Dear Dali,

I am at my parents' house. It is winter. Snow is falling outside, and I have to keep the fire going in the stove to stay warm.

For now, I don’t feel like going anywhere else. I feel that it is a time for inner journeys, and that’s why I will soon be serving during a Vipassana retreat in Poland. Until then, I only dream of dressing in pink and writing. Some friends who have known me long enough will laugh. Because it has always been obvious that I like pink clothes, but I observe in myself that the need to dress in pink is even more pronounced since I returned from Palestine.

Palestine was my dream destination, probably since I learned how quickly this country is disappearing from the world map. I wanted to go there and experience it while I still could. It was on my wish list. My great dream since my youth, but it has only now come true. I feel like I had to go there at the end of some personal journey, and I will tell you why I feel this way.

As you know, I care for people living with dementia, bringing them into a mental state of "Home" in moments of their confusion. When I was employed full-time, I worked for two weeks, and then had the rest of the month off. Plus, once a year, I was entitled to a six-week paid vacation. This meant that I had a lot of free time, and I spent the last few years traveling. I have been to many countries: Jamaica, Cuba, Mexico, Bahrain, Morocco, Egypt, Turkey, Guatemala… I also traveled to most countries in Europe.

“Oh! So you certainly love to travel.” I usually hear this from people.

The thing is, I actually don’t. I didn’t want to travel so much, to be a globetrotter, or anything like that. Ever since I can remember, I dreamed of flying, but it was supposed to be on a flying carpet, not some ordinary means of transport. I liked the idea of being safe, comfortably wrapped up, and just observing the world from above. Traveling by plane, ship, car, and bus doesn’t quite match that. And yet, I have traveled like that many times.

Three years ago, for example, I was in India, although going to that country was not my dream. It was my friends who dreamed of a holiday trip to India, and they managed to drag me along, even though it was not at the top of my travel wish list.

Just as they wanted to see India, I knew that Palestine was meant for me. Deep down, I felt that this was a place I wanted to reach.

The country is under occupation, and visiting it is not the easiest. Moreover, I wanted to go for the olive harvest, which takes place once a year, with Zaytoun – a company that supports Palestinian farmers. Last year, I didn’t manage to join such a trip, so instead, I went to Nicaragua.

This year, as soon as I earned some money, I thought, “Now I will go to the land flowing with milk and honey.” I knew that October and November is the harvest time there. I signed up for Zaytoun's newsletter and received information that they still had spots available this year. Everything was coming together wonderfully. Exactly during the tour in Palestine, I had three weeks off from my autumn job.

Zaytoun is a British company founded to support Palestinian farmers through fair trade and farm assistance. They import organic products from Palestine to the UK. When I lived in England, I bought herbs and dates from Zaytoun, supporting with my money the flow of energy that I believe is worth fueling with my funds.

Apart from me, there were seven participants on the Harvest Tour 2017. I considered us quite an interesting mix of people. A lovely couple in their eighties, a writer, a truck driver, a former architect, a garden designer, a photographer, and me, as it turned out, the youngest participant. I really enjoyed our time together. I felt comfortable and safe.

Some of us were rich in material goods, some in life experiences, some in creativity, and some in Spirit. I spent a wonderful week exchanging ideas and sharing time with strangers I met during the trip with Zaytoun.

I had two wishes regarding my stay in Palestine. First, I wanted to spend money in a way that would benefit Palestinian families from my visit. This means I wanted to eat and sleep with local entrepreneurs.

Secondly, I wanted to be myself there. I dreamed of sleeping on a roof under the stars and swimming naked in the sea, without having to be a tourist on an Israeli nudist beach. My first wish was fulfilled immediately. During the olive harvest, we were taken to places owned by Palestinian families. I stayed in East Jerusalem and in towns that had always been on the other side of a large red sign warning Israeli citizens of the dangers that lay beyond it. One of the towns considered a forbidden zone was Sebastia.

Here, another of my wishes came true. The owner of the guesthouse where we stayed kindly allowed me to sleep on the roof in response to my request. He was very accommodating. Moreover, the next morning he was interested in all my dreams. I had a significant dream there, but I will tell you about it another time.

My most beautiful memory from the Harvest Tour is the sincere expression on the face and the sparkle in the eyes of an old farmer who encouraged me to eat dishes prepared by his wife and daughters. We picked olives with them, and later had a picnic on their farm with the whole family. We were met with true hospitality and kindness.

