Of MishMish (Apricots) & Palestine by Mike Hanini Odetalla

                                           Of MishMish (Apricots) & Palestine

                                                     By Mike Hanini Odetalla

 

Have you ever tasted something so good, so special, that the taste continued to linger in your memories for the rest of your life? That no matter how many times you try, you are never able to duplicate it?

 

The memories of my childhood and my family’s fruit orchards in Palestine are still as fresh today as they were when I was there as a young boy. My family’s orchard produced an assortment of God’s beautiful bounty. We grew olives, peaches, figs, an assortment of plums, and the world’s best apricots. 

 

My favorite fruit had always been the golden, slightly blushing, sun kissed, apricots that grew on the trees that were planted decades before by my grandfather. These aged trees continued to produce fruit that we ate and sold to the neighboring townspeople as well as in Jerusalem.

 

I remember getting up early in the early summer mornings and running to the dew covered orchards. I would go directly to my favorite apricot tree and pick the cool, dew covered fruit that had fallen that morning to the ground. These slightly bruised golden beauties were absolutely the best tasting fruit the tree offered for they had been left on the vine to reach the peak of flavor ripeness. The point of getting there early was two-fold. I would get there early so that the birds would not have a chance to devour the fruit as it lay on the ground and it was nice and cool in the mornings. Since Palestine gets no rainfall in the summer, the principle water source for the trees and plants is the cool dew that blankets the area in the mornings.

 

I would scan the ground for the best looking fruit, pick it up, and lift it over my mouth. I would then squeeze the golden nectar from the fruit and let it drip into my mouth. The taste of that sweet, cool nectar emanating from the fruit is something that is well beyond explanation. It must be experienced for no amount of explanation or imagery can do it justice or come close to conveying the flavor and the feeling. The trees that produced such delicious beauty were planted by hand, on land, which had been in my family for hundreds of years. The soil that these trees lived off of was worked by the hands of my forefathers before me. Their sweat and tears were part of the soil and in turn translated into the sweet taste that I now enjoyed. This was not lost on me even as a child. For every bite that we took from the bounty of our land, we thanked God, and said a prayer for the people that made it possible.

 

I have now been away from my land and country for over 33 years. I have been back “home” to Palestine on numerous occasions, but never in the peak season when the apricots were ripe. Here in the US they grow apricots as well. I even make treks to orchards here to try to replicate the tastes and feelings that I have in my memory, but to no avail.  It is NOT the same. Not even close. 

 

The tastes, smells, and the experiences of my childhood in Palestine continue to haunt and taunt me. It is like an elusive love that is experienced and then lost. 

 

One can spend a lifetime trying to find and bring it back. To me the taste and smell of the nectar as it dripped from the apricot is something that I will cherish till my death. It is the essence of my life and attachment to a land that was stolen and continues to be from my people. For as long as I can remember the taste and smell of the bounty that my land and country produced, I will always yearn and dream of my return there…  That is why I am deeply saddened and outraged when I see pictures of olive groves and orchards being destroyed and uprooted by Israeli bulldozers. They are more than just trees…they are a whole lot more than most Israelis and their soldiers will ever realize or know…

 

Mike Hanini Odetalla

9-2002

 

It's a long story ...

It's a long story

 

be the voice for the voiceless

 

Palestinian artist Khaled Hourani's work displays the intrusive and alienating effect of apartheid structures on the Palestinian life and landscape

Palestinian artist Khaled Hourani's work displays the intrusive and alienating effect of apartheid structures on the Palestinian life and landscape

Jewish people are AWESOME! Genocidal apartheid regimes that routinely slaughter journalists & kids are NOT AWESOME!

 

Moonlight... a true childhood story of being Palestinian in 1967 by Mike Hanini Odetalla

 

Moonlight...a true childhood story of being Palestinian by Mike Hanini Odetalla

 

As I look outside my window and see a most beautiful full moon, so bright and brilliant; it literally sends golden shards of light through my window shades. I begin to remember that night in June of 1967. Could it have been the same bright and peaceful moon that lit our escape path as we ran for the neighboring hills and caves? I remember it being so big and bright, that the worn dirt path that led us away was clearly visible. The mouth of the cave faced due east and that night, the moon shone like a giant spotlight that seemed to be resting on top of the hill that my family had owned a large chunk of for generations. The moon seemed to be resting on top of that hill facing the west and looking straight into my eyes as I sat there at the mouth of the cave. I was in awe struck as the jets crisscrossed the night sky, their silvery metallic bodies gleaming, and reflecting dabs of moonlight.

