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Showing posts with label Arabic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arabic. Show all posts

Thursday, October 15, 2026

This excerpt is taken from On the Path of the Ghoul: The Memoirs of Sliman Mansour, a biography by Rana Anani. The original Arabic text is available- Presented below is the English translation of the book’s introduction.

Arts & Culture

On the Path of the Ghoul: The Memoirs of Sliman Mansour
 
Date:  October 14 2026
Author:  Rana Anani

This excerpt is taken from On the Path of the Ghoul: The Memoirs of Sliman Mansour, a biography by Rana Anani. The original Arabic text is available here. Presented below is the English translation of the book’s introduction.

This book is based on a series of extensive recorded interviews I conducted with the artist Suleiman Mansour between the summer of 2020 and the winter of 2023. His detailed responses to my questions have been shaped into a memoir told in his own voice. It traces the course of his artistic career while also exploring his childhood, upbringing, and family life. It follows his engagement, as both an artist and activist, with the history of modern Palestinian art, and concludes with reflections on the issues that have shaped and inspired his work throughout a career spanning more than five decades. 

In writing Suleiman Mansour's memoir, I sought to bring together an account of his artistic career with an exploration of the historical and political contexts that shaped his life and work. I hoped the book would bring marginalized stories to light while offering an opportunity to revisit aspects of Palestinian history through the emergence and development of the visual arts. The narrative draws on extensive interviews with Mansour, as well as research into available archives, to deepen the story and illuminate the historical and political context of his artistic journey. I have also used footnotes to provide additional context, clarify particular events, and shed light on the broader circumstances surrounding the artist's experiences. 

I have known Mansour since childhood, when he was a close friend of my father's. I remember him as a humble and kind man: tall, with a blond beard, he would visit our home as though he were a member of the family. He is gentle and warm-hearted, with a strong presence, a lively spirit, and a deep love of people, exploration, and adventure. He was not always present at the Artists' League meetings, which were held on the glass-enclosed balcony of our home on Nablus Street in Al-Bireh, but he helped my father and other artists plan and organize exhibitions. As a child, I would listen to the heated discussions that animated their meetings, punctuated by laughter and conversations full of boundless enthusiasm. The gatherings often ended with clouds of white smoke lingering in the air, the sweet, lingering scent of tobacco from the pipes some of the artists habitually smoked, and ashtrays overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. Those years saw the founding of the Palestinian Artists' League, an organization that brought together artists from across Palestine and maintained close ties with the Palestinian national movement, both inside Palestine and abroad, at a time when both the movement and the League were at the height of their activity.1 

While conducting the interviews for this book, I revisited many memories of the founding of the Palestinian Artists' League and the artistic movement, although much of what I remembered was hazy. My conversations with Mansour brought back people who have since passed away and events that had left a deep impression on me, witnessed through the eyes of a child who understood little of what was happening around her. The experience also gave me an opportunity to get to know Mansour's life more intimately. Living alongside someone for much of your life does not necessarily mean knowing the details of their story; I had to scratch beneath the surface to discover more. 

The book begins with Mansour's childhood in the countryside around Birzeit, tracing the course of his life following the loss of his father. He recounts the hardships of those years with a sense of humor and lightness, perhaps as a way of coming to terms with and healing those early wounds. He reflects on the many encounters that left a lasting impression on him and expresses a deep gratitude for life, taking care to remember the kindness and generosity of those who helped him endure and move forward. 

Mansour recalls his childhood in the countryside around Birzeit with great enthusiasm, from playing in the fields and swimming in the reservoirs during the summer to taking part in religious and social rituals. His memories convey a deep connection to the land and the people who lived on it. As the reader will see, Mansour's rural Palestinian upbringing had a profound influence on his later understanding of art and life. The hardships he experienced during those years became formative lessons that shaped his character and ambitions, ultimately helping to set him on the path toward the person he would become. 

Had his life not taken an unexpected turn, Mansour might have grown up to be an ordinary farmer, living a traditional life in the countryside around Birzeit and working the land alongside his father. Instead, his sudden move to a boarding school for orphans in Bethlehem forced him to become self-reliant in circumstances where money and care were scarce. Yet this new life also offered him an opportunity he might otherwise never have encountered: to discover art firsthand through his German teacher, Felix Theis, who recognized his talent, took him under his wing, and devoted himself to nurturing his artistic abilities. 

When Israel occupied the rest of Palestine in 1967, Mansour sought a scholarship to study in the United States, where most of his family lived. Instead, he found himself at the Bezalel Academy of Arts in West Jerusalem, becoming the first Palestinian from East Jerusalem to study art there. He did not fully grasp the significance of this distinction until he was accused of burning down the college library, — a charge rooted explicitly in racial prejudice. 

Mansour's political consciousness took shape gradually, coming fully into focus in the early 1970s. Around the same time, he began meeting with Palestinian artists who had previously worked largely on their own. These meetings eventually brought the artists together and led to the founding of the Palestinian Artists' League. 

