Monday, 18 November, Adahya

   First, a correction: in yesterday's blog about Al Mada, Reem's remarkable music program, I misspelled her husband's name, which is spelled Odeh Turjman, not the way I spelled.  My apologies to  Odeh and Reem.

Rafat

 Last night Rafat, who came to The Theater Project's first International Teen Theater Camp in 2003, picked me up at 5:00 and drove me to Ramallah where we had something to eat and talked for three hours.  Rafat, now 25, is in his last year of a BA program at a university in Tel Aviv and is thinking of continuing next year for his MA.  "I think if I do not do it next year, maybe I will be doing something else and it will be difficult for me to go back to the university."  It sounds like he'll do it.  This is a very different Rafat from the 15 year old who came to Brunswick with Khitam and Mohamed, another Palestinian teenager, in 2003.  He still lives with his mother in a "hole in the wall" in the old city.  The entrance is hidden to all but those who have an idea where to look, but once you've opened that door in the inner wall of Medieval East Jerusalem, you're in a different world.  The door closes and you no longer hear the cacophony of the old city's walkways.  I had a tasty and very large meal there on one of my previous visits here.

I've got rhythm

   Rafat's options are limited.  There is little if any meaningful work right now in Occupied Palestine, aside from the international NGO's in Ramallah.  His best hope for meaningful work here is to be hired in Israel, and that requires at least a BA, hustle and a break or two.  For now, he works about twenty hours a week in a store, to help pay the bills while he is studying and give him a little pocket money.  The rest of the time he is in class or studying.  He wonders about getting an Israeli passport so he can travel easily, but his friends tell him not to: "Then you'll be an Israeli, not a Palestinian."  I tell he'll be a Palestinian with an Israeli passport but that's a fine distinction here.

   A year or two ago, he flew to Italy to visit his brother who is studying there.  On his way home, he transited in Rome.  When he entered the terminal, he was taken to a room with his baggage and told he had to stay there until his flight was ready.  He protested that he needed to go to the bathroom, walk around, stretch his legs.  He convinced them so they told him to leave his luggage in the room and had "a minder" follow him until he returned to the room to wait for his flight.  He said that was fine and out he went, followed every step of the way until he returned to the room where he was searched again before being led out to board the flight home.  A dangerous man, this Palestinian!

s

So do I!

 This morning I went with Khitam to Choufat Camp where she led a three hour workshop with twenty kindergarden teachers in the camp.  There are over 60,000 people in the camp, one of the largest.  The women were young and middle aged and all were covered, though some were in pants and some in ankle length dresses or robes over slacks or jeans.  All wore scarves that covered their hair.  Khitam greeted them and got them on their feet for a warm-up circle.  Some were hesitant at first but not for long.  Some hesitation may have come from my being there, though she introduced me and asked if they minded if I took some photos, assuring them that if anyone did mind, I wouldn't take any.  None minded.

   Her focus today was making music for a story they had collectively written the day before.  Today's workshop was the third of five she has with this group, introducing them to using art, music, storytelling and theater with kindergardeners.  She gave each a copy of true story, which she had typed for them, then it to read them.  It's a tender tale of a boy who is frightened by shooting, runs to his grandfather in tears and his grandfather takes him into his house and calms him by telling him the sweet story of how he and the boy's grandmother met, fell in love and married.  By the time he has finished, the shooting has stopped and the boy is calm and happy.  A story of hope in the midst of conflict.

   Then Khitam got the group to experiment with sounds, using their voices and and their hands to

Here's our song...

create complementary sounds, one starting, then others joining around a circle until they had a sound symphony.  Then she introduced simple instruments and noise makers and they experimented with sounds using them, again adding sounds around a circle for a more complex sound symphony.  Once they had created some interesting sounds, she divided them into four groups of five and told them to create a song for the story in half an hour.  After they had created their sounds, she brought them back together and each group sang and played its song.  The songs were terrific and served the story.  

   After each song, she asked the performers how they felt, what they'd learned.  Most of the comments spoke of being surprised they could come up with a song in half an hour; they were proud of what they'd done.  It was fun.  They were also surprised they could play and sing it together, after such a short time and do it well.  Some spoke of their song's reminding them of their pride in being Palestinian from a village in old Palestine, the one their family had to leave, a village like the one in the story.

 

…and here's ours...

Choufat is not a hopeful place, either in appearance or in daily life.  It's got the inner-city-underemployed-and-underfunded-subject-to-discrimination blues, and yet these teachers, working with Khitam, found some joy today.  They found it while working with her to make music.  They lit a candle in the darkness and as long as there's one candle burning, there is hope.  They didn't waste their time cursing the darkness.  Khitam didn't give them a chance, nor did they want one.  They were ready to learn, ready to make music, and they did.

…and ours.

Sunday, 17 November, Adahya and another beautiful day in the neighborhood.
   "We rarely hear the inward music, but we are dancing to it nevertheless…"  Rumi

Reem, Khitam and Audi jamming

   That's a quote Al Mada uses in their brochure.  Al Mada is an arts based community development association. whose work is based on the belief that the arts provide a platform for individuals to create, express and heal.  This small NGO (non-governmental agency or non-profit) is young, having been founded in 2009 by its director, Reem Abdul-Hadi.  Khitam and I drove to Ramallah, yesterday, to meet Reem and her husband, Audi Tourjaman, musician and music educator.  Reem and Audi are a handsome couple, middle aged I suppose - young to me - bright, articulate and educated.  We spoke in English most of the time, reminding me of my linguistic limitations.
   Most of the time we talked about their program, how they work and who they work with and the possibility for future collaboration.  Like Nasser and Abed, Reem and Audi talk about a different model for education, one that is student centered, one that uses the arts for self-expression and creative learning (as opposed to "rote learning").  It's worth quoting the introductory statement in their brochure:
     "We believe sustainable community development is measured not only by how much a community earns or produces but also by the level of sustained freedom and the ability of community members to interact and access social services, employment, education and networking opportunities."
   That statement implies a lot about the condition of Palestinians.  Here's what I mean.  "Sustained freedom" does not really exist in occupied Palestine.  Whether you live in area A (Palestinian Authority control), B (shared control between PA and Israel) or C (the largest portion and Israeli controlled), your freedom is sustained at the whim of Israel's government and army.  At any time, the Israeli army can enter any part of occupied Palestine to question, search and arrest Palestinians citizens.  This often happens in the middle of the night.

