by Rebecca

Yesterday began our trek to Nablus. From our cozy stay in Ramallah where
the weather was surprisingly cool and the wind brisk, six internationals
including myself bused to the Huwwara checkpoint to Nablus. We were made
aware of the bombing that took place in Tel Aviv. My group - including three
Scottish, one Londoner, and one Swede - knew how crucial our presence and
support in Nablus would be these upcoming weeks in case of a military
retaliation, and decided to go forward with our efforts. Needless to
say the situation is very unstable.

We were forwarned that the Huwwara checkpoint was cracking down on who they
were letting past and that as foreigners we would probably be denied entry.
Regardless, we had no choice and went ahead. Passing through one flying
checkpoint about halfway through the ride we arrived to a line of
Palestinians waiting patiently in the dry, scorching heat for entry to their
homeland. Some waited in rickety buses just shy of the imaginary border.
Others sat secluded on the ground, tired and quiet. Our entry was rejected,
"Absolutely no tourists. No foreigners. Not even Israelis." That's all the
snide soldier could say. Locals told us that our only option was to go
through the path in the mountains.

Our time was short to get across. The mountain paths are usually occupied
by soldiers. If we were caught as interntionals crossing, they would force
us to go back to the village we came from. But as Palestinians, the journey
is life threatening. The soldier do not hesitate to shoot Palestinians
dodging the checkpoints. Our taxi to the village of access brokedown
halfway, but in their usual manner of extreme hospitality, Palestinian boys
offered us and their donkey's assistance to get across. After four hours in
100 degrees+ heat we successfully crossed over three mountains and two
villages.

Many Palestinians in villages surrounding Nablus are forced to make these
strenuous and dangerous treks because they depend on the town center for
medical treatment and other such life support. I couldn't even begin to
imagine hiking through those moutains ill or pregnant, tired or old. We gave
the people of the villages as many words of thanks and support as we could,
bringing smiles to their faces just by taking their pictures or just looking
into their eyes. To reduce my load, I gave some of the women things we take
for granted like soaps and clothing. They were so excited and grateful they
all huddled around outside a small shop and exchanged the gifts. I gave some
of the children my colored pencils, pencil sharpener, and sketchbook-they
were so grateful they just kept shaking my hand and smiling.

Once in Nablus, we were divided between men in women to stay in the Balata
Refugee Camp and the Old City. At dinner we received the news that two of
our colleagues already staying in Nablus-one American and one Swede-were
arrested at the checkpoint to Beit Furik. The story as I heard it from
another who witnessed the event is as follows:

The three activists were at the checkpoint for at least five hours
documenting the detention of Palestinians trying to cross. They were also
there to bring water and encouragement. The soldiers never warned the
activists to stop filming or talking to anyone. At one point, they heard a
soldier screaming and looked over to find him pointing an M16 at a boy
around 13 years old. One walked over to talk to the soldier and protect the
boy while the American (filming) went across the street. He was the first to
be arrested. The other two activists went over to try to prevent the arrest
but he was taken with this reason (loosely quoted), "My commander told me he
broke a rule."

"What rule?"

"I don't know, he just told me to arrest him."

After physical abuse (to either one or both captured) and some time
spent detained at the checkpoint, the police arrived (regular soldiers have
no legal authority to arrest internationals) to haul both off to the prison.
The rest of us are waiting and planning for the next actions.

It was an extremely long day, but it ended for the newcomers rather
pleasantly as we women met with the family we are stay with for the next
couple of weeks. They are most kind and probably two of the strongest people
I have ever met. The family as it remains in their home in the Old City is a
mother, father, and young son--12 years old. Two of their daughters are
married and live in neighboring regions. Their oldest son lives in Sweden
with his wife. Their middle sons, one 16 and one 19 are imprisoned after a
raid of their home by Israeli soldiers a couple of years ago. They still
open their doors to internationals-feed us, hug us, share their stories,
their hopes, and their gratitude for not closing the doors on them. There is
much more to be said about my experience these last couple of days, but my
time is also pressured because of the situation.

