Jenin was a sweltering 96 degrees when I arrived in late May, and it's only getting hotter. Therefore, when we arrived in the heat of the afternoon, the streets were pretty much deserted, and only a few people could be seen lounging in the shade outside of their shops.
However, when the sun goes down, everyone comes out. I still haven't gotten over being afraid for my life every time I get into a car, and driving with someone who is just learning through streets filled with children and bicycles was even more nerve wracking than my own sister's debut of canyon driving in Colorado. All the while, of course, the seatbelt alarm was beeping away, as no one here uses them in town.
Palestinian life is rarely solitary, and afternoons and weekends are usually spent receiving a constant stream of friends and family, or paying visits to various aunts. This weekend, Majd's mom and brother are preparing to leave on a trip to Saudi Arabia, and it seemed that everyone in town stopped by to bid them safe travels.
I hadn't seen the family for two weeks, and when we walked in, Majd's mom squealed, gave me a big hug, told me she missed me, and announced to everyone in the room that I was her daughter. However, I also think I'm settling in and being treated more like a member of the family rather than a special guest. They no longer insist that I eat constantly, instead asking if I'm hungry, and I was allowed to help sort grape leaves.
What I'm so touched by is the feeling I get from you that where ever you go, you experience community. And that community appears to be what creates a feeling of love and acceptance. Perhaps our culture in the US is lacking community, which leaves people feeling more isolated and therefore afraid.
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