Note: The blogs build on one another, like a story. Therefore, if you are new to these blogs please consider starting with the first blog.

We all like to think we’re unique, but I know most of my experiences are universal. For example, I thought I resented my husband when my children were young because he was useless and selfish, but apparently that’s the lowest ebb of marital bliss for everyone (so I guess I owe Hubby an apology—damn)!

My first bad experience in Protective Presence happened in my seventh shift, and it filled me with such rage and despair that I became one with the activists who label all the settlers as ‘bad’, period. Clearly, a universal reaction that happens to us all, sooner or later.

The shift started badly, with one of my usual faux pas. I am drinking tea with my host, Abu Waseem, during a blessed respite from settler presence. I felt I had known him long enough to be on a first-name basis, and had been calling him “Abu” for days already. He’s the sweetest, most gentle man, and hadn’t said a word; but today he leans forward in his chair and says apologetically, “Abu Waseem means I am the father of Waseem, my eldest son.”

I burble my apologies for calling him “Daddy of” for the length of our acquaintance. He smiles graciously and tells me his wife and daughter want to talk to me. The first time they wanted to talk to me I was happy, thinking I was being singled out for some special purpose. But no; they had heard that I was doing a fundraiser in Canada for better fencing and the mother wanted to know if she could get help with an operation. The next........

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