#hes letting bassem speak so

[momo33me]

Amira Hass In Nabi Saleh, the Palestinians Aren’t Legally Blonde The Tamimi family jokes about everything, but had the bullet hit just a half-millimeter to the side, they wouldn’t have had a son at all

Blond, that’s how the Israelis remember the children from Nabi Saleh, who don’t greet the armed soldiers invading their homes with flowers and chocolate. So for a start, here are three facts. One, there are also children with brown hair and green eyes. Two, Israel has stolen and is continuing the steal the village’s land and springs, by means of the Halamish settlement. And three, as I’ve written in the past, the people of Nabi Saleh are real jokesters.

They joke about almost everything (Bassem Tamimi, a few hours after the arrest of his daughter, Ahed: “The Zionists are finished interviewing me. Now I have time for you.” Then there was the time, during the second intifada, when a Border Policeman caught Abd al-Rahman, a man from the village, driving on a road that was off-limits to Palestinians. He ordered him to stop and asked for his address. Nabi Saleh, came the reply. The name rang a bell for the soldier. “Yeah, we spent a few days there in a military post in a house that we seized,” he said. And Abd al-Rahman answered: “Right, I’ve come to collect the rent.” The soldier burst out laughing and let the kidder go on his way.

It was from them that I heard this historical joke: The first Tamimi came from Saudi Arabia. Before Islam, he had been a winemaker. The Prophet Mohammed was trying to convince him to move to Hebron, to help him spread his message there. What will I find in Hebron, Tamimi asked. They grow marvelous wine grapes there, came the persuasive answer. And thus the Tamimi family settled in Hebron and spread from there throughout Palestine.

I didn’t hear any jokes at the hospital where Mohammed Tamimi has been for over a week. On Friday, December 15, he was shot in the face with a rubber-coated metal bullet, at very close range, by an unnamed soldier. This doesn’t upset the Israelis. The boy had climbed a ladder leaning against on the wall surrounding a vacant house, in whose yard or shed soldiers were posted. When Mohammed’s head poked over the wall, he was shot; the entry point of the bullet was just below his left nostril.

As the bullet made its way through his cheek, stopping behind his ear, Mohammed fell from the ladder, which was at least two meters high. He was unconscious and bleeding so badly that those around him, no strangers to shootings, were terrified. Two teens started shouting “Mohammed is hurt” and word reached his parents’ home. They ran to get him and drove him to the village of Beit Rima, which has an intensive care ambulance. On their way to the hospital, they came across a mobile army checkpoint. At first the soldiers wouldn’t let the ambulance through, Mohammed’s father, Fadel, says. Then the ambulance crew opened the door and the soldiers saw the wounded youth. Yallah, get going, they said, the father noting panic and urgency in their voices.

The Istishari Arab Hospital is on the northern side of Ramallah, on the edge of the suburb of Rehan. It is new and private, founded by a number of Palestinian businesspeople. The view from the windows is of a hilly landscape with fields and orchards and village homes. The rooms are spacious, and the reception area of each ward is furnished with comfortable chairs for visitors. Mohammed’s family sat in one such waiting area while seven surgeons worked to save his life.

The operation began at 9:30 P.M. and continued until 4:30 A.M. Mohammed’s mother, Imtithal, didn’t eat or sleep for two days. On Monday, the doctors brought Mohammed out of sedation. As soon as his family saw that he recognized them all, they began to smile again. Had the bullet hit just a half-millimeter to the side, they wouldn’t have had a son at all, or he wouldn’t have been himself anymore.

In the comfortable waiting room, his brother offers visitors coffee and chocolates. Mohammed can only have visitors twice a day, for one hour in the afternoon and one hour in the evening, and only two people at a time. On Wednesday afternoon, his mother sat with him for half an hour, then came out of the room, happy as can be. “He’s in a hurry. He wants to go home,” she said with a smile. One of his brothers came out of the room and said, “He wants to see Iman,” the eldest brother’s fiancée. Everyone smiles. Mohammed speaks in a weak voice, his face still heavily bandaged. He also sprained his right shoulder when he fell and it’s hard for him to move his arm. But he knows everyone by name and remembers what happened.

The flow of visitors never lets up. From the village and from neighboring villages, from work, friends, cabinet ministers, ordinary folk. They sit for a little bit and then leave. All day long, the father answers phone calls. “Everything’s

After construction began on Halamish, on the lands of Nabi Saleh and other villages in 1978, an American journalist came to interview the villagers, they say. “How long have you been here,” he asked the village elder. The elder took the reporter by the sleeve and led him to the top of a hill overlooking a green, cultivated wadi. “You see the wadi, young man? When Adam and Eve were frolicking there below, we were already here.”

[janesadek]

TRAVEL THERE: SOMETHING YOU WOULDN’T EXPECT

After our amazing day on the Red Sea, it was nap time – only instead of napping, I washed my hair.  I had borrowed a towel from the room for our boat trip and the room steward (no maids) penalized me for it.  We’d started the stay with an armload of fluffy towels, but when I got back from the day on the yacht, the towel nazi had only left me one bath towel to accompany the one (I guess) he thought I was trying to steal.  It was funny how they all spoke such great English until that very moment.  Suddenly, we couldn’t communicate at all.  It was a small thing, but it left a distinctly bad taste in my mouth. 

Out for the Evening

Niece Maggie and her family invited us out for dinner.  They wanted to show us the hotel they’d stayed at during their honeymoon.  They hadn’t booked an over-the-top suite, like Bassem and Mariam were enjoying at the Baron Resort, but Maggie and Shady wanted us to share their memories.  Except for some security rigmarole going in and out of the hotels we really hadn’t had to deal with much in the way of security in Sharm.  That changed on this evening.

They let us into the hotel with relative ease, but then we wanted to go take a look at the pools – yes I said pools, as in plural.  For some reason this was a problem.  Maybe they thought we were going to try to swim.  Maybe they thought we were trying to gain access to guestrooms.  I don’t know, but they certainly didn’t want us to visit the pool.  Bill and I weren’t all that worried about it.  A hotel pool is a hotel pool – am I right?

However, it was obvious Maggie and Shady were really disappointed, so Mr. Bill went into action.  He strolled over to the desk and gave them a piece of his mind.  He told them the honeymoon story.  He told them we were Americans (as if that wasn’t obvious).  Then he resorted to pressure.  He pointed out that we were guests at their sister hotel just down the street.  He mentioned Ayman’s name.  He told them I was a travel blogger.  I’m not sure what changed their mind, but Bill had to turn his room key or something like that over to them while we were poolside.

I will admit the pools were beautiful.  Deep navy tile with white trim.  We’re still not sure exactly what they were trying to protect when they wanted to prevent our visit.  We had some dinner, which was delicious, but then they gave us the run around on paying the tab.  We had to go to the front desk to pay and then the tip couldn’t be charged on the card.  Weird.

A Real Treat

Next Niece Mirette came to take us to the Sharm Cathedral.  An exterior view is above, but it does nothing to prepare you for the gorgeous interior.  I could wax eloquent about all the details, but I will let the cathedral speak for itself.  As amazing as the visit was from an architectural and religious standpoint, what was most apparent to me was the love the people of the cathedral have for my niece.  They opened up late in the evening just so they could show us.  Everyone onsite knew my niece.  They were obviously and ostentatiously fond of her.  I was so proud of her for this.  Enjoy the beautiful cathedral, then come back next week for our final day in Sharm.

        The Cathedral in Sharm el Shiek TRAVEL THERE: SOMETHING YOU WOULDN'T EXPECT After our amazing day on the Red Sea, it was nap time - only instead of napping, I washed my hair.