I just returned here for the final stretch this past Thursday, May 17---final for this academic year, which ends mid June. I literally put my bags inside the door and hurried off to the grocery store for some milk and hummus, as it was 30 minutes before the store closed (because everything is closed on Fridays, the Muslim holy day.) It was a thrill walking down town again into the over-populated streets, smelling the Arabic coffee and other fragrances from food, spices, and people, experiencing all the friendliness with many a "welcome, welcome" all over again-something that is said so often to me. It is the one word they know, and they mean it. It reminded me how much I will miss these jaunts through the town.

 

They are truly beautiful people, here in Ramallah. Here is the only experience I have to draw any speculations, impressions, or conclusions from---just an accumulation of things I've seen, felt, and pondered. There seems to me to be a general innocence in the people of this town. There are not many "hard" looking people here. They have a soft look, and a kindliness about them. I also respect that there is no flaunting of the human body here, as in America. There is a modesty that I find utterly refreshing. The Muslim women all wear the hijab, the head covering, but as I have mentioned before, it is very rare to see a woman that also has her face veiled. I've been told that Ramallah is "more secular". The Christian Ramallans are dressed as western women all over the world, but with a great deal more modesty.

 

Walking down the street, I have so often seen how men are toward their young child. Again and again I have seen a father walking hand-in-hand with his 3-ish year old child. They have a conversation the whole time, and he bends down at some inevitable point where he makes himself the height of his child, and speaks lovingly to them. The children seem truly loved, here. I have no idea if that is actually a fact, but it is how it seems to me. I have witnessed more than once where the father will simply pull his child up into his arms, and kiss him, and carry him in one arm while he walks on while they continue their conversation. There is no hardness in these things, only loving kindness. It always surprises me when I see it, not only because of the obstacles that these people go through on a daily basis, but also because of the preoccupation with the Occupation, and the frequent brutality that suddenly erupts, seemingly out of nowhere. One would think there would be a bitter hardness, but I have not seen it. They seem to care more about making it a good and happy life for their kids than resigning to any morosity.

 

I went to dinner one night at the home of one of my flute students, Zaid. Zaid is in his final grade

at the Conservatory, but is a junior in high school, going on '25' in my view, and speaks perfect English. He has been one of the fastest progressing students I have worked with here. He says he wants to become a professional musician, and I hope he does! Before I met Zaid's father, I clearly remembered seeing his face in the audience at my Ramallah concert, with a look that was a gift to me. He looked wide-eyed, attentive, and moved. So dinner at their house was of this same spirit, since this is who he is. His name is Osama, and he and I chuckled over this fact. His wife, Reem, is an architect, and designed their house herself. There was an enormous bouquet of roses in a vase which he had bought for her, as she had just returned from Dubai. He said he always does this, buys her flowers if she has been away. I

told him I'd let Lee know this, right away! [I never told Lee about this, but

when I came home, there was a fresh bouquet of Lilacs for me that he had just picked from our yard. These have forever been my favorite flowers---the definitive sign of springtime!]. These folks are certainly of the 'bright' class, as I would call it, and so they are well-informed and caring people about how to progress their culture. Osama told me that he had a good job in Jordan, but he was from Ramallah, and wanted to come back to do whatever he could. He said it was very difficult, as many of the bright people have moved away, so he thought maybe he could live here and contribute on the larger scale.

 

 I met many of their family and friends, and had a wonderful evening with them all. The food was fantastic, all my favorite things: many salads, hummus, and barbequed meats. It is the custom to just keep eating, as far as I could tell, even if beyond full. It is a time of wonderful celebration, and food becomes the symbol of abundance. These people opened their home and their hearts to me, to the fullest extent. I felt the privilege of it, and enjoyed every minute of it.

