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9 minute read In 2016, the film Disturbing the Peace swept international film festivals. It chronicles the stories of Israeli soldiers and Palestinian fighters who, in 2005 following the second Palestinian Intifada (uprising), put down their arms in exchange for more powerful weapons: trust and optimism. "You enter the forest at the darkest point where there is no path.” This quotation by Joseph Campbell opens the documentary. In this context, Campbell, world-renowned mythologist and popularizer of the literary term “monomyth,” was speaking to the concept of the hero’s journey—the path the protagonist must take if they are to achieve their goal of retrieving the ultimate boon for their people; that restorative gift that acts as a catalyst for affecting a positive, social transformation the people so desperately need. While the conflict between Israel and Palestine is certainly not a myth, the men and women involved in this documentary who are engaged in this harrowing geopolitical struggle relate closely to Campbell’s concept of the monomyth. It is life imitating art which, in turn, imitates life. In brief, the men and women of Combatants for Peace represent the heroes who have elected to leave their ordinary world behind to trek into unfamiliar territory in order to retrieve a boon for their people. In the case of Israel and Palestine, that boon is mutual understanding and an end to the cyclical war that is ruining bodies, devastating lives, and destroying the future of this region. Campbell’s quotation, not included in the film, continues, "Where there is a way or path, it is someone else's path. You are not on your own path. If you follow someone else's way, you are not going to realize your potential." The heroes of Combatants for Peace have forged their own path, a path of nonviolent resolutions meant to bridge the two sides through a concerted effort of continual dialogue and aid. The path they elected to take is in stark contrast to the path walked by the naysayers who so obstinately insist peace is not possible. The cynics enter the forest where it is brightest and where the path is clearly marked, “Enter here.” They follow the arrows and do not wander from the trail for the trail is comfortable to them, although it gets darker the further they walk. While the cynic's path initially appears pleasant, as opposed to the heroes', the hapless travelers are prevented from ever realizing their potential. What's worse, they have no inclination to. They are content with getting from point A to point B in the most convenient fashion, willingly blind to the darkness on the periphery that is slowly enveloping them. For them, all that matters is that they walk the path put before them. They are a sad lot, mostly because they don’t associate their unpleasant circumstances with the choices they themselves have made. Rather, they repeat the same behaviors over and over either expecting that one day the results with be different, or, even worse, they are resigned to the fact that darkness, disharmony, and suffering are a natural way of life here. It is impossible to write about Israel or Palestine without polarizing one group or another. For some more conservative Zionists, the mere acknowledgment of Palestine or Palestinians is enough to make them disregard your opinion altogether. “There is no such thing as a Palestinian,” you will hear apologists say--an oft-repeated, ill-informed line passed down by generations of Israelis thanks to the out of context quotation issued by former Israeli PM Golda Meir. Of course, such a statement is patently false since not having an officially recognized state does not negate the existence of a people's history or culture. Surely, the Jews (of all nations) can relate to this.  Sadly, the dissonance runs both ways. Some Palestinians openly harbor intense hatred for Jewish Israelis and refuse to accept their right to self-determination. They flatly ignore the history and reality of anti-Semitism and the Nazi slaughter of millions of European Jews which lead them to fight for a country where they would never again be targeted for their otherness. On the other hand, that same right to self-determination that convinced the U.N. to draft Resolution 181 (II) and create Israel seven decades ago has not been afforded to the Arabs of the West Bank and Gaza in any plausible fashion. I say implausible because the deal offered by the U.N demanded that the 1.2 million Palestinians who had lived on the land for generations receive less than half of it (4,500 sq mi.) while 600,000 newly arrived Jews were allotted the majority. The displacement of Palestinians by the immigrating Jews, and the state's refusal (to this day) to allow Palestinians to return home, the Nakba, is an unrecognized chapter in the official Israeli state narrative. The underlying animosity between the two sides is not at all unreasonable. Clearly, you can also see why so many people ignore the conflict altogether hoping it will resolve itself or one side will give up their autonomy. It is precisely because binational resolutions in this region are so difficult to come by that the Combatants for Peace relate so well to the heroes described by Campbell. For half a day, I walked beside these proponents of peace. I followed them on their journey through the figurative and literal road less traveled, into the West Bank to the little village of Beita just south of Nablus. There, on a stepped olive tree plantation, we harvested olives together, Israeli Jews and Palestinian Arabs, both of whom have laid down their arms and opted to build bridges rather than bombs, friendships rather than walls. Meeting the Combatants for Peace At 