NVN Tuesday: A TOMATO FOR JOSEPH
by Liz Rose Shulman
Haidar Eid’s book available for pre-order today; shipping tomorrow from LeftWord Books.
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Note: The following poem adapts language from Haidar Eid’s Facebook page, with his permission. He is currently trapped in Gaza. Haidar Eid is an Associate Professor of Postcolonial and Postmodern Literature at Gaza’s al-Aqsa University. As of this writing, he is alive.
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I am standing over the ruins of a house in Gaza City peering at the horizon Please don’t let our posts go unnoticed This is the only alternative we have Where is Abu Muhammad under the rubble Where is Muhammad’s mother under the rubble Where is Muhammad under the rubble I’ve just received the long awaited news of my book while I am trying to stay alive LeftWord Books is publishing my latest work Decolonising the Palestinian Mind My former student Samah Eid has risen “My heart is ripped out of my ribs.” Haidar Eid updated his profile picture Haidar Eid updated his profile picture They need Palestinian fig leaves Sorry, I don’t feel like doing that There are others who are more equipped to deal with that. I am a South African Palestinian literature professor in Gaza right now, with a wife and two small daughters My kind dentist, artist Oraib Rayyes has risen My colleague and co-founder of the Department of English at Al-Aqsa University, Abdul Rahman Elhour, has risen with 14 members of his family. Some are still under the rubble My friend, ex-student Khalil Abu Yahya, has risen with his wife, Tasnim and two daughters This was my home Where is Salwa under the rubble Where is Magda under the rubble Where is Mahmoud under the rubble Where is the rest of the family at Nine members of my family were killed today One man three women and five children Progressive activist friend, mother of Prince Samira Rafiqah, Our friend Em ElAmeer Samira has risen Haidar Eid updated his profile picture On the hospital floor wounded children sit next to their injured mother one aids her as she receives treatment after a bombing of a family’s home in the Gaza Strip Why would any country vote, even veto, against a humanitarian ceasefire Haidar Eid updated his profile picture Haidar Eid updated his profile picture The home is a lover A woman who has feelings for you and for whom you have feelings. She is you and you are her. There are no boundaries No separation When the home is demolished something within you dies. The sweet story of Youssef Al-Baydani as narrated by his mother: “Mom, I’m hungry, I want to eat. Don’t be afraid, my love, I will make you a pan of tomato I went out to the house of Um Mahmoud, my neighbor, in search of a tomato to quench Joseph’s hunger, hoping to find a tomato for Joseph. I waited at the door for Joseph to come back from school every day I waited for him in front of the door every day welcomed him with my arms and a tomato grill that he loves. How can I wait anymore when Joseph is no longer here How can a mother protect her son in war?” In this house, a woman lived with her husband three sons and three daughters. They had also provided refuge to relatives from northern Gaza who had been displaced Besan was a third-year medical student she loved her cat Besan was killed with all her family and her cat The young columnist of We Are Not Numbers, Yousef Dawas, has risen along with his entire family. He attended my lecture on Postcolonial literature last month. A few months ago he wrote the article “Who will pay for the 20 years we lost?” “I wish my eyes were a sea where my eyelids could dwell.” In 2014, I performed “Love in the Time of Genocide” adapted from a poem by the late Egyptian poet Abdul Rahim Mansour. What we need for literature and literary criticism is a critique of institutional thought by offering an alternative A will written by a little girl from Gaza via Anat Matar: “My name is Haya and I will write my will now. My money: 45 for my mother, 5 for Zeina, 5 for Hashem, 5 for my grandma, 5 for Aunt Heba and five for Aunt Mariam, 5 for Uncle Abdo and Aunt Sarah My toys and all my stuff: for my friends Deema, Menna, and Amal, and Zeina (my sister) My clothes: to my uncle’s daughters and if there’s anything left, donate them My shoes: donate them to the poor and vulnerable after washing them, of course.” To white, mainstream media As per my cardiologist’s instructions, plz do not call me Haidar Eid updated his profile picture Haidar Eid updated his profile picture Haidar Eid updated his profile picture They need Palestinian fig leaves Sorry, I don't feel like doing that There are others who are more equipped to deal with that
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Liz Rose Shulman’s work has appeared in The Boston Globe, The Chicago Tribune, Los Angeles Review, Mondoweiss, The Smart Set, and Tablet Magazine, among others. She teaches English at Evanston Township High School and in the School of Education and Social Policy at Northwestern University. She lives in Chicago.