Barefoot girl walking on snow
Palestine, Essay, 1/17/1998

The kids remained awake until after midnight though they knew they had to wake up early the next morning to go to school. But the fact that snow was falling sporadically that night had boosted hopes that they wouldn't have to report to school the following day.

In a country like Palestine where snow does not fall that heavily or that frequently, normal life is disrupted when it does. Not necessarily because of transportation problems, but because people consider that a holiday, a vacation, a precious chance to enjoy playing with snow.

I still remember back when I was in Europe. One of those cold days I woke up to find that a small layer of snow had covered the streets and houses. "That is great," I said to myself and went back to sleep. I woke up two hours later as the phone rang and my superior where I worked asked: "Where on earth have you been. Why haven't you come to work?" Innocently, maybe even naively, I said: "Well. Can't you see? It is snowing. Back in Palestine we rarely go to work or leave our houses if it snows, at least not on the first day." He was furious and hung up the phone. When I walked into the office later in the day he said to me: "Can you imagine what happens if a nation goes to bed only because it is snowing? There are many countries that would certainly starve if they do like you Palestinians."

He was right. But I felt I was right too. I think in a country where snow is not that usual, people find it somehow justifiable not to do anything on that day other than enjoy this grace of nature. Last week, when a snow storm hit Jerusalem for the first time perhaps in five years, I had to live up to my promises to my four year old boy. I do not know whether it is the famous "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" video tape that he is fond of or the scenes of "Old Santa" and his sleigh on snow that makes him so obsessed with snow. What I know is that even on the hottest days of summer, he would ask a question like, "When will we have snow in Jerusalem?"

And when snow finally fell on Jerusalem, a heavenly gift seemed to have descended on him. Along with our neighbors' children, he spent most of the morning hours playing with snow and building the legendary snowman. They did not forget to use a carrot for his nose, two black olives for the eyes, a cucumber for the mouth and six little tomatoes for the buttons of his jacket. Lunch was ready and it was our opportunity to call the kids back home. They had already changed their clothes and shoes three times. We felt we could never stand up to the new challenge of preparing warm and dry clothes for them at top of every hour.

Luckily, there was a special news program on television showing other areas of Palestine covered with snow. My son took his place opposite the television set and suddenly yelled: "Dad. Come and see this little girl. How come she walks bare-footed on snow?" I rushed to the room to take a glimpse of that girl he spoke about. No more than five years old, she was walking through the narrow alleyway of Jalazoun refugee camp near Ramallah. She was weeping and pointing with her finger towards her father, who at the same moment, was busy trying to snap a couple of shots with his camera.

I could not find an explanation at that moment, at least not simple enough for my child to understand. How come she walks barefoot and can't she get cold was a question I had no answer to. But I explained to him that in poor areas where a family has a very limited income, a father cannot afford to buy even basic clothing for his children. "Can't Old Santa bring them what they need? At school they always tell us he does such nice things," he said.

"Of course," I replied, "Old Santa can bring them whatever they need but I do not know if they sent him their address!"

I left my son to his television set and retired to an armchair next to the window, watching remains of snow, after mankind had ruined the nice white cloth Jerusalem put on early in the morning. I could not get that image of the little girl out of my head. I was not surprised at all. I remember those kids walking barefoot in summer when the ground is too hot to tolerate. Life's hardships have taught them to be tough and strong. That is why those children could walk barefoot on hot earth as same as on snow.

With a second thought, I felt the girl was weeping because she wanted the camera for herself, and not because her feet were freezing. Only this girl, when she grows up, can explain why was she crying at that very moment. Until then, I guess, I have to stick to my own explanation.

The distance between warm and cold, I felt, was the distance between poverty and wealth. And when Palestinian refugees, like the little girl, are involved, the distance becomes a separator between war and peace, between occupation and freedom. So close to each other, yet so far apart.

Previous Stories:
  Independence Day in Lebanon   (11/21/1997)
  Time is gold   (11/14/1997)
  Our unique city   (11/7/1997)

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