A serious Reem

   "The ability of community members to interact" depends on their ability to make contact with each other; if you look at a current map of Israel and Palestine, you can see how difficult that is.  Without an Israeli ID or special permission, you cannot enter Jerusalem if you live on the West Bank.  To get from one Palestinian community to another, e.g. East Jerusalem to Bethlehem, you must pass through at least one check point.  This is not difficult for me with a US passport, though I can be stopped and searched. For a Palestinian, even with an Israeli passport or ID card, it can be difficult; without one of those, it's impossible.  Hence, for Palestinians to meet and plan and execute anything, a dance concert for example, is difficult logistically, before any actual planning begins!  Once the event is planned, it may have to be repeated, playing once in Jerusalem and another time in Ramallah, on the West Bank, so that it's available to any Palestinian audience, and anyone else.  Most people in Ramallah cannot go into Jerusalem.
   "Access social services, employment, education and networking opportunities" is almost a joke.  If you cannot travel easily from one community to another in your own country, if you cannot call a meeting and know that those on a committee can meet at a certain time, if you cannot pass easily from one location to another in your country, how can you plan anything, including access to medical care for a medical emergency?

…and a serious Audi

 The result?  Sustainable community development aint easy.  In Maine, imagine trying to plan a concert in Portland which you hope people from Wiscasset, Brunswick, Freeport, Lewiston and Auburn will attend.  However, people in Lewiston and Auburn need special permission to get into Portland, people from Wiscasset have to pass through two checkpoints and those from Brunswick and Freeport through one, in addition to needing a Portland identity card!  Or for an event in Battle Creek, Michigan, my home town, the same restrictions applying to people from Kalamazoo, Marshall, Albion and Ann Arbor, for starters.  It's difficult enough to plan such an event without restrictions!
   So, Reem and Audi are like salmon ready to spawn, swimming upstream, against the current and, there are dams in the stream that prohibit passage unless there is a fish ladder which may or may not be open.  I use this image because of a visit to two of our sons in Washington last month where we watched salmon swimming upstream to spawn and from reading about dams being removed in Maine, allowing fish to migrate.
   "What can Palestinians do?" I asked.  "Nothing," Audi said.  Power and water and commerce are controlled by Israel.  Land development is controlled by Israel.  Palestinians cannot ship goods out of the country without Israel's permission.  The result?  Palestinian farmers and artisans depend on the occupying power to get their goods to market and they often don't make it.  Palestinian landowners whose families have been on their land for generations but do not have written deeds to prove their ownership are subject to the whims of Israel's development plans, which often means land is seized, especially the heights, and a settlement is built.

Khitam, digging the rhythm

   However, it's not true that Palestinians "can do nothing," and Reem and Audi's work with Al Mada is testimony to that.  An example is their work with teenagers.  Recognizing the needs of teens who struggle anyway, being adolescents, they have developed a program that guides participants from a "who, me?" reaction to creating their own music through the experience of composing and playing and singing enough original music to fill a CD.  Working with the Ministry of Education and UNRWA, they have also developed workshops that teach music therapy to educators, counselors and social workers.
   There's more that I'll leave for another blog or conversation.  This work is inspiring.  I remember looking at those salmon swimming against the current in a stream outside Seattle.  I was with our son Geoff and his family, and we were all amazed at how hard they had to work, how some of them didn't make it and were floating by the river bank while the others swam hard enough to maintain their place in the current, and then struggled to advance.  It was never easy, but they kept trying, despite the force of the current's working against them, so they could return to their place and spawn.  So it is at Al Mada.
   "Music is the language of the spirit.  It opens the secret of life, bringing peace, abolishing strife."
                                                                                                                    Khalil Gibran
 

Friday night, 15 November, Adahya (tonight's spelling)
   The moon was brilliant tonight, then clouds rolled in and we expected rain, but it didn't come.  In a good year, the rains would have started early this month and the skies would open in December and continue through February.  Khitam and everyone else hopes they start in the next couple of weeks.
   We drove into Jerusalem mid-morning, Khitam, her husband Ahmad and I, first to let Ahmad off for some business, then to an athletic club where I got a cappuccino and read while Khitam swam for an hour.  She has some trouble with her back and swims as often as she can.  While I read outside the club after finishing my coffee, two moms came out with their boys, I'm guessing 2 and 4.  The boys were having a great time running around, and when the two-year-old discovered me, he came over to visit, then left, returned, left, returned, each visit a little longer and more engaged that the previous one.  We were soon old friends which gave him license to rest his popsicle on my sleeve, give me leaves and more leaves and more leaves, pull my shirt, give me more leaves.  Eventually the four-year-old caught on and joined in.  They were fun, but my shirt was about to turn into a greasy towel used as a handkerchief for runny noses when one of the moms came over and hustled them off.  I'm hoping the shirt will hold up until Tuesday, when I leave; I didn't overpack.
   Khitam emerged, refreshed and smiling with supple back.  We drove into East Jerusalem, found Cotton sitting in Moe's, his favorite lunch spot, with a friend and the Dean of St. Paul's College - I think it's St. Paul's - an Episcopal college in East Jerusalem.  The dean left soon after we got there, not, I hope, because we had arrived, and the four of us talked for a while about the need and difficulty of conveying a fair picture of the Palestinian side of the Israel - Palestine debacle.  If people visit, they can see and hear what is going on here.  After being here, they can return to the States and tell others what they've seen and experienced.  It's like the Peace Corps: more often than not, the real value of the Peace Corps is what it teaches us and our willingness and ability to share it with others.  So it is with visitors to Palestine.
 

