misadventures in Palestine

signing off

2008-03-01T07:39:00.004+02:00

I didn't realize that someone is actually reading this thing, so Kathleen, and everyone else, I apologize for not wrapping this thing up. Yes, I'm back in the free-world for a length of time yet-to-be-determined. I wanted to report back on Nablus and Sabastiya, two places definitely worth noting, but since I hate goodbyes, I'll just leave you with a picture of each.

A room of a palace in Sabastiya (Qasr Al Kayed aka: قصر الكايد -- It was restored by Riwaq)

Tuqan olive oil soap factory in Nablus

dreaming of a white Ramallah

2008-01-31T20:19:00.000+02:00

When Palestinians want to let loose, they're going to do it full throttle. It snowed yesterday and though the whole city shut down, the shabab were out pelting innocent bystandards with snowballs and I think that by now, as a result of two intifadas, an entire population has accurate aim and a good arm genetically imprinted. I stayed home yesterday but today I ventured out and I didn't even get ten steps into the Manara until I was pelted from above. I screamed in a pretty girlie way which prompted some guy to get out and yell at the kids up above, but he only got pelted in return. It was chaos and I had to walk along hugging the edge of the storefronts to avoid being shot at. Now if they tried to get me from the street level, I'd be ready, but they really had an unfair advantage. I guess they finally deserve it.

So on my way home, I ran into Omar (one of several that I've met while here, but I believe this is my first mention of this one in particular). Since both he and I were in the middle of doing nothing at all, we took a walk around the outskirts of Ramallah and talked about bad American TV (Dr. Phil, Oprah and Inside Edition), Arab nationalism, foreign leftists in Palestine, and role of African Americans in US history. I never really spent a lot of time with Omar but I have to say that today was one of my favorite days here, walking around and taking it easy while the city was out pelting snowballs and making snowmen. Even the sulta was having a good time.

sulta = Palestinian authority

Kamal at Qalandia

2008-01-20T19:19:00.000+02:00

Remember the old days when your mom would hear from a friend or a friend-of-a-friend that there's a nice single shab from so-and-so's family who's looking to meet a bint of good repute and after a proper introduction over tea and cookies, the nervous couple would go to a movie or something like that? Times are really changing.. I don't mean the fact the girls and boys now hang out at bars and clubs to scope each other out. I'm also not talking about all this cyber-dating that guys and gals are into lately. I'm talking about checkpoints. I mean, it makes perfect sense. If you're stuck waiting with a whole bunch of others and there's some cutie in line, why not make the best use of your time and "put the moves on" as they say.

So today I was at Qalandia, which not only houses one of the largest checkpoints in the West Bank, but also has the most reliable post office in the Ramallah area. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from the last time I needed to post a letter and so I didn't just pick the shortest line this time. A few weeks ago, I found myself stuck between two gates, unable to go one way toward Jerusalem or the other way back to Ramallah all while some 19-year-old soldier behind the gate controls was presumably having a good laugh safely tucked on the other side of all that bullet proof glass and hidden cameraworks. So this time, I went all the way to the end to the one and only terminal that leads to the post office. There were about 10 or so people waiting and no soldier in sight, nobody was crossing and some old lady with a cane and a village style embroidered dress had given up and was sitting on the floor right next to the metal turnstile. So I turn to some random guy and ask him how long everyone has been waiting. A half hour he says. I ask if anyone has gone though and he says no. I'd like to say that our conversation was as easy to understand as I'm relaying it right now, but in fact, a few times this guy tried to switch languages, presumably to communicate a little easier. He insists that he speaks Hebrew well but I tell him that my Hebrew is just like my Arabic so sorry, switching to the language that would surely get me a lot of stares isn't going to help. So as I understand it, he tells me to use another line and I explain that I need the post office. He continues to give me advice and assures me that I can get to the post office using one of the other terminals. Against my better judgment, I agree to get in another line. He tells me that he wants to give me his phone number so that when I cross the checkpoint I should tell the soldiers that there are a bunch of people waiting over here. Anyhow, I think this is what's going on, but I tell him that first of all, I'm sure the soldiers already know that there are people waiting here, and second, why exactly should I give his phone number to some soldier? I can't tell if it's his Arabic that I don't understand or his logic. Finally he says, ok, the phone number is for me. I laughed and got in line, but a minute later he comes to my line and tells me that the other one has started to move and again, insists that I should call him if I ever need any help or any friends. All I had to say was that this whole phone number incident is mish aadi and that was enough for him to get the hint (not the bint). So Kamal, thanks for your help at the hajiz but I'm an old fashioned kind of girl. If our mothers introduced us, maybe we could have had a future together, but contrary to what my Zionist, spamming, second-cousin-once-removed thinks, I see no maternal qualities in the State of Israel and its military machine, checkpoints included.

Glossary:
shab = young guy
bint = girl (and incidentally, also "daughter" and "queen")
mish aadi = not normal or not customary
hajiz = checkpoint (though Palestinians will also use an Arabized version of the Hebrew ... mahsoum)

More than KULSHI

2008-01-19T21:52:00.000+02:00

Hello everyone, and Adwan in particular... Adwan. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of posting an excerpt of your e-mail on my blog. Although you are in Denmark, I think that the combination of your paternal Palestinian-ness and the fact that you're asking me to write about a Ramallah-moment constitutes a blog post. Your reference to Emily Jacir also means that I am obliged, as an artist and lover of her work, to make this public. So ok guys, please read below for Adwan's request and read further for the response. I wish I thought of taking a picture, to sweeten up this post but, oh well.. next time.

OK, I know that this is very stupid and unoriginal for me but I would like to ask you a favor before you leave (when is that by the way?). Would you, in best Emily Jacir style, go to the (one and only) Shawarma joint at Manara and order a chicken shawarma with not only kulshi (because by default that counter-intuitively does not give you all the good stuff they have to put in those sandwiches), but also ask for (and you have to be specific) thom, salada turkiye, sway filfil and the yellow stuff (important) they have in a plastic bottle whose name I can never remember (though they told me 100 times)? Feel free to choose yourself from traditional Shawarma roll or Baguette. If you haven't tried the baguette I can recommend it.... And then write me an e-mail about how is feels to eat it. I guess that will be as close I get to those shawarmas here in Copenhagen. It is by far not the same shawarmas you can buy here...

God, I miss those Shawarmas.

Alright, let me just be honest and tell you that I wasn't 100% on eating yet another shawarma sandwich. You, Adwan, were only here for three months this time, one could also argue that you're genetically predisposed to enjoying shawarma, but I'm approaching six so I'm not feeling all that nostalgic for shawarmas right now. Hamburgers, yes... apple pie, yes... shawarma, no. But for reasons which will remain secret, I thought I should consider it my patriotic duty to fulfill this simple request.

So I attended a chamber music concert this evening at the Friends Meeting House. It was about four or five kids playing cellos.. they were nervous, it was very sweet. I was with a girl I just met, totally randomly, in Jerusalem last weekend. So when I asked her if she wanted dinner, and she said that she just ate, I figured, well.. let me get this shawarma thing for Adwan over with so I can enjoy the rest of my two weeks in Ramallah. Unfortunately, since I wasn't anticipating this moment tonight, your e-mail wasn't fresh in my mind and the only things I could remember besides kulshi was the salada turkiye and the yellow stuff. So, I said kulshi twice and each time the guy pointed to something I said yes and repeated kulshi.. so much in fact, that he also asked me if I wanted Abed (the guy who takes the money and found the passport) with my sandwich (something I didn't quite understand, but Renad translated for me). Anyhow, I'll say first of all, thank you for introducing me to the baguette option. Great bread-to-meat proportion. Second, I think that yellow stuff was good, but I think I also took some stuff that you didn't ask me to add, which was this red hot pepper looking stuff and that stuff kinda took over the flavor of the whole sandwich. It burned my throat a little too. Still, even though I wasn't looking forward to yet another shawarma, it felt good. Not only did it satisfy my hunger but all that hot stuff warmed me up which is hard to do nowadays. I've been sleeping with a hot water bottle lately (which makes all the difference), but maybe I'll trade it in for a shawarma sandwich.

For all you newcomers to Ramallah, you too can have this experience. If you're on the Manara, go down Rukab Street (I know) and it's the first shawarma place on the left, right after the guy who sells Made-in-China backpacks and before the staircase that you'd take to get to Stars & Bucks. The shawarma really is great and the guys who work there are pretty cool too.

Glossary:
kulshi = everything
thom = garlic
salada turkiye = Turkish salad
filfil = pepper

helicopters, beatings, and curfew

2008-01-10T21:57:00.000+02:00

I know what you're thinking.. you're thinking that there was some kind of incursion in Ramallah. Well, yes.. there was.... kind of. But it wasn't from the usual suspects this time. Today, it was from my own god-fearing president G.W. Bush. And while strangers are generally welcomed by Palestinians, Bush is no stranger to these parts. Palestinians may be welcoming but they're not suckers, so don't expect a warm welcome if you're.. well...

The word on the streets last night was to stay indoors and away from windows, and anyone on his rooftop risks being shot so plan your laundry load ahead of time. Certain streets, including mine, were allegedly closed. Al Manara was certainly closed, both to foot traffic and traffic traffic. So as all my close friends know, I'm not much of a risk-taker when it comes to snipers and police, so I tried to stay in bed this morning rather than go to the house a 5-minute walk away where I'm tutoring two girls for their TOEFL. Their mother, however, assured me that things were ok and so I went. I only found out later than many others also ventured out, but for the purpose of protesting George's visit. A bunch got beaten and arrested and released (including Omar and Hindi). Reem got them out posing as a translator for their "lawyer" who was a 20-year-old American guy with a self made haircut.

recurring dreams

2008-01-07T23:19:00.000+02:00

I don't know what's wrong with me, but lately I've been dreaming about Palestinian floor tiles. Maybe something from a past life.. if I believed in that kinda thing. These are from a house in Birzeit.

now here's where it gets tricky

2008-01-03T22:32:00.000+02:00

I know you've all come around here looking for stories, happy and sad, coming out of the not-quite-recognized country known by most of the locals around me -- but not by anyone working at any US Post Office and certainly not the CIA nor its Israeli counterpart -- as Palestine. Today, however, I spent part of the day in Jaffa aka Yafa aka Yafo. So where was I you may or may not wonder? Is my day in Jaffa/Yafa/Yafo worthy of a blog worthy of the title, Misadventures in Palestine? Well before I get into the answer, let me relay a conversation I had via text message with my roommate, Reem, awhile back. From the Ramallah-Jerusalem bus, I sent her a message telling her to finish my fresh-squeezed orange juice that I left in the fridge because I was going to be out of town for a few days. Fresh OJ is really best the first day. She responded with a question... Am I going out of the country? Actually, I didn't know how to respond, and if she was someone else, I would have thought it was certainly some kind of trick. My response.. it depends on how you define country. That day, I was going to Tel Aviv. She sent me an sms-style laugh, but no definition to clarifythe answer to her own question.

I experienced a similar contradiction that same weekend when I bought some olives at the Shuk HaCarmel in Tel Aviv and I asked the seller where they were from, he said, "from the country." Exactly where? He said, from Ramallah. Is Tel Aviv really in the same country as Ramallah? OK ok, hold it right there. Which country is everyone talking about?

So back to my day in.. let's just keep it simple.. in Yafa. As you have probably guessed, Yafa is on the other side of both the wall and the green line. Yeah, way way on the other side. So if there are so many Palestinians around there, I guess I was in Palestine right? To answer that question is to go further back in history than I'm really ready for right now, but just think what could have happened if things didn't turn out the way they did. I'll just say this, I got so caught up with all those Palestinian stuck behind one side of the wall, I forgot about all those Palestinians stuck on the other side. And while you may be thinking, well at least some Palestinians don't need to be locked in Gaza to have seaside property, think again. I saw some brand new construction taking place just a stones throw from some homes that look like they've been there for quite awhile, and some empty spaces that probably weren't always so empty. Don't think I'm saying anything that people don't already know, cause I saw a few tourist maps plastered around the neighborhood that were stamped with teeny tiny bulldozers. I guess if artists can't keep houses from being demolished, at least they can make maps.

To be honest, I'm still not sure if I was in Palestine this afternoon. I'd really like to say yes, I was. But while I have no problem testing out my lousy Arabic in any mini-market in Ramallah, I feel a little weird doing the same exact thing in Yafa.

P.S. I've noticed that when Palestinians - the ones who allow me to butcher a Koranic language when asking for directions - talk about their comrades with the blue-ID cards, they generally refer to them as '48 Palestinians. Same goes for .. ahem.. Israel. So if we need a numeric answer to a tricky question, the answer is 48.

wrong numbers don't make friends

2008-01-01T20:36:00.000+02:00

Hussein! In case you're reading this, this apology is a long time overdue. Tomorrow, in fact, it will be three months overdue according to the e-mail I sent to Karin on October 2nd. Look, when I saw Islam on the street and I took down your phone number, I somehow added an extra 7. And seven is (was) my lucky number. I guess my general paranoia made me think that the Hebrew-speaking Thai guy on the other lines was some big joke. Then my general dislike for phone calling got in the way and it basically took me this long (minus a week and a half) to realize my mistake. I really do hope we can hang out before I go...

Eid in Jenin

2007-12-26T15:17:00.000+02:00

There's really a lot to report this holiday season. First off, last week was the Eid. Eid Al Adha to be specific and I got to spend one day of it in a village north of Jenin. Danielle and I visited a colleage of hers in his village, and of course, whenever you leave your house around here, you return with stories to tell.