7:00 am, I met the group in front of the Tel Aviv central bus station. Like before, with the Women Wage Peace, participants trickled in until the 90th minute--a soccer derived saying Israelis use like "The eleventh hour". We boarded the tour bus, our names checked off on an official list, an overview of the day's schedule was given in Hebrew, and we were off! Back to Palestine I went. This trip was much shorter since Tel Aviv and Nablus are only an hour an half, and one Israeli checkpoint, apart. As we rode east, I reflected on my previous night in Tel Aviv, specifically on a conversation I had with the taxi driver who dropped me at my Airbnb. The man had been quite kind to me. He let me use his cell phone to confirm details with my Airbnb host and even pulled over at a convenience store so I could use an ATM. His English was better than my Hebrew so we used it. We shared the usual small talk between cabbies and passengers, "How long are you here? What are your plans? How do you like my city?" I told him I was only in town for an event, that I was going to harvest olives in the West Bank with a group of Israelis called Combatants for Peace. I told him I participated in the Women Wage Peace march in Jerusalem and was writing about the peace movement in Israel and Palestine. My answers gave him pause and his mood became noticeably darker. "You think there will be peace here?" He asked me. This is not an unusual question. It has been posed to me on more than one occasion whenever I speak to Israelis about my research. It is a fair question, and one that demands an answer so I gave it, "That's not really up to me is it? I don't live here." He remained quiet for a time, possibly reflecting on my answer, maybe just focusing on the road. Then, he spoke again with a dullness that chilled me, partially because he had been so full of life only a few minutes before, partly because of the cynicism in his tone, "Here, it matters who is more fast, who is more smart. If a man wants to kill me, I wake up the day before and kill him." Then, silence. Of course, I understood that his "a man" euphemism necessarily meant "an Arab", specifically a Palestinian. My heart was heavy, just as it had been when I saw the concrete barrier wall that separates Israel from the West Bank. I felt embarrassed for him, a grown man so openly jaded and comfortable enough in his racism that he could share it with a complete stranger he had known for all of ten minutes. "What would he divulge if the ride were longer?" I wondered. How much hate does this man harbor for the millions of Muslim and Christian Arabs who share this land? We turned a final corner and drove alongside Gan Hatikva, Garden of Hope in English. My driver's cognitive dissonance astounded me. Here he was making these hateful remarks in a part of the city that only a few decades ago had been home to Palestinian Arabs for generations until, with the help of the British, European Jews founded Tel Aviv on top of Jaffa and began pushing the Arabs out to make way for their Zionist nation-building project. The irony of his misanthropy being revealed by the Garden of Hope was also not lost on me. Finally, we arrived to Moshi'a Street. I paid him for the ride, collected my bags, and wished him a good day. Harvesting Olives with the Hopeful Our bus pulled into the little Palestinian village of Beita around 9:00 am. The plan for the day was to help harvest the trees belonging to Abu Fakhri, a Palestinian who joined Combatants for Peace after surviving a gunshot fired by Jewish Israeli settlers from neighboring settlements. The settlers had invaded his lands and killed two other people. I recorded the entirety of his story for posterity. It must never be forgotten. For those who speak Arabic, I am happy to share the video if you ask. Throughout the morning and afternoon, Israelis and Palestinians of all ages worked together to harvest the plentiful fruit from Abu Fakhri's trees. With everyone working efficiently for 5 hours--minus a break for an amazing Palestinian feast of labneh, hummus, fresh za'atar and olive oil, pita, and falafel--we cleared around 10 trees. It was during our lunch break that the personal accounts were offered by former combatants and those personally affected by Israeli and Palestinian violence. Even more stories are told in the film, Disturbing the Peace, and they too are heartbreaking. The ongoing violence Israel's occupation foments is literally destroying lives. Thank God for the brave souls of Combatants for Peace who have said enough is enough. Since 2005, these soldiers for peace have refused to participate in the systemic violence that advances a corrupt government, on both sides of the wall, and demands that they see each other as enemies. These heroes do not accept the false narrative that Israel has no partner for peace. They do not accept the false narrative that, in order to define themselves, they must dehumanize the other. Rather, the Combatants for Peace forge ahead constructing a new narrative, a true one based on reality not propaganda. These realities are confirmed with every olive harvest, with every rebuilt home demolished by the Israeli government, with every Memorial Day celebration that acknowledges the pain and tragedy of the Palestinians as well as the Israelis, and with every successful joint venture the former combatants of Israel and Palestine undertake together. I wish them well on their hero's journey. They are the bravest of the brave to enter the forest where none have tred before. Surely, they will bring the boon of peace to Israel and Palestine and help both sides to finally reach their potential--to live in harmony on the land that promises so much to those willing to work for it.
