It hadn't rained for so many months. The brown earth was gasping, it seemed.
There used to be an ancient Palestinian custom for an autumn drought: to lead a lady sitting backwards on a donkey through the village.
So there must have been a lady doing that somewhere because it's been raining so much them drains have been straining, and flood water has lapped around our ankles for a week. It's beautiful. The dwarfs love it and wear their wellies with nothing else on around the house. In homage to the puddles.
Christmas fever is truly upon us. 'I'm an angel in the nativity play,' Rashimi says to the Lozenge. 'There's only 2 angels you know. In the play. Only two.' And the Lozenge says: 'Well, you can't have too many angels all going around saving people. Because then you'd forget to save yourself.'
Daddy is now officially a 'bot. The Pea spends much of her day kissing my iphone - because that's where her Daddy's face appears to her most often at the moment. Sometimes on a call, the dwarfs take the Daddy 'bot into the playroom so he can watch their Lego building. Then something happens and they run out - leaving Daddy in there. We need iphones that walk so that Daddy 'bots can follow us about the house rather than being stranded.
The potatoes have all got holes in them from Rashimi's rampant spud-gunning. 'After you die, Mummy', he asks idly refuelling his gun with spud, 'can you still think?'
We light the advent candles from Grandma every night except that the naughty advent candle warden one night let them burn down to number 23 when we're only at 16. She's related to the tooth fairy that one. A little bit scatty. The candles are now hidden so the dwarfs won't see until it's really 23.
Auntie Rosie and Tilly visited. We started out with 'Cook with Rosie' in Jerusalem for the first time. She helped 8 pairs of small hands to pat mince into Syrian meatballs, and afterwards they stuffed dates with apricot and walnuts, then rolled them in coconut. A couple of parties, some funny hung-over days wrangling small people, and finally a trip to the Marwani mosque - underneath the Dome of the Rock compound in the Old City - a 7th century mosque only used today when there's an overflow during Ramadan. The crusaders used it as their stables, and the stone pillars still have holes where they tied the ropes for the horses. Simple, stunning 7th century arches, with metres and metres of carpet and chinks of sunlight diving diagonally across.
And now, all the scaffolding has come down inside the Dome of the Rock revealing a newly painted ceiling.
I met a friendly Israeli man who works in a local supermarket Super Deal also known to us instead, as Super Rip-Off. He's a 'Mizrahi' meaning a Jew from the Arab world. He was born in Mosul in 1949 before all Jews were evicted after the creation of the State of Israel in 1948. We talked for a while about how my husband was in Baghdad, and I asked him if he had any photographs of that time. 'Oh no. Nothing like that. No memories either. Just that stamp of where I was born'. We spoke in Arabic - he wears a Jewish skull cap. This is the place to be to understand we're all entwined. No walls can separate us even if they try.
The father Christmas lists have been written. 'A globe of the world please, a football please, a boomerang please, please. Writes the Lozenge. 'Please Santa,' writes Rashimi, with some help from his brother, 'Flying. I want to fly'. And, 'The Force'. Please. Love Hamish. With a back to front 'h' at the end.
The Lozenge stands on stage in the nativity play in a beautiful crown crafted by St Grace. 'The best crown on the stage,' the Lozenge says proudly. It's tall and golden with plastic gems stuck all over it. And Sashimi is there at the front with an itchy tinsel Halo which he itches the whole way through the nativity play. It's a very sweet play as they always are.
The same day these dreadful snippets of news are coming from Aleppo. And then we go and visit the wonderful Alrowwad centre where the boy I made the short film about works. It's tucked in near to the graffiti-covered wall which locks these people in, through nothing they've done wrong, other than be born. There. We raised a speck of money for them lately, and the founder, Abdelfattah explains how he just wants young people to want to live, not to die. And to live, and love, and be happy. He says: 'To hear a young person of 9 or 10 say they just have no hope and they want to die. Well, I just can't explain it. So we keep going - doing this, whether we have money, or we don't have money.'
Rashimi has a sore tummy (which later we realise is the vomiting bug), so he's in a bit of strop when we go and visit, and won't shake anyone's hand, or say hello. But we watch a wonderful Dabke - Palestinian dance display. The Pea walks into the middle of the dance floor, and sits down and claps her hands.
And the boys watch and don't want to stop watching. Even Rashimi with his sore tummy. The Lozenge is love-bombed by loads of Palestinian boys after their dance class. If only we were allowed to report more about love bombing than just bombing.
And we drive back from school today - the dwarfs' last day there before we fly off home to see our family, and the Lozenge and his little friend Vera from Sweden are singing along on the back seat of the car to the song they learned in assembly. 'Speak Life' it's called' they say, 'Do you know it Mummy?' I say I don't and I swizzle it up on the iphone, still hot from Daddy 'bot moments and we play it and they sing along. And it's almost as sweet as the nativity play. But none of this they know. And this little gospel-soul-or-something song says it all. Without them even knowing about people their age wanting to die. Or not wanting to die, and having to die anyway. So we drive. And they sing. And the Pea claps. And now I have to write it all down.
'Some days life feels perfect. Other days it just aint workin. The good the bad, the right the wrong. And everything in between. It's crazy. Amazing. We can turn a heart with the words we say. Mountains crumble with every syllable. Hope can live or die. So speak life. Speak life. To the deadest darkest night. Speak life. Speak life. When the sun won't shine and you don't know why. Look into the eyes of the broken hearted. See them come alive as soon as you speak hope, you speak love, you speak life. You speak life.'
And that is the thought we leave you with, the dwarfs and I, as we prepare to hop in a cab in a few hours, and head to the homeland.We are looking forward to speaking life with you all. Happy Christmas.