First off, when we arrived we were greeted by everyone as per semi-usual: father, kids, brothers, mother -- the wives and sisters were in the next room, apparently laying low due to the presence of a not-quite-close-enough male family member. The unusual part was that they were sitting in what was slowly becoming a pretty dim room. I could just barely make out faces. By the time it got unequivocally dark, I was actually used to it and forgot about how weird it was to be sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers, but then someone mentioned that the power was out, something that apparently happens quite frequently, and that they were hoping that any minute it would be restored. Meanwhile, the woman of the house (our host's mother) lit a small lamp of sorts and all began to make sense.

The sad stuff: The not-quite-close-enough family member was the husband of an absent sister. And the story that follows his family is as follows. He is one of those one-plus-something-million Palestinians living within Israel's semi-internationally accepted borders. He is from Umm Al Fahem and has Israeli citizenship and is pretty much free to travel anywhere except for those countries boycotting Israel (Syria, Lebanon, Iran.. maybe/probably more) and, due to one of many of Israel's laws that are designed to divide and conquer, Palestinian Authority areas. However, he said that since today was Eid, Israel relaxed that law in question and he was able to visit family on the other side of the Green Line. His wife, however, was not. She's not an Israeli citizen but rather a West Bank ID holder. Apparently, after some negotiation though the Israeli courts, she was permitted to live with her husband and kids in Israel despite her West Bank residency status, however, she can't go back and forth. So Eid Mubarak! She's stayed at home with a little one while dad took the other two kids to visit grandma and grandpa.

More sad stuff: It was kind of hard not to notice the photo-montaged poster that included a guy holding a pretty big gun, hung right up in the living room alongside more photos of the same guy, posing in your average family snapsot style settings. There was actually the same photo-montage in a sort of permanent light box display right outside the house's front gates. Unfortunately, it gets pretty easy to recognize a martyr poster and so it soon became apparent that this guy was the missing brother of our host. He was assassinated in his home by some Palestinians collaborating with Israeli intelligence. His wife went back to live her her parents along with their 25-day-old kid. According to our host, when collaborators don't have information to satisfy their bosses, they make up whatever will make them happy. My guess is that he also had the bad luck to belong to one of those many political parties that Israel just plain ol' won't tolerate, even if you are just a tile-worker, which he was. The symbol on the poster belonged to Islamic Jihad... and you thought Hamas was radical

Anyhow, there's more. One brother was there with his kids while his wife was locked away in prison, and then there's our host, who - when he's not visiting his extended family in Jenin - he's living in one of those liminal spaces between the wall and the Green Line. Two different kinds of IDs living in the same house means he pretty much has to stick to that liminal space unless he doesn't mind splitting with his wife.. and don't think the landlord doesn't know that. Depending on where they are, hard to define spaces fetch a pretty penny (or agora).

Meanwhile, Danielle and I were the center of attention. Talking all night in our mix of Arabic and English really did a lot for my vocabulary, but after a bunch of sweets that kept on coming, and what I calculated to be six hours of non-stop politics (and what Danielle thought was more like eight) I had an amazing headache. That night, we slept on the floor of their living room, and a few days later, I realized that I got to know this family in the same way you get to know characters in a movie. Each one has his story, which you get to know pretty intimately, but in the end, you're just watching them from the audience. For a reason I can't put my finger on, I feel guilty about this method of getting to know someone. Witnessing suffering as cultural exchange? Nonetheless everyone seemed thrilled to have us around, we were left feeling guilty that we didn't stay longer, Danielle's friend took care of our cab fare back to Ramallah, and I got a phone call just yesterday with a second invitation.

Again, sorry that there's not much humor to share today. It's these kinds of situations coupled with food poisoning, a crashed hard drive, the flu, a broken camera, a 1000 shekel fine (which I'll mention in the next post), an ultra-zionist spammer (which I may also mention, unless I can bring myself to forget it), and the accompanying nightmares are just a few of those pesky things that have been getting in the way of a good time these days. I think I might be back in the US pretty soon.

Eid Mubarak

2007-12-19T01:09:00.000+02:00

Today was the day before Eid Al-Adha and all of Ramallah was out. How did I spend my evening? Reem and I checked out the Chinese restaurant on Rukab Street (yes... everything seems to be on Rukab Street) and then we headed home to fight, first with an LCD projector and then with a shifty laptop, in order to watch a movie that Said (the one who talks too fast, not the other one.. both are shway majnoon though) picked out in lieu of The Godfather. You might think that if The Godfather is out, you'd get Goodfellas or Scarface, but no, Said, never having been to the US and not as seasoned as many Western movie-goers, picked out Miami Vice. So I spent night before Eid eating Chinese food while listening to Dabke music, and watching bad American cinema while eating boycotted Israeli potato chips.

shway majnoon = a little crazy

ajnabiyye

2007-12-09T21:37:00.001+02:00

For some reason I feel like the guy who found that American passport and I have an unshakable bond. We had the life of this old guy in our hands.. him more than me really... Anyhow, everywhere I go, I seem to have to pass by that shawarma place on Rukab Street and wave or make chit chat when sometimes, I'd rather it be a silent bond. So yesterday I'm walking home at night and I'm on the opposite site of the street of the shawarma place and I hear someone shout out, ajnabiyye... but before I could get a look, I heard some guy scold the other and say tafham arabi. I think it was the shawarma guy looking out for me, that really made my night.

glossary
ajnabiyye = foreigner (female)
tafham arabi = she understands Arabic

what's the point?

2007-12-08T11:22:00.000+02:00

This question is one that comes up quite often. It feels like everyone around here is just running around making themselves crazy putting band-aids on what really needs some serious medical attention. So I guess I should just admit that I'm not really here to "help" and I'm still thinking about the best way to answer that question. If anyone in my position has figured out the answer, I'd really welcome your comments. Til then, you should know that I'm here for purely selfish reasons. I love being in Palestine.. ok not miye bil miye, but in general... I really do. Perhaps I'll count the ways in future posts since the absurd mix of positive energy, pessimism, suspicion, and general fun makes it hard to put it all down.

And not to be too touchy feely, but I'd like to end today's post with a few photos of some kiddies that I've met while I've been here.

glossary: miye bil miye = one hundred percent

A bit of a mural at Dheisheh. I accompanied Danielle there yesterday to help finish what Rosi -- who I kinda sorta know through my Arabic class -- started via Shiraa . Hi there Rosi.. incase you're reading this...

Amani and Hidayya (and a little one who I don't know) with the fancy audio recorder post-interview with Umm Walid in her family's "home" in Jalazone. Umm Walid spoke about life in Beit Nabala before '48.. part of an ongoing project whereby kids interview their elders about life way back when. Hopefully I'll get it together soon and post some excerpts.

Oh and before I go... just a few tidbits for the future.

I may be counted in the Palestinian Authority's census.
I met the grandmother of one of my 11th grade troublemakers on a bus.
If I don't say so myself, I'm getting good at making musaqqaʿa. I can't wait to make it for my American buddies back home.

when something is so wrong, it's hard to know where to begin

2007-12-01T10:58:00.000+02:00

It's not just me, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone around here who thinks that Palestinians are going to get anything out of this Annapolis farce. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm opposed to "peace" ... I mean really. But when Israel takes it upon itself to deploy even more of its soldiers into the West Bank and close Palestinian cities because of -- in their words-- anticipated opposition to the peace conference, well, that should make you raise an eyebrow at the very least. So now that there's a peace summit a few continents away, thousands of Palestinians are finding themselves late for work. Doesn't it seem like an odd move to piss people off right around a peace conference? Meanwhile, Gaza residents are still getting killed off one by one, and those that remain get a few more days of electricity.. but that's a separate issue... And to forget about the "facts on the ground," as human rights violations tend to be called these days, the layers of how wrong this is is pretty obvious on a quasi-international level too... not that the UN has done anything good lately anyhow.

Anyhow, apologies for this post, I know you've come to expect notes from the everyday.. after all there's no shortage of political diatribes out there on this here interweb network. But since I'm home with a cold I don't have any actual experience to report today. Yesterday, however, I saw a wonderful yet painful documentary called 33 Days by Mai Masri at Al Kasabah.

the earthquake that shook Ramallah

2007-11-30T16:52:00.001+02:00

Ramallah has been on edge lately due to the rumored coming of an earthquake. There were two last week (or maybe the week before), one of whick shook me in my bed just after midnight. So yesterday I headed over to work (the high school in Al-Tire where I'm teaching creative writing) and everyone is hanging around outside. One of my students runs up to me and jumping up and down, he tells me that an earthquake is coming. Is this kid putting me on? Can you really predict an earthquake? But the whole school is outside including the teachers, so I began to doubt everything I may or may not have learned in public school and I figure, I guess you can... My doubting sensibilities may be the cause for my eventual downfall, if I haven't already fallen, but that's another story. At least I learned a new word .. zilzal. So classes are eventually cancelled, and actually, this is the second cancellation out of the last four for this particular class. Number one was for the alleged "Independence Day" and the second was for the alleged zilzal. The latest rumor to accompany the rumored earthquake is that the whole ordeal was started by pay-by-minute Paltel & Jawwal, the Palestinian phone and cellphone companies. Nothing like an earthquake to get you reach out and touch someone.

In other news, Monday I recorded an interview with Said's mother about her life in Beit Nabala before 1948. Wednesday I took a nice walk up a mountain with a group of kids from Jalazone. And today I slept in cause I'm coming down with a cold. Till next time, I'll leave you with a song courtesy of Said's mom.

why am I still surprised?

2007-11-23T17:27:00.000+02:00

I know that life here is made up of a whole lotta unfair shit... the stuff that war crime tribunals are made of...so why do I still get surprised when I hear yet another story? Today I was sitting in a sheesy coffee shop with a friend, reading a story she wrote about her chronic encounters with guys, young and old, who can't seem to avoid Israeli prisons no matter how much of an upstanding (non)citizen they try to be. In fact, it seems like the more upstanding one is, the more likely it is he'll get a knock at the door one evening. So as I'm reading her story, I see Mohammed, the roommate of a friend of mine come in. I said hey... thought you were going to Spain? I don't know the details but Mohammed was invited by some organization over there to give a speaking tour about the effects of the Wall. Turns out I was right, he should have been in Spain, but the Israelis wouldn't let him out of the "country"... or rather... over the bridge that connects the West Bank with Jordan. We all know that West Bankers aren't allowed to use the airport in Tel Aviv, so they use the next one a border-line away in Jordan. Or maybe not. He told me very matter-of-factly that he's required to have a meeting with an Israeli intelligence officer before he can leave, but when he showed up to his appointment, they just made him wait a couple hours before they said, come back later. Yeah. That's how it goes.

Closure: it's not only Israeli policy

2007-11-20T20:43:00.000+02:00

Palestinians will impose closure on their own every now and then. Today Birzeit University closed. When I arrived all ready to pay my overdue library fines, I found a confused swarm of students around the closed front gate. I saw a long(ish)-lost acquaintance of mine named Ahmad (not the one who got his window smashed... another one) and he gave me the low-down. Apparently, some students affiliated with PFLP (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine - a communist, secular party) gave some speeches on Saturday which offended some Fatah folks. Something happened, not quite sure what... but today students were pulling others out of classes and well... apparently it got bad. I heard beatings from one and stabbings from another but honestly, I have no idea who to believe. Meanwhile, I called my professor to confirm that class was indeed cancelled. It was. Then as I watched some guys jump the fence here and there, I talked a little politics with Ahmad (who's incidentally a Hamas supporter) and a friend of his, both of whom were upset over their wasted taxi-fare. Basically, the whole thing is sadly absurd. Ahmad's prediction is that all the shabab will be sharing hummus in the cafeteria tomorrow morning... provided the university re-opens... wataniya wahadi, I think is he how it put it. When I asked whether the culprits in this (the Fatah folks) would be expelled, he said "of course not" as did a new colleague of mine who teaches Arabic at a local high school here. Apparently, Fatah has, or can get, its fingers in anything and everything around here, including private predominantly-Christian universities, so unless someone dies, all will be forgiven, or rather, ignored.

wataniya wahadi = one nation

quick catch-up

2007-11-18T11:51:00.000+02:00

Don't worry guys, it's all cool. So just a quick update:

Thursday was "Independence Day" in Palestine. Yes... you heard me, I don't get it either. I think the guy who smashed the window of Ahmad's SUV that evening might have also been upset over the premature celebrating.

It's starting to get cold here in Ramallah and the inside of our house is colder than outside, I'm scared for winter. And a shower that resembles a drooling camel isn't helping. Can I miss my American conveniences and be anti-America at the same time? I could really use a long American shower.

I met a guy who works at a shawarma place on Rukab St. who found an American passport on the street and asked me what should be done, like I'd know right? You'd think returning it to the US Consulate would be the best thing to do, but it's tough when you have to cross one of the largest checkpoints in the West Bank to get to there... something that's impossible without your passport... especially if you're Arab, which this guy was. So no thanks to the consulate, but rather to Ramallah's small-town-ness, though e-mails and word-of-mouth, we found the guy. It took 2 days.

I almost forgot

2007-11-03T22:04:00.000+02:00

Ramallah, I hear, is the least occupied of all the occupied territories. So if all you do is shop around town and don't talk to anyone, it might be possible to forget what's going on. Last night, however, the series of reminders began. Coming back from visiting my Arabic professor with the rest of my classmates, we got stuck at Zataara for about 1/2 an hour. A fight broke out in the traffic complete with some scary punches, a big stick, and tens of people jumping out of their cars trying to break it up. Meanwhile, our driver (a relative of our teacher) is anwering his cellphone "ya habibi.... mabsut" all while people are close to being thrown on the hood of the Ford Transit. After the crowd disperses, he turns to me and asks me if I understood what just happened. He explains, they're fighting because of the Occupation. One car cut off the other in an attempt to be that much closer to the clogged up checkpoint... the soldiers at the checkpoint are the cause of the mess yet these poor guys are fighting each other.

