SS FREE GAZA & SS LIBERTY TO LEAVE GAZA PORT ON THURSDAY  
 
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE  Date : 08-26-2008
 
(GAZA CITY, 26 August 2008) – The SS Free Gaza and SS Liberty will leave Gaza for Cyprus on Thursday morning at 9:00 am. Several Palestinian students who have been denied exit visas by Israel will travel to Cyprus on the boats. One Palestinian professor will finally be able to go back to teaching in Europe and one young, Palestinian woman will finally be reunited with her husband. Several of the Free Gaza international human rights workers will remain in Gaza to do human rights monitoring.

By freely traveling to Gaza, on Saturday, August 23rd, in two, small, wooden boats, the Free Gaza Movement forced the Israeli government to issue a fundamental policy change regarding their military and economic blockade of Gaza. Until now, Israel has wanted absolute control of Gaza with no responsibility. Israel has managed to maintain this situation, in spite of international law, because its policies have never been challenged.

When the SS Free Gaza and SS Liberty approached the waters of Gaza, the Israeli government had to decide whether it wanted to publicly acknowledge that Israel remains an occupying power in Gaza, in which case Israel would be responsible under international law for its actions, including war crimes. In the face of intense, public scrutiny, Israel instead chose to acknowledge the inherent right of Palestinians to freely engage with the world. The Israeli Ministry of Foreign affairs publicly announced that humanitarian and human rights missions to Gaza will no longer be stopped or threatened by Israel. With the end of the Israeli siege of Gaza, Palestinians are free to exercise their rights without fear of being stopped or killed by the Israeli military.

Since the organizers of the Free Gaza Movement will not be entering Israeli territorial waters, and since they will request an inspection from the Gaza Port Authority, they expect no interference on the part of the Israeli authorities when they leave Gaza. By Israel’s own admission, it has no authority to inspect the boats or the passengers when they leave Gaza.

With the collapse of the Israeli blockade, the Free Gaza Movement will quickly return to Gaza with another delegation, and invites the United Nations, Arab League and international community to organize similar human rights and humanitarian efforts. The Free Gaza Movement will continue to work to ensure the free passage between Gaza and the outside world will remain safe and open.
 
For More Information, Please Contact:
(Gaza) Paul Larudee: +972 598 765 370
(Gaza) Huwaida Arraf: +972 599 130 426
(Cyprus) Osama Qashoo: +357 97 793 595 / osamaqashoo@gmail.com
(Jerusalem) Angela Godfrey-Goldstein: +972 547 366 393 / angela@icahd.org
 

Sailing into Gaza

By Huwaida Arraf • August 25, 2008

On Saturday, after 32 hours on the high seas, I sailed into the port
of Gaza City with 45 other citizens from around the world in defiance
of Israel’s blockade. We traveled from Cyprus with humanitarian
provisions for Palestinians living under siege. My family in Michigan
was worried sick.

They are not naïve. They knew that Israel could have attacked us — as
Israeli forces did in 2003, killing nonviolent American witness Rachel
Corrie (Editor’s note: Corrie, also of the International Solidarity
Movement, was run over by a bulldozer operated by Israeli Defense
Forces during a protest against the destruction of Palestinian homes;
an Israeli military investigation ruled the death accidental) and Brit
Tom Hurndall (an ISM representative who died nine months after being
was shot in the head in Gaza by an IDF sniper; the sniper was
convicted of manslaughter) as well as thousands of unarmed Palestinian
civilians over the years.

My family members, though, remember that 60 years ago part of our own
family was uprooted and driven from their homes in Palestine by
Israeli forces. This loss no doubt fueled my decision to risk my
safety and freedom to advance the human rights of innocent men, women
and children in Gaza.

Our two boats were greeted upon arrival by thousands of jubilant
Palestinians who in 41 years of occupation had never witnessed such a
scene. To get there we braved anonymous death threats and the Israeli
military interfering with our means of communications despite rough
seas that jeopardized our safety. Before our departure, the Israeli
foreign ministry asserted its right to use force against our unarmed
boats.

We nevertheless resolved to act, to symbolically end the siege of Gaza
– and to do as civilians what governments have lacked the compassion
or courage to do themselves. Once here, we delivered critical supplies
such as hearing aids, batteries for medical equipment, and painkillers.

When a massive earthquake rocked China and cyclones ravaged Myanmar,
the world responded. Governments and civilians alike rallied to help.
Yet world governments have witnessed a manmade humanitarian
catastrophe unfold before our eyes in Gaza. Karen Koning Abu Zayd,
head of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA), has
asserted that “Gaza is on the threshold of becoming the first
territory to be intentionally reduced to a state of abject
destitution, with the knowledge, acquiescence and – some would say –
encouragement of the international community.”

Israel claims that its occupation of Gaza ended three years ago with
its pullout of soldiers and settlers. But because Israel objected to
the outcome of a 2006 Palestinian election that the Carter Center
deemed free and fair, it has blockaded Gaza, severely restricting
movement of goods and people. Dov Weisglass, an adviser to Israeli
Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, was quoted shortly before the swearing in
of the new Hamas government as saying, “It’s like a meeting with a
dietitian. We need to make the Palestinians lose weight, but not to
starve to death.”

More than 200 Palestinians have died in the past year according to
Physicians for Human Rights – Israel because they could not exit Gaza
for needed medical care. Over 80% of Gaza’s population now depends on
food aid from UNRWA and the World Food Programme. Unemployment is up
to an astonishing 45%. And hundreds of young people are being
intellectually starved by Israel’s decision to prevent them from
taking up overseas academic opportunities.

Now that we have made it into Gaza, we intend to assist Gaza’s
fishermen. We will sail with them beyond the six nautical mile limit
illegally enforced by the Israeli navy. Palestinian fishermen are
routinely harassed and attacked as they ply the waters to eke out a
living. We hope our presence will keep the Israeli military at bay.

We do this because we are horrified that this siege of 1.5 million
men, women and children is allowed to continue. We are saddened for
the state of our world when decision-makers can sit back and watch an
entire people being slowly and purposefully starved and humiliated.

We know that with our two small boats we cannot open all of Gaza to
the outside world. We could not bring with us the freedom of movement,
access to jobs, medical care, food and other critical supplies that
they are denied today. But we brought with us a message to the people
of Gaza: they are not alone. With our successful journey we show them
that American citizens and others from around the world have been
moved to advance humanitarian principles and human rights. Our efforts
this week are undertaken in that spirit and with the hope that our
elected representatives will one day follow our example.

