How's The Weather? / May 14, 2019 by Sophie Schor

Who will feed the ravens scraps now? Who will water Grandma’s tree? Who will plant tomatoes in June and somehow coax them to life despite the cold summers? Who will look outside and tell me what the weather in Canmore is?

An Uphill Climb / August 11, 2017 by Sophie Schor

I was slowly walking up the hill to my apartment, sleep-deprived after a few dusty days and nights at Sarura, carrying a backpack and the scent of wood smoke in my clothes and hair. A man was standing at the corner, at the top of the incline. He smiled, uninvited, and asked in Hebrew:

?עליה קשה Aliyah kesha? [Hard climb?]

It might have been the general exhaustion or the heaviness of his question that led me to shake my head yes and shrug my shoulders as in defeat. He motioned to my backpack and asked, in that tone that only strange men who want to engage in conversation with a lone woman on the street have,

?רוצה עזרה Rotza ezra? [Want help?]

To which I shook my head defiantly, smiled, and said, "No, I'm strong."

The Old City / August 12, 2015 by Sophie Schor

Even after over a year of living here, I find myself wandering around the Old City of Jerusalem with eyes wide open, absorbing all the sites and sounds and smells of this contested and beating heart of Jerusalem. My feet find their way over the familiar stones and roads, but with the curiosity and knowledge that there will always be corners of this walled-in area that I'll never see and never know.

I've designed a tour of the Old City for the friends who come visit; it is mainly organized around food and my favorite corners.

The illusion of insecurity? Or the delusion of security? / July 20, 2015 by Sophie Schor

"It's fine until it's not fine." This sentence has been echoing in my head for a long time now. Especially when it comes to walking through neighborhoods I'm "not supposed" to be in, or villages I'm "not supposed" to see, or people I'm "not supposed" to meet.

Riding home on the bus last week, our entire way was detoured as the road was blocked. Stones had been thrown at the light rail station by Palestinians in the neighborhood Shuafat, police were looking for the people who had done it. But that moment of seeing the red tape across the lampposts and the flashing lights, my heart was in my throat wondering what had happened. How bad? To whom?

April 3, 2015

I met Manel Tamimi while traveling through the West Bank in January. She welcomed us into her home in Nabi Saleh and spoke with us about the horrors her family faces under occupation.

Nabi Saleh is a well known friction point for resistance and holds weekly protests every Friday. The village organizes itself and attempts to walk from their homes across the valley to the spring that used to belong to them. The spring is now a part of the settlement which was built above it. There’s a brilliant profile in the New York Times that describes the Tamimi family and the village.

Manel told us that she classifies herself as a non-violent resistor, but could not call herself peaceful. She said,”I can’t be peaceful in that moment when an Israeli soldier enters my house to arrest my 14 year old son. When I’m watching 2 of my cousins dying in front of me. When my 8 year old faints after being shot with tear gas and the soldier is smiling. Yet, I am nonviolent because a mothers pain is the same pain. I refuse any mother to experience this pain because I’ve experienced it. I understand the meaning of losing your beloved and waiting for your beloved.”

Manel was shot by an Israeli soldier in the leg today with live ammo during the weekly protest.

I heard about this as I am heading to my family’s kibbutz in the south to celebrate Passover—a holiday that marks the freedom of the Jews from slavery in Egypt and their arrival to the land of milk and honey. It is my family’s tradition to have long conversations that are interrupted by food and singing all night long. We often discuss the idea of freedom and I have grown up repeating every year that we are not free until all peoples are free. This sentence has never rung more true for me than in this moment. While we were talking with Manel, she said “Even if one day we free Palestine, I am going to fight for others. Because if you are a human you are going to fight against the pain of others.”

There is weird parallelism in being here in Israel, on my way to the Kibbutz which was founded in 1953, to be surrounded by cousins and tradition, and to know at the same time that across the wall, not so far away, people are hurting because of this claim to this land.

Bus Roulette / November 6, 2014 by Sophie Schor

November 6, 2014

Riding the buses has become a bit of Russian roulette lately. Coming home yesterday from the university, which is located right on the border with East Jerusalem, I had to make a choice. Do I take the 19 which goes right by the Old City and will probably be delayed or re-routed due to the current clashes that have erupted over the occupation and access to al-Aqsa mosque? Or do I take the 34, the slowest bus that winds and curves it’s way through the ultra-orthodox religious Jewish neighborhood where everyone is black-hatted and walks in front of buses without looking knowing that their life is in God’s hands? I made the right choice, as the road for the 19 was completely closed with police standing guard. As I stared out the window at religious women pushing their strollers and gaggle of children across the street, I read online about the latest attack on the train stop. An Israeli died. He left behind his wife and 3 year old, he was also a Druze.

Things are taking a turn for madness (more than the usual dose of crazy you find here). But it’s more than just random violence, it’s rooted in a context of oppression and disenfranchisement. Just this week alone, 2 Palestinian houses were demolished in East Jerusalem, 188 Palestinians were arrested in the last 2 weeks, a 5 year old girl was run over by a settler in Hebron, and there was an announcement for an expansion of settlements and a building permit for 500 more houses in Ramat Shlomo. Limiting access to al-Aqsa has just been the match to the fire. No one seems too sure what direction it will take. Some say third intifada, some say it’ll simmer down.

But for now, I’ve begun to feel a different sort of pressure. Which bus do I take to get home?