Fundraising by Nicole

beneath the roots of our land.

But I shall grow into an olive tree,

a stubborn, unshakable witness.

Fadwa Tuqan, "Silent Prayer" (1967)

In the face of the systematic destruction of a people, indignation is no longer enough.

Tears-as Fadwa Tuqan writes-are already in the ground.

It is necessary to transform indignation into something alive: into support, into presence, into alliance.

For more than two decades, Operation Dove, the Nonviolent Peace Corps of the Pope John XXIII Community, has been confronting the violence that marks a place where rights are trampled every day. It does so by living alongside Palestinian families, accompanying them to school, to work, to the fields. Walking among the rubble of destroyed homes, among uprooted olive trees, alongside childrenə who already know the face of fear: the fear of losing their homes, their schools, of being subjected to sudden attacks by armed Israeli settlers. In Masafer Yatta, in the southern West Bank, people live in a permanent state of exception, where time is suspended and normality fragile.

The doves do not shout, they do not shoot, they do not impose.

They stay. They listen. And they bear witness.

They carry a discreet and human presence, listening, protecting and shielding themselves from violence with their bodies, voices and the ever-present cameras under their arms.

Next to the shepherds of Jawaya, with sunburnt faces, fast and tireless.

Next to Aisha and her brother Tarek, in their small house in Tuba village, under an immense sky.

Next to the Benets in the shop, unfailingly elegant and kind.

Next to H., to Sami, to Ali.

Attack after attack, demolition after demolition, on nights when the cold burns your hands and days when the sun beats down on your head until you're dizzy, the doves are there: tireless witnesses, tenacious, stubborn.

I have seen all of this.

I have seen At-Tuwani from the lookout, in the early hours of the day.

I have slept in the uncomfortable beds of isolated villages, right under the eyes of (illegal) Israeli outposts.

I looked into the faces of armed settlers, police, army.

I have experienced with Palestinians the Israeli military occupation, and shared its fears, anger, humiliation.

But I also shared many iftars, eating until I was sick.

I listened to tales of love, of friendship, of times when - in Palestine - you could still "get" strawberries from the colonies.

I felt the sun warm my face as a little girl in Mufaqqara put fresh flowers in my hair gathered in a braid, calling me amira, princess.

I washed and changed two beautiful newborn twins, in the village of Umm Dorit, by the warmth of the fireplace, drinking the inevitable sweetened tea.

Because in spite of everything, life goes on, and existing becomes Resisting.

To be there thus becomes a political and human choice.

In a world where we turn away, doves approach.

I cannot be there today, but I can be there like this, with a donation that supports this choice. An uncomfortable, lucid, courageous choice: nonviolence .

Donate with me.