How Palestinian can I be in Israel?

How Palestinian can I be in Israel?

By: Anonymous Author

It’s a cold winter day in Jerusalem. After doing my morning routine, I dress up and go to the closet’s bottom shelf to get a scarf to keep me warm. I bend towards the shelf and reach for my Palestinian scarf, my 7atta Filistiniye. I stop mid-way. The coffee is just now bringing the sense back to my head. I remember something I realized a long time ago: I cannot wear my 7atta Filistiniye in public in Israel. I choose a colorful scarf instead, one that my mom bought me from Fox a long time ago, and out the door, I go.

I wait for bus 34 to take me to work. As I’m standing in the bus station, legs shivering from the cold, I feel my phone ringing in my pocket. I take it out and see it’s my dad. The bus sign says 34 will arrive in 1 minute. If I pick up the phone now, I will have to take the conversation into the bus. I will have to speak Arabic on the bus. I wait for the ringing to stop, and the bus arrives. After I pay for the trip at the ticket machine, I take my phone out to write a message to my dad. I cannot talk right now. He doesn’t need to know why. As I’m about to start typing the message in Arabic, I turn the brightness down, and put the phone at an angle, hoping nobody will see; hoping no Israeli will see. While writing, I turn my head around to check if anyone’s watching, like a paranoid little boy who saw a man with a grumpy face and an ugly beard staring at him. Nobody is looking, but what if they look as soon as I turn my head back into the phone?

At the office, I’m waiting for my coffee to get ready. My Jewish co-worker asks me how my weekend was. I’m still anxious from the rejected phone call on the way here, so I don’t feel comfortable sharing my stories. How can I explain to her that the weekend left me with a bitter feeling after I got stopped and searched on Friday? Will she really be able to understand what I felt when I had to drop my eyes to the ground as I passed by three soldiers? Will she be able to empathize when she hears that they stopped me, not because I looked suspicious, but because they probably had orders from their superiors to try to stop as many Palestinian young men around Damascus Gate, Bab El 3amoud, simply to intimidate them? Instead, I tell her I had a relaxed weekend and ask how her kids are.

After work, I meet with my friend Musa and we go for a beer. We pass through the city center of Jerusalem. Musa is telling me about a fascinating film that he watched recently, Waking Life. We soon approach a group of young Israeli men, and all of a sudden Musa stops his story. We pass by them, and only after a few steps he continues the story. That beer tasted weird.

I went to sleep early that night. The next morning, I feel the same striking low temperature that I felt yesterday. I dress up and go to the bottom shelf of the closet. I reach out directly to the colorful scarf. I guess I’ll wear my 7atta Filistiniye when I travel to Scotland next month.