Huwaida Arraf, a human rights advocate from Roseville, is a lecturer
at Al-Quds University School of Law in Jerusalem and co-founder of the
International Solidarity Movement. This essay was sent to The Free
Press on her behalf by the Institute for Middle East Understanding.

Sent: Tuesday, August 26, 2008 7:11 AM

Subject: From Mary in Gaza
 
It was a day of smiles and a day of tears for me here in Gaza City.  Another early press conference, followed by a visit to the hospital which has seen most of the carnage created in Gaza by Israeli bombs and rockets.  The doctor related some of the difficulties faced by the population of Gaza.  That 50 children have died because Israel refused to let them enter Israel for treatment.  The reason given by Israel?  The mothers were under 35 years old and could be terrorists.  So the children died.  He told us that so far 242 people have died during the siege because of Israel’s refusal to allow them to get the treatment they need.  And that there have been 300 deliveries at checkpoints, resulting in 69 babies dead.

Next we visited a room whose walls were filled with horrific photographs of injured and dying and dead children and babies.  On the table was a collection of fragments of Israeli artillery — rockets, bombs, shrapnel, bullets…

Next to visit some patients.  We didn’t see any victims of this violence there.  One small boy, clearly very ill, maybe 7 or 8 years old.  He held his mother’s hand and tried to smile at us at she told us he will die without an operation that cannot be performed in Gaza.  The Israelis won’t let him into Israel or the West Bank for treatment.

Then we went to the neonatal unit where a dozen babies you could hold in your hand were struggling to survive in patched up incubators.  Some were just tiny, some had bandages, all were breathing through tubes.  Their tiny chests rose and fell, some  moved, opened their eyes, cried out, waved arms or legs.   They didn’t seem to be ill, just very tiny.  In an American hospital I’m sure they would all survive and thrive.  Here we know their lives are fragile because they depend on the electricity it takes to keep their incubators working. 

They are just little babies…  all different.  Some fair, some darker, some red faced… some with hair, some without.  They could be Arab babies, or Jewish babies, or Christian babies, or Muslim babies.  They are Palestinian babies, and they deserve to grow into healthy Palestinian children and adults.  I wonder how it can be that some people believe the lives of Palestinian babies are less precious than those of any others? 

We went to the kidney dialysis unit, where 7 or 8 adults were getting their treatment.  The doctors told us that often the patients must wait for hours until there is enough electricity for the machines.  Israel usually allows them 12 hours of electricity per day, but sometimes only 6, so they constantly fear the machines will stop in the middle of treatment, which sometimes happens.  They said also that Israel will not let them import necessary parts to keep the machines, and the incubators, operating properly, or let them have the solution needed to cleanse the blood of the dialysis patients.

And then to lunch with Prime Minister Ismail Hanyeh at his house inside the refugee camp. He greeted each of us individually, and told us we are now citizens of Palestine.  He placed a large medal around each of our necks and spoke to us about who we are, and we were able to respond.  After lunch he led us into several of the tiny houses, often a single room without furniture, where he and we were greeted warmly by the Prime Minister’s neighbors and their children.
As always the people and the children were friendly and welcoming, greeting us with smiles and reaching out their hands to us.  Many of the women folded me and the other women into their arms, or touched our faces, and kissed us, always telling us “thank you for coming” or “welcome to Gaza.”  The children were everywhere, running through the narrow alleyways of the camp, waving to us, calling out to us “what’s your name?” and a few hiding behind their mothers, too shy to come near us.  One little boy of around three dragged his green blanket around in the narrow little alley, reminding me of my own granddaughter who drags around a green blanket that I knitted for her when she was born.

Afterwards we went to the big outdoor market in downtown Gaza City.  There are so many people… it’s such a little strip of land for a million and a half people.  Everywhere they waved to us, smiled, held up their fingers in a peace sign.  A flatbed truck pulled up beside our bus and we were entertained by a band playing just for us.   We walked a lot today, and saw a thousand smiling faces. 

Tonight we were entertained by Ramattan TV Network which had a journalist on our boat FREE GAZA. They showed a 6 minute film they have already made of our journey and our arrival in Gaza.  There were many tears as we re-lived our rough voyage when many of us were seasick throughout the night, and frightened at the the thought - the expectation even - that we would suddenly be set upon by craft from Israel’s Navy which had warned us we would not be allowed to reach Gaza.  And then cheers and smiles when we saw again the incredible greeting we had received as we sailed into Gaza port.  There must have been 60 or 70 boats at least, and more than a hundred people in the water swimming beside our boats, or climbing aboard

So here we are in Gaza, and we haven’t seen a single Israeli with a gun.  Just three unarmed Israelis who sailed with us on this remarkable voyage.

The last news we received tonight was that the people of Gaza City will build a square for us and name it Free Gaza Square.  And all of our names will be displayed there, along with one of our boats (or a replica if we choose not to leave one of our boats behind when we go.}

Tomorrow at 4:30 AM some of us are going out with the Gaza fishermen in their boats to see what we can catch.  We hope our presence will provide some degree of protection for these men and boys who risk injury and death from Israeli guns each time they try to work their trade in the waters off the coast of Gaza.

More later…

with love from Mary in Gaza City

WCA’s Hedy Epstein, Greta and Mary will be on board the Break the Siege boat.

The Free Gaza Movement

Setting Sail to Break the Siege of Gaza

Around 60 Palestinians, Israelis and Internationals from 15 countries will sail to Gaza during the sixty-year anniversary of the Nakba – the forcible expulsion of more than 700,000 Palestinians from their lands to create Israel –to challenge Israeli control over the open-air prison called Gaza.

Among the crew are a Holocaust survivor and a survivor of the Palestinian Nakba. They sail with the common bond of focusing the world’s attention on the growing humanitarian crisis in Gaza and its collapsing economy which are direct results of Israel’s ongoing occupation and continuing control over Gaza’s air space and territorial waters.

“The siege of Gaza ends only when Palestinians are accorded the basic fundamental human rights of citizens throughout the free world,” says UK passenger, Musheir El-Farra who knows the irreparable human cost of current Israeli government policies. “My family and beloved ones in Gaza have been under siege for over two years now; living without their most basic human rights on their own land.

