This morning I sat in on a few hours of a Web design/Photoshop workshop with youth from a number of different villages. A Lebanese American man from Detroit and a Palestinian/Iraqi American woman who lives in New York are leading the workshop. It’s an incredible group from around the world that gather here at Ibdaa. But for me, this workshop highlighted my largest challenge and frustration thus far here in the West Bank. While the subject matter was one that I have taught many many times in both English and Spanish, my grasp of Arabic is not even close to being sufficient to contribute more than a few words here and there. I have never been in a place where communication has been such a large barrier…

In the afternoon I traveled by myself for the first time and took a cab to Manger Square near the nativity church in Bethlehem to meet my friend Krista who works for a youth organization out of Jerusalem. I also met with Eric who had worked for an accompaniment/checkpoint watch organization at the Bethlehem/Jerusalem checkpoint. After lunch in a basement falafel restaurant and coffee at an outdoor coffee shop I thought I would be a little adventurous and walk a little of the way back to Ibdaa, to get some exercise and see some of Bethlehem. Apparently I hadn’t paid enough attention to the streets as we drove up because I took at least two wrong turns and found myself wandering off into the far off hills under the burning sun. I went up and down along the road, passing 4 young children who said “hello” to me and laughed. I smiled at them and waved my hand, then they asked me for money. I shook my head and continued trudging up the hill. Suddenly a small rock struck me in the elbow. I was stunned but kept walking. I’m not sure why they threw the rock. Finally I managed to catch a taxi in front of a mosque out in the countryside that took me back to Dheisheh. My driver was from Kuwait but had married a Palestinian woman and has 12 children…

At night I hopped on one of two mini-buses with one of the Ibdaa youth soccer teams and headed for Hebron for their match. We flew out into the countryside with Arabic music blasting its catchy tones from the speakers and the sun setting over the hills, casting a brilliant glare over the white stone houses. For the first time I watched as we rolled by Israeli military vehicles and soldiers sitting on the sides of the road, watching the cars go by with their hands on their weapons. The field was set under six glaring sets on lights next to a mosque in Hebron. The game was vicious with several players getting injured and the Ibdaa goalie (Adam who I had talked with on the ride from Dheisheh) getting a red card. Even down a player, the Ibdaa team came back from a 2-1 deficit with a beautiful breakaway goal in the final few minutes to tie the game 2-2. Earlier I had walked around the field with Hazmeh to get to the Ibdaa sideline and, in his limited English he told me that he hated Israel.

After getting back to Ibdaa at 11pm, I sat up again with Ziad and talked about his family that is this organization. These conversations have become an extension of our many talks at night outside of the International Center in Brattleboro, Vermont. I had never quite understood how enormous this organization is. He talks of Ibdaa with a passion in his eyes and a tenderness in his words as he discusses each successive generation of youth that has started at Ibdaa, participated in their projects and sees many of them continue working with Ibdaa for years and years. This organization, the projects, they are bigger than just the two men who had a vision for this place. It’s so hard to capture the emotions of this place. Ibdaa, which means to create something from nothing in Arabic, started in 1995 with around $75 from Ziad and Khaled’s pockets and 30 children on the streets of the Dheisheh refugee camp. Now they have thousands and thousands of people who participate in their programs, they have two enormous buildings and are an integral part of this community. Ibdaa’s resilience and sense of hope was captured for me in one moment. Ziad told the story of when, in 2000, their media lab was burned in an obvious arson fire. One of Ibdaa’s young girls ran home after seeing the ruins of the lab and came back with 5 shekels. She handed the money to Ziad and said, “Here, we can rebuild it.”…I have seen a lot in three days, in trying to see a piece of the Palestinian struggle. I look forward to meeting with Israeli’s and hearing their stories…