Wearing sandals in the West Bank, I picked thorns from my feet as I walked from olive tree to olive tree. Temporary relief when I left my shoes behind to sit in the trees for lunch.

Wearing sandals in the Old City, I slip and slide down the sloping streets made from stone. I slip them off, hold them in my hand, and feel the history of the city through the soles of my feet.

Wearing cloths to work in the West Bank, I used my loose pants to hold the olives that wouldn’t make it to the tarp down below. My cloths catch on the weeds, weeds that won’t be picked because there aren’t enough workers allowed into their fields.

Wearing cloths to respect the religious in the Old City, I dance on the women’s side of the Western Wall. I am confused because there are women’s voices where I was told they are not allowed.

Wearing a smile in the West Bank, our friend Abed thanked us for our help. Appreciation overflows and spills in his words of thanks, running down the hill to the pile of olives we have picked. He wants us to remember his side of the story-his side of the wall. He asks us to remember him.

Wearing a smile in the Old City, I am hiding my discomfort. The Rabbi warns us to keep going-embracing our faith, his faith, embracing Israel and embracing ourselves. Who does he really want us to embrace? He wants us to take a side-his side. He asks us to remember Hashem.