[It's another long one. I apologize in advance]
“We have a barbecue on Sundays. You will be staying for that.”
It was the first topic of conversation of the day, after having spent Saturday night at my friend Razan’s house. Razan’s grandparents arrived at 1:00, and her grandmother promptly posted herself in the kitchen chopping parsley for tabouleh, joining Razan’s mom who was elbow deep in cabbage salad. I looked over her shoulder at the kitchen counter, which was stacked with plates of meat ready for the grill. “Most people only barbecue one kind of meat at a time, but we like having lots of kinds. You will try a little bit of everything, ok?” I agreed to the challenge.
At about 2:30 we sat down to the table, and I scooped up what I considered a decent portion of salad, anticipating the need to pace myself, but Razan picked up the serving bowl and advanced toward my plate. “Ok, Miriam, I know that Americans don’t like to be served, but I’m sorry, I just have to do this,” she said, laughing at herself, as she increased the size of my serving of salad to a small mountain. Next to me, Razan’s younger brother’s plate held a few French fries and a small puddle of tahini. This was acceptable for a picky eater family member, but not a guest. In this culture hosts are responsible to make sure guests are provided for, to a nearly excessive level, and the primary symbol of provision and hospitality is food: lots of food.
In addition to the salads on the table, there was lebaneh, hummus, olives, vegetables, tahini, bread… And then the food from coming inside from the grill: kebabs, chicken, vegetables, fish, grilled sandwiches… By the time the last of the meat came in, Razan’s older brother leaned over and charitably confided that if I didn’t think I could finish everything that had been placed on my plate, he would be glad to lend a hand. I took him up on his offer.
While we ate, the table was a constantly changing landscape as various family members removed, replaced, and rearranged dishes around me. I thought that this indicated the meal’s approaching end, but it was actually just preparation for the meal’s next phases. At about 4:00 Razan’s aunt and uncle and cousins showed up. They joined us around the table as the last of the main course was removed.
The next course was nuts and seeds, and then fresh dates, and finally trays of fruit.
These are foods that have rituals of preparation and sharing at the table. The fruit has to be cut up and peeled and divided. These foods take time, they are eaten in limited portions as each piece becomes available, each person participates in the preparation and serving, and the passing and offering of food is an important part of the process (the actual eating seems almost an after-thought).
Meanwhile, the project at hand serves as an excuse to sit and spend time together. This feast is a weekly family gathering, where the central context for interaction and bonding is an entire afternoon of preparing, serving, and sharing food. The family commented on each other’s recent activities. They explained to me each others’ eating habits. They heatedly discussed the challenges that Razan’s brother and his fiancé—both doctors—will face in marriage. (“I don’t tell my kids what to think,” Razan’s dad told me. “But—I will not hesitate to tell them what I think!”) During the meal, Razan received good news about her recent university exams, which called for hearty congratulations and another round of beer from the family’s store downstairs.
And did you think that we were done with this meal? Silly you, we haven’t had coffee yet. Razan brought Arabic coffee and cake to the table, and by the time we finished, it was after 6:00 pm. The aunt and uncle and cousins said their goodbyes, having sat and talked for a couple of hours already.
That evening, I sat in the kitchen with my journal. Razan’s parents wanted to know what I was writing, and I told them I was trying to remember everything I had eaten. They laughed and groaned, shook their heads and held their stomachs. But they were more interested in the project when I told them I was trying to write down recipes and ingredients for each dish. It became a cooperative project as the family helped me make a list of the English and Arabic words for the ingredients.
I felt the formality of the guest-host relationship melt as we tried to reconstruct the meal we had just eaten, and I realized I had found a way to connect with Razan’s parents through—what else?!—food. In light of my struggles to communicate around the barriers of language, culture, and general shyness, food often has ended up being the agent of communication when all else fails.
And so, on that day, and many other times recently, I have been so grateful for the amount that can be communicated through the symbolism of preparing, eating, accepting and sharing food.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Yom asal, yom basal.
Some days are honey, some days are onions.
About half of my days are really great, and half I feel sort of a mix of depressed, lonely, and frustrated. I finally realized that how well I feel about any given day at work is directly correlated to how good I feel about my ability in Arabic language on that day.
