As the time draws closer to the end of my internship (because of my visa restrictions I have to leave Palestine on the 6th of August), it becomes more difficult to sit down and post a cogent blog entry. Both because of the lack of time - everybody knows how hectic the last days are - but mostly because of the mixed feelings. I feel like I haven't done enough, haven't seen enough, haven't learned enough – and that’s why I conclude I have to come back.

My Palestinian friends tell me I have to come back and do my Ph.D. at Birzeit University. Now that I think about it I did want to write about higher education in Palestine.

I’ve traveled a lot in the West Bank in the last couple of weeks - mainly to meet and talk to women who have participated in the workshops organized by the Women's Affairs Technical Committee. I have been amazed both by the scope of the trainings (topics include gender, community leadership, family law, communication and public relations, networking, lobbying and advocacy, women's rights, etc.) and by the impact they have on the participants. I have listened to and written about many incredible stories. I have met women from small villages whose only education was the workshops and yet who were able to establish and administer women's centers in their villages, start income-generating businesses and run for local elections.

I am impressed by the genuine thirst for knowledge among the Palestinians. Many families make it an absolute priority to send their children to the best schools. Those who can afford studying abroad often go to Britain, Spain, the States, Egypt, or Jordan. However, I don't think that those who stay in Palestine miss out on cutting edge education- the country's main universities are highly competitive and offer internationally recognized diplomas. Students from Birzeit, An Najah and Al Quds universities speak impeccable English and can successfully compete in the international job market. The impeccable English part used to make me so jealous, I have to confess. As I found out later, it comes as no surprise as most of the courses are offered in the English language and taught by native speakers (the luxury I never had at my university in Belarus).

However, education in Palestinian universities has a somewhat high price that not everybody can afford to pay. This fact makes the sincere desire of educated Palestinians to transfer knowledge through various projects and free trainings to their countrymen and women even more praiseworthy.

I was talking to a friend of mine and she told me that the yearning for education comes from the insecurity Palestinians feel all the time. The fear to be evicted from their homes and their land any day, the fear of not ever having their own country drives Palestinians to the conclusion that good education and excellent command of the English language are among the few things that are stable in this country and that can prove indispensable whether you are in Palestine or outside

I was expecting this Friday, a day of freedom for 250 Palestinian prisoners, to be somewhat a national holiday. However, I had no idea how to be in the right place at the right time, and what the right place and the right time would be anyways.

The usual Friday in Palestine is a day off in every sense of this word. Bigger cities and smaller villages change overnight - the rush and hastiness of the week disappear, and time is given to God and families. I remember one Friday morning I had to walk Al-Irsal street for twenty minutes before I saw a single taxi. Even Al-Manara, the vibe of Ramallah, becomes deserted. Christian families open their stores, but not until late afternoon.

However, today was different. I was supposed to meet my friend in Ramallah's main square at noon. Little did I know that it would be THE place and THE time. I started to get suspicious when I saw crowds of people in the central streets. Crowds of people on a Friday! And then I saw the cars, flags, buses, and happy people. The buses with the released prisoners, among them women and youngsters, were heading towards Muqata'a for a meeting with the president.

My thoughts went back to the spring of 2006 when crowds of Belarusians flooded the streets close to the prison in my capital to await the release of over 500 political prisoners. The officials had arrested them for protesting agains fabricated elections. My sister was one of them. And I will never forget the happiness my family and I felt upon her release. Well, today 250 Palestinian families got to experience the same feelings.

Difficult does not even begin to describe how I feel about analyzing and commenting on the chaotic political situation in Palestine these days. Yet politics is what I think, hear, and seem to talk about 24/7. You just cannot avoid it here since Palestinians are an incredibly politicized society – all political developments are closely followed on Al-Jazeera, Al-Arabiya, or Al-Manar and then immediately discussed by women during their mint tea outings, by taxi drivers on my seven-minute drive to the WATC office, even by my neighbors' children whom I see goofing around the house every evening when I get back from Ramallah.