Then today, I went to Jalazone and met some friends-of-a-friend and learned that everyone has multiple relatives in prison. I spoke (sort of) to a woman whose son is in one now and a man who served 7 years of a 20-something year sentence during the first Intifada. I also learned that two days ago, the Israelis entered the camp at 1:30 in the morning and took six more guys. And lastly, I met another woman who fled her village of Beit Nabala in 1948. And all this is being talked about over tea and cake....

overwhelmed

2007-10-28T19:12:00.000+02:00

I know you come to expect good time when you come to read this blog, so I apologize for the seriousness of the last entry... but these things tend to come up quite a bit around here. So I won't give you too much to digest today.. I'll just leave you with a bit of something to listen to as I tried to teach a bunch of eager kids how to record field sounds around Jalazone today.

Memorial to Adnan Khalil

2007-10-26T19:26:00.000+02:00

I wrote this letter to the editor of The Miami Herald last night in response to the article headlined: Two clerks killed in Pompano Beach store.

Jaweed Kaleem’s article from October 25, “Two clerks killed in Pompano Beach store,” reports a truly horrific event. I cannot even bring myself to imagine that I, or anyone I am close to, could ever die such an unexpected and violent death, and yet I knew Adnan Khalil, one of the victims of this double homicide. Though I grew up in South Florida, and I am currently visiting his country of origin, I never met Mr. Khalil face to face. Less than two weeks ago I wrote a letter on his behalf to the Consulate General of Jerusalem and the U.S. State Department through my volunteer work with the Right to Enter Campaign, a grassroots campaign based in the Palestinian city of Ramallah. Mr. Khalil is an American citizen of Palestinian descent. He was born in Palestine and his wife and three children currently live in a village near the West Bank city of Tulkarem. Mr. Khalil’s wife, Manal, is not an American citizen and so when they married close to ten years ago, Mr. Khalil applied for a residency permit under a family unification program in order to live legally in the country of his birth. Since 1998, Mr. Khalil had been living intermittently in the West Bank on Israeli tourist visas. His residency application had been pending at the mercy of Israeli authorities, who are the ones who determine who can or cannot live in the West Bank. The West Bank, however, is not Israel. It is a small territory roughly the size of Delaware, which is becoming a series of enclaves where Palestinians live in between the spaces occupied by soldiers and settlers-masked-as-civilians who are living here in violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention with Israel’s military, legislative and financial support. I wrote the letter on behalf of Mr. Khalil requesting that the United States intervene with the Israeli authorities on humanitarian grounds to allow him to enter the West Bank to live with his wife and three children. Not only was he unable to exercise his rights that most of us take for granted – to live with one’s family in one’s birthplace – but during the past several years, Mr. Khalil’s life had become even more heartbreaking. He had been unable to fulfill his duty as husband to his wife who had been diagnosed with atrophy of the cerebellum and had become disabled to the point of full paralysis. Nor has he been able to be a present father to his three children who have been witnessing their mother’s health rapidly deteriorate over the past few years.

On October 21st, Mr. Khalil informed the Campaign that things were taking a turn for the better. The U.S. State Department contacted him and, without making any promises, they offered to intervene. We will never know whether Mr. Khalil would have ever been able to join his family in life, and now we are shifting our efforts to repatriate his remains so he may join them in death. Mr. Khalil never should have been in the Port Five Star Food Mart in Pompano Beach the morning of October 24th, he should have been at home with his family in Palestine. His death, and the death of Sabri Khaleq, whose story I don’t know, is unacceptable on so many levels. Unfortunately, I do not only feel like I know Mr. Khalil solely because of the letter I wrote for him. During the two short months that I have been living in Ramallah, I have met many people whose lives share the tragic traces of Mr. Khalil’s. I feel like I know him because I know many others like him. His story is the sad ending of one that Israeli authorities controlled from the beginning. I hope that we can understand the complexity of the lives of those who appear ever so briefly in the daily news, and take action when we see injustice occur.

When A Man's Gotta Go, A Man's Gotta Go

2007-10-24T00:45:00.000+02:00

For all you newcomers, I just want to make it clear from the beginning, that the "man" is question, is not me. If you already know me, I guess that would be a bit obvious, but for those who don't, you should really know that despite my boyish name, I'm a woman... always was and always will be unless these vitamins that I just purchased today do something that the FDA (if Palestine had one) really wouldn't approve. This "man" is also not anything resembling what is commonly refered to as "The Man" but that one -- the one in green -- is in this story nonetheless.

So to quickly set the scene... I've been tagging along (freeloading) with the Riwaq crew on their various excursions around the West Bank to see art and architecture and the unavoidable backdrop to it all. This backdrop is where the story gets good today. So this evening's itinerary consisted of an exhibition of On Kawara at the Dar Al Kalima kindergarten (very weird indeed... conceptural art hung neatly above a blackboard and macaroni-art in a room filled with teeny tiny chairs) a "tour" of Bethlehem's Old City (didn't quite happen, but we did walk though it) and a reception at Dar Annadwa where we met the Director and a Lutheran minister named Mitri Raheb who was so inspiring that he almost convinced me to switch to the other side.

On the way back, I sat with a group of students from the brand new International Art Academy of Palestine that just opened up in Ramallah. I tried to get them to teach me the lyrics to Wen A Ramallah and got Reema's cheeks hurting with my knowledge of street Arabic as I called her habibti and her friend/colleage Mamoun zalamti.

Fun was in the air as we approached the Container checkpoint (also known as Wadi Nar) but sure enough this one soldier had to ruin it all for us. He stood outside the bus shouting the same three questions at the driver (in Hebrew) while the driver answered them (wrongly.. on purpose or not I don't really know) mixing Hebrew and Arabic. Bad vibes all around as this little guy kept yelling at our elder driver who I think was tired of hauling us around.. it was after 11pm at this point. Meanwhile, one Brit makes his way to the front of the bus, holding his passport like a shield across his chest, and the next thing I knew he was in front of the bus pissing two feet away from three soldiers in the middle of the checkpoint. Yes.. you heard me... this guy just started pissing in the middle of the checkpoint. I was in the front seat of the bus so I got a better view than most if you catch my drift. The students whom I was sitting with on the bus were speechless, the soliders were stunned, and I was like... hu majnun! Both the little soldier and the tired driver were now able to direct their annoyances/aggressions elsewhere and so the relieved Brit was detained and the bus was told to keep going. Commotion ensued... do we leave the Brit at the mercy of the checkpoint and its masters or wait... ok..we wait (I think only the driver wanted to leave him, as bus drivers all over the world tend to want to do). I picked up a mix of frustration and disbelief all around... more waiting (frustration) .. checkpoint as hamam? (disbelief). To complicate matters, our driver had all the Palestinian hawwiyyes from the guys on the second bus which was in front of us. And anyone who knows Palestinians know that they don't budge without their IDs so the driver of the bus in front is now out asking what's up.... To sum it up, the Brit was released after about 10 minutes and by this time, word got around and he was greeted back on to the bus as a local celebrity. Cheers all over! Who would have guessed that public urination could be so welcomed by artists, academics, intellectuals and boys and girls of all ages? Turns out, his move was not intended to be read as a form of political expression at all, hence the title of today's post.

Container / Wadi Nar

And now for your listening pleasure the song that got us through the night.

Glossary

zalamti - my man
habibti-my beloved/my honey/my baby
hu majnun - he is crazy
hamam - bathroom
hawwiye - ID card

more than just one.. or two

2007-10-22T21:48:00.000+02:00

I know that you think that I'm in another world over here, but in fact, I'm in quite a few other worlds, and I'm not talking about Areas A, B or C. Forget the other side of the green line (or the wall) for now. Yesterday, I had the uncomfortable pleasure of visiting two worlds just about 15 minutes apart from each other. I had an afternoon coffee and a sickly sweet "juice" at Jalazone refugee camp after interviewing a man about his two sons in Israeli prisons, followed by a big banquet dinner in Al-Tireh celebrating the inauguration of the Second Riwaq Biennale. I don't have any pics of the banquet, but think of white linen tablecloths and more knives, forks and glasses than you really truly need. I'd ask "how did this happen?" but well you know... and if you don't, it's more than I can really get into right now. I'll try to think about an intelligent way to explain how this fancy shmancy restaurant came about, till then, check out this nice piece of info from the United Nations archive. It may have been a whole 59 years since that good-for-nothing passage of UN Resolution 194, but those three numbers are on the tips of everyone's tongues at Jalazone. Check out #11 and you'll see what the fuss is about.

don't let them win...

2007-10-21T18:11:00.000+02:00

In all seriousness folks, there's some really great stuff going on here. Since I know that when people talk about all the great stuff going on in Palestine they are usually talking about non-violent resistance and olive oil, you may be suprised to learn that there's more than just unrecognized democracy and something to dip your khobs in. Oh... but when I say "you" I don't really know who I'm talking to.... so perhaps you wouldn't be surprised. Anyhow, yesterday, thanks to Riwaq, I saw stuff that was making me say anjad wallah all day long. While I'm not usually a fan of taking tours on air-conditioned buses (though this bus' a/c was broken), I'm willing to make exceptions for the right kind of people and we all know a good egg when we see one right? These guys are certainly good ones. They restore historic buildings all over the West Bank and not just for the sheesy museum go-ers either, since Palestine for some reason doesn't attract too many of those, but rather for the people! Yes, the people! Or as they say here... the balestinian beoble. Our guide and Riwaq co-director, Nazmi Al Ju'beh is the man at the microphone and architect Ruba Salim is to the left. Sorry.. I don't know who that is in the corner but he seemed to me "official" in some capacity.

side by side: old and new construcion in Bruqin (in village of Bruqin, Salfit District)

Bruqin Services Center

Salfit Community Center

Salfit Community Center

Thank you Riwaq for doing what you're doing. As I told Ruba during the tour, a job at Riwaq must be one of the few jobs in Palestine where you can actually see something getting better instead of getting worse.

Glossary:

khobs = pita bread
Anjad wallah! = really by god!

don't let the doctor get you down

2007-10-19T11:48:00.000+02:00

The past is finally catching up to me. Thanks to this, I can do a little catch up while giving you the details of today (well.. last night to be more accurate). Remember when I asked you to remind me of that revoked invitiation to an Ifar (see below for Arabic-English glossary)? Well I don't need your reminder, I was reminded of this myself at 8:03pm when I saw that I had 5 missed calls and a new text message from Mr. Un-Inviter Himself or rather, Dr. Un-Inviter. To protect the guilty, let's change his name and call him Dr. Wasim. So backing up a few weeks... it was Week 1 of Ramadan and I finally decided to embark upon one of my many (mis)adventures which was to retrieve my transcript from the course I took last summer at Al Quds University a mere 16km from Ramallah... the trip takes about an hour but that's another story. I'll let the soldiers at Wadi Nar and the settlers at Ma'ale Adumim pipe-in with their comments below. Of course I don't believe in the concept of transcripts from Arabic classes, but I think that the Fulbright committee who requests that sort of thing does, so against all my priciples, I decided that passing two checkpoints in each direction is totally worth it to get the piece of probably-not-even-acid-free paper. Attempt Number One fails: the university closed eariler than I expected due to Ramadan. Attempt Number Two is where the story begins. The registrar's office is jam packed with people, wall-to-wall students crowded around 5 or so bank-teller style windows. I find out from another janib that this week is the last week of registration and it might be better to come back next week. Ok... I was on a mission and while it was not of the overdone militaristic kind, I was still determined. So I knock on an unmarked door and give an earful to the random unfortunate soul who answered it. I soon get paired with a student "volunteer" who takes me around to various offices and windows, settling the supposed 500+ Jordanian Dinar debt that one nice lady behind window number one said I would need to pay in order to get this piece of paper. Thanks but no thanks... two hours later, I get a piece of paper... not THE piece of paper... but one that will supposedly lead me to that golden waraq. I feel like I'm one step closer to victory but then I hear that I still need to return the next day. To make a long story shortish, I call the (ex) director of the Language and Literature Program and politely and pathetically insist that he send me some help to get this transcript. Thank you thank you... he sends me two (not one, but two) professors to help me navigate this maze that probably accompanies most universities that operate under the shadow of an inoperational government. Success! An hour later I have my official-ish document with that nice 70% mark (I know..I shouldn't brag about that, it was a suprise to me too. However yes, my Arabic sucked even worse last year than it does now if you can believe it) in addition to something I didn't come for: an invitation to attend an Iftar on Thursday with one those nice professors and a group of his students. Ok, so Thursday comes around and no invitation, no problem. A few days later, I get a text message, "Hi Toby, my wife is cooking Mansaf 4 ftoor, u r welcome at 5pm if u r interested, i am inviting some friends from my village and u can spend time with her, Dr. Wasim." Cool! I give him a call... count me in, excitement! At 4:06 I get another text, "Dear Toby, we'll make it on Thursday when I get my dad and mom, i am so sorry, u may not feel good with my ten guys my wife says, best Wasim." Ok, no problem I say. Thursday comes and goes. Ramandan is khallas, I (kinda) forget the whole ordeal. Now what does all this have to do with last night's five missed calls and one text message? All of you who know me well know that I don't get a whole lotta phone calls (hint hint) and so I try to answer every one in the event that fun and adventure is on the line. At the same time, the actual moment at hand always takes precedence over what might be lurking on the wire, so since I happened to be in the middle of a super-cool yet out-of-character Dabka lesson, I let the phone ring. What's the text message say you wonder? Well.. it's from the long lost ustaz. "Dear Toby, it is Dr. Wasim, please if my wife calls u say that i was sitting with u today at a cafe downtown, do me this favor please dear."

