This continues our Palestinian Voices series. We have created an archive, under the same title, where the whole of the series is available. These pieces will be paywalled in recognition of those who generously supported Cara’s journey.
Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure, does not testify to your inferiority but to their inhumanity and fear. —James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time, 1963.
30 JUNE—Samia, whom I had not yet met, sent a cab to pick me up at my hotel. I met the driver near the terrace of the Notre Dame Center, a Christian site across from the New Gate—one of seven main entrances into Old Jerusalem.
We drove north, through the labyrinthine and densely populated streets of East Jerusalem, where most of the city’s Arabs live. The driver, a friendly man, used our time together to practice his English and to teach me a few words of Arabic. There was no A/C in the old taxi, and the late morning was already becoming unbearably hot.
I texted Samia from the car to let her know I was on my way. I arrived to find a pleasant, middle-class house, single-storied. Her young and pretty assistant opened the door when I rang the bell. She ushered me into the living room, where my hostess was seated in an elegant wingback chair, one foot resting on a padded stool. A cane was propped on the chair next to her.
The room was a cool, inviting oasis. Family pictures hung on walls. A black-and-white photo of a handsome man in his middle age caught my eye: Samia’s husband when he was still alive.
We introduced ourselves. Samia has an intelligent and kind face, a genuine smile, and a beautiful crown of silver hair. I felt immediately at ease. As I took a seat, the young woman carried in a tray and placed it before me on a low coffee table. She set out a pot of tea and several porcelain plates laden with cookies and small cinnamon rolls. This was my introduction to Samia Nasir Khoury and Arab hospitality.
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I had been in email communication with John Whitbeck as I planned my trip to Palestine. Whitbeck, an international lawyer who resides in Paris, served as a legal advisor to the Palestinian negotiating team in Cairo in April/May 1994 and later at the Camp David summit in 2000. He knows many people throughout the land of Palestine and suggested I might like to meet with Samia, who he identified as a “grandmother.”
Grandmother. How very much and very little is conveyed by that often dismissive and sentimentalized noun.
I had arrived from Europe just a few days earlier. This was my first meeting with a Palestinian Arab, a Christian, and I had no idea what to expect or even what, specifically, to ask. I had come to Palestine to meet and listen to Palestinians, I explained, to hear your stories of life under Israeli occupation. To learn about your hopes and aspirations for Palestine. Those in the West know very little of Palestine or Palestinians, whose humanity has been too effectively erased. I had come to counter this, to see and listen.
Originally Published: 2024-06-30 19:16:26
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