Coming to Terms with the Desperation

Usually when I see one of those doctored-up American "feel good" pieces about the peace that must co-exist between Palestinians and Israelis, or the "Peace School" or "Seeds of Peace" programs that are intended to bring the children or even adults together through understanding, dialogue, love, and a basket of warm fuzzies, I want to puke my guts out. I detest these sorts of programs because they achieve nothing but a propagation of the misunderstanding in the West about this conflicted region, mainly because they refuse to examine the source of the conflict and instead offer up trite solutions that do not even skim the surface of the real problem. It is like putting a band-aid on a wound made with a machete. I have tried to talk to my non-Muslim friends and family time after time about what is really going on, but I usually get that "oh you've fallen for the axis-of-evil Muslim propaganda" blank stare.

No, folks, I haven't.

Finally, something real ! Yesterday, Al-Jazeera English channel's documentary showcase Witness featured the documentary Another Road Home, made by Danae Elon, an Israeli-born citizen who lives in New York. Danae is the daughter of Amos Elon, an Austrian-born Israeli writer, speaker, and political activist.

When I turned it on, I did not fully understand the emotional roller coaster I was about to ride. Another Road Home is the story of the director, Danae, and her family's relationship with the Obeidallah family from Battir, near Bethlehem.

Mahmoud Musa Obeidallah, Palestinian, worked for the Elon family, Israeli. He took care of their home and land, leaving his own home in the village of Battir every day for up to eighteen hours to work for the Elons and provide a life for his wife and eleven children. Mahmoud preferred for the Elon family to call him "Musa," his father's name, because the Israelis typically pronounce the "ha" as a "kha," and he thought "Musa" would be easier for them to say. Musa spent every day of Danae's life with her, in her home, preparing her food, caring for her needs, and being, in essence, her father.

The last time Danae had seen Musa was in 1991 when she left Israel and moved to New York. She knew that Musa had sent all eight of his sons to the U.S. to be educated, and she knew they were living in Paterson, New Jersey. So she set out to find the sons and hopefully contact their father.

What amazed me was the warmth with which the sons greeted Danae when she found them. In one scene, one of the sons speaks candidly with Danae about how he used to feel seeing his father leave Battir each day to go spend long hours in her home, spending more time with her than with any of Musa's own children. He understood, however, that his father made those sacrifices so that he could give his children a way out of a hopeless situation. He succeeded. Here were eight boys who were successful, contributing members of society, and whose love for their father knew no end. I swear it made me want to go out and have an army of sons. These are the fruits of sacrifice, when grown men weep at the thought of their father's love and commitment to the family.

Selflessness.

Danae, throughout most of the film, is quiet and profoundly sad. I think the entire point of the film is that she wants to discover the root of her sadness, but cannot. Danae and her mother and father are examples of those enlightened Israelis who see the hypocrisy and terror as being Israeli-born, unlike the majority of the West. Her father, Amos, at one point said something that I will never forget. On speaking with Palestinians, he says, "I cannot be around them often. I always feel I am in pain when I am with them. I am in pain because I know they are right."

Danae and her father have another exchange where she asks him how it felt for this man, Musa, to have been more of a father to her than her own father. "I was in the house, too," he tells her. "Yes, but you had no tolerance for children, no tolerance for me," she tells him. Her father agrees. Musa was the one who had showed Danae patience and tolerance.

Musa is able to come to Paterson to see Danae and his sons. He embarks on a four-day journey, having to travel first to Amman because as a Palestinian he cannot fly out of the Israeli airport. Musa is 76 years old and frail. He arrives in New Jersey in the middle of cold and rain, but nothing can describe the emotions displayed when he is reunited with his sons. At the airport, Danae asks him why he went to so much trouble to try to come for a visit. He says, quietly and sincerely, "I came here for you."

As all Israeli men and women must, Danae had to serve two compulsory years in the Israeli army. Musa ironed her uniform every day. She asks him how that must have made him feel, to iron her army fatigues, and he says, "I did not think of it as the army. I was doing it for you." She tells him that it bothers her, it troubles her, how he had to iron it. He tells her, "Just take it off, just take it off," meaning, "Just take the heaviness off of your heart."