We met with the Ministry of Culture and Antiquities covering Nablus and
the north West Bank. They say because since the second Intifada and the
Israeli occupation of the West Bank the tourism through Nablus has dropped
from an ever increasing 65,000 to nearly zero, they have the time to work
with international activists to plan actions not only to resist the
occupation, but to share the positive, uplifting qualities of Palestine with
the rest of the world. I will write again as soon as I can with hopes of not
having to hear of an invasion. And in the unfortunate event of invasion or
after actions, I will produce material for a press release. But do know that
I am safe and am working with a close network of families, coordinators, and
professionals to assure that our presence here is positive, effective, and
productive.

In solidarity,
Rebecca

August 4, 2004
Nablus Under Siege

"One Man Down"

After several weeks and days of actions and resistance, Nablus began to quiet
down. Many internationals from all regions left their host cities to attend
the march from Jenin to Jerusalem, but Nablus has maintained a strong
international presence due to its unpredictable conditions. Today was a prime example.

A morning filled with productive meetings and several cups of tea turned into
an afternoon of chaos in the Old City of Nablus as soldiers occupied at least one
large office building in the town's center. We were also informed of the
Palestinian fighters' presence throughout the alleys of the Old City. Israeli
sniper fire was seen stirring up the dust of center's circle as it was fired
from the occupied building. After 15 minutes or so Awad Hashesh, a 26 year old
civilian, was shot in the head and killed. Four others were injured during the
45 minute clash.

As a general rule, we maintain a safe distance from clashes between Israeli
soldiers and Palestinian fighters. However, we were still stunned and affected
by the sounds of gunfire coming from as far away as the mountainside and
surrounding the entire town center. Even though the situation was sensitive, I
managed to document most of the clash, including the blood of Awad as it was
washed from the street by a local shopkeeper.

I feel as though my reports are getting less and less personal because it's
getting even harder to describe the emotions and the frustrations that each of
us experience in these situations. Everday between meeting with families and
discussing their lives, their traumas, their dreams we all-Palestinians and
Internationals-face the occupation and have deal with its effects in the
present and in the future. Perhaps the most influential woman I've met so far
is a 43 year old resident of Balata Refugee Camp who is now blind as a result of
severe and untreated diabetes. She doesn't look a day younger than 60, and as
a result of her rapidly deteriorating condition, excess water is building up in
here system making ear extremely bloated and uncomfortable.

She sleeps sitting up because the sores on her back and rear end are too
painful
to bear lying down, but she says it doesn't matter because she is usually
awake. She speaks English very well and was more than happy to offer her time for an
interview-even though just released from the hospital she could not afford to
stay in. Throughout the interview, which took longer because of complications
breathing, she talked about her passion as a Palestinian, her drive, and how
she was too much for the Israelis to handle. At one point in her life she was
captured and imprisoned by the Israeli soldiers. Now, at 43--unmarried but
surrounded by her extended family in a home that is hers-she imprisoned
again, totally dependant on her sister, nieces, and nephews who she helped to raise.
But she's not going to give up resisting the occupation of Palestine.

These are the stories I hear every minute of the day. Stories that are so
moving, so tragic, so inspiring they should be spreading throughout the world
and especially America like wild fire because if any of this were to happen to
our family members or friends at home, you know it wouldn't last for more
than a day-if that long.

Please help these families by spreading the word. That's all I ask. Even if
you tell one new person a day, it makes a difference. After all, that's how I got
involved in the Palestinian struggle for freedom.

I'll be writing again soon. Thank you all for emails you've sent in support of
the Palestinians and my own efforts in Palestine. The Palestinians have also
asked me to send their many thanks for our efforts internationally.

Much love...in solidarity,
Rebecca

Stones Versus Bullets
By Rebecc
July 28, 2004

Today I met with the mother of 14 year old Hussam Abu Zaytoune of
Balata Refugee Camp in the Palestinian city of Nablus, West Bank. A week ago,
Hussam went to meet his friends for evening tea in the shade of his
favorite tree. Instead of meeting his friends, he was shot and killed in that
very spot by an Israeli soldier positioned directly across the street. I
witnessed Hussam's death. His blood is dried on a shirt I haven't had
the nerve to wash.

