Yesterday, Friday the 19th, Khitam took off from work and we drove to Jaffa, which is about an hour from her place on the coast. The day was clear, unlike today when it's raining and a little chilly, and the drive lovely, through rust colored hills, patches of green forest, and then Tel Aviv and Jaffa. Tel Aviv is a new city, built by Israel since 1948, when Israel became a nation. It looks new and building continues. It's another city, like so many other western cities - maybe eastern cities, too.
I like old cities. I liked the Beirut that existed before the civil war that pretty much destroyed it. It was stuck together with the gum and glue of different religious sects and history: here is the Orthodox section of town, here the Maronite; are is where most of the Kurds live and here the small Jewish section. The old market rambled and shambled over blocks of downtown: here meat, here fruit, here household items, here jewelry - "See, please, sir, these lovely gold bangles. Special price for you. AUB? I already gave you AUB discount. I knew." Modern Beirut is a city, like other cities but with a particularly appealing locati
Refreshed, we drove back through the old city, stopping every few blocks to ask directions. It's a
warren, the kind of ordered disorder that you know intimately after being there for a while, but when
you're new, you can't figure out how to get from here to there. Whenever Khitam asked, the response mostly gestural, would suggest: "Straight, then right, then left, of course. It's obvious. No problem."
Easy for them to say! I'd like to go back and spend a couple of days there, exploring the old city
We returned home, caught up on some work, then headed for town to see another dance performance, this one by a French troupe. They've choreographed a long piece based on Samuel Beckett's writings. The National Theatre was packed and we were waiting for Cotton to show. Khitam had called to tell him about the performance and invited him to join us. His hotel, The Jerusalem Meridian, is right around the corner so he could walk over in a matter of minutes. We had said 7:30, which was the announced time but got there early and were told it started at 7:15. It was 7:10! We called Cotton, told him to boogie, which is not easy for him as he is recovering from some serious back and neck surgery. I told Khitam to find seats and I'd wait for Cotton. With a minute to go, the guy at the door said I had to enter then if I wanted to see the beginning. After it started, the company wanted the doors kept closed for ten minutes before anyone was let in. I left a ticket for Cotton, entered, found Khitam - "Al. Al! Over here!" - got to my seat and had no sooner sat than Khitam said: "Where's my purse?" She couldn't find it, the lights were dimming slowly and out to the lobby she scurried. The lights dimmed further until there was just a haze of light on stage and the nine dancers shuffled in as if wandering out of a Beckett play. A light on the steps beside me caught my attention, then Khitam and Cotton appeared, led in from the back by an usher. We made it!
The piece, an hour and a half long, was remarkable in its energy, its suggested narrative, the focus of the dancers which drew your attention to wherever they wanted it. For those who know and like
Beckett, there was a sense of being inside his mind and feeling his thoughts rather than hearing them. It was remarkable, the theater was packed and the audience loved the piece. After the show, poured out with the rest of the audience, all excited and buzzing about the piece in Arabic, French and English. We headed for a nearby bistro that Khitam and I had visited after Monday's show and there we ate pizza, drank a little wine and talked about the show and Palestine.
Tomorrow, back to teaching and whatever else turns up.
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