Ilyom asal: I had a great day today, and as I was reflecting on the Arabic that I (try to) use at work, I realized that these phrases are a pretty good representation of my typical day at Nazareth Village…
Kutor ittikrar be’alem lehmar
I can’t remember why Mira decided it was important that I learn this idiom: “If you repeat something enough times, even the donkey will be able to say it.” …But afterwards, she had me peform my new trick in front of some of the other workers, and ever since, this has become a near-daily occurence. It never fails to amuse everyone around me. All they have to say is… “Hey Miriam! Kutor…….. come on, yalla: Kutor…..” And then they are not satisfied until I repeat my little Arabic-language stunt in an enthusiastic chirp. This is now my best Arabic sentence, and… come to think of it… I feel like I have repeated this enough that even the Nazareth Village donkeys must know it by now.
Bidik musaa’idi?
On one of my first days I memorized the phrase “Would you like my help?” so that I would have an excuse to hang around at the Nazareth Village kitchen, which has since become my comfort spot at the Vill. I really enjoy Mary, the main cook there, and I love the food and am trying to learn how to make everything so that I can recreate the meal when I come home.
Mary is not comfortable in English so I have a lot more motivation there to use Arabic than other places. Plus, she beams and tells me how “shawtra” I am when I come up with something useful to say in Arabic. It’s a good ego booster (even if that is the same word that my friend Razan says to Jimmy, her dog, when he fetches a ball).
‘andi?
This can mean “my place” or “I have” depending on the context. In Nazareth Village, this is the question that comes from Nadiim/Abu George/Joseph the Carpenter, who wants to know if I’m going to have time to bring the tour group to the carpentry shop, the last stop on the Parable Walk tour—sometimes groups have a strict time constraint and I never know if I’m going to be able to get all the way through the tour before they need to rush back onto their tour busses and on to the next holy site. So it’s a legitimate question. Sometimes Joseph the Carpenter gets skipped.
Ilmejmu’ah mitakhri. / Ilmejmu’ah ajat bakeer!
Is the tour group late, or did they come early? Either situation is worthy of much consternation. Either people have to hurry into costume and a guide isn’t prepared to take the group, or the people on the land are annoyed and waiting around the village doing nothing, when they could be doing more important things, especially when those more important things happen inside where it’s warmer.
These sentences must be pronounced with either annoyance or urgence. Maybe both.
Enti mish bardaani?
“Aren’t you cold?!” It’s winter here, and it’s not nearly as cold as it is the majority of a Kansas February, but my coworkers are convinced that if you don’t bundle up in this weather, you will surely get sick.
I, however, know for a fact that this is not true (I think surely someone once gave me some scientific evidence proving that you do NOT catch colds from being cold). So, I scoffed yesterday and bravely wandered about without extensive warm layers, much to the shock of my coworkers.
This morning… I woke up with a sore throat, which is sure enough developing into a full-blown cold. I almost called in sick to work, but then realized that would be admitting defeat of science and logic, so I went to work and pretended to be well.
Rani, who just returned from vacation in Texas, confirmed that perhaps the laws of nature function differently here. “People call me crazy, and maybe it’s not true in the states, but here it’s true! You always get sick from being too cold!”
Mejaneen!
Speaking of calling people crazy, this was one of the first words I learned at work. The guys at work will often point to one another in my presence and say “Mejaneen!” Which is often accompanied by pointing to one’s head as if to say, “Look at this guy, I think his brain is gone.”
Nadiim told me that when one of the volunteers before me was having trouble remembering another worker’s last name, he “helped” her learn it, and then quizzed her on it later. “Wait wait, I know,” she said triumphantly, “your name is Simon Mejaneen!”
(In a related note, when I read the word “mejaanen” on advertisements, I thought that there were either a lot of crazy sales or a lot of crazy products available to buy. Finally, my Arabic teacher explained that this is not the case, that in fact this slightly different word means “free.”)
Maryam Maryamti!
This is a phrase often performed for me in a singsong voice when I enter a room. Seems to be the general fallback when people don’t know what to say to me, or whether I will understand them in Arabic, but they want to acknowledge my presence anyway.
