A potpourri...

Khitam

     I'm back in Arrowsic, Maine, in my house on the Kennebec River.  It's damp today and not warm, not yet.  The weather is similar to Palestine's the first few days I was there, and then it warmed up, as I expect it will here.  That's what happens in Palestine, if you spend some time there.  At first it may seem cold, or cool, because you don't know anyone, they're speaking a different language and they didn't expect to see you.  Then you ask someone a question and get a helpful answer; you pass a shop and the shopkeeper invites you for coffee; you have a conversation with someone and he or they invite you for dinner and insist.  Palestinians are more hospitable than most people I know, and their hospitality could not be more genuine.  I miss my friends and new acquaintances there and am glad to be back in Maine with friends and with family and others I love: emotionally, one foot over there and one foot over here.

Palestinian village

     My friend, and the friend of many, Abed is very clear about his goals: to preserve the lives of young Palestinians; to offer educational and artistic opportunities to the people in Aida Camp for Palestinian refugees; and to practice what he calls "beautiful resistance," a form of non-violent protest against Israel's occupation.  Abed founded and runs a remarkable program at the camp, offering instruction in everything from theater to sewing traditional Palestinian designs; from the first physical education program for Palestinian women to teaching digital photography; from a library to a pre-school program and more.  Now he has begun construction of a new building for developing, producing and marketing educational toys.  He has his Ph. D. in biology from France, teaches storytelling at Bethlehem University, travels Europe and the United States to raise money for his projects at Aida Camp and is married with five lovely children.

On the bus

     He and his family have a house near Aida, where he was raised, and an apartment in East Jerusalem.  His children go to school in Jerusalem, so they are in Bethlehem with him on the weekends and often he would drive to Jerusalem to be with them after a day's work.  That is no longer possible.  When the Pope visited Jerusalem several months ago, he came to Bethlehem and wanted to go to the wall.  He stopped his car near Aida Camp, where Abed and many of the young people in his program were ready to greet him, should he arrive.  They carried signs asking for the Pope's help gaining their freedom from occupation and the wall.  Abed spoke as the Pope approached the wall to pray.  As a result, Israel has forbidden him to go to East Jerusalem, claiming he was making trouble.  Now he sees his family only on weekends when they come to visit.
     I met Khitam's friend Antoine on the street in Acre, when we were visiting Khitam's family.  He speaks fluent English and is a Palestinian Christian.  When he was in high school, he met and fell in love with Taghreed, a young Muslim, and she fell in love with him.  Their love blossomed and they eventually decided to marry.  Antoine's father was furious and kicked him out of the house.  Still he and Taghreed were determined to get married.  When Khitam's mother, a devout Muslim and a widow then, heard about Antoine and his father, she decided to step in.  There is a tradition before a wedding of the groom's friends giving him a bath, a dose of the local version of Old Spice and generally making sure he was all spiffed up for his wedding.  Since that was no longer possible at Antoine's house, Khitam's mother held the ceremonial bath at her house, making sure Antoine knew he had a second home there.

Budding artists waiting to make art on the bus

     Antoine and Taghreed have been married for over thirty years and have three "beautiful grown children," Khitam told me.  Antoine's father eventually realized that his son and Taghreed were meant to be together and has since celebrated the marriage.
     I attended two concerts with Khitam and Cotton, the second the night before I left, which left me sleep deprived but exhilarated when I got on the plane in Tel Aviv.  The musicians were The Trio Jubran, Palestinian brothers who play the oud and are accompanied by Youseff Hbeisch, a remarkable percussionist I had heard at an earlier concert with the Oriental Ensemble.  The Trio Jubran tours extensively and no longer live in Palestine.  They played three concerts in two days while there, one in East Jerusalem and two in Ramallah where we heard them.  They had come from Oman and were headed to Russia with Palestine sandwiched in between.

Jihad and Rima'a

Warm up in a teachers workshop

     The hall was packed with an audience of 800 - 1,000, and when the three walked on stage with Youseff, the crowd erupted.  They started right in and the crowd was with them every beat of the way. When they stopped to talk to us, people listened intently and applauded often at what the oldest brother, their spokesman, said.  The music was infectious, and Cotton and I soon found ourselves moved, massaged and exhilarated, along with everybody else.  It was clear that the musicians and the audience had an intense and mutual love affair.  At one point, Hbeisch took a solo, playing Arabic drums, bongos, cymbals, tambourines and more, all with his hands; eventually the three Jubran brothers came over and, each taking a percussion instrument from the stock around Hbeisch, began playing with him, to the crowd's delight.  Later, the three of them teamed up somehow to play together on one oud.  The energy and joy in the hall infused the walls, ceiling, seats and all of us.  'Twas a memorable last night in Palestine.

Teachers at a workshop in East Jerusalem

     And there is a spray of memories: erratic traffic where the concept of lanes seems not to exist; kids racing around Zada's house in Naher; trash by the side of the road.  In Ramallah, Rima'a and Jihad and their "Adel Fair Trade," where they sell organic food grown and produced by farmers and elderly women who needed support and now have a growing cooperative business, with farmers markets that Rima'a and Jihad are helping farmers develop.  Hospitality that is gracious, sincere, insistent and generous to a fault unless you are very hungry.  The beauty of the countryside with its olive grooves and rambling Palestinian villages.  Check points with young IDF soldiers who tend not to acknowledge the humanity of the people they stop or wave through and settlements on hilltops, walled and watered.  And always, the wall...

Take the #@# picture!  I'm in a hurry.

