torture and intimidation of anyone fighting back against the mass deportations routinely condemned by the UN from 1948 to the present. The small village outside the prison became a refugee camp during this time for those who were deported and did not fight back and came to re-establish homes, businesses and lives, and those that did not come voluntarily, came at the end of a rifle, and were incarcerated at the prison. After their release, many settled close to the prison, as they had no land to return to. It continues to be a catch all from ongoing Israeli sieges, invasions, assaults, land thefts and deportations.

Personal Observations:

The aid visit occurred during the month of December, 2006 in which weather conditions were rainy and temperatures ranged between 0 and 10 degrees Celsius. During that time, only a limited number of houses had heat of any source, and those that did, could afford to use a kerosene heater only one or two hours per day. Due to lack of building materials, the houses were constructed of concrete and most houses only had one room with tile floors or carpets but consisted mostly of cold, damp concrete floors. Faraa was like a concrete jungle with some roads, but mostly small paths that wind between concrete buildings. Waster water, in some locations, just drains into the street, from the homes, and they have become a collection area for assorted clumps of garbage, creating a breeding ground for bacteria. Since this most children have no shoes, they are wading through this material daily. In speaking with the camp doctor, treatment for worms is something that is common place for these children. In addition, during my stay I noticed that a family of six people, two adults and four children, routinely had a small amount of food which consisted of some humus, potatoes, some processed meat, crushed avocado, and some olive by-products. Individuals, especially children, stayed in a constant state of illness due to the above described conditions.


(Excerpt:)

Once again, because of the travel agenda I had, my contact and I had a lot to do. The first was to visit Ahmed. Ahmed is a young child and lives in the Belata refugee camp, just outside Nablus. Ahmed was subjected to an explosion from an Israeli artillery shell and a piece of metal lodged in his left eye. Ahmed's sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, paid for a trip to Spain to see the best surgeons and eye specialists, in the world. Unfortunately, the eye was damaged beyond repair. In addition, Ahmed has developed some other issues and has been given the nickname "tsunami" because at times he is completely uncooperative, and that may not have to do with the damage to his eye, as I experienced when dealing with his family. Without going into too much personal detail, we met with his family who was not the most cooperative. We were informed that a doctor in Jerusalem had recommended another surgery that would improve his vision, and we would be best just to leave any money we had with the mother. However, in reviewing the doctor's report, it was clearly stated that no operation would improve his vision, however, eye glasses were recommended to protect his other eye and to make sure that in case of another incident, his eye would at least be behind protective lenses.

After much discussion with his family, we took Ahmed to the optician who was a very kind gentleman. We explained our tight schedule and he agreed to see us immediately. We explained the situation and that we needed protective lenses that would not break, would be scratch resistant, and since Ahmed explained that the children in his school tease him because his damaged eye is discolored, I made the decision to purchase lenses that would darken when in the sunlight, in an attempt to make the damaged eye less noticeable to others. The optician tested Ahmed's eye and much to everyone's delight, his right eye was perfect. We decided to purchase a clear protective lens, we allowed him to select a set of frames and the optician said they would be ready in a couple days. We paid for the glasses, gave a copy of the receipt to the grandfather who was accompanying us and went to the market where we could purchase some clothes, shoes, food and other items he needed. The sponsor, with additional funds from PCWF, had been so kind to provide us with a large sum of money to spend on Ahmed, and we tried our best to spend all of it on him.

Ahmed, the tsunami, appeared very uncomfortable and was not cooperative to say the least. He almost seemed pained when asked to pick out items or when we asked if he liked what we were picking out for him. My contact explained that this was due to the fact that he was used to going to a store that sold second hand clothes, because of his families financial situation, so he felt very uncomfortable, purchasing the best clothes available in Nablus. We settled on a couple coats, shirts, pants, some underclothes (socks, t-shirts and underwear) as well as a jacket and some clothes for his sisters, who were also in desperate need of clothes. We got stumped on a pair of shoes and no matter what style and color he wanted, they just didn't seem to have them in his size. Because of our tight schedule, we left money with the shoe store, asked if they would work with him, get him what he wanted and we collected all the receipts, said goodbye to Ahmed and his grandfather and we were off to the Faraa refugee camp.

