Excerpt of I Shall Not Hate by Izzeldin Abuelaish
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I chose that date, December 12, to bring them there because
it followed hajj, one of the holiest days in the Islamic calendar;
it was a time to reflect, to pray, to gather the family together.
Hajj is the pilgrimage to Mecca that takes place between the
seventh and twelfth days of the month of Dhu al-Hijjah in
the Islamic calendar. This is the largest annual pilgrimage in the
world; every able-bodied Muslim is required to make the trip
at least once in his or her lifetime. Whether you go to Mecca or
not, Waqfat Arafat is the Islamic observance day during hajj in
which pilgrims pray for forgiveness and mercy. It's the first of the
three days of Eid al-Adha that mark the end of hajj. In Mecca,
pilgrims stay awake all night to pray on the hill of Arafat, the
site where the prophet Muhammad delivered his last sermon.
For the millions of Muslims, my family included, who do not
go to Mecca each year, bowing to the Alkebla in the east, falling
to your knees, and praying the prayers of the believer is sufficient. On the second day we mark the Feast of Sacrifice: the
most important feast of Islam. It recalls Abraham's willingness
to sacrifice his son in obedience to God and commemorates
God's forgiveness. Everyone observes the day by wearing their
finest clothing and going to the mosque for Eid prayers. Those
who can afford to do so sacrifice their best domestic animals,
such as a sheep or a cow, as a symbol of Abraham's sacrifice. We
observed the prayer day in Jabalia Camp with our relatives and
went to the cemetery at the camp to pray for Nadia. I'd bought a
sheep and had it sacrificed, donated two thirds of the animal to
the poor and needy, as is the custom, and had some of the rest of
the animal made into kebabs for a barbecue at the beach to mark
the final day of Eid.
We got up early the next morning, made sandwiches, and
packed a picnic, and at seven AM. we all climbed into my 1986
Subaru and set out.
Before we got to the beach, I had another treat for my children.
In early December I'd bought a small olive grove, maybe
a quarter of an acre in size and less than a third of a mile from
the beach. It was like a little piece of Shangri-la, separated from
the turmoil by a ten-foot-high fence, a place where we could
be together, a place where maybe we could build a little house
one day. I had kept it a secret until I could show them. As they
tumbled out of the car, the kids were surprised and delighted
with this unlikely piece of utopia on the outskirts of Gaza, with
its olive trees, grapevines, fig and apricot trees. They explored
every corner, marveled at the tidy rows of trees, and happily
chased each other through the undergrowth until I reminded
them that there was work to be done. We all dug into the
task of tidying up this place, which was a little neglected and
needed weeding. Even though they had known nothing but the
crowded confines of the Gaza Strip for most of their lives, my
children, the descendants of generations of farmers, seemed at
home here.
After we had done enough work, we retreated to a small area
of the grove bordered by a line of cinder blocks and shaded by
an arbor of grapevines. We spread mats and made a small fire
from the twigs and brush we had cleared from the olive trees,
and sat in the shade of the vines eating our falafel sandwiches
and talking about the events of our family life - the loss of my
wife, their mother; a change so enormous we were still, three
months later, reeling with grief while trying to come to terms
with it.
I also needed to talk to them about another significant
surprise. Recently I'd been offered a chance to work at the
University of Toronto in Canada. Except for a brief stay in
Saudi Arabia, where Bessan and Dalal were born, the family
had never lived anywhere but Gaza. Moving to Toronto would
be a monumental change, maybe even too overwhelming so
soon after their mother died.
Excerpted from I Shall Not Hate
by Izzeldin Abuelaish. Copyright © 2011 by Izzeldin Abuelaish.
Excerpted by permission of Walker & Company. All rights
reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted
without permission in writing from the publisher.