Hedy dons a lifejacket

In the words of Holocaust survivor Hedy Epstein “What an opportunity to make a change for good, both for Palestinians and Israelis. We intend to open the port, fish with the fishermen, help in the clinics, and work in the schools. But we also intend to remind the world that we will not stand by and watch 1.5 million people suffer death by starvation and disease”.

“My parents fled Palestine in 1948 when I was three years old,” said Naim Franjieh, a survivor of the Palestinian Nakba (catastrophe), when 700,000 Palestinians were forced out of their homes during Israel’s founding, “I want to be there, on the boat, to tell the people of Gaza they are not forgotten by those of us who have left.”
Email: friendsofgaza@gmail.com
www.freegaza.org

• The Free Gaza Movement is supported by, among others, the Carter Centre in the US and Archbishop Desmond Tutu as well as Women of a Certain Age. For a full list of endorsements please visit: http://www.freegaza.org/index.php?language=EN&module=endorse
• The Free Gaza movement has been invited to Gaza by the Red Crescent Society for the Gaza Strip, the Palestinian Medical Relief Society, Palestinian Centre for Human Rights and the Gaza Community Mental Health Program.
• Boat passengers will be available for interview prior to the boats leaving Cyprus (between 1st and 5th August) and during the voyage via satellite phone. Please contact us to arrange interviews.
• Individuals and organizations can receive regular updates on the progress of the boats by signing up to The Friends of Gaza e list: https://lists.riseup.net/www/subscribe/gazafriends

SS Free Gaza and SS Liberty Arrive in Chania, Crete, Saturday, 9 August at 21:00 p.m

For further information, contact:  6932 766496 for directions, or Greta Berlin, 00375 99 08 17 67

*Nicosia/Lefkosia, Cyprus, August 7.* The Free Gaza Movement announced today that their boats, destined to break the Israelis’ siege of Gaza, will arrive in Chania, Crete, on Saturday, August 9, at 9 p.m. and that a press conference will be held to welcome their arrival.  Internationals are gathering across the world – in Beijing and Cyprus – with the common dream of peace and justice for everyone.

Human rights activists Lauren Booth, journalist, (sister-in-law of former British Prime Minister Tony Blair), Huwaida Arraf (a Palestinian-American residing in Ramallah, Palestine), and Jeff Halper (an Israeli Jew who was nominated for the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize for opposing demolitions of Palestinian homes) will be available at the press conference for interviews. 

16 of the 40 Passengers

“This will be the first time that our two boats will be publicly displayed and photographers are welcome to come, take photos and post their images,” said Paul Larudee, on board the boats sailing toward Chania.

 
The Free Gaza Movement is endorsed by an impressive array of international groups and personalities including South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Former Prime Minister of Lebanon Dr. Salim Al-Hoss. For additional information, www.freegaza.org

 
It may be later than we originally planned, but we are more determined than ever to go to Gaza. By now, almost half of the people are on board or traveling to the boats, and those of us left in Cyprus are finishing up our training, working on banners and trying to control our impatience. When we called the people of Gaza to tell them we would arrive a week late, their reply was, “Don’t worry. We know you are coming. And we are waiting,” a testament to their confidence that 40 Internationals, two small boats, and tremendous media attention can somehow defeat the Israeli Navy.

Some of the survivors of the USS Liberty have written to us and asked us to be on one of their programs tomorrow night. They wrote this request of us:

What is the possibility of you and the crew of the SS Liberty throwing 34 long stemmed roses into the sea as a memorial to the 34 Americans who were killed aboard the USS LIberty? We will pay for the roses or whatever else you have in mind. I guarantee you our newspaper American Free Press will give a HUGE spread in the paper for it. The survivors of the LIberty and their familes would be eternally grateful to you and your ship mates for this gesture as no one has ever done anything like this before.

Another wrote:

I am one of the survivors of the USS Liberty.   A very tired man who woke up somewhat when I heard of the
SS Liberty.  I was the petty officer in charge of the body recovery and identification,  and I remember it almost like it was yesterday.

May God Be With You

So, when we leave Cyprus, we hope to have a ceremony for all of those Americans killed by the Israelis on board the ship in 1967.

The media attention has been intense in Europe, people calling constantly asking for interviews. If you GOOGLE Free Gaza, Cyprus, you will see dozens of stories about us and the boats and the response from here. So many angels have stepped in to help, from offering us their homes, feeding us, and driving us around to media appointments. One man called us today and told us that he would loan us the money to cover our expenses for the boats and the equipment, because, “You are making history.”

Greta Berlin
The Free Gaza Movement

http://www.FreeGaza.org

“I will fight with all I have in me to see that Abir becomes the bridge that closes the gap between us, the bridge that allows Israelis and Palestinians to live in peace.”

The tragic death of ten-year-old Abir Aramin made headlines worldwide. Abir was only one of 922 child victims of the Israeli Occupation since September 2000, but she was also the daughter of Bassam Aramin, a well known activist and founding member of Combatants for Peace. The group engages Israelis and Palestinians who have taken an active role in the cycle of violence but who have put down their guns in order to fight for peace. These men rallied around Bassam and his family, transforming grief into a project to memorialize Abir and insure that her death would leave a legacy of healing and hope.

Abir was walking home from school with her sister and two friends in the West Bank town of Anata on January 16th 2007, but never made it back to her family. On this day the Israeli Border Police opened fire at the children walking home. Abir was hit with a rubber bullet to the head and fatally wounded. Provocations by the Israeli Border Police or Army had become a daily routine in the Anata school district in the two years since construction of the separation barrier began. Public outcry over Abir’s death was loud enough to demand a police investigation, but the case was closed before testimony was heard from Palestinian witnesses. Hundreds of people protested this decision in Tel Aviv.

“Many people came to support and comfort us as Abir lay dying,” said Bassam. “Among those who never left my side were a number of men I have recently come to love as brothers, men who know my past, and who share it. Men who, like me, were trained to hate and to kill, but who now also believe that we must find a way to live with our former enemies.”

Together, members of Combatants for Peace will build “Abir’s Garden”, a safe place where Palestinian children can play and grow. Abir’s Garden seeks to keep the memory of Abir alive, by pursuing justice in her legal case, advocating for children in school zones, and building a playground and memorial. Plans donated by a landscape architect will place 2 playgrounds, a fountain, gardens, sports areas and more on the bleak grounds of the Anata Girls’ School.

