A Palestinian Christmas in 1987
The frost on the branch of fir Burhan holds gradually melts from his body temperature. Extracting the black seeds from its limbs, he holds onto them tightly and watches the flame of the fire dancing in the air. The heat warms him and his parents as they lay on the ground outside of their little home. They celebrate Christmas, a yearly ritual they look forward to every December. On Christmas Eve, they sleep outside to get closer to God. There is contentment here amongst this tiny little family, and it shines and glows into a warmth that envelops them. While snowflakes fall on Burhan's white headscarf, he closes his eyes.
As the flames slowly extinguish, Burhan enters a deep sleep where his dreams return to a memory of Christmas two years earlier: 1985, when he had stared blankly at the small flames rising above the fire pit.
“Burhan, come and see Ommi's achievements.” His mom proudly invited him to appreciate her work with a table of food back in the house.
He nodded and obediently sat in his designated position, pointing to the glass of water and asking, “Ommi, why do we have to drink this dark water every year?”
“Chetty little tyke, this is not some dark water. It is from me, ommi’s wish for you and your baba, every year. The black in the water is made from black grass seeds. They are a beautiful blessing from us Arabs to our people. Ommi just wants you to be happy every year.” Burhan’s mom smiled.
As the last snowflake drifted down on Burhan’s hand, a piece of newspaper flew onto his body.
***
AL AYYAM
A Pattern in The Conflict Between the Palestinians and Israelis
…On December 24, 1987, an Israeli truck collided with two other trucks carrying Palestinian workers, resulting in the death of two Palestinians…
***
At 4 PM on December 24 1987, Burhan plays ball with his friends. His happiness extends not only to the ball, but also to the excitement and anticipation of Christmas the following day.
At 5:30 PM, Burhan enters his house and goes to the kitchen to find his mom. What greets him there is emptiness, and the fear that results from it is palpable. Neither his mom nor his father can be found, and there is no note to guide him on their whereabouts. It is unlike them on Christmas Eve to simply leave without a trace.
Panic now rises from his toes, and he flees from his house into the freeze of winter. The air lingers with smoke as it permeates with the smell of hemp and gunpowder. Numerous people destroy the peace on the street, and as he surveys the violence and destruction in front of him, he thinks better of going any further. He decides to return home to remain safe himself while waits. With a heavy, worried heart, he sleeps on the bed that still holds his mother’s scent. And he worries.
When Burhan wakes in the afternoon, it is Christmas Day. He smells the odor of smoking and burning. Rat-tat-tat— Burhan climbs up nervously and walks to the front door, calling from behind it, too afraid to see who is standing there. “Who’s there?”
A voice with concern begins to speak back. “I work in the factory with your baba. I have come to tell you your parents are in the National hospital.”
Burhan rushes out of the door, his instincts pushing him to find his parents. He doesn’t even notice he isn’t wearing shoes, though the cold is threatening to cut him. The wind blows through his clothes. Along the way, a row of fir trees covered with white frost rings Christmas in his head. Thinking of every Christmas in the past, he picks up a small branch of fir and retrieves its black grass seeds. And then he races with time until he has entered their hospital room. They lay on sickbeds, breathing through ventilators.
Burhan stands dumbfounded beside them, tightly gripping his black grass seeds as a blessing. He takes his parents’ hands.
“Watch out!” Suddenly, there is a scream from somewhere in the hospital. Burhan has no time to react.
BOOM— the ceiling is tattered with thick dust and a tremendous fire lights up the whole hospital. While stones fall down around Burhan and his parents, he strives to move closer, to position himself over at least one of them for protection…
***
As the last snowflake melts on Burhan’s hand that holds the seeds, he eternally falls asleep with his parents in the debris of the hospital, on Christmas Day, 1987.