 

Halfway through the meal, I couldn't help but notice that cell phones were frequently ringing. I just guessed that everyone was really busy with something, but it often turned out to be the children of these people, who were frightened because there was some shooting going on in a certain place of Ramallah. They told me someone had been killed, and a policeman had been killed. As we sat there talking about this, another woman and I (who was a psychiatrist, I believe) started sharing our feelings about this kind of 'inner explosion' that seems to happen here. I said that I couldn't help but notice sometimes that there was a general restlessness when nothing "bad" was happening---that I even felt it myself. It is like living with the expectation of troubles, which is some kind of adrenalin. But after a period of time, if nothing fulfills that dreading expectation, a restlessness takes hold, almost as if something "will" happen, it is just delayed. I wondered to her if perhaps everyone has become so accustomed to crisis, that when it doesn't drive up in a tank, they create it themselves by suddenly shooting someone during a conflict. Or symbolized as the larger unrest between Fatah and Hamas, where it is Palestinian against Palestinian. The woman I mentioned this to agreed. She said that restlessness becomes a kind of boredom, because there is always this hyper-crisis expectation and in its absence is boredom. Very interesting, but also sad, because it means there are rare times of actual, deep peace in the community-the kind of peace we take for granted in our lives in the USA.

 

As for my personal experience, the only place I have witnessed any sign of pent-up aggression is in the driving! I can only describe it as a true Wildness. It's as if instead of driving cars, everyone was riding a bucking bronco that hasn't ever been saddled. Every week on my public-taxi van ride to Bethlehem, I get a white-knuckle trip of total spontaneity and unpredictability. Some drivers take it as their job description to get to the destination as fast as is mechanically possible. As far as I can tell, there isn't a speed limit, either. They will go down the hills at roller-coaster speeds on the narrow roads, and pass every car on every steep and daring hill possible. I often think how much they have a false confidence in their vehicles functioning flawlessly. If they blew a tire, we'd all be finished. Not to mention if the brakes went out on these extremely steep descents. Other drivers have actual hostility in their driving (much like we have in the USA), and cut off others every chance they get, slamming the brakes on over and over in their manic process. All we passengers (usually 8) are thrown left and right. I can't help but laugh about it, even though I don't love it. I'm more amazed watching how this does not seem to affect the other passengers in the least (most are locals). I also take my life into my own hands every time I walk somewhere, too! Cars are King. I suppose much of this is a reflection of the inward frustrations that are inherent in being 'pent up'. Most of the people living in Ramallah cannot leave Ramallah, or at least the West Bank, which has no expanse before encountering the next Israeli Checkpoint. They cannot leave because they do not have the proper permit, nor are they 'permitted' to obtain the proper permit. I ask myself if I could live walled in like this, and I have to answer that I could not. I would go nuts, either quietly or loudly. Seeing how it is, I will once again say how I truly admire their Zen-level of steadfastness and endurance.

 

Concert Life and Fresh Perspectives

It has been a wonderful thing for me to go back and forth from this place to my home of America to play concerts. Because of my concert schedule, especially recently, I have had it good in living here because I get a break from it. My colleagues and friends have remained here for the majority of the time, only retrieving new Visas when necessary (they last three months). I don't really know how all this extended time has been for them, I only really know how the breaks have been a gift for me. I've gotten the chance to resume my whole world that I lived before I even came here, in my own country: I go back to my husband and our life in a wonderful home, to nature in full force, to real peace, to the quietness where you can only hear the birds, and to where hope is a thing that we are actually privileged to live daily (as opposed to here, where hope is difficult to live in the face of actual events/circumstances/walls). These "breaks" have allowed me to gain a broader perspective because I get to come back in with a 'cleared out' head---at least theoretically. I get to start fresh each time I return, with new perspectives that only getting away from something can bring. It has kept me focused on the big picture of what I'm really teaching, as I've mentioned before: life skills, something they can "keep", with the flute as the means to learning many of these skills. I want to instill hope in their deepest selves through what they might be able to accomplish, starting with improving on the flute. There is no way of knowing that I'm having one drop of an effect. I must admit it probably hasn't been utterly helpful to them that I have been absent in the USA for many of their lessons. Nevertheless, as I tell them, I can't apologize for what I do in life (concerts), so we try to make the best of the schedule we do have, and I give them my complete and undivided attention when we are working. I think the whole gleaning process is different for each of them.