Sorry Dr. Wasim incase you're reading this... in general, I'd love to help. And don't get me wrong, I am ever so grateful for your help in getting me that transcript. Also, if you knew me well enough, you'd know that I have a soft spot for Palestinians and I'm always trying to help in my sloppy and usually ineffective way. If you want me to provide you with an alibi for the Israeli border police, army, navy, air force or shopping mall security.. Ahlan WaSahlan... but wives, that's outside my field of expertise (or interest). Kul Am W'Anta B'Kheir... and if there's a nice Arabic saying for "good luck with that wife-thing" I'd say that too. Banaat Ajnabiye.. beware! More on freaky men in future posts. I'll throw in a few posts on the nice ones too..... apologies to all you nice guys out there.. I've met you but the nice guys don't get the blog (as they say).

Glossary:
janib: foreigner
bannat ajnabiye: foreign girls
waraq: paper
khallas: finished
Iftar: the dinner-time meal that breaks the daytime fast during the month of Ramadan
ustaz: professor
eid: holiday
Dabka: Palestinian folklore dance
Kul Am W'Anta B'Kheir: something you say after Eid Ramadan, I think it's something like "I hope you and everyone will be well in this coming year" ...maybe
Ahlan WaSahlan : welcome

It could definitely be worse

2007-10-16T18:23:00.000+02:00

Bear with me folks, I'm thinking to spend the next few posts chronicling the mundane day-to day... all the stuff you won't hear about in the daily, weekly or bi-weekly news regarding these parts of the world. However, at the same time, I feel obliged to add a little bit of catch-up, after all I've been here way too long to ignore the embarrassing fact that I've been in Palestine and have totally ignored my personal mission as a storyteller. So let's start with today, that's really the easiest. I woke up early, planning to add an hour to the beginning of my day so I can pay our overdue electric bill to the Jerusalem District Electricity Company, Ltd. Whether it actually takes an hour to pay an electricity bill is beyond my scope of knowledge, but I do know that the last time I tried to pay it, I took number 243 and sat down at the Bank of Palestine and waited about 10 minutes for the numbers to progress from 208 to 210. Apparently, though it's possible to pay bills at the bank, it's faster to pay them at the company office but that would mean getting a taxi to Birzeit (easy), getting off in front of the office (also easy) and waiting for another Birzeit taxi along the side of the road so I can get to class on time (hmmm). I've done that kind of waiting in the past, the kind where you just point to the road whenever you see a yellow minibus and hope it stops, but it's still a mystery to me how one goes about a routine in this manner. Taxis don't leave the taxi stand until they're full so unless someone gets off early (like someone headed to the electric company instead of the final destination) it's a crap shoot... as they say in my country. Anyhow, to put an end to this compelling story, I should just be straight and tell you that I convinced myself that today was an inauspicious day to pay the bill and I put it off. Instead, I decided to spend the extra time drinking my morning coffee (instant.. bleh) and then I headed off to school (Birzeit University) in the usual manner. Aside from the one time I got in the taxi with plenty of money, but got off mid-route when I couldn't find my wallet, only to discover along the side of the road that indeed, I was loaded, the almost daily commute has gone just fine. So moving on, my Arabic class is really taking a downward turn, I'm not sure how this happened because I was so optimistic at the beginning, but at some point several students in the class seemed less concerned with learning grammar basics or conversational techniques and kept requesting that the teacher translate words and phrases like "prostitute," "prostitution" and "I'm intoxicated." The teacher didn't seem to see this as a diversion of any sort and so the conversation went along and I accepted the fact that today wasn't meant for paying electric bills or learning Arabic. After class, I ate a cheese sandwich that made me feel queasy and headed to an office where (I thought) someone I knew worked. Turns out he's "khalas" with that job, and so no visit for me. So I headed to Jalazone, where I'm trying to begin (wow.. am I still just trying to begin?) an audio project there with some kiddies, and wallah, today I pointed to the side of the road and in less than 5 minutes, I got the taxi of my dreams, not one that took me straight into the camp, but close enough. I showed up all optimistic with my recorder and notebook, but turns out, today is not the best day for that either. I'm still not exactly sure why today wasn't a good day, but well.. so it goes. Inshallah Thursday we'll start to draft our questions and Sunday we'll interview a man who has two of his sons in an Israeli prison. The end-goal is to make an audio portrait of the camp, one person at a time. More updates on that as days progress. Meanwhile, I spent the afternoon at the Child Center trying to translate the functions of Mustafa's cellphone from English to Arabic, attempting to console Said, whose family situation really truly sucks, and battling for Mushira's attention as I pitch my next day's project plan.

As for catch-up, to be honest I feel a little worn out at this point, so let's revisit the past in the future ok? I'll just say this, it could be worse. Perhaps I'll give you some ideas as to how much worse it could be in future posts. Till then, I'll leave you with this photo I took at Huwwara.. a checkpoint that serves as the "entrance" to Nablus.

Returning to Ramallah

2007-10-14T12:23:00.000+02:00

I really have no excuse. I had the purest of intentions to return to this blog as soon as I landed in Ramallah (don't misread this, Ramallah has no airport and the nearby one in Qalandia is "off limits" to put it gently), but somehow when I sat myself down at the computer, blogging took a back burner to other things like reading the news, fighting with Final Cut Studio, and general "googling". So since it's been about 6 weeks or so, it might be a little difficult to resume quite where I left off, but I'll give it a shot. Speaking of shots... today is the last day of Eid and so every boy and girl around these parts (well.. maybe not girls) seems to be playing, in a funny-yet-sad way, with ultra realistic Chinese-made gifts of choice. The fact that I know that the hundreds of automatic and semi-automatic weapons in the hands of so many walad and shabab are just plastic still makes me feel uncomfortable. But really, I hate to start off on a note like this so let me just remind everyone that it's the Israelis who have the real ones.

So just a briefing... I've started an Arabic class at Birzeit University, which is going shway shway as I should have expected. I've also been fumbling around in that recently-graduated kind of way, trying to figure out how to make the best of the fact that I'm back. And when I say "make the best of" that's where things get tricky. Whose best are we looking out for? Is this the question that all bloody liberals grapple with when they're out of their element? And don't even get me started for what good art or art-making is for... three years of grad school didn't really help me figure out the answer to that question. So rather than getting into deep thoughts, I'll just continue with the day-to-day. Aside from the class, I've also been going to the Jalazone refugee camp a few times a week where I volunteer at the "Nadi A-Tifl" or rather, the Child's Club. I'm trying to figure out how to start an audio recording project there but I've hit a few roadblocks (no, not those) which are a combination of me not knowing what I'm doing mixed with a language barrier and technical difficulties. But I'm optimistic, I think, and just last week I thought up a counter-plan for those days when recording doesn't seem possible. I wish I could say it was at least related to recording, but I don't think it is... more on that as the days move on. But if this project hasn't worked out so well for the kids just yet, in some ways, it's worked out great for me. I've befriended some good eggs at Jalazone, some of the staff at the Nadi, and I've been the recipient of food-aid that's way better than anything UNRWA has ever provided. During Ramandan, I've had four out of five Iftars at the camp (the fifth being in a restaurant so I don't think that counts) and after the first one, I learned a word that has been of great use at the other three (Sha'bana) which means "I'm full" combined with satisfied and maybe some more positive implications (I hope). I won't get into how awesome the food is, but remind me later to talk about the people I met sitting around the dinner table. Just some quick highlights... the plural of "curriculum" is "curriculua," as a high schooler informed me of this after misunderstanding the word "colloquial" which I used to translate the word "Amiyye," Said kicking me under the table after I said something I shouldn't have, and a man who has two kids in Israeli jails. I know none of this makes much sense now, but I'll try to flesh it out in a little while.

And just some notes for later:

My roommate's friend smoking a joint by our kitchen windown explaning to me the significance of the name (and his name) Khoury (priest)

Getting my transcript from Al Quds University at Abu Dis and a revoked Iftar invitation.

An odd walk I took with.. let's just call him Z.. and learning just a little bit more of many of those folks I met last year in Farkha.

I hope this is enough to keep you coming back for more, so tafadalu.. ok? More later.

I forgot to mention... I'm back

2007-08-20T22:18:00.001+03:00

Incase anyone has noticed the year-long gap between the last two posts, my final year of grad school is to blame there. Rather than run the rat race to the tenure track job that many of my beloved classmates ran (and won... mabrouk!) I went the non-traditional route and decided on a bit of a career shift and skills gathering endeavor. Not sure exactly where that shift is going, somewhere between human rights work and cultural programming... but the first move took me back to Palestine to take another look at the options here and to get my Arabic up to speed. Since this place is the subject of my MFA thesis, which is sitting in boxes and rolled up in tubes in 4 locations across 2 states and another country, I'm also hoping to find it a well-lit home in the cultural center of Ramallah in the near future. So I'm in a bit of a prediciment here, sitting right now in.. ahem.. Tel Aviv.. couldn't be further than the right starting point. I'll be moving to either Ramallah or Birzeit pretty soon and starting the Arabic class. This one will do it, I can feel it. All those others got me started but this one, coupled with three months in Ramallah, is going to seal the deal.

borderline schizophrenia

2007-08-05T11:40:00.000+03:00

I don't want to downplay the seriousness of mental illness, so I should be upfront here and say that aside from the medium-to-low level depression that everyone seems to suffer from these days, I have a clean bill of health upstairs. Nonetheless, if I may take some reckless liberties some medical terms that I honestly don't know much about, I'm on my way to being a full fledged victim of multiple personality disorder - two to be specific. But don't be mistaken, they are not symmetrical and I'm doing the best I can to embrace one and forget the other. When I visited a nice acquantaince, hopefully soon-to-be friend, at Birzeit University last week, I was dreading the question that I have already heard several times over the past few weeks. Where are you staying? A benign question to most, but not when the answer involves crossing an internationally contested border that only a select few venture over and through. In the morning I'm waking up in Tel Aviv in a nicely chilled apartment (24C to be specific) and by the afternoon I'm struggling for cellphone reception on Birzeit University's campus in the village of Birzeit and sweating through my modest clothing. I'm not a liar, so I try to evade the question... I say I'll probably be staying in Birzeit once my Arabic class begins. But no, the question is NOW. So I preface my answer with the word, "actually." I'm staying in Tel Aviv. I cannot think a CIA Factbook eqivalent for this dichotomy. It certainly doesn't exist in the USA. Maybe, perhaps somewhere along the Mexico/US border, times one milion, but I doubt it. So the reaction I get, the best one I could possibly receive.. It's far. Psychologically, he's right on, geographically, not really. Depending on the checkpoint situation, which at Qalandia, seems to be fairly consistent, it's about a 2 1/2 hour trip. From Birzeit: a service taxi to Ramallah - a bus to Jerusalem - a ten minute walk - a serivce taxi to Tel Aviv - another one to my temporary place of residence. That ten minute walk is where my transformation takes place, and if you have any question to which direction I enjoy more, on the way to the Ramallah bound bus, it's downhill, but to Tel Aviv, uphill. Anyhow, back to borders and mental instability... having 2 lives is really draining. I'm looking forward to picking just one. I'll send another post from Ramallah in a few weeks.

"How are you enjoying our Occupied Country?"

2006-08-15T11:44:00.000+03:00

The title comes from a conversation we had with the father of one of the friends we made in Farkha. My response, "Except for the Occupation it's a wonderful place". Our friend's name is Hussein (though everyone calls him Sein) and we visited him and his family in Beit Anan last week. He was born in Brazil and holds Brazilian citizenship along with his brother and mother, though he speaks only Arabic (and shway - a little - Hebrew). He met us in Ramallah with his cousin Muhammad (Karlos) and they showed as a good time around the city and an awesome time in his sister's village of Beit Duku. We spent the afternoon picking grapes and walking up hills though Roman ruins (until about 8 Israeli soldiers politely told us there was "no problem" and we "could stay as long as we like"). Sein's father works in the Ministry of Education in Ramallah and is a member of Fatah. He also knows how to make you feel really guilty when it's time to go home.

Some more notes:

On the service taxi from Beit Duku to Beit Anan, I met a 16 year old kid who looked 12. He was with (I think) his grandmother. He was born in the US and an American citizen. His grandmother flashed his passport at the checkpoints. She isn't an American, though she told me that some.. I think 2 or 4.. of her children still live in the US. At least one lived in New Orleans and was displaced after Hurricane Katrina, now they live in Mississippi. My vagueness with the details comes from the time delay and the fact that all conversations recorded (exceptions noted) are in my lousy Arabic.

I saw that kid the next day in Beit Anan when I returned for a wedding.

Even in the villages, the girls are saucy once the headscarves come off. They congratulated me for being unmarried at the ripe age of 31.

When you're invited for dinner, be prepared to eat.

There's a fine line between a warm welcome and a kidnapping. Our visits have always ended with a nonviolent struggle, an insistent invitation to return again, and heavy feelings of guilt.

Farkha (Salfit District)

2006-08-08T16:09:00.000+03:00

It's been awhile since my last post, and again, I don't know where to begin. I'm hoping that the photos I've taken will jog my memory once I get back and need to put down words on paper for the sake of the degree known as the MFA and.. well also... so that I can horrify everyone back home with the atrocities going on in Palestine. Maybe little ol me can start a revolution in the US that will spread over to this part of the world and maybe keep a few kiddies from getting shot in the head, or at least get them from one place to another in a reasonable amount of time.