This film is a human story, not a fluffed up heart warmer. The oppressed are forever forgiving the oppressors, and Musa exemplifies this. However, this film demonstrates that somewhere, the oppressors do have a conscience, and the guilt can run deeply enough to not give them rest.

Ya Allah, do not give them rest.

En El Campo

Our family went on a picnic this past Friday, yawm al-Jum'aah. My dear friend who is working with the Ministry of Education trying to revamp the government schools' KG programs has had to travel all over Jordan, visiting schools in villages and hamlets, for the past several months. She keeps taking pictures of these remote locations and tantalizing me with the idea that serenity and simple living do exist in this country, and that to find both, one must leave the city limits. My soul has been screaming to get out of Amman for months, but the winters here are bleak and encourage a body to stay indoors, hibernating in the warmth of the sobah and eating one's weight in food.

Friday, however, was warm and semi-sunny. Per my friend's recommendation, I coaxed my husband into avoiding the usual picnic spot--the side of the airport highway--and venturing instead to new grounds, not tread by hoards of meat-grilling Arabs. (Wait a sec, weren't we too a hoard of meat-grilling Arabs, looking for a place to load up our skewers?)

We ended up in an area called Iraq al-Amir, a thirty-minute drive from our home. We followed the winding and sometimes dangerous road to a place high atop a hill, overlooking a very deep wadi or valley. Because the rains have been 'heavy' lately, the hills and slopes were blanketed in green, and wildflowers grew everywhere. I know that by the end of April, the Jordanian landscape will return to its perpetual brownness and will remain that way until the following spring. I therefore treasure the greenery when it's around.

Some of my in-laws muttered and sputtered, wanting to know why we had driven them so 'far' and why we had chosen a site lacking the familiar diesel fumes. My brother-in-law said, "The airport road is nicer, isn't it?"

I ignored him, tuned him out, pretended he did not exist. In fact, during the entire picnic I had a smile on my face that no one could turn upside down, complain as they might.

I've come to expect it from the Arabs, and this is one of the greatest flaws I see in Arab (not Muslim!) culture. It is a perpetual disease of complaining and ingratitude. Give someone a kilo of gold, and they'll want to know why it isn't a kilo and a half. Take someone to dinner, and they'll recall a better restaurant they dined in 25 years ago. Bake a lemon cake, they'll ask why it isn't orange. Grow your daughter's hair out long, they'll tell you, "cut it." Cut your baby's hair, they'll say, "It's winter, why did you cut her hair?"

Picnicking is simple. Go out somewhere green and nice, eat food, run around, breathe fresh air. If you want to complain, you may stay indoors and smoke three packs of Marlboros instead.

I have officially stopped trying to make sense of those who are inflicted with complaintitis. I will proudly show my thanks and appreciation, and if others want to partake and be happy, ahlan wa sahlan.

This is the springtime of my contentment.

Kinks and a Welcome

I've been notified by several of my friends that when they try to leave comments on my blog, they cannot. I messed around with the settings a bit, so maybe it'll be more user-friendly.

Also, I wanted to welcome my father to the blogosphere. Welcome, Dad! With all of this discussion on two of the blogs I read--Umar Lee and
Umm Zaid--about the white Muslim identity, I'm interested in reading your take on whiteness. Living in SoCal for 20 years and teaching the multitudes of all of the colors of the rainbow, notwithstanding having lived in the deep south and witnessing so much bigotry first-hand... Perhaps you could write about your experiences.

POR FIN, I've been TAGGED.

Finally!
I've waited and waited and waited, admiring all of the Memes on blog after blog. My friend, my budster, my pal tagged me today. Thanks Umm Zaid for this, my first Meme and tagging ever.