 

Could this be really war I wondered? It didn’t seem like it. Except for the brilliant flashes of light that were later followed by the thunder, all seemed “normal”. Yes, we were cramped, more than 25 people were in the cave with us, but I had somehow tuned out all the noise of the women and the cries of the other children. I was totally hypnotized by that gorgeous moonlight. Suddenly, I was rudely snapped out of my hypnotic state, as my mother yanked my arm, yelling for us to run away from that cave. I got up and ran simply because of my mother’s frantic yelling and urging.

 

We ran until we reached a large tree in the middle of an olive grove about 100 yards away. Then I became conscious that my mother was still urging the others to follow. They hesitated at first, but finally relented as it became clear, you see that those jets gleaming in the moonlight were preparing to hit us. Not 5 minutes had passed when I saw them again, flying low over head. After 2 passes, a jet positioned itself and dove at us from the east, the same direction as that brilliant moonlight. The flash from under its wing deployed its rockets directly into the mouth of the same cave where we had taken refuge only a few minutes before. There were powerful explosions as debris flew outward.

 

I began to realize, finally, that this, indeed, was war: a word and a reality that had carried no tangible meaning for me until that moment. There was no electricity in my village of Beit Hanina and thus, I had never watched TV nor ever seen a movie. All of knew of war were the tales that the old people told about their experiences in 1948 and the raids by IDF into neighboring villages. Now, a first hand experience was putting War into my life in bright, vivid colors, accompanied by a very violently booming soundtrack.

 

This, my introduction to war, was also the end of my childhood innocence. The sights and experiences that followed would be recorded by my brain for all of eternity, no matter how horrible they were. The moon continued to light our way as we went through the olive groves and seeking yet another scorpion infested cave. That cave would be our “home” for the next 10 days or so. Our new ‘home’ opened directly overhead, looking into the sky, so I no longer had a view of the moon or of what was going on around us. The only reminder of war was the ever present thunder of the artillery in the background, and the confinement inside that cave.

 

To this day, when I look at a full moon, I wonder if it remembers that 6 year old boy gripped then, as now, in its hypnotic powers on that fateful night in early June of 1967…

 

           Mike Odetalla 2002 All rights reserved.

A Palestinian girl in Nazareth dress... Painted by Maher Naji

This is my tongue twisters of stars around hugs

Lovers : Leave

They took the spot and left

They took time and migrated "darwesh"

A Palestinian girl in Nazareth dress.

By Maher Naji

MAHER IRINA NAJI - Official Website

Since returning to Gaza in 1994, Naji has continued his career as an artist, exhibiting his paintings in many countries: Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria,...

Let the art and love be our common language. —Maher Naji

https://www.palestinemuseum.us/maher-naji-1 

"Never Again" ??? !!

 

"This meme is the rallying cry of Zionists "Never Again" which would be fine if they were fighting Nazis, but as a Palestinian I look at it differently. I see the barbed wire imprisoning the #Palestinians, who had absolutely nothing to do with the #Holocaust, and evolving into the US supplied Israeli jets that slaughter them behind the barb wire that was installed by those same hypocrites that shout "never again"...BTW the only escape these #Zionists made was from Brooklyn"

Mike Hanini Odetalla

 

& making matters worse are headlines that dismiss and ignore the very real plight and suffering of the native non-Jewish men, women, & children of historic Palestine...

"Mohammed Tamimi loved nature. He may have become an archaeologist or an engineer. Maybe he would one day have built a nice home in the hills of his beautiful village of Nabi Saleh." Husam Zomlot of Palestine (Ambassador, Head of Palestinian Mission to the UK, former Head of PLO Mission to the US, Strategic Affairs Advisor to President of Palestine)

 

 

 

PALESTINE WRITES 2023 Literature Festival September 22-24 University of Pennsylvania Lenni-Lenape Homeland, Turtle Island*

 

The festival is set to take place at the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, on the homeland of the Lenni Lenape Nation of Turtle Island*.

The first-ever Palestine Writes festival, in 2020, was digital, while the upcoming 2023 iteration will be a primarily in-person event. 

According to organizers, the festival is set to include “panel discussions, presentations, book readings, workshops, music, dance, food, oral storytelling, an art exhibit, photography, and continuous children’s programming.”