This past week my international buddies and I (Karin the Italian and Salim the Spaniard) went to a teeny tiny village in the Salfit District of the West Bank called Farkha (translation: Little Chicken). We were there to work and play at a work camp -slash- youth festival that consisted of moving stones and sand from one place to another, clearing out brush from a cemetery, painting a school and singing, dancing, flirting, and flag waving. We spend about 24 hours there, then returned to class in AL Quds, then back for another 4 days. To keep it short, I'll give you the highlights:

Most were somewhere between 14 and 30. Then there were some adults, mostly organizers and locals from the PPP (Palestinian People's Party aka Communist Party.. bet you thought it was all Hamas or Fatah right?) and of course, the requsite number of 7 to 10 year olds who floated around at all times of day and night.

People came from all over the West Bank, the familiar ones-Nablus, Jenin, Ramallah, Bethlehem - and the unfamiliar ones - Sebastiyya, Tubas, al Ram, Beit Hanna.

We were 3 out of maybe 8 foreigners (most of whom didn't work much except from the Korean-American). Workers and lazy communists alike, were all exotic. I think there are about 500-plus pics of me floating around cyberspace about now. I don't feel so bad about taking pictures of others any more, I paid my dues.

I learned more Arabic in 3 days than in the entire $500 course at Al Quds University (not recommended, it's usefulness is only in the eyes of the Palestinians we meet, in the fact that it's NOT an Israeli University).

Most of the people over 18 had some sort of scar, either along their face, head or body. I only heard one story though. Mahmoud from Tubas (who I'm in love with even though he doesn't speak a word of English), told me he was shot in the head during the second intifada.

The other (unrequited) love of mine is Fadi from Al Ram who is 14 years old and I named him the mutarjim (translator) he spoke great English and I learned later that he went to a "special school".

Palestinians really know how to do it up. Lots of music, lots of laughing. I learned how to dance Palestinian style. I also smoked a lot of Nargileh.

Many also all have bluetooth technology, even if they don't have finished walls or floors in their homes.

One guy named Ali left early because he got a phone call that his house in Jenin was bombed by the Israeli army. It turns out, it was someone elses, but he already left.

When the girls take their headscarves off they're just as naughty as us. The guys moreso (I think).

At this point, checkpoints have become less of an exotic adventure and more like a major hassle, just think if I actually lived here, the word "prison" comes up in daily conversation.

Little by little, my buddies found out I was Jewish. My evesdropping in Arabic is still shway shway but I figured out they found out my secret (actually, I wasn't keeping it secret, it was don't ask - don't tell, but one person did ask, and so I told).

One of the Hamas posters in the town had a picture of a young boy, I later found out he was an ex-classmate of another favorite, killed by you-know-who.

Ramallah, Anata, Jericho

2006-07-28T14:30:00.000+03:00

It's been so long since my last post I don't know where to begin. I think this is the time for a list:

Lost in Ramallah (July 24 was my first time in Ramallah and we were greeted by the Qalandia Checkpoint on the way in and re-greeted on the way out).

I used my D-plus level Arabic to ask a woman on out bus whether there was a bigger road to Ramallah from Jerusalem than the one we were on (one that wound around parking lots and private homes and not paved in many areas). A logical question in most places, after all, Ramallah and Al Quds are only about 1/2 hour away from each other and they are two major cities. But no way, not here. Anyhow, you know the answer but my question opened a door and soon enough quite a few people on the bus were educating us about the Occupation (al Ikhtilal) and the Wall.

Then we arrived, and since we were 7 people we divided up, my buddies were Karin (my Italian roommate) and Salim (my Spanish historical opposite.. if you want to look at it that way). We got lost but we found Arafat's Tomb.

Earlier in the week, I follwed another Italian to observe a meeting between Israelis and Palestinians in Anata. We got lost and came home.

Yesterday, our teachers planned a trip to the Dead Sea and Jericho. But after Jericho, they tried to convince us to go swimming in a chlorinated swimming pool instead. A mini-uprising broke out and in the end, we lost and the teachers won. I guess the Palestinians are allowed to win a few battles. At least we didn't get lost.

I think I'm in love (kinda)

2006-07-23T16:41:00.000+03:00

I know all of you were expecting this, I go to Palestine, find myself a cute middle class Palestinian intellectual, abandon all I know in the U.S., settle down, bear a coupla a kids and give them mixed Palestinian Israel names. Well I'm not quite there yet since I haven't yet met him, and I have no idea what he looks like, but he's staying right around the corner from the convent I'm in. He's the muezzin of the mosque on Nablus Road and I hear his voice every time I go home for an afternoon siesta. At first, he sounded like a recording, but now I realize that he blows into the microphone before he begins and he has varying long pauses between certain verses. He's kinda like the artist that I hope to be: he can conjure up passion on schedule, and despite the honking traffic, he keeps going, his voice still clear and I can tell that he really digs his job. I bet he has a good outlook on life too. Anyhow, he has a young sounding voice and if I meet him on the street I'm sure I'll recognize it, so I guess I have to just keep wandering the streets saying Sabah Al-Kheir to every pious looking guy, hoping that the Sabah An-nour comes from him.

Also, more soldiers today. I gotta picture but I got so nervous that I didn't get a good one. How do you say, I'm chicken" in Arabic?

A short sum up

2006-07-22T14:37:00.000+03:00

I realized that maybe at this point, being the halfway point in my trip and in the midst of a real war I should insert a brief synopsis. I really can't report much on the war since the only news I'm getting is from the same source you're probably getting it from. In keeping the the usual themes, these are only updates on my own experiences. I'm afraid I won't be able to add photos until I can figure out an easy way to do it.

Re: The war in the north, I've already met a few Haifa evacuees who are staying around the corner from me, one of them is the son of Kamal Sliman. I think they're enjoying their vacation in Jerusalem unlike anyone in Beirut, I've heard of a few friends-of-friends who just got out, it's much worse there and that's puting it sweetly. In Jerusalem (East) it seems to be Occupation as usual, no change since the war started, except for a one day strike in protest of the Israeli bombings. The city is a wonderful and terrifying place. I've had a tiny taste of the occupation when I got mildly lost in Abu Dis and wound up at a massive checkpoint in the wall. I see ID checks at Bab Al Amoud all the time, every day (a few of my classmates have been checked themselves), and soldiers in the hundreds surrounded and barracaded the old city yesterday. One of the students in my class is the son of someone expelled from Safad in 48 (now with Spanish citizenship) and he was detaied at Ben Gurion Airport for 10 hours on his way in. He's asked me to accompany him to West Jerusalem while I'm asking him to accompany me to Ramallah. So everyone wins I guess.

Aside from the terror, I've been eating a lot of sweets and practicing my Arabic with 5 and 85 year olds, and getting ripped off on felafel. I've also been talking to a lot of total strangers from all over and learning a lot. So that's the good news.

Incidentally, this report is coming from the 8th station of the cross on the Via Dolorosa, so it's possible that Jesus would have checked his e-mail here if he were alive today. The place seems to be doing well so it may very well still be in business when he returns.

Please relax! I actually like it here!

2006-07-21T18:02:00.000+03:00

After reading my last few posts, I realize that my tidbits combined with CNN or BBC or NPR might be a little too scary. So you all should know that the war zone is a few hours north of me. I, on the other hand, am super safe and surprisingly, very happy. I've been eating ma'amul and figs, smoking nargiles, using my lousy Arabic to chit chat with cute kiddies, and getting ripped off from your average old city market vendor. I took a tour with some of my classmates of the old city of Jerusalem yesterday, the first time I got to see some history. I realize that the Israelis are the current conquerers, and it's only a matter of time before this mess cleans itself up and another one takes its place. I also saw a film, attended an artist's lecture, and hung out again for the guy from Haifa (Riyadh). Riyadh is your poster child for co-existence, totally open minded, full of hope for the future and loving life. It's been so refreshing to meet him and to get in between so many layers of this place. He's only one example too. More later.

A 14 year old boy tried to hit on me yesterday, it was very cute. If you guys are still truly worried and want to give me a call. Skype can call real phones, real cheap. You'd have to read up on all the details on your own, but once you do, I have a cell here 972-50-7832471. Ok? ok.

Al Quds can be your home away from home (or Haifa)

2006-07-19T13:53:00.000+03:00

Yes, it's not the best time of year (historically speaking) to be here. It's looking like a real war up North and then, there's Gaza too. Yesterday, after class, I walked down Salah a-Din craving e-mail and news but something was off, everything was closed or in the process of closing. I'm racking my brain... Are there 'normally' curfews in E. Jerusalem? Could this be the first? Is there going to be a raid? Is it a holiday? Should I be scared? I ask a pre-teenager (usually a good source of information) but God Bless America... he doesn't understand English and my lousy Fusha is of no help. Hebrew would have worked but after weighing the options between ignorance and 'out-ing' myself, I chose ignorance. I eventually found out through a Palestinian waiter and a few Italians that there was a general strike in E. Jerusalem in protest of the recent deaths in Lebanon and Gaza. For the first time, I really felt it, or at least, I began to, in the upper part of my throat, back of my mouth. I picked up some bread with zaatar and grapes for lunch and booked back to the hostel, cancelled my plans for the afternoon, and headed to the bubble known as the Jerusalem Hotel . There we (Karin, my roommate from Italy, and I) sat and worked on our homework while others (foreigners and high society locals) ate, drank and smoked (nargiles).

The whole day was spent in there. We met a family of 3 (one woman and her two sons) who hired a taxi to get them out of Haifa. They almost stayed with us in the convent but the 9:30 curfew (of the chaste type, not the political) was too much to bear for them. One of our teachers (Sausa) came to meet us too and she made chit chat with the woman (who was incidentally, an actress in Circus Palestina) while giving us a private lesson. We also learned from the post-higherschooler Haifan that his father was the singer Kamal Sleiman. I watched the younger of the two kids play football (soccer) on his gameboy as he sat in front of a giant piece of chocolate cake. We learned some colloquial Arabic (shu, adesh, meen...). We talked politics. And all the while, I knew that there were bombs falling on all sides of the border(s). But don't worry about me, if the cultured evacuees are coming my way, that means I'm in the good spot.

And now... a quick report from Arabic class:
Back when I was learning Hebrew, I remember from week one, khefetz khashud (suspicious object). As we wrap up week one of Arabic I've learned the words ikhtihaf (kidnapped), infijar (explosion) and kanun (violin). See... and people wonder why we can't all get along.

A little more catch up

2006-07-16T14:05:00.000+03:00

This post is coming to you all from Salah a-Din Road in Jerusalem so since I'm on the clock now I'm going to have to make it quick. Past few days.. here goes.

Friday

Territory Tears Twice

Another demo in Bil'in for me. This time, the demo coincided with a wedding, though I believe it was staged. Lots of yousyous and a beatiful bride (aris). Unfortunately, the Israeli soldiers weren't invited and so I guess they felt sad about that, but like your average machismo, they didn't want to sit and talk about it so instead they just threw a bunch of sound grenades and tear gas canisters. This time I got a whiff a bit to close and bolted, I left the demonstration along with about 20 others before it was called off. And rubber bullets too, a guy near me was shot and for your info, he said it felt like a really hard punch that turned into a sting. Afterwards, headed to Al Quds, checked into the St. Thomas Home (aka the Melkite Convent) and fell asleep.

Saturday

First day of class. Went to Abu Dis to pay the fees. Saw the WALL, big and scary like you'd expect. Didn't take my camera so maybe you get look a bit later. Lots and lots of bureaucratic waiting. Left the group and tried to get back on my own. A servees/sherut, bus, checkpoint (my first ever crossing of this sort) and taxi later (total one and 1/2 hours, for approx 5 kilomoters) I'm back on Nablus Road, not quite in time for the Jerusalem film festival (which is the reason why I left "early"). I missed 3 out of the 4 short films. So it goes.

P.S. The guy at the internet place said it should be a 5 minute drive from here to Abu Dis. So it goes again.

It's not that funny really.

2006-07-13T10:36:00.000+03:00

As I re-read my last post, I re-realized that I'm losing my sense of humor over this whole "Israel-Palestine Thing", so I apologize if my postings are losing their luster. Still, the "situation" goes on and so I'm not going to resign myself to the polluted beaches of Tel Aviv just yet. And so, howabout some more tidbits from the "situation" with Jerusalem as its capital.

Last night I attended a screening of "Bil'in Habibti" by an activist named Shai Pollack at the Jerusalem Film Festival. Yes, it's about the same Bil'in that you've been reading about all along. But this guy (Shai) has been there more than once, in fact, by the looks of his film, he's probably been there just as many times as, if not more than, the army commander in charge of putting down the local resistance. He also seems a lot more welcome there. Without going into detail, I'll just say that I thought the film was amazing. And of course, probelmatic, as all films in this region tend to me. But I should admit that I cried a few times during the 80-something minutes. At the end, the film got a standing ovation, a bunch of applause and a whole lotta good vibe. (I feel like I should mention that the majority of the crowd was on 'our side' though I did spot a few kippot in the audience.) Ok, nothing new here I suppose. But then comes the hobnobbing with fellow leftists and the few Bil'in residents who were able to obtain the permit to attend the screening (about 20 or 30).