I came here to stay in this refugee camp as part of the New Orleans
Human Rights Delegation. Eight of us, including an Episcopalian priest, a
Tulane University Medical Student, and a Jefferson Parish high school
teacher, came here to monitor the human rights situation, and bring our first-hand
observations back to New Orleans.

On Monday, July 19th, Israeli military and border police entered the
Balata refugee camp and engaged in what I believe to be a deliberate
provocation of the Palestinian children, with Israeli soldiers chanting through a
loudspeaker - in Arabic - "Come on, Balata; throw, throw!"

Moments later, children began throwing stones from a nearby cemetery,
and as I stood with colleagues on the steps of a shop within sight of the
Israeli soldiers, I heard live rounds of fire up close for the first time. The
soldiers were shooting live ammunition at the youth. There was no
return fire from the Palestinians. Minutes later, an ambulance sounded its
sirens and made its way to the cemetery. Seeking to help if we could, a few
of us quickly followed, snaking through a maze of alleys and then, led by a
young Palestinian man, we dropped to our hands and knees and crawled
forward. Dodging headstones and rubble, we made our way to the center of the
cemetery.

Hussam was limp, lying in a pool of blood alongside a white stone
grave. Three of us-all women-gathered around Hussam and tried to calm his
friend, who was crouched over his body. But there was no use. Hussam had no
pulse.

Hoping for some miracle, we pushed our hands under Hussam's
blood-saturated body and lifted him, only to walk a few feet before another man took
him from us and carried him away, cradled like a baby. I stood in
shock-face cringed and crying-and stared at my bloody hands. There was nothing
I or anyone else could do.

Hussam's mother said through her mourning tears that he loved to dance
the Debbke - a traditional Palestinian dance. Her last memory of him was
of his beautiful laughing face before she left her sister's house to go home
and pray. I only knew him as a helpful young man who once took the time to
escort me to a taxi at the opposite end of the camp. But it's extremely difficult to talk about him without crying. It's hard for me to cry without thinking about his body in the cemetery and in the morgue afterwards-his eyes slightly open, his lips blue, his chest interrupted with an inch and a half size bullet hole and three more on his body-one on his left leg, one on his right arm, and one on his right hip. I can't articulate the sentiment of Nablus under siege, of the West Bank, of Palestine or even of myself after being here for a few weeks. But there is one thing I can say without any hesitation: For the rest of my life I will never be able to correct or erase the image of Hussam Abu Zaytoune
dead in my arms for no reason other than he was a Palestinian boy living on
Palestinian soil. And I will never be able to erase the sound of the Israeli soldier chanting in Arabic, "Come on, Balata; throw, throw!" In fact, I have it on tape.

UPDATE FROM REBECCA

I'm hoping you have all heard about the prisoners' hunger strike which has
been going on for 15 days now. The Israeli government made a clear
statement that they didn't care if all of the prisoners died and the guards
continue to taunt prisoners with barbeque feasts. At least 4,000 prisoners
(app.half the prisoners) are still participating in the strike and sadly to
say a woman of 55 years old died yesterday after striking at home for her son
who is in prison serving 26 life sentences and an additional 25 years. Her
other son recently died as a martyr. After the mother was taken to a hospital
in Jerusalem she still refused to eat and died protesting the wrongful
imprisonment of Palestinian men and women. Around 200 women are currently
serving time in prison. Today and for the upcoming days we were invited to
participate in the hunger strike-at least fasting from sunrise to sunset-at
the Nablus hunger strike tent (one of many throughout Palestine).

The village of Budrus as of yesterday is yet again being threatened by
Israeli bulldozers in for the contiunation of the Wall's. After the ruling to
hault its extension through the village and surrounding villages, the Israeli
government has decided to resume construction. Today, Palestinian and Israeli
organizations for peace, as well as a small group of internationals
successfully blocked a bulldozer from plowing through the village and they
hope to demonstrate around it tomorrow as well.