I have always wished that I had a song with my name in it (It’s so unfair that there are, like, five songs about Carolines, and even a song about a Rihannon… come on, Rihannon HAS to be less common than Miriam).
It turns out that Maryam Maryamti is a famous Arabic pop song, and I can’t even express how happy that makes me. I always reward them singing to me by doing a silly little dance in place.
Here is a version by the original singer Mohamed Hussein (Wow, I feel like I’m saying “BOO!!!” just by saying that name to an American audience). There are lots of versions--I like this one because of the sweet instrumentation… but I recommend fast forwarding to about 5 minutes in, unless you want to know the song’s complete history and background AND you understand Syrian Arabic.
About half of my days are really great, and half I feel sort of a mix of depressed, lonely, and frustrated. I finally realized that how well I feel about any given day at work is directly correlated to how good I feel about my ability in Arabic language on that day.
Ilyom asal: I had a great day today, and as I was reflecting on the Arabic that I (try to) use at work, I realized that these phrases are a pretty good representation of my typical day at Nazareth Village…
Kutor ittikrar be’alem lehmar
I can’t remember why Mira decided it was important that I learn this idiom: “If you repeat something enough times, even the donkey will be able to say it.” …But afterwards, she had me peform my new trick in front of some of the other workers, and ever since, this has become a near-daily occurence. It never fails to amuse everyone around me. All they have to say is… “Hey Miriam! Kutor…….. come on, yalla: Kutor…..” And then they are not satisfied until I repeat my little Arabic-language stunt in an enthusiastic chirp. This is now my best Arabic sentence, and… come to think of it… I feel like I have repeated this enough that even the Nazareth Village donkeys must know it by now.
Bidik musaa’idi?
On one of my first days I memorized the phrase “Would you like my help?” so that I would have an excuse to hang around at the Nazareth Village kitchen, which has since become my comfort spot at the Vill. I really enjoy Mary, the main cook there, and I love the food and am trying to learn how to make everything so that I can recreate the meal when I come home.
Mary is not comfortable in English so I have a lot more motivation there to use Arabic than other places. Plus, she beams and tells me how “shawtra” I am when I come up with something useful to say in Arabic. It’s a good ego booster (even if that is the same word that my friend Razan says to Jimmy, her dog, when he fetches a ball).
‘andi?
This can mean “my place” or “I have” depending on the context. In Nazareth Village, this is the question that comes from Nadiim/Abu George/Joseph the Carpenter, who wants to know if I’m going to have time to bring the tour group to the carpentry shop, the last stop on the Parable Walk tour—sometimes groups have a strict time constraint and I never know if I’m going to be able to get all the way through the tour before they need to rush back onto their tour busses and on to the next holy site. So it’s a legitimate question. Sometimes Joseph the Carpenter gets skipped.
Ilmejmu’ah mitakhri. / Ilmejmu’ah ajat bakeer!
Is the tour group late, or did they come early? Either situation is worthy of much consternation. Either people have to hurry into costume and a guide isn’t prepared to take the group, or the people on the land are annoyed and waiting around the village doing nothing, when they could be doing more important things, especially when those more important things happen inside where it’s warmer.
These sentences must be pronounced with either annoyance or urgence. Maybe both.
Enti mish bardaani?
“Aren’t you cold?!” It’s winter here, and it’s not nearly as cold as it is the majority of a Kansas February, but my coworkers are convinced that if you don’t bundle up in this weather, you will surely get sick.
I, however, know for a fact that this is not true (I think surely someone once gave me some scientific evidence proving that you do NOT catch colds from being cold). So, I scoffed yesterday and bravely wandered about without extensive warm layers, much to the shock of my coworkers.
This morning… I woke up with a sore throat, which is sure enough developing into a full-blown cold. I almost called in sick to work, but then realized that would be admitting defeat of science and logic, so I went to work and pretended to be well.
Rani, who just returned from vacation in Texas, confirmed that perhaps the laws of nature function differently here. “People call me crazy, and maybe it’s not true in the states, but here it’s true! You always get sick from being too cold!”
Mejaneen!