The travel time, our episode with Ahmed and his family, and my experience at the Beit Eba checkpoint really shot our schedule, so we were rushed as soon as we got to Faraa. We had a food distribution program scheduled for 3 o'clock in the afternoon, we had a number of families to see, and had to be ready to distribute in less than an hour. We got to my contacts house and we sat down to eat a quick meal and before finishing, we received a phone call at about 2:30 explaining that the people were already lining up for the food drive. We hurriedly finished our meal and headed off to the food drive, where the street was already filled with people. We hastily put together a sign that said, "Thank You PCWF" as the sponsor organization of the food drive. My contact had arranged for the 50 neediest families in the camp, who were not scheduled to receive aid money, to receive the food. Each of these families has at least 4 and up to 9 children and conservatively, I anticipate we had a direct impact on the lives of at least 250 children in this project alone This was made possible due to the kindness and generosity of the average person in countries all over the world, from all religious and political affiliations and all levels of income, who made a decision to make a better world by donating a couple of dollars to PCWF, either one time, or recurring weekly, monthly or annual donations.

Special tickets for the food distribution program were printed with the family names on them and one by one we distributed the food to the individuals as we crossed their names off the list. We also took pictures of the event so that we would be able to post the pictures on the pcwf.org website, so they we could show the event sponsors that their money was being put to good use and that the children were benefiting from their kindness. In some cases, the weight of the bags were so great, filled with rice, oil, canned goods, etc… that it took two and sometimes three children to be able to lift them and carry them off. If the situation for the children wasn't so desperate, I think I would have chuckled as they struggled down the street, trying to carry off their booty. Later on, we had several families who sent their children to the house of the contact to tell us just how wonderful the food was that they received and how important it was to them to get it. Not only did we provide them with a number of foodstuffs, but also provided some of the better items available. This had a tremendous psychological effect on the people, knowing that not only did they receive food, but they received some of the higher quality foodstuffs we could buy. Since it was the start of the Eid Al-Adha celebration for many of the families who received food, it was important to them that they received items, and were able to celebrate their religious holiday with some dignity. In a community where many people are so poor, that they are unable to celebrate their religion, this was a huge boost to the morale of each of the families.

After the food distribution, we had many things to accomplish. First was the girl that I personally sponsor through PCWF. Her name is Nadia, and I will say with much shame and embarrassment that I have not always sent the amount that I promised, under the guise that some situation arose for me in the states, and therefore I needed the money more than she did. After visiting her and her family in their home, I have shed many tears seeing her condition and pretending to myself that I had some selfish need that required the money more than she. Her home consisted of three rooms. One was a living room with no furniture, just some pads on the floor. Another that you entered when you first came in the door was a concrete pit as such, and had waste water and other items on the floor. You could see a dim lighted kitchen off to the side that was tiny in comparison and barely housed a stove. As was typical, we entered the living room, sat down with her father and was offered a cup of coffee. I will say that I was pre-warned about the situation, and had planned on giving the family 1000 shekels which is equivalent to about $250.00 US dollars. We had placed 200 shekels in an envelope and another 800 shekels in a separate envelope. The reason was because of the father. Since conditions are so bad in the refugee camp, some men pick up guns, some pick up suicide belts, and others pick up a bottle. He is one that picked up a bottle. He was virtually incoherent when we entered the house and I was warned that any money that was given to the family, he would take and spend on alcohol. That is the reason we split the money up. Nadia hurriedly, behind the cover of the barely lit kitchen, put on her hijab, and she, her mother and her other 6 brothers and sisters came into the room. My contact took pictures of me giving the 200 shekel envelope to Nadia and her family, knowing full well that it would be taken from them as soon as we left.

