This began my "You know you're in another culture when... " list. As the summer wore on, more entries were added. Like the first time we watched the Jordanian news, and the anchorman was dressed in a white keffiah, the scarf-like headdress worn by many Arabs, and a white robe. And the time I was offered finely ground raw lamb meat blended with onions and spices and molded into a log shape. I was told it was a delicacy eaten perhaps twice a year, at weddings and Christmas, so I accepted and ate it, praying that I wouldn't get sick. On the plus side I experienced the hospitality of the Palestinian Christians (yes, Christians: Arab and Muslim are not necessarily synonymous) as many of them invited us into their homes at the spur of the moment serving us juice, fresh fruit, and the potent Arab coffee. And at the same time I was reminded so often, by the site of Israeli soldiers armed with machine guns, of the oppression and injustice directed toward the Palestinian people. It was six weeks of intense learning and experiencing, growing and understanding. And it all happened on an InterVarsity Global Project (IV's summer intro to world missions).

Some Global Projects are cultural/lingual exchanges with the national students in the host country; most are very evangelically focused. My trip to the West Bank and to Israel was different however, in that we went to serve and encourage the Palestinian Christians still remaining in the Holy Land. The majority of our time was spent volunteering on various projects, three of them in Bethlehem (in the West Bank), and one in the small village of Ibillin in Israel. I and three others went to Ibillin where we stayed with a Melkite Catholic priest at the community college there. The school was in the process of adding two new buildings, and we had the OPPORTUNITY to carry rocks and buckets of gravel, as well as paint, wash windows, and cook. Aside from the work, we also had many chances to interact with the people of Ibillin, playing basketball with the high schoolers, swimming with kids from the summer camp, attending a wedding, and dancing at a wedding party. We also spent some time playing dumb tourist, shopping in the Old City in Jerusalem; swimming in the Sea of Galilee, the Dead Sea, and the Mediterranean (where I got stung by a jellyfish); and visiting Nazareth, Jericho, and Tiberias.

When I look back at my summer in the Middle East, one memory comes back to me time and time again. We were in a very small village, sitting with a group of Palestinians outside a home. They had just finished telling us of the difficulties they had faced under the occupation. After asking all our questions, one man posed one toward us. He asked, "Do Christians in the West pray for us?" Pray for you, I thought, disgusted with my own ignorance. We don't even know you're here. The last words he left us with were, "Tell our story."