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It
happened last night. Ramallah was pitch dark and the
breeze was cool and brisk. For the first time in as
long as I can remember, I was out during the night
with my wife and two daughters, Areen, 8 and Nadine,
2. We were taking advantage of the lull in nightly
curfews imposed by the Israeli military over the past
year. We found ourselves in the midst of a crowd of
over 300 cheering Palestinians. Between us and another
group of a few dozen Palestinian youth were two United
Nations Development Programme (UNDP) representatives.
The two representatives were clearly American, in
looks and accent. A few of the Palestinians standing
behind the UNDP representatives slowly walked up behind
them and one pulled from a bag what looked like a
one meter wooden bat. Our hearts beating, and before
we could clearly make out what was happening, the
Palestinian boy holding this object unraveled a most
beautiful and colorful Palestinian embroidery piece.
The embroidery was attached to a wooden rod and the
Palestinian teenager proudly held it up and presented
it to the two UNDP representatives as a gift for their
support. This was the final few minutes in what was
a moving and fabulous one-hour début of the
Palestinian Folk Vista, by Bara’em El-Funoun,
a new generation of the El-Funoun Palestinian Popular
Dance Troupe.
Bara’em
is Arabic for “buds”. El-Funoun is Arabic
for “the arts”. Bara’em El-Funoun is
the offshoot of the renowned El-Funoun Palestinian
Popular Dance Troupe (www.el-funoun.org), a music
and dance ensemble, inspired by universal elements
of folk art and their particular expression in Arab-Palestinian
popular heritage and folklore. Bara’em El-Funoun
is the embodiment of a new generation of dancers,
a generation that is determined to safeguard and advance
Palestinian culture and heritage through dance, music
and song.
We
are in the midst of the holy month of Ramadan. Ramadan
in Ramallah has historically been marked by joyous
evenings during the cool and breezy nights following
the breaking of daylight fast. This year is an exception,
as was last year. For the last two years the Israeli
occupation has stripped all evidence of normal life
from Palestinian streets. Whereas the city centers
would once have been open for business late into the
evening to cater to Ramadan shoppers and holiday-goers,
today only a handful of businesses venture to open
their doors after nightfall, fearing the volatile
security situation and realizing that their patrons
prefer to not risk the surprise Israeli raids and
patrols within the city.
Last
night was different. Over 300 Palestinians were invited
to attend the first performance of El-Funoun’s
youth dance group. The mere invitation to such an
event during these troubled times sparked a deep sense
of defiance toward occupation in each of us. It was
as if this youth dance group and those organizing
them were calling for popular action to counter the
Israeli military activities that have brought our
cultural lives to a standstill. The action was clearly
defined and well planned - a forceful demonstration
by way of dance, music and song that Palestinian culture
is alive and well, undamaged by Israeli tanks, armored
personnel carriers and F-16’s that have permanently
scarred each of our streets, neighborhoods and families.
We
entered the Ramallah Municipality Hall along with
dozens of other families. Parents, children, elders
and many friends gathered together in public for the
first time in quite a while to celebrate a positive
and cheerful event. For us it was a special event
too. My wife Abeer was a dancer with the El-Funoun
dance troupe back in the late 80’s and my daughter
Areen is currently training in dance at classes at
the Popular Arts Center (PAC) with great hopes of
one day being accepted into the Bara'em troupe and
then graduating into the El-Funoun troupe.
This
tribute to Palestinian culture came with a story,
like most events in Palestine these days. Bara'em
members rehearsed most of the Palestinian Folk Vista
production during Israeli-imposed military curfews.
On one occasion, they were all trying to reach the
studio (at the PAC in Al-Bireh, www.popularartcentre.org)
when they suddenly saw an Israeli armored personnel
carrier (APC) parked right outside the studio entrance.
Khaled, the dance trainer, was with them, and he was
terrified that troupe members would be hurt. He bore
the millstone of responsibility. After all, it was
he who had convinced the parents to let their children
challenge the curfew to get to the rehearsals. He
panicked, and suddenly, one of the Bara'em girls decided
to walk to the entrance despite the presence of that
APC. Everyone else followed and they made it to practice!
