We rose at 3.30am for our flight back to real life. The first thought that pinged into my head was the news from the previous day and I didn't feel like springing from bed. But the day, like a trusty conveyor belt, scooped me up and carried me with it. The dwarves sprayed croissant flakes over a startling 2 metre radius from where we sat in Terminal 5, and we boarded with rustling bags of jelly snakes and children's mags, and the weekend rags for J and I, in optimistic hope of a moment's peace to read them.
Tel Aviv greeted us with a hot humid hug and we wandered towards the baggage reclaim past yellow signs saying 'SHELTER' with a silhouette of a man running for cover. I doubt there are many such shelters, or yellow signs in Gaza. Our lovely friend Bassem met us. Hooray, he has found a job, having been out of work for 5 anxiety ridden months. As a Palestinian father of four, life is hard enough when you have a job. I received a text from St Grace saying she would be 10 days delayed in Sri Lanka. Her saintly status began to tarnish in my mind, but I reminded myself she hadn't seen her 12 year old son for 2 years, and perhaps it was better to be just the four of us as we settled back in to life.
The dwarves rampaged the house in excitement at the new/old familiarities. 'I'm not hungry becauthe I ate 3 breakfastth,' said the Lozenge, his hands sticky with melted jelly snake. They bathed and we played the froggy game. A simple game where I hide a small rubber frog somewhere around the bath which they normally take at least a minute to find and need constant clues. They never tire of it.
At 6am the following morning I looked out on our olive and pomegranate trees bursting with fruit. Not quite ripe, but looking promising. The Lozenge helped me make his school packed lunch, I ground coffee and placed a cup by J's side of the bed before leaving at 7am for L's first day back at school. He asked for his favourite song in the car as we drove around the Old City walls, passing Haredim wandering down the road, their sidelocks dancing; and Jerusalem traffic just beginning to gridlock in our wake. 'Me and Julio down by the school yard....Goodbye Roooosiieeee, the queen of Corona,' the Lozenge joined in: 'and me and Washimi down by the school yard.'
A fraternal bond has forged it seems.
He ran into his teacher, 'Mith Thandy'th' arms and didn't look back to say goodbye to me.
J, Rashimi and I ventured to the Rockerfeller Museum, five minutes walk from our house. A free entry, with ourselves the only visitors. The silence was soon smashed by Rashimi's decibels reverberating around the curved walls. Founded in 1939 as the Palestine Archaeological Museum, it is now under the management of the Israel Museum, and houses the offices of the Israel Antiquities Authority. Its facade flutters with that ubiquitous flag.
Stuffed with fascinating finds, Rashimi's favourites were the 'thkellingtons' some of them dating from the Palaeolithic era. He wouldn't detach his snout from the glass window through which we could see into the ancient tomb containing at least 8 human remains. He even managed a whisper at this point, as if in reverence: 'Why aren't they thaying anything, Mummeeee?'
We collected the Lozenge from school. The main vignette: 'I did writing on the lines, and reading. Then I coloured in a thkunk. But Mith Thandy told me that ACTUALLY, it wath a WAckoon.'
Then another family trip to an Israeli gynaecologist who confirmed what we knew already. Unlike other more interventionist approaches in Israeli policy, she suggested waiting for everything to evacuate naturally. If not, then I'll need an operation probably next week. As with the Iron Dome which fends off rockets every day, as foreigners here, despite our loathing of this occupation, we are constantly dependent on Israeli technological expertise. And grateful for it, we have to admit.
The poor Lozenge was distraught at being told to wait outside during the inspection. On the way back in the car I had to pacify the still sobbing little schoolboy by giving him the sonogram to look at. 'But Mummy, I can see an egg in there. And I wwwweeeeeeeally want it to be a baby. Why ithn't it a baby?'
Tel Aviv greeted us with a hot humid hug and we wandered towards the baggage reclaim past yellow signs saying 'SHELTER' with a silhouette of a man running for cover. I doubt there are many such shelters, or yellow signs in Gaza. Our lovely friend Bassem met us. Hooray, he has found a job, having been out of work for 5 anxiety ridden months. As a Palestinian father of four, life is hard enough when you have a job. I received a text from St Grace saying she would be 10 days delayed in Sri Lanka. Her saintly status began to tarnish in my mind, but I reminded myself she hadn't seen her 12 year old son for 2 years, and perhaps it was better to be just the four of us as we settled back in to life.
The dwarves rampaged the house in excitement at the new/old familiarities. 'I'm not hungry becauthe I ate 3 breakfastth,' said the Lozenge, his hands sticky with melted jelly snake. They bathed and we played the froggy game. A simple game where I hide a small rubber frog somewhere around the bath which they normally take at least a minute to find and need constant clues. They never tire of it.
At 6am the following morning I looked out on our olive and pomegranate trees bursting with fruit. Not quite ripe, but looking promising. The Lozenge helped me make his school packed lunch, I ground coffee and placed a cup by J's side of the bed before leaving at 7am for L's first day back at school. He asked for his favourite song in the car as we drove around the Old City walls, passing Haredim wandering down the road, their sidelocks dancing; and Jerusalem traffic just beginning to gridlock in our wake. 'Me and Julio down by the school yard....Goodbye Roooosiieeee, the queen of Corona,' the Lozenge joined in: 'and me and Washimi down by the school yard.'
A fraternal bond has forged it seems.
He ran into his teacher, 'Mith Thandy'th' arms and didn't look back to say goodbye to me.
J, Rashimi and I ventured to the Rockerfeller Museum, five minutes walk from our house. A free entry, with ourselves the only visitors. The silence was soon smashed by Rashimi's decibels reverberating around the curved walls. Founded in 1939 as the Palestine Archaeological Museum, it is now under the management of the Israel Museum, and houses the offices of the Israel Antiquities Authority. Its facade flutters with that ubiquitous flag.
Stuffed with fascinating finds, Rashimi's favourites were the 'thkellingtons' some of them dating from the Palaeolithic era. He wouldn't detach his snout from the glass window through which we could see into the ancient tomb containing at least 8 human remains. He even managed a whisper at this point, as if in reverence: 'Why aren't they thaying anything, Mummeeee?'
We collected the Lozenge from school. The main vignette: 'I did writing on the lines, and reading. Then I coloured in a thkunk. But Mith Thandy told me that ACTUALLY, it wath a WAckoon.'
Then another family trip to an Israeli gynaecologist who confirmed what we knew already. Unlike other more interventionist approaches in Israeli policy, she suggested waiting for everything to evacuate naturally. If not, then I'll need an operation probably next week. As with the Iron Dome which fends off rockets every day, as foreigners here, despite our loathing of this occupation, we are constantly dependent on Israeli technological expertise. And grateful for it, we have to admit.
The poor Lozenge was distraught at being told to wait outside during the inspection. On the way back in the car I had to pacify the still sobbing little schoolboy by giving him the sonogram to look at. 'But Mummy, I can see an egg in there. And I wwwweeeeeeeally want it to be a baby. Why ithn't it a baby?'
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