This biography offers Mansour's firsthand account of the emergence of the visual arts movement in the occupied Palestinian territories during the 1970s and 1980s, the period he remembers most fondly. He recounts how artists came together under the umbrella of the Palestinian Artists' League, forged close ties with the national movement, and sought to give their art greater meaning and purpose by connecting it to the Palestinian cause. Mansour describes how, during this period, artistic expression and national activism became increasingly intertwined, as artists worked to preserve Palestinian identity, express resistance to the Israeli occupation, and give voice to their aspirations for freedom through their art. 

Mansour belonged to an exceptional generation of artists, writers, and poets who helped inspire the Palestinian national struggle in its early stages. They witnessed the occupation of Palestine and the difficult circumstances that followed for Palestinians from all walks of life. But they were also agents of change who played an active role in shaping national consciousness. These creative figures brought together artistic expression and political commitment, producing art and literature of resistance that spoke to a people striving for liberation and resisting attempts to erase their identity. 

Mansour was part of this broader artistic and cultural movement, which played a central role in inspiring the Palestinian national struggle in its early years. His work was an expression of a larger cause, inspiring which inspired generations of Palestinians and helped sustain a spirit of resilience and resistance. 

Mansour became widely known in Palestine and throughout the Arab world through his painting Camel of Hardships, which he created in 1973 and repainted twice, introducing new elements each time. The painting was inspired by the porters he encountered in the streets of Jerusalem whenever he passed through the Old City. Its widespread circulation was aided by the decision of Salah al-Din Bookshop and Ibn Rushd Press to reproduce it as a poster and sell and distribute it at affordable prices, allowing people to purchase copies and hang them in their homes. 

Despite the painting's fame and its importance to his artistic career, Mansour did not like being known primarily through Camel of Hardships. He felt that its prominence had overshadowed his other work for many years, depriving those works of the recognition they deserved. Nevertheless, he... READ MORE  https://www.palestine-studies.org/en/node/1659656

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Monday, October 5, 2026

Mosaic view of Gaza in the Church of St Stephen, Um ar-Rasas, Jordan. It was constructed in 756CE by the mosaics artists Stauranchius & Euremius,

Mosaic view of Gaza in the Church of St Stephen, Um ar-Rasas, Jordan. It was constructed in 756CE by the mosaics artists Stauranchius & Euremius, 120 years AFTER the Islamic conquests. 
William Dalrymple

 
Just come across this mosaic view of Gaza in the Church of St Stephen, Um ar-Rasas, Jordan. It was constructed in 756CE by the mosaics artists Stauranchius & Euremius, 120 years AFTER the Islamic conquests. 
 
The people were still using Greek, still building churches (there are 16 in Um ar-Rasas alone). This is important evidence the continuities of population in this region, masked by changes of language and religion. 
 
The idea that the Arabs swept in and kicked out or forcibly converted the population of Palestine is unhistorical nonsense: the population of Palestine was majority Christian until the time of the Crusades. They took two hundred years to use Arabic as their main language. Six hundred to convert to Islam.

 https://x.com/DalrympleWill/status/2106702614372991396/photo/1

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Friday, September 18, 2026

“What Are You Doing to My Brother?” A true story by Mike Hanini Odetalla (Abu Odeh) ... Here was an elderly Orthodox rabbi, aboard a plane filled largely with Jewish passengers headed to Israel, publicly kissing the hand of a Palestinian Muslim and calling him brother.

Good Morning! Rumaan Falasteen (#Palestinian #Pomegranates)... photo from Mike Hanini Odetalla

“What Are You Doing to My Brother?”

 
In October of 2007, my mother (AY) became ill and was hospitalized. I dropped everything and flew home, taking Lufthansa through Frankfurt to Tel Aviv.
 
The connecting flight was a packed 747, overwhelmingly filled with Jewish passengers headed to Israel.
 
I had specifically requested an aisle seat. But when I reached my row, I found an elderly Jewish woman sitting in it. Beside her was a very religious-looking man in his seventies.
 
As I started toward my seat, he immediately stood up.
 
“No! No!”
 
I understood what was happening. From what I knew of Orthodox Jewish religious practice, I figured he was uncomfortable with an unrelated man sitting beside his wife.
 
And being a Muslim, I understood the concern.
 
So rather than make an issue of it, I offered to take the window seat and let him sit in the middle—a “buffer” between his wife and me.
 
Problem solved.
 
Or so I thought.
 
Once we were seated, he began speaking to me in broken English.
 
“What is your name?”
 
“Where are you going?”
 
“Jerusalem,” I told him. “Palestine. The city of my birth.”
 
He looked at me.
 
Then, to my absolute surprise, this man who had been struggling with English answered me in perfect Arabic:
 
“I too was born in Al-Quds.”
 