Abu Ali, a PTA member in Anata, wrote “The area we live in is 1.2 sq miles with a population of 65,000. There are no playgrounds, parks or walking trails in the entire area. This project will offer a segment of our children the joy that others in the world take for granted.”

Combatants for Peace has teamed up with an American NGO, the Rebuilding Alliance, to raise funds for the project. Visit the Rebuilding Alliance for more information about Abir’s Garden and how to support it.

A man carrying a child, who could have been no older than one, asked me if he could go ahead of me. The child’s both arms and one leg were in casts. As he got to the border police, he had to take out his permit card and hold the baby at the same time. Then the soldier took the child, who began to cry, to examine the cast, butting it with the end of his rifle. What an outrage. I asked the soldier what he was doing and he told me to mind my own business. When he continued to knock on the casts with his rifle, I said loud enough for the solider to hear, “I must take out my camera and get a picture of this. No one at home will believe it.” Immediately, the soldier handed the baby back to its father and allowed the two to pass through. I went next, and though I wasn’t required to, I opened my valise for inspection.

Once through the checkpoint, we boarded vans for Jerusalem. Upon arrival, we checked into the Gloria Hotel, owned by the same people as The Knights’ Palace. We were the only guests staying at the Gloria, so we had a choice of rooms and run of the hotel. We dropped off luggage and left, in a variety of groups, to roam the Old City. My group consisted of Carol, Stacey, Gail, Eileen and me. We’d not had lunch, so we stopped at a fruit and nut kiosk and bought fresh figs, dried fruit, and almonds.

We continued on our way to explore the crooked pathways. Along our wanderings, Carol bought two handmade shawls and Gail, Eileen, Stacey and Carol bought Bedouin silver bracelets. As we continued our walk, we found ourselves near the Western Wall. Gail was happy to pass it by and I had seen it before, but Carol and Stacey wanted to see it up close. So we visited the Wall and took some photos.

We exited the square to the Jewish side and continued walking around the outskirts of the Old City. The view was magnificent, but the walk was uphill for most of the way. We passed a religious wedding celebration just as the wedding party and guests were dancing and clapping their way from the ceremony to their cars. Singing men surrounded the bride and groom, as the women and children marched behind. I couldn’t help remembering a media report I’d received from an ISMer who’d witness a Palestinian wedding party approaching Qalandia checkpoint. The bride and groom, he’d reported, had had to get out of their car and stand at the checkpoint to have their papers inspected. Suddenly every Palestinian at the checkpoint, particularly the children, gathered around the bride and groom and began clapping and singing. They danced the bride and groom through the checkpoint. At the Israeli wedding there was pure joy and happiness, an abandon lost for the Palestinian bride and groom.

Carol and Eileen caught a taxi to the Jaffa Gate and Gail, Stacey and I continued to walk to find another cab. We met the other two at the Jaffa Gate. We decided to stay nearby our hotel for dinner, so we ate across the street in a wonderful restaurant. The food was excellent, moderately priced, and the portions were large. We met everyone back at the hotel, where we had a go-round. One of the resolutions was to start meetings on time.

As we retired to our rooms, I received our first phone call from Ann. It was reassuring to hear from her. We offered our support; she made a few requests. As I was falling asleep, I couldn’t get Ann out of my mind, imagining how awful the conditions in the jail were for her.

Our remaining WCA group of 13 have finished our training. We will join what we hope will be a series of major national actions throughout Palestine against the Apartheid Wall and against the Occupation this afternoon. Our training was very intense and very wonderful. We are exhilarated and from time to time exhausted. I can say now that being in Ramallah today is a shocking change from when I was here in June 2002. At that time the city was under 24 hour curfew and seemed a ghost town. The only cars in the street had been flattened by tanks. The streets were empty, there was not a face at a window, not a shop open, not a mangy dog, not a child to be seen. I thought at first that the city had been abandoned. Today this place is bustling with crowded sidewalks, car horns blaring, shops open, children, dogs, wonderful smells of shwarma and fresh coriander, all of it. We have been told that Nablus has been under siege and people are being targeted and homes demolished. I stand in the street here and think that at any moment, the army can make a decision to close down this city and send all its people running for shelter.

I’m so glad to be here, tearful as we all are some of the time, but happy to be here with Palestinians who are so welcoming, so warm, so happy to welcome our presence in solidarity with their struggle.

Our group of 13 women of a certain age including our 80 year old Holocaust survivor, joined an action protesting Israel’s Apartheid Wall along with thousands of Palestinians and hundreds of Israelis from Taayush and Gush Shalom and internationals. The action against the wall was part of a national day of action to mark the beginning of Freedom Summer.

The lively demonstration included signs and banners in Arabic, Hebrew and English and several exuberant children’s’ marching bands with powerful drummers and wide smiles. Many of us were moved to tears, thrilled with the spectacle of this vibrant show of solidarity under the eyes (and pointed weapons) of the soldiers on the hill above us.

The spirited march was interrupted minutes after it had begun when the Israeli soldiers, positioned in combat stance on the hill, together took aim and fired canisters of tear gas directly into the marchers. Three thousand people scattered but the wind blew the gas back into our faces. As we tried to retreat back up the street from which we had entered, concussion bombs were added to the gas that was continuing to hit the ground beside and ahead of us. Shopkeepers along the street opened their doors and urged us inside. We re-grouped inside a small children’s clothing and lingerie shop which was air-conditioned, to catch our breath and treat our burning skin and eyes tearing from the effect of the gas and our unspeakable anger. The little group of shops also served as a first aid triage station and a parade of wounded were brought in by young boy volunteers who continued to carry stretchers out into the smoky street and bring back those overcome by smoke and wounded by rubber bullets and canisters. From time to time we ventured out to see if we could advance towards the soldiers, displaying our privilege as internationals to try to prevent the use of live ammunition.

Meanwhile, the shebab, agile and unafraid, threw stones, barricaded the street with rubble to stop oncoming military vehicles, and lit tires and pushed them with long sticks towards the soldiers. Some of the Israelis sheltering along with us blamed the shebab for the continuing military response to our demonstration. Maybe from their point of view, those brave kids throwing stones against one of the world’s military superpowers would make it hard to convince their Israeli neighbors that the attack on us was not justified. As for me, my heart lifted seeing their refusal to allow the military to imagine that they had won this battle. Those kids, the next generation of Palestinian resisters, will not be cowed. Maybe some will become fighters, but hopefully they have seen that their parents will continue to march and that there are people coming from around the world to stand with them in non-violent direct action. Maybe they will begin to understand that the violent reaction of the military is to the threat of what such a movement brings and shows to the world.