As if a ditch nearly 15ft. deep separating Nablus from several of its eastern
villages isn't enough to secure Israel's illegal and threatening settlements,
two days ago the village of Salem endured a night of occupation and road
closure. We hiked to the village late in the evening upon 10+ Jeeps, 5
Azizas, and 1 bulldozer's arrival-all there for search and seizure in a town
whose population is no more than 7,000. Because it was late and the Israeli
operation was unclear, there wasn't much that we could do. But staying with
threatened families was humbling, heartening, and necessary. I was priveleged
to stay with a family of 14 with one more on the way whose two sons come to
Balata everyday
to sell flowers to the refugees of the camp. The ages of the children range
from 1 to 18. The 15 year old son Nadi when 7 days old consumed a large
amount of tear gas when his home was raided by soldiers as they searched for
his father in the first Intifada. The gas's affect was mental retardation.
While he can somewhat understand simple commands and conversation, he is mute
and paces his home, weaving in and out of his 10 siblings.

Inspite of the hard economic conditions the family is in, the parents insist
that they have a large family because they fear many of their children will
suffer death at the hands of Israelis before they get a chance to experience
adulthood. And they still welcomed us into their home, putting fragrant roses
in our hair, and graciously served us a full meal of fish, chips, sweets,
tea, and coffee.

As the streets begin to calm in Nablus...or should I say as I begin to
assimilate into this chaotic environment because it's never really calm...my
stories may begin to get a bit poetic again. Every day I notice another
beautiful aspect of the city and the people. My most favorite recent
discovery-or the funniest-is another rooftop gathering place overlooking
the valley of Nablus and screening "Superstar"-the Arab version of "American
Idol"-whenever it comes on television. Last night was particulary special
because a Palestinian man was one of the two finalists. He received much
applause and support from the locals sipping on cola and smoking argeelas,
and he was also well received by the television audience! It was quite
uplifting even though I don't hesitate to say I despise the American version
of the show.

Well, I'll end it on a happy note and will write again soon. Right now I'm
busy scratching REALLY bad mosquito bites that mysteriously appeared this
morning.

Take care of yourselves and each other...
Love,
Rebecca

Update
August 19th, 2004
A few different stories....

"A New Moon"
Beit Furik, West Bank

On the east border of Nablus lies Beit Furik, a village of 14,000
Palestinians. Overlooking the village is an Israeli settlement named
Itemar-one of two settlements you can see from any place in Beit Furik. Last
week, I'm sure most of you heard of the Palestinian martyr Jusuf-a 28 year
old recent graduate-who was killed after he attacked and killed a settler.
What the media portrayed was a savage Palestinian attacking an innocent
settler, but let me give you a bit of context to understand what villagers,
and mainly Beit Furik in the case, have to endure daily.

Much of Palestinian land, usually olive groves, is confiscated or difficult to
get to because of Israeli settlements. All settlers are allowed to bear arms
and are free to threaten Palestinians as they please even though they are
living illegally in the West Bank. Part of the international movement is to
assist such towns in olive harvests because it is so dangerous for them to
access they're own land. Just a day before Jusuf's death, a 60 year old
Palestinian man was taken from his work site by Israeli settlers and beaten
severely. During our interview with him he said that he did everything he
could to just drop and roll away but they continued to beat him (he doesn't
know for how long) with sticks until they broke his arm and caused several
other injuries. It took him an hour to get to the hospital in Nablus which
without checkpoints could take a few minutes. At the time, Rafidia hospital
was "overbooked" due to continued Israeli
incursions on Nablus, so he was released early, suffering major headaches and
fatigue.

This is just one story of the trauma settlers impose on Palestinians. Let me
begin my journey to Beit Furik.

