I had a feeling that the Mossad were about to pull something on me. It all seemed too easy, but when I finally got through all the “security checks” in Tel Aviv, I was told that my wheelchair had been left in Rome. They should know by now that it will take a lot more than a stunt like that to hold us back.
A frustrating 12 hours later, it was delivered to an address in Jerusalem. From there, everything was good to go. Not that I had a plan or anything.
But you don’t need a plan when you’re going home.
After reunions with my brothers and sisters in Sheikh Jarrah and Bil’in, I travelled to Balata refugee camp with my family from the Existence is Resistance Tour. Rest assured, revolutionary conversations were in abundance.
On the second night of our stay in the camp, Israeli Occupation Forces and settlers invaded the camp, and a huge green laser beam from a military base above guided them on their way. Drones flew in the sky, just in case someone was to look up and imagine freedom for a brief moment.
In reality, the occupation represents a night-time curfew for every single day of the year, for not a single soul walked the streets… except for the invaders.
I turned to Hurriyah, and saw a smile on her face. The break-dancing kids from Chicago were exclaiming in hushed tones that they were sure Israeli “tanks” were on their way, and trying to decipher the symbolism of the green lasers’ various angles and patterns.
But for Hurriyah, and even for me after a period of nine months living in occupied Palestine, these are a regular occurence. How can one define a “normal” life, when so many across the world live under oppression. Without a doubt, these struggles must be united if we are to ever succeed. But for the people living in such situations, it is simply home.