As Tal and I gathered round the hors d'oeuvres, I recognized one of the bus drivers from the other day's field trip to the courthouse. So what did he think of the film? There's no point.. it's not going to make any difference, people already know this situation and nothing's going to change. Incidentally, those guys who squeezed under the fence on Sunday had a permit to cross. The driver said he's always the one to take the Bil'iners here and there and he refuses to drive anyone without a permit to be in Israel. He's already served time in jail for doing so. The other driver (the brother of Sunday's driver #2) shared the same sentiment. Moving on... I asked one of the Bil'in guys (Imad), the one who always has a camera going, what he thought of the film. Turns out I asked a professional, Imad works for Reuters and he's making a film of his own. One that's "yoter khazak" (stronger). Seems like the 3 out of 3 Arabs think that Shai's optimism was a bit misleading and/or a bit too easy-on-the-eyes. Once again, the applause of the leftists drowns out Palestinian skepticism. Maybe that's too harsh, and I should mention that this is my own observation and I take full reponsibilty for my uninformed rants. (For the record, Imad thought the film was good).

So, I think I'll return to Bil'in tomorrow, make some more chit chat, and perhaps, see a bit of Imad's footage. I hear it's hard to watch.

Bil'in goes to High Court in Jerusalem

2006-07-10T12:08:00.000+03:00

Yesterday I went to the High Court in Jerusalem (West). There were about 50 or so people from Bil'in and about 6 from Tel Aviv. Maybe another 10 Israelis met up with us in Jeruslaem. I'm afraid I couldn't understand the details (Yes.. what kind of activist and I going to be if I can't understand what's going on) but the general idea is that the village of Bil'in and the settlement of Modi'in Illit are claiming the same parcel of land to be their own. Keeping in the style of settlement practice, Modi'in Illit built some structures on the land before the issue was resolved. On top of that, some residents moved into that structure (in violation of a court order) but eventually, they left (I think). Anyhow, it's a big mess (as usual) involving land and buildings and the fact that the wall is dividing this village of Bil'in, enabling the Modi'in Illit to do whatever... while the Bil'iners get to watch from afar (though a few Bil'in families did occupy the building-in-dispute as a form of protest, that is, before being kicked out by the Israeli army. So on Sunday, and for not the first time, Bil'in and Upper Modi'in battled it out (in court).

Since I couldn't understand the procedings, I'll add a link as soon as it makes the newspapers. Till then, I'll added an article at the very bottom of this post from Ha'aretz from July 6th.

Here's what I could understand...

I met my internet-contact person (Adar) at the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station. There were 6 of us in total, and as I got on the private bus for 60 I was confused. But halfway there, we pulled into a gas station and about 40 or 50 of the Bil'in contingent got on. This included about 10 or 15 kids, 5 or 6 women, a bunch of men, and an Israeli girl (late teens). Incidentally, the separation wall (in the form of a fence) ran alongside the road and when we pulled over, about 10 of our contigent were stuck on the other side, there was a gate that opened up into the gas station but it was locked. Eventually, the stuck ones crawled underneath to the slight concern of the (Arab-Israeli) bus drivers but all went well and we headed out.

No checkpoints to cross but a few "Barriers Ahead: Slow for Inspection" which we rolled right through. I guess the fancy tour bus has its benefits. One of the know-it-all leftists (who I recognized from the Sufa excursion) took a front seat during those roll-throughs.

As we disembarked in Jerusalem, about 200 meters from the Courthouse, a kid unrolls his regulation size Palestinian flag and leads the group. Oh yeah, I could tell this wasn't going to fly. Sure enough at security Station 1 (out of about 4) the guard tells him to roll up the flag. At Station 2, the kid is told to get rid of it and the goup asked whether there are any more. The kid throws the flag behind a bush and the waiting begins. After about 20 minutes, we are allowed past Station 2 but only five at time. Meanwhile small smatterings of others pass on through, many of whom didn't even need to interrupt their cellphone call to go on by.

Some of the leftists (also waiting).

I am one of the last to pass, and as we make our way to the courtroom, everyone else is already settled in. The procedings begin and one of the Israelis offers to translate the highlights for me. One lawyer (Michael Sfarad) represents Bil'in - 5 or 6 lawyers represent various groups within Modi'in Illit.

During the procedings, tour groups came in and sat down, the Bil'in kids got up and left, many of the women also left. I joined them outside and realized that I wasn't the only one who didn't understand what was going on. Most of the Bil'iners also didn't speak Hebrew. So we sat and stared at each other until I decided to make better use of the time and pace back and forth. There were also a few teenage leftists outside the courtroom playing cards while the group of Bil'in kids looked on (and one 5-year-old threw rubber balls at passer bys, he had a good arm).

After the procedings, the group gathered outside the courtroom and discussed. The lawyer was politely accosted.

Once we boarded the bus, a heated discussion broke out. All I could make out was that the Bil'in guys wanted to stop at Al Aqsa, which they did. All but 3. A few Israelis had already left the group at the courthouse. Then the long ride back. Two of the Bil'in guys got off in the middle of the highway, about 50m from one of those "Barrier Ahead" signs, the last one (one of the main organizers), got off near Jaffa with one of the Israelis to go to the beach, I got off at the Central Bus Station, ahead of the remaining four, and headed home.

Ha'aretz article from July 6, 2006 By Akiva Eldar
Circular transactions

During recent High Court of Justice discussion on the petition of Peace Now and the residents of Bili'in regarding a new illegal neighborhood of Modi'in Illit, the construction companies claimed that the entrepreneurs purchased the land years ago from the residents of the village of Bili'in, and that the State Prosecutor's Office had acceded to their request to turn the private lands into "government property," and eventually returned the deposit to them.

Supreme Court President Aharon Barak and Justice Dorit Beinisch were skeptical. The entrepeneurs have recently placed on their desks an expert opinion that confirms and explains the method of circular transactions. A copy was submitted to the proxy of the petitioners, attorney Michael Sfard.

The opinion is signed by attorney Daniel Kramer, who says that he served for 25 years as an adviser and proxy for the person responsible for government property, and is very familiar with the law that applies to the region and with the policy of the Justice Ministry. Kramer agrees that the proper way to prove that A has purchased B's land is to publicize the transaction in order to invite possible opposition, "as is done in Israel." However, when it comes to the territories, publicizing the sale of land to Jews means, he says, "an immediate death sentence for the sellers."

He claims that no fewer that 30 sellers and mukhtars, most of them from the Modi'in area, have paid for it with their lives. For that reason, Himnuta, a subsidiary of the Jewish National Fund, waited until the seller died or left the country before opening the first registration file. Is it self-evident that nobody voiced opposition. The attorney emphasizes that the Justice Ministry was involved in determining this policy.

Later in the opinion Kramer writes that after examining the purchase documents, Plia Albeck, who for years headed the Civil Department in the Justice Ministry, declared these lands "government property." He sees fit to say that Albeck, who has since passed away, "was the one exclusively empowered by the attorney general and on his behalf to express her opinion regarding the legal status of state lands and government property, and to instruct the Civil Administration." Among her superiors was former attorney general Aharon Barak. Among her neighbors in the ministry was state prosecutor Dorit Beinisch.

It is possible that already in the proceedings that will take place this coming Sunday they will have to decide whether to approve the dubious circular transactions carried out under their noses, or to order the demolition of 40 buildings constructed without a permit.

Mondial (World Cup)

2006-07-07T14:37:00.001+03:00

Italy vs. Germany

US

THEM

Al Quds (Jerusalem)

2006-07-06T14:52:00.000+03:00

(OLD)

Near The New Gate (Bab-Al Jadid) is Al-Ma'mal Foundation for Contemporary Art. This place hosts an artist in residence program, public films & lectures, and a gallery. I saw a show by Alan Gignoux, titled "Homeland Lost", a series of photographs that pair portraits of Palestinian refugees with present day images of the homes they left in 1948.

(EAST)

Typography on Nablus Road...

Al-Hoash (Palestinian Art Court)
A UNRWA photography exhibition titled "All I Have: The Lives of Palestine Refugee Children." The photograhers are Laura Junka, Mia Grondahl, Shabtai Gold, and John Torday.

The hallway that will soon be mine... my Arabic class starts in a week and a half at Al Quds University.

a little bit of catch up

2006-07-04T00:11:00.000+03:00

There's more to do around here than scuffle with the Israeli army, or rather, I guess it depends where you go...

For example, if you want to wear the latest fashion AND show your solidarity with the Palestinian resistance movement, there's a cute little boutique in Tel Aviv where you can throw your shekels at this.

Also, at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art there's a super show of Michal Rovner's right now. Totally worth the 40 NIS admission, and if you're in your IDF uniform, you get in FREE. Unfortunately, I think these two ladies had to pay full price, or maybe they got the senior discount. In any case, in protest of their admission policy I'm posting this photograph since the guards yelled at me immediately after I took it, turns out no photographing in the museum allowed. Probably something to do with the Defense Ministry across the street but I can't be sure.

Usually, I'm not a fan of photographs of signs, but I couldn't pass this one up.

Saw a show at the Petach Tikva Museum of Art Artists included Dror Daum, Yael Feldman, Anan Tzuckerman, Aya Ben Ron, Eli Gur Arie, Zoya Cherkassy, Gaia Tchetchik and Danny Levine. Without going into detail, I'll say that I wasn't impressed. Lots of old ideas in the form of shiny new lamda prints, LCD screens, and generally artsy techy. But afterwards, we stopped at a cafe for a snack and this painting really got me. I'm a terrible person and artist for not taking note of the name of this artist, but it wasn't posted. Next time I'm there I'll get the name and add an ammendum. If this is yours, let me know. I love it!

And if you've finished reading this post and are thinking, "Those Tel Avivis really have it easy over there, with their art galleries and fancy keffiyehs and their cautionary signs," you should know that it's not all roses in Israel proper, take a drive up north to Ramat Hanadiv (near Zichron Yacov). There are a couplea rules there too.

It's not just war over here

2006-07-03T09:20:00.000+03:00

So I can't speak for the territories since I've only been in the West Bank once, but in Israel proper and in the Palestinian sections of Israel (for lack of a better description) there's some good stuff too. Like tea with mint leaves (or shai nana) in Nazareth, or the best olive oil I've ever had from Daliat al-Carmel (I think that's where it was from, I bought it from a nice lady and a younger guy selling olives and oil on the side of the road). And then there's the technology... like air conditioning and cell phones. I have or have had all these things. So don't worry about me, be envious ok?

absurdity in Sufa

2006-07-02T14:16:00.000+03:00

As you may know, there's a war going on between Israel and Palestine, complete with kidnappings, aerial bombings, murders, mass arrests, and the requisite small band of peaceniks. What you may not know, is that even the peaceniks scuffle with each other every now and then (granted, a nonviolent scuffle, but it still aint pretty). At the Tel Aviv train station, as 60 or so people boarded the private airconditioned bus heading to Sufa, the southernmost quasi-entry/exit point into/outof Gaza (quasi because Gaza is sealed off in both directions), something just didn't feel right. For example, I sat diagonally across from someone who smelled of Zionism while a seat in front of him, sat two stinky radicals. The division became clear at the bathroom-break. Turns out, there were probably about 5 anti-Occupation groups on board that bus, and while everyone opposed the recent Israeli invasion into Gaza, there were disputes about the specifics and the logistics. Lots and lots of arguing between sips of coffee. Whatever... the action must go on. Or so we thought... After the bus made a few wrong turns, we ended up at a military installation where everyone unloaded their signs and crafted some impromtu chants, but momentum was at an all-time low as soldiers, licking their ice cream, looked at us like we were a friendly swarm of mosquitoes. So a piece of the group breaks off in order to march closer to the Sufa border point. Well well well, the Zionists paid for the bus right? So no way were those crusty radicals going to ruin the plan. Confusion set in and the group was divided. Lies were told and anger was unevenly directed. A little bit at the soldiers, some at the police, but the large chunk was mostly aimed at sub-factions within the group itself. After a few sound bombs, sirens, and alleged arrests, the groups, divided they stood, got on the bus and headed back to Tel Aviv. On a scale of one to ten: one - a single protestor waving a wet noodle at an unmanned Israeli flag, and ten - an angry mob that convinces the army to cease its fire at millions of innocent Gazans, I'd rate this protest at a two, maybe a two and a quarter. Bad planning, no leadership, minimal risk taking, and confusion all around, not to mention the environmental damage caused by the tour bus. At least everyone present got some photo ops and the soldiers and police officers got some popsicles courtesy of the IDF.

This photo was taken by my comrade Tal

And this is Tal and I. I was cranky after the pathetic protest, but Tal was a persistent picture-taker.

Nazareth

2006-06-29T10:28:00.000+03:00

Nazareth is a place that probably sounds familiar to most of you guys. Not for it's annual auto show, since I don't believe they have one. It was Jesus' hometown and "his almighty" probably did something-or-other around there. So did his mom. According to the guidebook, it was in al-Nasira, as they now call it, where she got word from Angel Gabe that she was chosen to endure morning sickness for the sake of a soon-to-be cute little baby that would eventually lead to a whole lotta headache (and press). So of course, there are a lot of tourists in Nazareth. And so obviously, that means commercialism. There's no shortage of Christian memorabelia there. When Tal and I got on the train to Haifa (our first stop on the way to Nazareth) we weren't exactly hoping for a spiritual experience, but in the back of our minds, we were dreaming of running into our favorite filmmaker of all time (or at least he's mine). Elia Suleiman is a local Nazarene, but since he's also a hotshot, he's probably sitting in a cafe somewhere in New York or Paris. Ok, so we didn't run into him, but we found his friend Jamal Daher, he's also in actor in both of Suleiman's feature films, "Chronicle of a Disappearance" and "Divine Intervention". Turns out Elia is going to be in town in a couple weeks and maybe just maybe, we'll have to opportunity to gawk as we should have gawked at Jesus' old stuff.

Also, here's a picture of the place where Mary heard the "good news".

