Dancing lessons with the Communist Party and Sunday Dinner in a Muslim House

Dancing Lessons with the Communist Party and Sunday Dinner in a Muslim House…
September 27, 2000

It's been a strange week, partly because I've been waylaid a few days with a nasty sinus infection. I’m only now beginning to understand that it may have something to do with the new construction and all that extra dust across the road. The 6 sheep and their stack of hay have been moved elsewhere and there's a big hole in the
ground.

Nazareth seems to have a special dispensation to build, (everywhere else Palestinian homes are being bulldozed) and build they do, like you wouldn't believe. It seems all the neighbors are out on the weekend adding another level to their houses, and semi-high-rise apartments are cropping up all over. Should be interesting to watch.

Last Friday we went with our new friend Abed to watch his Depke (Palestinian folk dancing) group practice downtown. On the way, we learned that the interesting building with all the Palestinian protest signs housed the Palestinian Communist party, otherwise known as the Palestinian Democratic Front. Why else would a painting of Che Guevara be in the middle of Nazareth? So we figured this group had interesting neighbors. However, as Abed took us in to meet the leader of the party, we realized the Communist party actually owned the building and sponsored the dancing group. This is not as bad as it seems. The party is actually the second largest in Nazareth and held with few of the negative connotations it has in the U.S. So, was I worried? Actually, it seemed the perfect time to mention that I'd been part of the International May Day march on Washington with the Communists when I was in the South Bronx. (Didn't mention that I had been a rather unwilling participant at that time.) They sponsor the group because one of their main beliefs is to preserve and pass on the Palestinian traditions, which are all too quickly being lost in this generation. So to make a long story short, this Friday and every other one after it, I will be downtown trying to cure myself of my three left feet and discussing the revolution on the side.

After practice, we all went to the sheesha bar in Mary's Well Square for supper. A sheesha is a water pipe, or hubbly-bubbly, with flavored tobacco, like in Alice in Wonderland. So the waiters came out and gave us Fez hats to wear and I will have pictures to show you all. (My brothers better not laugh, because Christmas is
coming…) While we were waiting for our suppers, we hopped over to the Greek orthodox annunciation church, which contains the source of Mary's well. Abed, who let it be known is Muslim and has never before set foot in that church, was shortly thereafter accosted by Italian tourists who wanted to know the history of the place. No, Abed doesn't speak Italian, but he did a pretty good sign language explanation of it all, including the pregnant Mary part. Next week we're going to the Catholic Basilica and going to see if we can pick up a few extra bucks…

Abed invited us to his family's home for Sunday dinner. Now I said I was cooking vegetarian, but don't expect to see me coming home any skinnier, because there is a countrywide conspiracy to keep me plump. His mother brought out this huge platter of mensaf, I think, which is rice and ground beef, topped with chicken and eaten with cooked yogurt. You don't see this much food at Thanksgiving. It was wonderful, even after the mandatory third helping. We waddled home several hours later.

I am now in the girl's shelter on Monday afternoons and evenings, and this is by far the most rewarding part of my work. Last time I brought my guitar and tried to teach a song in English, but mostly they were all just interested in trying it out themselves. Then they try to teach me other types of Arab dancing, so I really won't have any excuse if I come home uncoordinated. I'm now trying to master the head bob and the `hip thing', and lets not even get started on the `chest wiggle'. Yesterday afternoon I was invited for `arts and crafts.' Imagine my surprise when they were all sitting in a circle doing cross-stitch! When was the last time you saw American teenage girls do cross-stitch, and enjoy it??? But they do this at least four times a week, and often sell the results at the yearly charity ball. So now I am learning too. The teacher starts random pieces, and then hands them to me to finish.

I'm not sure if I told you about Wafaa, my somewhat English-speaking friend at the shelter. I thought she was thirteen. She's 20. She actually looks a lot like Tom (my brother), only female and much darker skinned. I haven't figured out what brought her there specifically yet, and maybe I don't need to know. The first day there, she made me a beautiful beaded bracelet and wrote me notes, and I wrote about myself in her journal, and told her I'd be coming every week. She also translated everything between me and the other girls who don't speak any English. I probably learned more Arabic from two hours with her than in the previous two weeks.

When I showed up yesterday, I was heartbroken. They told me she went home. And I know that if I'm going to work in a shelter, then I have to accept that, girls will come in and go out and not to get overly attached. So I tried not to look too disappointed and focused on my cross-stitch. But wouldn't you know who showed up just an hour before I came the first time, carrying everything she had in a shopping bag! I don't know exactly yet what happened. She said she `escaped' with some other girls last week, but knew I was coming back and missed me. Then she made me two more bracelets and played with my guitar. Just in case this time, I gave her my address at the seminary for next year.

The office end has been extremely busy these last few days, which is why you're getting all of this at once. I am writing reports for different foundations and helping with the strategic planning. A lot of the issues at this shelter apply to the ones back home. For example, the debate today was what to do when the staff knew that an adult woman would always be in danger of being murdered, though the woman herself kept returning to the situation. In this case, her husband attempted to kill her, but didn't succeed and was sent to jail. When she returned home from the shelter, her male cousin tried to kill her as well. Now he's in jail and she wants to go home again, where other relatives are similarly ready to go after her. At least where the woman is from, the killers are being held in jail. As I said before, this doesn't happen too often. I will give further updates about the situation of Palestinian women soon, I promise.