6 - Missiles
One morning, as we were getting ready for everyone to come to our apartment for another day of training, we heard a huge explosion that shook our house. It sounded like a massive firework. I was sitting on my bed reading and my bed began to shake. I froze, waiting to hear something else. What in the world was that? My two roommates and I all came out of our rooms and looked at each other. We had obviously all heard it and felt it, but everything that happened in Palestine was so new and different to us we didn’t know if it was normal or not.
We walked into the kitchen where our team leader, Cathy, was starting to make pancakes. We asked her if she heard it and she said thought it might be thunder. I was so confused. It was sunny with clear skies. I may be new here, but that was not thunder. Being there just a few weeks, I told myself to always watch the locals. If they were relaxed and calm, it was most likely normal. If not, something was up.
I looked outside and saw our neighbors on their roof and out in the streets looking around. No one seemed to know what was going on and everyone was coming out of their houses and meeting in the streets to talk. I could tell this was something out of the ordinary. I got on my computer and looked at the local news to see if anything had been reported. Nothing. We hadn’t heard any sirens and I thought that if there was a rocket or missile, the sirens would go off.
About an hour later, when our team meeting was about to start, no one showed up. As we waited I kept checking the news to see if anything was updated. Not long after, the Palestinian principle of our school came over and filled us in. A rocket from Gaza overshot its target of Jerusalem and landed within walking distance from our house in the stairwell of a small apartment building. Luckily, it was a dud and didn’t explode. No one was hurt. There was a family at home when it hit and just on the impact of it landing, it busted windows and cracked open tombs in a graveyard across the street. The damage was minimal, but that was lucky. It was unsettling that just a few steps away from my house was an idle rocket. The thought of what could have happened played in my head.
Maybe I could have thought about how God protected us and how the rocket hadn’t landed a few feet further on our house. I’m sure some people would have taken comfort and praised God for his divine protection. But the way I saw it, he didn’t protect the four little boys playing soccer on the beach in Gaza. He didn’t protect the hundreds dying mere miles from me. Why would I think he would protect me? Because I was doing his work? Please. Missionaries, and Jesus' own disciples for that matter, didn't have a good track record of physical protection. And to be honest, if he wasn’t going to protect innocent children, I didn’t want him to protect me either. At least we’d all be on the same playing field.
A few hours later, our Arab co-workers began to show up. They had all been up the street and around the corner checking out the damage and keeping up with the news. Once everyone got to our house that day, we continued on with our meetings and ate pancakes and waffles like nothing happened. What else were we going to do? Just like the rest of Palestine that day, we continued on like normal.
The next morning, there was talk of possibly sending us home. If there was another Intifada, we would have to leave. An Intifada is a Palestinian uprising against the Israeli control of their territory. It literally translates as “the shaking off”. There would be riots in different cities, in our city, and all across Palestine there would be a heavy Israeli military presence. The borders would close there would be bombings and more missiles. Schools would be shut down and a 24/7 curfew would be put in place. If there was an Intifada, the West Bank would turn into a very dangerous place. I didn't tell anyone this, but I was secretly hoping we would have to go home. I didn’t want an Intifada, but I definitely wanted to go home.
As the weeks passed, though, the fighting died down. Hamas and Israel came to a temporary ceasefire. There was peace and, even if just for a short time, there was a ceasefire and there wouldn’t be an Intifada now.
Although the fighting had stopped, Palestine and Israel live at a constant boiling point. It is like living in a pressure cooker. At any moment, the smallest spark could set both nations ablaze. Even on a normal day, when nothing is happening, you can feel the tension thick in the air. You lived in it. It pressed down on you and squeezed you in from all sides. Everyone is living at an extremely high level of tension and anxiety. You live as if a missile could fall on your house at any moment, because it could. You sleep with your shoes and a coat by your bed in case of an attack, because attacks happened. Everyday of your life is lived with a constant, quiet rumbling of anxiety and fear.
For Palestinians, this tension and anxiety is the background noise of their life. It’s always there. This was a new anxiety to me, however, and it was jarring. It would become more normal as the year went on but it never went away. It was like a weight that you always carried. I began to realize that my Palestinian friends didn’t even know they were carrying it. It’s a weight they’ve carried since the moment they were born. There is no concept of life without it. I, personally, was crumbling underneath it.