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6 minute read I study peace in the Middle East. My specific area of interest is Israel and Palestine. Why, you may ask, would someone who is not Israeli or Palestinian devote so much time and energy to the region, especially to such a controversial aspect of it? Simple. Because if people don't care, peace will never be achieved. I want to introduce you to some of the most caring human beings on the planet - the incredible, courageous, powerful, and exhausted women of the Women Wage Peace movement. These women are heroes and you deserve to know about them. Founded just three years ago and now boasting tens of thousands of registered members: Women Wage Peace is a broad-based grassroots movement founded after the Gaza War of 2014 (Operation Protective Edge) and counts among its thousands of members women from the political Right, Center, and Left, Jewish and Arab women, religious and secular women – all of us united in our demand for a political agreement to end the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The movement was born out of deep despair and cynicism which followed our most recent war in Gaza, in order to rekindle hope in a viable future for our region. Israeli newspaper Haaretz reports, “The founding group numbered about 40 women, who held their first meeting in Tel Aviv, in the midst of the war.” They continue, “To be able to have an impact on decision-makers, the founders of Women Wage Peace understood they would need a critical mass of supporters. To achieve that, they knew they would have to appeal to women way outside their natural base: right-wing Israelis, religious Israelis, even settlers. To appeal to such a large and diverse base, they realized they would have to steer clear of controversy and focus on the issues almost all women could agree on.” The foundational issue? To reach an honorable and bilaterally acceptable political agreement of the Israeli – Palestinian conflict by 2018. While studying Hebrew over the summer, I learned about Women Wage Peace thanks to a friend who posted this video on our program page. Right away, I reached out to the organizers to let them know of my interest and my willingness to participate in their second annual cross-country (binational) march for peace. This year's march began September 24th and ended October 10th. I secured my plane ticket, a seat on the Women Wage Peace bus for October 8th, and landed in Israel for the first time with the express intention of waging peace with these wonderful women. In the end, the mass demonstration swept the media and made international headlines. This is the story of my experience. Morning of the march I arrived to the Haifa pick-up point at 6:30am and watched as women in white began trickling in. They arrived on foot, by car, and by bus, women of all ages. Our seat assignments were checked on the official roster, we loaded our assigned buses, a brief overview was given by our group leaders, and we were off. Destination, the Dead Sea just outside of Jericho in the West Bank. The journey from Haifa to the Dead Sea took a couple hours and wound us through Jerusalem. This being my first time in the country, I could hardly peel my eyes away from the landscape. I photographed the outskirts of the city and noted the vast differences between Jerusalem and the West Bank, the latter being the zone to which the Palestinians are relegated by the Israeli government. There, they are subjected to military law and regularly face collective punishment such as curfews, searches, checkpoints, and arbitrary detentions. As the bus rolled on, I stared pitifully at the hideous concrete dividing wall that separates the state of Israel from the military zone that is the West Bank or, if you rather, occupied Palestine. The obtrusive, gray eyesore winds up and around, following the elevation of the desert terrain enclosing behind it the Arabs of Palestine. Tall, concrete buildings huddle together like so many tan Legos; rectangular and uniform with no charm at all. It is hardly a thing to behold, but looking away feels wrong and dismissive. Seeing the checkpoints choked with barbed wire, trucks, and uniforms left me with an overwhelming feeling of heaviness and shame.