Once the pictures were taken, we spoke with Nadia's mother about her school progress. Nadia is a 4.0 GPA student, unfortunately, with her home situation, and because of the culture, since she is 15, as soon as someone asks for her as a wife, the father will probably accept and move her on. My contact in Faraa and also in Beit Sahour have been struggling over what we could do for her, but we have been unable to come up with a solution. Once married, her education will end, and she will become a wife and mother. When we left, she and her mother escorted us to the door. As we were standing outside, we scribbled a quick note saying we had more money for the family and to meet us after noon prayer tomorrow outside the mosque. We had several more families to meet with that evening on our schedule and two families that were not sponsored, but that needed some urgent medical attention, so we had to leave. I will never forget those living conditions, or the look of shame on the face of Nadia and her mother as we left, having to be seen in such conditions, and having no control of what was happening in their lives. Sometimes during these visits, I was glad it was raining so the rain and the tears were mixed and no one could see me crying.

We then traveled to the house of a friend of my contact. The boy, Ameed, was about 2 years of age and had a disorder with the tear ducts in his eyes and upon entering the house; you could see the poor living conditions, once again, that these children are living in. No heat, very thin children, poor clothing, no shoes, and the child was running around with his nose running and the eye with the disorder was weeping and the cheek was red and raw from the cold and the constant water dripping from his eye. It did not take a physician to see that this child was suffering. Since everything we do has to be documented, we required that the parent provide the doctors report requesting that an operation be performed. The mother could not find the report but produced the prescription for eye lotion that the doctor had written that said that the child needed this medication until the operation was performed. It was obvious that the family could not even afford the necessary medication. Seeing the child in this condition and in this pain was more than I could take and I was willing, once again, to at least pay for the medication from my own pocket. The family said the surgery would be about 500 shekels which is equivalent to about $125.00 US dollars. I decided to have my contact give the doctor a call to see if we could get a copy of the report faxed to us, so we could go ahead and pay for the surgery for the child. The doctor spoke to my contact in Arabic and even though he remembered the child, and even though he verified the surgery and the cost, he refused to fax us the report. We asked if the mother made the request, would he do it then and he said no. Finally, I asked if he would just confirm with me in English what he had told my contact in Arabic, and he refused to speak with me in English and ended the conversation.

Due to the restrictions placed on me by the American government, my hands were tied and even though the surgery was obviously needed, I could do nothing. We left asking the mother to please contact the surgeon and request a document that would verify what he had told my contact in Arabic. Unfortunately, I only had one more day in the camp, and if we were to do something, it would have to happen in the next 24 hours. I left feeling that even though we had done some wonderful things, I had left this poor child down. We had many more people to see and money that sponsors had given for children, but I will say, that thinking of that child, I did not sleep well that night. If only I had more money and more time, I could do so much more. But with limited sponsorships, limited funds and the restrictions placed on me by my government, I, for the first time, felt that I had failed. It was a feeling that made me sick to my stomach. A feeling I will never forget for as long as I live.

We then met with Mohammad. He was a very bright, smart and intelligent young child. His father suffered from epilepsy and his condition had worsened over the years. He was now not able to work because of the seizures, and his medication caused him to be very tired and in addition put a tremendous financial strain on the family. Mohammad had a number of brothers and sisters and when we took a picture, we could barely fit them all in the frame. They were all smiling and happy and if I didn't know the story, I would swear they were just another happy family living in the states. However, their living conditions, the clothes they wore and the condition of the children belied that assumption. Mohammad and his brothers and sisters were in a very unique position. His family did not own the two rooms that they lived in, and they were not able to continue to afford to live there, because of the medical costs of the father and the fact he was unable to work. They were soon to be evicted and put out on the street. Even the very poor people in the refugee camp had donated all they could give and with everything put together, they simply did not have enough money to buy a small place for them to live. By the grace of God and the gift of $500 US dollars by Mohammad's sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, they would now be able to afford to buy that place that his family and the families of the camp had hoped for. To see the joy on the face of Mohammad's mother and father, my contact at the camp, and friends who had gathered for the occasion, caused us all to weep with joy. My contact had said to me that the gift was not only a gift to Mohammad and his family, but also to him and the same sentiment was reiterated by the friends who had gathered and had suffered themselves to help raise the money along with his generous sponsor and the help of PCWF, to purchase a small house for them. Although the day had been a trial of ups and downs, goods and bads, sorrow and joy, it seemed an appropriate way to end the night, if only we could have ended there.