Late in the afternoon we realized from Nablus that the situation in Beit
Furik could escalate very rapidly, especially since it did not have an
international presence. It is typical for the homes of martyrs to be
destroyed soon after their deaths. I and two other internationals made our
way into Beit Furik with the help of a Palestinian 30 minutes after being
denied entry by a soldier wearing a helmet saying "Kill 'Em All". Just as we
were walking up to the house - "BOOM!" To everyone's devastation it was blown
up right before our eyes. We were immediately invited to stay with the family
and spent a few hours in the company of 30 or more women, weeping and wailing
for their losses. The home housed three
families but luckily with the help of the village they were able to remove all
of their belongings and selves so no one was injured. But they are all
homeless now.The men of the community were taken to stay in another area in
the village to begin the mourning process. Throughout the days and nights
that we stayed, the border police and soldiers were always present. And you
knew they were because whenever the returned, a symphony of whistles took
place over the rooftops as the boys would signal the village from one end to
the next.

On the second day, a Hummer and Jeep pulled up to the dwelling where the men
were kept and pulled 30 men out. They confiscated their IDs and threatened to
take them to the checkpoint which is infamous for abuse. The interntionals
were asked to stay near the detainees and a call from the mosque asked all
the village to come down and guard their friends and family. One elderly man
with much courage got in the face of one soldier demanding the release of the
men including one who just had surgery on his stomach and was still healing.
The soldier shot into the air and sparked an incredible stone-throwing
reaction from the entire village. From children to old women, they threw
stones at the soldiers as they continued to fire live rounds into the air and
for the first time in my experience, the soldiers-terrified-jumped into
their vehicles and
left, not to return that night. With them they took the IDs but they were
brought back within the hour by a fellow Palestinian. Fortunately, no one was
injured.

That night we slept on the rooftops were a bright light from above outshown
the moon. It was part of the Israeli watch tower over the village. I found
hope that night that the Palestinians are capable of resisting and that this
village was a testimony of what can be done if everyone united for one
purpose-freedom.
________________________________________________

"O Little Town of Bethlehem"
A short trip through the West Bank....

I had prior arrangements with others to leave Nablus for a few days. One of
my travel companions was a Palestinian man from Balata and he hadn't left
Nablus in five year because of the occupation. Because we had to dodge
checkpoints and avoid soldiers at all costs, it took us nearly ten hours to
get from Nablus to Ramallah to Biddu. From there, some of my friends joined
the march that is in its final stages today. I went with Sam to Bethlehem.
It's not so little anymore and definitely not as innocent as I imagined from
the church hyms I sung as a child. The city itself is beautiful but it is an
a very strange position. The Palestinian natives-mostly Christian-are
surrounded by 28 Israeli settlements,
still expanding. There are bypass roads cutting through a majority of the
Palestinian landscape, roadblocks, and checkpoints. Within Bethelem and the
villages are several refugee camps. Like most camps, they started off as
tents, then small rooms for entire families, and now they almost semm like
regular neighborhoods-except for the history. Several camps were completely
fenced in with barbed wire and only one gate for entry and exit. I couldn't
help but feel like I was visiting a Jewish ghetto or concentration camp when
I heard the stories and saw the pictures. Imprisoned in their own land, these
Palestinian refugees are now unable to leave the camp because of either
financial hardship or property disputes. Most of them come from villages that
are now taken over by
Israel.

I spoke with a tour guide about his experiences growing up during the first
Intifada. He said the first was much better and passionate because no one
fought with weapons, they fought with stones and that earned them the
sympathy of the world. Now, he says, the minute one Palestinian opens fire on
an Israeli Jeep, it's terrorism-but what about that Jeep? Why is it in a
Palestinian town to begin with?

Being in Bethlehem seemed to be a vacation considering Nablus was under
curfew when I left and continues to have martyrs nearly every day. The
Israeli soldiers have made a mess out of its the camps, the Old City, and the
people. It was the 12th birthday of the boy I'm living with there and I had
to sing Happy Birthday to him while he was standing in front of his house
being harrassed by soldiers.

Now I've made my way to Al Quds (Jerusalem) and plan to head back to Nablus
soon with hopes that situation has improved.

