Horah

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

THIS is painful to write. I had good relationship with the Israeli Embassy, and was sent on a scholarship to Israel. Immediately after, I was elected as President of the Shalom Club Philippines, the alumni organization of Filipinos who were recipients of various scholarships sponsored by the MASHAV, Israel’s Agency for International Development Cooperation. After I served as President for many years, I moved on to organize four NGOs, focusing on women and the environment, and later on, served as an official of the Philippine government pursuing the same advocacies. These advocacies continue to animate my life today.

At the Afro-Asian Institute for Labour Studies and Cooperation (Tel Aviv) and the Ruppin Institute of Agriculture (Netanya), I attended a course designed for students to assume positions of leadership in the labour movements focusing on the theoretical and practical courses in the organization and functioning of trade unions and cooperative enterprises. While in Israel, we held classes overhearing sounds of fire fight and bombs at a distance which disturbed the students, but later on, became normal to hear. Our professors told us, it is normal, it is far away. So because we were assured there is no way for the bombings to reach Tel Aviv, we focused on our studies. We proceeded with our normal campus life, in between the whistling of the fire fight and as the leaves rustled in the breeze, and as the red swallows swooped and danced around the huge ficus trees.

I enjoyed the people of Israel. They were warm, innovative, they were charming. There was one art student of the Hebrew University that I went out with after classes, to explore the corners of the city. He made me feel the stones which he claimed had lives of their own, we watched the moon among the silhouette of trees, we danced with the inundation of the waves. On Saturday afternoons, after classes, he would play the harmonica from the street, below my window on the second floor, shouting, “Virginia, listen!”, and once I open the window, he flashes this shy smile, and picking up the bunch of gladiolas and a basket of grapes, he would proceed to the Director’s office to ask permission to take me out for dinner on Shabbat with his family. Days before I was to return to the Philippines, he brought me to a party with his friends, on top of a building, for a dance under the stars. It is the first, and the last time, I was whirled around with my feet literally in the air for several minutes, as I held on to his neck, afraid to let go, thinking at any moment, I will fly down to the street, and be flown back to the Philippines as a corpse.

We were young, so many things were ahead of us. The world was waiting for us to fly. I left Israel with joy, despite the pain of goodbyes.

And this is precisely why it is painful to write this article. I have fond memories of Israel. I remember the charming people of Israel, i remember the “heart” of Israel.

However, recent developments in the Israel-Palestine conflict made me realize, that the “heart” has been missing for long. I now see the blood of children on the streets, young people purposely left to die. I have seen so many mangled bodies, so many deformed faces of little children, and they dance, in my dreams at night, with their bloodied faces. This was not the dance I danced days before I left Israel, but I recognize the same dance that evoked fear, the primal fear of ending as a corpse, stripped of the decency to die. It is a dance that makes me shiver.

Yesterday, I watched a young Palestinian boy bleed to death, as the crowd shouted curses and formed into a circle, a joyful horah, transforming itself into a dance macabre. The Israeli policeman pushed the boy back with his feet, every time he attempted to get up. He was the son of a whore, not even of a lesser God, according to them. I was stunned. It was barbaric. It is as if, those milling around the collapsed body wanted to send a message to the whole world, a death warning from the “chosen people” of God. It is as if God has left his chosen people no choice, but to slaughter innocent children, on the way to the Promised Land.

 

HORAH

a circle in spring

dancing to the fragrance

and the freshness of blood

 

STRAY BULLET

a shot in the air

breaking open a child’s heart

another child is born

 

HUSH

not a single word

the right to remain silent,

over a child’s corpse

 

SONG OF LAZARUS

songs are cruel

they raise the dead

they condemn the living

to photographs

and crimson memories

Note: The Horah is an Israeli circle dance traditionally danced at Jewish weddings, festivals and other joyous occasions in the Jewish community. The hora dance originated from the Balkans.

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