Dancin' in the streets

Thirty Palestinians and thirty internationals wind through the streets of Hebron chanting "1,2,3,4 Occupation no more!" Many carry red cards, a creative wink to the World Cup, and periodically turn and hold them up to the Israeli soldiers who, armed to the teeth and pointing a camera right back at the protesters who point cameras at them, are right on our heels creating a wall of green and AK47s at our rear. We are protesting the closure of ShuHada street, the main avenue in Hebron before settlers and soldiers moved in and blocked it off to Palestinians. We are also protesting the presence of settlers, we are protesting the occupation, we are protesting violence, hate, racism and taking away the dignity of a human life. As we get to a section in the Old City where settlers have taken over the top floor (as they have all along ShuHada street) the Palestinians tell us to watch out, the settlers often throw things from their windows (as is evidenced by the trash caught on the grates that stretch across the street between the 1^st and 2^nd floors of the buildings). In the past settlers have urinated or thrown bleach down onto protesters. This week they contend themselves with spraying water down on us. At first I almost think the settler kids must have decided these weekly protests are fun and want to play along and have a water fight. After all it's a hot day and if I wasn't holding a camera I might want to run into the stream of water. But no, this is Hebron and that water is sending a clear message. It is not a blessing but a symbol of contempt, disrespect and hatred. But then the Palestinian boys who have been following our procession, who unlike any international there fully understand what it means to grow up under daily oppression, disdain and violence, jump into the shower and, grinning, start jumping around, dancing, and celebrating life. These kids are not naïve like me, believing this fresh water was meant to be playful and fun. They know the intent; they look at us in the eyes (We will teach you how to survive here), they look at the soldiers in the eyes (We will show you we are not afraid, we will not give up), and they rejoice. The water meant as a curse is turned to a blessing in the most beautiful act of nonviolent resistance I have yet to see.

Later, I am waiting in the street with my friend John. The soldiers have come down from their rooftops to accompany the settlers through the Old City on their weekly heritage tours (another new development in Hebron where settlers walk around pointing out Jewish heritage spots in Hebron, meant to cement the ideology that gives them legitimacy in pushing the Palestinians out of their homes and places of business). We intend to follow the tour and see what it's like but somehow end up getting caught up in playing with the kids instead. A young boy of about 12 is particularly thrilled that I can set a basketball passably enough to have a 2 person volleyball game in the middle of the narrow Hebron streets. I convince him to let the other kids join and soon we have a circle of kids and me bumping and setting a basketball back and forth (note: bumping with a basketball hurts). It's good we're having fun because the soldiers at the end of the street aren't letting many Palestinians through as the settlers are approaching. At one point four soldiers come towards us (for reasons unknown) and spread out on both sides of us. As they pass through the center we respectfully stop throwing the ball (I personally don't want to be around when a soldier accidentally gets hit with a basketball) but then resume when they have taken their seemingly random stations on either side of us. This too is resistance. We can all tell. With the soldiers all around there is the feeling, the pressure, to end all games, to abandon ship and go play elsewhere. But this is the kids' street. "Yalla!" we say to each other, "Let's go", lets keep playing.

There are so many, so many other moments and stories I want to impart. This weekend for the first time I had two separate conversations with soldiers in Hebron of over 5 minutes each, one was almost 20 minutes long. I also had the chance to go to En Karim and Jenin where incredible violence and incredible resistance have taken place. There is one specific moment I need to share with you.

In En Karim our tour guide showed us the ubiquitous Apartheid Wall, which, after concerted international and Palestinian effort had been moved to the Green Line in this area from where it had originally been built (annexing the 2^nd largest well in the West Bank) but which nevertheless cut a Palestinian community in two and a Palestinian home literally in two as well. For about 100 meters of the wall we were looking at there were bright red geranium planted squarely against the wall. The contrast between the huge grey monstrosity and the small bright green and red plants were striking. He said "Look what Israel plants, and look what we plant" indicating first the wall, and then the flowers. "To the Americans in this group I have one question: do you know what your taxes are being used for?"

The Palestinian kids in Hebron resist by dancing, by playing. Despite their seeming powerlessness, they resist. What about us living freely in the most powerful democracy in the world? How can we resist?