Day 4: Doreen's Diary

Today was the opening day of Freedom Summer 2004. We had planned at last night’s meeting to leave the hotel by 9:30 to go into central Ramallah to find an internet café, to buy phones, and to pick up a lunch of falafel and shwarma. We knew we had to be back by 12 to make our signs. We headed into town in two taxis with Faris and Mohammed.

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.

Day 3: Doreen's Diary

Today was a full day of training; intensive, informing, and empowering. Faris, Mohammed and Raji are adorable, well-informed, intelligent and dedicated young men who did a fabulous job training us. We certainly were a challenging group and they handled us superbly. We were consistently throwing things off schedule because of all of our questions. We role played, learned about weapons and soldiers and arrest procedures, a great deal to absorb and process. Their senses of humor kept us on course and prevented any of us from freaking out with fear.

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.

Day 3: Anni's Diary

Training took place about 12 hours for 2 days in the Meeting Room of the Retno with three beautiful young Palestinian men. Here they were, confronted with 13 women, some of whom could be their grandmothers, and a noisier, more serious group we couldn’t be. We started with one, slim, intense, with raccoon eyes, and beret. He was joined later by a second, larger, with a doughboy body and wire-rimmed glasses. He ran a tight ship, a stern (but loving) teacher with a class of unruly 7 year olds. It was wonderful. Ghasson Andoni, founder of ISM, gave a history of the region and conflict; it was terrific (and I didn’t tape it!).

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!

Day 2: Anni's Diary

Before going to training in Ramallah, we ventured out to roam the Christian and Arab quarters a bit, the bazaar area where there are no obvious tourists. Shopkeepers who have always hawked their wares now plead with the tourist, using their plight as manipulation to buy: “We are starving, the Occupation is destroying us, you must buy a lot to help us” (I didn’t). This was one area where it would have been easier if Jenny had not been with me. She does not like bargaining, and insisted on paying asking price in order to support the merchants. She was very uncomfortable if I began to bargain, so I didn’t and didn’t buy anything. So much was Iranian! All the pottery that I couldn’t find in Iran was here – very little was made in Palestine, but as in Iran, is passed off as local. We felt immediately comfortable in East Jerusalem, but merely crossing the street into the West sent chills through us: immediate tension, hardness, coldness, rudeness.

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.

Day 2: Doreen's Diary

We set our alarms for 4:45 a.m., showered, dressed and went downstairs, a bit unhappy to leave the luxurious large bath towels, the heated bathroom floor and mirror, and the fabulous beds and coverlets. Stacey went to check us out thinking Carol might have ordered a Pay-Per-view movie (as she’d said she might last night.) If not, there should have been no charges.

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.

Day 1: Anni's Diary

It is easier to fly, as Ahmad is home safe; I feel that if something happened, he will be with the boys, so I am unusually relaxed about the travel. Flight to Amsterdam is uneventful, and Jenny and I study our Arabic. We had a 5 hour layover, so we went into Amsterdam Central for lunch. Doreen, Stacey, and Carol flew to Amsterdam earlier, to visit Carol’s daughter Mindy.

Jenny, Eileen, Susan, Jan, Ayesha, and Gail and I went to town in a huge rainstorm, while Judy and Joya went separately. Not a good start. It was Jan’s 50th birthday. We had lunch and stopped at a Food and Weed cafe, where the others shared a very large and legal joint. I didn’t, as I recall that getting stoned made me very sleepy and I wanted to be alert for the second leg.

Back at the airport, the whole tone changed. Security, obviously Israeli-trained, accosted us in line, interrogated and frisked Judy. What had been exciting and positive turned suddenly to fear, suspicion and threat. We watched as an elderly Hebrew-speaking couple was interrogated and the wheelchair-confined woman was taken into a freestanding frosted glass cell in the lounge area, and apparently strip-searched, as she screamed. (Is this a harbinger of what is in store?)

Arrived at Ben Gurion Airport at about 1:30 AM. It was very busy; there were numerous “checkpoints” inside the airport. I felt extremely anxious after having had NY training by Jack and Elena and Lysander re: BG interrogations. But we got past customs, just ahead of Gail. Eileen and Susan, who had come as a group with Gail, waited near an ATM machine. We waited there for about 1/2 hour, finally realizing that Gail had been intercepted by security, and decided to get out of the airport as quickly as possible. It was a maze of aisles, and somewhere near the exit, Eileen and Susan vanished. Jenny and I rushed outside where Judy and Joya were standing, near the shared vans. At about 3: 30, we decided to go to East Jerusalem and wait for Gail – to the Knights Palace – at least there was a telephone there. It took about 1/2 hour – 40 minutes, but it was a poignant introduction to Jerusalem. As we walked through silent ancient streets, many seemed an arm span’s width – stone buildings, stone walls, stone cobbles, stone stones, it felt dreamlike, except for the Israeli driver and some Orthodox passengers going to West Jerusalem.