We then met with the father of a small child, nine months old, whose name was Reda. This had to be one of the saddest stories that I had heard since I had arrived in Palestine. This nine month old boy was suffering from a milk allergy. Even though, once again, he was not sponsored, or scheduled to receive money, by the grace of PCWF and it's kind donors, I was given some extra funds and granted a special dispensation, to identify children in need and attempt to assist them. The father showed me a report from his doctor and a prescription in which the child was taken to the doctor in an emergency state. He had a very high fever and had blood in his stool. The child could not keep down any formula and was dehydrated and suffered from malnutrition. The doctor identified the allergy, and prescribed several special vegetable milk formulas for the child. As luck would have it, the child was also allergic to all the formulas except for the most expensive, Nutrimigen. This formula costs 110 shekels every three days or the equivalent of about $25.00 US dollars, and was available in only one pharmacy in all of Nablus. This cost is extravagant when considering this family makes only about 400 shekels per month, the child often did without the appropriate formula and his condition had deteriorated to the point that his life was in jeopardy.

Once again, I was handcuffed by my own government's restrictions and could not just give this money directly to the family. They had one day of formula left for the child, and just 250 shekels to last them the rest of the month. The father had to decide to feed this child, or feed the remainder of his family. Either decision would mean that one or more of his children would die. We asked the father if he could go to Nablus and buy 10 containers of Nurtimigen that would last them for a whole month, once again in hopes that this would buy us some time and someone will step forward and provide this family with a sponsorship, so that the child could get the necessary formula and avert the known ending. Especially during this time of year, just a couple days after Christmas, it reminded me of "A Christmas Carol" and Tiny Tim who, in the story, most certainly would die, unless someone recognizes the severity of the situation and intervenes to save this child's life. The father said that he would try and on the way out the door, he called my contact back and explained that he did not even have the money to purchase the formula outright, so we could get a receipt. I did not have the time to go to Nablus with him in the morning to buy the formula, so we had to come up with a solution. My contact loaned him the money until he could get the formula, return with the receipt and I could then reimburse him, according to the US regulations that I have to operate under. I left that house that night, praying that he would be successful and we could, if not save the child, we could at least postpone the inevitable, and maybe find a sponsor that believes that every child's life is worth saving.

We then returned to my contact's house where we sat and we talked about what we had left to do, and the time we had to do it in. We met with a young lady at my contacts house that evening who was studying to be an engineer, but once again, as the story was told to me over and over again, this was a student who scored very high in her class, but could not afford to continue her education. The thing that surprised me most about the education in Palestine, was not that students did not wish to study, or that the cost of education was expensive, as compared to America it was very cheap, but if you consider the average family salary in the Faraa refugee camp was about 400 shekels or $100.00 US dollars, even the cheapest fees were too much. Once again, the best and the brightest students of Palestine were being left behind. In the United States and other countries, those students who score very high are given scholarships or grants to continue their education, as we recognize that the future of our country depends on very smart, intelligent, hard working students to make our countries stay on top of the world market.

However, with all the problems in the refugee camps, the strangulation of the government by the restrictions of money flow, and the lack of social systems, Palestine does not have the ability to educate their smartest students. To me this is a travesty as it not only affects the future of the Palestinian people, it also affects the security and stability of the region as well as the security of Israel and the United States of America. I hate to sound repetitive, but a smarter, more intelligent, wiser Palestine makes for a more secure world by ensuring that those who are the smartest, end up in positions in the government and in the business sector that realize that acts of terror are counter-productive for these individuals, their investments and their country. To me an investment in their future is an investment in a safer more secure world. Even though the sponsorship, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, was only $300.00 US dollars, it paid for almost a full semester of schooling for this individual and breaks down to less than a $50.00 per month investment. I believe it is a very small price to pay for a better world.

The next day was Friday and was the day of prayer for Muslims, and also the eve of Eid Al-Adha, a religious holy day for Muslims. Which meant that if I wanted to get back to Beit Sahour, everything that was left to do, had to be completed before 11:30 the next morning. If I did not get to the Hawara checkpoint early, which we anticipated would take some time to cross, then on to Ramallah, and then Bethlehem, I could be stuck on the road, somewhere in the West Bank, with nowhere to go and nowhere to stay and no transportation the next day. Not an appealing thought for an American traveling alone in the West Bank. We still had several families to meet with as well as some outstanding business, the business of the child with the need for surgery on his tear duct and the child who needed formula. After my contact left me to sleep, I tossed and turned all night, not able to sleep for a minute, knowing all that was happening with these children, those we could make a small impact on, those we could not help at all due to funding reasons, and the ones that maybe we could help, and maybe we couldn't. The next morning did not come soon enough, but yet arrived too soon.