Eventually it seemed a bit quieter outside and our whole group of 13 women wearing our terrific hats with our WCA logo marched slowly towards the soldiers. Suddenly, Special Forces units wearing plastic masks entered the street, targeting one Palestinian organizer and one reporter. While concussion grenades exploded around us, they beat these two with rifle butts, arresting the Palestinian and retreating. Almost immediately, cars began to move, shops opened, people filled the sidewalks, and you would never have known what had just taken place except for the detritus of the weapons on the street. We re-grouped from the second bunch of shops that had sheltered us and returned to Ramallah.

We picked up our signs and attempted to walk towards the edge of town where we would get a bus back to Ramallah.

Yet life continues: businesses have grown along the paths - tables and tents sell live poultry, housewares, clothing, food, shoes, and food, survival at all costs. We pass through, the awnings flap, a beefy older guard with handlebar mustache checks my passport. “American?” “Yes”. He smiles and looks me in the eye. “Welcome to Israel”. I want to spit at him but I don’t.

We take another van to a roadblock at a-Ram, and walk up steps trod by millions of tired feet, steps covered with cans, rocks, refuse. As we continue into the edge of town, we hear the sound of drums, and my heart beats to the sound that we follow into the town. An ambulance and a wedding party pass our way. Then we see a corps of boys, maybe 7-12, in khaki uniforms, like Boy Scouts, leading the protest. We join the throngs of Palestinians, internationals, and Israelis with Gush Shalom posters, down the main street, cross the boulevard where the 25 ft high Apartheid Wall lays, slabs of concrete awaiting erection of brute power.

I am shooting with Ann’s video camera, and I think I see the IOF near the Wall as we approach. Then I hear popping sounds. Through the lens are signs of confusion. Some are walking around; then as the acrid sharpness of teargas absorbs the air, people are moving away and yelling, beginning to run, all back towards the main street. I find my group. We have been trained to carry cider vinegar and we wear bandannas which we saturated with vinegar that Jan has brought. We look like bandits as we flee. Palestinians grab us yelling, “Come, come, get inside to safety.” They pull me inside - a wrought iron door opens onto a small shopping arcade with a barbershop, a dress shop…upstairs is a Red Crescent emergency clinic. Some of us have found a haven in a dress shop welcomed by the kind proprietor and his son.

This wonderful shopkeeper and his young son made sure we Women of a Certain Age were safe (and cool) in his air-conditioned shop.

We are offered ice for our burning eyes, and a vendor provides ice cream pops for our burning throats. Gail, Jenny and I leave the shop to try to go outside to see what is happening. Ambulances continually bring in the wounded, many shot in the back or buttocks with what I guess are rubber bullets. Elderly shoppers overcome by teargas are rushed upstairs where several medics, some European, treat them. Brave, brave.

We venture outside, retreat, go out again, advancing until shots echo in the din of a war zone. The only women are the Israelis, internationals, and photographers with telephoto lenses. Men and boys are defiant. Ahead, nearer the Wall, shabab are attacked by trucks with water cannons. Shabab pull flaming tires to slow army vehicles. It feels like all day, but later we estimate only 2 hours. Impossible! The intensity is overwhelming.

It is quiet outside, so we go out. Huwaida appears. We had met her during training. Huwaida is like an Amazon, stately and fearless, a cloud of black Renaissance hair, large expressive, bemused eyes, no bandanna, her only protection her pride and strength. She wears short sleeved t-shirts, but does not seem out of place–she transcends the place.

We walk toward the Wall. Our trainer has arrived, when a sound bomb explodes near our feet. Again we are shuttled indoors unthinking, up three flights of stairs. We hear “The soldiers may come in here.” We are taken to the safety of a large loft, a fabric and ribbon store, with beautiful satin ribbons hanging from the ceiling. The owner and his teenage daughter and her friends welcome us in Arabic. They speak excellent English. Tea is served. These beautiful girls tell us about life under Occupation; how their parents worry about them; how they tell them how it was to grow up in normal times, no fear, no rubble, no threats, no cruelty; how they go to a pool in summer in a shopping mall. At the checkpoint, soldiers their age, ask, “You are going to swim?” They laugh that the soldiers wish they were going to swim also. The girls are so lovely, so open, without bitterness. Before we leave, I remember I have the camera and record them for 5 minutes. One of the girls was talking about her daily difficulties, then paused and said, “You know what I would really like? I would love to have an Israeli friend, boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, and we would be best friends–why not”? Why not? Because of the Israeli arrogance, the land grab, the Chosen People shit, the use of the Holocaust to justify every hideous act (like 9/11). She also said, “You are so brave to come here.”

We answered, “How can you say that when we can come for a couple of weeks and leave, but you must be here struggling every day of your lives”? To which she replied, “Oh no, the struggle is our lot, we have no other course, but you don’t have to be here. You choose to come and be with us. So you are the brave ones”. Amazing!

We wait for the van to take us to a settlement police station. We have found out that a village leader, was beaten by undercover Israelis, had his ribs broken and was arrested. Men approach us and, amid the stench and filth of teargas, give us the Peace sign: “Thank you for coming.” We are in tears from these expressions of thanks.

As we stand at the checkpoint, cars whiz by on settler-only roads, unimpeded. On our way to the police station we are stopped by the Border patrol, who come onboard to check passports. Doreen and a few of the other women only had copies of their passports. The soldiers are like the brown shirts with their guns and boots Doreen and some of the other women are taken off the bus, and Doreen, first in line, is interrogated as we wait for over half an hour, while miles of traffic sits behind us, unable to move on. It is so disgusting. I was getting worried about Doreen, but in the end it was OK. Just the usual harassment, I guess, far more for the Palestinians than for us. And the settler cars whiz by. When we arrive at our destination, we are not permitted inside the station. The settlement is like a street on Long Island - green, with sidewalks and trees and settlers leering and jeering at us.

The last car gets through the checkpoint, as we wait on the bus while some of the women are interrogated and harassed.