Just a light evening snack in Zada's kitchen

     I am left with the glow of Palestinian hospitality and a sadness at their plight.  I am disappointed and frustrated by an American policy toward the Middle East that falls all over itself to be Israel's friend and does not acknowledge the rights of Palestinians: the Israelis are human beings like us, the Palestinians are terrorists.  The latter could not be further from the truth.  The fact is, Israelis and Palestinians are human beings like us and they are also different, both.  Israelis come from Eastern and Western Europe, Russia, Ethiopia, some Middle Eastern countries and Palestine.  Palestinians come from Palestine, what is now Israel and occupied Palestine.  These peoples have many different customs and yet they could all live together, but the United States government seems more and more determined in its uncritical reverence for an Israel that is moving inexorably to absorb the rest of Palestine, or so it seems.  Meanwhile, contrary to unspoken diplomatic rules, Prime Minister Netanyahu decided to accept US House Speaker John Boehner's invitation to address a joint session of the US legislature, to lecture President Obama on US foreign policy and Congressmen and women raced to see who could stand first and most often and who could clap loudest and longest.  A cab driver

The next generations in Khitam's extended family

picked up my friend Cotton at a check point near Khitam's house.  He spoke fluent English and when they began talking about our government's policy, Cotton mentioned "the US Congress." The driver interrupted him: "You mean the Israeli Congress."  "No," Cotton said, "the US Congress." "There is only one Congress there," responded the driver, "the Israeli Congress."  This from a Palestinian cab driver who is barely getting by, driving a cab near Adahya.  Of course we have an independent Congress, but how independent when it comes to our policy regarding Israel and Palestine?  That's a difficult conversation with Palestinians over the meal they are sharing with you.  They don't make it difficult for me.  My trying to make sense of it makes it difficult.

Zada, Tel Dan Nature Reserve and the Golan

     I'm back in Adahya, where Khitam and Ahmad live, after two days and nights in and around Acre where her five sisters and four out of her five brothers live.  Which reminds me to correct an earlier blog: three of Khitam's sisters are widows, not all five of them and all five are hajis. women who've been to Mecca.  This will be my last blog from Palestine.  It's Saturday evening and I leave early Monday morning.  I hope to write one more, reflecting on my two and a half weeks here, after I return to Maine.

Zada, Khitam and Ahmad

     Wednesday and Thursday nights we spent with Zada, the youngest of Khitam's five older sisters.  She is closest to Zada, who was a second mother after their mother died when Khitam was seventeen.  Zada is the toughest of the sisters and the most outgoing.  I told Khitam Zada was very welcoming and strong and that I doubted I would want to get on her bad side.  "Oh no, you don't want to get Zada angry at you!" she said.

Nisreen, Zada, Ahmad and Khitam and a "light supper"

     We arrived around 5:30, Wednesday, after our delicious and very filling "lunch" at Naseba's.  I assumed we wouldn't eat again - silly me!  Within an hour, the house was packed with family.  Inas arrived; he is one of Zada's sons, married to Hinadi and they have five children.  They have a house near his Zada's but live during the week in Haifa because he and Hinadi both work there.  Nasri and his wife Zuzu were also there with their two young daughters; he is Inas' brother and he and his family live between Zada and Inas.  Zada's other son lives upstairs with his family.  Zada's daughter Nisreen was also there and a few others I don't know.  Everyone ate: there's was a mezza with plenty of food for everyone.  Family lingered and talked, watched TV, let the children run the show until they were worn out and in someone's lap.

Eleventh century Acre

     Villages like Naher, where Zada and most of her family live, seem randomly assembled with neither rhyme nor reason; however, there is reason and it's based on the family.  Often, villages had large plots of land owned by a family, maybe the grandfather of those who live there now.  After a son found work and married, he would likely build a house for his own family on his father's land.  The same would happen with the next son and the next if there were more.  Daughters would move to a house their husband would build on his family's land.  And so the traditional village grew, not from a town plan but from family plans.  As a result, village and town roads are often challenging for cars going in opposite directions and horns are essential before rounding the corner of a building that abuts the street.

Khitam's brother, Wahib, who, when he was a boy...

     Thursday, Khitam, Ahmad and I headed for the Golan, that area that sticks into Syria like a peninsula and was once Syrian and Palestinian but has been occupied by Israel since the 1967 war.  It's a beautiful drive.  The countryside is dotted with Palestinian villages and olive grooves.  There are several Palestinian villages where Muslims, Christians and Druze mix easily.  We hiked for an hour and a half in the Tel Dan Nature Reserve in the Golan, a natural park maintained by Israel's Parks Authority.  It is lovely, with the Dan River rushing full of melted snow from Mt. Hermon.  In this part of the world, water is very important, as it is becoming in more and more of the world.  There were several groups of Palestinian students in the park with their teachers and leaders.  These are Palestinian residents of Israel who comprise 20% of Israel's population.

…jumped off the wall, like this!

   When we got back to Naher,  Zada was already hard at work on dinner.  It was ready an hour and a half later: on a tray that was at least two and a half feet in diameter maklouba was piled, a delicious mix  of rice, carrots, onions and chicken all cooked together.  There was enough for a week unless you were at Zada's house.  It would all be gone in a couple of days with sons and daughters and grandchildren and nephews and nieces coming by to eat.  Zada also put on the table a large salad, roasted cauliflower, stuffed grape leaves, yoghurt, olives, bread and probably more I can't remember.  As we ate and after, family members stopped by, had a little or a lot to eat, and moved outside or to the living room or porch to talk, the kids to play.  Tonight there will be more family to sit down and eat; tomorrow there will be little maklouba left, if any.

Habib, Khitam, Ahmad and Minerva

     On our way home from Naher yesterday, we stopped in Rama, one of those mixed villages I just mentioned, to visit with Habib and Minerva Daoud, a Palestinian couple who have run a small restaurant there for twenty years.  We had fresh lemonade, Arabic coffee and a light creamy pudding that Habib had made that morning.  He is the cook in their restaurant, offering "traditional Palestinian cooking with a contemporary twist."  He asked Ahmad about his work and Ahmad told him he had just found something in the Acre area but his real love is wine - he lived and worked in France for twenty-three years - and he'd like to find wine-related work.  His goal is to be a sommelier.  Habib called an Israeli wine-maker in the area, a friend of his, told him about Ahmad's interest and set up a meeting for the two of them.  He also offered to host wine-tasting dinners at his restaurant.  It's all who you know!  We left without paying; Habib and Minerva wouldn't hear of it.

Jericho

     I have probably already mentioned, and perhaps more than once, how generous Palestinian hospitality is.  It's also filling, because it usually involves a meal.  I am staying with Palestinian friends, so I am usually full.  Fortunately, the food is very fresh.  We just had a tomato dish with tomatoes Khitam and Ahmad bought in Jericho a month ago, and the tomatoes, which have been sitting on enclosed porch, are ripe and delicious and will be for several more days if not for a couple of weeks.  Khitam hasn't cooked meat since I've been here; we've had chicken four or five times, fish once, and eaten in Jerusalem a couple of times.  The rest of the meals are fresh vegetables, rice, lentils, eggs and no one is leaving the table hungry.  I'm a guest and not allowed to cook or maybe they don't trust me!

