Interview about Haifa Fragments with Susan Hawthorne of Spinifex Press

why I decided to vote for the Joint List

To vote or not to vote. That is not the question.

The Joint List has at first thrown me into confusion. I’ve always perceived voting as a personal responsibility as a citizen. But for the first time in my life, I had my doubts. I was confused. How can I vote for a list that has Islamists and nationalists and polygamists in it? So I decided I would not vote. But as the days passed, I realized that more than a responsibility, voting is my right. And it is a hard-earned right that women before me struggled for on my behalf. How can I not vote?
I started watching Ayman Odeh speak on TV. I read his statuses. Ayman, the shy kid who was my classmate in elementary school and then in high-school. Slowly, I began changing my mind. 

There is something I can’t quite put my finger on about Ayman. His discourse is at once fresh and nostalgic. He remains calm in every situation. He represents a new kind of leadership. Change. Something new.

I am voting for the Joint List because I’m sick of the old. With all its challenges and problematic aspects, I think it’s time to embrace change and uncertainty, because the old ways surely didn’t get us anywhere. So I am giving a chance, in the hopes that it will lead to change. Sometimes, we have to stride forward, change direction, and embrace uncertainty.

The process of writing

Every writer has to deal with what we have come to call the "writer's block". I don't call it a writer's block. For me, it is a process. I just read a discussion on Goodreads about writer's block and how writers deal with it. It has some useful tips, and people are sharing their ideas of how they face this challenge. I also joined the discussion, and am sharing here with you some of the ways I found to work out for me when the characters of my novel are stubbornly refusing to move forward. I'll update this post once in a while as I come across new ideas. You're welcome to check out the tips on Goodreads and join the discussion there.

1. I go for a run. It helps me clear my mind, and just when I'm not thinking about my manuscript, the thoughts come on their own. Usually a new perspective is revealed to me.
2. I try to end each writing session in a middle of a scene or in a place where I have an idea where to pick up from the next time. Then, the next time, I can pick it up from there rather than having to face a completely blank page.
3. I pick a good novel and read, notebook and pencil close to me. I get lost in a different world, and forget about my characters. It's similar to when I run. Just when you've completely forgotten about it, the ideas come on their own.
4. I write about my writing process in my journal. I put in writing what I think isn't working and why. Then I try to come up with solutions. Putting my thoughts down on paper helps me sort through them and process the challenges.
5. I don't write chronologically. I can leave a scene that isn't working and go on to write another scene, and come back to the earlier scene at a later stage. I don't believe in linear writing at all. With my first novel, I had the end scene written quite early on. It's more challenging this way, because you have to keep track of the narrative as well as character development, but you can have a lot of fun with it this way.
6. Taking time off from writing gives me a wider perspective. The story needs its own time, and I appreciate the process and time needed. 

- khulud

untitled - 2015

Three times
She has seen Death in her mother’s eyes.
The first – unexpected.
The other two times – invited.
Three times
She has heard Agony in her father’s voice.
The first time – raw fear.
The other two times – well, it doesn’t get any easier.
And she cannot afford to collapse.
Must be strong – ambulance bill, arrange shifts at hospital bed, talk to doctors, nurses, psychiatrist, social worker. Be nice, smile. Check on father, check on daughter, make sure they’re alright. Go home, sleep, charge phone, back to hospital. Be nice, smile. Must not collapse. Be strong. Be nice, smile.
(c) khulud, 2015

Haifa Fragments

I'm excited to share with you that you can now pre-order my novel, Haifa Fragments, from the website of my publisher, Spinifex Press.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the friends that have supported me throughout the writing and editing process. My parents and daughter for putting up with me.

Special thanks of course to Susan Hawthorne, director of Spinifex Press, for giving me this invaluable opportunity to publish my work. And of course, Bernadette Green, my editor, who was simultaneously professional and gentle with my text.

I feel thankful for having completed this journey. Although it was tougher than I imagined at times, I cherish each moment of it.

I hope you enjoy reading the novel.

