Merry Belated Christmas, Happy New Year's Eve-Eve.

This Christmas I made a trip to Bethlehem, where I did not find Jesus, but did find the overwhelming welcome and Christmas spirit of a Palestinian family. My friends and I accidentally crashed their Christmas Eve party, held in a restaurant in Bethlehem called "The Philadelphia House," which later we all realized had nothing to do with the Philadelphia we all knew, but Amman (Philadelphia was the old Greek name for the city) which is relatively close to Bethlehem. As we sat, starring off into the distance, passing the time out of the cold, several hours before the Midnight Mass would begin, suddenly a group of mothers and daughters, brothers aunts and uncles and grandma waltzed in the empty restaurant ready to get that party started. They pulled us up to dance, generously gave us shots of (apparently nice) whiskey and toasted to us, to Christmas, to little drummer boy and Palestine. It was the first time anyone had said "Merry Christmas" to me all year. Nearing the end of the evening, there was a "slow dance" interlude, and instantly we were thrown back into that middle school gymnasium dance (minus the fog machine). A man asked me to dance, 6th grade style with my hands on his shoulders and his firmly and carefully on my hips (with enough room for Jesus in between), but, oddly, as his 10 year old daughter twirled solo around us. With his wife watching us from the table, and his sister simultaniously breastfeeding and slow dancing, I still felt compelled to tell him I was engaged (ok- but I'm not(!)). After another round of high energy, group dancing to Arab pop hits, my friends and I appropriately said our goodbyes before it got awkward, or before we got drunk. I left with a tummy ache and a love mix CD.

We didn't end up seeing the Midnight Mass because there no screen put up out side like we expected. We did manage to see the Palestinian president and his entourage arrive at the church for the evening. It was amazing to be standing amongst a crowd of Palestinians vying for the best position to see their president roll by. Manger square was beautifully lit, though quaint compared to Christmas displays that I am used to. I also found myself expecting and (a bit) wanting it to start snowing, just so I could say, "Why, its a miracle... a Christmas miracle, by golly!"

It didn't snow, however. What it did do was a lot of rain, cold rain. Which was fine considering that I brought two umbrellas and a pair of wellingtons with me to Israel (and you all thought I was nuts! Its been raining for days) But it was not so fine considering that I didn't feel well, my Jerusalem hostel had a 1am curfew and I still had to get through the check point. The rest of my night was a mess, but I will spare you the pathetic story as I am tired of thinking about it. We did have a haunting walk along the separation wall to get to the check point, which is worth mentioning. That along with the rain, some less-than-pro-Palestinain travel companions, and getting stuck in a turn style during the one hour check point crossing process, coupled with a fabulous day in the vibrant Christian Quarter of Jerusalem's old city and a festive Palestinian dinner dance party-- was pretty overwhelming and confusing.

I went to the West Bank in the nick of time, no? Talk about overwhelming and confusing, the past few days have been a lot of both. The news makes me angry, makes me cry. But the worst part about it all is that apart from the death planes that periodically zoom overhead, you wouldn't know that twenty miles away from me hundreds of people are dying, there whole lives crumbling around them. On the videos of Gaza, half the people filmed are children, like five year olds, who are bleeding or at least scared to death as they focus intently on kept their family within arms length. What else can they do?

We received an email from out program director saying to remain within 45 seconds of a "safe area" meaning away from stairs and bathrooms, and within internal rooms of buildings. There are various bomb shelters around, one of which is in my dormitory, so no worries, I know where to go and what to do, if need be. But the director also said to look around and take a cue from Israelis, who do not seem bothered or even interested in what is happening. I'm not sure I could do that even if I wanted to. I understand that since people here have lived through so many wars and so much violence that they have to sort of tune it out sometimes in order to carry on living their lives. Israel could never be a "home" if people didn't put themselves in little bubbles. But still, as my first experience with extreme violence next door, I am having a really hard time wrapping my head around all of this.

To complicate matters, I was alone with my thoughts this weekend, and am in the middle of writing a paper that is hopeful of the peace process. Its been difficult. In times like these, its hard to write about or believe that peace really can be built between these two communities.

Pictures below are in order of appearance:
1)an accidental-illegal photo of the Dome of the Rock
2)Macy's- the true meaning of Christmas, even in Jerusalem
3)view of the Dome from a rooftop walk
4)kids trying to get a good look at the President
5)Martyrdom poster
6)Joseph and Sean
7)Me and Paul
8,9,10) the wall
Video 1)manger square festivities
V 2) Paul's turn to dance
V 3) my slow dance
Something weird is happening with blogger, sorry if these photos are overlapping.