My people count too

2006-06-27T22:44:00.000+03:00

I'd like to introduce this post by stating, and I hope I make myself clear, that I am not a Palestinian. Yes, it's true. And so now that this is out in the open, I should mention that my cousin was criticizing me the other day (this past Saturday) for not knowing "my own" history. Actually, I believe I do. But just for the record, I want to include some pictures taken at the Armored Corps Museum in Latrun so you know that I know.

P.S. The cute guy in the tank pic is the cousin-in-question, who incidentally, was told by a Korean tourist at the Latrun (or al Latrun) Trappist Monastery that he looked like a movie star from back home. The other cutie is my first-cousin once-removed (his son).

I've also decided to include "the perfect egg" as ordered by Rotem (my soon-to-be colleague at the University of Michigan) at Shine (pinat Shaul HaMelech ve Frishman B'Tel Aviv).

Bil'in (photos in no particular order)

2006-06-24T22:07:00.000+03:00

Bil'in..it's not Tel Aviv

2006-06-24T02:32:00.000+03:00

Haaretz reports:
Anti-fence protest in Bil'in Palestinian demonstrators frustrated at the lack of international attention being directed towards the separation fence due to the World Cup soccer tournament staged a World Cup-themed protest in the West Bank village of Bil'in on Friday.

Protesters arrived decked out in World Cup garb while waving flags of countries whose teams are participating in the tournament.

Some background:

Bil'in is a village in the West Bank where a section of the separation wall has been built in the form of a barbed wire fence. A group of Israeli activists and local Bil'in-ers get together each Friday to demonstrate against it.

On the way to the demonstration:
Got on the right bus (sherut) but going to wrong way, arrived at the Central Bus Station an hour late.

4 people in the car, 3 of us hopped out to avoid a checkpoint, and we walked up a beaten path littered with cigarettes and plastic bottles. At the top of a hill, we were greeted (warmly I might add) by some local guys from Bil'in (in an Arabic-accented Hebrew) as they sat on an old car seat and communicated with someone else (our driver perhaps) via 2-way pagers. A 5 minute walk but I was scared, not sure of what though.

Then.. sitting for a few hours outside of a really nice house, 1st floor rented to ISM (International Solidarity Movement) where a bunch of kids tried (and succeeded) to sell us popcorn and chick peas. Inside, some posters of martyrs, photographs, children's drawings. Further inside (the bathroom) a number of handwritten signs concerning the importance of bathing regularly, doing one's dishes, and not clogging the toilet with toilet paper.

The demonstration:
Jewish Israelis, Palestinian Israelis, local Bil'in-ers (men and kids), a monk, a few Americans, Europeans (maybe), Asians

Some of the individuals
A flute playing Israeli woman (approx mid 50s)
An American know-it-all
Many of the young guys from Bil'in were wearing football uniforms of Argentina and Brazil and cradling a giant soccer ball (this part along with the chanting of "Argentine and Brazil" resembled a pre-game party)
For many of the activists (Palestinian and Israeli) it was routine.

On the way, I lagged behind. I recordered the procession.

At the site, a 5 or 10 minute walk from where we were, (a fence that cuts off a road and is intended to mark the location of the cement wall), soldiers waiting for us, media crews, demonstrators, kids. The soldiers looked like a combination of confused, annoyed, humored, and generally, too young.

Lots of lots of media, they looked almost as menacing as the soldiers with bulletproof vests and helmets. Many were wearing day-glo yellow with the word "Press", I took this to mean "don't shoot us, shoot them." Associated Press was there among others.

As the crowd approached the fence, a tank awaited, perched on top were a few soldiers, one of whom held an official looking 8 and 1/2 x 11 sheet paper against his chest. I thought about asking him what it said and why he was holding it out for us to see, though it's hard to read 12 point font from down below. It was also in Hebrew and I didn't think to bring my Hebrew-English dictionary with me.

A few photos ops were arranged. Once an Israeli Jeep crossed the fence, a young boy was propped on its hood hoisting a Palestinian flag. Photographers immediately gathered, the solider manning the jeep looked confused.

Once the tension rose (which resulted from sound bombs were thrown and one Palestinian guy arrested, but only after being dragged by 5 or so soldiers behind a truck and out of sight) a taxi appeared at the demonstration site with the driver shouting out some names, a bunch of the Palestinian-Israeli girls and a bunch of kids climbed in and left. Shortly after another taxi appeared, circling the area and then leaving.

I hid behind a rock for the last quarter, emerging periodically to follow around a 5 year old who kept a handful of stones behind his back. I grabbed him each time I saw his hands filled with stones and let him go only as he dropped them. It seemed as though the adults in the group were scolding the kids, the stones were too provocative for a non-violent protest. One (accidentally) hit the flute-playing Israeli who yelled back at the crowd.

The sound bombs were scary, the lesser noises (teargas canisters) were scarier, these were shot out as the crowd was heading back. I got a taste of it in the eyes and mouth, not tasty at all.

And finally,
At what our driver called the "after party" we sat with a group of locals and Israelis, drank tea brought out by the wife of one of the organizers, and answered standard questions posed by someone of Bil'in who said he was writing a book. The questions:

Name
Where are you from
Where do you work and/or what do you study
Why did you come to Bil'in today
Did your family agree with your ideas (or approve of your decision to come today)

I was able to answer the first 3 questions in Arabic, much to the amazement of some of the attendees and much to the laughter of Tal since my Arabic is very robot-like.

On our way out, more soundbombs, stone throwing, and this time, Israelis on the inside of the fence, so some of the party headed out, the International/Israeli presence seemed to be essential, there were some non-Arab bodies ready to follow any commotion. I didn't follow the commotion, I told the owners of the house that I was scared and thus, would rather stay.

And for more backgroud, here's a link to a blog by another American who was also in Bil'in (among other occupied places). His name is James and he seems like a nice guy.

Bil'in

2006-06-24T00:55:00.000+03:00

page 8

2006-06-03T16:09:00.000+03:00

page 7

2006-06-03T16:08:00.000+03:00

page 6

2006-06-03T16:06:00.000+03:00

page 5

2006-06-03T16:04:00.000+03:00

page 4

2006-06-03T16:03:00.000+03:00

page 3

2006-06-03T16:02:00.000+03:00

page 2

2006-06-01T10:29:00.000+03:00

page 1

2006-05-29T03:34:00.000+03:00

some pics... in testing

2006-05-13T00:18:00.000+03:00

Whatdjasay?

2006-03-18T03:42:00.002+02:00

Ah Maha.... her style, her attitude, her pronunciation... from the very first day we were wowed, and when we remembered that "wow" was the second to last letter of the alphabet, we were wowed again. While politically-personal agendas weren't on the syllabus, she embodied all of ours. For CIA girl, Maha was a witty Arab who might need her help one day, since wit and aggression go hand in hand in the eyes of the law. Maha also subverted all the stereotypes CIA girl had studied for her upcoming classified exam. This Arab showed some leg, and her necklines lowered at the same steady rate as my graded exams. But I was also intrigued by her. At first, it was her changing nail color that always matched her outfits. Later, it was the Lebanese music videos she brought for us to watch during the breaks. But by the third week, it was a few words she let slip.

---

Those few words, if only I understood what they meant... probably only some synonyms to clarify some of the words on our list of vocab. But those words most definitely were not in Arabic, nor English, nor a bunch of other languages. Were they in the language my parents used as a secret code? the language I stored in my arsenal in an attempt to decipher that code? the language of people who aren't the most likeable in the Arab world? Were those Semitic sounds emanating from Maha's mouth, in fact, Hebrew?

After that day, the day that Maha whispered those words into Tamar's ear, we progressed from "wow" (letter #27) to "yeah" (letter #28). Maha was a Palestinian, my enemy, as some might say. I was excited about this, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe this was my chance to learn something new about the conflict I think so much about. Or perhaps I thought she would have the latest Diana Haddad CDs. Or maybe I thought she could hook me up with some swell greetings or "what's ups" in the Acre dialect. Regardless, once I found out she was no ordinary Iraqi or Omani, the gossip began.

The "United States of America" is a mudafa OR Arabic class is no place for flag-waving.

2006-03-17T06:27:00.000+02:00

First off, a mudafa is a type of noun that could go on forever. A group of nouns becomes a mudafa when they pile on top of each other. A cow is just a noun, but the owner of the cow is a mudafa. Same goes for the house of the owner of the cow. This is all fine and good, you say, but what about when it comes to entities much more precious that livestock? Here's another example: a group of states is a noun, but a group of states that are united is a mudafa. A group of states that are united that belong to America is also a mudafa. Well, that's enough! CIA girl decided that no Egyptian, linguist or not, is going to tell her what the grand ol' US of A is or isn't. She insisted that the United States of America is a proper noun, plain and simple, and don't you dare call her elementary school history teacher a liar, thank you very much.

At first I was amused but as the minutes dragged on, I decided that CIA-girl's point would be best proved with the singing of the National Anthem, I mean let's get straight to the issue, after all, Arabic can wait.

Even the shway-shway* student can make friends at La Shish.

2006-03-08T05:41:00.000+02:00

***shway-shway= so so (but at least I'm trying)

One day, my roommate decided it was time for me to leave the house and give Al-Kitaab (our textbook) a rest. As an incentive, she took me to eat at "La Shish" in Dearborn, the home to the largest concentration of Arabs outside of the Middle East. I figured if we sat near the kitchen, I could probably glean a few words in preparation for my quiz the next day.

As the words "halib" and "khalas"* flew out the pick-up window, I thumbed through my dictionary and parroted the words out loud. I soon noticed ears perk and eyes shift. Someone must have caught on to my scheme, because the waiter began refilling our water glasses, showering us with loaves, and making the rounds around our table at an unrivaled pace. Each time this gentle fellow set down more pitas, he lingered just a few seconds longer than before. Finally, as I was about to refuse the final bread basket, a young mysterious green-eyed waiter emerged from behind the potted palms to ask me if I spoke Arabic.

* translation "halib" means "milk" and "khalas" means "enough" although actually, I couldn't catch any words outside the pick-up window aside from "habibi" meaning, "my darling"

Introducing the Cast of Characters

2006-03-06T21:13:00.000+02:00

CIA girl was one of those millions of warm blooded, God fearing Americans whose life took a sharp right after September 11th (of the year 2001... to be specific) . And while she recognized that all that was good and pure in this infallible country of ours was now in danger, she wanted to make a difference, you know, she thought she could help out. And so since, according to her figures, only 1 percent of Arabs (living both in the U.S. and abroad) were terrorists, she figured there was a critical mass of them, 99 percent to be exact, who could use her help.

Then there were the others...
The unblinking, big-bosomed blonde was hard to get to know. For one, she was always late.

Danny was an undergraduate in political science, and I could only guess that since Arabic-speaking nations were occupying a sizeable chunk of the political arena these days, he was learning his "aleph bas" to get a piece of it.

Aisha was an Indian by way of England who learned how to read Quranic Arabic as a child, but never learned what those elegantly written words actually meant. So since she was halfway there, she thought 10 credits should fill in the gap.

Sarla was the poster child for the overworked and overeducated. A young girl of twenty-something, she already had Espanol under her belt and was on to Al-Arabi. She needed both languages for her dissertation in order to get the full picture of those transient Moroccans (women in particular) who migrate between Marrakech and Madrid.

Tamar was a Tel-Avivi suffering from a self-imposed exile in the Midwest United States. After evading the Israeli army, she left the Fertile Crescent for a stint in the Big Apple and then a few back and forths led her to forth to a PhD program in Comp. Lit. to study the great literary works of her people, and while she's at it, the great literary works of the those other people. After all, what's an Israeli without a Palestinian? And vice versa.

Jon, Jimmy, and Johnny each had a story too. Jon was a mustachioed med student. Jimmy was fond of felafel and fuul, and Johnny was undecided between pursing the path toward precious posts at the CIA or FBI, but he had some other prospects too.

That leads to me... as the daughter of an Israeli and former Cairene, I had quite a few reasons to be in this class, but how to fit them all together was beyond me. Besides wishing to decipher the lyrics of Umm Kulthum, the Egyptian diva who sung to swooning Arab crowds from the 1930s on, and died the year I was born, I also wanted to be able to order hummus at Kabab Palace using correct pronunciation, and watch Elia Suleiman's films without the hassle of the subtitle menu on my DVD player. Mostly, I was looking to answer the "vice versa" of the Israeli-Palestinian question.

Welcome to Scenes from an (elementary modern standard) Arabic Class (level 101-102)

2006-03-05T22:47:00.000+02:00

I think I may start using my blog to post drafts of my up and coming comic book. Here goes page 1.

Once upon a time there was a twenty-nine-year old girl, a woman really, who yearned for the time when she was just a little baby. Though she always acted young and immature for her age, at this point in her life, just weeks before her thirtieth birthday, she wanted to regress back in time to when she was a language-less ball of fat who spoke only goobely-guk, whose mind was just ripe for the taking-over by the Romantics, the Indo-Europeans, or the Semites. But now she was all grown up (for the most part) and the mother of all languages, English, won the battle for her mind and tongue. It beat out all those other languages that surrounded that little tot during her formative years. It defeated Spanish, the language of her pre-school buddies and her city's mayor. It defeated Hebrew, her father's first language and her mother's third (or fourth). Whatever her mother's first language was, still unknown to her, it beat that too. It beat out French, Polish, and Yiddish, all languages that appeared in her home in one way or another during her formative and malleable years. Though despite the English victory decades earlier, this girl's mind still had a small arsenal of what remained hidden, a few leftover shells lay scattered in the folds. And though this small stockpile lay in wait, and was enough to begin a mini revolution of sorts, she ignored it all and went looking for more.

spring break

2006-03-04T20:47:00.000+02:00

It's almost over, I'm not ready.