- khulud

25 November - International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women

Today, 25 November, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, I will participate in a panel organized by the Coalition of Women for Peace for Diplomats and International Partners in Israel. The panel is under the title: "Protective Edge. Attack on Gaza: Women's Insecurity and Anti-War Efforts."

I have not prepared anything in particular for this panel, as I will share my very own personal experience during the last summer. 

* The personal insecurity

* The fear to speak in my language

* The violent attacks on us after a peaceful demonstration

* Our attempts at making our voices heard, and finding an alternative to demonstrations through photography sessions , documentation, and poetry.

The below paragraphs were published by WorldPulse along with a short presentation of the photo album "War is Not My Language" in their Magazine.

In July 2014, Israel launched its military attack on Gaza, called Operation Protective Edge. The whole atmosphere inside Israel preceding and during this military attack was explosive in terms of Jewish-Arab relations. Anyone who dared raise a voice against the war or against the killing of civilians, or anyone who called for immediate cease-fire, was seen as a traitor and was attacked (sometimes verbally, sometimes physically).

We, a community of feminist activists from Haifa, Jewish and Palestinian women citizens of Israel, felt helpless. The public sphere was occupied by those advocating for the military action, and our voices against the war and against killing were silenced, often with violent means. We were physically attacked during demonstrations, Palestinian women feared speaking in Arabic in public spaces, and our spheres of action were rapidly shrinking. Thus, we convened an emergency meeting at the Haifa Women's Coalition House, and discussed our options. We took these photos in a safe space and shared them on social media—one of the only ways we had left to express our objection to the war and the killing, and to make our voices heard.

khulud khamis, 2014

The woman in the frame - fragment from "Taboos in Arabic"

Bisan was waiting. Breathing, trying to be patient. But nothing happened. Well, everything happened, but nothing of any significance to be worth a click of the Leica. She was leaning against a stone wall in Wadi Nisnas, at the edge of the souk. She’s been here the day before with her Canon 60D digital camera, and shot more than 200 frames. Today, she was here with film – only 36 possibilities. After about half an hour, she gave in and put the camera to her eye. She stood there like this for a minute, a statue. Didn’t move the camera, just waited for the people to walk into the frame. And they did. Over the next hour, she shot 35 frames. She wasn’t being too picky, nor was she focused as she worked. Her mind kept wandering back to Muna’s touch.

She was impatient about seeing the results, but had no other option but to wait until tomorrow to develop the film. The last photograph has to be different. She studied her surroundings. All 35 frames were taken with the souk in the background, people either on their way shopping with just a purse, or of people coming back from shopping, with plastic bags. Taher told her to pick one spot and use the whole film without moving. She turned around and faced the other direction, still standing in the same spot. The view was much duller and less colorful. She held up the camera to her eye, positioned the St. John’s church in the upper right corner of the frame, and waited. She had one shot and she wanted it to be exquisite.

She was just now beginning to realize what Taher had meant when he said to be patient. There was absolutely nothing extraordinary about the frame. She felt like a predator waiting on its prey. However, she was caught unprepared when an ancient man walked by with a walking cane. Although he was walking slow enough for her to take the shot, she couldn’t make the decision quickly enough, and the man disappeared behind the corner. The same thing was repeated twice again: a young girl who ran by and a man in his forties dressed in jeans and a black shirt. That’s it, not waiting for any magnificent moment! The next person walks into the frame – click! She didn’t have to wait long. She was so focused on her frame that she didn’t even see the woman. All she saw was the form of a woman. Click. And she was gone. End of film.

It was already dusk when she shot that last frame, and her hand slightly trembled. But she got the shot at the right moment, just as the young woman turned her head and looked straight into the camera. Bisan wasn't sure if she noticed she was being photographed, but it was a spontaneous moment, one of those that street photographers would kill for.

***

She had her Leica slung over her shoulder when she walked in the house. Her father was helping her mother set up the table for dinner. "New toy, I see," he said in disdain.

Her mother shot him a sharp look, "Leave her be."