On the very same day comes my saddest memory associated with the Harvest Tour. The same old farmer offered me one of the imperialist sweet drinks, apparently thinking it was a good and trendy thing to offer guests. It made me sad to see the fading awareness of the older population. It was all the more painful because I could see the genuine desire on his face to offer what he had best. That’s when I realized that naive trust in popular beverage and food brands is prevalent all over the world.

In Palestine, there is a dramatic lack of running water, and access to it is severely limited. I understand that, but they have bottled water called "Hope," and I just regret that they don't drink more of it instead of the dark waters of capitalism.

Meeting other farmers during the nighttime olive pressing in the village was something special for me. Fifty years ago in Poland, my grandmother produced hemp oil and told me how it used to be. It was common to use an oil press. Now, I don't even personally know anyone who makes their own oil. It’s no surprise that there, at the communal press, I felt as if I had traveled back in time to old Poland.

I was filled with joy. All the farmers also seemed happy, proudly sitting on their tractors. It was evening, but the place was alive with activity. I felt so connected to them that I thought of them as my grandparents. I had never tried oil straight from the press before. At that moment, I was the happiest person on Earth.

One of the farmers called me over and showed me the entire process of turning their olives into oil. I still get emotional thinking about that moment. I felt the presence of the Spirit there. In a split second, I just stopped and had the chance to look around and feel the atmosphere, which was beautiful. I cry remembering the happy faces of the Palestinians at that moment. It must have been a great event for those ordinary farmers to have eight guests from distant countries sharing time and space with them during the blessed harvest period.

Everywhere we went, we were told about the difficulties, burdens, toil, destruction, injustice, and everything associated with the occupation. We could also see it with our own eyes. This experience guided me even more towards leading an ethical way of life and appreciating what I usually take for granted – in this case, olive oil and water.

Normal neighbors are another blessing that I no longer want to take for granted after seeing the destruction in Hebron.

While in Hebron, I learned something at the local glass factory that I had never been able to imagine before. Did you know that glass is made from sand? I saw it being made with my own eyes, but I still can’t believe it.

A bit like I still can’t believe the level of Jewish fanaticism observed in the rest of the city.

After the Harvest Tour ended, I stayed for two more weeks to explore Palestine on my own. I volunteered at the Tent of Nations. It is a family-run educational and ecological farm surrounded by five Israeli settlements. Despite the fact that the land has officially belonged to this particular family for a century, they must constantly fight for it in court now. Additionally, many things are done on their land to make their lives difficult and force them to give up their land. Among other things, fields with their young olive trees are being destroyed by bulldozers.

When I was still traveling with the Zaytoun group, we made a brief visit to them, and I listened as one woman from the Nassar family spoke about how “they do not want to be anyone’s enemies.” I thought her personality and communication skills were amazing. I wanted to learn from her about peaceful resistance and how to turn negative energy into positive actions.

The Tent of Nations is a place on the hill with basic amenities: sheet metal tents, caves adapted for volunteers, compost toilets, and outdoor showers. The Nassar family is not able to financially support the volunteers, so you have to pay for the food you receive and cover the remaining costs of your stay.

Upon arrival, I experienced a significant drop in living comfort. It was no longer a guesthouse condition. In fact, the guesthouse in Sebastia felt like a palace in comparison. Inside my multi-person tin tent, where I was alone, I couldn't help but feel as if I had found myself in a scene from a war movie, where medics are helping the wounded. The constant sound of helicopters flying overhead only intensified that feeling.

I was surprised at how cold and windy it was at the top of the hill. We ate outside, and often the wind would blow my salad off my plate. This was just one of the reasons why I was struggling internally during the first few days.

I was completely dependent on my hosts for food, and it was not as amazing as what I had eaten during the Harvest Tour. Suddenly, I could no longer enjoy the abundance of pomegranates, oranges, or mango juices like I had when I was in Jerusalem. Back then, I could simply buy whatever I felt like.

Another inconvenience was the itching of my anus. Yes, my anus was itching. Only icy water was available for washing, and even though we could shower twice a week for two minutes, I did not use my allotted water. Cold water is my weak point. Like everywhere in the world where I couldn't take a hot bath, I felt sorry for myself.

