World Culture
The Keene Sentinel Sunday, October 8, 2006 D-5
Music to ease troubles
Nelson musician
reflects on visit to
Middle East
by Richard Hartshorne
reflects on visit to
Middle East
by Richard Hartshorne
YATTA (WEST BANK) — Yesterday, I
played for a school of deaf children. Mostly
they watched me play but some of them had
partial hearing. One of their teachers signed
the story I told. Afterward they came up one
by one and felt the vibrations of the back of
my double bass as I strummed the open
strings. The concert was held in a small
auditorium on the top floor of the municipal
offices of Yatta, a city of 60,000 people 20
minutes southeast of Hebron in the
Palestinian West Bank.
Also in attendance were neighborhood
children who somehow found out about the
performance and wandered in. Most schools
in the Palestinian area have been closed for
six months due to the near bankruptcy of the
Palestinian Authority following the recent
elections in January and the decision by
Israel and most western countries not to
fund the Hamas government.
Everywhere you go now in Palestinian areas
you see children playing in the streets who
normally would be in school. The school for
the deaf is funded though the World Deaf
Club, so it is one of the only schools in Yatta
that is open. In the refugee camps the
schools are funded directly from the UN so
for the past 10 days I’ve been busy playing
Bach and telling musical stories in Arabic in
the camps. I’ve done 14 performances
already with a week and a half to go.
After the concert the younger group of 25 or
so departs after waving a frantic goodbye to
me. I’m waiting for another group to arrive,
but, no, the older deaf children are staying
for another concert. Meanwhile, some more
neighborhood children have wandered in,
including some older girls babysitting
younger siblings as well as kids from the first
concert. I play more Bach this time, being
especially conscious of my physical motions.
The kids’ attention to my hands is striking. I
tell them I am playing dance music and they
show their understanding. I tell a different
story in Arabic, pausing when necessary to
allow the teacher to sign.
Afterward, I ask for questions. Several of the
children wonder how a beaver can fall in love
with a tree. “In your
played for a school of deaf children. Mostly
they watched me play but some of them had
partial hearing. One of their teachers signed
the story I told. Afterward they came up one
by one and felt the vibrations of the back of
my double bass as I strummed the open
strings. The concert was held in a small
auditorium on the top floor of the municipal
offices of Yatta, a city of 60,000 people 20
minutes southeast of Hebron in the
Palestinian West Bank.
Also in attendance were neighborhood
children who somehow found out about the
performance and wandered in. Most schools
in the Palestinian area have been closed for
six months due to the near bankruptcy of the
Palestinian Authority following the recent
elections in January and the decision by
Israel and most western countries not to
fund the Hamas government.
Everywhere you go now in Palestinian areas
you see children playing in the streets who
normally would be in school. The school for
the deaf is funded though the World Deaf
Club, so it is one of the only schools in Yatta
that is open. In the refugee camps the
schools are funded directly from the UN so
for the past 10 days I’ve been busy playing
Bach and telling musical stories in Arabic in
the camps. I’ve done 14 performances
already with a week and a half to go.
After the concert the younger group of 25 or
so departs after waving a frantic goodbye to
me. I’m waiting for another group to arrive,
but, no, the older deaf children are staying
for another concert. Meanwhile, some more
neighborhood children have wandered in,
including some older girls babysitting
younger siblings as well as kids from the first
concert. I play more Bach this time, being
especially conscious of my physical motions.
The kids’ attention to my hands is striking. I
tell them I am playing dance music and they
show their understanding. I tell a different
story in Arabic, pausing when necessary to
allow the teacher to sign.
Afterward, I ask for questions. Several of the
children wonder how a beaver can fall in love
with a tree. “In your
imagination,” I tell them. I remind myself that these
kids don’t have stacks of picture books at home
where such things occur regularly.
Still, I’m glad I challenged them. The teachers tell
me they will have a lesson tomorrow on what the
children experienced today and they will draw
pictures and write something to send to me.
We drive to Hebron and have lunch with Abu Shadi,
the director of public health in the municipality,
who was the organizer of the concerts. He gave me a
glossy bound copy of the data base for Yatta in
both English and Arabic. A couple of things stand
out. One is they just don’t have enough water, and
most of their storage facilities are old, and in some,
the water is contaminated. Rationing is constant;
each part of the city gets water only a few days at a
time and during the summer everyone gets less.
At lunch he told us of an additional problem. The
main water line from the Jordan River runs though a
Jewish settlement and today they turned off the
water. “What can you do?” I ask.
“We go there and they turn it back on, but
sometimes, three hours later, they turn it off again.”
Last night, after I got back to Ramallah, I asked an
American friend who is working with the UN
researching food access whether she had heard of
this particular problem. “Yes, unfortunately, and
there’s not much anyone can do about it except ask
them to turn it back on.”
kids don’t have stacks of picture books at home
where such things occur regularly.
Still, I’m glad I challenged them. The teachers tell
me they will have a lesson tomorrow on what the
children experienced today and they will draw
pictures and write something to send to me.
We drive to Hebron and have lunch with Abu Shadi,
the director of public health in the municipality,
who was the organizer of the concerts. He gave me a
glossy bound copy of the data base for Yatta in
both English and Arabic. A couple of things stand
out. One is they just don’t have enough water, and
most of their storage facilities are old, and in some,
the water is contaminated. Rationing is constant;
each part of the city gets water only a few days at a
time and during the summer everyone gets less.
