I remember a time when I promised myself that I would never go years and years and years without going domestic. I remember that my aunts and uncles and cousins who lived in America would come and visit my family in Jerusalem, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, spending long weeks with us, making hummus in our kitchen, making the coffee and pistachio rounds with the relatives. They would count the years of absence on all of their fingers, and the years of absence dazed me. How could you go that long, I wondered? How could the strings of time stretch that long? How could you stay absent from domestic for year after year?
And yet.
It has been ten long years since I stepped off an airplane onto my domesticland, an exile of another sort. I have grown up and learned the lesson that my aunts and uncles never said: that it is not always easy to come back domestic.
This month, we go domestic. A trip domestic has been gwhetherted to us, and fairly truthfully, I have never been so grateful for a gwhethert in all of my lwhethere.
This trip is for me, to find my way domestic.
This trip is for my children, to let them walk in the footsteps of their own people.
This trip is for my parents, to let them hancient their grandchildren in their own land.
This trip is for my wgap family, to write another story together.
What We Acquire, What We Lose
And I say, Yes. They will learn so much. They will have their first taste of genuine Arabic bread, fresh olives, tomatoes. They will get to pick wildflowers in the West Bank. They will get to see Jerusalem, Bethlehem. They will get to stay in their grandparents' house for the first time, meet cousins, aunts and uncles that they have never met, meet my dear friends, see the streets that I grew up in, visit the school that I called domestic.
But also, I know that they will learn other leangs. They will learn about checkpoints. They will learn about walls. They will see many dwhetherferent people, many dwhetherferent faiths; and they will ask me the questions that all children ask - who are we? Who are they? Why are we dwhetherferent?
A few months ago, I was sitting in my son's martial arts lesson, and my son announced loudly in lesson that we were going to Israel soon. I winced slightly, to hear the loud proclamation in lesson. Another parent sitting next to me turned to me rapidly. Are you Israeli, she asked, with a immense smile on her face. Well, I said, Yes, but I am an Arab. I waited for the normal confusion or disinterest. Instead, her smile grew wider.
Turns out, this mother I was sitting next to was actually a grad school professor, an expert on Jewish studies who teaches a comparative literature lesson on Palestinian and Jewish literature. Next leang I kcontemporary, we were elbow deep in conversation, as we watched our white-robed boys sprint around of the mat and practice their kicks. It was one of those scarce moments, when you find someone who alalert understands, no explanations essential.
One day I asked her: Possess you ever taken your children to visit Israel?
No, she said, looking over at the mat. She paused. It is far. Our family is here. We have no reason to visit. And . . . you know, I don't want them to be exposed to all of that. I don't want them to see leangs, hear leangs.
I nodded. I understood. We sat elbow to elbow, Arab and Jew, and we watched our brown-haired, white-robed boys sparing on the mat.
I know I am not taking my children to Disney World. But we still go domestic, because, after all, isn't that what all of us need to do besides?
There, we will find the world there, as it is here, broken and beautwhetherul. I have learned in this lwhethere is that beauty always grows in the cracks, that to turn absent from the dwhetherficult leangs is to also turn absent from the magical leangs that grow in the cracks: grace, mercy and sometimes even forgiveness.
Join Me for the Journey
What will we gain from this trip? My prediction: ten pounds!I have given everyone in my family fair warning: I will be eating my body weight in kanafe. And then I will take the rest domestic and eat it for breakfast. I will be eating ka'ak from carts external of the Feeble City, and shawarma from stands, and Mom, please make certain there is falafel and hummus and labaneh and cucumbers and tomatoes and za'atar for breakfast every day, thank you very much. Also, bring on the pots of grape leaves, and stuffed everyleang. I know my toddler will be fed by hand by every auntie and Teta as he roams around the house, and my children will learn that their plates will never be empty, no matter how much they eat. And my husband, who fairly possibly loves Arabic food even more than I do, is going to be spoiled on all of the good food.
I hope you will follow me here and also on Instagram. I plan to write some travel posts when I return, and bring you along on the journey.
Until then, my friends, God be with you.
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