this is life - i want to live.
today i traveled to sa'eer, a small village about twenty minutes south of bethlehem. im tamir's uncle passed away three days ago, and though i'm not sure of the exact purpose of today's gathering, i know that all of her relatives gathered to pay their respects and share lunch. sa'eer is near hebron, a city known for its proximity to a very large israeli settlement and the tension and violence which results from this pairing. sa'eer, though, is so quiet and peaceful and simple, i felt as though i was worlds away from any kind of intrusion from the outside. the roads have yet to be paved, herds of goats wander the streets like people, and the mountainside is only sprinkled with white stone homes, the remaining view filled with olive trees and vegetable gardens and a sky as blue and clear as a calm sea. from where we entered town, i could see no more than thirty homes, all of whom i gathered belonged to not-too-distant relatives of im tamir's family.
when we arrived this afternoon, im tamir (my "mother" here) and i were quickly separated from the men in our group, and shuffled to the party of women gathered in a nearby home. we removed our shoes and sat on cushions lining the floor, our feet covered with home-woven blankets to shield us from the fall breeze. blended scents wafted through the windows, a mix of animal and dust and fresh herbs from below, and the sound of babies crying and women chatting filled the high-ceiling-ed room. a few of the younger women were breast-feeding or rocking babies wrapped tightly in blankets, while i sat between im tamir and a distant relative, the oldest living member of her family. she wore traditional palestinian dress: a black dress with green, pink and yellow embroidery on the chest, and a white scarf over her hair. she briefly removed the scarf to show me her traditional headpiece. im tamir jokingly guessed that she is the only woman left in palestine to wear this - she may be right, because i asked around and still couldn't figure out what the hat was called. her eyes glowed warmly when i sat down to greet her, and when she took my hands in her own, i felt the wrinkles and callouses of a life of farmwork and children and hand-made clothing and cold winters and hot summers. she is like a living monument to an age past, to a culture and a people both barreling forward and desperately clinging to its roots.
after tea with the women, we walked up the hill to the house of im tamir's niece. im tamir's family owns a stone factory in the town, so all of the relatives are able to build very luxurious homes inexpensively. at the top of the hill, we entered the villa property, and walked a bit further through a garden of cabbage and mish mish (apricot) trees. the house itself was beautiful, though in places not quite complete. every room was of white stone, and the floors shone with the luster of brand new tiles. only the salon and the master bedroom were furnished, the other rooms all sported make-shift dressers of boxes and suitcases and mattresses and pillows substituted for beds and sofas. from the third-floor balcony we could see all of sa'eer, from the stone factory at the top of the mountain, all the way down to the strip of lush farmland in the valley. i watched the sun set and felt as though i was witnessing the transformation of some great piece of art, like monet's series, the same scene snap-shotted in different lights, each independently beautiful in its colors and minute details.
driving home, the chilly fall breeze slipped through the windows, and i closed my eyes and felt like i could have been driving through rural pennsylvania at night, it was so quiet. when we re-entered the bethlehem area, though, we were greeted by rows of israeli military cars and soldiers at the beit jala checkpoint, usually empty. the other three in the car whispered to one another in hushed voices, and i sat quietly in my corner, unsure of what to expect. we passed a hospital between beit jala and bethlehem and saw more israeli vehicles and crowds of palestinian men standing outside. when we arrived back at the village, we heard that a building nearby had been destroyed. israeli security patrols the streets at night, but in recent years they've rarely done more than arrest people (in this area: the story is different elsewhere). for some reason, though, an israeli construction crew began bulldozing the building at 3 am today, and worked well through the morning. in the disturbance that this action obviously caused, two palestinians were killed and one injured, including a teenage boy and an elderly woman. the building was on the same block as one of the SOS youth houses, where 15 teenage boys from the village live. when we returned to the village close to 8 pm, the boys were still hanging out here, uncertain about walking home.
