By Dr. Darryn J Hewson
I am writing this as I sit in my in-laws’ house in Al Khalil (Hebron), Palestine. When I sat down to write, I thought about all the things I could write about. I could write about the checkpoints. Every town in the West Bank has become a sort of prison where the Israeli military can just close gates and cut off all the entrances to a town at random. I could write about my brother missing our appointment to go to the gym together because he had to flee from settlers supported by the military who attacked the bus stop where he was waiting. I could write about how my wife and our daughter were denied entry visas to Israel despite an agreement with the US that citizens (even those with Palestinian IDs) should be given visas. We eventually got them the visas, but had to go to the boss of the person who denied them, as he stood there and threw a fit about it. I could write about so many things that are wrong with this situation, and it keeps getting worse every time we come back to visit. But I don’t want to tell those stories. They aren’t new stories, though they deserve to be told and heard. Instead, I want to write about the people of Palestine and the generosity and community that exist despite — or maybe even because of — everything else.
Palestinians are one of, if not the most, welcoming and giving people I’ve ever encountered. The culture here is centered around hospitality. There are never enough nights when we are here to accept all the invitations. Every house you enter, they offer you food and drink, no matter when you come or if you are expected. Half the time we try to buy something, someone is related to someone who knows my wife and won’t let us pay, even if we insist. It’s just that kind of place. The people are so friendly to everyone. Very few foreigners come to Hebron, but everyone is so nice to me and wants to try out their English (which they learn from 1st grade).
Every day that I have been here, I have climbed the family fig tree and picked buckets of the most delicious figs. These figs could sell for nearly $10 a pound, but every day we give them away to friends and family along with grapes, apples, and pears. Family takes care of family here. The first time I was here, I was told there are no homeless people in Palestine because, no matter what, a family will take them in —and it’s true. You won’t find people without a place to go, even if their home has just been demolished (not the story I’m telling, but worth looking into); some family will take them in. They will stay no matter what because they are rooted here in the place, in the community, in the people.
I’m not trying to say that society here is perfect or that there aren’t plenty of issues and things that could be better; there are. I wish, though, that the world could get to know the people and how amazing they are, not just the headlines. The story of Palestine is starting to be heard, but, as with every story, it needs to be about more than a place or an event —it needs to be about a people. Every person, every life matters, and they deserve to be known and to have their stories told.