1. What is your main cell phone ring-tone?

It’s THE BUFFOON. I happen to have the Nokia 3360, and being the envy of all my friends for possessing such an, uhm, amazing piece of technology, I have never bothered to download any nifty ringtones, but rather prefer to keep its factory settings. It rings, I talk. No hip camera or games or Bluetooth whatevers. My daughter's 6th grade classmates have nicer phones.

2. What is your default avatar?

I don’t have one.

3. What station is your car radio permanently tuned to?

It’s usually on Hayat FM, 104.7, which on Fridays features a Hamza Yusuf show and the rest of the time plays nasheeds.

4. What is your computer desktop image?

A sunset over a green field. What is a green field? I have forgotten. Better run out and look at one during this, the three week-long Jordanian Spring.

5. Is there something you wear every single day?

My glasses. I wake up and grope around to find them. Sometimes I knock them off of the nightstand. Every day starts out majorly Helen Kellerish. I am like a little mole without them. I retired my contacts after wearing them for twenty years (not the same pair, of course!) because my eyes were tired of being oxygen deprived. I love my glasses. Too much of a chicken to go for the laser surgery.

6. I wish I had a tracking device on:

My peace of mind and my hairbrush.

7. What page does your internet browser open with?

Yahoo, I’m afraid.

8. This item never leaves my car/purse:

Wallet with Jordanian ID, expired AL driver’s license (2004 but I can still worm my way out of a ticket) and pics of my offspring and spouse. And my Simbicort TurboInhaler just in case I have a "Hand that Rocks the Cradle" asthma episode while out and about.

9. What TV show do you never miss?

Can’t help it. I’m a sucker for Alias. There’s something about Jennifer Garner I really like, and I think I could be friends with her and not feel all catty. Jen, wanna be my friend? I like a good spy story. However, I’m pretty sure what we get here in Jordan is at least three years behind the states. Heck, maybe Alias isn’t even on the air anymore there. Please don't tell me what happens. Isabella Rosselini is just about to join the cast.

10. What phrase do you hear yourself repeating too often?

“KHALAS!!!” “Did you wash your hands??” “Do you need to pee-pee?” “Where is the baby?” "Are you going to finish that sandwich?"

Pooped

Have you ever been so tired that when you finally lie or sit down, your body kind of pulses? Like a tired dog panting?

That is how exhausted I am right now. My mind is plagued with so many worries that I cannot concentrate on more than one thing at a time. The Queen of Multitasking is currently in absentia. Her return is unknown. I cannot read a text message and listen to my child at the same time. I cannot fry something on the stove and answer a phone call. I cannot put my shoes on and utter a coherent sentence. Right now I am suffering from tunnel vision and an inability to focus.

This has happened to me before. After giving birth, my mind goes on hiatus, as well as when I try to hold down a full-time job and keep my family clothed and fed. I have not given birth lately, and I'm not working right now. I once had a similar experience in the US...too dog-tired to concentrate...when I handed the McDonald's drive-through worker my endorsed check and deposit slip for the bank. She took it from my hand as I just stared ahead, thinking I was at the bank. Then she kindly said, "Honey, what do you want me to do with this?"

This will pass. InshaAllah sooner than later.

More Language Subtleties

As it turns out, the word in Arabic for hazelnut is quite close to the word in Arabic referring to a child born out of wedlock.

My 2 1/2 year old kept asking her father to pass her more bastards from the nut bowl last night.

A much needed chuckle in a week wrought with frustration.

Three Packs a Day and 10 Cups o' Joe, and We're All Shocked Your Ticker is Bad

My brother-in-law had a heart attack this morning before fajr, while driving his taxi down the highway.

He has notoriously been, uhm, negligent in caring about his health.

He has been given a chance to redeem himself, in more ways than one.

I always pitied those old people who pulled an oxygen tank behind them, but if given the chance to puff on a ciggy, would happily pull the tube from their noses to take a long, sorely missed drag.

Isn't it sad?

And how many times have I heard, "Oh, the men all smoke because life is so hard here and they have to have some sort of coping mechanism."

