Supporter: Seth Rue

Voting in the first round of elections for the Youth Shadow Council in Qaa. Photo: Mercy Corps

Crowds outside the polling place in Qaa. Photo: Mercy Corps

Earlier this year 800 people in a small village in northern Lebanon went to the polls. Like people across Lebanon, many in the village of Qaa had never voted before in their lives, mostly because they’d been disillusioned with tales of corruption, inefficiency and greed in politics.

But this vote was different. Instead of old men, stuffy speeches and broken promises, the vote was for a new council of youth. The candidates were young people from 17 to 35 who want to make a change and have their say in how their community is run, and everyone — young and old — came out to vote.

The special new Youth Shadow Council in Qaa is one of 15 Mercy Corps is setting up around Lebanon as part of our work with the Lebanese Transparency Association.

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A sunset view of Jerusalem's Old City — with the gold-topped Dome of the Rock near the left center of the photo — from Mercy Corps' office on the Mount of Olives. Photo: Seth Rue for Mercy Corps

Mercy Corps' offices in Jerusalem rest at the very top of the Mount of Olives, in a grove of olive trees that are hundreds of years old. Looking to the west, you can see all of the Old City and beyond and, at dusk, the sky is flooded with vibrant oranges and deep purples. The Dome of the Rock, in that light, seems to glow quietly from within.

When you enter the Mercy Corps office, you're greeted by a huge painted tile mural of an olive tree and a message below that reads, "Dedicated to Landrum Bolling — In recognition of a lifetime of work on behalf of peace and justice for the people of Palestine." It's a building filled with natural light that seems to pour in from every facade.

I was excited to finally meet the people I'd communicated with over the previous ten months, putting faces to email tone and style. That way, the next time I received a last-minute request for an executive's signature on an agreement or for a review and edit of a 70-page report to be submitted six hours later, I could picture — in vivid detail — the target of that day's silent grumpiness. Unfortunately, the staff were all charming and quite friendly, which made it frustratingly difficult to even set aside a bit of grumpiness for the future.

I settled in quickly and got right to work. My first task was to assist in the coordination of a major conference during which the aforementioned 70-page report would be presented. In the West Bank, Mercy Corps has been making use of funding from the United Kingdom and the European Community to spur development in the Palestinian information and communications technology (ICT) sector. The "Investing in Peace" program helps to stimulate economic growth in Palestine by facilitating partnerships between Palestinian ICT companies and those across borders.

In preparation for the event, I was able to travel into the West Bank — for the first time — to the city of Ramallah. I found there some relief from the weight of the tension I felt between people in Jerusalem. Edges softened and defensiveness eased. I met enthusiastic IT executives and entrepreneurs, undeniable cutting-edge experts in their field, eager to engage in new partnerships with other companies. The spirit at the conference was surprising for me. There are so many external factors that have acted as impediments to the growth of the Palestinian ICT sector in the West Bank and Gaza, yet the people in attendance were anything but resigned to that. The questions they asked were challenging and rooted in optimism, and the responses — honest and direct — only affirmed their hope.

This was the first time I'd met any of our "beneficiaries" or actually seen where your donations go. Sometimes, at headquarters, it's hard for me to understand how the support of a generous public and the work of our dedicated staff end up actually helping anyone in need when all I see are numbers, statistics and stories about strangers.

On this day, something in my head clicked. Our "beneficiaries" have names and faces and pasts and futures on their own, and we're not responsible for any of that. What we are responsible for is listening to them when they teach us how to help them level the playing field.

Whatever injustice it is that has prevented them from being able to live in security or contribute productively to their communities, they've already identified and made steps to address. We can only offer certain resources and experience in similar situations and ask if they might be a good fit in moving forward.

I realized then that we're all the beneficiaries. But the IT executives here, the fishermen in Gaza, the young women applying for university in Iraq — they're our mentors.

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I must admit, I found it a bit disappointing that I'd passed so easily through the infamous Ben Gurion International Airport passport control. After I picked up my bag I didn't really know what to do with myself — the flight had arrived early, and I wasn't being held up for questioning. I had some waiting to do until my ride would arrive. I spoke to one of the Palestinian men on the flight after we'd retrieved our luggage — a warm and soft-spoken man who made my first real interaction in Israel a reassuring one.

I found the cab ride to the guest house where I'd be staying more difficult. Up until this point, I'd only read about "the wall" that partitioned the areas around Jerusalem, separating Arabs and Jews, Arabs and Arabs, and Arabs and their livelihoods. A tunnel was built under the new highway that "Arab Israelis" can use to access their fields, transportation or families and friends. The tunnel is open for at least 20 minutes, at least once a day, so as long as one's business isn't at all time-sensitive or enduring, this set up is accommodating.

The driver described all this in detail with barely a hint of resentment, but only continued to reinforce his hope that one day Jews and Arabs could live in peace, once again, with one another. I don't think it was that his anger had finally retreated over the years into resignation and hopelessness, but that his optimism was simply more powerful. "It is our self-serving leaders that create these problems," he said. I sensed that he referred to people and problems on a greater scale than just those that he lives amidst.