After a long talk about the frustrations of trying to convey more of the story of Palestine and Israel, we said our good-byes and headed south for Hebron, which Palestinians call Khalil.  Passing through Bethlehem and its checkpoint, we saw Aida Camp, where Abdalfattah's Alrowwad (Pioneers for Life) is located, and Dhaishi Camp, where Khitam and I heard the Palestinian Orchestra from the Edward Said Conservatory play in April, then on to Khalil and the Natsheh family's pottery and glass factory, a hands-on family business that has been in the family for 300 years, according to Muosa, a fifteen or sixteen year-old member of the family who told us about the work, demonstrated the pottery painting and showed us some finished pottery still in the kiln after having been fired twice.  He showed us around and pointed out a photo of Jimmy Carter's visit to the operation.  The hand-painted pottery is beautiful and varied, with everything from small dishes for olives or peanuts to large casseroles, tea pots, serving dishes and more.
   We drove to Nasser's village which is between Bethlehem and Jerusalem, up in the hills.  From Nasser's new apartment in a two or three story building - it was dark - that his family owns and lives in, we could see the lights of Jerusalem flickering about fifteen miles away.  The road to the village is winding and narrow because it's in Palestinian territory on "the other side of the wall."  Later, as we drove toward Jerusalem, we could see "their highway" on the other side of a fence.  Eventually, we were able to get onto it, closer to Jerusalem and two checkpoints from Adahya, where Khitam lives.

Muosa, his brother and a kiln full of cooling pottery

   Nasser, his wife Magda, his mother Amna, and his four children - Muath - 13, Malik - 9, Monteser - 6

and Mohamed - 4, were all there, and Nasser's brother joined us.  After sitting and talking for a while, Magda served us mahloubi, a traditional Palestinian chicken and rice and vegetable dish and some salad.  There was enough mahloubi for two or three times as many as we were, but I'm sure it won't be wasted and all will be eaten in the next two or three days.  While we ate, Khitam and Nasser's mother and occasionally Magda talked about old recipes.  Khitam told about making one of her favorite dishes that her mother made when she was growing up and that she made for the first time last week.  Amna talked about everything's being fresh in the old days and how they preserved food without refrigeration by hanging leftovers in a cage or in a screened cupboard on the wall.  I remember the latter from my friend Mahmoud's house when we visited his family in south Lebanon, in the sixties.  Eventually all the adults were involved in the conversation about food and how it was prepared and stored "in the old days."  Nasser's mother said, "All food used to be what we call organic."
 

Magda & mahloubi

After dinner, we talked, had Arabic coffee and then said our good-byes - "We have to go."  "No, Khitam.  Impossible.  Stay for something sweet."  "No, we really have to go.  My husband is waiting at home."  "Just stay for a little while, some fruit."  "Thank you.  We can't -"  "You're sure?"  "Yes."  "Al?"  "We have to go.  Thank you."  All that in Arabic, a typical good-bye that often results in staying longer and more food.
   We drove home without much traffic.  On the way to Khalil, traffic had been bumper to bumper until we got to Bethlehem on a Friday when usually there is very little traffic, Khitam said.  Remember, there are three active religions here: Islam, with a sabbath on Friday; Judaism, with a sabbath on Saturday; and Christianity, with a sabbath on Sunday.  This means for some, the weekend is Friday and Saturday; for some, it's Saturday and Sunday; for some, it's Friday and Sunday.  If the heads of mosque, temple and church could get together, there would be a lot of common holidays to forward to!

Mohamed, Nasser, Malik, Monteser, Magda, Amna, Muath 

Thursday, 14 November, Addahya
    Husni Al Ashab School is a middle school for boys about half a mile from Khitam's house.  450 boys, ages 11 to 15, I'm guessing, go to the school.  I mentioned it in my last blog; it is the school where Nasser is the counselor.  Monday and Tuesday, I taught theater workshops to counselors: elementary, middle and high school counselors (one woman is the only counselor in a secondary school with over 1,000 girls); three counselors focusing on substance abuse; a teacher of deaf and limited hearing children; and a woman who works in a psychiatric hospital.  They came from Bethlehem and the Jerusalem area.

The counselors

   Monday, we worked from noon to a little after 2:00.  When we finished, they clamored for more time.    "10:00 o'clock, not noon."  "Four hours?" Nasser asked.  Several chimed in agreement but others said they couldn't get there by 10:00, and it was also too early for Nasser to be available and to get the room.  So we agreed on 11:00.  Tuesday I showed up a little before 11:00; two people were waiting.  By 11:00, two more had arrived.  We got started at 11:45 with almost everybody.  One or two joined us at noon.  One of those who had been there before 11:00 said to me: "Palestinians are always late."  "Always?"  "Always."  There were also extenuating circumstances: road blocks, children's needs, transportation problems.  Almost nothing is easy here if you're Palestinian.
   Both workshops were high energy.  All but two of the participants were women, most of them "covered," meaning they wore head scarves and long outer dresses that went down to their shoes, which were often sneakers, with sometimes a little bit of blue jeans showing.  Two women weren't covered; one wore jeans and a shirt, had a tough demeanor, spoke better English than she thought and asked me if I'd come to her school, the girls secondary school with over 1,000.  Though she seemed tough and uncompromising, perhaps important in her school, she was also interested and eager, a reminder to me that I don't know somebody until I spend some time with them.  All the participants were interesting, curious, talkative and obviously liked to laugh.  I often did not know what they were laughing at.

   Nasser introduced me and talked about the purpose of the workshops, in Arabic.  I followed, used up my two minutes of Arabic in two minutes and shifted to English while Nasser translated.  I was fascinated to discover that as we progressed with the work, they began finishing Nasser's translations of what I was saying, sometimes finishing them in English so I would understand.  As we worked, they had good questions about ways to use the exercises and I often bent and stretched what we were doing to explore new ways to use what I was teaching.  As always, they were they experts - they knew what their constituents were like and what they needed - and I was the consultant, and, as always, I learned as much as I taught.
   After Tuesday's workshop, some of us talked for another hour about the work and ways to use it.  Cotton asked Nasser some questions about his goals and how this kind of theater fit in, then Nasser talked into Cotton's camera for twenty minutes, sometimes lyrically, in English.  Nasser would say his English is not good.  I would say it is very good, especially considering his circumstances.  I think he has learned most of it while working, though most of his work is with people who are unlikely to speak much English.  Some of it he may have learned while he was in Israeli prisons.
   When he spoke about what he does, wants to do and how theater fits in for Cotton's filming, he was talking about transforming education in Palestine, beginning in Husni Al Alashab middle school.  He knows it's a dream and says, "It's okay if I dream.  I will work to make it happen."  The teachers agreed with him about transforming education from the teacher lectures, students listen model, to students participating actively in their education.  Palestine is hardly the only setting for that goal, a goal Nasser shares with Abdelfattah; two very different people with very different backgrounds and the same goal for Palestinian young people.