Speaking of calling people crazy, this was one of the first words I learned at work. The guys at work will often point to one another in my presence and say “Mejaneen!” Which is often accompanied by pointing to one’s head as if to say, “Look at this guy, I think his brain is gone.”
Nadiim told me that when one of the volunteers before me was having trouble remembering another worker’s last name, he “helped” her learn it, and then quizzed her on it later. “Wait wait, I know,” she said triumphantly, “your name is Simon Mejaneen!”
(In a related note, when I read the word “mejaanen” on advertisements, I thought that there were either a lot of crazy sales or a lot of crazy products available to buy. Finally, my Arabic teacher explained that this is not the case, that in fact this slightly different word means “free.”)
Maryam Maryamti!
This is a phrase often performed for me in a singsong voice when I enter a room. Seems to be the general fallback when people don’t know what to say to me, or whether I will understand them in Arabic, but they want to acknowledge my presence anyway.
I have always wished that I had a song with my name in it (It’s so unfair that there are, like, five songs about Carolines, and even a song about a Rihannon… come on, Rihannon HAS to be less common than Miriam).
It turns out that Maryam Maryamti is a famous Arabic pop song, and I can’t even express how happy that makes me. I always reward them singing to me by doing a silly little dance in place.
Here is a version by the original singer Mohamed Hussein (Wow, I feel like I’m saying “BOO!!!” just by saying that name to an American audience). There are lots of versions--I like this one because of the sweet instrumentation… but I recommend fast forwarding to about 5 minutes in, unless you want to know the song’s complete history and background AND you understand Syrian Arabic.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Good news!
To my delight, last week I graduated from Woman at the Well, to the position of Tour Guide (Oh, and also Substitute Weaver. But I embarrass myself when I try to spin wool, and Evon was not shy about showing me that she had undone my weaving and done it over again herself. So I need a little more training before I can claim that title).
As a tour guide, I have a wide variety of tasks... I of course facilitate the movement of tourists through the Parable Walk, an attempt to give people an idea of the physical objects and locations behind the parables that Jesus used to teach first-century crowds, and show what a working first-century farm might have looked like.
Another great thing about being a guide here is getting to hang out with the real guides, the locals whose job it is to show tourists a good time in the Holy Land. As a group they seem like a great people, friendly and very knowledgeable. When I hang out with them I get to laugh knowingly about the entertaining tendencies of tourists, and pretend for a few minutes that I'm not a tourist myself... That is, until they say something like, I've been doing this for 25 years, how long have you been here? er.... uh..... Let's change the subject.
My favorite part of the parable walk is actually the part when I take the groups into the synagogue in Nazareth Village. At this stop on the tour I get to talk about the inaugural speech that Jesus gives in Nazareth, after traveling around the Galilee. Bear with me--I know it doesn't sound exciting...Yet!
Luke reports that Jesus's reputation had preceded him to Nazareth, and the people there were eager to hear what he had to say on this hometown stop of his Galilee tour. Jesus, as the last synagogue reader that particular day, chose to read a passage from Isaiah 61, and included his own editorializing:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has annointed me
to preach good news to the poor
to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.
(Luke 4:18-19)
He then sat down and proclaimed, "Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." and Luke reports that the people are amazed and excited (albeit skeptical about the likelihood that their town, and Joseph's house in particular, could produce a Messiah).
But, Jesus doesn't choose to read the rest of the Isaiah 61 passage, the parts that promised the "day of vengeance of our God" or that he would "rebuild the ancient ruins." He doesn't read the section that promises the Jews that "Aliens will shepherd your flocks; foreigners will work your fields and vineyards, and you will be called the priests of the Lord... You will feed on the wealth of nations."
Instead of reading those parts of Isaiah 61, Luke tells us that Jesus recalls two examples of Gentiles who God worked through--the widow from Sidon to whom Elijah was sent, and Naaman the Syrian who Elisha healed of leprosy.
...Amazing, isn't it?
Justice and freedom--but not vengeance, or a continued cycle of oppression.
Justice and freedom--not only for a select few, but a promise that would extend to all the peoples of the world.
