An Old Man Cries

As I have said before, I am trying to learn Arabic.  It is very difficult but I have been having fun learning and practicing.  I spend a lot of my time down in the suk (market) talking to people and trying to listen to people speak in Arabic.  Some of the guys I have met in the market can speak English so it has been really helpful for me because they can translate things and I can repeat it back to them in Arabic.  So one day, I was in a friend’s shop and of course he invited me to have a cup of tea.  The Palestinian hospitality instilled in each of these guys would never allow me to walk away without them inviting me for a cup of tea or coffee. My friend called the tea man and we sat there and waited.  My friend was telling me his troubles with his life.  Working every day, all day in this shop, not making good business, living under occupation.  He tells me over and over, it’s not a good life here.  He wishes he could go and travel to the sea and be free.  But he can’t.  He is Muslim and he is stuck behind the wall except for during the month of Ramadan where he might be granted permission to cross the wall. 

When the tea man arrived, my friend was telling me about the time when Bethlehem was under siege by Israeli soldiers, they took over the Church of Nativity and mandated a citywide curfew.  I was given my tea and then my friend asked the tea man to tell me something, to tell me a story about his experience during the siege.  The tea man was an older gentleman and as he was telling me his story, he began crying.  I was standing in this shop, looking at this old man cry to me, wondering why he was pouring his heart out to me.  I was wondering how my response should be and wasn’t sure what was going on.  I was eyeing my friend because he was giggling in the corner.  I asked my friend what was going on and he kept telling me to listen, listen.  So I focused on the old man as he told me his story.

As he cried, this is what he told me.  He said the Israeli soldiers came and took over the Nativity Church.  They made everyone go home in the streets.  No one was allowed out to do anything after a certain time.  One day during the siege, the tea man was walking back to his shop after delivering tea to a customer.  (In Palestine, there are always tea and coffee delivery people that walk to the shops upon call to either bring the merchants or customers a drink.)  He said as he was walking back, he was stopped by two Israeli soldiers.  They questioned him and asked him what he was doing and where he was going and why he was out in the streets.  They told him that he was throwing rocks and that he wasn’t supposed to be in the streets.  He told the soldiers he wasn’t throwing rocks.  He has never thrown rocks.  He was just delivering tea.  The soldiers told him they were going to take him to jail for being out and for throwing rocks.  They didn’t believe him that he wasn’t throwing rocks.  The old man started crying to the soldiers.  He cried to them and said, “please don’t take me to jail, I was just delivering my tea.  I wasn’t throwing rocks.”  The old man cried and cried to the soldiers saying over and over. “I swear I wasn’t throwing rocks, I was just delivering my tea.”  Finally the soldiers, let him go.  They told him to go back to his house and stay there.  When the old man walked away from the soldiers, he cleared his face and started smiling.  He had gotten away.

When he was finished telling me the story, he started laughing as did my friend.  He stopped crying.  I was confused and looked to my friend for some clarity.  And then I realized, the man had just cried on the spot.  He wasn’t pouring his heart out to me.  He was a good actor and had perfected his fake crying skills.  The three of us laughed because the old man had gotten away from the Israeli soldiers due to his best crying performance.