Nasser explaining a point to a slow learner

   All of the counselors want more training.  All of them agree with Nasser's goal of changing the model in Palestinian schools.  It's exciting to hear.  It's also worth noting that Nasser's allies right now are women working in the schools.  It's likely they are more open to change than most of the male teachers, and a battle may be looming, one worth pursuing.  Nasser and I are going to talk more about his vision tomorrow afternoon, when Khitam and I have been asked to share a meal with his family.  It will be important for me to have a stomach and mind open for good food and ideas!

Tuesday evening, 12 November, Adahya (which I probably spell differently each time I write it.)  Another warm and clear early September day in mid-November Palestine.
   Today, I taught a workshop with twelve counselors: some we would call guidance counselors, some focus on substance abuse, one works in a psychiatric hospital and one with the deaf and hearing impaired.  Ten were women, the other two men, one of whom, Nasser, organized the workshops in cooperation with the office of the Palestine Ministry of Education.  This was my second day with this group.  Tomorrow and Thursday, I'll be working with middle school students who have had problems in school because of learning disabilities, abuse, poverty, emotional or mental challenges or a combination.  Fortunately, they work with Nasser in programs he has designed.
   Nasser is a counselor - the counselor - at a boys middle school with 450 kids, he does substance abuse and domestic violence counseling in the camp where he lives, and he has set up a counseling program in another camp for men released after ten to twenty years in Israeli prisons.  All this he does because he sees the need and believes that as a Muslim it is his obligation to help those in need.  This is a remarkable man!

Nasser is a new friend.  I met him when I was here in April and was impressed with his connection to kids.  He is in his late forties, has four kids, lives in a camp in Bethlehem, was in Israeli prison on and off for seven years when he was a young man and he is a devout Muslim.
   Nasser works in a school that probably has too many kids and not enough teachers in a building that needs a lot of work.  It's inner city education for the disenfranchised.  There are good teachers, some of whom I've met, and those who probably should not be teaching.  It's a familiar story; only the setting is different: a poorly managed school in a poor neighborhood in an occupied country.  Nasser refuses to be caged by these conditions and he works hard to enable the kids he advises to see the windows, then to open them and see the horizon.
   It is difficult to describe Nasser and how he works.  He speaks to all the kids, seems to know them, and they respond to his welcome and to his directions.  If he says, "Not now," they turn and leave to come back later.  They know he would see them if he could.  He appears to be tireless.  He is a dreamer and he works to make those dreams happen.  He says, in words similar to these: "I lost my childhood.  Now I am lucky: I can live it through these children, by helping them grow."  Nasser spent most of his teen years in prison for his involvement in protests against the occupation.  I don't think he was ever charged anything.
   He works a full day at the school, then goes either to a refugee camp to work with freed prisoners, and to spend the night there - he does this three days a week - or to his own camp to do counseling for substance abuse and domestic violence and to be with his family.  He saves the weekend - Friday and Saturday - for his family most of the time.  It is Nasser who set up the workshops I am doing this week.
   Nasser sees real possibilities for change through using theater with kids.  After today's workshop, he talked at length about developing a theater component at his middle school and a training program for counselors so they can teach teachers how to use theater in the classroom.  This he believes, will help change the educational system from one that depends on the teacher's imparting information and discipline to more student involvement in their own education, more participation and more thought about what is important for them to learn.

   The teachers are also excited about this idea.  We talked about it during our break today and Nasser asked me if I would consider helping to train counselors in ways to use theater in schools to motivate and support kids.  He and the teachers are enthusiastic about this prospect, and Nasser, who describes himself as "a dreamer," works hard to realize his dreams.  I will be surprised if this training doesn't occur.  Nasser asks for nothing from the government.  Once he has an idea and tests it, he pursues it, support wherever he can but not asking for government financing or approval.  He asks for permission when necessary and once he has it, he's off and running.  This training of counselors is one of those ideas, and Nasser has his feet set in the starting blocks.
   More about Nasser and the workshops in tomorrow's blog.

Medieval wall, modern barge

Tuesday morning, 12 November, Addahya, Palestine

Activity in the old harbor

   I'm posting some photos of Acre that I couldn't fit into last night's blog.  The harbor is Medieval, I think.  Wahib, Khitam's youngest brother - she is younger than them all - lives in an apartment there, where Khitam and her mother and two brothers lived after her father died.  The old city is Palestinian, with some Israelis living there.  The difference between old and new Acre is extraordinary and not surprising when you think of when each began, most of the new city being built in the last thirty or forty years, I think.                              

Off the coast

Smoke gets in your eyes

Old Acre with some new

 

Monday evening, 11 November
   The sun has set, the muezzins have finished their calls to evening prayer, the streets and the dogs are quiet; it's the early end of a good day.  Khitam went off this morning for a couple of meetings.  I did some work here, wrote the previous blog entry, then went with my friend Nasser to his boys middle school not far from here.  I did a workshop with a group of school counselors, substance abuse counselors, a teacher of hearing-impaired and deaf young people and a counselor who works with people in the psychotic ward of a hospital in Bethlehem.  A great bunch whom I'll meet with again tomorrow.
   Daily life may be changing in Adahya, this area.  It is supposed to have been the responsibility of the Palestinian Authority, but until recently, Palestinian police were not allowed in by Israel.  That apparently changed over the weekend and it has been "the talk of the town."  Because the Israelis would not allow the PA police in, there was no law enforcement here.  Drugs flourished; people shot off guns whenever they were celebrating; there was some violence; and young drivers squealed around corners and sped on straight-aways.  Apparently the Israeli government and the PA reached some agreement, because Friday, when Khitam and I were leaving, there were a lot of Palestinian police around.
    When we came back, we heard they had arrested fifty people for drug related offenses.  A visitor last night, a neighbor who seems "in the know," said he thought they had been planning this and that there were already PA agents inside gathering information on drug trafficking and other offenses.  Khitam agreed there had been agents inside for a while.  One of them is her neighbor.  Slower drivers would be a welcome change here.
   Where was I?  The weekend with Khitam's family.  First, some more corrections…at least one.  Khitam's mother was from Nahef, the village where her sister Zada lives and where we stayed.  Her father was from Acre, and that's where she grew up, so Nahef isn't really "her village."

