CPTnet
November 4, 2003
HEBRON REFLECTION: The fire next time

By Chris Brown

Last Tuesday, while I was on school patrol, I ran into a friend of the team.
She asked how the patrol went, and I said, "Fine, no problems." That is the
funny thing about living here. You get so used to seeing things; you come to
accept them as normal.

Throughout my time on team here in Hebron, I have been the school patrol
coordinator. Really, it is not that difficult. Every night I ask three other
team members to go with me to monitor the children going to school. A
reporter who visited the team in March asked me what a good day on school
patrol is like, "Forty-five minutes from our front door and back," I
answered with confidence. "And a bad day?" she inquired. "Five hours," I
responded. The reporter asked other team members about what else we do.
Then, as she got ready to leave, she turned to me and said, "You're doing a
good job." "Thank you," I replied.

However, whether I am doing a good job or not is not the point. I hate being
the school patrol coordinator. I am not saying I do not feel honored to do
it. I am. I take the job very seriously. No, the reason I do not like doing
it is that I should not have to. The children that my teammates and I
accompany should only have to worry about whether they did their homework,
not whether they are going to come home alive.

When we go out on school patrol, the children we see often greet us warmly.
I have gotten to know some of them and their families. The welcome I receive
is truly a blessing. I wonder how long that welcome will last.

Two weeks ago, I had a difficult school patrol. The army tear-gassed a
headmaster, several hundred children and me five times. As I tried to help
get the children to safety, I remember seeing a young boy--he could not
have been older than six--running past me screaming and crying. I think
about him often now. I wonder what he thought about once his tears dried
after that terrible day. Would he still welcome me when I see him?

 Then I thought about the occupation. What is it doing to this young boy?
What is it doing to other children? What is it doing to Israelis and
Palestinians? What is it doing to me?

The longer this occupation continues, the less chance there is for justice,
peace and reconciliation. And without these vital elements, what will be
left of Israel/Palestine?

I remember an old Negro spiritual that goes; "God sent Noah the rainbow
sign. No more water, the fire next time."

I pray that fire does not come here.