I started to think: Again?! Really?! I've done this to myself again?! I've taken myself to such an economically backward place again? Why did I even want to come here, to this project on the hill? Not only could I not remember my original motivation to join the farm, but I was also screaming in my mind: And I'm paying for this! I'm paying for this food and bed!

As you can see, I didn't feel very comfortable there, and I began to nurture an internal resentment toward the family hosting me. This was my internal struggle, which I eventually won, because after a few days, I finally reached my true self. I thought: I didn't come here to be in this state of mind. I always wanted to come to Palestine, to meet the local people, to live as they live. Now that I'm here, I don't like what I hear in my head. All these excuses, grievances, and complaints just because it's windy, the water is icy, and the food is always the same.

I remembered a quote I had seen on the separation wall near Banksy's hotel in Bethlehem.

'If you came to help me, you are wasting your time. If you came because your liberation is tied to mine, then let's work together.' It spoke directly to my heart. I understood its message very well.

I did not come to Palestine to help. I came to be active, but not to be an activist or someone like that. I came as a Human wanting to learn. My motivation was exchange. I did not come to the farm just to give to the family, but also to receive from them. When I reminded myself that it was about exchange, my attitude changed.

Almost immediately, I felt the need to take off my shoes and feel the earth beneath my feet. To be Myself, to stop putting up barriers. At that time, I was working in the herb garden, trimming rosemary bushes and moving stones.

While doing physical work in the garden, I began to imagine that I was doing inner work in my mind, clearing it of unwanted roots of religious beliefs and limiting thought patterns.

When my bare foot touched the ground, it finally dawned on me – I am in a place that followers of three religions call the Holy Land. I feel the so-called Promised Land beneath my feet.

And almost immediately, it came to my mind: Yes! Of course, it is holy. It is holy because it provides us with food. The earth is always holy if we understand that it sustains us, allows us to be self-sufficient, and live. It’s not about the location, but about our relationship to it: all the earth is holy.

At that moment, I felt free. I felt as if I had reached an important place in my personal journey – my mental state of 'Home.' I felt free from religious influences in my head and somehow felt that the occultism within me had ended at that moment. I didn’t fully understand it yet, but that’s how I felt. Life was beautiful again. I regained my happy state of mind.

Next, I worked in the fields with young olive trees. I admired the beauty of the landscape and enjoyed the company of the people around me. Riding the tractor, I felt as happy as I did in my childhood.

The work was hard. The land there is very rocky. In fact, I should say that there was a bit of soil among the stones. It was the first time in my life that I held a pickaxe in my hands. I was digging holes around the olive trees and securing them with fences. After many days of this work, I already knew that whenever I remembered it, I would be grateful for olive oil and olives.

The hard physical work went hand in hand with an amazing time. I completely fell in love with the Nassar family members and the way they treated us. Many times I looked into their eyes and saw sparks in them.

Only when I stopped feeling sorry for myself did I start to notice how the people around me felt. I began to pay attention to what an old woman feels when she says "thank you" to me. How her son feels when he calls me by name to help him. And I saw that they are sincere when they express their gratitude, as well as when they give me gloves and say, "We'll do this together."

The volunteers were also beautiful people, inspiring and full of positive energy. We all gathered for shared meals, accompanied by many stories and lots of laughter. Such wonderful memories that people of different nationalities left in me.

Among us volunteers, there was also a young Israeli woman, and I felt it was special to work alongside her. I felt the message coming from her very presence in that place. It was incredible to listen to her stories. I learned what books she reads, who her parents are, and how it happened that she and her brother did not go to the mandatory Israeli army. Thanks to her, I feel that I also got to know a bit about the life of Israelis, not just Palestinians.

Besides that, every night I was on top of the hill watching the lights of the Israeli settlements around us. For me, it was a beautiful sight because lights at night have always fascinated me since I was a child. They make me wonder about the lives of the people in the houses they illuminate. I dreamed again of a flying carpet that would lift me above the streets with lamps, and I could peek into the interiors of homes where there is warm water. What do their inhabitants do? How do they feel? What do they think? Next to their modern settlements, we must have looked like typical cavemen.

On the weekend, I had a day off. I decided to go to Bethlehem again. During my first visit to this place, I was shocked. Why? I wondered about it myself.