"Why should I? She's not doing anything constructive with her life. All her high school friends are already finishing university, and she's still stuck in that musty old shop with ancient Taher."

Bisan ate in silence, since her father was talking about her as if she weren't there. She wouldn't get in the same argument with him for the hundredth time. It was useless to try to explain to him that photography for her was so much more than a passing hobby, not to talk about the fact that the Leica was definitely not a toy. 

***

The alarm clock went off at 5:30 sharp. Although she didn’t get much sleep, Bisan jumped out of bed and was out of the house by 6:15. She walked the short distance to Kamera in brisk strides, passing on her way a young woman in a sweat suit, a hoodie partially covering her head, jogging up the street. Who in their right mind would abuse their body in such a way? Bisan didn’t practice any sport. She didn’t need to, as she walked everywhere, even up to the Carmel, through Haifa’s maze of stairs that ran from the bottom of the mountain all the way to Carmel Center.

***

Salma

As Salma jogged up the street, she noticed the young woman with the old camera slung across her shoulder. She couldn’t know it was the same woman who took her picture the day before, as she wasn’t really paying attention. What coincidence. Someone takes her photo the day before. And now, a woman with a camera at 6:20 in the morning! Stalker? She jogged up to the roundabout at the end of Khoury street and headed back, trying to look inconspicuous. The camera woman didn’t look in her direction; she seemed impatient getting to wherever she had to get to, her stride full of intent. Just my imagination, thought Salma, as she increased her pace. She wasn’t making any progress in the last couple of weeks. At least she got back on track with her running. She was almost out of breath, but decided to turn around again and job back up. She reached the roundabout, and as she was jogging around it, she saw the camera woman on Ha-Nevi’im street for a brief moment before she disappeared into one of the buildings. Salma again increased her pace, salty sweat dripping down her forehead and into her eyes, and jogged in that direction. She jogged all the way to the end of the street, taking in the entrances. These were mostly businesses, but all were still dark. Weird. She looked at her watch and realized she was almost running late. She would just have enough time to shower and head to the university for her much-dreaded meeting with Hiba. She still had nothing other than some haphazard notes that didn’t amount to anything that could be considered to be sound research basis.

***

Bisan

Bisan saw the jogging woman twice more from the corner of her eye, the second time when she was already inside Kamera, still with the lights off. She was trying to apply the patience technique to her daily routine. Taher said it helped. So Bisan now sat in the dark Kamera in silence. She couldn’t take more than five minutes before she dashed to boot the computer and then turn on the lights. At nine sharp she unlocked the door, but there were no customers until around eleven except for one man who came in for some batteries. Miraculously, there were only two email orders from the day before, and one that came in around ten thirty. None of them were due for a few days, which gave Bisan enough time to develop the film from yesterday. Some thought kept coming back to her, but it was so vague she couldn’t pin it down. Something about the way that jogger carried her body, which she only realized now that she was already working. Detail! Taher always said it’s all in the details. Need to pay more attention, even when camera not on hip and ready to shoot.

When Taher walked in with some fresh-out-of-the-oven mana’eesh, Bisan had already gone through all 36 frames. They were neatly stacked next to the computer, and Bisan had printed an A3 size of frame number 36.

“What have we here? First prints from the Leica! May I?” Taher was peeking at the large print from behind Bisan’s tangled mess of curls. She handed him the stack of photographs without looking up and continued to study the one in front of her. Taher took another look at it before settling down with to study the ones she handed him. Weird kid. He could see the larger frame had potential, if it only wasn’t just a tiny bit out of focus. Give the kid some slack. She’s just a beginner, her first film shots.

Bisan was focused on the face of the woman in the frame. There was something familiar about her. But there was something else. Bisan has seen this face somewhere else. Shit! My memory is like that of my eighty-something years old grandmother! She put the photograph in the bottom drawer and went over to Taher. “What do you think? Just remember, my first film, so please be kind.”