The festival, the only North American literature festival dedicated to celebrating and promoting cultural productions of Palestinian writers and artists, was “born from the pervasive exclusion from or tokenization of Palestinian voices in mainstream literary institutions,” and aims to bring “Palestinian cultural workers from all parts of Historic Palestine and our exiled Diaspora together with peers from other marginalized groups in the United States.”

A program is forthcoming at the Palestine Writes website. You can also follow them on Twitter at @PalestineWrites.

"Palestinians are an ancient indigenous people from a fabled and tortured land. No matter who holds the guns and power over our homeland, our nation is deeply rooted in its soil, which cradles our collective memory, as it does the bones of our ancestors. All of our traditions, our stories, folklore, poetry, culinary forms, superstitions, traditional clothing, architecture, art, and cultural habits were born in that singular patch of earth over the span of millennia. Palestine Writes exists as an artistic and literary space to hold dear and celebrate and share the magnificence of Palestine’s indigenous heritage, particularly as powerful forces work tirelessly to erase us."   AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE ORIGINAL LINK TO READ and THINK IN FULL ->  https://palestinewrites.org/

*Turtle Island is a First Peoples' name for Earth or North America. The name is based on a creation story common to several early ancestors & indigenous peoples of the Northeastern Woodlands of North America.

Wonderful story about Rahaf Othman and the importance of culturally competent teaching: Students Thrive When They Feel Welcomed in Schools

Palestinian Students Thrive When They Feel Welcomed in Schools

A Palestinian educator shares her experience and the value of inclusive classrooms

Key Takeaways

1. Students do better in school when their cultures and backgrounds are recognized.
2. Culturally responsive teaching helps to affirm and support students.
3. Learn how to create an inclusive classroom and more.

 Like many educators, Rahaf Othman knew from an early age that she wanted to grow up to be a teacher. “I used to play school with my younger siblings. I always had to be the teacher and they the students,” she fondly recalls. She also loved learning about the world around her.

But her love of learning was almost jeopardized after a classroom lesson went amiss. Othman’s fifth grade teacher gave students an assignment to select and research a country of their choice and present their findings to the class.

“I was born in Palestine. We immigrated to the United States as refugees—that's my history … and I was excited to share it,” she says. “I said to my teacher, ‘I want to do my presentation on Palestine.’ She looked at me compassionately and said, ‘Sweetie, Palestine doesn't exist. Do you want to do it on Israel or someplace else?’

“That conversation broke me,” shares Othman, adding that her grades went from passing to failing. She shut down, stopped caring about school, and was filled with questions about her identity.

She remembers thinking at the time, “If my teacher doesn't recognize where I'm from and doesn’t recognize my background—doesn’t see me—who am I?”

The following year things turned around for Othman. What made the difference?

“The teacher asked me where I was from, and I told her Palestine. She embraced it! She asked me to share with my classmates about [my homeland] and bring in artifacts and talk about them,” she says. “She completely rejuvenated me as a person and my education.”

She started to care about school again and went back to earning good grades and making honor roll.

Today, Othman is a 26-year veteran educator who teaches high school social studies in the southwest suburbs of Chicago, Ill.

While this incident in her fifth-grade classroom happened in the late 1980s, Othman says it’s common for Palestinian students today to encounter a similar experience.

Why Cultural Competence is Important

The southwest suburbs of Chicago have a large Palestinian American population, according to a report from the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights. And despite their long history in the Chicagoland area and growing numbers, Othman shares that parents in neighboring school districts have “come to me complaining that their children’s geography class teachers are telling students Palestine does not exist,” she says. “It’s heartbreaking.”

More awareness of the Palestinian community is needed, and students need to feel affirmed and supported, adds Othman.

Culturally responsive teaching can help. An established body of research affirms what educators have long known: A culturally responsive and racially inclusive education benefits all ... AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE ORIGINAL  LINK TO READ AND THINK ABOUT THIS STORY IN FULL -> https://www.nea.org/advocating-for-change/new-from-nea/palestinian-students-thrive-when-they-feel-welcomed-schools

Jerusalem... painting by Nabil Anani of Palestine

Jerusalem, 2013 painting by Nabil Anani 

about

Palestinian-American film director, Hala Gabriel, tells her family's survival story after Israeli forces massacred hundreds of Palestinians in the village of Tantura in 1948