 

Nature, again…

I know I have talked about this before, but it has only intensified over my time here, not waned-I really 'require' nature to keep my soul in a flourishing and alive state. For the past couple months here, I have sought and fixated on anything of beauty or inspiration, which usually means Nature. It is my own method of survival, and it has always been my method of survival, all my life. I don't even fully understand it, but I realize I don't need to understand it: I just need to obey it, because it brings me Life.

 

Things on this nature-front took a bad turn for me about a month ago. Remember, I would really have no problem if there was a "Central Park" here---somewhere to STOP, in nature. Even a measly Un-central park would do. There is not even one. So I went for my usual walk with the deliberate destination of my favorite barren hillside. It was "my place" where I could go, get exercise on the way by walking, as if walking away from anything 'bad', and get back to the pure. I was excited, walking there, as my plan was to just literally sit in silence. Do nothing. Talk to the Boss, while laying in the warm morning sunshine. I've never known whose property this was, but have guessed it is municipal, so I have been discreet about entering it.

 

A few months ago I'd already had an encounter with Fatah soldiers up here. After encountering one soldier, I simply told him, "I am just walking through, nothing else." And I continued on. Well, I'm sure this guy had no idea what I had said, but went and told the others something. So now, about six men were running after me, hollering at me. I knew by their holler they weren't angry, but I wanted to get out of there ASAP and back onto the street, so I kept walking. They finally caught up to me, each with machine guns strapped around their chests. Yes, I know it sounds like a stupid move on my part, but somehow I knew they were there to protect, not cause harm, and besides, they ran too slowly so I kept going... When I finally did stop out on the street, I turned around to face them, smiling, and said, "What is the problem?" They all looked stunned, and only smiled back at me, every one of them. They didn't say one word, just stared. It took some more time till the other three guys caught up, too, but still, we all just stood there having a private joke, somehow. I think we had an unsaid mutual understanding that I was doing no harm there. Some neighbor came out of his house and I asked him if he spoke English, and he said he did, "a little". I said, "Please ask them what they want." He talked to them, and they replied, smiling, and waved their hands away. He replied back to me, "nothing, hullis". (Arabic for "finished/over/no more"). Because of this encounter, I knew to stay away from that end of this property.

 
 As it happened on the most recent trip, the timing of my leaving the street and clambering up this little hillside to enter this area was bad---just then, a police car went by. I only knew that because they honked at me, but I just kept going, as did they. I thought, "If you want me, you will have to come up and get me." I was fully aware that the police station was below this hilltop, but they'd never seen me before, so I didn't worry about it. My boldness in this case, as with the Fatah soldiers, was being positively clear in my own mind that I was guiltless-and needing---to simply find a place of repose, so let come what may. I found a wonderful spot to sit, as it was very hot in the sun, so I found the only good tree there and laid down under it. It was like a huge relief to finally just BE, in the midst of nature. Sure enough, shortly I heard someone clear their throat. I guessed it was the police, having, after all, climbed that steep hill to come get me. I sat up, and there were three police men, panting their way up the hill. I think they were obviously taken aback to see it was not only a woman, but a foreigner at that. They all just sort of stood there, looking at me. I was smiling at them, knowing I was probably about to get in trouble, and said, "Is there a problem?" They smiled back. One said, "Where from?" I told him. He smiled. Then they didn't know what to do, and it seemed clear they couldn't speak enough English to have the inevitable conversation…so one of them got on the cell phone. I heard him say, "Americana". Then he suddenly hands the phone to me. I said, "Hello?" "Hello. What are you doing there?" "Absolutely nothing." "Huh?" "I'm doing nothing, I am just sitting here enjoying nature." "You can't be there". "Why? I'm not doing anything but enjoying the beauty." He made some frustrated noises for a bit, and said, "I understand, but you cannot be there. The police station is right below, and you must leave". He apologized again, saying it was not possible to stay. That was it. I handed the phone back to them and said sadly, "hullis", that same, final Arabic word, and one of the few I know. They all smiled, but it seemed to me they were a bit surprised, too, that I had to leave. I left right then. As I was far enough away from them, leaving my favorite spot forever, I cried. The emotional impact of this disappointment pained me---I could no longer go to this wonderful spot, which was the closest nature spot I had found. Now I would have to walk much farther out of town to find a replacement. They didn't know I cried. They wouldn't have understood the problem.

