Back in Europe, it’s Christmas time, so it is not quite going back to normal. Not just yet. In one hand, it is Christmas time. Lights in the streets, jolly and empty music. So, even if Palestine had not happened, this would still be that time of year where routine breaks to make it all family and all special. In the other hand, I am eager to tell as many people as possible about what I have seen and heard in Palestine. Part of my family listens, and then there are comments like “So out of the whole world to go on holiday, you had to go to a war zone?” “yeah they want independence, just like here” “well we probably don’t see as many tanks in the streets as they see there”. Besides, they all have their own stories to tell.
I am giving talks in two towns near me, as well as in my own, and in two distant cities. My story gets told in two radio stations. In one, where I can not go, they simply read a whole entry of my blog. Just like that. To the other one, I go with my parents. They get to see a radio station in the inside, and they get to listen to my experience for an hour. Without the comments from other family members. I had eight weeks of shocks in small doses, they have received a two hour summary all at once. We go back home in silence. Back to the chasm of the Christmas preparations.