“Kind? These are great, Biso! For a first film, I mean.” Bisan was ecstatic. She knew Taher didn’t give away compliments so easily. “Ok, let’s get the constructive criticism then.” She dragged a stool over to his side and the bag of mana’eesh, trying to push the woman from frame number 36 who happened also to be the researcher to a corner of her mind for now. She’ll deal with it later.

(c) khulud khamis, 2014 from Taboos in Arabic, novel-in-progress

***

It was the world slowing down for the minutes she held the camera to her eye.

I know, I said I wouldn't share any fragments of my new novel-in-progress, "Taboos in Arabic," but even I was surprised at the appearance of Bisan, an energetic young female character with flare. So here's a small bit of her life:

Bisan grew up in the instant world of digitals, where she could take an infinite number of photos and instantly see the results on her LCD screen. She could take twenty thirty forty a hundred shots of the same frame, using different shutter speeds and different exposure times until she got what she wanted. Not so with film. With film, she had to practice self-discipline. It was the world slowing down for the minutes she held the camera to her eye, waiting for the perfect moment to snap the shot – if ever a perfect moment could be captured on film. It taught her patience, and it taught appreciation of life’s gifts. With a film camera, she was on her way to mastering the art of photography, in small steps.

Waiting, she would notice details nobody knew even existed. And then, the snap. A fleeting moment that would never occur again – the sleek movement of the hand of a vegetable vendor, the bending of a woman over a tin can set up by a street performer, a child looking on in wonder, two elderly women greeting each other, a bicycle swerving between the cars. This is what life was composed of. Stop, take a deep breath. A film camera was Bisan’s way to feel the flow of life.  

(c) khulud khamis, 2014 fragment from "Taboos in Arabic" manuscript

Israeli police kill young Palestinian citizen of Israel in cold blood

Kheir Hamdan, 22, from the Galilee village of Kfar Kanna in Israel, was killed in cold blood last night by Israeli police officers. The video clearly shows that there was no immediate danger or life threat to any of the police officers at the time of shooting. Kheir was in the process of moving away from the police officers when he was shot dead. More than one bullet was fired at him.


Racism? If this was a Jewish young man, this would have never happened.

Read the article in the English version of Ha'aretz: 

CCTV footage raises questions in police shooting of knife-wielding Arab Israeli

Watch the video documenting the shooting on Youtube

Photo taken from the Facebook page of Shutafut-Sharakah

Buthaina - tenth woman in her family murdered

Last night, Buthaina Abu Ghanem, from Ramleh, was murdered in cold blood. Buthaina is the tenth - yes, you are seeing the correct number - the TENTH - woman from her family to be murdered under similar circumstances.

Skimming through the media, I find the English edition of Times of Israel is using the term "honor killing." The Arab website Arabs 48 has reported that the Israeli police are incapable of dealing with these kinds of murders in what they refer to as "the Arab street."

To the term "honor killing" I say: NO. These are not honor killings. These murders have nothing to do with honor. These are gender-based murders. These women were murdered in cold blood simply because they were women, and simply because they attempted to live a normal life and to exercise their rights and freedoms. And to those commentators on the Times of Israel article who blame Islam, I also say no. Religion has nothing to do with it. These women were murdered because some men still think they have the right over women's bodies and the right to control women. Religions are not violent. If a person is violent, then his Islam/Christianity/Judaism/Buddhism will be violent. People are violent, not religions.


The names of the ten murdered women are buzzing through my head.
Buthaina
Naiefa
Sharihan
Dalia
Sabreen
Suzan
Zeinat
Amira
Reem
Hamda

Ten women from the same family. Sharihan was only 16 when she was murdered. Dalia disappeared at the age of 16 and to this day the police have not found her body. Reem was murdered because she refused to marry a man she didn't want to. Hamda was murdered because of too many phone calls.

I am sitting in the safety of my home, and my heart goes out to the women of the family who are still alive, and I cannot imagine the horror they must live through, not on a daily basis, but moment to moment.