 

All has not been lost, though: thank God for Rima's yard (my beautiful landlady)! Watching the new season develop here and observing how quickly things grow has been beguiling. One day I would walk out, and there would be all these new bright-red tulips. After a week or two, there was a world full of Roses, and flowering trees. Rima's yard is full of these stunning roses that her late husband planted, years ago. It has been a spectacular fanfare, these smiling god-faces of flowers. I have been immersed in them, taking many pictures. All the beauty I need, at least for now, is in her yard. I even spent one day pulling weeds away from the real plants-for hours---and receiving a hand full of blisters, even though I had gloves on. It was the process that made me happy. Every day, I have seen something new---even if it is just the "mood" of the yard due to the way the light is shining at any particular moment. Things are now entering the brown stage, with the roses dying off, and new fruits beginning.

 

With these endless photos of Rima's yard, I can't help but notice my desire to CAPTURE this beauty---to keep it. I didn't realize how much I have worked at this capturing until I showed Lee all my new photos while I was home. It was an eye-opening thing for me to see them through another's eyes. Suddenly, in showing him rose after rose, and trees, and sunsets through trees, and rocks, even, I realized these really weren't that interesting to 'look at' in their two dimensions, but they were utterly imperative for me to experience! I got a good laugh at myself, seeing all these detailed photos, and even though they all hold the greatest beauty for me, I don't suppose they will translate as anything to others, just "pictures of roses".

 The Hall (my practice room!)
In addition to the flowers and other natural flora, I have been watching a large male and female woodpecker day after day, while I practice in the hall. I often stand or sit at one of the windows, looking out onto what is a good natural vista. Plenty of nature is here, in flowers, pine trees, and bushes. On the property next door, there is a dead tree where these woodpeckers live. I happened to spot them one early morning (I often start practicing at 6 AM), watching a woodpecker fly, and land on this tree. It was poised as if it was going to peck on the tree, but then suddenly it disappeared into a hole! Just then, another bird came out another hole just above it: the partner! It seems they are still building a nest, as I see them both go out and come back with big pieces of grass in their beaks, and disappear into their hole. It has been fascinating watching them, as they take turns. I presume they are sitting on eggs, too, as I have also seen them trade off shifts: one arrives back and stays there, while the other leaves.

 

My world here has become these beautiful moments. I spend so much time practicing that this is what really gives me my grounding in everything---simply doing my work as diligently and frequently as possible, while observing and taking in as much beauty as I have the eyes to see. These are the things that speak loudest to my soul, as they are of a positive perpetuation of life, inherently beautiful. My need for these things is more apparent here than elsewhere, and I welcome its challenge. It is good for me. I hope I'm able to turn it around and give back goodness, somehow. Probably just as a flute player, but maybe this is sufficient.

 

Coming up…

In two weeks, Lee will be coming back here with a top Italian film director friend of ours, Vanna Paoli, along with her producer. Vanna is interested in making a type of documentary film based on the Conservatory, as seen through the eyes of a foreigner. That would be me-at least as her starting point, but I feel confident it can take on a life of its own, without being seen through my eyes, so to speak. She would like to emphasize the dignity of the Palestinian people in the midst of Occupation. I have agreed to the possibilities of this film, as this is why I'm here, really---the dignity of these human beings who are not often humanely characterized by the media. It will be interesting to see what can happen here with Vanna's noble vision…Plus, I will give another concert here, this time in Bethlehem!

 

More soon….

 

---Rhonda

May 22, 2007