Arrival to the Dead Sea Our bus arrived to the Dead Sea around 10:00am, but thousands of women and men, media, police and security officers were already present, not to mention the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). Because the police required that our convoys be no larger than ten buses, the women arrived in waves. There were 60 buses in total coming from every direction; Israel and Palestine. We descended from the bus, women in white, and gathered under the massive canvas tent that had been erected prior to our arrival. The sound of music filled the desert air - drums, ouds, guitars, women's vocals. There were women in line for water, women on stage, women in drum circles, women sitting and laughing in chairs, children running, men mingling, people exploring and ascending the nearby dunes, and some wandering off alone, presumably to convene with a presence higher than themselves. Some of the Muslim women donned abayas and hijab, conservative Jewish and Christian women covered their hair, Druze and the nonreligious wore what they pleased, and white Women Wage Peace t-shirts were for sale for all. I purchased one immediately to cover my head and neck from the blazing sun. Hebrew, Arabic, and English were spoken freely by participants on the ground and the organizers on stage. This held true throughout the entirety of the event until its finale at 9:30pm. The Journey to Peace We marched to drums that symbolized the beating of our hearts; قلب واحد بالسلام, לב אחד לשלום, one heart for peace. From one tent to the next, we marched through the desert singing songs of peace and hope. Muslims and Jews hand in hand, religious and atheist, secular and spiritual, Arabs and Jews alike, we marched together for the future of the region.
The message of the lecture was powerfully direct: Each woman had something the other did not, and each failed to triumph over her vice; Sarah's cruelty and Hagar's boastfulness. Unfortunately, their failures haunt us still, yet we must reject the simple conclusion that, as their descendants, we are doomed to a perpetual state of conflict. Rather, the challenge is repairing the opposition between the two, mending the wounds each caused the other. Sarah's precedent of child sacrifice, of sending Ishmael into the desert to perish, cannot be the standard we continue to live by. The children of Sarah and Hagar must rise up together and say enough is enough! !هذا يكفي! מספיק We can no longer accept that the fate of our children is to be sacrificed in unwinnable wars against the other. We, as courageous women with a voice, must take command of our own future and that of the generations ahead. No longer is it acceptable to sit back and let the reckless passivity of men determine our destiny. To Jerusalem Our energy high, we rode into Jerusalem ready to take to the streets with our message of peace and solidarity. We arrived shortly before 5:00pm and waited at Agranat Plaza for the thousands of marchers to arrive from around Israel. Sadly, the Palestinian women with whom we marched in the Dead Sea were no longer beside us since Palestinians have extremely restricted access to Israel. Shortly before 6:00pm, we marched again with our signs held high, drums beating, and our voices raised in unison, "Peace is possible!" Our chants and clapping lured people out of their homes to stand on their balconies and on the sidewalk to watch us pass. We drew crowds, some onlookers joined in our procession, most clapped, cameras snapped photos, and flags waved proudly as the demonstration demanded to be seen and heard.
Like the women of Israel and Palestine who took part in this epic demonstration on the power of maternity and femininity, after having been a part of this, I can never go back to how I was before. I am forever changed for the better. I am beyond proud of this movement and of the women (and men) who made it possible. We made it quite clear, passivity is no longer an option. Women are on the rise, from the north to the south, from the west to the east. The prayer of the mothers is going to be heard, and the powers that be will be held accountable for effecting lasting changes that ensure the safety of future generations. I was there. I saw it in their eyes. These women are unstoppable. They will continue to wage peace until the Israeli government reopens a dialogue with the Palestinian Authority to get this seven decade conflict resolved.
