- 10/31/2024 7:00:00 AM
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On the morning of October 7, 2023, my husband and I found ourselves in a poignant setting at Bethlehem Bible College in the West Bank, ready to embark on Day 2 of a journey led by Alex Awad. This was not your typical pilgrimage to the Holy Lands; we were diving into the heart of a region filled with historical significance and current strife. Our trip promised not just to explore the ancient stones of cities like Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Jerusalem, but also to meet the "Living Stones"—the resilient individuals striving for peace in a land marred by conflict.
As we discussed our itinerary, an explosion shattered the calm. Initially, it sounded like a scene from an action movie, but the ensuing rumble felt much more sinister. Awad attempted to calm our nerves, stating that such events are unfortunately common. Yet, as we stood there, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were witnessing the beginning of something far more catastrophic.
A year later, my fears linger. What began as a spiritual journey quickly morphed into a survival instinct.
After the initial explosion, Awad and his wife, Brenda, sought information from our tour company, but the chaos had disabled security cameras, leaving us in the dark. My attempts to contact the U.S. Embassy yielded only a recording, leaving us feeling stranded and anxious.
Despite the uncertainty, our tour company advised us to continue to Herodium, an archaeological site from the time of King Herod. There, we encountered an unsettling scene: a vast parking lot that was usually bustling with tourists was eerily empty. From atop the fortress, we witnessed Israel's Iron Dome intercepting rockets—a stark reminder of the reality unfolding around us.
Our journey included visits to various peacemaking initiatives, like the House of Hope, which cares for blind and developmentally disabled Palestinian children. The joy and resilience of those we met stood in stark contrast to the oppressive conditions many Palestinians face daily. We also visited the Tent of Nations, a farm exemplifying nonviolent resistance against encroachment by neighboring settlements.
Our planned exit from the West Bank was thwarted at a checkpoint, where young Israeli soldiers with firearms turned us back. This moment was a jarring reminder of the restrictions Palestinians face daily. As we eventually made our way to Tiberius, the news of escalating violence reached us. We were horrified to learn that Hamas had launched a devastating attack, resulting in the tragic loss of innocent lives—an event that would trigger a brutal Israeli response.
News reports soon flooded in about the bombing campaigns in Gaza, killing thousands of Palestinians. The justification for these actions often revolved around the idea that the residents of Gaza had elected Hamas. However, many of today’s Gazans were not even born during the elections, and current conditions have been likened to living in an open-air prison.
As I listened to discussions among fellow tourists celebrating the bombings, I was struck by a profound sense of disillusionment. My previously unwavering support for Israel began to wane. I couldn't ignore the suffering of innocent families caught in the crossfire, nor could I reconcile the joy some expressed over violence with the reality of lives being lost.
In the aftermath of the violence, I found myself haunted by stories of mothers in Gaza, praying for their children's safety amidst a relentless bombardment. The complexity of the conflict weighs heavily on my conscience, and I have reached out to my representatives, urging a reevaluation of U.S. support for Israel.
As I reflect on my experiences, I am reminded of Sami Awad, who spoke about the necessity of understanding each other's trauma for peace to prevail. The path to reconciliation is fraught with challenges,
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