Jihad, or, Speak Truth to Power
So the Paula of the Middle East, except 70 years old, is hosting me in Ramallah, the West Bank, and we were drinking local chardonnay and laughing when she said things like "don't worry about the money, I'm obscenely rich", and "Oh. . .why no, I haven't been in Iraq since the Revolution of 1958", and "in his fatigues, Sayeed looked like a god. You should have seen King Hussein's reaction after he ran off with his second wife..," and we are laughing here while bombs level the ground 50 kilometers away from us, and we hear the warplanes hiss.
We look to each other, and I think our eyes say what our fists cannot. All I can think of is the Fear of God now. Maybe if we could go to Bil'in just one more time and get beaten in the Olive grove, we could satisfy the soldiers and they wouldn't need their bombs. They say they shoot and they weep, but I never see their faces long enough to check.
We look to each other, and I think our eyes say what our fists cannot. All I can think of is the Fear of God now. Maybe if we could go to Bil'in just one more time and get beaten in the Olive grove, we could satisfy the soldiers and they wouldn't need their bombs. They say they shoot and they weep, but I never see their faces long enough to check.