The other side

Smells like a Jew

Man on a Tel Aviv street  (Mor Levy)

I'm in the car, and we're travelling along, Zahi, Karim and me, up to Yafa cafe. We've just been to a solidarity meeting with Arabs and Jews where they read poetry in Arabic and Hebrew, and people from the Jaffa community came. It started with a minute's silence for those who died in Gaza. Mohammad, who was leading, had to stop two or three times because he couldn't talk, because he cried.

Jews and Arabs stood in a line on the stage and held each other's hands. System Ali rapped their poetry without music, to mourn. 

And now we're going for something to eat in Yafa cafe.

What no car, Zahi? What happened to your car? Zahi always used to come by and pick me up in a little white car. I don't remember the make. He'd come by when he didn't need to, even, just to be nice. Like, if I could walk there, if it wasn't even far, he'd come by just to take care of me. But anyway, now we're in Karim's car, working out why Zahi doesn't have his.

'Did you write it off?' I ask, turning to Zahi in the back.

'No – it was stolen.' Karim answers for him. Zahi's slow off the mark, he must be tired.

'Stolen–'

'Yeah, stolen. By some Jews.'

What do you mean some Jews? I don't say this. Because I remember the other day, the first day I met Karim, in fact, when we were sitting down to a dinner at Yafa cafe. A dinner with music and oud, and everyone gets up to dance, like Michel the owner and a beautiful girl. And Zahi's asking me if I recognise that kind of dance, if I know what it means, and I say, Zahi, you know some things we have everywhere, and he's, oh you have Arabs in London? And I say, no Zahi – some things are universal. Like what? OK, do I have to spell it out? Some things are universal, like sex.

Karim's to my right at the table, and opposite there's this Jewish woman with very short hair. It's grey and short, and she's always smiling with crinkly bits around her eyes. I think she's the only Jewish woman there, apart from me. This woman asks if we'll light the Hanukah candles. Michel looks around, and there's a menorah, but candles are nowhere to be found.

'Never mind.' Karim leans into me. 'Let's burn some Jews.'

I'm like, what? I don't know what to say. I need some time. Let's burn some Jews. He has a merry twinkle, the kind of goatee you'd find in Shoreditch, and American hip-hop clothes. 

The conversation has moved on slightly. The Jewish woman's spooning up kubbe and smiling again. And I still don't know what to say. OK, now I do. 'I think you meant that as a joke,' I tell Karim, 'but I found it offensive.'

'Why? Are you Jewish?' he says.

'I am, but even if I wasn't, you know, I'd still say it's wrong.'

'But I think it's funny!' the Jewish woman says. 'Don't you see? The power imbalance. Between our two groups. It's funny because of that!'

OK. So you feel better if you get the shit ripped out of you. Somehow, that way, you pay.

Back in the car with Karim, and he's still on his Jewish trip. I'm kind of tired. 'Listen,' I tell him, 'don't do that. You know it feels bad.'

'Jews – yeah, Jews are everywhere. They stole his car.'

I turn my face away. We're still driving, up Yehuda Hayamit. 'Enough,' Zahi says, but he's laughing and it's not enough, yet, for Karim.

'There's a Jew in the car! I can smell a Jew.' He's staring hard ahead. 'Smells like a Jew in the car.'

I slam out as soon as we arrive. Karim follows me and we're both pacing up the hill. We go into the restaurant and sit down – there are five of us at the table. Four men, and me.

'You're not still mad at him, are you?' Zahi asks.

'Why? What happened? What did he say?' Abed wants to know.

So I'm sitting here at this table with these guys in the restaurant where they always go, and I have to say it. 'We were driving in Karim's car, and he told me ... he said ... Smells like a Jew.'

The whole table bursts out laughing. Abed's laughing. Zahi's laughing, Mustafa's laughing. Karim looks around, then bursts out laughing too. I'm just sitting there and I really wish to be swallowed up by the ground. Instead, I push back my chair, and I go to the bathroom and all of it, Gaza, Jericho, East Jerusalem, the death and the killing, all of this hate, swells out of me, and I cry.

'You see a different world'

Jaffa Photography Project student Sama Shakra has just been to London for a week to promote our work and speak to the Jewish and Muslim communities about her life as a Palestinian citizen of Israel. We had an amazing time - the highlights were Sama's visit to a synagogue to speak about photography and Israel from 'the other side'; getting know the Afro-Caribbean and Muslim communities in Brixton; talking to the Jewish community, with Israeli peace activist Lydia Aisenberg, at an event organised by Psychosemitic's Daniel Silverstein; interviews for Islam Online, Radio Salaam Shalom and the Guardian; and a party at the house of our funder Andy Hart, at which Sama read her poetry and met English PEN World Atlas. 

