10080 minutes in paradise
If your wonder years were during the seventies, you would remember Mike Batt of Tubular Bells fame. One of his less popular songs was ‘The Ride to Agadir’ which stirred my imagination and evoked images of battles in the desert and rides on caravans of camels - rides that we all have needed to take - risky rides into the unknown ‘for the ashes of our fathers and the children of our sons’. Since then I have dreamed of making such a journey and then I was in the middle of it. This time though, the journey was the ride to Tulare - a name which evoked in me similarly exotic locations in the desert.
The ride to Tulkarem started my journey of 10080 minutes in paradise. From Jerusalem travelling north, the journey is uneventful until one hits the mountainous region surrounding the city. It is then redolent of Agadir and journeys and battles for honour. Anyway I was on a bus and there was no enemy but it felt good to live a childhood dream. The beauty is breathtaking and the bus ride hair-raising. There are villages on every hilltop. People are living here. The city itself is alive! It vibrates at its own speed and moves to its own rhythm. Many journeys were undertaken from here, most notably to the Mediterranean Sea not 15 kms away. The ubiquitous Wall has put an end to that. The cruellest thing of all is that the sea continues to render the city unbearably humid. So residents suffer the humidity without the option of heading seawards to counter it with a splash in the ocean. I am told that if Tulkarem is alive now, it was positively bristling not too long ago. Israelis and Palestinians cooperated economically as Tulkarem provided services and goods, and Israelis provided New Israeli Shekels. The Wall has put an end to that too.
I visit a Dabkha studio and see young boys ranging in age from 6 or 7 to 19 and 20. As they increase in age, they grow in dexterity. The dance is technically exacting and physically demanding and they add variations which set their moves apart from others. I see that Dabkha is a key marker and maker of identity. It is also a group thing and they move as one on and off the Dabkha floor. As they dance to the exotic rhythms, we who watch are mesmerized and seduced into joining – if only to make fools of ourselves. Dabkha is not simply about steps and moves. It is a substitute for the sea, and freedom and life opportunities - so like our own experience of, and our obsession with, dance in South Africa. Dance makes life bearable however bad that life is. They push themselves harder and further in their quest to feel alive - truly alive - and to find meaning and advantage, finally falling to the floor in exhaustion – laughing, demanding water from the little ones who rush to serve their heroes!
On Thursday night I am to celebrate the Mass in a Greek Orthodox Church – the only church in Tulkarem. There is only one Christian family in the city and the church was completely run down. Then Dawood and his family and his friends who were almost exclusively Muslim, lovingly restored the church. The electrical engineer was Muslim and proudly showed me his work. The hall is still not restored and looks like the church once looked. The restoration was not simply cosmetic. The walls were stripped down to the stone and re-plastered, the ceiling redone and the woodwork restored. That night at six, I believe the kingdom was advanced just a little bit as an African Anglican celebrated the Mass in a Greek Orthodox church that the Patriarch had celebrated the Mass in the Sunday before, to a truly ecumenical congregation including a contingent of Muslims. That night, news filtered in about the Pope’s speech in Germany and on the Sunday morning following this moment, we would receive news that the church had been razed to the ground. I cannot begin to describe my personal devastation, so I could only just begin to imagine theirs. There is a good news end to this, however. That day the community, predominantly Muslim, met in solidarity with Dawood and his family and the leaders pledged to raise funds personally and to rebuild the church. Ecumenism had triumphed over stupidity.
I left Tulkarem overwhelmed by the Palestinian hunger for life and the pockets of hope which I find as I go about this country. They have so little to be grateful for, yet they are grateful and drink deep of the little stream that flows their way.
On Tuesday we meet with the Arab Education Institute (AEI) - the new graduates/employees group. They meet weekly for reflections on non-violence and then talk about their difficulties in the work place. A number of the attendees are employed within institutions that fall within the ambit of the Palestinian Authority. They are teachers, healthcare workers, and municipal workers and have not been paid for seven months.
At this point I want to introduce an important word in the Palestinian lexicon: Sumud. It is important in that it describes the Palestinian spirit or geist. Regardless of the situation, Sumud kicks in and regulates the response to the threat or danger. Humanity kicks in and lifts the communal spirit and makes coping possible – coping at all costs. This has the effect of presenting a deception that ‘all is okay’. More importantly, it also engenders sharing widely amongst family members: better to have 20 families sharing 3000 shekels than 19 families going hungry. You would instantly recognize this as ubuntu. It is the Palestinian people’s greatest blessing and greatest curse. I have known about the withholding of funds to the PA, but I have never seen the evidence on the ground. Today in this meeting for the first time I hear of the hardships families are experiencing because Hamas won the election. So as you look from the outside in, everything is fine, yet it is not and has not been for seven months. And here is the rub: they have all continued to work in spite of that.
Later the same night we go on to the Alternative Information Centre in Beit Sahour and tonight, instead of the usual format of a speaker, we have music; traditional instruments, traditional songs, but with a new found zestness and a baseline to die for. The audience is mostly women, all dressed up and made-up, enjoying an evening of cultural intercourse. All of the difficulties are subsumed for a moment, and beauty reigns. Sumud kicks in. People are living here! This is paradise and I have had 10080 minutes of it. God is good!
