Hebron: Sacred rhythms
CPTnet
Hebron: Sacred rhythms
July 19, 2004
By Kristin Anderson
Like the faithful beat of a drum, stories of imprisonment provided the theme
for our time with friends in Kfar Ein. The 1500 residents of this small
Palestinian village have grown used to the constant, and yet arbitrary,
incursion of Israeli soldiers. In the last 2 ½ years, over 100 residents
of the village have been arrested by the Israeli military. The most common
"arresting protocol" is a nighttime incursion, when soldiers enter the
village in the middle of the night, usually between 1:00 and 4:00 am.
Soldiers perform a series of "tactics" aimed at subduing families, including
forcing all family members to stand outside the home for extended periods of
time, isolating family members from each other for interrogation purposes,
and searching homes and throwing around and destroying possessions. These
incursions generally result in the arrest of one or more young Palestinian
men.
The residents live not only with the intermittent invasions of Israeli
soldiers, but also the extended reality of continuing life without their
fathers, brothers, sons, uncles, cousins, and friends. What I found
intriguing about my time in Kfar Ein was how the people incorporated these
imprisoned people into daily life. Without fixating on stories of violent
soldier incursions, our friends spoke of the admirable traits, hobbies, and
dreams of their loved ones in prison. They pointed at their photographs on
the wall and encouraged the children to show us just how much they love
their family members in prison. From time to time someone displayed crafts
made by the men in prison, handling the objects with delicate reverence.
During an early evening walk along the paths of Kfar Ein, one of our
Palestinian friends answered his cell phone and, almost hypnotically, leapt
into a jump, a skip, and a bout of giggles. While he continued in a
conversation of animated Arabic, the other men rushed to tell us that it was
their brother (/cousin/uncle/best friend) calling from a prison in southern
Israel. Soon, the phone was resting in my hand, against my ear, with the
ear of a 21-year-old Palestinian prisoner on the other end. In my most
proper English, I described the feeling of the chilled water that ran from
the cold spring in the cave that we had just walked to, and then I painted a
picture of how the sun was dropping into the welcoming palm of the terraced
hillside. The men surrounding me continued to laugh, and to smile. It was
clear that at this moment, each of us was enfolded in a sacred circle of
fellowship.
When I left Kfar Ein, the rhythm of the "absentee men" pulsated through my
body like the faithful beat of a drum. Tonight, as I watch the sun descend
into the rolling hillsides of Hebron's landscape, I can't help but sway to a
collective rhythm of the families of Kfar Ein. Perhaps by allowing myself
to join this sacred rhythm, I have opened myself not to just their laments
and pain, but also to their hope of indulging in the fellowship of humanity.
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