ENOUGH KILLING WOMEN. ALL WE WANT IS TO LIVE IN DIGNITY AND FREEDOM.

my new passion

Words have always been at the center of my life. I breath and live through words. It’s my way of talking to the world, and in the last several years, my tool for feminist activism. However, several years ago, I suddenly felt that I need an additional medium for expressing my creative energies. I started studying jewelry design, but left after two months. Something was missing. Something was incomplete in my life. Then I had the invaluable opportunity to photograph feminist events. I started receiving positive feedback, friends telling me that I have “an eye.” I started taking my Canon 60D everywhere, it became an extension of my body.

I’ve been photographing for two years, mainly playing with my camera, experimenting, learning. I don’t necessarily look for beauty when capturing an image. Rather, I search for essence, meaning, emotions, a story, more often than not questions rather than answers.

I am thrilled to have discovered an art form where I can grow as an individual and as an artist, a field that is so vast that the learning experience has no limits.  

udate

I haven't been uploading any new content recently for several reasons.

* I have been quite busy with proofreading my forthcoming novel, Haifa Fragments. While I was in the process of writing it, I posted fragments from it. Now it has gone to type-setting. The novel will be available on 8 March, 2015 and you will be able to buy a copy through my publisher's website, Spinifex.

* More recently, I have gone back to a second novel, which I started a year ago. The new novel I'm currently working on, Taboos in Arabic, takes up exactly those themes - taboos. As I am still struggling with raw material, structure, and style, the text is in no way ready for sharing publicly.

* Lastly, I have found a new passion. Another way to unleash and express my creative energies: photography. In the last number of years, I have felt that the medium of words is not enough for me in terms of expressing myself and my creativity, and I searched for something to complement writing. I found it in photography. So at the moment, I am spending quite some time playing around with my camera, experimenting, and learning. I might soon open a photography blog, and will update you on it.

* As I'm not sure when I will be posting new blog-posts (it can happen anytime), I invite you to subscribe by email to my blog. This way, you will be sure not to miss anything.

* In the meantime, you are more than welcome to follow my Facebook page: Haifa Fragments, or just connect with me through my personal profile.

in solidarity,
khulud

the only way I know

I tried to – 
love you 
gradually.
but I failed.

I tried to – 
love only
parts of you.
and I failed.

So I settled for
loving you
the only way I know

wholly
completely
utterly

- khulud خلود

clouds visit the mountains

losing you
in the rain
a tree drops
one leaf
then another

clouds visit the mountains
on road B311

against the flow of the river
through
in between
the mountains

finding you
losing myself
finding something new

khulud, August 2014, Austria

erasing my language, silencing my voice, erasing my smile. But I rise and smile

You try to scare me. Make me shrink. Further.

Make me walk the streets of my city

My city

Trying to take up less space.

For two whole weeks that I’ve been avoiding public transportation. And when I had to take the train, and wanted to take my laptop out to work, I remembered it had stickers in Arabic on it, saying: “my right to live, to chose, to be.”

So the laptop remained in my backpack. Along with my language.

When my friend called during that same train ride, I mumbled quietly, “aha, hmmm, yeah, ok, bye.”

Before riding the train back home, I had on a shirt with the writing: “the personal is political” in Arabic and Hebrew. My friend asked me if I was sure I wanted to wear this shirt on the train. I looked down at the shirt, and again, packed my language inside my backpack.

For two whole weeks, they have succeeded in crushing me, in erasing my language, silencing my very voice, even my smile. The feeling was one of complete paralysis.

But today I rise, and I smile. Because erasing my smile would mean they have succeeded in their mission of crushing me. And today I raise my voice and say: with all the devastation around us, with over 1,400 dead women, girls, boys, and men in Gaza, with the all permeating sense of helplessness, and the crushing sense of hopelessness, we will not give you the satisfaction of yielding. We will not be crushed. Our smiles will not be erased, no matter how hard you try! No matter how hard you try to erase my language, silence my voice, I raise my voice for justice. And I refuse to lose hope, and I refuse to give up on my smile. Because we, sir, teach life! In spite and despite all your attempts to crush the life out of us. We rise, we smile, and we teach the world life!

khulud, 1 August 2014

Haifa