You can listen to Sama talking about our work and her trip to London here, and read English PEN World Atlas on our work here. We'll update with links to the Islam Online, Radio Salaam Shalom and Guardian interviews once they're up.

What I learnt today - letters from Year 8 after Sama's talk at Alyth Gardens Synagogue

'I learnt that there are different sides to people, and that things are not always what they seem. You could look at something your whole life and not notice something until you look at it in a different way. I learnt about a different way of living, where you cannot speak out about your beliefs.'  (Megan)

'I completely understood what Sama was saying. I sympathised with the point she was getting across as when I am being told in what great danger the people of Israel are, and what great tragedies they have been put through by the Palestinians. I never thought about the same topic from the other perspective. The Palestinians have been put through as much tragedy because of the Israelis. I have learnt that when I am being told an opinion, to always take into account the other side of the story.'  (Ben)

'Today we learnt that photos can show people or places in a different way, and that being a Palestinian Israeli in an Israeli school it is very hard to show your views.'   (Louis)

'I have learned to look at things in a different way. Although the Israelis may look like the people being attacked, for the Palestinians it is the other way round. For Palestinians living in Israel, it is very hard to show their feelings and opinions. They may feel very differently towards the army and wars, but can't tell anyone.'  (Sally)

'Today I have learnt to look at things differently through photography and pictures. Palestinians see political and religious views differently to Israelis. For Palestinians it is very hard to share their views and opinions.'  (Phoebe)

'When you take a picture, you can see things in a completely different way. You see a different world.'  (Sophia)

Jaffa project in London

We have just opened a little exhibition of work from the Jaffa Photography Project at Rosie's café in Brixton. Come down and have a coffee if you're local. Email me for details.

Following the home

Rimi Garbua receives a flower from Yael at our exhibition opening in Jaffa, Sunday. You can see more of Rimi's work here, and text and image from the exhibition here.

If you would like to help us continue the Jaffa Photography Project, click on the 'donate' button, right.

There is an article on the Guardian website about the exhibition here by Seth Freedman.

Living proof that love exists

Our exhibition, Following the home, opens Sunday (tomorrow) at New Horizon centre, 59 Kedem St, Jaffa. On show is the work of six girls from the Jaffa Photography Project - Jamilah, Sama, Jiana, Mor, Walaa and Rimi  - photography developed over a series of workshops exploring 'home', 'community' and 'the other'. Please come, and bring your friends, to see this moving, exciting work - image and text from girls in Jaffa, who have not been heard before.

Here is some of the work on show:

Friday night  (Sama Shakra)

'On Friday night everyone in the family comes to my house to relax and eat. In this picture you see my mum, my older brother Ibrahim and his wife Wardeh, which means ‘rose’, and their daughter Aida, named after my mother.

'On the left is my aunt Nawal and her husband Ahmed. Nawal is a healer through the Qur'an. A lot of people from Jaffa come to her and ask her to read for them. If you have stomach ache, feel anxious or suffer from the evil eye. When you hear her read from the Qur'an you feel really good. She feels what you feel. Once she read to me – and knew everything I felt. I was hot and she became red.

'I love it when Nawal comes to my home. You feel as if an angel came through the door. I have never seen a woman with so much strength apart from my mother. Nawal and Ahmed are living proof that love exists and lasts for years.'

My father  (Jiana Ashkar)

'This is a happy picture. It is important to my father that the family should be happy and smile. He says, 'if you smile the world smiles back at you, if you don't smile, the world steps away'. I agree.'

Washing  (Rimi Garbua)

‘This is beautiful because you can see here washing and it reminds me of home and family. You see colours and the blue sky but next to that you see the barbed wire that is closed and is trying to save the children and the family from the bad environment. It’s a shield for them and it stops people coming in, but it’s bad that we need such a shield.’

Amir by the window (Rimi Garbua)

‘In this picture we don’t see my brother’s face because of the light, which is behind him. It’s black and white but beyond that you see colours, and after that you see Jaffa. The child is kept safely in his warm house but beyond him, open the door and you see all the garbage, cigarettes, drugs and poor families.

‘Black is normally bad. Maybe this house is a place where the child is locked and must stay inside. Maybe the home is not a good place for him.’