Zada and Khaled

 

Naseba, picking olives

 Saturday morning, Khitam, Naseba, Khaled and I had a leisurely breakfast, the Palestinian version of a continental breakfast which would not have been the case if Zada had been there.  However, Zada wasn't there.  She had gone early to pick olives with Inas, her son, and her nephew.  We drove to meet them late in the morning.  They were busy knocking the olives off the branches with a long stick.  They stretch tarps under the trees, then hit the branches to shake the olives loose.  The olives on the lower branches, they pick.  Naseba and I picked olives off the lower branches of the tree they were working on until the long sticks got too close, but I'd have to say our contribution wasn't much.  Picking and gathering all day, as they do when they're harvesting the olives, is tiresome work.  Inas loves it and does it every year.  Zada told Khitam and me that he started when he was five years old, going out with his father and uncles to pick.  His girls are not interested, but I'll bet he gets his little guy

   By late afternoon, they were done picking.  They took the sacks of olives to the local olive press, waited their turn, then the olives were pressed and they came home with fourteen multi-gallon jugs of oil.  It's been a lean year, perhaps because of weather.  Inas said the good and bad years seem to alternate.  In a good year, they get as many as forty jugs!
   Olive trees are like middle aged and old men.  They get gnarled, a little stooped sometimes, and their leaves are small and shimmer a greenish silver in a slight wind.
   Picking olives is a part living for some Palestinians.  Zada is one of those and so is Inas.  They grew up picking olives.  Zada told me Inas first went out when he was five and stayed the whole day until the adults came home!  He urged his daughters to come pick last year and they agreed, but after two hours, they were done.  They sat in the car and read and listened to music and ate snacks.  Zada scoffed at this; she couldn't imagine not picking.  It's in her blood and in Inas the same way.  Maybe his little boy will go out with him in a few years, age five, just as he did.
 

The trees and the olives and the oil they give are dear to Palestinians.  When Israelis cut down or bulldoze their olive trees, I think a little bit of the owner dies.
   After taking Naseba home and Khaled to his brother Yousef's house, we went into the old city of Acre and walked along beside the sea.  The harbor is full of fishing boats, crowded into slips along the dock by Israeli yachts.  Boys stood on the rocks with long fishing poles.  A couple of snorkelers were looking to spear some fish.  Khitam and I stopped to have a late lunch at a fish restaurant.  She had salmon and I had calamari, both cooked to perfection in interesting and light sauces.  Of course there was also a salad and a small mezza of hummus, baba ghanoujh, olives, a slaw, bread…  Delicious!
 

Old city, Acre

We were a little nervous when we got back to Zada's because of course she was planning a big meal for everyone.  Inas and her nephew barbecued lamb, chicken and vegetables, enough to feed half again as many as were there.  There was salad, potatoes, hummus and I don't remember what else.  I got away with eating a little, though extra skewers of chicken were put on my plate when I wasn't looking. I was able to put them back untouched without incurring Zada's wrath.  Zuzu, one of her daughters-in-law said: "You don't eat meat, Al?  Why?  You don't know what you're missing," as she tore into another skewer.
   People stayed until babies and young ones were too tired to move or couldn't stop moving, running on automatic.  The house quieted down and Khitam and Zada had time to sit and chat a bit before going to bed.  I read a little, then gave in and slept.  The next morning, I was first up and just had time to make tea before Zada was up and soon  set to work organizing the olive oil.
   Another correction: I wrote "Zaza" in an earlier blog, instead of "Zuzu."  My apologies to Zuzu, a smart and busy mom whom I met at Khitam's wedding celebration three years ago.
 

   Sunday, we took our time preparing to leave.  Khitam, Zada and I sat down to a breakfast of warm hard boiled eggs; sliced cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and onions; warm Arabic bread with zatar, fresh olive oil, leban (yoghurt) lebaneh (yoghurt with the moisture drained away) and jam; and two kinds of olives.  I may not be remembering everything!
   Then we said good-bye to Zada and headed back here.  On the way we stopped in al Birweh, which I wrote about this morning, I think, where Khitam's family lived before the 1948 war, as did the Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish.
   Acre's old city, where Khitam and Ahmad had celebrated their marriage three years before, is always good to visit, although Khitam and I had perhaps our slowest and worst cup of Arabic coffee there along the seafront.  The view was wonderful and people were strolling and talking and smoking narghiles, but we picked the wrong little spot to order coffee.  Live and learn.  Khitam did get her narghile, but she said even that wasn't as good as usual.                                                                                                                                                        

Monday, 11 November, on the edge of Jerusalem
   First, a spelling correction from my last blog: the village Khitam is from that we visited over the weekend is Nahef, not Naher.
   It's another of those lovely early September sunny days though it's approaching mid-November.  With luck, the rains will start next month and continue through January.  This land needs those two months of rain.

Amira and Khaled

   The weekend in Nahef where Khitam's family is from and where her sister Zada and several nephews and nieces live, was full of food and family chatter and olives and olive oil and the sea.  On the way up, we stopped to pick up Khaled, one of Khitam's brothers and the only one who lives outside of Palestine; he lives in Houston.  Khaled recently retired from his job as bar tender and assistant restaurant manager in Houston.  His daughter lives in Japan with her husband and two small children - Khaled and his sister Zada and her son Inas flew to Japan for the wedding, no small feat from Palestine!  He is visiting for five weeks, a week of which is left.  Last year he didn't see his four brothers or five sisters at all, and now he's spending time with all of them.