Yet it is even more difficult to stay insensible and unmoved by the distress, sadness, anger, and shame that most Palestinians feel with regards to the messy state of affairs in their semi-authority. Emotions run high and most people around me seem to be burnt out. There are days when I also think I have had enough of the painful quest for truth, the saddening reality, and ceaseless questions. But whatever the frustrations might be, I know I am glad I can't go back to the days of my superficial understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

I can’t and don’t want to wipe out the experience of the check points, the image of the wall and refugee camps, the knowledge about 120,000 Palestinians without IDs (only 200 of whom Israel conceded to grant nationality), the stories about broken families and demolished houses...

Of course there are days when we all feel happy and normal and perfectly able to enjoy life. I particularly remember the night my friends and I went to a Samih Shuqeir music concert. This Syrian singer is probably one of the most beloved and adored by the Palestinians of all ages. In his songs he “talks about Palestinian sorrow, about their grief and pain.” It was the night to appreciate high tech since the concert was conducted as a video-conference with Mr. Shuqeir singing to his devoted fans from Damascus (he is not allowed into the Palestinian Territories).

Yet there are also days when the whole WATC office feels completely crestfallen. For example, when the news come from friends and relatives in the Gaza Strip, or the Gaza prison as they refer to it these days: the news about the closure of the Rafah Crossing or Hamas “security” raids or one of our "favorites" - the party’s decision to separate male and female workers in one of the media companies in Gaza City. Apparently, morals of women in Gaza are somehow less pure and respectable than in the rest of the country. Hamas leaders seem to think that further mixing will lead to some unpredictable outcomes that might threaten the very nature of the Palestinian society. For a moment the women in my office thought they were in Afghanistan with a new Taliban in power.

This is a truly alarming scenario to find yourself back in the King Al-Har (equivalent of our Dark Ages) times. Especially after a number of remarkable achievements Palestinian women organizations have accomplished over the recent years, among the most far-reaching is a 20% quota system. Now according to new election laws 20% of the council members must be women. According to the Central Elections committee, in the local Palestinian councils, 75 women were elected through the quota system and 130 women were elected directly by majority vote. This has had crucial ramifications particularly for rural women who can now directly affect the development of their communities.

I had a chance to see for myself how well organized, strong, and innovative local councilwomen are. Yesterday I attended one of the trainings organized by Women's Affairs Technical Committee (WATC) for councilwomen in Nablus area. Once again I was reminded what an exceptional job WATC does in empowering Palestinian women. All council members who attended yesterday's workshop on gender reading of budgets were initially trained by WATC to run in local elections. Now through a series of follow-up trainings which will cover advocacy, lobbying, networking, fund raising, and proposal writing these women are learning how to be professional and effective in their work. While men squabble over their political loyalties, women try to alienate themselves from any party and rather focus on benefiting their communities.

I knew that my trip to Jenin, a town in the North of the West Bank, was only a matter of time. However, time seemed to have found me instead of the other way around. My host organization has a local coordinator in Jenin, but I couldn't get in touch with her to arrange my trip. Instead I was almost forced to go to the city with a girl named Mai, who is originally from Jenin camp and who participated in WATC's training of young leaders. Mai is a vivid example of how Palestinian hospitality can border on something rather aggressive and pushy.

Our trip started early in the morning, but we couldn't find a direct bus to Jenin. The night before there was violence in the camp with one Palestinian killed and two Israeli soldiers wounded. To give a little bit of a background to the place I should say that the North of the West Bank is generally considered the area of higher unrest and insurgencies than Ramallah and its vicinities.

To add to the security dilemma you have a refugee camp near the town of Jenin, inhabited by the Palestinians who were forced out of Jaffa, Nazareth and other towns after 1948. These are the embittered people who feel they face more grievances and afflictions than other West Bankers. The camp has a higher level of poverty and unemployment, lower level of education and morale, a penetrating feeling of hopelessness and despair and as a result a higher level of violence.