Nasser, Hazzem & Nadya

     Jericho is not a bread basket; it's a vegetable basket.  The vegetables there are freshly delivered by farmers in the Jordan Valley, plentiful and inexpensive.  And Jericho is where the parents of one of the boys I've worked with in Nasser's group at Husni al Ashab Middle School wanted to take Nasser and me.  Nasser had told me that Hazzem and Nadia Showaki wanted to take us for an outing.  I had a lot to do that evening, or I thought I did, so I told Nasser I had to be back around 6:00.  When Hazzem and Nadia picked us up at the school, the first question for Nasser was: "When does Al have to be back?"  Nasser told them and Hazzem said: "6:00?!  We won't have time to go to Jericho!"  Nadia asked if I could stretch it to 7:00 and I agreed, figuring I had tied, if not won. 

Dome of Greek Orthodox Church

     So off we went to Jericho, a forty-five minute drive.  Hazzem, who has his own construction business, speaks Arabic and probably Hebrew.  Nadia, who lived for twenty or thirty years in Brazil, speaks Portuguese and Arabic.  Each knows as much English as I know Arabic, so Nasser did a lot of translating and I used a lot of gesture and mime, punctuated with the odd Arabic phrase, and some of them were odd!  We all managed.  They asked if I'd been to Jericho, and I told them I'd been a couple of years before with Khitam and that I'd been when I lived in Lebanon in the 1960s and early 70s, the first time by motor scooter.

     They asked me if I'd seen the mosque of Musa (Moses).  I hadn't so that was our first stop off the road into Jericho.  When we arrived at the mosque, Nasser greeted several people as old friends, some of whom seemed to be midway through a recovery of something.  Nasser then told me that he had worked as a substance abuse counselor there.  The ancient mosque had a space for counseling sessions and Nasser has been one of the counselors.  

Interior of the church

     Then we were off to a reconstructed temple and some lovely gardens, a reproduction of a theater Alexander may have commissioned and an ancient Greek Orthodox Church.  After all that, it was time for dinner and a return by 7:00 o'clock was less than unlikely.  Dinner was half a chicken - "Don't you want a whole one?!" - a mezza of hummus, baba ghanoush, cabbage salad, garden salad, a spicy garlic dip, pickles, olives, Arabic bread, radishes and…  After dinner, Arabic coffee, small and strong, some conversation with the waiter who seemed to be an old friend of Hazzem; in fact, most of the people we encountered seemed to be old friends of either Hazzem or Nasser.  "Something sweet?"  No room.  No room!

     After a few more exchanges, we got in the car and an 8:00 o'clock return looked possible; well, it did until we got to the fruit and vegetable open market.  We stopped and for about half an hour, Hazzem and Nasser and Nadia picked at and picked up fruits and vegetables.  We finally left with a trunkful.  While we were shopping, Hazzem had extended conversations with two or three people in the market.

Mosaic in church floor

     Then, we were on our way…up and down a series of neighborhood roads to a building site.  Hassem was near the end of the construction of a lovely house with a pool for someone from Oman; I'm guessing a Palestinian who made good money there.  He showed us around the site for half an hour, pointing out the lovely touches that the owner had required and got.  He invited me to jump in the pool, but there was no water in it yet!

     From there, we really were on the way home.  They dropped Nasser at a bus that would take him to Bethlehem where he lives in a camp with his wife and four boys.  Then delivered me to Khitam's around 9:15 after fun and friendly and filling evening with our Palestinian hosts.  The work I had planned to do could wait another day, as long as I didn't get another invitation for a little outing and something to eat!

Toujan and Khitam's family

     Ten years ago, Toujan and Amneh, two fourteen year-old Palestinian girls, came to Maine with Khitam to  participate in our International Teen Theater Camp.  The whole experience was a struggle for them in the beginning and Khitam had her hands full playing mother.  As the camp progressed, the girls began to feel more at home, and by the end of the camp, they were thriving.  Five years ago, when I was in Palestine visiting Khitam, we visited Toujan and her family.  She had finished secondary school and wanted to go to college in the States.  She asked me what I thought she should do, and I suggested she start college here and do the best work she can so there would be a chance of getting financial aid if she still wanted to study in the States later.  I'm pretty sure that wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.
     As usual, here in Palestine, our visit included a big meal with most of Toujan's family.  Her brothers spoke pretty good English and her father spoke some, and with my less than mediocre Arabic, some gestures and a bit of mime along with the efforts of the whole group we all managed to understand each other pretty well.  That was the last time I saw Toujan.  I never did see Amneh again.  Khitam saw her a few times after they returned here from our summer camp.  Her parents arranged an early marriage for her with a guy Khitam didn't think much of.  The last she heard was that Amneh, sixteen, was pregnant and married.
     Last Sunday, we set off for a workshop in East Jerusalem.  We left early because Khitam wanted to swim before the workshop.  She belongs to a health club with a pool in West Jerusalem.  She also had some errands to do and had told one of her former students who was graduating from al Quds (Jerusalem) Open University that she would try to come to the ceremony.  We headed there, first, but soon discovered the university was not so easy to find.
     Then Khitam drove into Beit Hanina, a Palestinian neighborhood the size of a village and part of Jerusalem.  We must have asked at least half a dozen people if there was a college in the neighborhood and most replied they didn't know of one.  A couple of people thought they might have heard of one but didn't know where it was.  Finally Khitam gave up: "Well, I tried.  She should have given me directions.  I tried to call her but she didn't pick up.  I know she's busy, but she should answer her phone to give me directions!"  With that, I thought we were headed to the pool, but Khitam decided to give it one more try when she saw some high school students coming down the road.  She drove up to them and asked if they knew of a college nearby.  The first group didn't, but the next did and pointed down the road, past their school.
     We hurried on and sure enough, it was al Quds Open University.  Khitam parked, got out of the car and said: "Come on!"  She asked one of the students where the ceremony was and he led us there.  It was upstairs in a classroom building.  The door was closed and a student with programs told us to go in.  We did and sat down.  The room was a small lecture hall, and had a stage.  There were probably sixty or seventy people inside; on stage, a young man was defending his thesis while a lovely young woman was at a laptop, running his power point presentation.  On the side of the stage sat three professors: two women, one of whom with head scarf, and a man in a suit.

