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.
   

Back to Nablus

     Yesterday Khitam and I drove back to Nablus, an hour north of here, for her second workshop with kindergarten teachers and their principals.  Sunday, she focused on drawing and painting as a means to tell a story.  Teachers and principals made their own simple drawings, then worked collectively in small groups and finally worked in two large groups.  After each exercise, she talked with the group about what worked and what didn't.  She was good at listening and responding.
     The focus was on music and movement and theater.  After Khitam introduced the workshop, I told an Armenian folk tale, "One Fine Day," about a fox traveling through a forest.  It is also a Palestinian folktale that I wished I had learned.  I asked for questions and comments after telling the story.  They were kind; they liked physicalizing the story; liked the way facial expressions and changing voices helped them see the different characters.  We talked about storytelling and kids, ways to use stories to get them involved and then Khitam took over.

Khitam with some of the teachers and principals

     She started with music, putting out simple percussive instruments, many for children, plus a couple of Arab drums.  The teachers sorted through the instruments, trying them, putting one back and taking another, deciding on one and then looking for another.  Before long, everyone had an instrument, and Khitam told them to experiment with sound.  The result was first class cacophony and everyone knew it.  Now they were into it.  Khitam told one to start a simple rhythm, then told the others to join in.  She went around the circle until everyone had a chance to lead a rhythm symphony.  When one had trouble starting a rhythm or started one that was too complicated, she helped without imposing a rhythm on the group.  The enthusiasm in the room once the circle found its groove was palpable, and the teachers could feel just what their students will feel when they do this exercise.  Next was singing.  Khitam asked them to sing some of their favorite songs.  All the songs they chose were Palestinian folk songs, nothing new and popular.  But they sang the folksongs with gusto, and whenever they all knew the song, they rocked the room.  Sometimes one of them would know more verses and would lead while others joined in, and again, the room was rocking and rolling.  Their enthusiasm was infectious and I held back from joining in only because I was there as a visitor and the only male in the room.

I've got rhythm!

     After the songs, Khitam asked me to introduce some theater exercises.  Like Khitam, I had them do the exercises I wanted them to consider doing with their young students.  We learned how to make statues and then sculpted characters from the story.  One of the older principals suggested it might be necessary to do some simple exercises leading up to statues to get their kids used to the idea.  Then we made pictures or "polaroids," group statues illustrating the story.  They were hesitant at first but soon were joining in with enthusiasm.  I talked about making cartoon strips of the story, using polaroids; or having one group do a polaroid of one part of the story, another group of another part of the story; even having each group tell the whole story using polaroids that illustrate the high points of the story.  Then our time was up; three hours had passed quickly.
     The teachers were eager participants and learners.  Clearly, what Palestinian schools need is support.  If teachers here have an opportunity to learn new techniques, new ideas; if they have an opportunity to use new materials, they are eager to learn and to change.  What stands in their way is a lack of these opportunities and a cumbersome bureaucracy, like most bureaucracies.  In my encounters with Palestinians at work, I am impressed with their eagerness to change if they see any possibility for meaningful change.  Too many are out of work; too many are underpaid; too many held up by untrained for new work, but they're eager to learn.

Outside shower

     On our way back from Nablus, Khitam headed inland and took us to a site that reminded me of Zahleh in the Beka'a Valley in Lebanon.  Way back in the 1960s, we would drive over the mountains from Beirut to the Beka'a Valley in then peaceful Lebanon.  There, by a mountain stream in the town of Zahleh, outdoor restaurants would be packed with families on weekends.  Meals were large: hummus and baba ghanoush, tabouleh, bread, olives; then fish or chicken; then lamb or beef - maybe kabobs, maybe raw, maybe made into patties.  For desert, fruit and strong Arabic coffee and sweets if you had room.  Then the men and occasionally a woman or two, would smoke a narghile while the children played and mothers chatted.
     Our destination on the way back yesterday was similar.  Waterfalls tumbled down the rocks beside the road and cafes were tucked into the side of the steep incline that climbed from the road.  Outdoor markets selling pottery, baskets and kitsch from China lined the road.  We climbed several stairs to a cafe half way up the incline where we had tea and Khitam enjoyed a narghile while the water tumbled by.  On a hot day, it was a treat.  By summer, the place will be packed.
   

The old city

     First, a correction or addition: the title of the post a couple of days back is: "Kanafeh and pizza in Nablus."
     It's another beautiful day on the edge of Jerusalem.  Yesterday I spent most of the day in the old city in East Jerusalem.  Like so many sites in this part of the world, the old city is built over several older cities, including the Jerusalem Christ would have known.  The current Via Dolorosa (Way of the Cross) is at least ten feet above the route Christ apparently carried the cross.  The old city you wander in today is a late medieval city, I think.