At lunch he told us of an additional problem. The
main water line from the Jordan River runs though a
Jewish settlement and today they turned off the
water. “What can you do?” I ask.
“We go there and they turn it back on, but
sometimes, three hours later, they turn it off again.”
Last night, after I got back to Ramallah, I asked an
American friend who is working with the UN
researching food access whether she had heard of
this particular problem. “Yes, unfortunately, and
there’s not much anyone can do about it except ask
them to turn it back on.”
Another startling statistic from the data base is the
percentage of unemployed. In 1997, it was at 7.4
percent, somewhat below the national average.
However, most of these jobs were in Israel;
consequently, in 2000 when the second intifada
started and when the border with Israel closed, the
rate soared to 75 percent.
I asked Abushadi if he is receiving his salary and he
said, “No, not for six months, but still the work
must be done.”
It’s mysterious to me how anyone survives here,
but there is a quiet and veneer of normality that is
completely at odds with the perception abroad. I
have not been able to perform in Gaza and can’t
judge the mood there but here in the West Bank
everything seems fine on the surface but everyone
tells me that economically it is, daily, more difficult.
In contrast, the Al Kamanjati Center is flourishing. I’
m here supporting their work of bringing music to
Palestinian children. The center opened last August
in a beautifully restored building in the old city of
Ramallah.
When I was here in October I saw children coming
in daily to sign up for lessons. Now after a full year
(they did not close for the summer), 350 children are
receiving lessons, singing in choirs and taking music
appreciation. They are drawn primarily from the
four refugee camps and the old city here in Ramallah
but teachers also go to Bethlehem and Nablus.
Ramzi Aburedwan, age 28, the founder and driving
force (whom The Sentinel interviewed two years
ago when he was performing at the Apple Hill
Center for Chamber Music in Nelson) is tireless:
teaching, inspiring, attending meetings, playing
concerts, fundraising, planning, brainstorming.
I’m staying at his flat just outside the old city a few
minutes walk from the center. Last week, Daniel
Barenboim, pianist and music director of the Berlin
State Opera, among other things, swept into town
with a small entourage and performed on the roof of
the Al Kamanjati Center with Ramzi and some of
the teachers.
Barenboim, a Jew and an Israeli citizen, has been
championing the cause of music in Palestinian areas
and his foundation funds some of the teachers who
teach at the center. After the concert we all had
dinner at the home of Ramzi’s grandfather at the Al
Amari refugee camp, where he has been living since
1948.
The other day on my way to the center, I walked, as
I do every day, past a pen of goats who appear and
disappear periodically between truck rides to
various pastures. A man was kneeling, and skinning
one of the goats with a large knife. This is something
that has probably been occurring in this very spot
for over four thousand years. As I walked on, I
heard the sound of a beginning clarinet student
practicing. This is something that has probably
never occurred in this spot until this year. Of course
he or she should have been in school.
Richard Hartshorne of Nelson is a classical
musician who performs in American prisons and
venues in the Middle East, Central Asia and other
places.
percentage of unemployed. In 1997, it was at 7.4
percent, somewhat below the national average.
However, most of these jobs were in Israel;
consequently, in 2000 when the second intifada
started and when the border with Israel closed, the
rate soared to 75 percent.
I asked Abushadi if he is receiving his salary and he
said, “No, not for six months, but still the work
must be done.”
It’s mysterious to me how anyone survives here,
but there is a quiet and veneer of normality that is
completely at odds with the perception abroad. I
have not been able to perform in Gaza and can’t
judge the mood there but here in the West Bank
everything seems fine on the surface but everyone
tells me that economically it is, daily, more difficult.
In contrast, the Al Kamanjati Center is flourishing. I’
m here supporting their work of bringing music to
Palestinian children. The center opened last August
in a beautifully restored building in the old city of
Ramallah.
When I was here in October I saw children coming
in daily to sign up for lessons. Now after a full year
(they did not close for the summer), 350 children are
receiving lessons, singing in choirs and taking music
appreciation. They are drawn primarily from the
four refugee camps and the old city here in Ramallah
but teachers also go to Bethlehem and Nablus.
Ramzi Aburedwan, age 28, the founder and driving
force (whom The Sentinel interviewed two years
ago when he was performing at the Apple Hill
Center for Chamber Music in Nelson) is tireless:
teaching, inspiring, attending meetings, playing
concerts, fundraising, planning, brainstorming.
I’m staying at his flat just outside the old city a few
minutes walk from the center. Last week, Daniel
Barenboim, pianist and music director of the Berlin
State Opera, among other things, swept into town
with a small entourage and performed on the roof of
the Al Kamanjati Center with Ramzi and some of
the teachers.
Barenboim, a Jew and an Israeli citizen, has been
championing the cause of music in Palestinian areas
and his foundation funds some of the teachers who
teach at the center. After the concert we all had
dinner at the home of Ramzi’s grandfather at the Al
Amari refugee camp, where he has been living since
1948.
The other day on my way to the center, I walked, as
I do every day, past a pen of goats who appear and
disappear periodically between truck rides to
various pastures. A man was kneeling, and skinning
one of the goats with a large knife. This is something
that has probably been occurring in this very spot
for over four thousand years. As I walked on, I
heard the sound of a beginning clarinet student
practicing. This is something that has probably
never occurred in this spot until this year. Of course
he or she should have been in school.
Richard Hartshorne of Nelson is a classical
musician who performs in American prisons and
venues in the Middle East, Central Asia and other
places.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