Much love,
Rebecca

"Zionist Savages"
Update from August 12, 2004
Nablus, West Bank

We coined the term Zionist Savages not long after we formed our affinity
groups in Nablus. The Israeli forces stop at nothing to accomplish nothing. Yesterday
"Sam" and I tried to negotiate with them at around 11:00 am after they shot
and sent one boy to the hospital with a rubber bullet wound to the upper chest.
They invaded the camp early in the morning after enforcing curfew, occupied several
homes, and weren't planning to leave any time soon. Since Sam and I have
repeatedly been the designated women negotiators in the group, we thought we'd
have a better chance at exercising our power of persuasion. What high hopes
one develops in such desperate situations.

The driver of the Jeep recognized me from the "casbah" that I spent 4 hours
captive the other night. I was disappointed to see him again so soon in the
camp. He and the other soldiers made jest out of our pleads to withdraw their
weapons from their portholes as they offered us cigarettes and juice! With
smirks, they repeatedly said this was their land and their war and we had no
business being here.

Throughout the day, at least three sets of troops were removed from homes that
were occupied in the night and the morning. During their extractions, the
soldiers set off tear gas within the homes while the family's were still
trapped. Perhaps the most outrageous and endearing story of the day was of a
house near the cemetary that is lived in by two elderly sisters--82 and
75-and their youngest brother with down syndrome--55. They've been in Nablus ever
since the eldest was three and moved here from Turkey with her Palestinian father
and Turkish mother. During the night of the 12th while all three remained fast
asleep, soldiers into the unused, upstairs part of the home after using a key
to stealthily enter. The family was unaware of the occupation.

The eldest went upstairs the next morning to feed the birds. When she reached
the second floor she was surprised and shocked by the soldiers presence and
then held captive. After a while of not returning to the lower level of the house,
her siblings were suspicious and called the medical relief team. Fortunately
the doctor in charge (who was also detained with me in the house earlier in the
week) arrived with a team of 3 BBC journalists. All four were taken at
gunpoint and held for 4 hours. After their release, the medical teams and
internationals were welcomed into the home for tea and coffee. The soldiers had not yet left,
but helped themselves to an exist through the kitchen as all of us stood
around and watched their silhouetted helmets march out into a smoke filled yard, one
by one.

As the not so friendly team of journalists were hastily-inappropriately-trying to get an interview before the soldiers had even left, a relative of the house-a woman in her 30s-was stricken with smoke or gas inhalation and suffered from asphyxiation on the sofa near the kitchen. We finally got the doctor to come and offer proper care.

The women asked us international women to stay with them for a few nights in
case the soldiers return. Three of us stayed last night. When I say that they
are absolutely amazing, I mean it! Because of their age, they are reduced to
about 4'10" but the flesh on their arms and hands doesn't look a day over 50.
They were dressed like twins, but their thick white hair was styled
differently-one in two plaits on the sides of her face, the other pulled back
underneath a white headscarf. Their wide grins showed off their toothless
gums.
They were elated to see us at 9:00 in the evening and insisted that we eat a
proper meal even though they were tired and had already eaten. As their faces
huddled close to the table top, they shared stories with us of their past.
When they had something important to say to each other, their noses fell just
inches apart while they stared into each other's eyes.

They shuffled around the floor with ease, scrounging up night gowns and
slippers for us. Mohammad, the brother, was so happy to have more people in the house.
He kept showing us the exercise he does with his left arm to keep up the
circulation because it's suffered nerve damage in the last ten years because
of health complications. He kept looking at me ang giggling.

After a sleepless night due to nerves, heat, and killer mosquitos, we got up
at 7:30 am when we heard the sisters chatting. We thanked them and asked to be
excused for the day, one punched me in the arm and hit me in the back of the
neck insisting that I eat before I go because she didn't know if I'll go back
to visit them again and she wanted to spend more time with us. Might I say, she
could easily beat me in arm wrestling! The story of their night is one to be
saved and told in person. They are just amazing! Before we went to sleep, they
asked,"If the soldiers come, can we wake you up?"