I am from Poland, a country very far from Palestine. Why do I know the name of this Palestinian place so well? If I tell anyone here the name of my hometown, Stary Śleszów, no one will know where it is. But of course, I, born in Catholic Poland, could not escape biblical domestication.

Only the image of Bethlehem that I remember from biblical stories and the city I saw do not match. First of all, in the place of the stable where Jesus was born, there stands a huge stone building. I felt very disappointed when I saw it. There is no longer a place for animals and plants. Only taxis and crowds. It didn't even cross my mind to go inside.

My second shocking discovery was seeing the sign for Biedronka. Biedronka is a well-known supermarket chain in Poland. My mom works there. Biedronka? That’s definitely not in the Bible! – I thought. Of course, it aims to attract the attention of a huge number of pilgrims from my country.

After a while, I became extremely bored with Bethlehem. The noise of street traffic, people constantly trying to sell me something, and too many men looking at me as a sexually attractive foreigner rather than as a human being.

However, I still wanted to experience Palestine in a non-touristy way. So, on a weekend free from farm work, I went back to Bethlehem. I took a risk and contacted my new Palestinian friend. Here’s how I met him.

During a group tour with Zaytoun at one of Bethlehem’s restaurants, a young waiter approached me. He was interested in my festival bracelet. I was very surprised because I hadn’t even realized I still had it on my wrist.

The bracelet came from one of the psytrance festivals in Poland that I attended in the summer. It turned out that this young man was a big fan of psytrance music and music festivals in general. He gave me his number and offered his home if I needed a place to sleep, listen to music, smoke, and relax.

His name was Bishara. That was all I knew about him, but I thought I would take the risk. I didn’t want to be a tourist. I wanted to get to know the real Palestine. I decided to take him up on his offer. I called him. He came to pick me up in his car.

At first, the atmosphere wasn’t too relaxed, especially after he told me that we would pick up his friend from the gym because he would also be with us at the apartment. I started to doubt whether I had made the right decision.

Not only did I not know Bishara, but now I also didn’t know his friend – a friend who works out at the gym. I immediately stereotyped him as a bald man full of testosterone, regretting my decision to contact Bishara.

However, it didn’t last long. This is a Jesus lookalike – I thought when I saw Daniel coming out of the gym. I immediately sensed that this man was as gentle as a lamb. Besides, it turned out that it was only his first day at the gym.

In Bishara’s home, I felt right at home. I played with his dog and took a long, hot shower. It was amazing to be with these guys, to see how and where they live. To see their garden. To experience their Friday night. To step into their lives.

We ate, smoked, and listened to psytrance. There were no questions. I felt like I was with friends, enjoying their company and the couch. It was like a psychotrance party in their living room. They really like that kind of music. I do too, but I have to admit it's a change for me. I only know psytrance from the summer festivals I used to go to.

At one point, Daniel asked me to play my favorite song. Without hesitation, I played it. I sat there, nodding my head to the rhythm of the music, completely fascinated by the lyrics of my chosen song, and it took me a while to notice that the guys were laughing so hard they were almost in tears, looking at me in disbelief.

– Who is this old man? – Daniel managed to ask me, still choking with laughter.

Only then did I realize that while I was still in exactly the same party mood listening to Susan, Leonard Cohen, almost as if I were still listening to trance music, my friends were shocked by the sudden change in mood. The image of Leonard Cohen on the TV screen was a huge surprise for them.

When I realized that, I couldn't stop laughing at myself. It was just comical. Of course, they had never listened to Cohen before, and they definitely didn't expect to hear someone like him that evening.

The next morning was even funnier. I woke up on the couch in the living room. Bishara had gone to work, so it was just me and Daniel in the other room.

– What's your name? Who are you? – he asked me as he moved from the living room to the kitchen.

He was laughing at the same time, finding our situation amusing.

– How do you know Bishara?

– Actually, I don't know him… – I answered honestly.

I learned that Daniel had been assigned to take care of me while Bishara was at work.

Daniel was an amazing travel companion. We went to the city. It turned out that Daniel works at the John Paul II Institute in Bethlehem. There, he constantly makes crosses and images of the Nativity from shells and stone. He told me that he was tired of making the same thing at work all the time, but people coming to Bethlehem only want to buy that, and the business belongs to the institute, not to him. At my request, Daniel made me a little magic mushroom.