There used to be an ancient Palestinian custom for an autumn drought: to lead a lady sitting backwards on a donkey through the village.
So there must have been a lady doing that somewhere because it's been raining so much them drains have been straining, and flood water has lapped around our ankles for a week. It's beautiful. The dwarfs love it and wear their wellies with nothing else on around the house. In homage to the puddles.
Christmas fever is truly upon us. 'I'm an angel in the nativity play,' Rashimi says to the Lozenge. 'There's only 2 angels you know. In the play. Only two.' And the Lozenge says: 'Well, you can't have too many angels all going around saving people. Because then you'd forget to save yourself.'
Daddy is now officially a 'bot. The Pea spends much of her day kissing my iphone - because that's where her Daddy's face appears to her most often at the moment. Sometimes on a call, the dwarfs take the Daddy 'bot into the playroom so he can watch their Lego building. Then something happens and they run out - leaving Daddy in there. We need iphones that walk so that Daddy 'bots can follow us about the house rather than being stranded.
The potatoes have all got holes in them from Rashimi's rampant spud-gunning. 'After you die, Mummy', he asks idly refuelling his gun with spud, 'can you still think?'
We light the advent candles from Grandma every night except that the naughty advent candle warden one night let them burn down to number 23 when we're only at 16. She's related to the tooth fairy that one. A little bit scatty. The candles are now hidden so the dwarfs won't see until it's really 23.
Auntie Rosie and Tilly visited. We started out with 'Cook with Rosie' in Jerusalem for the first time. She helped 8 pairs of small hands to pat mince into Syrian meatballs, and afterwards they stuffed dates with apricot and walnuts, then rolled them in coconut. A couple of parties, some funny hung-over days wrangling small people, and finally a trip to the Marwani mosque - underneath the Dome of the Rock compound in the Old City - a 7th century mosque only used today when there's an overflow during Ramadan. The crusaders used it as their stables, and the stone pillars still have holes where they tied the ropes for the horses. Simple, stunning 7th century arches, with metres and metres of carpet and chinks of sunlight diving diagonally across.
And now, all the scaffolding has come down inside the Dome of the Rock revealing a newly painted ceiling.
I met a friendly Israeli man who works in a local supermarket Super Deal also known to us instead, as Super Rip-Off. He's a 'Mizrahi' meaning a Jew from the Arab world. He was born in Mosul in 1949 before all Jews were evicted after the creation of the State of Israel in 1948. We talked for a while about how my husband was in Baghdad, and I asked him if he had any photographs of that time. 'Oh no. Nothing like that. No memories either. Just that stamp of where I was born'. We spoke in Arabic - he wears a Jewish skull cap. This is the place to be to understand we're all entwined. No walls can separate us even if they try.
The father Christmas lists have been written. 'A globe of the world please, a football please, a boomerang please, please. Writes the Lozenge. 'Please Santa,' writes Rashimi, with some help from his brother, 'Flying. I want to fly'. And, 'The Force'. Please. Love Hamish. With a back to front 'h' at the end.
The Lozenge stands on stage in the nativity play in a beautiful crown crafted by St Grace. 'The best crown on the stage,' the Lozenge says proudly. It's tall and golden with plastic gems stuck all over it. And Sashimi is there at the front with an itchy tinsel Halo which he itches the whole way through the nativity play. It's a very sweet play as they always are.
The same day these dreadful snippets of news are coming from Aleppo. And then we go and visit the wonderful Alrowwad centre where the boy I made the short film about works. It's tucked in near to the graffiti-covered wall which locks these people in, through nothing they've done wrong, other than be born. There. We raised a speck of money for them lately, and the founder, Abdelfattah explains how he just wants young people to want to live, not to die. And to live, and love, and be happy. He says: 'To hear a young person of 9 or 10 say they just have no hope and they want to die. Well, I just can't explain it. So we keep going - doing this, whether we have money, or we don't have money.'
Rashimi has a sore tummy (which later we realise is the vomiting bug), so he's in a bit of strop when we go and visit, and won't shake anyone's hand, or say hello. But we watch a wonderful Dabke - Palestinian dance display. The Pea walks into the middle of the dance floor, and sits down and claps her hands.
And the boys watch and don't want to stop watching. Even Rashimi with his sore tummy. The Lozenge is love-bombed by loads of Palestinian boys after their dance class. If only we were allowed to report more about love bombing than just bombing.
And we drive back from school today - the dwarfs' last day there before we fly off home to see our family, and the Lozenge and his little friend Vera from Sweden are singing along on the back seat of the car to the song they learned in assembly. 'Speak Life' it's called' they say, 'Do you know it Mummy?' I say I don't and I swizzle it up on the iphone, still hot from Daddy 'bot moments and we play it and they sing along. And it's almost as sweet as the nativity play. But none of this they know. And this little gospel-soul-or-something song says it all. Without them even knowing about people their age wanting to die. Or not wanting to die, and having to die anyway. So we drive. And they sing. And the Pea claps. And now I have to write it all down.
'Some days life feels perfect. Other days it just aint workin. The good the bad, the right the wrong. And everything in between. It's crazy. Amazing. We can turn a heart with the words we say. Mountains crumble with every syllable. Hope can live or die. So speak life. Speak life. To the deadest darkest night. Speak life. Speak life. When the sun won't shine and you don't know why. Look into the eyes of the broken hearted. See them come alive as soon as you speak hope, you speak love, you speak life. You speak life.'
And that is the thought we leave you with, the dwarfs and I, as we prepare to hop in a cab in a few hours, and head to the homeland.We are looking forward to speaking life with you all. Happy Christmas.