How about thikr? Prayer? Charity work? How about doing some good to help you cope with your shitty life? Head on down to the refugee camps with their leaking roofs and children running around barefooted in freezing rain. Go for six months without eating one morsel of meat.

Must we turn to self-destruction to help us cope? Why do the vices always have to be evil? Saying "SubhanAllah" 100 times is far more appealing to me than inhaling some rat poision and God only knows what else one might find in a cigarette marketed for MidEast consumption.

Hey, but that's me. I naturally gasp for air much of the time (asthma) and I don't hurt myself intentionally, so I guess I have a pretty hard time feeling sorry for those who do.

Ouch, this language hurts!

Anyone wanting to learn the Arabic language must first learn how to pronounce the letters of the alphabet. Arabic contains sounds that are not used in the majority of the Romance languages. (Spanish contains similarities in its phonemes, because 30% of the Spanish language is derived from Arabic, thanks to the Moorish invaders of the Spanish peninsula)

It is said that after Chinese, Arabic is the most difficult language to learn, in pronunciation and especially in Grammar. There is one sound contained in Arabic, the letter ض, which is not found in any other language in the world. Therefore, Arabic is often referred to as the "language of ض."

We know that when we are born we have the physiological capabilities of learning every spoken language. Learning the Arabic alphabet and how to pronounce each sound correctly can be challenging for this reason: to do it right, it is going to hurt (at least at first). I know many Americans who have been exposed to Arabic for years and years but still cannot pronounce its fundamental sounds correctly. A Westerner living in the Middle East will most likely stand out naturally, but when he opens his mouth and rips apart the beautiful sounds of the Arabic language, he will stick out even more.

Believe me, I've made too many a faux pas (or fox pass, as I jokingly say) to count. My background in Spanish did help me to learn Arabic and I can hold my own in most situations. Alhamdulillah. However, I largely learned Arabic from my illiterate mother-in-law, may Allah reward her, who was (and still is) very patient with me. If I could travel back in time I would learn Classical Arabic instead of slang. Slang (colloquial Arabic)allows me to get by in daily life, in all situations. But it does not help me in reading my children's notes home from school or in understanding the newspaper. If I watch the news, I catch about 30-50% of what is being said.

My goal, inshaAllah, before I'm 40 is to learn Classical Arabic. I want to be able to open any text and understand it.

For those of you who would like to hear the Arabic letters pronounced, here is a site that not only shows from where in the mouth or throat the letters come, but also repeats each letter as many times as you like. Neat site. Pronounce the Arabic letters

Some of the most common nuances in the Arabic language lie in the similarities in sounds that non-Arabs have a difficult time distinguishing. For instance, there are two "H" sounds and two "S" sounds, each one having a soft and hard variation, respectively. For this reason, the Westerner often mispronounces many common words, interchanging the soft sound where a hard one should be, and vice versa. This is why I am not a fan of transliteration; it is confusing, and the one learning Arabic must learn to read the letters, not rely on Latin representations.

The following six words are very often confused, both in pronunciation and in meaning: (I've done it, so this is coming from experience)

1. Ihsan
Meaning: To worship Allah as if you see Him. This is a name given to boys as well as a very common word used in the Muslim faith.

2. H'ssan
Meaning: Horse

3. Ahsan
Meaning: Better

4. Hassan
Meaning: The one who makes things more pleasant (common boy's name)

5. Hasanah
Meaning: good deed; also a girl's name

6. Hasan
Meaning: Pleasant (also a boy's name)

My dear friend (and you know who you are!) named her first son Ihsan. However, she called him "Horse" his first few years of life.

Ask a classroom full of Arab adults how proficient they are in Arabic grammar, and you will most likely here a not-so-melodious "Ohhhhh noooooooo" from the majority, stirring up nighmarish memories of their
secondary schooling.

Learning Arabic grammar is an art. My husband typically cannot assist my 6th-grader in her grammar lessons. If you did not learn it, you did not learn it, and there is no winging it.

However, learning how to read, write, and pronounce Arabic correctly is possible. Not everyone is a grammarian, just as not everyone is a math whiz.

