So it is that time yet again. I hopped onto a plane to London and then took another shuttle out to Tel Aviv. I had no trouble getting through the customs. I suppose I fit the racist criteria of blonde hair, blue eyes… or in this case it was because I am Jewish with distant family in Israel, and as I really do not fit the profile of an activist (or terrortourist as they seem to now call us, although I much more prefer the more precise term “peacemaker” that the border patrol labeled me in Nablus last time around.)

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So it is that time yet again. I hopped onto a plane to London and then took another shuttle out to Tel Aviv. I had no trouble getting through the customs. I suppose I fit the racist criteria of blonde hair, blue eyes… or in this case it was because I am Jewish with distant family in Israel, and as I really do not fit the profile of an activist (or terrortourist as they seem to now call us, although I much more prefer the more precise term “peacemaker” that the border patrol labeled me in Nablus last time around.)

Somehow I have more right to this land than the native Palestinian peoples. Just because of some label my ancestors took upon themselves. Ugly and disgusting, but it is the reality, a reality I choose to now exploit to help right a wrong. Those who understand the reality often still choose to ask me why I cannot just stay home and enjoy my comfortable life. I think Ethan, one of the internationals here, put it best when he said that it would be much like standing by while a crowd beats a poor man on the street to death. There are simply such things as right and wrong, justice and injustice. And I am here because this is the one way in which I can clearly and loudly state “not in my name” and withdraw consent.

And I am certainly in no hurry to either get wounded or killed. But everyone dies, it is not a question of if, but a question of when. I choose to embrace my own humanity and live my life in a way that I can be proud of, a way of doing what is right and just, a way of at least some integrity. I cannot stand by, pay taxes that create this hell, and say that I am “neutral”. As Howard Zinn put it, there is no such thing as being neutral on a moving train. With knowledge comes moral responsibility, and it comes down to a simple choice whether one remains true to themselves and accepts the responsibility or ignores it.

On the shuttle plane from London to Tel Aviv, I ended up chatting with an American girl who after feeling me out enough to realize I wasn’t some conservative lunatic, told me that she liked Ralph Nader’s ideas, and how she was disgusted with the direction Bush has taken America. She went on and on about how the social system is completely falling apart, how we need real change, how the hospital where she works is literally physically crumbling down… and yet she was completely at ease (or ignorant of) the reality that Israel represents as a racist “jewish” state. I wasn’t too eager to push the subject given that there was an air marshall sitting right behind me (or at least the guy sure looked like someone right out of the Israeli special forces) and so I let it go at that and moved the conversation back towards letting her rant about her crumbling hospital.

After we landed, I answered the few standard questions, I was given my passport with yet another Israeli stamp (visa) valid for three months. I felt a lot more comfortable this time around, as I knew exactly what I was getting myself into,
having seen the ugliest side of Israel once before, I had little fear or concern in playing the system to my advantage. I also came here with moral clarity of understanding that I am on the side of justice, and what is right, clarity that
comes from really have an understanding of the day-to-day reality.

I caught a service cab to Jerusalem, with a bunch of touristy Americans who kept on talking about the wonderful country of Israel. I felt comfortable enough to join the conversation while limiting myself to discussing the environment and
nature, rather then the racist reality of local politics. Talk of terrorism as usual got limited to “not allowing fear to drive our actions” and such. Uh huh, right. Ignorance is such wonderful bliss.

As soon as I got out of the service and went to cross the road, I heard yelling behind me in Hebrew and Arabic. I quickly turned around, seeing a couple of Israeli security people dressed in civilian clothes yelling towards the Palestinians who were crossing the street in the opposite direction. Ah yes, what a cozy welcome to the police state of Israel. I briskly walked to the hostel, and was warmly greeted by Isham, one of the guys who runs the place.

After a brisk shower and a quick rundown of the situation, I met up with a couple guys heading out to Budrus, one of the local towns under assault by the wall. The protests in Budrus have actually been extremely successful in forcing the Israelis into negotiating and for now ceasing the construction of the wall. By this time, I was completely dead tired, having slept only a few hours and having been on a plane far too long. We took a service to Ramallah, where we drove past Arafat’s destroyed compound. I picked up some supplies and a cell phone, and then we took another service to Budrus.

As soon as we made it out to the apartment that the internationals maintain here in Budrus, I found a place to sleep, and passed out completely exhausted but feeling much more comfortable knowing that I once again had some safety net around me.