A boy's arm was shot off yesterday from the sniper in their house. I was
standing in the spot the boy was shot just two minutes before. Another boy was
shot in the stomach. An international was shot with a rubber bullet in the leg
and one wisped past me ear. They shot and shot and shot all day after our
chants and pleads, our negotiations and stares. I don't know what to say anymore.
Sometimes there is nothing to say. But the stories must go on.

I'll write again soon. Take care.

Love,
Rebecca

"Back to the Center"
August 10, 2004

Our day began with occupied homes all over the Old City of Nablus. Our entire
group went to the first house (which I've seen occupied before in my time
here).
We were told that no one other than soldiers were inside, but the neighbors
still weren't sure if they were still there or not. There was a padlock on the
front door that was definitely not the family's. With the permission of the
Palestinians in the area, we cut the luck on the door and kicked the door open
which was blocked by a plastic lawn chair-typically used for furniture in
Palestine. Establishing our international presence yet again, we screamed up
the stairwell. The soldiers kept screaming, "Get the fuck out of here!" But we
don't cave that easily. They dropped a sound bomb down the steps, but we still
lingered-and did so until 10 vehicles showed up and pulled six soldiers out
of the house then drove into the narrow market street pushing through vendors'
goods and terrifying the community. Everyone rushed to pull everything inside,
especially after one of the vehicles got a flat tire and the driver was
definitely not happy. Then another flat tire on another Jeep...then a few
sound bombs and they were out onto the main street where the office building
occupied a week or so again had been reoccupied by snipers. As they were leaving, they
shot a young man in his head with a rubber bullet, but his condition is now
stable. We sat and watched the building from a safe position on the street. A
sniper popped up and out the broken window for no more than 5 seconds and shot
someone on a neighboring rooftop in the leg. He is also in stable condition.
Shots were being fired from several positions as we were all aware that many
houses had been occupied the night before.

I was ready to faint after still sleepless nights and hardly any food intake.
After things calmed, a total of five people were injured. We returned to
Balata where I stayed and the others left to go back to the Old City upon word of
more occupied dwellings. My latest update is that after the internationals made
their presence known (AGAIN LET ME REITERATE this is all with the permission of
Palestinians) the soldiers-as they were preparing to leave-shot out of the
window an hit a civilian. I'm not sure where he was hit or whether it was live
ammunition, but I will keep you posted.

My team is on their way back now and I'm going to try and hold down more food
as I prepare for a long night. I wish I had easier ways of communicating with you
all. Writing can sometimes be gruesome when you're wiped out.

I hope you're all well and please continue to spread the word of what's
happening in Palestine.

Love,
Rebecca

IMPORTANT POSTSCRIPT: The boy I said was just shot WAS 17. He was killed.
The situation seems to be extremely unstable today. But please don't worry,
we are all taking care of each other and are doing our best to assist the
Palestinians.

"Me and a Roomful of M16s"
August 9, 2004
Still in Nablus, West Bank

Yesterday I was just beginning to get my energy back after having another
stomach bug-the second one since I've been here and in unisance with other
activists. I was completely exhausted from the day before's activities-the
opening reception for "Homeless Doors Speak," the painted door project I
worked on. After a couple of meetings with organizations and families, I settled into
the less than cozy foam mattress on the floor of our apartment. Within two
minutes we got YET ANOTHER call of an occupied house on Al Quds street
overlooking the camp. I affixed my camera back to my waist, even though my
stomach was fighting back, and went with the others up to a house MANY flights
of steps up a hill on the mountain.

A family of three was inside the house since 2:00 am the night before-a man
65, his wife 55, and one of their sons, 35. The other son was anxiously waiting
outside with the medical relief team when we arrived first at around 4:00 pm.
His suspicions that the house was occupied after calling repeatedly were
confirmed when he visited and found the door locked from inside while no one
was responding. We had quite a large team of internationals and medical aides
available because we were concerned for the safety of the eldest man who
suffered diabetes.