Toujan with her mother

     Khitam whispered something to me, but I didn't hear.  "What?" I whispered back.  "That's Toujan."  "Who?"  "Toujan.  Toujan."  Then I recognized her.  The lovely student running the power point was Toujan, the Palestinian fourteen-year-old who had come to Maine with Khitam ten years ago and whom I had last seen  five years ago in East Jerusalem where she lived with her family.  SHE was the "former student" whose graduation Khitam had promised to attend.  I was stunned.  Khitam smiled and Toujan, who had been looking at us, smiled and I had to restrain myself from laughing and calling out her name.  Then Khitam pointed out her mother and father in the audience.  We smiled at each other while I waited impatiently for the presentation to end.

Toujan's mother, Toujan, her nephew, father, Nidal, Khitam, Al

     When the young man finished, the audience got up and moved to the hall or stood around in the room talking.  Toujan and her family joined Khitam and me in the hall.  We hugged and talked; I felt like an uncle whose niece has just shown up after being lost for years.  It was a treat to meet Toujan's parents again and talk a little with them; to see one of her brothers again, and also to meet her fiancé, Nidal, who graduated four or five years ago.  Toujan not only graduated and is engaged to Nidal, planning to get married next spring.  She also has her own clothing design business.  Talking with her, a lovely twenty-four year old woman with her own business; meeting her family again and celebrating her success with them, and meeting her bright handsome Palestinian fiancé,
Nidal, these are very high points in this visit to Palestine!

Amira

     We went to the healthy club next.  I had a cappuccino in the snack bar and read Romeo and Juliet (Don't miss it in July on the Brunswick mall!) while Khitam swam; then we stopped at a very small corner store for a scrumptious falafel sandwich in Arabic bread (pita) with tahini, tomatoes, lettuce, a few fries all crammed in with the  fresh falafel, still hot.  I could barely eat half of it; I sometimes feel like I'm always eating here!

Naseba's  granddaughter and daughter-in-law

     And speaking of "always eating here," yesterday we drove north to the Galilee area where Khitam is from and where her five sisters and four of her five brothers live.  We picked up sister Amira, the mother of Khawla, whom we met in Nevi Shalom, my first Sunday here.  Khawla is an actress, which I mentioned in an earlier blog.  After picking up Amira, we drove to the home of Naseba, another of Khitam's sisters, where we had lunch.  LUNCH?!  Joined by the wife and daughter of Naseba's son, we had mloukia, one of my favorite Arab dishes, made with chicken and spices and mloukia, a local plant that is a little like spinach; a home made rice pilaf; kafta, a ground lamb or beef dish, prepared in a variety of ways; friend potatoes; salad; Arabic bread and a spicy garlic based dip; labneh (yoghurt) and I think that's all…"all"!?

Naseba

     I have met most of Khitam's family but can't remember who many of them are, there are so many cousins and nephews and nieces from her five brothers and five sisters.  It was a treat to see Naseba and Amira again, and I remember meeting the wife and daughter of Naseba's son as well as the son, who was working yesterday; there was plenty of food left for him after work!

Khitam, Naseba and Amira, the three sisters.  Chekov beware!

     We left Naseba's and drove to Nahef, a village of a few thousand (a town in Maine) where Zada, the youngest of Khitam's four older sister's lives.  Zada is the sister Khitam is closest to; Khitam was seventeen when their mother died.   Zada stepped in to help her through the rest of her teen years.  When we arrived at Zada's, she was alone.  The four of us talked for a while, then I left them to so they could catch up in Arabic and not worry about my understanding.  Later, Ahmad and I went for a long walk around the village.  By the time we returned, the house was full: two of Zada's sons were here, Nasri with his wife Zuzu and two daughters; one of Zada's daughters was here with two sons; there were also other visitors I didn't know.  It was a typical evening when Khitam is in the village, and maybe a typical evening anytime.  Later we had some dinner, which I didn't need after the "lunch" we had had that afternoon.  Eventually, people went home with their children and then it was Zada with Khitam and Ahmad watching a Lebanese show on television.  Eventually, we went to bed.  I woke early to birds chirping outside my window where roses are blooming.  Spring in Palestine.

Conversations with Khitam and Nasser and a ride with Fathi

     I lose track of time here.  I didn't bring my calendar and I don't use my cell phone.  The weekend here is Friday and Saturday; Sunday is a work day for most.  I talk with Khitam or with Nasser on the phone and one or the other says, "Tomorrow we'll..," and I don't think of what day that "tomorrow" is.  So, I may write a couple of blogs talking about doing different things on the same day of the week.
     This afternoon, Cotton and I were having a coffee together in East Jerusalem and talking about our visit with our friend Abed earlier today.  I'll write about Abed in another blog.  He is a remarkable man, trilingual - Arabic, French and English - middle aged father of five and husband of wise and lovely Nahel.  We had taken a taxi from Jerusalem to the Bethlehem checkpoint and heard our driver Fathi's story of a difficult life, one of many such stories you hear here.  People don't boast of them; they talk about them if you ask.  After walking through the checkpoint, we waited for a ride and Cotton wondered where the hope is when you hear so many crushing stories.  Here are some thoughts.

Khitam talks with teachers

     Khitam and I were returning from Ramallah a couple of days ago, talking about what a Palestinian puts up with, living in his or her own land.  There are checkpoints which may delay for half an hour or more your drive to work or to your home.  There is the wall which is ugly and separates you from friends and your people on the other side; it may also separate you from your land.  There is the Israeli seizure of land under one pretext or another ("This land is restricted for military use.").  There is the restriction for people who lived on the West Bank that does not allow them to visit Jerusalem unless they have a special permit.  There is the demolition of "illegally constructed homes," illegal because they have not acquired a permit to build, a permit that is almost impossible for a Palestinian to acquire.
     And yet, Palestinians continue to struggle to exist and eventually prosper on their own land.  "I almost never pay attention to politics now," Khitam says.  The Israelis have occupied the land since 1967 and slowly but surely and craftily they have extended their control as settlement after settlement, all of them "illegal," are built on land that was Palestine.  If you look at a map of Israel-Palestine now, you will see that what remains of Palestine is a few islands afloat in a sea of Israeli controlled land.  There does not seem to be any strong Palestinian leadership; no one has emerged who can effectively lead Palestine.  So where is the hope?

