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In my last blog I told readers about my test run to Jerusalem’s Central Bus Station, which served me well early next morning when I boarded the bus for Haifa. The efficiency of the modern bus system impressed me greatly as I watched coaches’ arrivals at numbered gates, smooth boardings and departures right on schedule.

We traveled on new superhighways where only vehicles with Israeli license plates are allowed. Rest stops offered refueling stations and shopping opportunities, and usually featured a McDonalds or Burger King as well.

Most of the landscape along the way had a very different feel from when I used to live here. Rather than rocky fields defined by low stone walls, I saw mostly huge tracts of smooth lands committed to industrial agriculture, in between sizeable new residential areas known, because they’d been constructed to house immigrant Jewish folks, as settlements.

I was reminded of my ignorance while living in this land throughout the year of 1997. I spent ten months of that year as a volunteer at Dr. Jim Fleming’s Biblical Resources Study Center. Teaching tour groups about cultural requirements of the first century was one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done in this long and sometimes adventurous life. The Center was located at the edge of Jerusalem and I lived across Bethlehem Road in the West Bank.

Because I have always loved to receive mail, I quite regularly volunteered to hike up to our post office box to bring back its contents. Sometimes, while in the neighborhood, I also patronized the nearby drug store or supermarket where my purse and parcels were routinely scrutinized by a security guard.

Often I made this uphill climb at the end of the workday so that on the long descent back into Jerusalem I could enjoy the extraordinary sunsets reflecting off the “Jerusalem stone” of most buildings.

Fast forward 10 years. I’m in my Sonoma, California kitchen cobbling up something for supper, only half-listening to the radio, when my ear catches the name Gilo, and in the same sentence the word “settlement.”

What? Gilo is a settlement? The place I walked to four or five times a week was a settlement? I was stunned. I thought settlements were a collection of tents or trailers, known in Israel as “caravans.” I simply had no idea until that moment that settlements are these lovely gated communities with flower gardens and parks and swimming pools.

It was the beginning of a new understanding for me and a stimulus for wanting to learn more. So I read and studied and watched videos and listened to lectures. And now I have revisited the land with a focus on listening to the Palestinian side of the story rarely heard in the western world as well as seeking the Israeli point of view.

My limited experience does not make me an expert by any means. But I do know what I have seen and heard and read in the past month is a whole lot more than most people in the United States have had an opportunity to discover.

I visited homes of settlers, one pair rather “over the top” in their understanding of the theology, the other family more moderate. Both were exuberant about their opportunities to be here. They all are religious Jews who take the Torah seriously and thank G-d for the Jewish State.

The first pair expressed firm conviction that G-d gave them the land and that they absolutely must fight anyone who disagrees. They genuinely enthused about the welcome Israel extends to Jews everywhere in the world. When I asked, “What about me? Am I welcome here?” the response was, “Yes, of course. You will come to understand that ours is the true faith and you will join us.”

“And if I don’t?” The response? A smile and a shrug.

I don’t think either household had much connection with the difficulties that have been created for Palestinians, though the second family had more awareness, disagreed with the occupation of Palestine by Israel and questioned how Israel can give that up and what the future will hold for their children.

I also visited Palestinian homes and 60-year-old refugee camps. I have a lot of information to share and stories to tell.

It has become painfully obvious to me that visitors to this land rarely gain any sense of the facts on the ground. I mean, look at me! I wasn’t a visitor. I was living here and didn’t know. Groups come, both Christian and Jewish, and ride on craftily routed highways to visit holy sites. The Christians’ guide will likely say, “We can’t visit Bethlehem because it’s too dangerous.” Thus the pilgrims don’t get a chance to see the 25 to 40 foot wall erected around that entire community. I’ve gone through checkpoints to visit Bethlehem several times and found Jesus’ birthplace to be not the least bit dangerous.

Nobody I’ve talked with here (with one obvious exception) wants to banish anyone. Christians, Muslims, Jews, they’ve all had enough of killing and conflict. They just want to live side by side in peace.

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The last two nights I slept in a stone hut in the southeast corner of the land of Israel, quite near the Dead Sea. I slept on a mat on the concrete floor, covered by a cozy blanket, and using an almost rock-hard pillow covered with a beautiful hand-embroidered design.

There is no running water anywhere in the little village of A'Twani consisting of 14 households where some 150 men, women and children reside. As the well is quite a distance, an NGO from Germany built a cistern for each family to make life a bit easier. Now well water needs to be carried up to the village only for drinking.

The outside "restroom" has a porcelain squat toilet with no flush mechanism. A nearby bucket of water from the cistern stands ready for the pouring of a cupful or so of water to rinse the area. Paper stands nearby but all over Israel you are expected to put such paper into the ready wastebasket and never down a toilet.

At around 7 p.m., the electric light in my bedroom came on. I learned another NGO had bought the town a generator and that the residents share the cost of fuel and take charge on a rotating basis for turning the machine on for about three hours each evening. I finished my bedtime reading by flashlight.

Early in the morning the shepherds lead their sheep and goats out to desert pastures with the tiniest patches of green. Dressed in matching uniforms, children begin to walk to the A'Twani elementary school from around the village and from other villages.

One group of youngsters has particular difficulty getting to school since a settlement was built near the village. The little 6 to 12 year old children had been so repeatedly attacked with sticks and stones by residents of the settlements that the villagers called for an investigation, after which a judge ordered the Israeli army to provide a daily escort for the children.

Can this really be happening in the 21st century? I can assure you it is happening, because along with other internationals I served on the school patrol twice this week escorting the children when the soldiers had reached the end of the area for which they are assigned. Without the internationals, it is quite clear the youngsters would be traumatized almost daily by the Orthodox Jewish settlers.

And by the way, the army sometimes doesn't show up at all and sometimes arrives more than an hour late.

Now, here's the kicker, friends. All of the homes in A'Twani have received demolition orders from the Israeli government. Each day they wake up wondering if this is the day the bulldozers will arrive to flatten some of the homes to the ground.

I visited people in a neighboring village where the bulldozers demolished every home in town fourteen years ago, and the residents have lived in tents there ever since. Do you know how cold it gets in the winter and on summer nights in the desert?

It was sunny and bright on the afternoon I visited, with the evening chill closing in. Like Palestinians everywhere, folks in this village would not allow me and my friends to leave until they had served tea and a sweet.

The State of Israel claims its home demolitions are in response to security threats. Now that you've heard my story, do you think this is true?

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