To be honest, so far my time here has given me a lot of direct challenges to my faith and ways to get discouraged about Christianity (and religion in general). But in the face of all of that, the message of Luke 4 is something that I can feel confident about--and a message that gives me hope.
As a tour guide, I have a wide variety of tasks... I of course facilitate the movement of tourists through the Parable Walk, an attempt to give people an idea of the physical objects and locations behind the parables that Jesus used to teach first-century crowds, and show what a working first-century farm might have looked like.
I also help Ibrahim in the gift shop, and when my groups have paid for an authentic first-century lunch, I help serve it and clean up afterwards (in other words: I help eat the authentic first-century left-overs).
Today I gave tours to two groups of 40+ people. On the second one I got to use a nifty mike system that allowed me to speak into a headset and directly into earphones of all 40+ people. The great thing about that is that you can speak in a normal tone of voice to the whole group even as they're meandering s l o w l y along the path, but the bad thing is that when you try to talk and climb a hill at the same time they can hear all of your labored breathing... How embarrassing.
One thing I'm especially grateful for is my recent student teaching experience. Last semester I got some practice making my voice heard in a classroom full of not-so-enthusiastic 7th graders... I'm not sure I ever quite succeeded with that task, but I didn't realize until now how much my confidence and public speaking skills had improved over those months. Besides, thanks to my 7th graders, eager groups of Christian pilgrims seem like an awfully easy audience. ...I'm pretty sure that's also where I picked up the highly-specialized skill of bossing people around while keeping a smile on my face. This comes in handy. A lot.
One thing I'm especially grateful for is my recent student teaching experience. Last semester I got some practice making my voice heard in a classroom full of not-so-enthusiastic 7th graders... I'm not sure I ever quite succeeded with that task, but I didn't realize until now how much my confidence and public speaking skills had improved over those months. Besides, thanks to my 7th graders, eager groups of Christian pilgrims seem like an awfully easy audience. ...I'm pretty sure that's also where I picked up the highly-specialized skill of bossing people around while keeping a smile on my face. This comes in handy. A lot.
So, Mr. Ewert's classes, any success I have here, I owe to you!
Another great thing about being a guide here is getting to hang out with the real guides, the locals whose job it is to show tourists a good time in the Holy Land. As a group they seem like a great people, friendly and very knowledgeable. When I hang out with them I get to laugh knowingly about the entertaining tendencies of tourists, and pretend for a few minutes that I'm not a tourist myself... That is, until they say something like, I've been doing this for 25 years, how long have you been here? er.... uh..... Let's change the subject.
My favorite part of the parable walk is actually the part when I take the groups into the synagogue in Nazareth Village. At this stop on the tour I get to talk about the inaugural speech that Jesus gives in Nazareth, after traveling around the Galilee. Bear with me--I know it doesn't sound exciting...Yet!
Luke reports that Jesus's reputation had preceded him to Nazareth, and the people there were eager to hear what he had to say on this hometown stop of his Galilee tour. Jesus, as the last synagogue reader that particular day, chose to read a passage from Isaiah 61, and included his own editorializing:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has annointed me
to preach good news to the poor
to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind
to release the oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.
(Luke 4:18-19)
He then sat down and proclaimed, "Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." and Luke reports that the people are amazed and excited (albeit skeptical about the likelihood that their town, and Joseph's house in particular, could produce a Messiah).
But, Jesus doesn't choose to read the rest of the Isaiah 61 passage, the parts that promised the "day of vengeance of our God" or that he would "rebuild the ancient ruins." He doesn't read the section that promises the Jews that "Aliens will shepherd your flocks; foreigners will work your fields and vineyards, and you will be called the priests of the Lord... You will feed on the wealth of nations."
Instead of reading those parts of Isaiah 61, Luke tells us that Jesus recalls two examples of Gentiles who God worked through--the widow from Sidon to whom Elijah was sent, and Naaman the Syrian who Elisha healed of leprosy.
...Amazing, isn't it?
Justice and freedom--but not vengeance, or a continued cycle of oppression.
Justice and freedom--not only for a select few, but a promise that would extend to all the peoples of the world.
