Bint Ibrahim \bint-Ib-ra-hiem \
Bint: Arabic for girl or daughter
Ibrahim: a man’s name
The Arabic version of Abram or Avram (Hebrew-Aramaic)
Abram – Abraham – Ibrahim
A prophet
The founder of monotheism
The alleged father of Arabs and Hebrews
A messenger whose offspring have multiplied as promised
Defiled the earth, and disturbed the sacred balance.
Or… have they been set up against each other… used as pawns?
We can restore the balance. Mothers & daughters…and men!
*
Welcome to Holy Land of Peace on Substacks. My intention of publishing here is to share stories, reflections and a vision - of that place. Bint Ibrahim is the name I choose to call myself. It is also the title of a book I have been writing for ten years. The book was the last thing my father (Ibrahim) asked me about--four years ago already. I was frustrated with the time it was taking me, bloody world events and personal struggles that kept making their way into every subsequent edit… my demons relentlessly haunting me. I was exhausted. I cut him short,
It will come baba, tawakkal ala allah, put your faith in god.
Allah bijeeb illi fih l-kheir, may god bring what is good, he responded.
We hung up. A day and a half later, he passed away. I was not there to hold his hand when his soul departed. He was buried in Sahaab in Jordan. I was there for that. His shrouded body was laid down in the corner of a walled-in 25m2 family grave-plot in a stark Islamic cemetery. My father wished to be buried next to his father and mother at al-rahma gate, against the wall of old Jerusalem, overlooking the mount of olives.
‘A great view to look upon when you’re dead,’ he’d say laughing.
He was not allowed to enjoy that.
Earlier this autumn, my father visited me in a dream with a set of twelve pens. He looked tired. I understood that he could assist me for only two more years. I took this to refer to writing the book, which had evolved into a double memoir spanning continents and time-lines, intertwining language, mythology, religion, confessions… underlaying a vision for the promised land of peace. Complicated and overwhelming. It’s taken too long.
And here we are, on the twelfth day of December 2023, entering the second month of mass killing and trauma. The holy land is suffering. My heart is breaking, as are many hearts. All I have is my voice and vision. I‘m afraid the darkness will make me lose both. If I lay upon my death bed not having spoken, I will have great regret. If there is a minuscule glimmer of a chance that words could make a difference, it’s an effort worth taking.
So here, I will talk about that vision, in words written and/or spoken - from the present and the past, sharing chapters from the book as well as current commentaries, in pros, essay or poetic form. Freeing myself from the need to weave a dramatic narrative, dropping the ‘it’s not good enough’, allowing spelling-mistakes and resisting re-editing every post to its demise.
A manifesto in the making - unplugged.
A practice in discipline that will hopefully give me fuel to finally finish that book.
An opportunity to share and hear your thoughts on the topics herein.
Thank you for reading.
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In closing, a poem written (or listened to if you like)
May we be
Vessels of light
Vehicles of peace
May we see through the lies we've been fed
Since the beginning of his-story
Set up against one another
The children of Abraham and the adoptees
At this point, it makes no difference
Arab - Jew
Palestinian - Israeli
Religious - Secular
We are all bait
Feeding the Big Fish
What Exodus?
We are still enslaved
The pharaohs of today transcend nationality and faith
United under the flag of common interest and gains
They pull the strings of puppet leaders and we do their bidding
Brother
Sister
People of the land
People on the land - no matter where you came from
People off the land - no matter where you are
I am not your enemy
You are not mine
Embrace your neighbor
Fear not
Love is the greatest weapon we can carry
(L.N. October 2023)
***
It is all about love. The feminine is gaining momentum. I made Bay'at with a shaykhA!
Let us hold on to the hope for peace. And for me it always starts with the peace I am, with the peace inside that guides my actions.
Ya Wadud, Ya Salam, Ya Jami, Ya Nafi
Beautiful ❤️ the poem, the dream everything...