A few hours after Gaza I walked back into our kitchen to find Mum and Dad sitting with Rashimi and the Lozenge as they tried to twirl spaghetti around their forks. It was a great moment to have them with us as it seems an age since the summer. I heard on the news that evening that for the first time since 2007, Gazans were able to export their produce to the West Bank. A picture of huge piles of Gazan cucumbers illustrated the story. I thought of Muneer's fish shop and his promise to export fish to Ramallah the minute the ban was lifted. It came as a significant ray of light, just like seeing Mum and Dad's faces in our noisy kitchen.
Even coming from the destruction zone of Gaza, Jerusalem feels increasingly troubled. In just a week, right wing Israeli groups have forced their way onto the Muslim holy site of Al Aqsa compound despite calls from a moderate (Sephardic) rabbi to stop this provocation. A right wing Rabbi was shot and badly injured. A Palestinian drove his car through a tram station injuring three people after which he was shot dead. 3 settlers were stabbed near Bethlehem. An Israeli soldier was stabbed in Tel Aviv. And a Palestinian has been kidnapped by settlers in Bethlehem. All this against a backdrop of continued settlement building, home demolition and land grabs, with ever more bitterness and despair in Palestinian ranks. The atmosphere is tangibly on edge. I asked a local shopkeeper, 'How is the situation?' Al wada'a sift' he replied: a Palestinian expression meaning the tar on the road. Filthy and black.
We escaped for the weekend to the peace of the desert, heading south to the Negev. First stop was a goat farm where we had a delicious goaty lunch with local red wine and the dwarfs scuttled happily about the rocky terrain. That night we stayed in a lovely little cluster of cabins overlooking the pale brown landscape dotted with vineyards, with a little shop where the owner, Moshe, and his Dutch wife sell local wines from neighbouring wineries. They've made everything themselves, from the cabins to the playhouse, and the little sculptures and details around the place. Just a few kilometres away to the West was Gaza, and I noticed the freedom which enabled Moshe and his wife to explore their own ingenuity, and live their own life. A distant dream only a few thousand dunes away, for the Gazans in their seaside prison.
The dwarves were in heaven and up early wandering about the sand in their pyjamas in the morning light.
We suggested a walk to see some desert flowers - delicate yellow crocuses which arrive every year during the rainy season. There was a bit of whining from the shorter legged members of the group, until the Lozenge spotted a little hill which he suggested we should climb. Suddenly the adventure became his and the whining petered out. Perhaps every choice needs a sense of ownership for it to mean something, including a desert adventure. We found the yellow flowers, and a little higher up some empty shell cases. A rusty reminder of where we were.
On Mum and Dad's last night we had a brilliant evening with our new octogenarian Israeli friends. We needed a local substitute for the Jordanian Duke, after all. They are warm and funny and after living in London for over 40 years, they are tuning themselves to this city in the same way as we are. It's changed so much since they were young students here. Not necessarily for the better, they admit.
Since Mum and Dad left I've been tootling about the West Bank with doctors and nurses from the hospital. We drive on winding roads through rocky hills all over the West Bank, through checkpoints, and separation walls. Though the news gets worse from the outside, while we're in the van the mood is often light and full of chat and humour. Nader the driver in wrap around shades taps his hands to the tune of 'Life is Life' playing on the radio. It's the attitude you need to have if you're Palestinian.
I filmed with a family of a little 2 year old girl living near Hebron. Although they're poor and fairly traditional, they opened their doors to us and when we left, handed us huge bags full of almonds and walnuts 'lowz wa jowz' from the trees on their little patch of land. The father loves his little girl with tight blonde curls so much, he can hardly stop himself from kissing her all the time. She stomps after him everywhere he goes, calling: 'Baba!'
I filmed the first of her two cataract operations in the hospital. As the surgeon scaped away the milky covering of the pupil, the operation was magnified on a huge screen in the corner, and after half an hour he had entirely removed the cataract. It must be a satisfying job. Her sight will soon be completely restored for a whole life ahead of her.
The last couple of days my head has felt like a soda stream with all the thought bubbles fizzing inside it. I had a preparation evening for the school fair with a few Scandinavian Mums. They were very adept at whipping up Christmas decorations out of paper. Their results were a little more impressive than the loo roll and cotton wool Santas I remember making when I was little. So I followed suit with the scissors, trying to make a paper snowflake to match theirs. After a few seconds I saw it was smoking. I'd managed to set fire to it by getting too close to the candle on the table. Much hilarity as I raced to the sink to douse the flaming flake. I think I'll stick to the baking stall and leave the snowflakes to the Scandis.
The Glammy and her sister have arrived to stay for the weekend, and the dwarves have two ladies each at their disposal. It's a certain dwarf's third birthday this weekend and they've come over specially.