To be honest, so far my time here has given me a lot of direct challenges to my faith and ways to get discouraged about Christianity (and religion in general). But in the face of all of that, the message of Luke 4 is something that I can feel confident about--and a message that gives me hope.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
On Belonging
I realized looking back over my blog posts that every one has ended in a quote. This is probably because much of what I learn and think about here comes directly from conversations with people who live here or visit here. If I could simply record all of my conversations, and play them back for you, I would. I’ve been trying to write this posts for a few days now and I finally gave up on trying to organize my own thoughts, and decided to just recall the conversations themselves.
First thing Thursday morning, a guest in my apartment asked me the question, what do people in Nazareth prefer to be called, Palestinians or Arabs?
This is a question I hadn’t quite settled for myself, and as a favor to myself and the other Americans who like to be PC and polite, I decided to try to find the right answer... So, later on in the day, I repeated the question to friends of mine at work, hoping they would be able to clear it up for me. As best as I can remember, here are the main points of the discussion that followed…
Me: So I was wondering today, what do you guys prefer to be called. Palestinians? Arabs?
R: Yes.
K: Arabs.
R: No, Palestinians.
K: Palestine is not even the traditional name, but the British name for the
Land.
R: But you wouldn’t call yourself Israeli.
K: I have an Israeli ID card. Arab Israeli, why not?
R: But we’re not really a part of this country. I want a country whose flag I can wave, a team I feel like is my team to cheer for.
Would you feel comfortable waving an Israeli flag?
K: No, I wouldn't. It's not really my flag… We do feel like unwelcome
guests here. You know, we have stars on our ID cards to indicate that
we’re non-Jews? And they check that, and they treat you differently.
R: For example we don’t feel at home at our university—they treat us like they’re
doing us a favor by allowing us to be there.
K: Ok, Arab Christian, that is I would want to be called, Arab Christian living
in Israel.
Me: But then, that still doesn’t say what place you belong to, or what ethnicity you most closely represent.
[Arab: a: a member of the Semitic people of the Arabian Peninsula b: a member of an Arabic-speaking people. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/arab]
A lot of people want to use Palestinian because it indicates that you belong to a place. People are not just “Arab” they're Egyptian Arab, or Iraqi Arab… What are you guys?
R: See, “Palestinian” describes that for us. That’s where we’re from.
K: But what is Palestine? Palestine doesn’t exist. And the West Bank is not a country. We are citizens of this country, Israel… But, it’s true, we don’t feel like we belong here. …It’s not that I don’t identify with the people of Gaza and the West Bank, I do, I really do identify with them! But Hamas also identifies itself as Palestinian and I don’t want to be associated with Hamas.
...The conversation went on, a calm discussion between friends of a simple reality in their lives, but nevertheless a reality whose existence is for me fairly shocking.
When I arrived in Nazareth, the Nazareth Village volunteer coordinator proudly reported me that Nazareth is isolated from the political conflicts in Israel, that the people here don’t really feel involved in them or even identify with the people in the West Bank or Jerusalem.
To some extent this is true. But you don’t have to scratch the surface very hard to find out that the people here face their own set of challenges relating to Israel. Obviously this simple question of semantics is not even solved.
The people in Nazareth, as Israeli ID-card holders, may at least have all of their human rights taken care of, yes, but the creation of Israel in its current form has denied the residents of this place the right to an identity, denied them the right to a sense of belonging, in their own land where their families have lived for generations. This, I believe, is also unjust.
Later that day I met a young American woman who is planning to relocate to Israel. Her parents are of Jewish origin, but she is Christian in her religious beliefs (a fact that she will have to carefully hide when she applies for citizenship here in Israel). When I asked her what it is that made her want to come here, she explained to me the connection that she feels to the land of Israel. “Someone who is not Jewish can never understand this draw. I can only describe it as God calling me here.” She looks forward to serving the military term that is obligatory for all Israeli Jews at age 18, and “defending my country from the enemy.” (As an interesting side note, she would not, she said, have ever considered serving in the U.S. military...).
This woman just exuded enthusiasm for Israel and her place in this society. So confident is she of her belonging here, that she would relocate across the world, leaving family and home behind. In spite of the fact that neither she nor any of her family has ever lived here, and the fact that Israel wouldn’t want her if it knew of her religious beliefs, she will soon hold a card indicating that she is a full-fledged fully-welcome Israeli national.