The day of my trip there was an increased level of security in the North and we had to pass through five check points and change two buses before we got to Jenin. The camp has a hard-hitting effect on a newcomer from the very beginning: narrow dusty streets, piles of rubble, dilapidated and bombed down houses, and very few people walking around.


Mai's family gave me a warm welcome, but I was impatient to get going and see the place. I know I didn't have much time - I was advised to leave the camp before 5pm, that is before the unwritten curfew and possible incursions. My hosts were kind enough to take me around and tell me all the local stories. We were, by the way, heading to see the family of the "shaheed", a 24-year old man killed on Monday night. This meant I would experience a Palestinian mourning before a Palestinian wedding.

Now when I think back to yesterday's events I try to figure out what I could have done to mentally prepare myself, but I really don't know what would make me less vulnerable to the camp realia.

My hosts took me to the places where the Palestinian fighters were killed (they knew all the names of them too!) - bullet-ridden cars, demolished houses, hide-outs.

I was preoccupied looking at the camp walls all covered in shaheed pictures before I paid attention to Mai's little brother, who was vigorously pointing at something on the ground. When I lowered my eyes it took me a minute to realize that the white stones, which are so characteristic of Palestinian buildings, in this particular camp had red marks of dried blood on them. Out of all thoughts mine was that these streets would never get cleaned...

I knew I was the only foreigner to enter the house of that particular shaheed. In fact I guessed I might be the first foreigner some of the women there had ever met. It made me very conscious. The room was full of women - family, relatives, neighbors - sitting on the floor along the walls. We offered our condolences to the mother (a few Arabic lines I memorized right before entering the house) and found our seats. At once we were served bitter black coffee (a Palestinian tradition) and explained who we were and what we were doing. The mother addressed me first, and only after that I had the courage to ask her my questions. We talked a short while and then got up to leave because some of the neighbors started to cast side-glances at us and were obviously distracted from the actual mourning. No pictures were allowed, of course. As we were leaving we heard several angry women say that I might be a spy, for all they knew. Mai said to ignore those, but I got the impression they were not the only closed-minded and over-conservative inhabitants of the camp.

I didn't stay in Jenin much longer, though I did leave later than planned. The driver had to take back roads to avoid the check points. We drove through olive gardens and I was glad I had a couple of hours to digest the events of the day. I was crushed by the spirit of violence in the camp. I was sad to see how sure the mothers were that their sons would be in heaven for killing Israeli soldiers. I was disconcerted by the fact that little children in the camp are growing up on the stories of martyrs hoping one day to become ones. I am against violence in all forms! It's not ok for children to have such dream and it is surely not the way to build peace.

I have to say I was very happy to get to Ramallah (for a moment I thought it was my place of sanity), the center of good local and international work and powerful ideas for a better future.

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Guilt is undoubtedly an uncomfortable feeling. Especially if you have I-didn't-do-anything excuse. However, guilt was exactly what I felt when I told my host family I was traveling to Tel Aviv for the weekend. It was the look in their eyes and the way they wished me a good trip that evoked the sad feeling. For we knew it would be the hottest weekend and I would be the one enjoying the beach. I couldn't help wondering why it was me, a foreigner, a guest, a tourist who had the privilege of moving freely both in the Palestinian Territories and Israel while Palestinians did not have the right to do the same.

Nobody could pin down the exact date for me when problems with IDs started for Palestinians. Was it after 1948 or 1967 or 1993? All I gathered from talking to people was that now there are Palestinians with green IDs (former orange ones), "VIP" blue IDs, special work permits (lam-shamal) or temporary papers (tasreeh), and Palestinians with no IDs. I am not sure any single person today can grasp the concept of being a nobody. And nor should they!

Now let us see just how easy it is to become a Palestinian nobody. After 1948 Arabs who lived in what came to be Israel received Israeli IDs. Today they are the ones who are allowed to enter Jerusalem and other Israeli cities to live and work there. After 1967 Palestinians who were physically present in the Occupied Territories (West Bank and Gaza) were issued orange IDs. However, many Palestinians were living and working outside at the time. When they wanted to return to their homes and families in the West Bank they found out they were illegals in their own country! These people were forced to live in Jordan or Egypt without the right to return to Palestine. Their only hope was to apply for a green ID, and I wish I could include a couple of successful stories in my current narration.