Naseba

   We went to Khitam's sister Naseba's home for "lunch," which is usually a misnomer here, because lunch implies a meal that is not a feast; here, it is a feast!  Khitam's sister Amira was also at the house, along with her daughter and granddaughter and another daughter.  Eventually, her son arrived with his baby girl, Naseba's granddaughter, and his wife.  Naseba has divided her house and given two-thirds to her son and his family, keeping a couple of rooms and a kitchen and bathroom for herself.  Lunch was, well, by now, you know: kibbeh (a lamb dish), chicken and rice, two salads, and eggplant dish, leban (yoghurt), fresh Arabic bread and more.  We crowded around a table set in the small living room and ate and ate.  "Tfuddel, Al, kibbeh." (Al, have some kibbeh.)  "La'a, shookran." (No, thanks.) "Lish?" (Why?)  Khitam told them I don't eat meat, so instead of insisting I eat a plate full, they were content that I ate a little and said it was delicious, which it was.  Amira did put another serving on my plate when I wasn't looking, but I passed it on to Khitam and there were no protests.
 

Three generations: Naseba, granddaughter, daughter

We talked…well, they talked and I listened, understanding a little,  More people arrived and some left, and eventually we left to drive to Zada's house in Nahef, half an hour away.  Naseba and Khaled came with us.

Naseba's granddaughter and son

   When we got to Zada's house, people were waiting.  As always, the greetings were warm and profuse, with kisses on cheeks, three (kisses, not cheeks), and much: "How are you?  How is your family?  Thank God.  How is your work?  Praise God.  How is your health?  God is great…"  In Arabic, of course.  There was food, but we got off lightly.
   Zada's son Inas and his wife Hinadi and their youngest daughter, who is eleven, were there.  Inas and Hinadi have three daughters and a son who is a year and a half and full of piss and vinegar as little ones are.  The three daughters are in a terrific music program started by a man who wanted every youngster who wants to play music to have the opportunity, whatever the financial circumstances.  As a result, this program which he started offers scholarships to those who cannot afford it.  Inas and Hinadi's girls play violin, piano and guitar - I think I've got that right.
   While we were talking, I asked Hinadi if she had seen the video of Nigel Kennedy's version of Vivaldi's Four Seasons with Polish and Palestinian musicians.  She hadn't so I opened my laptop and we began watching it.  This concert was at The Royal Albert Hall, I think - or some large symphony space in London.  The musicians working with Kennedy are from a Polish orchestra he has developed and Palestinians from the Edward Said Conservatory in Palestine.  (I recommend the video highly; it's on You Tube.)  Kennedy is brilliant and an engaging clown and what he has done with this orchestra and Vivaldi is delightful.
   So, while we were watching, a fifteen year old Palestinian - they're all wearing Palestinian kafiyas (the head scarf) on their shoulders -got up to play a violin solo, brilliantly.  "That's Mustapha!" Hinadi said.  We know him.  He's in the music program the girls play in."  Soon, another younger Palestinian look-alike got up to sing/hum Arabic strains and Hinadi said: "That's his younger brother!"  Later, she identified the older brother, all three of whom are in the music program with the three girls.  Small world.  Watch the video.
   I'm off to do some teaching so I'll stop now and continue the visit to Nahef in my next blog.

Sunday evening, 10 November, Addahya
   Back at Khitam's house on the "other side" of the wall and on the edge of Jerusalem, it's been another sunny day with weather like the best of Maine's in September.  We drove here this afternoon from Nahef, where we spent the weekend.  On the way back, we stopped at the Israeli village of Ahihud which was once the Palestinian village, al Birweh, where Khitam's family lived before the 1948 war when they had to flee.  We walked around the area where her family's house stood, found the remains of the mill where the olives were ground by a large stone (al ma'sara) to make olive oil, and then found one standing building, the boy's school, which her eldest brother attended along with the great Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish.  Khitam called her sister Naseba who explained the location of the olive press and the school as if she had been there a few days ago.

One of two classrooms at the school in al Birweh

The old boys school in al Birweh

   But now, back to Alrowwad, where I spent two more days, Wednesday and Thursday, as did my friend Cotton.  Wednesday, Alrowwad is usually closed, so Abed had most of the day off.  We drove to the village of Beit Umar, where we met Jamal Maqbal and his wife and little boy.  Cotton was delivering a contribution to help Jamal pay for his heat this winter.  He had met Jamal through friends who had been involved in West Bank issues before he was.  Jamal's family lost their land in Palestine in the 1948 war; he has been in Israeli prison, and now the Israeli government has issued a demolition order for his house, the house he built.  He has taken it to court and received a delay.  He doesn't know what will happen if anything.
   There was tea, sweets, coffee, more sweets that we had to decline.  Jamal's wife is covered, meaning her hair is covered with a scarf and she wears a long dress to cover her body.  She speaks good English.  She studied computer science in college but as the mother of five children is occupied at home, and there's no guarantee she could find a job if she sought one.  She's a bright cheerful woman, busy at home but welcoming to friends and strangers with that Palestinian hospitality I continue to encounter.  While we talked, their two older boys came home from school.  The eldest, a senior, was in Maine last summer in Seeds of Peace Camp.  I asked how he liked it.
   "I loved it, loved being somewhere else, seeing new places, meeting new people.  When we had talks between Israelis and Palestinians, there were rules, that you had to respect the other people, no matter how much you disagreed with them.  It didn't really work.  People would get upset, yell and in the end, go back to their side.  But I liked meeting people from Afghanistan, Pakistan and Egypt, people who were dealing with the same problems we deal with here.  I had new experiences, saw new places, made new friends from other countries.  It was great."
   Abdelfattah does not work with Israelis.  He believes that Israelis who want to help make peace between the two sides should work with Israelis, their own people, to convince them.  There is a skewed view of negotiations between the two sides, discussions of the two sides, compromise between the two sides.  "Skewed" because one side is the occupier and has the power, the other side is occupied and has no power.  Abed is working to empower Palestinian youth and women so they can make good choices for their lives and work as he does to further Palestinian self-respect and rights.