5 Minute Read Israel, day one: I have been a passenger for the last 19 hours. I caught a flight from Houston to Toronto, then switched planes and headed into to Israel. As I write this sentence, I am riding a train from the Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv north to Haifa where I’ll live for the next 3 months in someone else’s home. I have been in Israel for close to 2 hours now and have already met a Trump supporter, witnessed a sporadic shofar blast session, and watched a man berate another much louder man for being obnoxious on his cell phone in public. And, as impressive as it was to hear a ram’s horn being blown just a few feet away from me, in the place that invented blowing rams’ horns no less, the award for "Israeli Who Best Lived Up to My Expectations of What an Israeli Is" goes to "Critical Man on the Train" for his role in "Public Cell Phone Beratement". Being a train passenger is completely different from being a passenger on an airplane. Firstly, the act of riding a train doesn’t set me into an irrational panic. I am in contact with the earth regardless of the duration or destination. Second, everyone has a window seat. If you’ve ever had the unfortunate luck of being seated on a flight next to a window hog or, worse still, a shade-puller-downer, you know why I mention the beauty of the train window. It’s what makes the train worth using. Without windows, you’re just a weirdo on a junky old machine going unnecessarily slow, usually facing backwards, stopping at places you don’t need to be. Israel, day two: I might start logging my entries by miles rather than days. Honestly, I need to start giving my calves a pep talk in the morning before I got out for the day. Today, I’ve walked about 3 miles which doesn’t sound impressive until you factor in Haifa’s terrain. I’ll draw you a picture: ^-v^v--^-v^ So, you see, it’s not the distance so much as the inclines and declines. This city is beautiful, but it makes you work for it. My tasks today included my weekly reading and contribution to a nonviolence and conflict resolution course I’m taking online, getting a tour of Carmel Center by my Airbnb host and her 2-year-old daughter, finding the best pizza in town, learning the numbers for the local buses, and buying essentials (hummus, olive oil, za’atar, and bread). The tour was lovely. It included a stop off at a local park, Gan Haem, and Hebrew lessons. I have been working on my Hebrew every day, which might sound obvious since I am in Israel, but you truly can get by without Hebrew or Arabic here. English is totally acceptable, Russian works, and (of course) dirty looks always translate. Aside from the park, we had lunch at Bruno Pizza, which my host boasted is the best pizza in the area. I took her word for it and was not disappointed. She did warn me that Haifa has fewer kosher shops than other Israeli cities so I should keep my eyes peeled to make sure I don’t accidentally eat meat. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough Hebrew to appropriately indicate anger, should the need arise, nor have I committed the word “refund” to memory. Basically, that would just be a horrible experience altogether and I hope it never becomes a reality. With kosher pizza shops such an event is impossible since meat and dairy are never served together. The way God intended, according to my kosher friends. We easily burned off the calories from lunch by walking 2 blocks. Shortly after, I went my own way to go grocery shopping in the only market open on Shabbat: My Market (מאי מרקט). I found my essentials and learned how Israeli supermarkets work. I even spoke entirely in Hebrew the four times I needed to talk to people: Do you have smaller bottles of olive oil? Where’s the za’atar? No, that’s not my basket. Is a credit card okay? Nailed it. After my successful market adventure, I walked to the McDonald’s a few blocks/hills away to loiter just long enough to upload some photos, say good morning to my wife back in Texas, and catch up on emails and social media. Oh, did I mention I have no international plan on my cell phone? Turns out my Verizon plan is limited and I need to get a new device before I can purchase an international sim card. So, I get by on free Wi-Fi. I know several good spots already and I haven’t even been here long enough to experience the city when shops are open. Besides, I have enough to pay attention to without being distracted by the chimes and vibrations of my phone. The view of the Mediterranean really is something spectacular. On clear days, I’ve been told it’s possible to see Lebanon. All week there’s a free film and music festival going on. I looked at the program but I don’t recognize anything or anyone except Balkan Beat Box and A-Wa. Um, that works. Please and thank you. Tomorrow, I will wake up very early to catch a bus to a peace rally at the Dead Sea with Women Wage Peace, a grassroots movement founded after the Gaza War of 2014 (Operation Protective Edge) whose members include women from the political Right, Center, and Left, Jewish and Arab women, religious and secular women – all united to demand a political agreement to end the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I have to be to the right place and on time because I already reserved a seat, but if I’m not there they leave without me. Then, I’d have to figure out how in the world to get from Haifa’s central bus station to their Dead Sea "Peace Village". I promise you that seditious site doesn’t pop up on Google Maps. From the Dead Sea, we head into Jerusalem and carry on with the peace waging. Tomorrow is going to be a powerful day. Israel, day four: Yesterday was a very powerful day. It actually deserves its own post, not an entry within a larger post. For that reason, I’m opting to share