In the Trenches Together

Some days I have a hard time appreciating the unique opportunity I've been given and I wonder "what the hell am I doing in this place?" Then I look around at all the fabulous people I have met and I remember how blessed I am. I am living in a remarkable oasis among people who are dedicating a period in their lives to help the Palestinian people in the best ways that they can. Some risk their own personal safety to be a continuous international presence at checkpoints. Others leave behind their families and jobs to volunteer their time and skills at the nearby Palestinian hospital. Still others work with youth and inspire them to express themselves creatively. Sadly, everyone's visa runs out at some point. As much as I love having met some amazing people, it really sucks to see them go. We just said goodbye to one of the good ones, and I have posted her goodbye speech. Someday when she's famous, you'll be able to say you heard of her first here! We'll miss you Margit!

Jerusalem: A City Divine

by Margit

So I came to work in Jerusalem, in the land of milk and honey.

I wanted to live in a holy place, and Mark was offering money.

I thought I could cut it, I thought I would stay,

But life got to be wearing day after day.

The land is divided, the citizens clash,

The streets reek of burning of garbage and trash.

In the summer it's too hot, in the winter too much rain.

The tourists clog the streets and the Zionists are insane.

The policemen are mean and their teargas is choking.

My nose fills with sand and the smell of men smoking.

The boys say rude things in the city forsaken,

The stores don't sell wine, beer, liquor, or bacon.

So why did I stay here and not up and quit?

Just throw in the towel, say 'Enough of this shit'?

Because here in this desert 'tween the heat and the hate

Is a little utopia behind a stone gate.

Where the women are strong and the men are good looking,

And the common room kitchen smells of Toshiko's cooking.

The gardens are lovely, the windows are clean,

And there's never a wait for the washing machine.

Now, you know, on this same mountain is a place almost as pretty

Where Jesus came to pray to escape the troubled city.

He and his pals were in a garden, and Jesus was under a tree,

So I'd say I'm kind of like Jesus. And Jesus is kind of like me.

'Cause I'm standing in a garden, and all my friends are near,

And some of them are dozing off 'cause they've drinken too much beer.

And in a short time I will leave you. And I'll be questioned by security.

And they'll torment and harass me for my political impurity.

But then God will lift me up into the highest heavens,

Or at least to cruising altitude in a 747.

But know that when I leave you, when I've departed from this hill,

That I'll be living in my father's house, racking up the telephone bill.

And so now, in these final hours, let me say to thee and thine:

Thank you for your love and care and for making this city divine.