We started our rounds at about 8:30 in the morning, and ended up rousing people from their sleep on what would be their prayer day, and a day of rest for those who had work. Unfortunately, those we had to visit, like most of the families in Faraa, did not have work but the children did have off of school. We woke up the family of Hala when we knocked on her door first thing in the morning. They were very nice about the early rousing and we got to sit and talk to her family for a short time over a cup of coffee. Hala, like many of the children we sponsor was a very good student, in what would be the eighth grade in the US. She had a dream to be a doctor, and her sister was in the university studying nursing. As is the case with almost all the families I talked to, if they could afford to have one student in the university, certainly another would be impossible, until the previous one graduated. We joked with Hala and referred to her as Doctor Hala, however, her story like many others was not one that is filled with laughter. She has several brothers and sisters in various levels of school and all are very good in school. Fortunately for Hala, unlike other children and families I spoke with, she is fortunate enough to have a very kind sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF. We were able to give Hala and her family $300.00, which for most families is equivalent to 3 months worth of income. She expressed a desire for a computer, but computers in Palestine are even more expensive than they are in other areas of the world. Still, where there is hope, there is a chance for the future and a chance for Hala to reach her dreams.

While at Hala's house, we were greeted with news from the mother of the child with the tear duct problem and that the camp doctor was making rounds, heard from someone the story of what had occurred the day before and stopped by the house. Even though he was not the original physician and the diagnosis was outside his specialty, he contacted the doctor who had made the previous diagnosis and on his professional advice, wrote out the report that we required to be able to fund the needs of this child. With much joy in our hearts, we left Hala's house and proceeded to this child's house. We met with the father of the child, who was not there the previous day, and he had all the documentation necessary to complete the transaction. We received the original reports from the doctor and had the father sign the receipt for the funds to finally have the surgery completed. It seemed like the day was starting off good, but we still had so much to do, and so little time to do it.

We then had to pass the old Al Faraa prison on the way to the next home. I took a couple pictures as the old British prison had been turned into a youth center, with a football (soccer) field and one of the buildings converted to a gymnasium. Such an odd combination of past and present as a place that was once an area of imprisonment and torture was now a place of happiness and joy. This was one of the few bright spots in the Faraa camp, if you can find a bright spot, and was now run by the Palestinian Authority. Unfortunately, as a result of the restriction of funds to the Palestinian Government, the youth center is kept closed for most of the time and the area was virtually devoid of activity as we passed by. We then walked across a field that was freshly plowed and I asked what is typically planted here. I was told tomatoes or cucumbers but that it hasn't been planted since the Israeli army planted tanks there in October. I was told that they typically use this area as a staging point when they wish to intimidate the local residents. I was told how the soldiers routinely wait until the children are lining up outside the school and they then drive by shooting their rifles in the air, scattering children in all directions. During the last "visit" by the Israeli tanks, my contact figured that there must be kids throwing stones at the soldiers which caused the reprisals so they gathered a number of residents to go to the road and stop any stone throwing in an attempt to protect the school students. When they reached the road, they realized that there were no stone throwers, no children and no harassment of the Israeli soldiers. They then returned to the camp to once again find the soldiers, timing their intimidation at exactly the time the children were lining up for school. After this occurred for several days, the children just stopped showing up at school and when the school yard was virtually empty for several days, the soldiers stopped the episodes of harassing gun fire.