Knights Palace: a lovely centuries-old building that appears to be a former Greek Orthodox monastery. Oil paintings of knights and religious figures, armor fill the hallways. Downstairs is a beautiful plant-lined courtyard with tables for the breakfast buffet each morning. The staff, acquainted with ISM, stayed up all night and let us in. Eileen and Susan arrived at 5 am and Gail showed up close to 7. At the airport, Eileen and Susan had stopped to use the bathroom and when they came out, security was waiting for them and spoke to them by name, as part of Gail’s group, and interrogated them about Gail, who was being treated harshly and accused of – who knows what? When she arrived, she was undaunted but ultimately shaken by the accusations and threats: “We are watching you – we know where you go, who you are with…” We also leaned that the other Ann, who had arrived earlier, had been grabbed and was in prison. She was bombarded with similar accusations, told she was being deported; she refused and was jailed. She was to be our videographer. I had her backup camera, a little Sony DV Handycam. So I guess I am doing some video.

Day 1: Doreen's Diary

Today was the day. After three wonderful days in Eindhoven visiting Carol’s children, Stacey, Carol and I were ready for our adventure to begin. We woke about 9am. After showering, we had breakfast, piled into the car, and headed for the center of town: I, to look for shoes, since my dependable Merrill’s were killing me; Carol, to look for a portable seat. No shoes for me, but success for Carol. We had thought of getting to the airport really early, to meet the rest of the group who were arriving at the airport from New York at 3pm. But we decided that taking care of this shopping was important. It was a day of on and off rainstorms. Carol’s daughter had called the City Chopper (KLM) several times to see if there were any delays. Twice she was told “No.” So we leisurely packed and headed for the City chopper airport.

Upon entering the small airport, we saw a posting that our flight to Amsterdam was delayed from 5:30 to 7:15… so much for the reassurances given over the phone. We began to regret not having stuck to our original plan to meet the other WCAers at 3pm. As the 7:15 flight was out of the question, the ticket agent gave us free first-class tickets for the train to the airport, checked in our luggage and gave us boarding passes for our Tel Aviv flight. All we had to do when we got to the airport, we were assured, was to drop off our luggage and board. Hurriedly, we were driven to the train station, and we boarded the train a few minutes behind schedule.

The trip took 1½ hours, getting us into the airport at 6:50. We rushed to the “Drop-Off Luggage Here” area, only to find out that we were too late to check luggage or get onto the flight. The security check would take t-o-o-o-o long. Stacey and I were TRULY UPSET, REALLY UPSET, TRULY UPSET!!! Carol, though disappointed, remained calm and unruffled. After speaking to supervisors and the like, the KLM answer was still “NO GO.” We were directed to KLM ticketing.

An unflustered Carol negotiated with the ticket agent. First option was the same flight tomorrow: no good, as we would totally miss the training sessions. Next option, to Bucharest, but that flight was totally booked. Finally, a flight via Vienna early the following morning. Tickets were printed, boarding passes given and we headed downstairs to get our hotel vouchers. “Weather delays do not entitle you to a free room,” we were told by a kindly ticket agent. But either because we looked pretty or pooped or pissed, he gave us the vouchers to two rooms in a brand new Sofitel. We boarded the appropriate bus, still very upset. However, as soon as we entered the beautiful lobby of the Sofitel, we relinquished our fury. We checked in, got into our rooms, and “oohed” and “aahed.” Luxurious and cleverly designed, every bit of anger and disappointment was soothed out of our weary bodies.

Our first task was to go down to the free buffet dinner for all of “The Stranded.” It was 9:15 and we were informed that dinner ended at 10. We were entitled to a delicious tomato soup, appetizers of a variety of scrumptious fish and one glass of wine. We were happy to pay for two more glasses of wine each.

Full and fatigued, we retired to our rooms to call our husbands and the children and get them up to date. We called the Knights Palace Hotel to leave a message for the women that we were detained. We used Stacey’s Net-to-Phone account for all of our calls.

Carol went next door and Stacey and I went to sleep after going on and on about the gorgeous place we were in – some good out of a little bad luck.

After a late night arrival, ten of us were in Jerusalem waiting for a servisse to Ramallah. Three other WCAer’s were in transit from Amsterdam, and one was being held resisting deportation.