Nasser tames the lion!

     For Khitam, it is in her work and that is what keeps her going.  When she works with the kids, she is happy.  When she works with the teachers, she knows they are going to touch a lot of kids, and some of them are going to be very good with those kids partly because of what they have learned from her.  It is they, the kids and their teachers, who give her hope.  She believes in the value of her work.  She knows that some of those kids will grow up in Palestine to be teachers, parents, artists, and she knows they will be valuable to Palestinian society and that they may have and give hope partly because of what they have learned with her or with their teachers who have worked with her.
     Nasser, my friend who is the counselor at the Husni al Ashab School which is in Khitam's neighborhood, also has hope.  He is a selfless man, father of four boys and, he told me proudly yesterday, a girl on the way.  He is the only counselor in a school of over 400 boys; it's a middle school that is adding a grade a year and will soon be a combination middle and high school.  Nasser works with kids from single parent homes, homes with alcohol or drug addiction, kids living with domestic violence.  Often these kids have taken out their anger and frustration and confusion on other students and on their teachers.  They have had poor attendance records and their grades have been low and lower.

Watching the play

     When these kids work with Nasser, they change, and one of his methods for changing them is theater.  He has received no training in theater, but he figured that if kids could act stories that are important to them, that might help them, so he began doing theater with them and they responded.  That was four years ago.  Three years ago, I met Nasser through Khitam and did some work with his kids and some work with Nasser and counselors from other schools who wanted to sample using theater in their work.  This year, Nasser's kids have produced two shows with Hussam, an experienced actor with Palestine's national theater, Hakawati.

Hussam makes a point with one of Nasser's students

     They are proud of their work and Nasser is proud of them.  They know he cares about them.  He treats them with respect and expects them to treat each other the same way.  When parents came to see the first show, some of them couldn't believe those were their sons on stage.  Some cried.  And Nasser?  He knows the kids can learn and grow if they are given opportunities, guidance, respect and a push.  They are his hope, they and his own children.  He wants them to learn to share with others what they have learned and to learn that they can try something they have never done and find success, sometimes through failure.  He also wants to affect education in Palestine, make it student centered, not teacher centered.
     Fathi's story seems less hopeful.  Remember, he is the taxi driver who took Cotton and me to the Bethlehem checkpoint.  I got a ride with him again this afternoon when I returned from East Jerusalem to Adahya, where Khitam lives.  Fathi is forty-eight.  He is married and has five kids.  They live in a two room apartment with a small bath and kitchen in Jerusalem's old city.  He and his father were born and raised in the old city and he loves it.  However, he can't find decent work.  He has been in prison and can't legally drive a cab; if he gets caught they take his car for three months and fine him 1,000 shekels so he drives his own car and hustles rides by asking people where they want to go.  That's how Cotton and I found him this morning: he found us.
     On a decent day, Fathi will make 200 or 300 shekels, $150 - $225.  His oldest child, a daughter, is a student at Bethlehem University.  He is proud of her, but the university is expensive for him.  Every day he gives her thirty shekels for the ride to and from the university and another ten for lunch.  He has to buy her clothes and also has the four younger ones to clothe and feed.  He has looked for other work but can't find it.  He lives in the old city so he is able to go in and out of Jerusalem, but if he went out and found work somewhere else and was gone for a year, he would lose the right to live in Jerusalem.  These are Israeli restrictions.  It is clear they would like to move Palestinians out of East Jerusalem, including the old city, and move Israeli Jews in.
     Fathi's daughter in college, surely the first in her family to go; Nasser's kids who find success doing theater that improves their overall performance in school; Khitam's work with teachers all over Palestine, enabling them to share what they've learned about using art creatively in school, these are examples of candles that light the darkness in Palestine.

   
   

Oriental Music Ensemble and Fares al Nausheh's pottery and glass works

       The Oriental Music Ensemble is a skilled group of experienced musicians who play traditional instruments with the occasional addition of a flute, clarinet and cello.  Last Friday night we went to a hall on Brigham Young's Jerusalem campus, a beautiful hall with huge windows offering a view of much of Jerusalem including the old city.  The setting, near the Mount of Olives, was magical to begin with, and the music that followed, made the evening magical and lyrical.
     The five regular musicians in the Ensemble play Arab flutes, oud, drums and cymbals, toobas and a four stringed instrument that seems a cross between a ukulele and a guitar.  The Arab flutes are a bit like long penny whistles; the oud is a Middle Eastern version of the lute; the toobas is somewhat like a dulcimer with more options.  The drummer played everything with his hands, which flew around the Arab drums, cymbals and bongos.  He played all the drums and cymbals with fingers, butt of his palms, back of his hands and his full hand, palm down.  When the beat was fast, his hands and fingers flew; when the song was soft, he barely touched the surface of the drums and cymbals, providing a soft lush undercurrent to the music.
     The man who played the oud had recently returned to Palestine after having been expelled by the occupation for ten years.  The quintet was celebrating his return and realizing how long he had been away and hearing how well he played, you understood the celebration. They were joined for four songs by two musicians who played western flute and cello.  They must have played together before, because flutist and cellist fit right in when they joined the Ensemble.
     The hall was packed which I'm guessing means between 300 and 400 people.  The concert moved us all either to toe-tapping, clapping, swaying or listening and watching, always watching.  No one was very far away from the musicians.  We were four and our seats were less than twenty rows from the stage.  The seating was raked, so everyone could see without difficulty.  Young children full of beans at the beginning of the concert were supine in deep sleep on mothers' and fathers' laps after forty minutes or so.  Like most of the audience, I was amazed at the skill the musicians displayed the way each song built, from a simple beginning, often by one instrument, to a stunning finish from them all.