We crossed the field and climbed a small hill where I noticed a memorial with the picture of two children on it. I asked why it was there and was informed that one evening, during the same time the Israeli soldiers were harassing the students, several young children were playing out in the street in the evening. Seeing glints of light bouncing around them and on the hillside, they were intrigued by what was causing them. Unaware of the fact they were laser targeting devices of the Israeli soldiers, who were using them to practice their aim by pointing them at the children. Unaware of what was occurring they followed the lights up the hill. When cresting the hill, they were confronted by Israeli soldiers hiding in the trees who opened fire on the children, killing the two, wounding another while the remainder made it back safely to the refugee camp and escaped injury. The Israeli soldiers then continued to fire on anyone who attempted to reach the children and provide them with medical attention. By 7:00 o'clock the next morning the Israeli soldiers had retreated and left the area, and members of the refugee camp climbed the hill to find the children dead. I could only shake my head in amazement as I asked how long ago this happened. I was told it was just 45 days ago, October, 2006. I was told of the blood stains covering the ground from the children that were still evident several weeks after the attack and I was immediately disgusted and nauseated and did my best to keep from throwing up. I was shocked and amazed that my tax dollars contributed to the death of these children. I still can see their faces on the posters that adorn the memorial and they are forever etched in my mind.

Shocked and pained, we made our way to Muntaha's house. Muntaha was a very quiet and shy girl and we were also introduced to her brother. It was then that my contact asked if I knew the story of Muntaha, and I replied that I did not. He then explained that the lady who we were talking to was not the mother of the children but a relative. Muntaha was an orphan. Her parents were killed during the siege of Jenin several years earlier and that she was transferred to the Faraa refugee camp when their house was leveled by Israeli Army Caterpillar bulldozers. She seemed to be pained as the story was relayed to me, and I felt her suffering as the story was told. It was a bright and sunny day and no way to hide the tears, so I tried not to show my emotions as my eyes welled up with tears and asked my contact if we could give the family the money, take a couple of pictures and then move on. I knew how important it was to be the face of hope, and to present a positive, smiling image, but at times it was just impossible. This was very difficult for me, growing up myself without a family, left to live with my grandparents and I saw myself in the eyes of this child. I wanted to reach out and hold the child, but found myself restrained by the cultural differences and what would be considered inappropriate in the society in which I found myself. Once again, Muntaha was fortunate to have someone who cares for her and chose to sponsor her through PCWF, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF. Although her life has been very hard to this point, at least there is hope that her life will improve through the love of several people who chooses to do without a few extra luxuries to offer a life of hope and a chance for a better future. We were able to give $300.00 US dollars to Muntaha, and I felt as though, if I had an unlimited amount of money, I could do so much good work, but unfortunately, I do not, and I could only do a little now, with the belief that in the future, I could make a greater difference.

Unfortunately, my time had expired, as prayers were getting ready to start and my contact needed to prepare for Friday prayers. I knew that after prayers that we needed to meet with Nadia's mom to deliver the rest of the money, if she could manage to sneak away from the situation she was in. My hopes were that the money the previous day would appease her father, perhaps he was still sleeping, and that she would be able to arrive shortly after prayer, so I could be on my way. By this time we had still not heard from the father whose child needed the formula and I was beginning to believe that we would not hear from him and not be able to assist him in the manner we had wished for and the child would not live. We attended prayers that morning and I had plenty of things to pray for, a suffering child, Nadia's mom and a safe trip through Israeli checkpoints and the ability to reach Bethlehem before the Eid started and I would be stranded.

Prayer ended at 12:30 in the afternoon and my contact and I were stopped by a mutual friend outside the mosque and whisked away to his house. There he sent one of his friends to Nadia's house where her mother was already on her way and she was directed to the home of our friend. When she arrived she was accompanied by one of the younger daughters and I was able to give the remaining 800 shekels to Nadia's mom. She had tears coming from her eyes as she accepted the money and could not say shukran (thank you) enough times as she hurriedly left the house before she was missed and then would suffer the pain of a beating for not being where she was supposed to be. Such is the love of a mother for her children, knowing that she could very well suffer in order to make a better life for her children. I felt guilty giving her the money because I knew what may be in store for her, but I had no choice and such are the decisions that people have to make, when living under the conditions imposed on the Palestinian people by the Israeli government and its army. I had to wonder how this type of treatment of the Palestinian people and all the stories I had been told to this point makes Israel a more secure nation. I think of all the Palestinians who spoke of peace, but are never given a chance to show that peace is the most important thing in their lives, but simply bullied at the end of a rifle and the muzzle of a tank, something I personally would experience later.