The bathrooms are bedazzled with all the Glammy's lotions and potions, perfumes and sprays. The dwarfs are fascinated and their hair now smells of Marc Jacobs. Louis Vuitton handbags are draped in the playroom and the house is tingling with a happy and excitable atmosphere.
Even coming from the destruction zone of Gaza, Jerusalem feels increasingly troubled. In just a week, right wing Israeli groups have forced their way onto the Muslim holy site of Al Aqsa compound despite calls from a moderate (Sephardic) rabbi to stop this provocation. A right wing Rabbi was shot and badly injured. A Palestinian drove his car through a tram station injuring three people after which he was shot dead. 3 settlers were stabbed near Bethlehem. An Israeli soldier was stabbed in Tel Aviv. And a Palestinian has been kidnapped by settlers in Bethlehem. All this against a backdrop of continued settlement building, home demolition and land grabs, with ever more bitterness and despair in Palestinian ranks. The atmosphere is tangibly on edge. I asked a local shopkeeper, 'How is the situation?' Al wada'a sift' he replied: a Palestinian expression meaning the tar on the road. Filthy and black.
We escaped for the weekend to the peace of the desert, heading south to the Negev. First stop was a goat farm where we had a delicious goaty lunch with local red wine and the dwarfs scuttled happily about the rocky terrain. That night we stayed in a lovely little cluster of cabins overlooking the pale brown landscape dotted with vineyards, with a little shop where the owner, Moshe, and his Dutch wife sell local wines from neighbouring wineries. They've made everything themselves, from the cabins to the playhouse, and the little sculptures and details around the place. Just a few kilometres away to the West was Gaza, and I noticed the freedom which enabled Moshe and his wife to explore their own ingenuity, and live their own life. A distant dream only a few thousand dunes away, for the Gazans in their seaside prison.
The dwarves were in heaven and up early wandering about the sand in their pyjamas in the morning light.
We suggested a walk to see some desert flowers - delicate yellow crocuses which arrive every year during the rainy season. There was a bit of whining from the shorter legged members of the group, until the Lozenge spotted a little hill which he suggested we should climb. Suddenly the adventure became his and the whining petered out. Perhaps every choice needs a sense of ownership for it to mean something, including a desert adventure. We found the yellow flowers, and a little higher up some empty shell cases. A rusty reminder of where we were.
The Lozenge was on his own adventure, and he wasn't going to stop until he reached the top.
Which we did.
Including even the smallest member of the team.
On Mum and Dad's last night we had a brilliant evening with our new octogenarian Israeli friends. We needed a local substitute for the Jordanian Duke, after all. They are warm and funny and after living in London for over 40 years, they are tuning themselves to this city in the same way as we are. It's changed so much since they were young students here. Not necessarily for the better, they admit.
Since Mum and Dad left I've been tootling about the West Bank with doctors and nurses from the hospital. We drive on winding roads through rocky hills all over the West Bank, through checkpoints, and separation walls. Though the news gets worse from the outside, while we're in the van the mood is often light and full of chat and humour. Nader the driver in wrap around shades taps his hands to the tune of 'Life is Life' playing on the radio. It's the attitude you need to have if you're Palestinian.
I filmed with a family of a little 2 year old girl living near Hebron. Although they're poor and fairly traditional, they opened their doors to us and when we left, handed us huge bags full of almonds and walnuts 'lowz wa jowz' from the trees on their little patch of land. The father loves his little girl with tight blonde curls so much, he can hardly stop himself from kissing her all the time. She stomps after him everywhere he goes, calling: 'Baba!'
I filmed the first of her two cataract operations in the hospital. As the surgeon scaped away the milky covering of the pupil, the operation was magnified on a huge screen in the corner, and after half an hour he had entirely removed the cataract. It must be a satisfying job. Her sight will soon be completely restored for a whole life ahead of her.
The last couple of days my head has felt like a soda stream with all the thought bubbles fizzing inside it. I had a preparation evening for the school fair with a few Scandinavian Mums. They were very adept at whipping up Christmas decorations out of paper. Their results were a little more impressive than the loo roll and cotton wool Santas I remember making when I was little. So I followed suit with the scissors, trying to make a paper snowflake to match theirs. After a few seconds I saw it was smoking. I'd managed to set fire to it by getting too close to the candle on the table. Much hilarity as I raced to the sink to douse the flaming flake. I think I'll stick to the baking stall and leave the snowflakes to the Scandis.
The Glammy and her sister have arrived to stay for the weekend, and the dwarves have two ladies each at their disposal. It's a certain dwarf's third birthday this weekend and they've come over specially.
The bathrooms are bedazzled with all the Glammy's lotions and potions, perfumes and sprays. The dwarfs are fascinated and their hair now smells of Marc Jacobs. Louis Vuitton handbags are draped in the playroom and the house is tingling with a happy and excitable atmosphere.
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