We sent this message, with no pictures, to our email list last month. Some of our correspondents thought that it should be posted on our blog, so we offer it here:

David:

The wedding of ‘Abed, Na’if’s son, took place last night in joyful celebration. For a few hours you could almost believe that this was a normal occasion for people living their lives in peace– not facing violent attacks and invasions every day and every night on the part of the Israeli settlers intent on driving them from their homes and grazing grounds. Or perhaps just because their lives are so precarious, haunted by mortal threats, those good hours were even more precious, the happiness savored to the full. We had the privilege of joining them as friends. We were welcomed with deep delight; they embraced us, thanked us, honored us, served us cakes and coffee and water (remember, it’s a desert), and told us over and over how happy they were that we could come. Peg was at first asked to join the women in a separate room, I was taken into the male space and seated beside the Mukhtar, who spoke eloquently about peace, the urgent need and hope for peace, the only solution, the only way to live. They of course know us from the last years of protective presence in Ras al-‘Ain in 24/7 shifts, so they are never left alone to face the marauding settlers. 

After an hour or so the women began to filter into the male space, and we were able to speak the blessings proper to that moment: “May Allah care for you and grant you health and bless you with happiness, and these words are not only from us but also from all the activists and from our friends and readers everywhere in the world, hundreds and maybe even thousands of them.” You can imagine what it means to them. We’re so glad we were there and able to embrace them for you and for all of us.

***

Peg:

No words were heard in the Women’s Hall. If they were spoken, the ear shattering music drowned them out. Whoever needed to talk left the room. Rhythm permeated everything as beautifully dressed women danced in concentric circles, waving their arms until gossamer scarves of different colors were placed in our hands. I joined too, pretending that my clanging cameras were castanets and my khaki vest a glittery complement to my cargo pants and, of course, the red gossamer scarf. When the dance narrowed down to the bridal party and finally the bridal couple, we other women were relegated to seats surrounding the dance floor. The audience gushed over the bridal couple. The bridegroom was the only man there and I wish I could have photographed ‘Abed’s ecstatically happy face over the white laced shoulder of his bride. But as is permitted in a women’s party, the women’s hair was mostly uncovered and even to bring out my camera would have been viewed with alarm. It did not matter, because the older women on either side were fussing over me and I in turn busied myself by fussing over my two new friends.

Later, someone took my arm and led me to where solemn men were having a quiet but moving gathering. Instead of rotating dance sessions on the floor, they took turns entering the next room to pray in groups.

And then I realized it. For a blessed hour, I – and more importantly Na’if and his family and guests – had completely forgotten the occupation.

Texts: Margaret Olin and David Shulman © 2025

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