We first sent a couple of negotiators to the different doors and windows
asking them to let us in as we were all afraid for the safety and health of the
family, but like most situations, there was no response. After an hour of trying this,
there was word that there were several Jeeps surrounding the camp-most likely
the soldiers' ride. I went down with a small group to investigate the
situation and found myself with the Palestinians surrounding by armored Jeeps and
personnel carrier on the main strip. The media was already present and filmed
us with our banners reading "Stop Killing Balata's Children." The stone throwers
were well underway pelting the vehicles with huge blocks from the rooftops and
smaller rubble from the ground. At one point we realized the larger vehicle
broke down and had to be pushed around by the Jeep. Just after, it's protective
grate on the windshield fell off making the soldiers inside more "vulnerable"
to flying stones, so the other vehicles quickly came to rescue it with the help
of sound bombs, smoke, and a few live rounds. After they left the scene, we
returned to the still occupied house on the hill.

Since it had a been a couple hours of unanswered pleads, even after having
permission from the DCO to enter, we decided we'd make our way in. The latch
on the bottom of the door was the only thing stopping us from entering so we took
it upon ourselves at the request of the other family members and neighbors to
open it. Being as vocal about our international, unarmed presence as possible,
we entered the house. "We're internationals entering the house! Please let us
come up and see the family. We have a doctor with us!"

Phil-the "other" American-and I were the first two on the staircase. We made
it to the top where two doors were shut. We knocked and kept asking politely
for the soldiers to let us in. Finally the door opened-behind it several soldiers
fully equipped with guns and clips-and the said,"You and you!" and flagged me
and Phil into the house. It was dark, and by now dusk out, so they guided us
into the front master bedroom and said,"SIT AND SHUT UP!" Behind us were the
three family members, the wife sitting on the mattress on the floor. We asked
them to please let the doctor come in to see the family and they did.

Our role there was to ensure the safety and health of the family, which
included getting the proper food, water, and AIR! After being in there for over 15
hours with no open windows, it was extremely hot and stuffy. The Israelis first
mishandled the Palestinian doctor by grabbing his shirt for no reason other
than to establish their authority-as if a doctor barely over 5'5" was any threat.
We communicated freely with the family and determined that they were okay. When
the doctor asked to leave, they refused and said we all had to stay until they
left. We repeatedly told them that this was against international law to detain a
doctor, but they didn't care and said they had their reasons, which ultimately
turned out to be that they didn't trust him because he was a Palestinian.

While Phil in I were held captive inside with the family, we had the
opportunity to talk with the soldiers on a level that isn't always possible. With their
helmets pulled off and set on the floor, beads of sweat rolling down their
faces they seemed more human than when they are propped up in Jeeps making obscene
gestures and laughing when people get shot. You could see the frustration and
fatigue in these BOYS' eyes, and we took full advantage. We offered them
alternatives to doing this type of work for Israeli's militant government. We
talked them about the Refuseniks or passively resisting these types of
operations. They insisted that they were just tadpoles on the todem pole, but
we tried to convince them that there are ways to establish peace without arms.
They did actually sit, listen, and ask questions. I was very surprised. And when
they tried to play the suicide bomber card, we gave them a few facts and figures
about the ratio of Palestinian deaths to Israeli deaths that they were unaware
of.

When one asked me why I was here, what was my connection, I said, "You see
that gun your holding. Who do you think made and paid for that." He had no idea how
much the US actually supports Israel. When I told him, he took a deep breath
and paused. All I can hope for is that my four hours of being held "hostage" in
that home with that family changed at least one soldier's opinion about his role in
Israel. There were very important words and thoughts exchanged that I'd like
to add, but I'm afraid I'm running out of space.

At around 11:00 pm we opened the door of the bedroom which the soldiers closed
as they were preparing to leave and found nothing but a large pair of
binoculars on the dining room table. This was the first time they occupied this
particular house and I hope they never return. My experience in there was profound in all
respects and even though there were seven men with really big guns, I was
glad I was able to be there in solidarity with the family. Now if only those soldiers
can go back to their friends and family to find the support they need to
resist, the world might be a better place.