What’s the Difference?

The first people I told about going to the West Bank for Mifalot’s “Cross Border Activity” all gave me the same warning: “be careful.” To be honest, having to wake up at 7:45 a.m. was my biggest concern. When I first heard about the opportunity to travel to Um-El Heir with Mifalot and participate in this high profile event, the bringing of children from Kibbutz Har-El (or Mountain of God, fittingly) to the Territories (as I learned they were called), I was thrilled. I would be one of very few American Jews to get to see the Territories first hand and meet the people who live there. Even so, I couldn’t have expected what I learned that day.

We arrived at the checkpoint to get into the West Bank at around 9:45 a.m., after waiting a bit for the children (who were late), and I was immediately taken aback. Like the ignorant American I was (and still am), the endless sand dunes were an entirely new site for me to see. Finally, after driving twenty minutes through the dunes on a dirt road, we came upon a small Bedouin village. A donkey stood at the edge of this conglomeration of tents, drying clothes, and farm animals, peering at us and playing the role of mayor and ambassador to Um-El Heir. Slowly, our small crowd started to grow as different reporters, cameramen, and additional press filled the street, all awaiting the arrival of the Israeli children. This overwhelmed our ambassador; he ran off once the press grew too large, and I felt for him. I had no idea this was going to be as big an event as it was. Once the children and their families arrived, they had their pictures taken numerous times and we started our short walk through the village up to the soccer field, right on the edge of a Jewish settlement.

Little children in torn and tattered soccer kits first hid, then ran to us, smiling. As we situated ourselves I was greeted by a four year old Samuel Eto’o, a five year old Carlos Tevez, and his little brother, Wayne Rooney. The field itself was all dirt with rocks jutting out at all angles. This would give an American mother a heart attack (and probably lead to the implementation of helmets on the soccer field), but as I’ve learned at other Mifalot programs, the field doesn’t matter. The children met each other in the standard, awkward way one would expect a child to act around a new friend in front of twenty members of the press, and the training began.

There’s not much to say about the actual session that took place. The children ran some drills, took more pictures, got water, took more pictures, played a match (mixed teams of course), and seemed to have a great time. The only moment of the day that seemed even slightly political was when the ball flew over the fence lining their field and into the Jewish settlement. “Looks like we need a new ball,” someone joked to me. Luckily, we had brought four. I doubt anyone wanted to scale  barbed wire laden fence to retrieve a soccer ball, much less from an area that prohibited entry to the children and families in Um-El Heir. After the game, we all shared tea (and glasses, there were only about ten for the twenty or so “footballers,” twenty members of the press, and assorted coaches and family) and headed deeper in the village for lunch.

Before eating, the children exchanged gifts. A beautiful pot, hand made by our Palestinian friends, was presented to the children from the Kibbutz and a package containing a backpack and school supplies was given in return (I later learned that they were attempting to build a school here, so the back to school special made a lot more sense). We ate lunch (still the best schnitzel I’ve had since leaving the states), said goodbye to our new friends, and were on our way.

Of all the events of the day, one moment stood out that I’ll never forget. On one play, one child passed to another who took a great shot, only to go slightly wide. After polite applause (and not the traditional “OOOOHHHH” when a shot goes wide that you’ll hear all across Europe), I overheard a cameraman ask if the child was Palestinian or Israeli. My first thought expressed the real goal behind the days events, and showed me a little something about myself:

What’s the difference?

 

This post was written by Jesse Schneiderman, an international intern for Mifalot.

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