At night we were still reeling from the events of the day. Our trainers took us to a restaurant, Al-Barouni, a huge open space with a mesh ceiling to the sky and torch-lined walls. They ordered a feast, which I think came to about $12 a person. It was a surreal juxtaposition — but actually, very much like the contradictions in the way we are living now. Teargas in the morning, filet mignon at night. We were alternately elated and exhausted. Back at the hotel, we got together in Doreen and Stacey’s room talking late into the night about how we each felt about the extraordinary day.

Ramallah is a bustling town. The streets are crowded with Palestinians shopping or strolling. All around Ramallah, the architecture is beautiful. That is, what is left that has not been bombed or bulldozed. The hills and mountains are awesome. Ramallah is quite a little city and must have been a major center of Palestinian life.

Training completed, we strolled through downtown Ramallah to pick up cell phones, to email home, and, of course, to eat falafel and shwarma.

Everyone had trouble at the internet café because the connection kept getting turned off, something Palestinians must constantly put up with. Just as I was about to send my very long email, the connection broke. We found out later in the day that all computer internet connections in the West Bank were down, as a Caterpillar that was destroying olive trees broke some main cables. So, what better to do then go shopping? Stacey and I, however, waited around for the computers to begin working, to no avail.

We all met for lunch and walked around the town, escorted by Faris and Mohammed, They really took care of us. We were so grateful that we invited them to dinner later that evening. Mohammed had to refuse because he had to get home to Qalquilya and to his family. I asked him if his town had resisted the Wall. At first, he explained the Wall was to go up in the west which would have no impact on the town, so the residents did not object. But what they didn’t know was that, at the same time, a barbed fence was being built in the east, dividing their farm land. Now, he informed me, tunnels were being built. They will connect between Palestinian ghettos and they will be the only access for Palestinians. So when completed, Israelis will never have to see Palestinians. Israel will take credit for removing the checkpoints, as they will not be needed if the only roads available to the Palestinians will be underground. I listened in disgust.

We got into two cabs and arrived at the hotel two hours late. Huwaida was furious, but tried to hide it, I believe, because of my presence. Plans had changed and she had wanted to go over them with us before leaving for the demonstration. She dislikes a lack of preparedness and that is a good thing. Of course, we all felt terrible about our tardiness. We had no choice but to leave immediately for the demonstration. On the way, Huwaida informed us that the demonstration we were supposed to attend had been canceled. Instead, we would be going into the big demonstration at the a-Ram Wall. Upon hearing of the change, we pulled out our bandannas and began spritzing them with cider vinegar, our defense against potential tear gas.

We headed for A-ram, crossing together, for the first time, the Kalandia checkpoint.

Traffic was moving slowly and the demonstration was beginning, so we got out of the taxis and began walking into A-Ram. Walking into the town, we passed a wedding limo on one side of the road and a steam shovel on the other side of the road, the incongruity of the occupation. As we got closer to the Wall, we began to hear a marching band. As the Wall came into sight, so did beautiful children marching and playing their instruments. The first thing I noticed was the dichotomy of the cold grey immensity of the slabs of wall serving as background for the fluid and colorful smallness of the children. The musicians were dressed in crisp white uniforms and looked to be about seven years old. As we moved even closer, I got a better view of the lay of the land. To the very left, standing on dirt piles behind the wall slabs, was a large group of soldiers wearing helmets and holding guns. To the right of the Wall were Israeli peace activists banging their hatchets against the Wall in time with the drumbeats from the marching bands below.

The first demonstration of Freedom Summer 2004, in A-ram, began peacefully and festively, with numerous bands drumming and colorful flags flying, uniting the Palestinian, Israeli, and international demonstrators. As all proceeded in front of the concrete slabs of the soon-to-be-constructed wall, the hopefulness of the day was suddenly shattered.

We began walking in rhythm between two of the bands as the drumming and the music got louder. I watched behind me as the drum major threw up his baton and saw the smallest children turn the corner to walk parallel to the wall. Suddenly the soldiers shot tear gas canisters into the crowd below them. A metal barrier had been positioned along the roadside and we were all standing between the large trench in front of the Wall and the barrier in the road. Everyone began running away from the wall, but the wind carrying the tear gas was traveling in the same direction. Our only way out was to keep running into the tear gas.

We ran from the tear gas, but these shebab showed no fear and stood up to the IDF and police.

At first my upper cheeks and the area under my eyes burned. At once, remembering my training, I took a deep breath and held it as long as I could as I ran. I groped for my vinegar-soaked bandana and placed it over my face. People were running hectically and chaotically around me, which kept me moving forward. My eyes were tearing badly and I was unable to actually see where I was going. But I do remember holding tightly to my buddy’s (79 year old Hedy) hand. We were trained to stay with our buddies, and surprisingly, in spite of all the commotion, each of us did.

Up the block we were directed by voices repeatedly yelling, “Come in here!” Instinctively, I turned and ran into a doorway, Hedy in hand. We entered a small indoor shopping arcade, about four or five shops on each side of the center hallway, a stairway in the back of the hallway that led to a second floor. People were crowded in the hallway coughing and choking and shouting, “Don’t touch your eyes!” A shopkeeper opened his door and shouted for us to come inside. The ladies of WCA all made it into this area, which was comforting, and we all proceeded into an air-conditioned shop. The owner and his friend began to spray perfume in the air around each of us, to help us breathe. My throat was burning, but I am proud that I kept my head about me and didn’t panic when I felt as if I was unable to breathe. As the effects of the tear gas lessened, we looked around and were relieved to find that everyone seemed okay.

Huwaida went out every now and then to see what was happening in the streets. A bombardment of tear gas and rubber bullets continued to hurl up the street making it impossible for us to go out. When there was a slight lull in the barrage, we’d regroup and attempt to get up the street towards the Wall. But again and again, the tear gas and bullets filled the air. People from Tayush, an Israeli activist group, were also in our enclave. They kept making the attempt to return to the street with us.

The second floor of the building was set up as a triage area. Teenage Palestinian volunteer medics, mere boys, would run into the street to retrieve and care for people overcome by the tear gas. In the first few minutes, most carried upstairs were pregnant and old women. As the military attack went on, young men who were bleeding began passing us on stretchers in the hallway. The wounds got worse, more and more blood. Suddenly, Red Crescent ambulances pulled up to the area and doctors ran upstairs to carry out the badly wounded. Before the day was over, live bullets were being used.

We continued to regroup, but time and again, the army attacked. We watched in amazement as the shebab, the teenage boys, burned tires and rolled them down the street toward the soldiers, to keep a huge water truck with its powerful hoses from coming up the street toward us.

