I look back at my previous blog entries and it's hard to believe that 4 days has already passed since the last writing. But it has been a busy few days. Ramadan ended and we had three days of celebration, feasting and vacation. It is a strange thing to be able to eat at any time of the day.

Only hours after my last experience with Ibrahim and the soldiers coming through the camp, we learned that Ramadan was over and that Eid al Fitr would start on Friday morning. Bright and early my alarm awoke me after only three hours of sleep since I was used to staying up late during Ramadan. At 6:30am we were in the car and off to the martyr's cemeteries to pay our respects as many families do for the end of Ramadan. We were the only ones at the first cemetery we visited but Ziad walked us around and told us about some of the martyr's who he knew personally. Then a family showed up with coffee and sweets, and then the general of the Palestinian Security Force in Bethlehem arrived with his entourage of soldiers lining the hill above the cemetery with their M-16s.

Our big feast day was Saturday when we were invited down to Ziad's family's house for a traditional Ramadan meal. The word "feast" has taken on a new meaning. We humbly entered into the sparsely furnished eating room, the cracked peeling pink plaster on the wall showing sign of water damage. The table was simple but perfect, a variety of three-inch thick cushions arranged in a large square on the floor with a printed plastic tablecloth as the placemat in the center of the square on the floor. In the center of our diverse group (Palestinian, American and German) went the feast.

Small generic porcelain bowls held two salads; one was carrot orange, the other a mixture of pepper green and tomato red. In the very center went the pyramids, yellow rice giving way to bronzed pine nuts and topped with the crusted brown and slightly black chicken pieces. The dish in which these two pyramids came was probably the size of an extra large deep-dish pizza. We sat with our backs to the wall, legs crossed, consuming this masterpiece prepared by Ziad's nieces.

Prior to our feast I had made a trip to Jerusalem. The 6 hours there was an onslaught on the senses. On the way through the checkpoint a young Palestinian was roughly shoved off the bus, his bag riffled through, searching the pants pockets of his extra pants. Two soldiers sat with their backs to the wall watching nonchalantly. In Jerusalem I walked through the Old City completely for the first time. Every part, from the Muslim Quarter to the Christian section to the Armenian quarter and into the Jewish part. Each time shifting between different worlds, languages, smells, vendors, foods, dress, everything could change in the blink of an eye. I saw the Western Wall for the first time, people praying with paper kippot's on their heads, hands upon the wall.

I was definitely ready when we arrived back in Bethlehem..