And just like that, everything changed.
 
As we talked, I learned that he had emigrated to Australia in the late 1960s and was a chief rabbi there.
 
I told him why I was traveling—that my mother was sick and hospitalized and I was rushing home to see her.
 
He promised me that he would pray for her throughout the flight and again as soon as his feet touched Jerusalem.
 
A Muslim Palestinian and an Orthodox Jewish rabbi, both born in Jerusalem, sitting together on a 747 somewhere between Frankfurt and the city we both called home.
 
But our seating adventure wasn't over.
 
As more passengers boarded, an Orthodox Jewish family arrived. The mother and children were seated directly in front of us. The father's assigned seat, unfortunately, was the window seat I was now occupying.
 
And he wanted it.
 
He made a fuss and refused to sit elsewhere because he wanted to remain near his family. Even the rabbi's pleas couldn't persuade him. Eventually he called the flight crew and demanded his assigned seat.
 
The rabbi and his wife were visibly distraught.
 
So I stood up.
 
“Find me another seat,” I told the flight crew. “Anywhere. Let them stay together.”
 
Eventually they found one.
 
As I prepared to leave, the rabbi stood.
 
I extended my hand to shake his goodbye.
 
Instead, he took my hand—
and kissed it.
 
Then he kissed it again.
 
And he hugged me.
 
In Arabic, he said:
 
“Thank you, my dear brother.”
 
The cabin seemed to go silent.
 
Here was an elderly Orthodox rabbi, aboard a plane filled largely with Jewish passengers headed to Israel, publicly kissing the hand of a Palestinian Muslim and calling him brother.
 
You could hear a pin drop.
 
I thought that was the end of our story.
 
It wasn't.
 
When we landed at Ben Gurion Airport, I encountered something much more familiar to me: I was pulled aside and being led away for “further questioning.”
 
Normally, that could mean four or five hours of security questioning for me.
 
Then suddenly, the rabbi appeared.
 
He hurried toward us, took my hand again and kissed it.
 
Then he confronted the security personnel:
 
“What are you doing to my BROTHER?”
 
Apparently, having a chief rabbi vouch for you carries some weight.
 
They let me go.
 
It remains one of the few times I can remember passing through Ben Gurion without spending hours being questioned.
 
And there is one detail that matters.
 
In Palestinian and Arab culture, kissing someone's hand is among the deepest gestures of respect. This rabbi didn't know whether I needed his respect. He didn't know whether anyone around us would understand what that gesture meant to me.
 
But he did it anyway.
 
Twice on the airplane.
 
And once more when I needed someone to stand beside me.
 
Nearly twenty years later, I don't remember his politics. I don't remember everything we discussed on that long flight.
 
But I remember his Arabic.
 
I remember his prayers for my sick mother.
 
I remember his lips touching my hand.
 
And above everything else, I remember one word:
 
“Brother.”
 
Sometimes humanity doesn't announce itself with speeches, flags or slogans.
 
Sometimes it finds you at 35,000 feet, in the person you were supposed to see as the “other,” and quietly reminds you that we were brothers all along.
 
~ Mike Odetalla (Seems like a lifetime ago)
 

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Wednesday, September 16, 2026

Never forget also means remembering who else was hurt on 9/11 | - Ann Van Dyke, PennLive letters

 Published: Sep. 16, 2026

Twenty-five years ago, I worked for the PA Human Relations Commission. Part of my job was to follow up on reports of bias incidents to determine whether they violated anti-discrimination or criminal law, or were constitutionally protected acts of miserable behavior, which sometimes do not violate any law because of our extremely strong freedom of speech and expression.

Bias incidents directed at adults and children who appeared to be of the same ancestry or religion as the attackers surged.

While some people expressed widespread unity immediately after the 9/11 attacks, others carried out what they considered acts of retaliation. For example, a home in Enola belonging to a Muslim family originally from India was defaced with hate graffiti, and their mailbox was blown up anonymously.

While that was happening, members of the family were at a fundraiser for the 9/11 victims. “Acts of revenge” against people who had nothing to do with the attacks continued intensely in the months after and never stopped: destruction of property, assaults, anonymous hate mail, graffiti, slurs yelled during drive-bys, and public discourse increasingly full of vicious, false stereotypes.

All of that was and continues to be directed at adults, children and families who are Muslim, Middle Eastern, of Arabic descent, or who appear to be.

Twenty-fifth-anniversary calls to “never forget” need to include the innocent people who were harmed then and now because of what their ancestry or religion is or appears to be. The U.S. still strives to be better than that.

Ann Van Dyke, Mechanicsburg, Pa.

https://www.pennlive.com/opinion/2026/09/never-forget-also-means-remembering-who-else-was-hurt-on-911-pennlive-letters.html?gift=e4c9a45f-441e-497f-84c7-31f77e3d66eb

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Sunday, July 26, 2026