Kids' Funnies this Week

My three year old loves the first Harry Potter movie. Today she was pretending to be Harry, and her sister tried to touch her head. She said, "That's my scar! Don't kiss it!" And last night she grabbed her forehead and yelled, "Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!" I went running to check on her; she told me, "It's only my scar hurting."

My five year old asks tons of questions. I vowed starting today to write them down. Many of them I can answer, some I'm not sure how to. Two that stick out in my head from this week are, "Hey, how come we never see any eagles around here?" and "Why does the earth have to turn so slowly until it gets to morning?"

How much did you study in 6th grade?

I am working on a post that discusses the educational system in Jordan. Jordanians and the largely Palestinian population here are among the most educated people in all of the Middle East. I am beginning, however, to think that one must be nearly super-human to achieve true success in his education. Either that, or he has major wasta to skip on through.

Observing my own children and knowing how hard they work in school and yet how defeated they feel when the "test scores" come in has prompted me to take a closer look at this issue. In sixth grade I did not have too many cares in the world outside of being accepted by my peers. My head was not in books 24/7 because I was experiencing YOUTH and the perks that come with it. So far, with this being our fifth school year in Jordan, I see a lot of studying, memorizing, cramming, and stress.

If anyone received his/her education outside of the U.S., Canada, or Western Europe, and you have the inclination to drop me an email detailing the educational system of your homeland, please do so.

Anchorage

Thanks for reading, person in Anchorage, Alaska!

I used to love that song, Anchorage, by Michelle Shocked. At the time, I was only 18 so I didn't truly understand about those female connections with old, dear friends. You know, the ones that develop after you've moved away from your hometown and married, had a few kids, and watched yourself transform into the precise thing you thought you were running from. And then you say, "I think I'm a housewife" or "I gave up playing the cello to raise a family" or "I'll put my education on hold until the kids are married and my head is full of grey hair." Anyhow, the lyrics:

I took time out to write to my old friend
I walked across that burning bridge
Mailed my letter off to Dallas
But her reply came from Anchorage, Alaska

She said: Hey girl it's about time you wrote
It's been over two years you know, my old friend
Take me back to the days of the foreign telegrams
And the all-night rock 'n rollin'
Hey Chel, we was wild then

Hey Chel, you know it's kinda funny
Texas always seems so big
But you know you're in the largest state in the Union
When you're anchored down in Anchorage

Hey girl I think the last time I saw you
Was on me and Leroy's wedding day
What was the name of that love song you played?
I forgot how it goes
I don't recall how it goes

Anchorage
Anchored down in Anchorage

Leroy got a better job so we moved
Kevin lost a tooth, now he's started school
I got a brand new eight month old baby girl
I sound like a housewife
Hey Chel, I think I'm a housewife

Hey girl what's it like to be in New York?
New York City, imagine that!
Tell me, what's it like to be a skateboard punk rocker?
Leroy says, "Send a picture"
Leroy says, "Hello!"
Leroy says, "Aw, keep on rocking girl"
Yeah, keep on rocking

Hey Chel, you know it's kinda funny
Texas always seems so big
But you know you're in the largest state in the Union
When you're anchored down in Anchorage
Oh, Anchorage
Anchored down in Anchorage
Oh, Anchorage

Do you ever feel anchored down?

Salat! Salat! Salat!

Hijabi Apprentice, thank you for this reminder.

I have said before that I used to have the internal alarm clock in my head, and I lost it. It's still lost. I am one of those who has Fajr Troubles. Make du'a for me.

Originality

Do you ever feel like original thought is non-existent?

Everyone's already thought it, written it, spoken it?

Sometimes I have an "a-ha!" moment, only to find later whatever made me say "a-ha!" is really a thought or epiphany shared by about 325,000 others.

A Little Bit Corny

I write about food a lot.

Can't help it.

And since I recently learned that my small intestine is actually my second brain, it's all coming together now. "I see!" said the blind man.