Turning, turning, turning...

     Thursday, when we drove to Khalil to see Khitam's bus and to see it in action, we stopped at Fares al Natsheh's glass and pottery works, called A. L. Salam Co.  Fares runs the business that his great grandfather started 300 years ago, when he came from Turkey to make pottery in Khalil.  The family continues to make pottery and glass, both by hand, in the building I last visited a year and a half ago.  Two glass blowers work on opposite sides of a furnace that melts the glass at something like 1,400 degrees, and the master glass blower was taking drags on a cigarette when he wasn't busy with both hands and his lips, blowing the shape he was after.  Both artisans worked constantly, shaping another glob of molten glass as soon as they finished a pitcher or vase or something else.

Master glass blower

     Over in the corner, far enough from the furnace to avoid a tan, a man turned clay on a wheel, producing mugs, dishes, bowls and any number of items the family business offers.  A few feet from the potter, a young man was hand painting pottery.

Hot glass

     In a large room adjacent to the workshop where pottery is turned and glass is blown and shaped, pottery and glass line the shelves, all for sale at very reasonable prices.  This pottery and glass are not better than the those made by Maine artisans; it is different, just as all artisans and artists are different from each other.  And it has a long history, going back much further than Maine goes back, let alone its pottery and glass.  And there is something very appealing in the rudimentary quality of their workplace.  They are busy people, friendly enough, but they don't say much; you probably have to get them on a break and know a lot more Arabic than I currently know.  Their self reliance and hard work and their sparing use of words reminds me of Maine right now as I write about them.

End result

     Here's a small world story to end this blog on a serendipitous note (Did I really spell that right?!)  When Cotton and I arrived at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv, a week ago Thursday, he went to a line for the elderly (I think I'd qualify), especially those with wheelchairs, canes, crutches, etc; he has a crutch.  I stayed in the slower moving more crowded line and found myself standing behind an American couple, middle aged, with two young daughters who were very tired but were holding up well.  They were talking to another American, a missionary I overheard him say, who was about their age.  He asked them where they were staying and they said they were staying with friends of theirs from Cambridge, Mass, who had a house  in Birzeit, home of Birzeit University, north of Ramallah.  We talked for a few minutes after the missionary moved ahead and before they did.
     Friday, the day before yesterday, Khitam said we were invited to have coffee with Laila and Franz in their house in Birzeit.  I had met them a few years ago in Cambridge, when I was at a fundraiser for the Artbus.  Khitam said they had friends visiting them from home.  I wondered if they were from Cambridge.  I told Khitam about the family in the airport that had flown over on the same flight from Istanbul and then from Istanbul to Tel Aviv.  "Maybe," she said.
     When we got to Laila's family house in Birzeit, Khitam asked where her friends were and told her the story.  "Oh, that's who they are," said Laila,
 at which point, in walked Jeff, the dad who was, indeed, the father I had talked to at the airport.  To extend the coincidence, I discovered that Laila comes with the kids to Maine most summers for a couple of weeks, sometimes with Jeff's family and Franz comes when he can.  So this summer, I hope to see them all in Arrowsic.  Small world again and again.

A workshop and a conversation with Cotton

     Ahhh…at last, some warm weather.  Today dawned clear and sunny after a chilly night, the third in a row, at least.  I made tea, then Khitam and I had a couple of cups (two swallows each) of unsweetened Arabic coffee and we were off to Ramallah (the putative capital of Palestine; more on this later) to meet Sulayma and then on to Toobas, a village north of Nablus.  Every blog seems to mention that I'm just back from Nablus or going tomorrow!
     We met Sulayma and Sara, a Palestinian-American junior from Duke who is working on a couple of apprenticeships here, one with ANERA.  Sulayma is the director of elementary education projects for ANERA, American Near East Refugee Aid, an NGO.  There is a project with primary school teachers now that includes Khitam's work in creative arts.  She gives four workshops to each group of eighteen to twenty kindergarten teachers, covering drawing, painting and sculpting; drama; music; and movement.  Today's focus was drama and we did some of it together.  The teachers in the north seem more relaxed, socially, than those in the south.  All are friendly, but today, one said to me in very good English (she didn't think so): "Before I heard your story, I loved George Cluny, but now I love you."  She soon corrected it with the addition of, "…like a grandfather…No.  NO!  I mean like a father!"  All of us laughed and I said, "'Grandfather' is all right," but she would have none of it.  "Father!  Father!"
     Once again, Khitam got them all involved, even those who were shy and hesitant at first.  Many of the exercises she did came from exercises we do with kids at The Theater Project (TP) in Brunswick, Maine, but she puts her own spin on them, as do most teachers at TP.  We collaborated with some of them which was fun, but she didn't need me.  Nor did she need the representative of the Ministry of Education.  Sulayma had warned Khitam about her domineering ways, but Khitam handled her well, let her spout off, smiled and then continued the workshop.  No harm done.
     Sara and I had a good conversation about Americans' view of Palestine on the drive up.  She said that the recent urban shootings of unarmed African-Americans has brought the African-American and the Middle East organizations closer at Duke.  More young people have become aware of Palestine and there is more interest.  This, she said is not generally true at Duke; some people don't even want to hear about it.  They either don't care or have a pro-Israel position and aren't going to change.  I wondered if sometimes, maybe often, people feel like they don't have room for another contentious issue.  If they're pro-Israel, they'd rather stay that way and not think further when they are concerned about their jobs, their mortgages and their children and maybe their community.  "Give me a break!  I just want to relax and watch some TV" is not an unusual response, said that way or not.
     Cotton wonders about this.  He is disheartened by Israel's very organized takeover of Palestinian land.  He has friends here whose houses are under threat for demolition because they were built on Palestinian land without a permit, which permit is often all but impossible to acquire.  There is no question Israel is determined to take over East Jerusalem and make Jerusalem Israel's capital, and, if they succeed, then what?  Palestinians claim East Jerusalem for their capital but cannot realize that now when Palestine has not yet achieved widespread recognition as a state and has been occupied since 1967.
     Then we get to know people like Nasser, the school counselor at Husni al Ashab middle school near Khitam's and Ahmad's home.  I'll write more about Nasser later, but he is a wonder and has gained the confidence of troubled kids who have been in and out of school so that he can help them move forward.  And Khitam, with her bus and her teachers training all over Palestine.  And Abed, our friend in Bethlehem, who has developed an arts and education program for young people and adults.  And there are more, many more.  They are the hope for Palestine, these people who find joy in their work with their own people, helping them in small important ways.  The more of them there are, the more Palestine will advance and the more difficult it will be for people in the West to ignore it, to be unaware or pretend to be unaware that Palestine exists.
     I'll include photos in the next blog.  I left my camera in Sulayma's car!  We'll get it tomorrow.