   On our way back to Alrowwad, we stopped in Bethlehem at a little restaurant that serves mezza and chicken, that's it.  Abed said it's the best chicken in Bethlehem.  Now, chicken roasted outside over an open fire is common, but not this chicken.  It was succulent and the mezza was bountiful: hummus, baba ghanoush, a delicious garlic dip, two salads and more.  My hands were greasy, my stomach was full and before Cotton or I could ask for a bill, Abed had paid for the meal.  You have to be quick over here if you're going to share expenses with your host.
   Back to Alrowwad to teach a workshop and talk to some of the staff while Abed had a lively board meeting.  After that, we met Mazin Qumsiyeh, a biologist who taught in the States for many years and then decided it was time to return to Palestine, so he and his wife are back and he writes a regular blog on Palestine - Israeli issues and politics.  He is a small wiry man who talks rapid fire.  He is enthusiastic, outspoken and very interesting.  We went out for a snack before returning to Abed's and didn't have much time to spend with Mazin, but I had the feeling that if we had had time, we would have stayed there for at least another hour talking about Palestine.

   One more day teaching at Alrowwad, then we said good-bye to Abed and his family.  Nahel and the kids left in the morning for school in Jerusalem and Abed was off to France for conferences and then Amman before returning home later this month.  We drove into Jerusalem, had pizza and beer, then dropped Cotton at his hotel and came back to Addahya for the night.

Sunday, November 10, Naher, near Acre
   Khitam has five sisters and five brothers, all but one of whom live in this area.  The sisters are Muheba, Naseba, Amira, Subheya and Zada; the brothers are Mohamed, Khaled, Yousef, Umar and Wahib.  Khaled lives in Houston, Texas but is here visiting.  A sixth brother, Mahmoud, died when he was young.  Khitam, at fifty, is the baby; all the brothers and sisters are older.
   Tuesday, after my Monday evening arrival, Khitam and I drove to Bethlehem.  A drive in occupied Palestine is not often a simple matter.  There are checkpoints, and one of  the worst, Qalandia, is near Khitam's home.  She is usually able to avoid it by going an indirect route when she is going to Jerusalem or in that direction, as we were, Tuesday.  By going around it, one doesn't avoid other checkpoints, just Qalandia, and that is worthwhile, worth the time saved, in spite of taking a longer route.
   Checkpoints and the wall make travel uncertain and often tedious for Palestinians.  There are traffic backups and drivers are delayed ten, twenty, thirty minutes or an hour in their travels, which makes appointments and meetings iffy.  Last year, Khitam had a regular teaching gig at a school that, without the wall, would have taken her five minutes to drive to; with the wall and an easy checkpoint crossing, it took her half an hour..
   We didn't hit a serious checkpoint until the edge of Bethlehem, where we had to show our passports.  The delay was brief, my passport more thoroughly examined than Khitam's.  Because she has a fair complexion, Khitam is often waved through checkpoints, the guards assuming she is Israeli and Jewish,  perhaps.
   Aida Camp is a cramped space with narrow roads that make Boston's inner city roads seem straight and wide.  With over 4,000 inhabitants, it is crowded, with houses, apartments and shops butting up against each other.  If you're new there and begin wandering, you could easily lose your way; there's little reason to the layout.  After all, it started as a tented refugee camp, which is now inhabited by second and third generation Palestinians.  Abdelfattah is one of those, though he no longer lives in the camp.
   Years ago, he decided children growing up in the camp needed an alternative to misery and anger.  He wanted them to choose life, not death either self-inflicted or by Israeli bullet or explosion.  To do this, he developed Alrowwad .  Its vision is: "A Palestinian Society free  of violence, respectful of human rights and values, where children and women are empowered on an educational and artistic level promoting self-expression and respect for human values and rights."  Abed speaks of "beautiful resistance, working to deepen the notion of belonging, volunteering, creativity and rights for youth and women, regardless of origin or religion…to create a comprehensive society using non-violent expression through education and the arts…building peace within Palestinians."
   It is impossible to summarize all Alrowwad does and what Abed hopes to do, but here is a sample of the objectives:
     - empower local communities, with a focus on youth and women, to develop self confidence and self-expression and a sense of belonging in "beautiful and non-violent ways," such as literacy and the arts;
     - break media stereotypes about Palestinians using performing and visual arts, international tours and by developing local and international support groups.

 An arts program provides training in dance, drawing, painting, music - including a choir - puppetry and games and activities with the Play Bus, which travels to Palestinian communities and camps to perform and teach.  In addition, a photography program "puts Palestinians behind the camera instead of alway s in front of it to show Palestinians and tell their stories through Palestinian eyes."  The program's philosophy toward women is that they are "the change makers in society."  Alrowwad strives to support women through programs through job training, physical fitness programs, training in traditional crafts such as embroidery and health education.
   There are currently facilities and training in computer literacy, photography, storytelling and creative writing.  There are plans for an expanded library.  Abed also wants to develop a school program that  integrates mainline students and students with developmental and physical disabilities; Alrowwad already has a support program for students with learning problems.  Finally, though I'm not sure the concept of "finally" exists for Abed, Alrowwad strives to be a green working space and encourages "roof agriculture" in Aida Camp.
   Tuesday afternoon, I did a workshop there with a combination of high school and university students plus a ten year old who was game for anything.  Some of them spoke English well, better than they thought; others were very hesitant.  Still, because the workshop focuses on imagination and improvisation, we could work together.  They were fun, not unlike a similar group would be in the States, other than the language.  We warmed up, did some improvisational and trust exercises, then, through a couple of improv games, began to create material.  There were several "stars of the show," but I have to say Abed, who participated, and the ten year-old were outstanding and quick to lead the others!  Two hours went by quickly.