i sat in the office downstairs this morning and chatted with a co-worker - jamal, also a former SOS kid - over coffee. as usual, the conversation inevitably turned to the political situation, and jamal told me about his childhood, first in a refugee camp in ramallah, then at SOS in bethlehem, about his studies at birzeit university, and about his current work in the village. i asked him if he ever thought about leaving palestine, and he answered with a definitive no. he said: "this is life - i want to live."
when we arrived this afternoon, im tamir (my "mother" here) and i were quickly separated from the men in our group, and shuffled to the party of women gathered in a nearby home. we removed our shoes and sat on cushions lining the floor, our feet covered with home-woven blankets to shield us from the fall breeze. blended scents wafted through the windows, a mix of animal and dust and fresh herbs from below, and the sound of babies crying and women chatting filled the high-ceiling-ed room. a few of the younger women were breast-feeding or rocking babies wrapped tightly in blankets, while i sat between im tamir and a distant relative, the oldest living member of her family. she wore traditional palestinian dress: a black dress with green, pink and yellow embroidery on the chest, and a white scarf over her hair. she briefly removed the scarf to show me her traditional headpiece. im tamir jokingly guessed that she is the only woman left in palestine to wear this - she may be right, because i asked around and still couldn't figure out what the hat was called. her eyes glowed warmly when i sat down to greet her, and when she took my hands in her own, i felt the wrinkles and callouses of a life of farmwork and children and hand-made clothing and cold winters and hot summers. she is like a living monument to an age past, to a culture and a people both barreling forward and desperately clinging to its roots.
after tea with the women, we walked up the hill to the house of im tamir's niece. im tamir's family owns a stone factory in the town, so all of the relatives are able to build very luxurious homes inexpensively. at the top of the hill, we entered the villa property, and walked a bit further through a garden of cabbage and mish mish (apricot) trees. the house itself was beautiful, though in places not quite complete. every room was of white stone, and the floors shone with the luster of brand new tiles. only the salon and the master bedroom were furnished, the other rooms all sported make-shift dressers of boxes and suitcases and mattresses and pillows substituted for beds and sofas. from the third-floor balcony we could see all of sa'eer, from the stone factory at the top of the mountain, all the way down to the strip of lush farmland in the valley. i watched the sun set and felt as though i was witnessing the transformation of some great piece of art, like monet's series, the same scene snap-shotted in different lights, each independently beautiful in its colors and minute details.
driving home, the chilly fall breeze slipped through the windows, and i closed my eyes and felt like i could have been driving through rural pennsylvania at night, it was so quiet. when we re-entered the bethlehem area, though, we were greeted by rows of israeli military cars and soldiers at the beit jala checkpoint, usually empty. the other three in the car whispered to one another in hushed voices, and i sat quietly in my corner, unsure of what to expect. we passed a hospital between beit jala and bethlehem and saw more israeli vehicles and crowds of palestinian men standing outside. when we arrived back at the village, we heard that a building nearby had been destroyed. israeli security patrols the streets at night, but in recent years they've rarely done more than arrest people (in this area: the story is different elsewhere). for some reason, though, an israeli construction crew began bulldozing the building at 3 am today, and worked well through the morning. in the disturbance that this action obviously caused, two palestinians were killed and one injured, including a teenage boy and an elderly woman. the building was on the same block as one of the SOS youth houses, where 15 teenage boys from the village live. when we returned to the village close to 8 pm, the boys were still hanging out here, uncertain about walking home.
i sat in the office downstairs this morning and chatted with a co-worker - jamal, also a former SOS kid - over coffee. as usual, the conversation inevitably turned to the political situation, and jamal told me about his childhood, first in a refugee camp in ramallah, then at SOS in bethlehem, about his studies at birzeit university, and about his current work in the village. i asked him if he ever thought about leaving palestine, and he answered with a definitive no. he said: "this is life - i want to live."
posted by kate at 12:33 PM
1 Comments:
KateMahoney,
WOW!!!!!! Your experiences have me mesmerized! Please continue to keep us all posted.
Love,
Maria
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