As we approached The Old City, I tried to picture all that had happened there, and all those that died to defend it or conquer it. I imagined Salah ad-Din and his scores of cavaliers holding patiently outside the city gates, waiting for word of surrender from the Crusaders that never came. Then I imagined the ensuing carnage, and the blood that stained the earth, then the stones that were laid atop that earth as the city was rebuilt — again and again.

We climbed the Mount of Olives, just east of The Old City; Mustafa, the driver, deftly weaved through the crowds of tourists who crossed the street anywhere but at the crosswalks, the parked cars and buses taking up much of the driving lanes, and the young boys selling their window washing services. We passed the Church of all Nations and the Garden of Gethsemane. As we went further into East Jerusalem, faces turned more to shades of olive and brown. Garbage began to crowd the streets and sidewalks. Smells were stronger and more offensive here. This place was no one's priority.

We slowed in front of a four-story building surrounded by a high gate. I thanked Mustafa and greeted the children playing beside the car. Dust made the air feel thick, but the pure, youthful tone of al Aqsa's muezzin, reminding of maghrib prayers, carried easily. I opened the gate, picked up my bags and entered.

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I really didn't plan my first trip to Israel and Palestine to coincide with the publication of National Geographic's special issue on The Holy Land —honest, I didn't. But when I saw it sitting on the shelf at the airport bookstore yesterday morning as I made my way to my departure gate at Portland International Airport, I couldn't help but think it was some sort of sign. I picked up a copy and headed to Gate D7 to try to get in a short nap after a restless night of last-minute laundry and packing.

(Note: Procrastinating with such things is —contrary to popular opinion — an ideal, not only maximizing the freshness of the apparel, but more importantly, when asked at check-in whether your luggage has been out of your control since packing, you can more assuredly respond in the negative.)

After boarding the plane and taking off, I spent the majority of the five-hour flight to New York's JFK airport trying to sleep, and trying not to think of all the things I'd forgotten to pack. I failed at both. I considered starting my blog, as I'd been commanded to do by the Web Team before leaving headquarters. Then, in a wave of inspiration, I considered not doing it and, finding comfort in that option, continued my quest for rest.

After a sleepless flight and a six-hour layover in JFK, I began to really ponder the adventure I was taking. Where was I going and in what light should I consider that place? Was I going to "the Holy Land," or a site of significant humanitarian need where Mercy Corps was offering assistance? Was I going to a place of the utmost historical and religious relevance for billions, or one of seemingly endless frustration and heartbreak? How could I contribute the most value to our offices, programs and partners, while also being completely indulgent in the experience?

In answering these questions, I remembered my cab ride to the airport that morning. The driver knocked on my door at 4:17 a.m. and greeted me, "Radio Cab." He was a man of about 60 years who walked slowly and with labor. He had hearing aids and his hair indicated that he was nearing the end of a long shift. He casually asked where I was headed and I responded, "To Israel, for work."

The rest of the ride felt like a classroom to me, only it was exciting and only cost 20 bucks. The driver, whose name was Paul, shared his understanding of the regional context, his personal and religious views, and deep compassion and respect for "all those Palestinians using non-violence to engage with Israelis and with the world." He spoke with an utter lack of judgment, from a perspective of faith and with unbridled optimism. His example, I thought, would be the point from which I would begin to respond to my own questions.

As I boarded the 767 at JFK that would, God willing, carry me to Tel Aviv, I looked around at my flight companions. Many were Christian Americans traveling in smallish groups, eager to see the land where Jesus walked and preached. There were other tourists and some Israelis returning home. I counted three Palestinians. I tried to divine the purposes of the Israelis and Palestinians in New York, imagining that they were visiting family, or on important business trips. One man, reading from a Bible, excitedly told a listener about the works of Dorcas of Jaffa, and the beauty of the ancient city on the Mediterranean. I wondered if I would be able to see Jaffa. I wondered if I would sense the mystique of the Old City. Would I be able to pray in Al Aqsa? When I was much younger, I knew an Israeli girl named Moriah. I remembered thinking that everything about her was beautiful. If I met her in Israel, would I think the same?

Thanks to a charming row-mate from Russia, I arrived in Tel Aviv after what seemed like far less than 11 hours, and with still no rest, whatsoever. Standing in the lines at passport control — rather, teetering in my haze of fatigue in the lines at passport control — I realized I hadn't settled on my explanation for my visit.

Too much or too little information offered can be a red flag here. I wasn't doing anything wrong, but I knew that the wrong response, or a poorly-timed blink could result in a three-hour interrogation and search. My nerves began to build, starting in my stomach then swirling to my head. I pursed my lips tightly as I watched the woman ahead of me being escorted to the interrogation area. I tried to approach the booth casually, rehearsing my blurb in my head one last time.

Though I knew exactly what I'd be asked, I was caught off-guard when I finally heard, "What's the reason for your visit to Israel?"

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