The baker is the sahab (friend, master, owner) of The Bakery of Blessing. His long paddles deposit the dough and retrieve the bread from the hot stones, which line the floor of the oven and leave their round indentations on the surface of the otherwise flat bread.
But today he has finished his sweltering labor and sent the loaves to be sold in the village. He has an appointment to keep with two old friends - old friends from their childhood days when life in the village was more simple. A man used to live solely from the produce of his own home, garden, trees and beasts, without need of anything else but good friends to enjoy the bounty of the land with. Life is still not expensive today. Technology is expensive today. You have your phone bill, electric bill, satellite bill, computers, mobile phones...
They know about the land. The baker is joined by Abu Azziz (Father of The Dear), who raises chickens and sells their eggs, and Father of Light, who works the terraced hills to produce tomatoes, cucumbers, spinach, olives and their oil. The baker is Father of Soloman. They mark the eldest son with the memory of their fathers name, and his grandfather, and his grandfather. They can tell you the name of anyone in the village, and his father, and his uncle, and his cousin. Well, not anyone in the village. Anyone from the village. There are the new people who come and go. They are welcomed and invited to join in the breaking of bread but they were not there for the breaking of the land.
Only Father of Light was born in another village. He came at the age of two amidst war as his family was expelled from their home and village by the sea. Today his home village is still occupied. It is occupied by a massive, modern airport. The place of his birth is now The Airport. When you step off the plane you might be stepping on his grandfather's grave and when you piss in the gleaming porcelain before customs, you might be pissing where his grandfather pissed. But occupation is not new. Before The Airport, there were the British, and before them were the Turkish, and the Syrians, and the Arabs, and the Crusaders, and the Byzantines, and the Romans, and Alexander the Great, and the Israelites, and the Philistines, and the Pharoahs and the Sumerians...
Tomorrow is the day of rest but it starts today, Thursday, after noontime when the bread has been sent off, and the eggs collected and the stone terraces mended. Every Thursday for as long as they can remember, the Baker and his Friends gather to break bread. Today they break bread and dip it in the steaming broth of broiled fish and spinach. There are no plates to divide what is mine or yours. There is only ours in the middle of the circle. After the meal, Father of the Dear pours Araq, a liquorice liquor, in small, clear plastic cups. He fills the cups only a quarter of the way with the potent liquor that is clear as water. But when water is added to fill the cup, it clouds in a milky haze.
They enjoy their drink with tobacco. Father of Solomon smokes one from a packet, than rolls one by hand, than one from a packet. No one around the table is too religious. Two are from the Latin Church but never go to the Latin Church. Father of the Dear says that what matters is in the heart. Maybe my heart is cleaner than some that attend mass every week. Father of Light has never been to mosque. Never! His father never went and his son has never gone. What does it matter that they are from different religions. Nothing! They are childhood friends. That is what matters. It is The Airport that wants them to be divided - to divide and rule. Besides, the worshippers of Ra and Caesar and all the other One and Onlys have all come and gone before.
What remains is the land, its fruits and friends.
But today he has finished his sweltering labor and sent the loaves to be sold in the village. He has an appointment to keep with two old friends - old friends from their childhood days when life in the village was more simple. A man used to live solely from the produce of his own home, garden, trees and beasts, without need of anything else but good friends to enjoy the bounty of the land with. Life is still not expensive today. Technology is expensive today. You have your phone bill, electric bill, satellite bill, computers, mobile phones...
They know about the land. The baker is joined by Abu Azziz (Father of The Dear), who raises chickens and sells their eggs, and Father of Light, who works the terraced hills to produce tomatoes, cucumbers, spinach, olives and their oil. The baker is Father of Soloman. They mark the eldest son with the memory of their fathers name, and his grandfather, and his grandfather. They can tell you the name of anyone in the village, and his father, and his uncle, and his cousin. Well, not anyone in the village. Anyone from the village. There are the new people who come and go. They are welcomed and invited to join in the breaking of bread but they were not there for the breaking of the land.
Only Father of Light was born in another village. He came at the age of two amidst war as his family was expelled from their home and village by the sea. Today his home village is still occupied. It is occupied by a massive, modern airport. The place of his birth is now The Airport. When you step off the plane you might be stepping on his grandfather's grave and when you piss in the gleaming porcelain before customs, you might be pissing where his grandfather pissed. But occupation is not new. Before The Airport, there were the British, and before them were the Turkish, and the Syrians, and the Arabs, and the Crusaders, and the Byzantines, and the Romans, and Alexander the Great, and the Israelites, and the Philistines, and the Pharoahs and the Sumerians...
Tomorrow is the day of rest but it starts today, Thursday, after noontime when the bread has been sent off, and the eggs collected and the stone terraces mended. Every Thursday for as long as they can remember, the Baker and his Friends gather to break bread. Today they break bread and dip it in the steaming broth of broiled fish and spinach. There are no plates to divide what is mine or yours. There is only ours in the middle of the circle. After the meal, Father of the Dear pours Araq, a liquorice liquor, in small, clear plastic cups. He fills the cups only a quarter of the way with the potent liquor that is clear as water. But when water is added to fill the cup, it clouds in a milky haze.
They enjoy their drink with tobacco. Father of Solomon smokes one from a packet, than rolls one by hand, than one from a packet. No one around the table is too religious. Two are from the Latin Church but never go to the Latin Church. Father of the Dear says that what matters is in the heart. Maybe my heart is cleaner than some that attend mass every week. Father of Light has never been to mosque. Never! His father never went and his son has never gone. What does it matter that they are from different religions. Nothing! They are childhood friends. That is what matters. It is The Airport that wants them to be divided - to divide and rule. Besides, the worshippers of Ra and Caesar and all the other One and Onlys have all come and gone before.
What remains is the land, its fruits and friends.
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