Report from Palestine, Part One
The music of Bach has an amazing ability to reach right through a
culture, any culture, to the place where we’re all human. I’ve been
playing Bach on my double bass all over Palestine West Bank for
two weeks and I know. I’ve played for children in refugee camps,
and schools as well as evening concerts in Ramallah, Nablus and
East Jerusalem. I’m a musical story teller and I have been telling my
stories in Arabic, a language I don’t speak but I’m able to say
phonetically, and I’ve been joined by a group of musicians playing
classical Arabic and Turkish music. The conventional wisdom is
that funny stories and familiar music is what people enjoy, but I can
tell by the way people listen, by the quality of the silence, that the
Bach is what is touching them.
The music of Bach has an amazing ability to reach right through a
culture, any culture, to the place where we’re all human. I’ve been
playing Bach on my double bass all over Palestine West Bank for
two weeks and I know. I’ve played for children in refugee camps,
and schools as well as evening concerts in Ramallah, Nablus and
East Jerusalem. I’m a musical story teller and I have been telling my
stories in Arabic, a language I don’t speak but I’m able to say
phonetically, and I’ve been joined by a group of musicians playing
classical Arabic and Turkish music. The conventional wisdom is
that funny stories and familiar music is what people enjoy, but I can
tell by the way people listen, by the quality of the silence, that the
Bach is what is touching them.
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Last Wednesday night I played at the youth center in Qalandiah Camp which lies under the shadow of the great Israeli wall. The wall
funnels all traffic through a single checkpoint: cars, trucks, taxi’s, and pedestrians sharing a single lane between barriers. There’s a
cacophony of horns and voices and noise. Everyone with business in East Jerusalem, which is still part of the West Bank, must pass
through here, some daily. It takes between one and two hours to cross. It used to be a 15 minute drive. The wall with it high smooth
gray walls and occasional towers looks vaguely medieval, not the medieval of princes and knights, but of dungeons and instruments
of torture. At the camp 80 children are gathered in an assembly room. They range in age from eight or nine to eleven or twelve. I’m
not sure how long they’ve been waiting as arrangements have been chaotic. Next door the loud speakers of the mosque are blaring the
Ramadan service. I almost didn’t come because I knew that my music would be competing with the mosques’ music but Palestinians
seem to be able to tune it out when they want to. So I decided to enjoy hearing Bach (three movements of the 2nd solo suite in D
minor) in a kind of polyphony with the singing from the mosque. Despite the difficulty of the situation, I could feel the children’s
attention. Who is this man? What is this instrument? What is this music? Because I was scheduled somewhere else later, I told only
one story, the fairy tale of Billy the birch tree and Brenda the beaver and their impossible love. Afterwards I played a couple Arabic
songs and the children clapped and played along. My guide and translator asked if anyone had a song to sing, and after much
embarrassment and refusal, one boy came forward and sang a solo with beautiful voice. They gave me several very complicated
thank you cheers, a glass of pomegranate juice, and most of them shook my hand. Some of them more than once. One little girl
shook my hand 5 times and called after the van… “Bye Dobbs”.
In contrast, this past Sunday night we played in an old now abandoned Turkish bath underneath the University of Quods in the Old
City of Jerusalem. The van was able to drive reasonably close to the concert right through impossibly narrow streets somehow
missing people and tables of goods set out in front of the stalls. Two of the musicians were present illegally in this part of Jerusalem.
We passed the second checkpoint, with me in the front seat looking as foreign as possible, and the soldiers waved us through. I found
out later that the driver was risking a 50,000 shekel fine ($10,000 American), loss of license and jail time. Meanwhile the American
Consul General, the Turkish Ambassador and other dignitaries were waiting to hear us play. As a concert sight, the bath was
spectacular, a high domed ceiling with alcoves on two sides. We set up in one room where candles were lit in tiny arches all around
the room. The audience sat on chairs, stools and cushions against the walls. Before the concert an official from the university talked
about music and culture as a “weapon to be used for survival.” Survival of the spirit in these dark times. It was only the second
concert in this sight. I played the whole second suite of Bach and the sound was so resonate, I could make the whole room sing with
the pressure of my bow. Afterwards the organizer of the event, dinner and concert for 80 people, said that my playing made her relax
for the first time all day.
I’m here working with a remarkable organization founded by a truly remarkable person. Ramzi Aburedwan was caught on film as a
young boy throwing a rock at an Israeli tank and became the symbol of the first Intifada. At 16, he took up the viola and music
became his life. Ten years have passed and he has just graduated from a music conservatory in Anger France, founded a non-profit
organization registered both here and in France, opened a beautifully restored center in the heart of the Old City Ramallah, managed to
get two tons of musical instruments donated in France through Israeli customs, and is now registering children for music lessons in
four refugee camps as well as from the Old City. Teachers, mostly volunteers, are teaching at the center as well as going to the
camps. In addition there are classes of music appreciation for young children (I played at two of them) and plans for starting classes
at camps at Nablus and Jenin. This is the most positive story to come out of Palestine in years. I’ve already seen and talked to
reporters from the French press, Israeli press, and Al Jazeera television. I’m proud to be here in the vanguard exposing children to
music and Bach, inspiring them to sign up for lessons. How many children can Ramzi reach? There is no limit. More instruments are
on the way from various countries. There are many committed teachers, both local and from the Daniel Barenboim Institute here in
Ramallah. The idea is not only to teach music for it’s own sake but to give children living in these hopeless places something
wonderful and enriching for their lives. Will this solve the Israeli Palestinian problem? Ramzi just laughs and says “I can’t worry about
that, I can only do my part”. I will be here for two more weeks and will play in Nazareth, Janin, Hebron and Bethlehem. From the Old
City in Ramallah.
