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.
No comments:
Post a Comment