pictures and videos here but you can expect a separate post on the march. I woke up at 5:15 to take a local bus to the Haifa "Markez Kongressim" (basically a giant mall) and wait for the larger bus booked by Women Wage Peace. Around 7:00, the tour bus arrived, our names checked on the roster, and we made our way toward the Dead Sea in the West Bank. These photos are from that trip and include the march near the Dead Sea as well as the march through the streets of Jerusalem. The march concluded in Jerusalem's Independence Park at 21:15 and arrived back to my apartment at 01:00. The protest was kind of a big deal. We made the news in a few places, namely Haaretz and Al Jazeera. I would say that the organizers deserve the Nobel Peace Prize, but they seem to give that out to some pretty shady characters these days. No, these women are true promoters of peace and I could not be more proud to have stood beside them yesterday. UPDATE: The organization was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize in 2023 6 Minute Read
Is it ironic or just cruel that I enjoy traveling so much while having a crippling fear of flying? I haven’t decided yet. Maybe it’s both. I am flying from Texas to Tel Aviv today, a journey I've wanted to take since I learned about Israel way back when I was a devout Christian. Despite wanting so badly to visit Israel and Palestine, to see this ethereal place that has existed to me only in religious texts, the news, and political discourse, I am absolutely dreading the flight with every bit of my insides…and outsides. But, this time, as I told my wife self-assuringly, I have a solution to my intense, paralyzing fear of take-offs. This time, I will very literally write my fear away. I haven’t always been like this, a stupid sloppy mess of a passenger, mumbling nonsense to myself and jolting upright in my seat anytime the plane loses altitude or makes a slight directional shift. I consider myself a rather reasonable person. I make informed decisions more often than not, I don’t take unnecessary risks (unless the payout is worth it), I respect human ingenuity and the training of the pilots, I trust that the designers and engineers of this particular aircraft took the appropriate steps to construct a flying machine that will, indeed, stay in the air for as long as I paid for it to be airborne. All of that is a reasonable approach to take to flying, I think. I also factor in airplane crash statistics compared to car crash statistics. Flying is the safest mode of transportation, the odds of dying are 1 in 11 million, yadda yadda yadda (somebody has to be the poor 1 sometimes). Somehow, however, no amount of rationalizing or leveling with myself satiates my fear demons. Those little bastards pop up without fail every time I buckle myself into my seat and prepare for departure. It starts with the deep breathing. But, you see, this method is really just a pitiful attempt to calm myself through some variation of Lamaze breathing I’ve concocted for myself based on sitcoms throughout the years (Friends especially). It is quite ineffective. Sometimes I even incorporate the little paper baggie the airline provides in case you become airsick. I have never been airsick. My problem is the taxiing, the take-off, sometimes the landing, and always the turbulence. Maybe, what I have would more fittingly be called transition sickness. After the breathing fails me, I rock for a bit, ever so slightly. That exercise is typically combined with a body lock or, for fun, the Fear Freeze! where I close my eyes super tight and try to become one with my seat back. Please know that I do honestly try to maintain my dignity to the fullest extent possible while I am going through these panic maneuvers. You know, just in case we actually do survive the flight and I have to see these people again outside of the fuselage. I will also have you know that, while I do make several jerky motions for a few minutes while we’re gaining altitude, and I probably unnecessarily worry my rowmates, I really do go out of my way not to make noise while I’m sobbing. There truly is nothing worse than a rude passenger who won’t stop whimpering and vibrating while they wait for death to finally reach out and grasp them in its cold, disaffected fingers. I know this. Once we’re actually in the air, 30,000 feet above the ground and everyone I care about, the panic begins to dissipate. Where there was gripping fear, a new feeling sets in. This is me coming to terms with my eventual death-by-plane. I have discovered that, for me, flying is sort of like going through the 5 stages of grief, but in rapid succession. There’s denial: The flight is nothing. I’m a grown, reasonable adult who has seen combat. I am sure I will conquer my fear of flying this go around. Then, there’s anger: Why am I like this?! It’s so damn embarrassing. Bargaining: I will buy myself a book or this fancy magazine and that will surely distract me from the inevitable onset of terror. I skip right past depression, mostly because no flight lasts that long. That said, if I were forced to face my fear with greater frequency, and my livelihood depended on my ability to fly, I do believe I would slip into a serious state of chronic depression. In the end, I always land on acceptance. I accept that there is nothing I can do about technical problems mid-flight, that there is a pilot and co-pilot who will do everything in their power to prevent the plane from falling out of the sky, and I accept that I am an irreparable control freak who can’t stand placing my life in someone else’s hands, even for an incredibly standard non-event like flying through the air at 600mph in a big, metal tube. |
AuthorShe is a military veteran Archives
August 2025
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