It is Good Friday. As Bethlehem Christians remember the assassination of Jesus, 80 internationals wait to hear the confirmed attack of Ramallah. Arafat waiting in a bunker, the city surrounded by tanks, 100 Italians and Swiss inside the compound

By Nancy Stohlman

RAMALLAH, West Bank: Two Coloradans have just joined hundreds of internationals in the West Bank. Their plan is to be there for over 2 weeks and participate in nonviolent direct action to end the illegal Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

REPORT: Gary and I squeaked through one airport after another, the Israeli customs officials not even making eye contact as we nervously rolled by. I feel we are being protected, somehow. Deplaning in Tel Aviv, a man I'd never met whispered "enjoy your stay in Palestine" with barely a brush of my elbow and a knowing look before fading into the amorphous crowd.

Sitting in the Bethlehem Star Hotel, internationals exchange the news that binds us together: Ramallah is surrounded by tanks, a bomb last night in Netanya, three dead so far in the West Bank and one hostage. We all realize that the timing of our arrival is nothing short of fated. Ricardo sits across from me eagerly distributing apples and pitas. He had been fasting for four days. I nod sympathetically without needing an explanation. Natalie sits to my left in a brown cardigan, surely someone's grandmother. She passes eggplant with quiet courage.

My stomach regularly flips like an otter swimming inside of me. I don't ask for reassurance because I know that there is none. We arrived in Bethlehem in the dark, running through the closed checkpoints with all our luggage. The ISM greeters and feeders do not hesitate to use the word "tense," yet their warm smiles seem a refuge from the ghostly streets outside. "We are waiting to hear the drones," they explain. "From childhood, everyone knows what follows." We do not discuss worst case scenarios.

The anticipation is unspoken, even as Arafat nods his head from the television screen. A woman from New York City changes the subject: "They may bomb Iraq next week." She informs us of rumors of tents being assembled just across the Iran border for the anticipated refugees. I am ashamed of my first selfish thought--"Maybe he'll wait two weeks"-- when I realize that countless numbers of human beings just like myself do not possess a plane ticket to go home. Instead, I pass the soup.

It is Good Friday. As Bethlehem Christians remember the assassination of Jesus, 80 internationals wait to hear the confirmed attack of Ramallah. Arafat waiting in a bunker, the city surrounded by tanks, 100 Italians and Swiss inside the compound, and the whispers among the group is that perhaps we should join them immediately. We are like sputtering birds, gulping tea and waiting, waiting. Last night as Gary and I entered the dining hall, we were celebrities. "The famous Coloradans," they called us. After breakfast today, I walked the streets of Bethlehem. The expressions of the townspeople are plainly sober. This afternoon, all plans of an actual schedule seem laughable. Two hours ago, we were getting emergency non-violence training--two days worth pushed into about 45 minutes--as we readied ourselves to join the internationals in Ramallah. Gary and I easily amalgamated into an affinity group: 5 from the US, 1 Holland, 2 Sweden, 1 France, 1 Italy, 2 from the UK. Moments later I felt several fingers pointing at me as I felt myself standing up and confidently announcing to the room," All of us have decided to go."

An hour later, the lawyer and the vehicles cannot get through the checkpoint to get us. Ten people are dead in Jerusalem, including 2 foreign journalists.

Late afternoon--The sky darkens as night approaches. Lightening laps through the sky, and the windows rattle from the wind like airplanes flying overhead. I feel like a walking dream, still jetlagged. The city of Bethlehem is surrounded by tanks, completely cut off. Through sunken eyes I listen to Leila tell us how to be a human shield for the families in Dehaisha, words like "shelling" and "explosion" rolling off our tongues.

"We have a high level of uncertainty" a man explains to us through the noises of the beating rain. "We don't know when or where they will attack." The group mobilizes to call consulates and embassies, pass around a loose piece of paper with names and lists of passport numbers--all that ties me to the world of paperwork.

The Italians are staying in Dehaisha tonight. The whole ISM group decided to go march through the streets of Dehaisha to make their presence known. In 30 minutes, press followed us with our hastily spray-painted sheets and signs.

The people of the town looked grateful and surprised to see us marching in the rain through the streets. I did an on-the-spot interview with satellite Palestinian television. He asked me--What are you doing here? I said, "We are American and French and Italian and German and Dutch and Swiss and Swede and English and Canadian, and we no longer will accept this situation as acceptable."

He then asked me what is the message that we are sending back to our countries. Standing on a pile of rubble under the setting sun, I said, "We demand our countries pay attention to this situation."

 
For more information about the Coloradans in Palestine, go to: www.ccmep.org/palestine.html