Nazareth’s Arab/Palestinian residents, on the other hand, have yet to find their way through the identity crisis that the formation of Israel around them forced on their families 60 years ago. For the foreseeable future, they will have to deal with the fallout of being unwanted in the only land they have ever known.
P.S. Some info about Israeli ID cards...
http://en.allexperts.com/q/Israel-211/Israeli-Identification-Card-teudat.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teudat_Zehut
First thing Thursday morning, a guest in my apartment asked me the question, what do people in Nazareth prefer to be called, Palestinians or Arabs?
This is a question I hadn’t quite settled for myself, and as a favor to myself and the other Americans who like to be PC and polite, I decided to try to find the right answer... So, later on in the day, I repeated the question to friends of mine at work, hoping they would be able to clear it up for me. As best as I can remember, here are the main points of the discussion that followed…
Me: So I was wondering today, what do you guys prefer to be called. Palestinians? Arabs?
R: Yes.
K: Arabs.
R: No, Palestinians.
K: Palestine is not even the traditional name, but the British name for the
Land.
R: But you wouldn’t call yourself Israeli.
K: I have an Israeli ID card. Arab Israeli, why not?
R: But we’re not really a part of this country. I want a country whose flag I can wave, a team I feel like is my team to cheer for.
Would you feel comfortable waving an Israeli flag?
K: No, I wouldn't. It's not really my flag… We do feel like unwelcome
guests here. You know, we have stars on our ID cards to indicate that
we’re non-Jews? And they check that, and they treat you differently.
R: For example we don’t feel at home at our university—they treat us like they’re
doing us a favor by allowing us to be there.
K: Ok, Arab Christian, that is I would want to be called, Arab Christian living
in Israel.
Me: But then, that still doesn’t say what place you belong to, or what ethnicity you most closely represent.
[Arab: a: a member of the Semitic people of the Arabian Peninsula b: a member of an Arabic-speaking people. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/arab]
A lot of people want to use Palestinian because it indicates that you belong to a place. People are not just “Arab” they're Egyptian Arab, or Iraqi Arab… What are you guys?
R: See, “Palestinian” describes that for us. That’s where we’re from.
K: But what is Palestine? Palestine doesn’t exist. And the West Bank is not a country. We are citizens of this country, Israel… But, it’s true, we don’t feel like we belong here. …It’s not that I don’t identify with the people of Gaza and the West Bank, I do, I really do identify with them! But Hamas also identifies itself as Palestinian and I don’t want to be associated with Hamas.
...The conversation went on, a calm discussion between friends of a simple reality in their lives, but nevertheless a reality whose existence is for me fairly shocking.
When I arrived in Nazareth, the Nazareth Village volunteer coordinator proudly reported me that Nazareth is isolated from the political conflicts in Israel, that the people here don’t really feel involved in them or even identify with the people in the West Bank or Jerusalem.
To some extent this is true. But you don’t have to scratch the surface very hard to find out that the people here face their own set of challenges relating to Israel. Obviously this simple question of semantics is not even solved.
The people in Nazareth, as Israeli ID-card holders, may at least have all of their human rights taken care of, yes, but the creation of Israel in its current form has denied the residents of this place the right to an identity, denied them the right to a sense of belonging, in their own land where their families have lived for generations. This, I believe, is also unjust.
Later that day I met a young American woman who is planning to relocate to Israel. Her parents are of Jewish origin, but she is Christian in her religious beliefs (a fact that she will have to carefully hide when she applies for citizenship here in Israel). When I asked her what it is that made her want to come here, she explained to me the connection that she feels to the land of Israel. “Someone who is not Jewish can never understand this draw. I can only describe it as God calling me here.” She looks forward to serving the military term that is obligatory for all Israeli Jews at age 18, and “defending my country from the enemy.” (As an interesting side note, she would not, she said, have ever considered serving in the U.S. military...).
