August 2024

You’re looking at Jenin in the late 19th century.

Every topic was thrown around the dinner table. Israel’s ambitions in Gaza and Lebanon; Hamas, Hezbollah, and resistance under the banner of لا إله إلا الله (there is no God but God); Hezbollah’s role in shoring up Bashar Assad’s regime and adding to Syria’s torment; colonial legacies and imperial designs; the US as an agent of chaos or a mere opportunist on welcoming landscapes; we Arabs as victims or lead authors of our rolling predicaments.

You’re looking at Burj Square, Beirut, in 1954.

“I sat there alone crying,” she said.

Not her habit, my mother. It’s a mighty tear that dares show itself on the cheeks of this 94 year-old matriarch.

It was a casual morning visit, and we were chatting to the tinkle of coffee cups. I had landed in Beirut the night before after a long absence. The topic of the week was war, the scare of the day Israeli planes’ sonic booms.

He went to the US Congress to prolong Israel’s war on Gaza; to get the green light for a new one against Hezbollah in Lebanon. He went to ensure the flow of weapons; to show the folks back home how he “maneuvers” America; to wade into its politics yet again, rub President Biden’s nose in it along the way, and get away with it. He went there for all these reasons.