We started to walk to the place where I would catch a cab to the Hawara checkpoint and passed by the house of the child who needed formula one last time. We hollered at the window in hopes the father had returned and by a miracle he answered and called us up to his apartment. There he told us that he was only able to find 5 cans of the formula, but actually used the rest of the money and gave it to the pharmacy who wrote him a receipt for an additional ten cans, which he purchased with the $300.00 dollars that my contact was given him, to be picked up later. With receipts in hand, I gladly reimbursed my contact for his investment, got a signed receipt from the father, took some pictures of the child and started out the door, when we ran into the doctor coming to check the child. The doctor was delighted that we were able to provide the formula for the child as he explained that the child was very, very sick and this could very well have saved the child's life. A lot of times in the business of helping people we like to think that is exactly what we are doing, but rarely does the occasion occur that we actually hear it from a medical professional. I would like to think that this is the case, but I wonder if we just prolonged what may be inevitable, if we don't find this child a sponsor. At nine months old, we provided about 45 days of formula, but he will require at least another years worth, until he reaches an age that he will be able to survive solely on solid food. I know that it will be difficult for me to rest until that sponsor is found and that one father does not have to decide which of his children he will have to abandon and leave to die.

With at least a little good news, I headed for the cab, knowing that I had already spent more time than I had trying to make sure that every least little bit of assistance that could be provided was provided when my phone rang one more time. I answered and it was my contact from Beit Sahour. He informed me that the US coordinator from PCWF had called and one last sponsor sent $300.00 US dollars for another child in the Faraa refugee camp. I think it was a no-brainer for me that I had to turn around and return to the camp. How could I have traveled on to the Hawara checkpoint knowing that there was one more child we could help. So I once again returned to the refugee camp. There we purchased a poster board, a magic marker and quickly put a sign together for the child.

The child's name was Wala. Wala had a wonderful sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, who was kind enough to send money to her and her family. I met Wala and her sister and unfortunately, I just did not have the time to sit and talk about her situation like I had so many other families. However, I did not need to hear the story, as it was the same story that I had heard dozens of times since arriving in the West Bank. A story of hunger, cold, harassment, lack of funds and poor living conditions. In a strange sort of way, I was glad to not have to hear the story again, as I was completely emotionally drained and had no tears left to shed.

My contact explained to me that over a period of time, he had learned to build a barrier between himself and situations and stories that these children relay and have to live through. To me, as an American, I did not have that barrier and was laid emotionally bare by this experience. Coming from a country where these types of stories exist, but are few and far between, and also coming from a background where I personally work with people with developmental disabilities, I thought that I would be prepared. Nothing, nothing in this world, could prepare an American for what I saw, what I heard and what I experienced. I guess in the back of my mind I had an image of what it would be like, I had seen hungry, cold children in American before, but never to the extent that I have seen in Palestine. I wrote an opinion article entitled "Palestine, An Open Air Prison", but that does not even come close to the actual situation. We view prisons in American as places of incarceration, but they are clean, the inmates are fed, they have heat and they even have programs that assist them in rehabilitation. But in the refugee camps in Palestine, there is no opportunity to get clean, no food, no heat and no chance of rehabilitation, unless people, like the sponsors of PCWF, donate money in an attempt to alleviate the suffering. So many children, so little time, and so little money. I got into the cab and left, knowing that in my heart, I would never, ever really leave there, as a part of me died and was buried in the Faraa refugee camp, the Belata refugee camp, and Jayyous. The part of me that died was my selfishness, my greed, my American ego and my belief that American support for the Israeli occupation of the West Bank makes life better, safer, or more secure for anyone. Maybe that was a good thing.


How many have what it takes to save a life? How many would be willing to come face to face with the muzzle of a rifle, the butt of the same rifle, be physically and psychologically abused? How many would risk their life, their freedom, and their personal safety and risk themselves and their loved ones being a target in order to save the life of one child, two children or more? Stick with me and I will show you how we helped save the lives of approximately 300 children in various besieged communities in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Are you willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause?



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