Palestinian
Children in the Night
By Sam Bahour, writing
from Ramallah
It happened last night. Ramallah
was pitch dark and the breeze was cool and brisk. For the first time
in as long as I can remember, I was out during the night with my wife
and two daughters, Areen, 8 and Nadine, 2. We were taking advantage
of the lull in nightly curfews imposed by the Israeli military over
the past year. We found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of over 300
cheering Palestinians.
Between us and another group
of a few dozen Palestinian youth were two United Nations Development
Programme (UNDP) representatives. The two representatives were clearly
American, in looks and accent. A few of the Palestinians standing behind
the UNDP representatives slowly walked up behind them and one pulled
from a bag what looked like a one meter wooden bat. Our hearts beating,
and before we could clearly make out what was happening, the Palestinian
boy holding this object unraveled a most beautiful and colorful Palestinian
embroidery piece. The embroidery was attached to a wooden rod and the
Palestinian teenager proudly held it up and presented it to the two
UNDP representatives as a gift for their support. This was the final
few minutes in what was a moving and fabulous one-hour début
of the Palestinian Folk Vista, by Baraem El-Funoun, a new generation
of the El-Funoun Palestinian Popular Dance Troupe.
Baraem is Arabic for
buds. El-Funoun is Arabic for the arts. Baraem
El-Funoun is the offshoot of the renowned El-Funoun Palestinian Popular
Dance Troupe (www.el-funoun.org), a music and dance ensemble, inspired
by universal elements of folk art and their particular expression in
Arab-Palestinian popular heritage and folklore. Baraem El-Funoun
is the embodiment of a new generation of dancers, a generation that
is determined to safeguard and advance Palestinian culture and heritage
through dance, music and song.
We are in the midst of the
holy month of Ramadan. Ramadan in Ramallah has historically been marked
by joyous evenings during the cool and breezy nights following the breaking
of daylight fast. This year is an exception, as was last year. For the
last two years the Israeli occupation has stripped all evidence of normal
life from Palestinian streets. Whereas the city centers would once have
been open for business late into the evening to cater to Ramadan shoppers
and holiday-goers, today only a handful of businesses venture to open
their doors after nightfall, fearing the volatile security situation
and realizing that their patrons prefer to not risk the surprise Israeli
raids and patrols within the city.
Last night was different.
Over 300 Palestinians were invited to attend the first performance of
El-Funouns youth dance group. The mere invitation to such an event
during these troubled times sparked a deep sense of defiance toward
occupation in each of us. It was as if this youth dance group and those
organizing them were calling for popular action to counter the Israeli
military activities that have brought our cultural lives to a standstill.
The action was clearly defined and well planned a forceful demonstration
by way of dance, music and song that Palestinian culture is alive and
well, undamaged by Israeli tanks, armored personnel carriers and F-16s
that have permanently scarred each of our streets, neighborhoods and
families.
We entered the Ramallah Municipality
Hall along with dozens of other families. Parents, children, elders
and many friends gathered together in public for the first time in quite
a while to celebrate a positive and cheerful event. For us it was a
special event too. My wife Abeer was a dancer with the El-Funoun dance
troupe back in the late 80s and my daughter Areen is currently
training in dance at classes at the Popular Arts Center (PAC) with great
hopes of one day being accepted into the Bara'em troupe and then graduating
into the El-Funoun troupe.
This tribute to Palestinian
culture came with a story, like most events in Palestine these days.
Bara'em members rehearsed most of the Palestinian Folk Vista production
during Israeli-imposed military curfews. On one occasion, they were
all trying to reach the studio (at the PAC in Al-Bireh, www.popularartcentre.org)
when they suddenly saw an Israeli armored personnel carrier (APC) parked
right outside the studio entrance. Khaled, the dance trainer, was with
them, and he was terrified that troupe members would be hurt. He bore
the millstone of responsibility. After all, it was he who had convinced
the parents to let their children challenge the curfew to get to the
rehearsals. He panicked, and suddenly, one of the Bara'em girls decided
to walk to the entrance despite the presence of that APC. Everyone else
followed and they made it to practice! The soldiers did not interfere
this time, luckily.
Bara'ems performance
was stunning. The smiles of the dancers were refreshing. As Omar Barghouti,
one of the proud choreographers, told me following the event: Those
children became real dancers with power, passion and a very convincing
ability to convey the choreographed themes, to entertain and to impress.
Our children are not reduced to mere victims, who solicit sympathy;
they have a presence that demands solidarity and support. This has been
El-Funoun's direction for decades now, and we can finally take pride
in passing it on to our next generation of El- Funoun members, Bara'em.
In the middle of the performance
my nephew, Yacoub, 14, took the stage to present a musical solo on the
Qanun, a zither-like musical instrument with 26 triple courses of strings
and one of the oldest oriental string instruments in Arabic music. As
Yacoub fine-tuned his instrument, you could have heard a pin drop while
the audience waited in anticipation. My two-year-old daughter seized
the opportunity to yell out to her cousin from the middle of the hall,
Yacoub! It was her way of expressing her excitement of the
moment and she brought the entire audience to a warm laugh.
Dance after dance, these
young boys and girls dazzled the audience with their agility and outstanding
ability to synchronize with the traditional songs depicting the love
of life that resides in all Palestinians, a love that appreciates the
wonders of nature, respects land and refuses to forget those living
in poverty and exile. Each girl dancer wore a traditional embroidered
Arabic dress, full of color and full of life. The young boy dancers
each wore a simple loose traditional garment reflecting those worn by
Palestinian peasants and farmers for hundreds of years.
A scan of the audience brought
sadness and hope. A friend, and one of the El-Funoun choreographers,
Mrs. Lana Abu Hijleh, sat close to the stage and looked on with a bright
smile. This performance was an accomplishment she had a right to be
proud of. To see her smile brought hope, especially given that it was
only a few weeks ago we paid our respects to her and her family after
her mother was murdered by an Israeli solider in the Palestinian City
of Nablus as she sat on the porch inside her home stitching an embroidery.
I watched other friends enjoying the performance as well, knowing that
many of their loved ones were missing from their sides. Instead of being
in the audience watching their children culturally flourish, many fathers,
brothers and sons instead were languishing in Israeli jails, part of
the 7,000 Palestinians arbitrarily arrested over the past two years.
The UNDP, sponsors of this
fabulous performance, accepted a gift of embroidery at the end of the
event. In making his closing remarks, the UNDP representative was clearly
moved by what he had seen a drop of hope in a sea of despair.
While sitting and watching
the performance with my youngest daughter on my lap violently clapping
after every dance, I thought to myself, if only our Israeli neighbors
could see and feel what we were seeing and feeling. If only the parents
of those Israeli soldiers -- not much older than the young Palestinian
dancers on stage -- patrolling and occupying our cities could see the
energy and determination that was on stage and in the audience. If only
my Israeli neighbors could remove the artificial blinders placed on
them by their leadership, they would quickly realize that we are a people
whose spirit cannot be broken by military occupation. A people whose
culture and traditions are deeper than the roots of the olive tress
that the Israel bulldozers continue to uproot. If they could only see!
If they could only feel!
Before we reached home last
night it was announced by the Israeli military that for the next two
days Ramallah would be placed under 24-hr military curfew, yet again.
It was as if the entire city was being collectively punished for the
act of displaying Palestinian culture. Nevertheless, when the curfew
is lifted we will send our daughter Areen for her next weekly dance
lesson, for we have no time to waste in ending this occupation, so disastrous
for us all. Maybe the dance weapon will succeed where everything else
so far has failed.
Under curfew,
November 29, 2002