Huwaida asked us, at one lull, to walk in a line up to the end of the street toward the army, believing the soldiers would cease their attack seeing a line of older ladies. If we got that far, we were to turn right and leave the area. We began hesitantly. Faris walked behind us. Although Eileen was very unnerved at the prospect of heading toward soldiers, we all began walking. Suddenly we heard tear gas being hurled, only to see it land in the wrong place – on top of the military personnel standing to the right of the Wall, far in front of us. All of the demonstrators cheered and laughed. And then the surprise came thundering down. Undercover special forces, dressed as demonstrators, had been cheering and laughing with us, when, suddenly, they let loose sound grenades that shook the earth. The deafening sound stopped our hearts for a moment and then everyone fled in every direction possible. As we were running for shelter, the Special Forces pounced on several Israelis and Palestinian men and boys. One of the attacked was Mohammed, one of the ISM coordinators in Biddu. He was being brutally beaten when Shora, another Biddu ISM coordinator went to his aid, thinking some demonstrators were the attackers. It was when one of the attackers pulled out a handgun and rested it against Shora’s head that she realized the attackers were Israeli undercover Special Forces. She backed off as they dragged Mohammed off to arrest him.

We had, as had everybody else, run into a safe building. The bombs were exceptionally loud and frightening. An Israeli reporter was knocked unconscious when one of the sound bombs landed near his head. In our retreat, Hedy’s right arm began to shake uncontrollably. Joya tried to get her to relax and somewhat succeeded. Hedy confessed, the next morning, that scenes of the violent and aggressive attack by the army against a peaceful demonstration ran through her mind causing her a sleepless night. Ann and Jenny had run into a ribbon store during the final bombardment and spoke candidly with three teenage girls. Ann was able to catch it all on tape.

After the demonstration we went back to the hotel to freshen up. Faris and Raji met us there. They joined us for a wonderful dinner at Albordouni. We had a very informative and interesting conversation with Faris about the student political movement.

It was a long, exhausting day in which I ran the gamut of emotions: seeing the worst of the army and the Israeli government’s actions and enjoying the best of Palestinian friendship.

The ISM trained us in non-violent direct action tactics and prepared us for all that we might face from the Israeli military.

Huwaida returned from her very busy day to explain our mission for the opening day of Freedom Summer 2004. We would demonstrate at the Wall in Qalandia. We would wear a number on our chests with the name of a town where the Wall was already constructed. And we would carry signs.

Our training ended late, after which we had a meeting to discuss the next day’s Freedom Summer action, and to process all that we had learned. We went to sleep a little nervous, but secure because we would be demonstrating on one side of the checkpoint, far from the big action on the other side, where there would most likely be an Israeli military presence.

We had role plays, weapons identification, and the works. Exhausting and frightening, too, although our trainers (”our boys”) were so direct and fearless. The Brooklyn contingent arrived - Doreen, Stacey, and Carol, from Amsterdam. It was so exciting to see them - seemed so long since we were last together; very emotional. After the last of the training, in weapons protection, we were all so wired, we just milled around outside the hotel before going to bed. Our first action is coming up! Very nervous! Now I know how Jeremy Hardy felt!

Walking through the narrow alleys, as people on mules and horses cross our path, instantly immerses us in the history and culture of this land. The merchants in the doorways imploring us to “take a look! No charge!”, the Arab shops filled with hideous t-shirts extolling the IOF, teenage Israeli soldiers in packs pressing through ancient corridors en route to the Jewish quarter, so “modern and western”, establish the scene. The reverie is destroyed by the constant army vehicles and their noisy and arrogant intrusion.

We go to the New Gate. The Old City is encircled by a stone wall with numerous gates like Bab Jdid. We take a van to Ramallah to our next hotel, the Retno. Unlike the quiet dignity of Knights Palace, where our room was comfortable and welcoming, Retno is newer with a few Palestinian families. Knights Palace had its share of travelers, some Christian groups, other peace groups from Europe. At Retno we pretty much take over the hotel. This was our first time going through a checkpoint -all rubble and sand - vans can’t travel through, so we have to pay, get out, drag the baggage over the roadblock and find another van to take us to Ramallah. This is Qalandia, considered a site of much violence.

Carol and I boarded the shuttle bus. The bus was to leave for the airport at 6am, and at 5:58 am, Stacey jumped on the bus and rather excitedly said, “We have trouble.” It seemed we were being charged 120ED for the phone calls we’d made. This would mean paying two charges for the same calls: one to the hotel and one to Net-to-Phone. “What should I do?” Stacey asked, thoroughly perplexed. “Pay it and let’s go. We’ll deal with it when you get your statement” I said. “We’ll miss our flight.” As she ran back into the hotel, I pleaded with the bus driver to wait. As Stacey sat down on the bus, the three of us started to laugh. “Only ‘X’ amount of things can go wrong on one trip,” I announced,” and we’ve about used them up.” Wishful thinking!!

As we approached the airport, Stacey made the decision that she would take all of our tickets and boarding passes and run ahead onto the KLM check-in line, while Carol and I would take the luggage and follow along more slowly. So Carol and I walked into the airport and proceeded to the departure section (where we’d been the day before.) We took the elevator upstairs to the KLM check-in section where there were already very long lines. We walked up and down the aisles, but there was no sign of Stacey. Carol got on line and I began running around the airport looking for Stacey and our tickets. Unable to find her, I asked someone at the assistance desk to page her. She, in the meantime, had gone directly to the gate demarked on our boarding passes and was worriedly waiting for us. As she approached the assistance desk to have our names announced, she heard her own name. Moments before we were to reach the check-in counter, Stacey came running up with the tickets and boarding passes. Whew!

Check-in went smoothly and our plane left a bit early and got us into Vienna ahead of schedule. Since our luggage was tagged for Tel Aviv, we had an easier time walking across the airport to what we had expected to be an Austrian airline ticket counter. To our surprise, we saw an El-Al security officer greeting all of the passengers. We were questioned, (”Do you go to synagogue in Brooklyn? Where are you staying in Israel? Do Americans know of our problem?”) ticketed, and taken to identify and search our own luggage to assure the security people that no one had slipped a bomb into our bags. We assumed that El-Al security checked all flights headed to Israel.