Your way  (Mor Levy)

‘This woman is a survivor because she did it her way - she made her choices. You can see in her eyes that she's a happy person - she is not wearing a mask. She told us that she could see the future. One day she woke up and a voice in her head told her not to drive. She ignored it and then had an accident. After that she decided not to ignore the voice inside - and to help other people do the same.’

Lina sleeping  (Jamilah Siksik)

‘I love this picture because Lina looks like an angel when she's asleep. I took this picture because she is beautiful and you can see the intimacy of home and she is calm. But outside there is a whole war - many problems, chaos. When I look at this picture I feel I can resolve all the problems outside.’

Following the home is open for one month, from May 4

To support our work, click on the 'donate' button, right.

Free speech

This image is by Jamilah Siksik, one of the Palestinian participants in the Jaffa Photography Project. She has called it Free speech.

Yael and I went to a demonstration outside the Etzel Museum, where a celebration was taking place for the 60th anniversary of the 'liberation of Jaffa', and we took Jamilah. It was the first time she ever did anything like this. We took her with the camera, and she photographed the demonstration - she's only 14 years old.

The photograph shows a man who has just been arrested by the police, because he ran to the crowd and shouted 'why should the Palestinians pay for the Holocaust?'. Police immediately dragged him away. Jamilah said this: 'I think that everyone has the right to oppose and say what he thinks especially if it's a demonstration. This man only said what he thought and the police took him.'

She tells us nothing

I worked with Rimi. Here are her pictures, and the story she told:

'I feel at home everywhere but my home. My house is very noisy – I have three brothers always yelling. I like to come to the beach to sit and feel the wind. I am so free here. I come by myself to get away from the confusion at home.

'My mother is Jewish, my father Arab. My mother’s family didn’t like it. Her brothers don’t like it. She was pregnant and her brothers tried to make her have an abortion. Her family didn’t go to the wedding. Now that my father has died, my mother’s family they want to reconnect. But I don’t feel they are my family now.

'In Jaffa there is trash everywhere. Drugs and violence. A lot of people I know don’t like to be at home. They steal and do drugs. My father was like that. He had 14 brothers and sisters. When my father died, at the funeral all these people came up to me who I didn’t know and started to hug and kiss me, and my mother was upstairs crying and pregnant with twins.

'I made this drawing for my mother, after my father died.

'This is my father when he was young, before he met my mother. He is the one on the left. They met on the beach in Jaffa. He tried to stop another man taking my mother's photograph – a stranger walking past.

'And this is me with him when I was a baby. My father was an amazing man, I loved him so much. He saw if I was sad and made things better.

'He smoked all the time. He was in and out of jail. Had he been Jewish this would not have happened. If you’re Arabic then you are a criminal, something has to be wrong – that’s what most of the people think. My father was always in and out of prison for selling drugs, but if a Jewish person did the same they wouldn’t go to prison. Police come to catch Arabic people.

'My father's family think I'm Arab and my mother's family say I'm Jewish. It's confusing. It's a problem. When I get married, if it is to an Arab there will be another fight with my mother's family. And the army – the first thing they check is if you're Jewish or not. I want to do the army – I need the experience for my job – but my father's family don't want me to.

'My brother hates the Arabs. He's scared because when he was a child he saw Arabs throwing rocks on cars and all that.

'My father had so many friends – not just in Jaffa. Until now they come to the house and ask for him, some of them who don't know he died. It's really sad. Me and my father were all the time together.

'My mother's family is from Iraq. She tells us nothing about her life. There is just this one picture from her past.'

Crossed out

I am in Jaffa, working with the girls on their photography project, towards an exhibition at the end of the month. This image is by Jamileh Siksik. Taken for our 'Home' workshop, it shows graffiti on Yefet St, which runs through Jaffa's heart - graffiti one sees everywhere in Tel Aviv, but less here. It says Am Yisrael chai - People of Israel, live.

'I took this picture because the words have been crossed out,' Jamileh said. 'This used to be the home of the Arabs, but the Jews came and took it from us. I am upset when I see this graffiti.'

Life must go on

Lisa Goldman at On the Face brings to our attention an inspiring blog,
Life must go on in Gaza and Sderot, written by two friends, one Palestinian one Israeli, who met 18 months ago when Gazans could still enter Israel. Read it for real voices, beyond rhetoric, of those who live this conflict:

‘ First Post – 20 January, 2008

‘Today has been quiet so far. Only one siren went off. I heard one faint rocket fall in a far distance and another somewhat closer. Not too close. I was glad that all my kids were already in school and not anywhere near the falling rockets.

