Today the Israeli army shot dead two Palestinian men in Hebron. They were suspects of the kidnap and murder of the 3 Israeli teenagers in June. The firefight ended a 3 month man hunt. My phone pipped with a security message advising people to avoid the area as the funerals of the men are held. Clashes between Palestinians and IDF have become de rigeur according to these text messages which we receive many times a day. One problem is 'solved' but it will only give birth to new ones for as long as the Palestinians are persecuted.
We were in the north of the West Bank this weekend, visiting the family J lived with in Nablus last year, and who's family wedding we attended a couple of weeks ago. The day before, J and I took an afternoon in the Old City to find presents for them all - a family of 2 parents and 8 children, plus auntie Nadia who lives with them. As well as jewellery and Taybeh - Palestine's only beer and mugs, we found a simple David Roberts print of the city of Nablus. The Scottish Victorian painter produced many works of the Arab world, and this tiny lithograph shows the city as it might have looked then - a serene scene with a collection of small stone structures with domed roofs, tucked into a cluster of hills.
You wouldn't recognise it now. We drove in past piles of scrap cars, garages, construction outfitters and furniture shops: 'Al Mustaqbal' (The Future) was the name of one of these. Perched on a hill as you enter the scruffy, dusty city there stands: 'Beit Falasteen' an incongruous and vast pseudo-Palladian structure built by Munib al Masri, also known as the 'Duke of Nablus' or the 'Palestinian Rothschild', one of the wealthiest Palestinians alive.
The family we visited live in Rafidia which used to be a Christian village near the city, but has now been consumed by the urban sprawl and become part of Nablus itself. Their house is typically Arab in style, with a flat roof, lovely tiled floor, and a small yard with olive trees and jasmine. It is flanked by modern apartment blocks and shops. You could be in any Arab city. Though Nablus still feels more of a village than somewhere like Ramallah.
After we had eaten an enormous Arab lunch with the family, and the dwarves has ragged for an hour or so with the brothers who are in their 20s and all of them around 6'5",
we visited their friend, another successful Palestinian, though not quite on the scale of the Duke of Nablus.
He's unmarried with shiny new-blue teeth and a suave demeanour and has spent an enormous amount of money on a mausoleum in honour of his mother, who he said: 'Is the most important woman in the world to me, and I built this in honour of her.'
In an increasingly Muslim orientated environment, tributes such as these to a Christian mother and the Virgin Mary are a rarity.
Both his parents are buried there, and he has created space for himself, which Rashimi enjoyed clambering over, and endless cupboards and other nooks and crannies for extended family.
The shrinking Christian population in Nablus is staking a claim through a construction like this. The dwarves were enthralled, and treated it like a play ground, particularly the astroturf out the front.
No one seemed to mind, and after a huge plate of the Palestinian melted cheese and honey, knaffeh, J's idea of hell on a plate,
we spent the night in a family room in Sebastia. Thanks to the minaret right next door to our window, the dwarves were up bright and early. So the Lozenge and I took the opportunity of the pretty morning light to go for a pre breakfast stroll and photograph the wonderful array of tractors and sniff the jasmine.
Back in Jerusalem after an exhausting but rural and real weekend, J and I went to watch Richard Linklater's latest film: 'Boyhood' at the Cinematheque.
We laughed and we cried and were thankful we had a chance to watch a film like this while our children are still children. When Patricia Arquette's character breaks down in tears near the end of the film as her boy leaves home and sobs 'I just thought there would be more,' it makes you realise that for all the responsibility and routine of bringing up children and trying to keep it together, life is just a collection of tiny moments.
Underestimate these moments, and you miss it all.
We were in the north of the West Bank this weekend, visiting the family J lived with in Nablus last year, and who's family wedding we attended a couple of weeks ago. The day before, J and I took an afternoon in the Old City to find presents for them all - a family of 2 parents and 8 children, plus auntie Nadia who lives with them. As well as jewellery and Taybeh - Palestine's only beer and mugs, we found a simple David Roberts print of the city of Nablus. The Scottish Victorian painter produced many works of the Arab world, and this tiny lithograph shows the city as it might have looked then - a serene scene with a collection of small stone structures with domed roofs, tucked into a cluster of hills.
You wouldn't recognise it now. We drove in past piles of scrap cars, garages, construction outfitters and furniture shops: 'Al Mustaqbal' (The Future) was the name of one of these. Perched on a hill as you enter the scruffy, dusty city there stands: 'Beit Falasteen' an incongruous and vast pseudo-Palladian structure built by Munib al Masri, also known as the 'Duke of Nablus' or the 'Palestinian Rothschild', one of the wealthiest Palestinians alive.
The family we visited live in Rafidia which used to be a Christian village near the city, but has now been consumed by the urban sprawl and become part of Nablus itself. Their house is typically Arab in style, with a flat roof, lovely tiled floor, and a small yard with olive trees and jasmine. It is flanked by modern apartment blocks and shops. You could be in any Arab city. Though Nablus still feels more of a village than somewhere like Ramallah.
 |
| Mona and Suleiman. Parents of the 8, who say that J is their ninth. They are very fond of him and he of them. |
After we had eaten an enormous Arab lunch with the family, and the dwarves has ragged for an hour or so with the brothers who are in their 20s and all of them around 6'5",
 |
| Lozenge being thrown about by 'Big Bad Bader' |
 |
| Rashimi, Bader and Bina |
we visited their friend, another successful Palestinian, though not quite on the scale of the Duke of Nablus.
He's unmarried with shiny new-blue teeth and a suave demeanour and has spent an enormous amount of money on a mausoleum in honour of his mother, who he said: 'Is the most important woman in the world to me, and I built this in honour of her.'
In an increasingly Muslim orientated environment, tributes such as these to a Christian mother and the Virgin Mary are a rarity.
Both his parents are buried there, and he has created space for himself, which Rashimi enjoyed clambering over, and endless cupboards and other nooks and crannies for extended family.
The shrinking Christian population in Nablus is staking a claim through a construction like this. The dwarves were enthralled, and treated it like a play ground, particularly the astroturf out the front.
No one seemed to mind, and after a huge plate of the Palestinian melted cheese and honey, knaffeh, J's idea of hell on a plate,
we spent the night in a family room in Sebastia. Thanks to the minaret right next door to our window, the dwarves were up bright and early. So the Lozenge and I took the opportunity of the pretty morning light to go for a pre breakfast stroll and photograph the wonderful array of tractors and sniff the jasmine.
Back in Jerusalem after an exhausting but rural and real weekend, J and I went to watch Richard Linklater's latest film: 'Boyhood' at the Cinematheque.
We laughed and we cried and were thankful we had a chance to watch a film like this while our children are still children. When Patricia Arquette's character breaks down in tears near the end of the film as her boy leaves home and sobs 'I just thought there would be more,' it makes you realise that for all the responsibility and routine of bringing up children and trying to keep it together, life is just a collection of tiny moments.
Underestimate these moments, and you miss it all.
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