I found cornmeal at Carrefour the other day. It's not imported, it's milled right-tch-here in Amman. (must say "right-tch-here" in your best Andy Griffith accent)

So it boils down to this: Americans are either "stuffing" people or "dressing" people. If you're sitting there saying, "What is dressing?" then you may automatically exit the module, and count yourself as a stuffing person.

I loathe stuffing. I have never eaten good stuffing. It's just dry bread with some broth on it and chunks of celery and onion. Dressing is something all together...different.

Reader poll: Stuffing, dressing, or neither?

40 Days, or One Day at a Time

Maybe some of you remember my post about the 40-day muraqaba lesson in which I was trying to tackle my biggest enemy: my self.

What I have learned through this exercise, having to begin each day (well, most days) over as Day 1, is that I am an angry person. Angry is perhaps too weak of a word. I am a combination of anger, control-freakishness, sarcasm, animosity, jealousy, tunnel-vision, angst, disbelief, guilt...oh, I could go on and on.

While recognizing all of these vile traits, I have concluded that my alter-ego is also joyous, compassionate, hilarious, empathetic, giving, loving, believing, and forgiving. At the end of the day, do I recognize my horrid behavior? Yes, I do. Do I apologize it away and finger-point? No, I do not. I claim full responsibility and I seek forgiveness from Allah and from those I have wronged (who usually live under the same roof).

There was a time when if asked to recount incidents in which someone had wronged me, I could mentally move into a state of consciousness in which I believed it was actually happening again. I could feel the black spot of hatred and emergence of grudges creeping into my heart. Just talking about or remembering a bad experience could make me feel physically ill. I think this is mostly because my method of operation was to blame, blame, blame, while allowing my own character to be sterling, preserved, and unaccountable.

This does not, thankfully, happen to me anymore. I have let go. LET GO!!! I am not going to let others stand in the way of my being a whole, sound human being, capable of looking inwardly to find the cause of my unhappiness. That's what I've learned from the 40-day lesson, and it is a lifelong application, not just a month and 10 days. (By the way, someone at a dars said they knew of a man who completed it successfully in 40 days, but he was in solitary confinement. hee hee)

Reading all of this blogging, especially by the Muslims, can really bring a soul down. We [Muslims] can sometimes be the Kings of Finger-Pointing, Rulers of Blame & Shame, Dictators of Faulting, Tyrants of Accusation, Instigators of Fitnah, Warlords of Wrongdoing. But on the flip side, we are also brilliant, merciful, introspective, truth-seeking harborers of good will and love.

Is the biggest enemy of this Ummah...the Ummah itself? Allah protect us from that. We must, must, must start focusing on the small afflictions in order to find cures for the big ones. We must start on our selves.

Gadsden Man

It's not a good photo, but it's the only one I could find. I was so thrilled to open my Comments today and find one from my old friend and my father's lifelong (well, on and off) best friend since youngsterhood.

This is Britt Leach. He has been a character actor since the 1970s, with roles in films such as Goin' South with Jack Nicholson, Weird Science, Baby Boom, and countless appearances in TV shows ranging from The Waltons to Quantum Leap. He is a very, very special man and I have such fond memories of him. Anyone who wants to take a look at his impressive filmography, do so here.

Thanks so much for dropping by, Britt. Give my best to Cathy.

He's from Gadsden, AL...yup, another Alabamian done good.

Semper Fi, Mr. Clean

I knew Old Dad would come through. After seeing Mom's pic I posted last week and her thin 18-year old self, he sent me one of himself.

This is my father in 1958, in the USMC, Parris Island. He wrote to me, "Here I am with a 29-inch waist, and my trusty secret weapon: a mop."

Most people are not fat because of genetics! We are fat because we eat too much and move too little.

Mom and Dad came from a good gene pool.

Thanks, dear husband, for picking up the Popeye's Family Meal today. It's just what I needed. For those biscuit (and I don't mean crackers) lovers, you can get real southern biscuits and mashed potatoes w/ gravy in this, the second-most continuously inhabited city in the world, Amman.

Tomorrow is another day.