Ice Water Fell From the Sky

Or at least that's what my host brother, Ehab, says. It in fact rained and hailed and rained some more all the while an angry wind blew through Jordan like nothing I had ever seen before. It might even snow tomorrow.

My host-mother initiated the baking of a cake today. I say initiated because it really was a concerted effort on the part of the whole family to make this cake. Not because it was a particularly complex or labor-intensive recipe; it was just because people were there and cake baking was happening. Ehab prepared the eggs, to the point of fatigue from what it looked like; Samir added the flour and defrosted the orange juice; Nadia did most everything else. The result was a deliciously moist and delicately orange confection: an ingenious balance of sweetness.

After the cake was all finished Nadia asked Ehab and me if we wanted some. Ehab replied with "Shwie" (a little bit) and I with "nam" (yes). A few minutes later in comes Nadia with a modest-sized plate for Ehab with a piece of cake that no one would dare call small and then she presents me with a hungry-man sized plate with a slab of this citrusy delight that was easily 5 inches long and 2 inches tall. All I could say was "thanks" with a nervous smile. Of course, I could have refused about half the cake and returned it to my pan, but naturally, the fat kid who loves cake inside of me, convinced me to indulge. And I'm glad I did.

Today's class was led by a retired University of Jordan history professor who has written several books about Jordan's past, present, and future. The lecture he had prepared for us was seemingly only 20 mins long while the rest of the two hours he occupied was peppered with tangential commentaries on Israel, the West, and Palestine. I didn't find anything he said particularly disagreeable, but I think it would be difficult to describe his lecture as anything but biased.

But then again, how can one recount the history of Palestine, Israel, and the West with any semblance of "objectivity." Putting me usual skepticism of academic unbias aside, the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is one that is best summed up in the word "injustice." It is a multilayered story of exclusion and prejudice, precipitated by an anti-semitism against both Jew and Arab alike. Here I go on a tangent myself. I suppose its easy to be distracted by such a contentious issue. Probably more so if you have a familial, ethnic, or historical investment in it.

My homestay father constructed an interesting hierarchy of priorities in his life when recounting his gloss on the Palestinian question:

1. Home
2. Son
3. Daughter
4. Wife

Euro-centric cultural judgments aside, this taxonomy of priority illustrates the gravity of this situation for countless people. The Palestinian cause/question/dilemma/problem/etc. permeates all aspects of Jordanian life. It is infused into politics, economics, culture, and even every-day soap operatic life. Yes, it's true. In addition to the cornucopia of Turkish, Syrian, and Egyptian soap operas that defines night time television, there is a musal sal (soap opera) that is set in Palestine in 1948: an historical fiction that brings the Israeli occupation and Palestinian exodus to life in very new ways. My host family is enthralled and emphatically insisted that it is not fiction, but history. The characters may be fake, but the history it documents, is all-too real.

Sure kicks the crap out of General Hospital anyway. Sorry, mom.

P.S. The pic at the top is of an ancient Roman ruin. The sky looks dreary and ominous. The prequel to the torrential downpour that showered Amman the next day.