It's the middle of the night in the old city of Jaffa,
the Arab part of Tel Aviv.
Inside the club, the DJ night rhythm.
On the terrace, we toast with a hundred others,
we nibble shrimp on skewers
enjoying the view at night on the coast.
Between sips of champagne, I asked him why
his girlfriend is not there.
He told me that it's over. After three years
to resist against the family, that's it's over.
She is Jewish. It is Arab, Palestinian, Christian.
He told me I could be a Christian American French, from anywhere,
everything would have been different,
it's not even about religion, I'm just
Palestinian, I am the enemy.
Ironically he now lives in a 'Jewish settlement'
with his mother in Jerusalem
one occasion, it was cheap, they had little choice.
They do not put their name on the mailbox.
They live there, two minutes from their old home,
invisible now behind the wall.
He showed me when we went together to Ramallah
there, there was an intersection, and my house was on the corner.
We had to ensure there was a jar, we could not stay.
It is almost resigned. He told me I try to meet other girls, but it is
luck?
My Hebrew is perfect, nobody can know
I am not Israeli
but this does not change my name. Upon
hear, they know that's impossible.
And in Israel, there are 1, 6% of Arab Christians.
How about that number are girls my age
that I am likely to meet and love? Unfortunately I do not
much to answer that.
Another friend joins us, the conversation stops:
this scenario was his three years earlier, it made him bitter.
It's better not rekindle the ashes. We
crush cigarettes and empty our glasses
to join the dance.
Beyond Gaza and the stories embedded
fleets in many and various interpretations, there are other lives
nipped in the bud
whose testimony did not make the headlines.
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