Last night I visited Beit Sahour, to speak in the AIC Center about the work of Israeli activists in response to that call. After the talk, we went on a night tour of the walls... Walls of Rachel's Tomb, Walls in front of the refugee camp A'ida, Walls along the Jewish roads in the valley, Walls around the Jewish settlement on the hill.
Scenes from the lost 48 villages shimmering on the Walls of the refugee camp in the car lights...
Graffiti artists on the Apartheid Wall, giving meaning to unintelligeble constructions. Lights freely provided by watchtower guards and security torchlights...
and the driver kept telling recent stories: about the man who burned down his own olive trees, to keep them from being stolen by the Israelis... about working as a driver while running for office... about Israeli prisons...and I knew all that, but forgot - how could I have forgotten? how did I fall back into my Israeli matrix, working and arguing politics, as if Occupation is just a word to be debated, as if the Walls have crept their way into me.