Fifteen minutes later, we boarded our Austrian Air flight, only to find that the airline we were flying was El Al. We almost lost our breath. We had been told to avoid El Al flights because of their heightened security checks. And we had walked right onto the flight unaware. Actually, the flight was quite good…comfortable, courteous, and the food was great. I really was relaxed during the flight. A rigorous search was guaranteed, so why sweat it?

After landing, we followed the crowd and got on line for customs. We gave our passports to the inspector, told her we were traveling around Israel with no definite plans, and that was that. We stopped at the ATM to get cash, collected our luggage and walked out of the airport. It had been a breeze. We couldn’t believe it. Stacey had been worried about carrying in all of the WCA hats for naught.

We tried calling Huwaida from the encoded numbers Stacey had stored in her phone (again because we had expected to be thoroughly searched.) Of course, no number worked. So we called the Knights Palace, a number we successfully decoded. The manager tried calling Huwaida for us, but he was unsuccessful. So we made a decision to take a minivan to the New Gate in Jerusalem and go directly to the Knight’s Palace. We knew the group was already in Ramallah, but we’d hoped to find some ISMers at the Knight’s Palace who could lead us to Ramallah. If not, at least we’d get more cash, buy our telephones, and take a van to Qalandia checkpoint and a taxi to the Retno Hotel to meet up with the group and the training.

As with all vans in the region, we shared our ride with a young woman, a married couple and a single man. I sat in the front with the driver, and Carol and Stacey sat behind me with the young woman, and behind them were the other three people. The driver kept talking to me, pointing out sites of battles of the six day wars, praising the Israeli army and its heroes, bitterly berating the Arabs who killed them. He, of course, assumed I was an Israeli tourist.

I listened every now and then to the woman who was talking with Carol and Stacey. She was from Spain and was a reporter and she began talking about the plight of the Palestinians. Though Stacey and Carol didn’t give themselves away, they listened intently.

First off was the married couple. Next was the young woman. Before she left, she gave us her card and we suggested that we might get together for dinner with her in East Jerusalem. When she exited the van, the man sitting in the back began to speak. He said, “You shouldn’t believe everything she said. And be very careful when you walk around East Jerusalem. If the Arabs know you are Jewish, they will harm you.” We politely thanked him for his advice and gave each other a good long stare when he left the van. Okay, we were in the heart of it.

We stopped in at the Knights’ Palace, and unable to get in touch with Huwaida or to find any other ISMers, we headed out. The ATM wouldn’t accept my card, so Stacey took out money for me. Then we headed, by foot, dragging our luggage, up and down the Old City streets, to a telephone store….sort of. Had we gone a little further, we’d have found the Orange kiosk we were told to go to for phones. But we didn’t. However, the owner of the shop we stopped at was very nice and helpful. Carol and I got phones, SIM cards, and 75 shekel phone cards that cost us a total of 375 shekel each. Stacey got a SIM card and 75 shekel phone card as well.

We proceeded around the corner and up the block, luggage in tow, to a van to Qalandia. We rode in a servisse filled with Palestinians and paid 3½ shekel a piece. On the way we passed pieces of the Wall waiting to be erected. Eerie! By the time we arrived at Qalandia checkpoint it was dark. Following directions Huwaida had emailed to us before we’d left the states, we began to seek out a taxi that would take us, for no more than 20 shekels, to the Retno Hotel in Ramallah. But we had no chance to do the seeking. We were assaulted by drivers desperate for the fare asking, “Where to go?” None seemed to recognize the name of our hotel. They chanted prices at us, but even at the right price we hesitated, fearing the drivers would get lost.

One particular teenager with the cutest smile and a twinkle in his eye kept imploring us to follow him. Whatever we said, he listened to and answered that which would persuade us to take his friend’s taxi. He got his friend to pull his taxi directly in front of us. As this was going on, Stacey called Huwaida for help. The barrage of drivers vying for our business was overwhelming. Impish Mohammed’s clever maneuvering and unending persistence paid off for him. His friend’s positioning his taxi in front of us made it inevitable that Stacey would hand the phone to him to get directions from and negotiate a price with Huwaida. Settled!! Mohammed and Mohammed drove us to the Retno.

On the ride to our hotel, the driver, Mohammed, talked about the hopelessness he felt, about his anger with Arafat and Sharon, with his belief that no one cares or can help - a first taste, for us, of one of the many Palestinian points of view.

As we entered the Retno (I cannot remember now who was in the lobby, but I do remember that it was crowded) I asked where the women of WCA were and was pointed to a room straight ahead. I opened the door and there was the group. Everyone started screaming and running toward us…hugs and tears. It felt so good to be with everyone at last. It felt like coming home – in the middle of Ramallah. I realized at that moment how much I had come to love these women.

We had arrived during a ten minute training break, and almost immediately, training was about to resume. As I searched for a seat, Huwaida walked into the room. She looked wonderful. At once, my emotions ran the gamut: I was thrilled to be in Ramallah with Huwaida and was suddenly flushed with a feeling of sadness that Adam was not with us. In my heart and head, I’d believed I would come to Palestine only when Adam would be back here. When earlier in the week he had told me that he was going to try to get in and be there while I was there, I was elated. I kept this feeling to myself because I knew the possibility that he would be denied entry. The overwhelming sadness I felt at his being turned away hit me then. And just at that moment, Adam called on my cell phone and his voice revealed his immense sadness. It is my intent to keep Adam in my head and heart with everything I do and see here, to recall all of the emails he had written to me when he lived and worked in the West Bank and to try to see what he had so eloquently described. This became a conscious decision the minute our phone conversation ended.

It’s late and we’re getting tired, but we try to concentrate on the history lesson that we are being given.

I returned to the training room and began to orientate myself with the routine. Stacey stepped out and when she returned, she told me that Huwaida informed her that our rooms had mistakenly been given to other people and that, of the group, three people would have to sleep at the slightly more expensive Best Eastern Hotel down the road. Stacey had suggested to Huwaida that it be us since we had just arrived. So, at training’s end, Carol, Stacey and I went with Huwiada and Faris (one of our trainers) to check in at the Best Eastern. It was 11pm, and Huwaida, Faris and Mohamed (another trainer) then took Carol, Stacey, me, Gail, Judy, Annie and Susan to an ATM machine and for dinner at the Stones. We ate and the others had light bites and some alcoholic beverages. Stones is a Christian restaurant, so drinks were served. Down the road people were dancing in the street – a groom’s party. The music and the dance brought Adam to my mind.