Father Manuel runs a school here and is the head of the Christian Affairs Department for the Palestinian Authority. He was born in Birzeit near Ramallah, and lived his entire childhood in the West Bank of Palestine, which was considered under the control of Transjordan prior to 1967. Father Immanuel happened to be on the East Bank of the Jordan River training to be a Roman Catholic priest when Israel conquered the West Bank, Gaza, the Golan Heights and Sinai in June 1967. As a result of being on the wrong side of the river at the wrong time, he became a refugee. Read more about Gaza's Father Manuel 

I never thought I would be so happy to come back home. I am still disoriented and traumatized, and though I had taken pain killers, and coffee after coffee, I just can’t bring myself to sleep. Early this morning while walking in Ramallah, I took a road that brought awful memories into my head. Last year, I witnessed one of the Israeli forces’ raids in Ramallah. Though it was from a distance, it was a chilling experience to be totally surrounded by bullets and blood. I have just come back from Ramallah where together with my sister I was locked inside a building at Al Manara, Ramallah’s city center, for four hours. Read more about Living the New Year's Raid on Ramallah 

Looking back at Christmas in Bethlehem, I found there were too many absurdities to compensate for the familiar gay scenes of drum bands and parents with kids on their shoulders characteristic for the entry of the Patriarch and next day’s festivities around Nativity Square. Imagine, the Patriarch entering Bethlehem through the old Jerusalem-Hebron road, passing through a city quarter deadened by so many circling Walls that a talented photographer can make a surrealistic exhibition out of it. There is a legal term for what is happening to Bethlehem and several other Palestinian cities: urbicide, the killing of a city. Read more about The Christmas Gate 

Our mobile health van drives just north of Beit Lahiya where we see a large crowd of people fleeing from the attack. We drive further north toward the village of Um Nasser, located right on the border with Israel, and right underneath the attack helicopters which are hovering about 1000 meters above us. We arrive at the village clinic. Because of the attack helicopters, patients are not showing up to be seen today. I am not as scared as I was on the first night at Hotel Al Deira, though we are in a more dangerous spot. I am strangely getting used to this. Read more about Fear Is a Powerful Stimulant (Part 3) 

On Friday, December 8, six gunshots pierced the afternoon calm and six children started screaming. The cousins had been playing together with their usual gusto on the third-story veranda of their home in Aida Refugee Camp in the West Bank. A bullet tore through the slender body of one of them, a thirteen-year-old boy named Miras Al-Azzah. Several more bullets hit the stone house, and splinters of debris sliced into the bodies of the other children: Athal (10) and Rowaid (8), Miras’s younger sister and brother, and Maysan (12), Zaid (7), and Ansam (3). Read more about Childhood Interrupted, Again 

Last night I again heard the roar of an F-16 fighter jet and then the low thud of air-launched missiles being fired into Beach Camp. I didn�t even bother to look out from my hotel room this time. Rafah, Jabalya and Beit Hanoun were also hit according to local news reports. This morning, we drive by Mr. Alaaki Aqeelan�s apartment in Beach Camp, which was hit last night. The third floor is a shambles and there is concrete rubble on the street. Otherwise, people in the area are going about their daily business. Read more about Fear is a Powerful Stimulant (Part 2)