Can anybody explain to me how and why it became acceptable for a mother with two of her children to live in Ramallah while her husband with three sons stays in Amman and there is no chance for the family to unite? Mind you, this story is not an unfortunate exception. Rather, it would be exceptional to find a happy family reunion.

You can, of course, travel to Palestine with the Jordanian ID and be a tourist in your own homeland. I have been amazed at hearing how many Palestinians risk overstaying their "tourist" permits. One woman told me that for her "it is a choice between life and life." You can either live legally in a foreign country or you can return home but be a prisoner in your village or town praying you will never encounter an Israeli military jeep or have to pass through a check point, the number of which, by the way, exceeds 500 in just the West Bank. I have come to know people in Ramallah who haven't seen their families for ten years simply because there is a check point between the de facto Palestinian capital and their native village, which might be only 10 kilometers away.

If you think it's outrageous to be denied the right to spend a hot day on the Mediterranean Sea or pray in Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem, imagine what it must feel like not to be able to leave your town.

And when you return from the trip to the forbidden land do you tell your Palestinian friends how quickly your back burnt and how great the waves were or do you keep silent and allow the nagging feeling of guilt take over you again?

I have to say I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed at 7am on a Sunday morning. However, I was looking forward to the day. I had planned to attend a training for women organized by the WATC, my host organization in Ramallah.

The WATC has many amazing projects, one of which is aimed at training women in Palestinian legislation with the emphasize on family law and gender issues. I guess it would be an understatement to say that I was taken by surprise when I walked into the conference room full of Palestinian women from Ramallah and the nearby villages all having notebooks, print-outs of the Palestinian constitution, and the eagerness to learn.

The training the WATC has organized included 6-day workshops in Ramallah and several other Palestinian towns. The project proved to be so successful that the organization is planning to do the training of trainers. The idea is to teach the women who attended the initial training sessions to conduct similar workshops in their local communities.

That Sunday was actually the last of the 6 days and the women had a lot to discuss. I was amazed to find how knowledgeable, passionate, and strong the group was. For a moment I thought about my own country.

Here I was, in a Muslim culture around women who are successfully fighting for their rights despite all stereotypes. And on the other hand I realized that seminars like these would still be impossible in today's Belarus, the supposedly free country on the border with the European Union.

The Palestinian women were in the middle of a discussion about legal grounds for Mahmoud Abbas to form an emergency government when the news came about two women ministers appointed by Salam Fayyad. The conference room immediately filled with joyful singing, dancing, and applauding.

I couldn't help thinking about the other women I came to know in Palestine, the women from Betunia village, for example. The ones who also wear head scarfs, but who are too afraid to have an opinion.

The ones who dropped out of schools, who stay in the house all day cooking and cleaning, who are not allowed to walk the streets of Ramallah without their husbands' permission, whose sole entertainment of the day is gossiping with the neighbors. Amazing, how similar yet how different these two kinds of women are...

It is not surprising that the situation in Gaza is everybody's talk of the day in Palestine. You hear about it in the streets, in coffee shops, in the offices.

It's in the news 24/7. However, my usually loud with heated discussions office of WATC was very quiet this morning. All for the fact that Gaza suddenly became very close and personal to the women here.

I walked in the office in the middle of a story about one of the employees' family, who was evicted out of their apartment in Gaza by Hamas militants last night. The mother with her teenage son were the only ones in the apartment on the 14th floor when Hamas men broke in by exploding both doors. The boy later told her sister on the phone that at least when Israelis break into Palestinian houses they give a 10-minute warning.