   Abed drove Cotton and me to his home, in a village about ten minutes away.  The house, which took eight years to build, after three years to buy the land, is a beautiful combination of modern and traditional Arab.  Most of the furnishings are Palestinian designed, while the kitchen is a model of modern western design and the furniture that is not traditional Palestinian is the kind you'd find in many American homes.
   Abed's wife, Nahel, is a bright, tidy hard-working mother of five.  Her English is fluent, she is gracious and she has a lively wit.  The children - Kanaan, Adam, Ahmad, Rana and Sana - are bright and lively, well-behaved - my mother would have been impressed - and fun.  They were excited to see their father home, especially the two girls, and he to see them.  Khitam, who had stayed to watch the workshop, joined us with a bowl of ma'loubi she had prepared for me the night before, a delicious dish with chicken, rice and vegetables cooked together.  We sat down for a "light supper" of ma'loubi, eggplant and yoghurt, two kinds of rice, lamb, two salads and, would you believe, corn-on-the-cob; for dessert, we had kanafeh, a rich, syrupy traditional Palestinian dessert.  Nablus, a Palestinian village - probably a city, now - is famous for its kanafeh, but ours was from a local sweets shop.
   Lots of good talk after dinner and a long rich day.  Alrowwad is a remarkable program developed by a remarkable and generous man, now a good friend.  A Palestinian home is a center of love and hospitality.  No one goes away hungry, and if the hosts have their way, no one goes away until he or she has to leave.

Saturday, 9 November, 6:00 PM in Acre, Palestine/Israel

   It's time for evening prayer.  I'm sitting on the floor in a child's bedroom in Zada's house in Nahef, a Palestinian village near Acre.  This is where Khitam's family is centered, though I sometimes think she is their center, she, the errant one.  A little background for those who don't know Khitam.

   Khitam Edelbi is a Palestinian friend of mine.  We met through a mutual friend, Claudia, who lives in California.  Claudia taught for a year at International College in Beirut, Lebanon, in the very early seventies, before Lebanon's civil war began.  I was teaching there, so we met.  Decades later, I called her, and as we were catching up on what each other had been doing for the past thirty years, I told her about my work in theater and education and she said: "Oh, I wish you and my friend Khitam could meet."  She told me that Khitam was doing creative and healing work with kids in Jerusalem using theater, so I suggested inviting her to come to Maine to visit our summer theater program for kids.  Khitam came for two or three or four weeks - I don't remember how long - we became good friends, and she returned for several summers.  That led to her applying to Lesley University in Cambridge to complete her BA which led her to stay on to get an MA in creative arts therapy which she did.
   Khitam returned to Palestine and began doing creative arts therapy with kids and teachers.  I began visiting her, doing some workshops where I could and observing her work.  She has developed an excellent reputation and is busy mostly working with teachers.  Whenever I get to observe her in action, I am wowed by her ability to connect very quickly with early education teachers who have had no experience with her work.  They quickly trust her and begin taking the kind of chances in her workshops that she wants them to help their students learn.  Khitam, my Palestinian sister, is a wise and witty friend and she is an excellent teacher.
   Now, I am back in Palestine, visiting Khitam and doing some workshops.  The muezzin has finished his evening call to prayer, which was short - the long ones seem to come in the morning, around 4:30, but I have become inured to those after being wakened the first couple of nights here.  I'll return to Zada's house and Khitam's family, but I want to go back to my arrival.
   I flew over on Alitalia, which I thought might offer good Italian food to compensate for the lack of leg room in tourist class.  I was wrong.  I make better pasta and serve better Italian wine!  I flew out of Boston to Rome, sleeping at least two and a half hours en route.  I had about the same amount of time in the airport in Rome to wander in a daze, order a coffee and get just that, coffee, instead of expresso which is what I thought I'd get.  I didn't know Italians served "coffee."  I recommend expresso, based on the coffee I had.  It was okay but when in Rome…  My flight to Tel Aviv was without incident and Khitam met me at the airport, where I cleared security and customs without incident.
   In an hour, we were at Khitam's house - half a house - where she and Ahmad live close to THE WALL, which you see from her house, two blocks away.  She fed me too much food - it's always too much food…my favorite comment on food here is from Lawrence in The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.  He's talking about an Arab sheikh named Auda Abu The (I'm not sure of the transliteration; his name is pronounced Owduh aboo tie): "His hospitality was overwhelming except to the very hungry," or words to that effect.  I went to bed around 11:30 which was 4:30 in Arrowsic, Maine, so even though I was tired, my body refused to sleep for a while, and not long after it did, the muezzin in the mosque near Khitam's decided it was time for me to wake, so he called: "La illa…"
   Tuesday, Khitam gave me a ride to the Aida Camp for Palestinian refugees in Bethlehem.  Over 4,000 people live in the camp, about half of them under 18, in an area with no green space.  It's not a tent camp, though it started as one.  It has been built into a small village.  On the edge of the camp is The Alrowwad Cultural and Theatre Society (ACTS), founded in 1998 by Abdelfattah Abusrour, a remarkable man.  My friend from college, Cotton, was there with Abed; Cotton was doing some filming for a short film he's making on people in Palestine.
  Abed grew up with his family in Aida Camp.  His family had fled there from Palestine.  A bright boy, Abed became interested in theater and painting and writing at an early age.  He also did well in school and eventually went to Paris to pursue and gain a Ph.D. in biology.  Even there, while studying, his interest in the arts continued and he and some fellow students developed a theater.  After graduation, he worked as a biologist for a while, but he missed the arts, especially theater, and Palestine, so he returned to Aida Camp in 1998, found a job with a pharmaceutical company and a teaching position with Bethlehem University and founded Alrowwad, which began in his parents' home, where he was living.

Al, Abed and Cotton

   Eventually, he and Alrowwad moved out of his parents' house.  He began to build a home for the program and has managed to raise enough funds for a building on the edge of the camp that houses pre-school programs, a library, a computer lab, a photography lab, a theater space for theater and dance and Palestine's first program for women's fitness.  He is now trying to raise funds to replace worn out computers, expand the library and open up space for preschool education.  At the same time, he is touring in a new play about the Palestine - Israel debacle, and he is traveling to France to try to raise interest there in a creative partnership with Alrowwad and then on to Amman, Jordan for a conference on education and the arts before returning home later this month, where his wife, Nahel, an elementary school teacher and assistant principal in Jerusalem, and his five kids, Kanaan, Adam, Ahmad, Rafa and Safa will be eagerly awaiting him.
   As I was saying, I'm here at Khitam's sister Zada's house.  Zada and Zaza and her sister Hinadi who is married to Zada's son, Inas are in the kitchen working on dinner for who-knows-how-many and that worries me because Khitam and I had a good late lunch in Acre.  Maybe I'll find room for a bite or two!

They also serve who only sit and wait.