Samir Turman, Al,  Dr. Khalad Hammad & The Dome of The Rock

Rafat

     Before exploring the old city with Rafat, a twenty-seven year old Palestinian friend who was in Maine, thirteen years ago, in our summer program at The Theater Project, I had a meeting with two men from the Ministry of Education.  After a few misunderstandings that may have been a result of Rafat's having to translate for me some of the time, or perhaps it was the timing of our visit, not long before the office closed for the day; at any rate, we were soon talking about my work here and clarifying what I am doing.  The Ministry has to approve any outside activity in the schools, so it took me a while to explain my work with Nasser, the counselor at a local boys middle school.  Once that was clear, they told me they needed a proposal to take to the Minister of Education; this will lead to a meeting with a higher-up at the ministry to get approval for my work.  Ah bureaucracy, often necessary and seldom simple or direct.
     Rafat has a motorcycle, a good choice given Jerusalem's traffic and we rode from his apartment to the old city on it.  He obviously knows how to drive in traffic, and though a couple of times I thought I might lose one or both knee caps, we made it to the Damascus Gate of the old city unscathed.  When Samir, one of the men I talked to about the work with Khitam, learned we had come by motorcycle, he was surprised "an older man" would ride on a motorcycle.  I think he saw it as appearing undignified, a risk most older men here would not want to take.  If he thought I might appear undignified riding behind Rafat, he should have seen me getting on it!
     Rafat is at one those places in his life when he has to make a difficult choice.  He has been offered a job with a bank in East Jerusalem, a job that is a step in the right direction for improving his work status and making himself eligible for better jobs, but it involves a cut in pay, and he isn't making all that much now.  In order to make ends meet, he will probably have to work a few nights a week if he takes the bank job and he is willing to do that.  I think he'll take the job and begin to move up.  He is bright and a hard worker, and I'm sure he's reliable.  He has his BA in business after taking a couple of years off to learn Hebrew so he could attend the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.  The choices he has to make are similar to those of young men and women in the States with a couple of major differences: he is a Palestinian and right now all the good jobs are in Israel, which is okay as long as he maintains a residency inside Israel; and he has to decide whether or not to continue the process of acquiring Israeli citizenship.  He's figuring it out.

In the old city

     We wandered in the old city for hours.  I never get tired of it, though the crowds are tiring.  We stopped at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the spot where Christ was originally entombed.  It is a big church with a warren of additions belonging to a variety of Christian sects.  There was a large crowd waiting outside, and I'm sure a larger crowd inside.  After we left, we encountered a scene that is probably replayed many times every day: two men arguing about religion.  One, an American, was quoting the Bible and arguing that the other, a Palestinian shopkeeper, was just plain wrong.  The Palestinian saw the futility of arguing further so he conceded that each was entitled to his own opinion, but the American was not going to let go, so the argument raged on.  I think the Palestinian also saw that as long as the American argued so vociferously, he was unlikely to get much business from tourists who were passing.
     We stopped for hummus and foule, a bean dish originally popular with Egyptian peasants and eaten with bread, like hummus.  Rafat told me it was the best place for hummus in the old city and knew right where to find it.  I couldn't direct you to it without visiting it several more times!  It was small, like most shops and eateries in the old city, and simple: hummus, foule, Arabic salad and a couple other dishes, water, soda and mint tea with a tea bag to drink.  And it was good, very good.  It was the best hummus I've tasted in a long time.  The place was packed most of the time we were there.
     We saw the Dome of the Rock, Islam's third holiest site after Mecca and Medina, the golden domed mosque built over the the rock from which Mohammed is supposed to have ascended to get the word of Allah which became The Koran.  The Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa Mosque are built over the site of the Temple of David, sacred to Jews, so it is a contentious site.  As a result, tourists are only allowed to view the two mosques at certain hours, and to view them, it is necessary to enter via the "Wailing Wall," the foundation of the Temple where Jews pray and leave messages.

Old city walls

     Rafat said, often searching for the word or phrase in English that is better than he thinks it is: "I am not so religious, but I think different religions are okay.  People can have their own religion and let other people have theirs.  Why they have to fight?  Over what?  A place?"
     When you're in the old city, you feel how important it is to Christians, Jews and Muslims.  Why not share it without fighting?  Why challenge someone else's right be there, to say his or her prayers?  Why not look at other religions' monuments and acknowledge different beliefs?  The old city cries out: "There isn't room for this kind of disrespect, hatred and fighting and all of them are antithetical to these three religions.  Rafat said: "Most of the wars now, they're because of religion, I think."

photos from yesterday

     Here are some photos I didn't have time to put on the last blog.

Collaborating in Khitam's workshop

Happily figuring it out

"I don't think so…"

Khitam likes the work

"I think it's a…"

And VOILA!  It's art!