The apartment is being used as a Hamas strategic office right now while the boy and the mother have to seek refuge with their relatives in Gaza. The older son of the same family has a house close to the Presidential compound in Gaza city. He and his wife witnessed Hamas militants occupy neighbors' houses while using women and children as a human wall to resist Fatah defense.

They know it is not going to be long before their house is occupied too, but they can't leave it because all the windows and doors are monitored by the soldiers. The only choice they have left is to sit, wait, and wonder what happens next. That seems to be what the rest of Palestine is doing.

Were I to write about the hassle, humiliation, and nervousness of getting into the Palestinian Territories, my story would get lost in a million of similar ones. What matters most to me during every journey is the people I meet on the way.

So I will start with an Israeli sherut driver, who was the first one I talked to outside the airport. I arrived in Tel Aviv in the middle of the night with the memorized instructions how to reach Betunia, my host Palestinian village.

We had no common language, and yet he drove me exactly to the station I needed and treated me to a warm cup of tea. For a couple of hours before dawn I was the only traveler patiently sitting in a small bus station in the Old City waiting for the transportation to Ramallah.

The mini vans with Palestinian workers started to arrive as early as 6am. Later I learned that they are the "lucky" ones who managed to get a permit from the Israelis in order to legally work in Jerusalem. At about 7am a brave driver ventured to take a foreign woman with a big suitcase on board. That morning I was spared the "joy" of passing through the check-point on the way to Ramallah, the luxury Palestinians cannot enjoy on daily bases.

I was really happy when the bus finally reached my village. All the way to the house I was followed by a crowd of children shouting their happy "ahlan wa sahlans" (welcome). It was the first thing that struck me - just how young the country is. According to the statistics, the average household size is 7.3 persons and 53% of the population in Palestine is below 18.

The welcome I received at the home of my hosts was more than warm. In general I have found families in Palestine to be extremely hospitable. Everybody invites you to their homes, offers you fresh juice and fruit, and tells all about children's school, family visits, and harvest of grapes.

The host family immediately started chatting with me about all kinds of things, not seeming to mind that my classic Arabic from Georgetown didn't get me very far in Palestine. However, I managed to understand that Abir, daughter-in-law of my hosts, is 19 and has been married for three years.

She had to drop out of high school to take care of the house, not an uncommon thing to do for young girls in the villages, where the median age of marriage is 18. Overall, 40% of married women in Palestine are under 18. They stay at home, clean, cook, and take care of the children. Later that day I was already feeling part of the family - we all sat outside and folded grape leaves, which is one of the main component of Palestinian diet.

I will still have to experience bread making, family gatherings, weddings, etc. And I am really looking forward to new experiences.

I had prepared myself for the summer in DC. I had a dorm room reserved for three months, a student willing to learn the Belarusian language, summer courses at Georgetown, and friends who would also be interning in Washington. It didn’t look bad at all! And then I got a phone call, which brought back the dream of traveling to the Middle East and working on something I am so passionate about – women’s rights in the Arab world. What started out as a rather unthinkable undertaking was gradually becoming a reality: I had been selected a Peace Fellow with the Advocacy Project, but at the moment had neither the funds to go nor a return US visa (not being a US citizen surely makes things complicated, exactly how complicated I had yet to discover). Later I received One Small Step grant from Georgetown University, which lifted a financial burden from my shoulders and filled me with optimism. I started to plan my trip, did some research, read about the WATC work, and exchanged emails with my hosts in the Palestinian Territories. Things couldn’t have been more perfect…until I found out that to get in the region I, unlike US citizens, need to apply for an Israeli visa through the Embassy. The only feasible option for me seemed to be flying back home and performing a miracle – receiving two visas (to the US and Israel) in the matter of days.
Tomorrow is the last day of our intense orientation and I leave for Belarus shortly. On a carefully folded piece of paper I have my directions from Tel Aviv to Beitunia village, where I will be living during the summer, but I don’t have a ticket to Tel Aviv. I am enrolled in the fall semester at Georgetown University, but I don’t have a US return visa. However, I have faith and many wonderful people around the world who inspire, help, and support me.