It's easy to say I am tired. Going through the checkpoint today, from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, has become a familiar ball of tensing emotions wrapped around watching the soldiers pull the clips from their weapons and point the guns in the air for practice I assume. As we finally pulled away and through the tunnel to Jerusalem I just felt tired.

I spent the first night of Hanukah with a Jewish woman and her son who are on an extended trip here in the area. They invited me as well as two Israeli neighbors who they know in the building they are living in.   It was a joy to be in their home, to light the Hanukah candles with them and hear the prayers. I learned that on the first day of Hanukah there is one special prayer that, at one point, gives thanks to God for enabling us to reach this time.

We followed the narrow winding uphill slope of the alleyways and streets, up from the bottom, over the top hill and onto the backside of the camp. The darkness and quiet of the camp pierced here and there by strings of lights, posters, the faint hint and tones of fading music and fireworks hanging in the air from the release of the 400+ Palestinian prisoners from Israeli prisons this week, more than 10 of these prisoners came "home" to Dheisheh.

There was a group of men sitting outside the house when we walked up, the strings of red, blue, yellow and green lights crisscrossing the air above the street, posters of martyrs, resistance and struggle in the Palestinian cause plastered the walls. Areej left me in front of the men with a "you stay down here" and ran up to talk with Ahlam. Ahlam is one of the players on the women's basketball team I coached and it was her brother that was released after 6 years. I was invited in Arabic to sit down and given a small brown plastic cup of coffee; a plate of cookies was placed in front of me. After one awkward minute of staring at the wall one of the men spoke up in English, "All are welcome here tonight." I talked with some of the men in Arabic for a little while and then the man who spoke English began to tell stories, stories about traveling around in Europe and people being afraid of him because he is Palestinian. But as they took a few moments to get to know him, slowly their perceptions changed. A tear came into his eye as he talked about a mother and a father in Switzerland who he went to visit with their son who was a friend of his. At first the parents were afraid but then by the end of his time with them the father went down to his workshop and brought him one of his pieces of artwork.

We sat on that front porch in the most unique of settings and we talked about family and community, how in the camp scenes like this are common, where everyone comes together. Sometimes it is for a celebration like the release of the prisoners and many times it is to condole a family who has just lost someone. I have sat with the people in the camp at both of these events.

The darkness once again enveloped me; a tear hesitated on the side of my eye. I had managed to beat back the tears by closing my mouth, by cutting off the words I was going to say to Areej and just saying, "See you later." She heard the quiver in my voice as I tried to say goodbye. Tomorrow Areej leaves for Jordan and then on to the United States. She is the only Palestinian woman that I have spent a significant amount of time with; she has been a huge part of my time here. I don't have any words here and as I quietly walked, in thought, back down the street; opened the door into the grocery store on the corner; greeted the owner and his son in Arabic; hopped up the two stairs into Ibdaa; chatted with Ibrahim at the front desk and unlocked the door to my room...It was the beginning of the goodbyes, to people who have changed how I look at the world, who have taught me things about myself, about struggle, about community, about...so many things to write here and no energy left. I am tired. It's an emotional time, I return to the states in 7 days.