‘The past week was very difficult. Probably close to 200 rockets with several people wounded. A couple rockets fell in a range of 40-60 meters from our home. One fell without any preparation (siren) and caught me in the shower.

‘This morning I called my friend "Peace man" from Gaza. He told me that things have been quiet today. Israel has cut all fuel and goods supply to Gaza. This means that they have electricity only an hour or so a day. He fears that the electricity will shut down completely. I asked about food. He told me that prices have gone up even more due to the lack of goods.

‘In the past week Israel has been using more force than in the past few months. This has brought about a new chain of violence with many Palestinians killed. About half of them unarmed civilians. As a result the Hamas which has stopped firing rockets to Israel for several months has once again started shelling Sderot.

‘We decided to start this Blog to bring to people's awareness the true nature of what 2 peace seeking people on both sides of this insane situation are feeling, thinking and going through.

‘We will both try to write here on as often as possible. I hope Peace man will have electricity to write.’

A stranger in my own city

Sama and I went for a walk around Jaffa. She had the camera. Here are the pictures that she took, and the words that she said:

‘This is my mother. Her name is Aida, like the opera. Mum grew up in one house in Ajami (my grandfather lives there now and I have no connection with him). Grandfather used to work in the French embassy and spend summer inside with all the children when the ambassador was away.

‘Mum was born in 1957. The family lived in a big beautiful house in Jaffa – in '48 the Jewish army broke into the house at night and the family ran away with only their clothes – to a house nearby that was destroyed. This is where my grandfather lives in now.

‘I don’t know exactly where the old home is. I asked my mother and she told me the area, but not the house.

‘My grandfather was a tough man – violent. My grandmother was the best mother – everybody in the street loved her. What a good woman she was. She died of brain cancer at 60 and my mother fell apart.

‘This is the house my parents lived in after they married. They lived on the ground floor and my aunt lived upstairs.

‘Just this year, I discovered Jaffa again. I didn’t know about a lot of places. When my brothers lived in my house, they didn’t let me go out very much. It’s like I grew up under the shadow of my brothers. Because I was their sister. Everyone knew them. They are very strong and have a lot of friends.

‘I have known the girl in the centre of this picture since she was a baby – she is the sister of someone who used to be my best friend.

‘This man works at Humus Asli. I don’t want to stop here with him for too long because people will start to talk. It’s always like that in Jaffa. I don’t feel comfortable walking in the street because I don’t feel at home here – not to the place but to the people.

‘Have you heard about the ‘city behind bars’ – Andromeda? It’s a new apartment complex that is completely closed behind gates. You can only go inside if you live there. It’s in Jaffa. They build something that doesn’t relate to Jaffa and they put a wall …

‘… Arabs build these places. It’s so cold this metal, so easy to break but no one does it – they are afraid. Why would anyone want to live like this when they are so unwelcome here? They are taking our city. It is against our will. The people here know that they have so much strength but they are scared: did you hear that quote, our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure? It’s from the film Coach Carter… it is our light, not our darkness, that we fear the most.

‘Look at this mural – it’s painted like a children’s book. It’s like Jaffa now – people are killing each other with their guns.

‘Can you believe this is Jaffa? All the construction… It looks just like the Palestinian part of Jerusalem – the villages.

‘I like to see this, it’s like old times. 

 

‘This boat is call Najach – which means ‘success’ in Arabic. It’s ironic, because the boat is lying on a wasteland. And the wasteland is like a sea – the division between the old and the new. Look at the – what do you call that? The mast. It demonstrates pride.

‘The Arab men look at the outside more than the inside. They don’t care if the girl is evil or has the same interests. Most girls here are just a beautiful picture next to the man: what she desires or thinks or wants is not important. They are stuck in this way of thinking… like this girl leaning out of the window. She said she used to play football. She’s only 16 – and I asked her, ‘why used to?’ And she said ‘well, I’m engaged now’, so I said, ‘just because you’re engaged, everything stops?’ And she shrugged and said ‘yes’.

‘I feel like a stranger in my own city – the Arabs think I’m Jewish. It’s funny because the people who accept me as I am are Jews - like I go around Jaffa and they say I’m Jewish because I don’t walk in that arrogant way the other Arabic girls do.

‘But my mother taught me to be this natural. I want to be loved for who I am.’