Dobbs
Ramallah, Palestine
10/1/05
funnels all traffic through a single checkpoint: cars, trucks, taxi’s, and pedestrians sharing a single lane between barriers. There’s a
cacophony of horns and voices and noise. Everyone with business in East Jerusalem, which is still part of the West Bank, must pass
through here, some daily. It takes between one and two hours to cross. It used to be a 15 minute drive. The wall with it high smooth
gray walls and occasional towers looks vaguely medieval, not the medieval of princes and knights, but of dungeons and instruments
of torture. At the camp 80 children are gathered in an assembly room. They range in age from eight or nine to eleven or twelve. I’m
not sure how long they’ve been waiting as arrangements have been chaotic. Next door the loud speakers of the mosque are blaring the
Ramadan service. I almost didn’t come because I knew that my music would be competing with the mosques’ music but Palestinians
seem to be able to tune it out when they want to. So I decided to enjoy hearing Bach (three movements of the 2nd solo suite in D
minor) in a kind of polyphony with the singing from the mosque. Despite the difficulty of the situation, I could feel the children’s
attention. Who is this man? What is this instrument? What is this music? Because I was scheduled somewhere else later, I told only
one story, the fairy tale of Billy the birch tree and Brenda the beaver and their impossible love. Afterwards I played a couple Arabic
songs and the children clapped and played along. My guide and translator asked if anyone had a song to sing, and after much
embarrassment and refusal, one boy came forward and sang a solo with beautiful voice. They gave me several very complicated
thank you cheers, a glass of pomegranate juice, and most of them shook my hand. Some of them more than once. One little girl
shook my hand 5 times and called after the van… “Bye Dobbs”.
In contrast, this past Sunday night we played in an old now abandoned Turkish bath underneath the University of Quods in the Old
City of Jerusalem. The van was able to drive reasonably close to the concert right through impossibly narrow streets somehow
missing people and tables of goods set out in front of the stalls. Two of the musicians were present illegally in this part of Jerusalem.
We passed the second checkpoint, with me in the front seat looking as foreign as possible, and the soldiers waved us through. I found
out later that the driver was risking a 50,000 shekel fine ($10,000 American), loss of license and jail time. Meanwhile the American
Consul General, the Turkish Ambassador and other dignitaries were waiting to hear us play. As a concert sight, the bath was
spectacular, a high domed ceiling with alcoves on two sides. We set up in one room where candles were lit in tiny arches all around
the room. The audience sat on chairs, stools and cushions against the walls. Before the concert an official from the university talked
about music and culture as a “weapon to be used for survival.” Survival of the spirit in these dark times. It was only the second
concert in this sight. I played the whole second suite of Bach and the sound was so resonate, I could make the whole room sing with
the pressure of my bow. Afterwards the organizer of the event, dinner and concert for 80 people, said that my playing made her relax
for the first time all day.
I’m here working with a remarkable organization founded by a truly remarkable person. Ramzi Aburedwan was caught on film as a
young boy throwing a rock at an Israeli tank and became the symbol of the first Intifada. At 16, he took up the viola and music
became his life. Ten years have passed and he has just graduated from a music conservatory in Anger France, founded a non-profit
organization registered both here and in France, opened a beautifully restored center in the heart of the Old City Ramallah, managed to
get two tons of musical instruments donated in France through Israeli customs, and is now registering children for music lessons in
four refugee camps as well as from the Old City. Teachers, mostly volunteers, are teaching at the center as well as going to the
camps. In addition there are classes of music appreciation for young children (I played at two of them) and plans for starting classes
at camps at Nablus and Jenin. This is the most positive story to come out of Palestine in years. I’ve already seen and talked to
reporters from the French press, Israeli press, and Al Jazeera television. I’m proud to be here in the vanguard exposing children to
music and Bach, inspiring them to sign up for lessons. How many children can Ramzi reach? There is no limit. More instruments are
on the way from various countries. There are many committed teachers, both local and from the Daniel Barenboim Institute here in
Ramallah. The idea is not only to teach music for it’s own sake but to give children living in these hopeless places something
wonderful and enriching for their lives. Will this solve the Israeli Palestinian problem? Ramzi just laughs and says “I can’t worry about
that, I can only do my part”. I will be here for two more weeks and will play in Nazareth, Janin, Hebron and Bethlehem. From the Old
City in Ramallah.
Dobbs
Ramallah, Palestine
10/1/05