Artbus photos

   Ladies aaaaannnndddd Gentlemen!  May I present, THE ARTBUS...

Step in and make some art

We're ready!

Making art...

Khitam

What's next?

   The children were eager to discover what they were going to do.  When Khitam and the teachers put out the beads and plastic string, they waited very patiently for five and six year olds, obviously eager to begin as soon as they found out what they were going to do with all the colorful beads and the piece of plastic each had.
   Once they had their instructions, they went right to work, picking the colors they liked and threading the very small beads onto the plastic, stopping to ask questions if they had any.

I'm busy!

Don't bother me.

Only five more minutes?!

   Their concentration was amazing.  Some stopped to see what others were making but never for long.  The little girl to the right who looks like she might be an eskimo if we were much farther north, didn't look up once that I can remember.  I was across from her, taking pictures, and she never looked at me.  She worked slowly and carefully.  I don't think she asked the teacher anything.  Nor did her expression change.
   Others would look up at Cotton or me, perhaps wonder who we were and why we were there taking pictures.  They never asked, nor did they stare.  When I smiled at them, some would smile back and then go back to work; others just went back to work, as if to say: "I'm busy.  I may have time to talk later."

I've almost got it...

Khitam and the teachers

The Artbus

     I write "Artbus."  "Art Bus" may be the correct form, but I run the words together because together they represent a dream, a concept, a brightly decorated vehicle and a Palestinian woman with a mission.    That woman is Khitam Edelbi, pronounced khe (short e and a little slur at the back of your mouth) TOM ED-al-bee.  She grew up in Acre, which is up the coast and since 1948 a part of Israel.  She was the last of twelve children, six girls and six boys; surviving today are six women and five men.  The women are Muheba, Naseba, Amira, Subheya, Zada and Khitam; the men, Mohamed, Khaled, Yousef, Umar and Wahib.

     Khitam was an afterthought.  Her mother and father certainly didn't need another child and hadn't expected one.  Her father died when she was very young, her mother died a few years later.  Her sister Zada raised her during her teen years with help from the siblings.  

     All her sisters are hajis; they have been to Mecca.  All her sisters are covered but don't wear veils across their faces.  All her sisters are mothers and widows.  The family is large and close.  All the brothers are fathers and all the siblings but Khaled live around Acre, now called "Acca."  (I like the ancient name of the city Alexander the Great and the Crusaders laid siege to.)  Khaled lives in Texas with his wife but he comes here every year for several weeks with the family.

     Khitam went to high school in Haifa, a better school than was available to her in Acca, and then took two years of college, studying theater and art education.  She acted with Hakawati Theatre in and worked with children in East Jerusalem.  She was working with children and parents who had lost a brother or sister, a son or daughter in fighting with Israel when I heard about her.  A mutual friend told me she wished I could meet her friend Khitam who was doing work in Palestine similar to the work we do at The Theater Project but in a very different setting.  When I asked if she would like to come to Maine in the summer to participate in our summer program for kids, the world shifted on its axis just a teeny bit, not enough for anyone to notice.

     Khitam came to Maine in the summer of 2001.  I went to Logan Airport to pick her up, not really knowing what she looked like.  She, however, had a photo I'd sent her so she recognized me when I arrived, late as usual.  We drove back to Maine, where she now knows she has a second home, and we began a friendship that has continued and grown for fourteen years.  She is my much younger Palestinian sister.  After returning to Maine the next three summers and she decided to continue her education to get her BA.  She applied to Lesley University in Cambridge, was accepted, managed to get enough financial support here and there to afford it and back she went to college!  Winters were a bit of a shock to her, but she weathered them.  Language was an issue.  She was fluent in Arabic and Hebrew and her English was quite good when she arrived, but doing college work in English was a challenge, one she overcame.  She studied on and got her BA.

     Every summer she returned to Palestine to see her family and to do some work.  At the end of every summer she had returned to Cambridge to work on her BA.  She visited Maine often, even in winter when she declared Maine was FFF, the last word being "freezing."  She adjusted and she wanted more, so she applied for Lesley's MA program in Creative Arts Therapy and was accepted.  She got enough financial aid to continue and began her pursuit of a Masters degree.  She did apprenticeships in a local high school program for troubled teens and in McLean Hospital.  And soon she had an MA in Creative Arts Therapy.  She also had a dream.

     The dream was to drive an bus around Palestine, teaching art to children and teachers in villages where they could not afford an arts program in their small schools.  The bus would be fitted with cupboards for art supplies and tables and chairs for children, with extra tables and chairs that could be placed outside when there were more children than the bus would hold.  The bus would be painted with designs that appealed to children and would offer young children and teachers opportunities to make art.  The bus would carry all necessary supplies.

     Encouraged by many friends to pursue her dream, she began a campaign to raise money for a bus.  She would need about $60,000, so it would take time, but she was determined and began her campaign.  She spoke to groups in Massachusetts, Washington, D.C, Maine and California about her dream and asked for support.  Slowly the money began to accumulate; a few thousand dollars from here, a few from there, eventually she had about $15,000 dollars in the bus bank account.  Friends had helped her acquire non-profit status so donations in the States were tax deductible.  

     Then came the big leap, a miracle: a Palestinian bus company offered to donate a bus to her project, outfitted and painted the way she wanted it!  A year later, the bus was ready.  A local NGO that works with children and teachers became the agent for the bus, took care of it and hired a driver.  They also funded much of the first year's work.  Schools cannot afford to pay for the bus to come; that expense has to be funded from outside and it was!  Khitam was on the road with the Artbus!