I felt that I could trust someone who looked like Jesus and be honest. I told him what my dream was for that weekend.

– I want to go to the Dead Sea. I won’t wear a bikini, I won’t shave, and I want to swim naked.

He looked at me for a few seconds, deep in thought, as if calculating something in his mind.

– That’s possible – he replied.

Then he looked at my forearm and said:

– I think it looks nice, even if you don’t shave it.

It was my time to look astonished. Shave my forearms? I couldn’t believe that someone even thought of that.

The next morning, we went grocery shopping and headed to the Dead Sea. The drive was amazing. For me, it felt like watching a movie and being in it at the same time. There was a holiday mood, music playing in the car, and the scenery along the way was unlike anything I had seen before. We were approaching Jericho: a desert landscape, palm trees, Bedouins with camels, mountains covered in sand.

We parked the car by the road and walked a few kilometers toward the sea. The spot we chose for swimming was an empty area with no signs of other people after walking for kilometers through the dunes from the road.

In fact, when we parked by the road and were already walking toward the sea, the Israeli police stopped their car next to ours and signaled us to return to the parked car. Fortunately, they only intended to inform us that as we moved away from the main road toward the sea, there was a danger of sinking into the sand and that no one would find us there later. We weren’t scared of that.

Once the police left, no one could stop me from fulfilling my dream of being Myself in Palestine. Except for myself. But I had no intention of giving up being completely natural at the Dead Sea. Although the guys were shy and didn’t undress completely, I did.

The water in the Dead Sea is so salty, Dali. Nothing lives there. When we swam, we were the only living beings in that water. Can you imagine? I smeared myself with black mud. For me, it was the best scrub. I had dreamed of such a spa for a long time. After a tough autumn, I could finally pamper my body and enjoy the amazing minerals from Nature.

We played music from our phones and ate fruits. I danced, feeling like I was at a festival. The scenery was truly lunar. There was absolutely no other life around us, just vast areas of sand and huge mountains in the distance. The water was so calm, with no waves.

You might be curious about what else happened there.

At one point, I noticed Daniel looking at my body as if admiring its Creator. Meanwhile, Bishara was looking deep into my eyes, as if trying to change my frequency, but he didn’t succeed. We laughed about it later.

On the way back, we got a flat tire, and it turned out that the guys didn’t know much more than I did about how to handle it. Fortunately, an older Israeli man stopped and simply changed our tire, just like a father would do for his children. I really appreciated that lesson. Why was it a lesson for me? Because it was a selfless act of kindness that I didn’t expect in a place where roads are divided and different nationalities have different colored license plates.

We reached the checkpoint. We were stopped by four Israeli teenagers with automatic weapons – soldiers. They were looking for hashish, that’s all they asked the guys about.

– We’ve already smoked everything. – That’s all the guys replied.

Meeting the soldiers was like a sudden awakening from a beautiful dream of a summer festival at the Dead Sea. One of the soldiers, deadly handsome, by the way, asked me:

– What are you doing in Israel?

Israel?! How did I suddenly find myself in Israel?

I was really shocked. The last thing I knew was that we were driving somewhere on the road between the Dead Sea and Bethlehem, still within the borders of Palestine. Fortunately, I didn’t say that out loud. I managed to close my jaw, which was still open in awe of his facial features.

– I’m on vacation in Bethlehem – I replied, and they let us go.

From that experience with the soldiers, I understand how the state of Israel develops on the land, first developing in the minds of young people. It reminds me of the lyrics of a song:

“…row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream.”

A melody I heard from the playground of a Jewish religious school near the Tent of Nations.

I also agree with an Israeli woman from the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions of Palestinians: “Israel doesn’t need an army of soldiers – it needs an army of healers.”

Returning to the moment of passing through the checkpoint, I was unable to talk about borders; I felt that my only defense there was my non-Palestinian passport and it was better to stay quiet.

And speaking of borders, when leaving the country at the airport in Tel Aviv, a sticker with the number six was placed on my passport. This means that the Israeli customs officials considered me a serious threat to the security of their country. My laptop was screened so many times that I still wonder how come it doesn’t glow at night.

All because I had been to Turkey five times. What can I do about it? Istanbul is a beautiful city, exactly halfway between Poland and Saudi Arabia, the perfect place to meet your prince.

To be continued…

Malwina - Aisha, 2017