The soldiers did not interfere this time, luckily.
Bara'em’s
performance was stunning. The smiles of the dancers
were refreshing. As Omar Barghouti, one of the proud
choreographers, told me following the event: “Those
children became real dancers with power, passion and
a very convincing ability to convey the choreographed
themes, to entertain and to impress. Our children
are not reduced to mere victims, who solicit sympathy;
they have a presence that demands solidarity and support.
This has been El-Funoun's direction for decades now,
and we can finally take pride in passing it on to
our next generation of El-Funoun members, Bara'em.”
In
the middle of the performance my nephew, Yacoub, 14,
took the stage to present a musical solo on the Qanun,
a zither-like musical instrument with 26 triple courses
of strings and one of the oldest oriental string instruments
in Arabic music. As Yacoub fine-tuned his instrument,
you could have heard a pin drop while the audience
waited in anticipation. My two-year-old daughter seized
the opportunity to yell out to her cousin from the
middle of the hall, “Yacoub!” It was her
way of expressing her excitement of the moment and
she brought the entire audience to a warm laugh.
Dance
after dance, these young boys and girls dazzled the
audience with their agility and outstanding ability
to synchronize with the traditional songs depicting
the love of life that resides in all Palestinians,
a love that appreciates the wonders of nature, respects
land and refuses to forget those living in poverty
and exile. Each girl dancer wore a traditional embroidered
Arabic dress, full of color and full of life. The
young boy dancers each wore a simple loose traditional
garment reflecting those worn by Palestinian peasants
and farmers for hundreds of years.
A
scan of the audience brought sadness and hope. A friend,
and one of the El-Funoun choreographers, Mrs. Lana
Abu Hijleh, sat close to the stage and looked on with
a bright smile. This performance was an accomplishment
she had a right to be proud of. To see her smile brought
hope, especially given that it was only a few weeks
ago we paid our respects to her and her family after
her mother was murdered by an Israeli solider in the
Palestinian City of Nablus as she sat on the porch
inside her home stitching an embroidery. I watched
other friends enjoying the performance as well, knowing
that many of their loved ones were missing from their
sides. Instead of being in the audience watching their
children culturally flourish, many fathers, brothers
and sons instead were languishing in Israeli jails,
part of the 7,000 Palestinians arbitrarily arrested
over the past two years.
The
UNDP, sponsors of this fabulous performance, accepted
a gift of embroidery at the end of the event. In making
his closing remarks, the UNDP representative was clearly
moved by what he had seen - a drop of hope in a sea
of despair.
While
sitting and watching the performance with my youngest
daughter on my lap violently clapping after every
dance, I thought to myself, if only our Israeli neighbors
could see and feel what we were seeing and feeling.
If only the parents of those Israeli soldiers -- not
much older than the young Palestinian dancers on stage
-- patrolling and occupying our cities could see the
energy and determination that was on stage and in
the audience. If only my Israeli neighbors could remove
the artificial blinders placed on them by their leadership,
they would quickly realize that we are a people whose
spirit cannot be broken by military occupation. A
people whose culture and traditions are deeper than
the roots of the olive tress that the Israel bulldozers
continue to uproot. If they could only see! If they
could only feel!
Before
we reached home last night it was announced by the
Israeli military that for the next two days Ramallah
would be placed under 24-hr military curfew, yet again.
It was as if the entire city was being collectively
punished for the act of displaying Palestinian culture.
Nevertheless, when the curfew is lifted we will send
our daughter Areen for her next weekly dance lesson,
for we have no time to waste in ending this occupation,
so disastrous for us all. Maybe the dance weapon will
succeed where everything else so far has failed.
Under
curfew, November 29, 2002
*
Sam Bahour is a Palestinian-American businessman
living in the besieged Palestinian City of Al-Bireh
in the West Bank and can be reached at sbahour@palnet.com.
He is co-author of HOMELAND: Oral Histories of
Palestine and Palestinians (1994). To be added
to his mailing list on Palestine, send an email
with the word ‘subscribe’ in the subject.
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