katalog-overlapping voices - Ritesinstitute

weeKend dinners with
the guests
Jumana manna
every time my parents would have guests over for
dinner on weekends, sooner or later, the discussion
would become political. if the guests are Jewish
the conversation tends to lean towards criticism
of israel. the mistreatment of the arab citizen.
the cacophonies of the occupation. the general
hopelessness. our neighbourhoods are neglected,
we have no pavements, the children walk on the
road on their way to school disrupting traffic. the
inexistence of playgrounds transforms the 30 year
old cracked paved streets into football fields, momentarily
vanishing at the beep of a forthcoming
car. the public schools are deficient. there is not
enough space in the schools to accept all of the
children in the arab sector. the education system
is based on memorizing and not on educating. we
are confronted with surprise checkpoints in east
Jerusalem, making us late for work and the kids
late, on our way to school.
the traffic lights open for only 4 seconds for the
intersection coming from an arab neighbourhood,
keeping the “Jewish” lights open for much longer,
with ignoring the fact that the “Jewish” light is relatively
empty of cars, since they have alternative
roads to take. the experiences of our treatment at
the airport are always a hot topic. tales of hurt
pride of our “integrated” family. our position as
successful arabs in the country is smashed during
those interrogations and meticulous bag checks
which do not differentiate between the average and
the “good” arab.
Back to the dinner table. when arab guests are
over, the conversations, still political, tend to be
more self critical, this time complaints on the situation
of the arabs. our backwardness, conservativeness,
herd-like functioning, lack of initiative,
fear of crossing the boundaries of social taboos
and norms, the double standards, the pride, materiality,
greed, never ending stories of inner disputes,
both on a private-family level and a community-social
level. we all want to be doctors and
0 OVERLAPPING VOICES
lawyers (not because the topics are necessarily interesting,
but because it has good reputation)
make a lot of money, and begin collecting our
mercedes and Bmws. however, seldom were the
discussions constructive. of course they were
constructive in the sense of raising awareness, but
rarely initiating change on a practical level. when
did we plan to send appeals, create schools or
raise cultural activity? Rarely, and those suggestions
never surpassed being merely hypothetical.
the general attitude is one of hopelessness. hopelessness
towards the suppressing governmental
system, alongside the inability to unite a group of
arabs to fight for a common cause.
School
at age 15, i left the international anglican school of
Jerusalem, to begin at the high school of arts, where
i would finish my high school education. i was the
only arab amongst the 700 students to ever enter my
israeli-hebrew high school. i was told that the rumour
that an arab was coming to the school had spread
well before i came, and that for many months no one
figured out who it was.
on any topic needing the “other side’s” opinion they
would – “ask the arab!”. so i became some form of
diplomat of “my people”, as if my ideas were the
common representation of the arabs’ point of view.
“Death to the arabs” was shouted every time i
passed the school’s ‘ars’ 1 , which made me offended
and emotional, but also served the purpose of
a short story to answering the commonly asked
question, ‘how is it like to be in a all Jewish school?’.
a painting of mine with arabic text was torn apart
during the weekend of the elections, when our
school served as a polling place during elections.
this made it unclear if it was a student or an outsider.
either how, i broke into tears at approaching
the principle about what happened. he treated the
matter well, joining the school in the auditorium,
expressing his disapproval to the students regar-
ding the terrible act that had happened over the
weekend. he asked me to re-do the painting so he
could hang it up in his office, which i gladly did.
my first stirring art piece, sold for 100 shekels to
my brother.
i hated remembrance day, independence day and
any other special day where the national anthem
would be played in school. where i would feel totally
out of place amongst the rest of my friends,
who would all stand and sing, and i would very purposely
remain seated. generally someone would
nudge me and whisper, “just stand up, you don’t
have to sing along”. my leftist artsy school remained
more sympathetic than the national championships
2 where there was a more accurate representation
of the israeli public. i would try my best
to plan the changing out of my clothes into my
swimsuit right before the national anthem would
be played during the opening ceremony, where an
olympic stadium of hundreds of athletes would
proudly rise from their seats and sing. i would
be alone in the bathrooms roaming as i pleased,
avoiding the two unwanted options of a) standing
to the anthem or b) sitting and being stared at by
everyone.
Taking stands
when asked where i am from, i answer, i am Palestinian,
living in israel. But technically, i am israeli.
But arab. it is never a one word answer. in addition,
i am not able to give a straight short answer as to
how i feel. to whom exactly i feel related. my feelings
are mixed with upbringing, ideologies, experiences
and what people project upon because of
being defined as arab.
my parents are both arab, muslims, both grew up
in arab villages in the galilee area, in the north of
the country. however, legally, i have no affiliation
with the Palestinian people. i am a citizen of israel
and of the United states (where i was born, but never
lived).