Kanafeh and pizza in Nabl

     Nablus is one of Palestine's largest and busiest cities.  North of Jerusalem and Ramallah, it was the major trading center of the area in several periods of Palestine's history, and when we visited it yesterday, it seemed once again to be a center for trade, sweets and hanging out.

     Khitam was teaching a four hour workshop in art therapy to fourteen kindergarten teachers from schools in the area, preparing them to use the Artbus.  Ah, the Artbus…  A few years ago, when she was working on her Masters Degree in Creative Art Therapy at Lesley in Cambridge, Khitam had a dream of driving a bus around Palestine, a bus full of art materials and small tables and chairs.  She would take the bus to villages where schools could not support an art program for the children.  They would come running out of the school with their teachers and do art with her.

     Last year, after three years of fund raising and telling people about the project, it became a reality.  A Palestinian bus company donated a bus, painted and configured to her specifications.  A local NGO came up with funding for the first year's work, and soon Khitam was traveling to villages and teaching art to primary grades and teachers.  The dream was active and it worked, and it continues.  Part of the grant money has supported a driver for the bus, essential to Khitam's being able to do her work and not worry about getting a bus driver's license, driving the bus all over Palestine, finding and executing parking and figuring out where to keep the bus.  

     Now, after a year of traveling from village to village in the bus to share art with children and their teachers, she has begun training teachers to use the bus without her.  The driver will go to village schools and to schools in cities where teachers Khitam has trained to use the bus will do art with kindergarten and primary school students.  "This way the bus can reach more students.  Sometimes I will go with the bus, but if I train lots of teachers and if we get more funding for the bus, more teachers and do art with more students!"

     So, back to Khitam's workshop with the kindergarten teachers…  Many, perhaps most of the teachers she was working with yesterday did not know each other.  They came in pairs, a teacher and her principal, so seven village schools were represented.  Khitam started by introducing me and asking if they minded if I stayed and if I took pictures.  They gave their okay.  I watched most of the time and then took a few photos.  After introducing me, she talked with them about the work, the importance of art for kids, the fun of it and its educational and developmental value.  Then she introduced the teachers to the work, having them do all the tasks she would do with five and six year olds.  It didn't take long for the work to catch on and take off.  The teachers worked alone, in pairs and in larger groups, making art, solving problems using art, telling stories with group paintings.  Before the end of the workshop, the teachers were fully committed.  Khitam talked with them about problems that had arisen: sharing ideas, reacting to your idea's not being chosen, listening to others.  The discussion was lively and Khitam kept it on track, enabling the teachers to learn not only about making and using art but also about resolving disputes and misunderstandings.  It was a terrific workshop.  There was much discussion I didn't understand because my Arabic is limited, to put it mildly.  Still, it was obvious how engaged the teachers were, how eager they were to learn and how much fun they were having.

     After the workshop, we drove into the downtown which was swirling and honking and pushing and shoving with people shopping, teenagers talking and hanging out, people eating ice cream, parents pushing strollers and people eating kanafeh.  Ah, kanafeh!  I first had it when in Beirut about fifty years ago.  It is a soft cake, a little like corn bread but thinner, richer and sweeter; it is in a shallow pool of a syrup that is somewhere between sugar water and maple syrup.  It is rich and delicious and clearly the most popular dish on the street where we bought ours.  The shop was small and packed.  People were buying to take out, eat in, eat outside the store, and as soon as a seat came available, it was filled.  We found seats, ate our kanafeh and were barely out of them before they were filled again.

     To top it off, last night, after a visit to a wonderful organic food project I'll write about tomorrow, Khitam asked if I wanted to go into East Jerusalem for a beer and a pizza…maybe she said "pizza" and I suggested beer!  So off we went to a popular restaurant on a narrow side street - like many streets in East Jerusalem - where we found a free table and had a Greek pizza that was very good and a mug of Taybeh beer, Palestine's favorite.  A tasty finish to a full day.  I'll send photos tomorrow or later tonight.

Latroun, wine and history

     Friday, a day of rest and prayer for Muslims, so traffic was heavy driving into Jerusalem as the faithful headed for prayer and others, perhaps also faithful, headed for the country.  We were headed for Latroun, also spelled Latrun, which is about an hour's drive south of Jerusalem.
     Latroun is the site of a Trappist monastery that nourishes the spirit and wine lovers' taste buds.  It is, like so many places here, a site with a rich history.  As we drove further south of Jerusalem, traffic thinned a little, and when we turned off for Latroun, we left the traffic behind.  There is no village of Latroun; it is a monastery, that's all, and that means it is quiet, a welcome change from Jerusalem and the highway.