     The first year, which was last year, she was in the north and south with the bus, usually four days a week.  She worked on other projects one or two days a week.  When the bus arrived in a village, children would run out to see it, just as she had dreamed.  She and the teachers would set out the tables, prepare everything inside, and the children would get on the bus or sit at the tables outside, be given materials and they would make art.  These were kindergarten children, and in many cases, this was the first time they had any materials for making art.

     Now, a year later, Khitam continues to train teachers.  So far she has trained over sixty teachers to use the bus on their own.  She no longer travels four days a week with the bus.  "I don't need to be there all the time.  The teachers can learn to use the bus with their kids.  The bus is for the kids and teachers, not for me.  Now we need another bus.  Too many schools ask for us; we can't get to all of them in a year."  So she is thinking about another vehicle that can do the same work.  An acquaintance who outfitted a truck to bring theater to villages wants to collaborate; he's not touring now.  If she can get the truck outfitted for art and get funding for it, more small children can experience the joy of making art and maybe more schools will find ways…

     Yesterday, Cotton and I went with Khitam to Khalil (Hebron) to see the bus in action.  Khalil is a very busy city with streets that make Boston's inner city streets seem like highways, but more on Khalil in another blog.  We eventually found the bus; Fayez, one of her collaborators from ECRC (Early Childhood Resource Center) who was there, gave her confused directions which she overcame, driving like a stunt driver in an action movie.  And there it was, the Artbus, parked at the school!  Teachers were ready to bring the kindergarten children on board.

     Khitam introduced Cotton and me to Fayez, whom I had met a few years ago, and to some of the teachers.   She got onboard, invited us up, and then checked with the teachers, helping to get materials ready for the kids.  And then they came, beautiful five and six year-olds, eager to find out what they were going to do on this brightly painted bus parked at their school.  For an hour or more, we watched one group after another enjoy making bracelets on the bus, then go to tables and chairs outside and make pictures, tables and chairs that came from the bus.

     How did the world shift imperceptibly on its axis back in the summer of 2001?  It jostled Khitam's imagination so she could soon dream of having a bus to drive around Palestine and do art with small children and their teachers.  And that would remind me, a longtime dreamer, that dreams are good for us and that if we pursue them, they may become reality.  It would also reconnect me with Palestine, where I had traveled decades ago but hadn't revisited since 1998.   And Khitam?  This summer she will visit the States, and while there, she will travel to communities where she first mentioned her dream and show people the results.  She will also apply to Lesley University's Ph.D. program in Creative Arts Therapy. 

     That's how the world shifted.  Photos are coming.

     

Playing catch-up

     When I get behind a day or two, I scramble to catch up.  "What did I do two days ago?  Have I written about Hussam?  About the workshops at the al Ashab middle school…?"  I'll try to catch up now.  My apologies for mistakes and omissions in my last entry; I was in a hurry and didn't proof it carefully.

Hussam talks to the young actors

     Hussam abu Esheh is a Palestinian actor in his fifties.  "I have been acting since I was ten years old. When I was in school, I was not a good student, but the teachers were nice to me because I was good at imitating them and making them comic, and they didn't want that, so they were nice."  He works now with Hakawati Theatre, the Palestinian National Theatre.  Their work is challenged by the occupation. Palestine includes the West Bank and because it is so difficult for West Bank Palestinians to get permission to come to Jerusalem.  After Hakawati, located in East Jerusalem, performs in their theater, to make it available to Palestinians in the West Bank, they have to find a space in Ramallah in the West Bank and move the production there.  Often this is not possible because of the expense of renting a space and transporting sets and props and costumes and actors to Ramallah.
     This year, Hussam received support from an NGO to work with Nasser in Husni al Ashab school and with a nearby girls school, developing plays with teens.  At Husni al Ashab School, Hussam works with Nasser's kids, the troubled and troubling young teens.  They have already produced one play and are now working on another.  I did some work with them and then watched Hussam work on the their second show.  He's good with them, and they like him and respect him.  He is famous in Palestine as the host of a televised quiz show.  He has also been with Hakawati for many years and theater-goers know his work.  He has toured in France with a production of Sophocles' ANTIGONE and an original production he and the rest of the cast developed.

Learn those lines!

     Nasser is excited about this work he started with kids a few years ago.  He knew little if anything about theater (reminds me of someone I know too well) but believed it could help the kids behave and learn because it would help them believe in themselves.  I wrote in an earlier blog when I was last here that Nasser works with the difficult kids who come from violent homes, single parent families and families with substance abuse issues.  He has learned what he suspected: when the kids do theater and are given responsibility and expected to "measure up," most of them do.  You see it when they work with Nasser, when they do theater exercises with me, when they rehearse with Hussam.  They are focused most of the time, a wonder for boys 12 - 15; they are respectful and they want to do well.  In order to do theater, they must be at school on time and absent only when they have an acceptable excuse.  Not only has attendance improved markedly, but Nasser has noticed more and more of the kids performing better in school.

I'm listening

     Khitam and I went into East Jerusalem to see Hussam and four other actors perform scenes from a play Hussam wrote that they will be taking to France soon to perform in Arabic with a running French translation.  We met our friend Cotton there and watched the scenes.  I could follow well enough to get the gist without looking up at the French translation and then back down at the action.  Because the play has energy and movement and because the actors are focused on bringing the words to life for us, we enjoy and admire it.  Afterwards I talked with Hussam and three of the other actors; the the three are young and as engaging and energetic offstage as on.  Insha'allah we'll see them in Maine one of these days!

We're all listening…pretty much

     Why make it so hard for this kind of work to happen?  Here kids' hopes are circumscribed by the occupation and its effect.  Families are sometimes separated by the wall; travel from one area of Palestine to another without Israeli license plates is difficult, if not impossible; jobs are scarce and commerce is restricted by the occupation.  And there are cultural obstacles also.  The traditional Palestinian school is the teacher, as master, talking at the kids.  To change that, schools need more Nassers.  The Palestinian bureaucracy is as cumbersome as any and worse than many.  At the same time, the people are remarkably hospitable and tolerant.  They are helpful and bright.  The wall and the separation of Israelis and Palestinians is artificial and it imprisons both  Israel and Palestine.  The difference between them is that Israel has all the power, Palestine none, except what they can find within.