This woman just exuded enthusiasm for Israel and her place in this society. So confident is she of her belonging here, that she would relocate across the world, leaving family and home behind. In spite of the fact that neither she nor any of her family has ever lived here, and the fact that Israel wouldn’t want her if it knew of her religious beliefs, she will soon hold a card indicating that she is a full-fledged fully-welcome Israeli national.
Nazareth’s Arab/Palestinian residents, on the other hand, have yet to find their way through the identity crisis that the formation of Israel around them forced on their families 60 years ago. For the foreseeable future, they will have to deal with the fallout of being unwanted in the only land they have ever known.
P.S. Some info about Israeli ID cards...
http://en.allexperts.com/q/Israel-211/Israeli-Identification-Card-teudat.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teudat_Zehut
Monday, February 2, 2009
Life in Nazareth Part II: Village life
I know, I promised pictures in 1st century clothing. Well, my internet connection is not cooperating with me, and only uploaded one picture--the one that was supposed to have been an experiment to see if it would allow me to upload pictures this evening.
Working at Nazareth Village so far is quite a trip. The morning routine at the Village is quite overwhelming, and is probably the biggest cultural difference I have encountered so far. I am used to quiet mornings at work, where everyone comes in slowly and warms up to the day, and there is a general consensus that no one should be overly excited or make any sudden movements before an hour or two has gone by. Here, on the other hand, the morning routine in the staff gathering area is a flurry of greetings, often accompanied by loud and demonstrative conversations.
In fact, much of the down time during the day is made up of such conversations. In my normal life I might think of them as altercations, but my coworkers often assure me that they are not arguing, only discussing. It drives me crazy not to know what all of this ado is about, because it always seems like it must be something awfully important to deserve that much heated discussion...
Luckily there is not time for me to get in a word edgewise--after all, the conversations is in (very fast) Arabic, and I have nothing to contribute. I hope I don't appear antisocial by not talking, but I really don't want them to feel like they have to include me by speaking English. I actually really like sitting on the sidelines and trying to catch words as they fly by me. When I do, I get really excited. Every day I am learning more words and today I even deduced that one heated conversation occurring around me was (drum roll please) trying to determine which house a mutual acquaintance's sister currently lives in. I have a suspicion that most of these conversations are about similarly mudane arguments, after all. My stress level would probably go down considerably if my vocabulary was about twice as big as it currently is.
There have already been a couple of times that I've gotten overwhelmed and gone outside in costume by myself, usually to sit quietly on a rock until someone comes outside who I can tag along with. I really like being outside in the village, it's pretty unexciting really, but you never know when a baby sheep will need to be bottle fed or a donkey will escape and gallop in circles around a tour group, or the carpenter's roof will have collapsed in the night (and you will get to witness an ensuing melodrama as the "carpenter" bemoans the loss of his house, and, he claims, weeping fake tears, *insert dramatic voice* a part of himself).
I will start training for giving tours next week, but being a villager is my main job for right now. My main most important contribution as a villager is to be a young woman sitting at the well. All of the tour guides give the same spiel about young men coming to the well to checkout all the young ladies and pick out a wife. My job, therefore, is very important. Without me, none of the tourists would have a young lady at the well to pose for pictures with, or to wink at and cleverly wish "Good luck on the husband search!" ...Yes, it's a tough job, but essential to the ministry of Nazareth Village.
But anyway, back to the break room, the time between tours, arguably the most interesting part of my day... The great thing about my coworkers' culture being so loud and outspoken is that they are openly friendly with me and do not hesitate to draw me into their circle. They have a great playful sense of humor, and I am more than willing to play along in return for them accepting me and my language/culture barrier. They also don't hesitate to give me commands such as "follow me." "We're going now." "Go there." "Stay here." This is awesome, because otherwise I would probably feel rather purposeless wandering around on the first-century village. And also, these are exactly the kind of short sentences in Arabic that I can handle right now. At least if I have been given a command, and understand, and am able to carry it through I have a sense of accomplishment. "Where are you going? Stay here." Ok! I can handle that!
"Eat some food." Well, I can probably do that too. "Do you want some coffee?" No thanks, I just had some. "No, no, it's cold, have some coffee." ...Ok, ok. You're right, I need to have some more coffee.
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