High Noon

2006-03-04T02:18:00.000+02:00

I just finished watching High Noon (at 7pm), a stong moral lesson is embedded in that classic, but I prefer fight scenes.

Ticket to Jerusalem

2006-03-03T06:37:00.000+02:00

Hello all after a long hiatus. I have now joined the internet revolution and have access at home, which will give me lots more time for blogging and "surfing". Thanks to Francie, I also now have a TV/VCR/DVD combo. With all these new toys, I won't be leaving the house for awhile, but I'd appreciate it if someone could come by every so often to take my pulse.

Today I watched after waiting months for its arrival in our legendary library, "Ticket to Jerusalem" by Rashid Masharawi. And now I'm kicking myself for being such a film snob, low production values but great story! It's about a guy who's unemployed but has a 35mm film projector that he carts around the West Bank showing films to kids, crossing checkpoints to do it and battling all sorts of obstacles. I suspect that in the filming, that the actor actually waited in line at checkpoints only to stay in character in order to argue with Israeli soldiers on film. I don't think I've ever seen a film that puts fiction out into the streets. Very ambitious but loosely written and edited. More on that later...

Zipper

2006-02-25T03:59:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I recovered my jacket from A1 Taylor where they fixed my broken zipper. Now I can zip up when it's chilly. I'm so happy, I'm wearing my zipped up jacket right now.

Doctors are not to be trusted

2006-02-22T20:06:00.000+02:00

Why do they have to get all up in everyone's business?

The Pessoptimist

2006-02-20T21:57:00.000+02:00

There is certainly a lot to say about the book, and it's best to do it carefully. For now though, I'll say this: Habiby uses satire in a way that causes me to rethink big historic moments and smaller everyday ones in the same way. Some culminate in grand atrocities and others are superficial wounds that, only though repeated attention, do they weigh equally, if not more. I'll add more about this soon.

return

2006-02-16T17:15:00.000+02:00

I haven't visiting my blog in awhile, I've been thinking of how to make this experience a little more worthwhile than just spouting off catchy remarks. I've doing an independent study this term on Palestinian Cinema and I'm pairing movie-watching with reading theory, history, and fiction by Palestinian authors. I'm considering setting up a new blog (or adding on to this one) reflections on all this activity. Not today though, as I'm in the midst of grading a 12lb. stack of undergraduate papers on aspects of 1930s cinema. But tomorrow perhaps, I'd like to start with thinking about Emile Habiby's "The Secret Life of Saeed: The Ill Fated Pessoptimist".

Words of Wisdom

2006-02-11T07:25:00.000+02:00

Nope.. still none.

blogging for sheer joy

2006-02-10T18:58:00.000+02:00

As I was telling Bobby this morning, I'm not really blogging for the sheer joy of it. But I'm enjoying it nonetheless. No words of wisdom today.

Thursday

2006-02-10T01:19:00.000+02:00

Not very productive today, the problem is, I love sleep. I can't ever get enough. And now that I'm sick (just a little) I need even more. There was a time when I could get up in the morning. In fact, this time last year I was getting up around 7am twice a week. But now that's totally unthinkable. I think those automated coffee machines with the built-in timer might be the ticket out of bed.

Wednesday

2006-02-08T23:54:00.000+02:00

I'm over the hump, thought this day would never come.

she just left

2006-02-06T20:39:00.000+02:00

I was just about to chronicle the last five minutes of my life in the wake of a talkative, cellphoneaphelia afflicted coed who was sitting right next to me. I'm in the computer lab. She just left so the point I was about to make is moot. I was considering whether to take out my aggression in writing, so my faithful readers could read how I chastise all those who chit chat in areas designated for rigorous research and other electronic related endeavors or whether to take out my aggression on HER, and say, "hey lady, give it a rest willya" or perhaps, "do you think you could talk somewhere else". What would you do?

back to Saturday

2006-02-06T04:01:00.000+02:00

Something fishy happened, seems like my Sunday post overrode my Saturday one. Since yesterday's post was extremely important, I'll just put it up again. It went as follows:

love: fresh towels
hate: being sick

Oh, and stop sending those "get well" cards. I appreciate it, but it's just a cold.

tea types

2006-02-06T00:21:00.000+02:00

ginger, lemon, green (decaf), white, peppermint

Thursday

2006-02-02T19:18:00.000+02:00

Lots to do today.

Shafei...read my blog

2006-02-01T02:41:00.000+02:00

Why do I have to beg and beg? Please Shafei, I'd be the happiest classmate of yours if you would just read my blog. I know it's not Al-Jazeera but it's still news. Shafei!

for you or me?

2006-01-30T23:14:00.000+02:00

As I learned last week, it's all for you. Naive little me, I'm a first time blogger and newbie to the wonders of the internet, I just assumed that only I and a few incidental friends were reading this thingy. And in general, I have nothing to hide. But stick a couple googleable search terms in there and lo and behold, semi-complete strangers have access to my innermost thoughts (well, the outer layer of inner I suppose). Now that I've mentioned the words "Palestinian" and "Palestine" and even worse (note: not synonymous) "Hamas", I guess I should kiss my alleged right of privacy within electronic and telephonic communications goodbye, or at least, lila'liqa. If anyone of any securitorial importance should be reading this right now, or later, you should check out some of those filmmakers I mentioned in my previous entries. No, not in THAT WAY. I mean, just watch their films. And if there are parts you don't understand... like... "what's that funny language they're speaking?" or "why are those refugees so mad in the second half" let me know and I'll try to sort it out. Like I said, I've seen a ton of films over the past few weeks and I don't expect to lighten my load anytime soon.

behind

2006-01-30T03:30:00.000+02:00

Not much time for blogging today. I'm behind in my work for a change. I'm still overdue about 90 pages of reading on French poetic realism and a short paper criticizing some essays and synthesizing some ideas of Palestinian cinema. It would also be nice to get some art done too.

Why is there only one Elia Suleiman?

2006-01-28T06:49:00.000+02:00

Before I move any further, I should note that the title of today's blog is taken from a converation I had with my friend and colleague Tal Assif. This was originally her question but now it's mine too. After watching more Palestinian films than I would wish upon most Jewish, Arab, or Arab Jewish leftists (I can provide my list upon request), I'm left wondering where the other Suleimans are? After watching Chronicle of a Disappearance for the first time about 5 years ago (and about a dozen times since then), I've been hooked on Suleiman. But where are the others? Palestinians definitely have a lot to say. Within the next few months Tal and I will find the others and you're all invited to idyllic Ann Arbor to check out them out. We're putting together a film series to premiere next fall. Any suggestions are welcome.

as expected, not bad

2006-01-27T07:23:00.000+02:00

After a 3am bedtime last night, I clocked in today around one. A bit of a late start, in fact, the latest start I've had in awhile, but the day turned out quite nice. I started it off with a strong coffee and a bit later, a smoothie. My new roommate just bought a blender which might end up changing my life. I headed to the studio and continued the project which was put off for too long, but is moving along ahead of schedule. There's a show coming up at the end of February that I wanted to finish it for but I think I'll have it done before then, which would be wonderful. I may make something else for the show then too. Then, my pal ol buddy on the other side of the world (i.e. Finland) was on skype, so I got my fix of transatlantic chit chat about, among other things, politics. At this point, the feds probably realize that I'm not really worth the wiretap even though it's probably tempting. My friend (i.e. Kevin) also called me "weird" but I'm not sure why. I really don't think I am. But after I got over it, it was back to work and then on to a lecture by glib political cartoonist, Ted Rall. Swell cartoons, but the guy.... Anyhow, then a nice introductory hang-out over coffee with all my favorite Israeli and Palestinian expats. I should mention here that even though "the world was stunned" over Hamas' victory today (or rather yesterday), I'm not. I'll leave my theories to myself (for now). Hamas used to have a website but as far as I can tell, it's now defunct. I'm suspicious, they seem to be the type of organization that would want to keep their domain name current, so perhaps the Israelis (or the Finns) are up to something. Till that matter is resolved, perhaps The Palestine Information Center is a good source for news on that end. And what better note to end on than a word of congrats to Hamas.

chocolate

2006-01-26T03:06:00.000+02:00

I'm now back to 6 bars of chocolate in my studio, which is good. I've also decided not to be shy about turning the heat up in here. 69 degrees, the default setting, should be good. But it's not. Maybe it's the leaky skylights? The tall industrial ceilings? For whatever reason, 69 just aint cutting it but at 74, it's feeling great. In other news, I checked out a book from the library today by Emile Habiby and I'm really exicted about it.

stop being so negative

2006-01-25T06:07:00.000+02:00

I can't get into the specifics here but feel free to send me an e-mail and I'll let it all out then. I feel like things are on the up and up though. There's Thursday to look forward to. Friday should also prove to be a good day. Saturday goes without saying, and Sunday, well, that's God's day so what could go wrong then? In other news, I'm all out of chocolate.

sleep

2006-01-23T20:21:00.001+02:00

It's never enough.

I just woke up from a nap at the library.

...

2006-01-23T02:03:00.000+02:00

...

was it?

2006-01-22T06:24:00.000+02:00

Did the vast mail drop predict what was to come? Was it a good day after all? Did the fact that one of the books in the mail was the wrong translation have any ripple effect? There's still a half hour before the clock strikes midnight, and though it's not over till it's over, I think it's fairly safe to make an assessment on the day now. On a scale of one to ten, I'd say it was a solid 5 and a half. Maybe a 6. On the plus side, Inca loves me, Kat and I ate some good soup together, I dropped off work for a show and didn't have to hang it, I organized my backpack, and I started a long overdue project. But do you want to hear the negatives? I don't want to be a downer, but if you're still reading that means you're looking for them. Well... Inca is not my dog and she's still not a lab or a ridgeback, the soup cost over $10 with tip, the work I dropped off is ok but I have mixed feeling about it, and I'm not sure how this long overdue project is going to pan out. I feel funny about it. And then in general terms, I'm a little chilly, I miss my friend Catalina, and my landlord is raising the rent by $20. It could definetely be worse. All in all, I have it better than most. Still about a 6 though.

a good day for mail

2006-01-21T20:03:00.000+02:00

Today I received 3 books that I ordered off of amazon (they arrived in 3 separate packages which sweetened the deal) and a poscard from Finland. No bills, no junk mail. Today is going to be a good day.

lost scarf

2006-01-20T07:53:00.000+02:00

I lost an extra-long wool navy blue scarf somewhere between B109 in the Modern Language Building and the 2nd floor of the Frieze Buidling on UM campus on Wednesday. If anyone finds it, please let me know.

more on curtains

2006-01-19T22:20:00.000+02:00

I ruined one of the beautiful curtains that Francie made for me. I'm very sad about this.

more on film

2006-01-18T20:32:00.000+02:00

The first-ever sync-sound film out of Thomas Edison's lab/studio (called The Black Mariah). Ironically, I couldn't get the sound to work out of my laptop. But the picture alone is wonderful too.

speaking of Palestinian film

2006-01-18T05:17:00.000+02:00

Rashid Masharawi made a film called "Ticket to Jerusalem" I haven't seen it yet but I can't wait. Here's an interview with him about it.

why do Palestinians pick Tuesdays?

2006-01-16T21:09:00.000+02:00

I'm in the midst of organizing a Palestinian film series AND I'm doing an independent study on Palestinian film (along with my friend Tal)). AND, lucky me, it just so happens that there's a filmmaker, Jackie Salloum who will be in town, in the flesh, along with her films, TOMORROW! How lucky I am to have the opportunity to chit chat with a young chic filmmaker and see some films that ILL keeps cancelling on me. But no, I'm not that lucky. I have class then. Sure, class is great, I love class. And it's taught by another one of my favorite professors of all time, Phoebe Gloeckner. And my classmates are all totally awesome, and did I say how much I love class? What do I do? Skipping class in grad school is bad bad bad. But I want to see the movie and meet the hotshot and get some free advice on the film series... Why Tuesday? Any advice would be much appreciated.

Sunday

2006-01-15T22:05:00.000+02:00

to do:

go to Home Depot (curtain brackets)
CVS (unmentionables)
Joann's (return curtain rings)
Michaels (mattboard & tape)

work on storyboard
drawings
FLAS proposal
Pal. cinema abstract

it's curtains

2006-01-15T02:01:00.000+02:00

Today, Francie, the totally coolest comrade of mine, labored over her sewing machine all day so that I could have 2 beautiful curtains for an upcoming show. In (unequal) exchange, I did all her dishes. Yes, it was a lot of dishes, but I'd do even more if I could. The curtains are so beautiful and wonderful! And I really needed them. If you want to know why, you'll have go see my show in Detroit. Or you could ask me. In other news, I now have 5 and a half bars of chocolate in my studio right now.

goals and sleep

2006-01-13T20:24:00.000+02:00

I'd like to see some quantitative data that relates goal-acheivement to quantity of sleep (or naps). I do best with 10 hours a night, or 8 hours plus a nap. But last night, I clocked about 5 hours due to late night work and and early morning meeting. Am I more productive since I'm logging (not blogging) more waking hours? Or am I doomed to fail since I'll spend the rest of the day overtired and slightly manic and will possibly go out of commission altogether tomorrow? These are rhetorical questions I guess.

By the way, my friend/collegue Chris Landau is on his way to fame and fortune via his awesome internet book. You can see it at www.theflockingparty.com

misadventure #1

2006-01-13T05:55:00.000+02:00

Today I made a blog. Not so newsworthy I know, but I was a card-carrying luddite only a short time ago (even though the industrial revolution hit England way before I was born). Apologies to all who read this, it's really not worth your time. On the bright side, I have 6 chocolate bars in my studio right now.