sumud, or resilience
back in the states
Along the concrete separation wall near Bethlehem, there are signs that tell stories of sumud, which means steadfast perseverance—endurance. It’s a word that’s come to describe the life of the West Bank Palestinians under occupation.
Sumud means watering olive trees faithfully, even though the owners are separated from their trees by 26-foot-high concrete walls, military bases, barbed wires, or soldiers with machine guns.
Sumud means the small market that has popped up by the checkpoint—the coffee vendor who greets the men leaving for work at 4 am or coming back at 2pm. The breakfast peddlers, the shoe sellers. Meeting the prison-like bleakness of the wall with joy and opportunity.
When I think of sumud or resilience, I will always think of the final performance of the children’s summer camp program at Wi’am.
Wi’am should be located in the shadow of Rachel’s Tomb—a mosque built over the place where Jacob is said to have buried his beloved wife Rachel near Bethlehem (Genesis 35:19)—but instead is located in the shadow of a watchtower in the wall that overlooks Wi’am and Aida refugee camp behind it.
“Camp” may make you think of tents, but the Palestinian refugee camps in Jenin and Bethlehem are made of houses like any other neighborhood, suspended in homes away from home. Article 13(2) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights grants refugees displaced by war and violence the right to return to their homes. Resolution 194 of the United Nations, resolved on December 11, 1948, states that Palestinian refugees:
“wishing to return to their homes and live at peace with their neighbours should be permitted to do so at the earliest practicable date, and that compensation should be paid for the property of those choosing not to return and for loss of or damage to property which, under principles of international law or equity, should be made good by the Governments or authorities responsible.”
And so the refugees in Aida camp, and their children and grandchildren hold onto their keys, waiting for the day they can return to their homes that are no longer there or are now unrecognizable.
But, in the garden of Wi’am, under a makeshift stage, the children of the summer camp perform A Ram Sam Sam, which has been a preschool staple for long before I sang it (with the exact same hand motions) in my Lutheran preschool in Minnesota an unspecified number of years ago. A young man shows off his artwork (featuring Pikachu). A young girl sings a Fairuz ballad. There’s a teenager taking the oud for a spin, and the old man behind me sings the lyrics for the tune. There’s a lot of “bravos” of proud parents and laughing parents, and a lot of joy.
That Friday morning is one of my favorite memories. We have so much (understandable) despair over the conditions of the world we are bringing children into. But children themselves teach us a proper disposition toward the world—joy. And hope. And perhaps the courage to act on that hope to change this world, for them, for the better.
Miscellanea
Great piece on Maurin Academy, a project of John Paul II Catholic Worker farmers Spencer and Emily, which I featured in The Nation this spring.
Catholic Artist Connection
I have been involved with Catholic Artist Connection since 2018, when I became the newsletter editor and employee #1 (for a while, the only employee). Cole Matson, the founder, asked me to take on the role of executive director in 2021, and I foolishly said yes. Two years later, Emily Schmitt has taken the reigns and led the CAC in a wonderful, energetic, fresh new direction. We’re doing some great work on creating art for the Synod on Synodality, forming creative folks in synodality and fostering art that can express this often-confusing word in non-propositional and more imaginative language.
If you’re able to give to the organization as a monthly donor (I donate a small “tithe” of $5 a month), feel free to donate here.