The chapel

     Latroun probably goes way back in history; no place around here has only a present.  The Trappist monastery was founded in 1890 by the French, Germans and Dutch.  The Trappist order usually means silence and in their case, wine, which leads me to believe it was primarily the French who were behind the monastery.  During the First World War, the Ottomans closed the monastery; in 1926, it was rebuilt and reoccupied.  After the establishment of Israel in 1948, Latroun was a part of Jordan until the June war of 1967 when Israel began its occupation of Palestinian territory which continues today.
     At Latroun, we met Khitam's friends Maysaa and Atiyya, two engaging and very different characters: Maysaa all energy, laughter and obvious delight in what's going on and Atiyya quiet, perhaps a little shy, and always ready to help.  We walked around the extensive grounds - 200 hectares - that are planted in olive trees and grapes.  There are probably also vegetable gardens to feed the monks but we didn't see them.

An old tree; look for the face

     Olive trees hold history in their twisted trunks and gnarly branches.  Some look like they will tell you something you'll only know if you are patient.  Many are over a hundred years old, so they have a lot to say but you have to figure it out…or wait.  Palestinians are wedded to their olive trees.  If they are destroyed by others, a part of the owner's life is lost.  Palestinians might have rewritten John Donne's "No man is an island entire of itself.  Each is a part of the ocean, a piece of the sea…" to say:  "No olive tree or farmer is an island entire of itself.  Each is a part of the other, a piece of man's spirit…"

Can you see the eyes and nose?

     After our walk, we checked the monastery, but it was closed until later in the day, so we had our picnic on one of the cement picnic tables provided by the Trappists.  Khitam spread a cover over the table, Ahmad got the fire started and we began to unpack and set out the food:
mujudera, a lentil and rice based dish; leban (yoghurt); labneh, which is strained leban; zatar, a thyme based herbal mix especially good with bread and olive oil; black and green olives that Khitam and Ahmad had picked and prepared; foule, a bean dish Ahmad had made; plus onions, radishes and the reddest and wicked goodest tomatoes I have tasted in a long looonnnngggg time.  We began while Ahmad and Atiyya cooked chicken over a charcoal fire.  It was, as Templeton says in Charlotte's Web, a feast and, like Templeton, we gorged ourselves.  After the meal, Ahmad and Khitam shared a narghile (water pipe) and I checked to see if the monastery was open (not yet).
     Sated, as one often is after an Arab meal, we prepared to move on.  I bought a couple of bottles of wine to share later with Ahmad and Khitam, and then we drove to what the Palestinians call, "The Peace Oasis," a forest of mostly pine trees.  It could be in Maine, though the surrounding area could not be.  The forest is extensive, and though small as a "forest," is unlike any wooded area I've seen in Palestine, Lebanon or Syria.  We stopped to wander; Ahmad found wild thyme, which they call "zatar," and Khitam gathered pine cones for kids to paint in her art workshops.  While we were helping her, Maysaa told me about gathering them with her siblings and father when she was young and taking them home to decorate as Christmas ornaments.

Atiyya & Ahmad, Maysaa & Khitam

     When we left, we stopped at Neve Shalom (Hebrew)/Wahat al Salam (Arabic), "Peace Oasis," a village community that is half Israeli, half Palestinian.  Khawla, Khitam's niece, and her husband Fouad live there with their two sons.  The village is an experiment in "living together."  It must have a fifty - fifty balance, which is maintained by a committee of community members.  There, you own your house but not the land; if you decide to sell it, the buyer must have the support of the community.  Khawla, who Khitam later told me is an established Palestinian actress, and Fouad have been there for thirteen or fourteen years.  They built a sturdy and attractive stone house with grass, fruit trees and flowers around it and two dogs to cause a commotion and guard them whether they need it or not.  It's a happy scene and the community is rare if not unique.  However, it does suggest that Palestinians and Israelis could live together, but perhaps only if they want to share the small area both claim.  If they did form a single state, it would be a state to be reckoned with in this part of the world and in international commerce and high tech.  Both are smart and ambitious people, and the Palestinians I know are warm and generous.  Maybe…maybe, some day…

Latroun monastery and vineyards

Ahmad, Khawla, Fouad & Khitam

     A correction to my last post: Khitam and I have known each other since the summer of 2001, she reminded me.  And a small world note for Brunswickians: at the airport in Istanbul, as I was waiting for Cotton to get off the bus that carried us from plane to airport, someone said: "Al Miller?  What are you doing here?"  It was Phil and Jane Creighton from Brunswick, whose daughter Kathy ran well for Brunswick High School's track team about twenty-five years ago when our son Tim was running the mile and two mile on the same team.  They were meeting Peter and Marcie McGuire - Peter was our family physician for years - and someone else from Brunswick to see Istanbul and maybe more.  Small world, indeed!