Current situation
In October there has been an escalation of violence. As a matter of fact, the collaboration between the Israeli army and the Israeli settlers maintains and intensifies the apartheid system perpetrated by the State of Israel against the Palestinian population.
In particular, Israeli settlers used violence during the celebrations of three Jewish holidays in the first half of the month: the settlers, escorted by the Israeli army, invaded both the Al Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem and the Ibrahim one in Al Khalil dozens of times. Not only have these repeated incursions barred Palestinians from accessing their places of worship, but they also resulted in a significant number of arbitrary arrests and detentions. In addition to this, throughout the month there were dozens of attacks by settlers on the Palestinian civilian population in the cities of Al Khalil, Nablus, Huwara and Jerusalem: shootings into crowds, attacks on schools, roads blocked and damages to private Palestinian cars and shops.
In October, the olive harvest began throughout Palestine, a symbol of Palestinian resistance. This activity brought together Palestinian, Israeli and international activists who wanted to support Palestinian families, scared that the Israeli settlers and occupation forces could attack them while they were harvesting their own land - which unfortunately occurred.

She was introduced as “Babushka Vera” and immediately she was “grandmother Vera” for us too.
A frail old woman from Mykolaiv, very thin, with white hair.
She was the first person we used to say good morning to when we woke up and goodnight before sleeping. As Vera, like us, slept in the basement shelter.
She had decided not to leave despite the war, because that city was also her home.
So, every night around six, she used to come to the shelter.
Maybe because finding ourselves and being together, the bombs that fell at night seemed less scary.
Or, maybe because, despite the great fear, she was not alone.
She had worn-out green plastic slippers that she left under her bed/sofa every day.
Who knows if they are still there.
Vera loved us!
She used to smile at us, always glad to see us, she hugged us and in the evening she used to chat and joke with us.
Once her son came to visit her, we saw her sitting in the backyard with her granddaughter. Who knows what she was talking about.

My eyes bump into a little boy, he should be 15 years old and no older.
He's part of the unaccompanied foreign minors' group who arrived on Cyprus Island.
So he's alone. He's very thin and has a gaunt face.
He doesn't notice me, he doesn't notice anyone even though he's surrounded by people. He frowns, making an expression of pain, and he starts to cry.
He puts his hands on his head, touching his thick black hair, then on his temples. He begins to pull some air out of her lips and bursts into tears that he can't control.
He bangs his fists against an iron pole, making some noises that are choked screams.
He definitely wants to scream but he doesn't: it's the only thing he can control.
But the tears no, he doesn't control them and they fall like waterfalls that wet his face.
I quickly look around and the others don't notice him.

Mud walls uphill and downhill, on foot or mule, for hours and hours, without knowing what will be the next obstacle, with the risk of slipping or falling, not knowing whether you meet on the way a friendly face or an enemy, whether to smile or to avoid.
In doubt, better to avoid.
Very high level of concentration on the way.
Careful not to miss the travel companions, especially the ones we accompany that are equally careful not to lose sight of us, since our presence increases their level of security and given their care about us as well.
We who are not accustomed to this kind of paths and this kind of climate, ignoring in addition the risks hidden by the wilderness.
Despite the further concern we represent for the people of the Peace Community, accustomed to "fly" on the mud and run on these arduous and endless paths, we continue to be a significant value added for them.
Every time we stop, they repeat "thank you for accompanying us, thank you for accompanying us".
And they continue to seem heroes to me, not to idealize them, but to be honest and to make real a word that by now, in this world, it seems can only be filled with virtual meanings and special effects.
Instead they are small but strong, physically and morally, they are tenacious like the cabuya (a thread that cannot be broken), they are strategic in pursuing the good, they are persevering, they do not give up, and they work, day after day, as tireless ants to sow and harvest food and life in immense places.

Inspired by people met in Ukraine and by Bob Dylan...

Oh, where have you been, my sweet soul son?
And where have you been, my darling loved one?
I’ve been to the country of the red Kalina,
I’ve walked yellow fields and swim blue skies
I’ve been in a land claimed by war
I’ve been in a country painted by fear
And I’ve been to a place that cry the presence of a dove

And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall