With Eyes That Can See

The Palestinian National Theatre, under the artistic direction of Jamal Ghosheh, is making something creative from the events of everyday life. Al-`Uyun allati tushahidu/Eyes That Can See, written by the performers and director, opens windows to familiar scenes, and views beyond them to a more universal application of the attitudes and actions therein. With Norwegian director Morten Krogh, these young Palestinian actors have turned their own experiences into a performance infused with insight, and laced with suggestions for rethinking some customs. They illustrate high points of joy and low points of violence, conflicting expectations between genders and generations, and obstacles imposed by their own traditions as well as by outside oppression.

The open stage in the small hall seating one hundred draws the viewer in, and the creative use of very few props stimulates the imagination. A drum provides continuity across the shifting patterns and personas in scenes of children's play interspersed with learning, women's work, adolescent experiments, military occupation, death, and marriage. The ensemble works together symphonically to show daily experiences from fresh angles, figuratively and physically. A young woman flies with joy by stepping from hand-to-hand of the men below. In the pregnancy scene, each woman literally carries a man wrapped around her waist, from whence he somersaults into birth.

A laughter-inducing moment occurs when they play "Army". Three boys line up doing effeminate gyrations while chanting, "Ken, lo, ken, lo [yes, no]." They look as absurd as real life, and it is a relief to be able to laugh aloud at them. They proceed in fluent Hebrew, with the girls paraphrasing for the audience in Arabic. The soldiers line up toilet plungers as listening devices to investigate a ticking sound in a young man's chest, which they pronounce to be a bomb. All the children come together, touching their hearts and pronouncing with awe, "There's a bomb inside me!" This traditional comic scene takes on a dark hue for Palestinians whose very existence is construed as being a ticking bomb.

In another scene, the Army is not visible, but the atmosphere is imbued with its Occupation. The seven actors seem like a large crowd, criss-crossing the stage with various goals and professions until the music stops, and they freeze. Each hand holds up an identity card. The commonness of this scene is the tragedy of it. The dim green lighting accentuates the ubiquitous identity check that colors everyone's experience in Palestine.

Two sides of hope find expression in the cruelty and cooperation of children's play. As the children jump rope, a crippled boy, Ali, approaches. He represents his handicap by straddling a ladder and walking awkwardly on the rungs as if on stilts: "I want to jump," he says. The boy holding the rope is vehemently opposed. "I want to jump," he reiterates. The girl holding the other end of the rope kindly suggests he sing along with them instead. His frustration is palpable, welling up in this impossible hope until he cries fervently, "I want to jump!" They swing the rope for him once, to no avail. Twice. The third time, to his surprise and to the amazement of the entire audience, he succeeds. "I JUMPED! I JUMPED!" he exclaims, as the audience applauds. It is a deeply affecting reminder that a yearned-for goal can become possible, whether it is skipping rope or liberating a land.

These versatile performers succeed in touching our hearts by inviting our eyes to see familiar images in a new light. Most significant is that they did not look outside for a script or famous name. They have relied on their own experience as the greatest resource, and from the bitter and sweet of it, have created something hopeful for every viewer to take home.

The play is performed in Arabic, and is accessible to English speakers by means of a full synopsis handed out before the performance. The play was also shown in Ramallah (Al-Kasaba Theatre), Jaffa (As- Saraya), Nazareth and Haifa (Al-Midan).

Annie Higgins is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic issues, and volunteered this year in Palestine.

The open stage in the small hall seating one hundred draws the viewer in, and the creative use of very few props stimulates the imagination. A drum provides continuity across the shifting patterns and personas in scenes of children's play interspersed with learning, women's work, adolescent experiments, military occupation, death, and marriage. The ensemble works together symphonically to show daily experiences from fresh angles, figuratively and physically. A young woman flies with joy by stepping from hand-to-hand of the men below. In the pregnancy scene, each woman literally carries a man wrapped around her waist, from whence he somersaults into birth.

A laughter-inducing moment occurs when they play "Army". Three boys line up doing effeminate gyrations while chanting, "Ken, lo, ken, lo [yes, no]." They look as absurd as real life, and it is a relief to be able to laugh aloud at them. They proceed in fluent Hebrew, with the girls paraphrasing for the audience in Arabic. The soldiers line up toilet plungers as listening devices to investigate a ticking sound in a young man's chest, which they pronounce to be a bomb. All the children come together, touching their hearts and pronouncing with awe, "There's a bomb inside me!" This traditional comic scene takes on a dark hue for Palestinians whose very existence is construed as being a ticking bomb.

In another scene, the Army is not visible, but the atmosphere is imbued with its Occupation. The seven actors seem like a large crowd, criss-crossing the stage with various goals and professions until the music stops, and they freeze. Each hand holds up an identity card. The commonness of this scene is the tragedy of it. The dim green lighting accentuates the ubiquitous identity check that colors everyone's experience in Palestine.

Two sides of hope find expression in the cruelty and cooperation of children's play. As the children jump rope, a crippled boy, Ali, approaches. He represents his handicap by straddling a ladder and walking awkwardly on the rungs as if on stilts: "I want to jump," he says. The boy holding the rope is vehemently opposed. "I want to jump," he reiterates. The girl holding the other end of the rope kindly suggests he sing along with them instead. His frustration is palpable, welling up in this impossible hope until he cries fervently, "I want to jump!" They swing the rope for him once, to no avail. Twice. The third time, to his surprise and to the amazement of the entire audience, he succeeds. "I JUMPED! I JUMPED!" he exclaims, as the audience applauds. It is a deeply affecting reminder that a yearned-for goal can become possible, whether it is skipping rope or liberating a land.

These versatile performers succeed in touching our hearts by inviting our eyes to see familiar images in a new light. Most significant is that they did not look outside for a script or famous name. They have relied on their own experience as the greatest resource, and from the bitter and sweet of it, have created something hopeful for every viewer to take home.

The play is performed in Arabic, and is accessible to English speakers by means of a full synopsis handed out before the performance. The play was also shown in Ramallah (Al-Kasaba Theatre), Jaffa (As- Saraya), Nazareth and Haifa (Al-Midan).

Annie Higgins is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic issues, and volunteered this year in Palestine.

The open stage in the small hall seating one hundred draws the viewer in, and the creative use of very few props stimulates the imagination. A drum provides continuity across the shifting patterns and personas in scenes of children's play interspersed with learning, women's work, adolescent experiments, military occupation, death, and marriage. The ensemble works together symphonically to show daily experiences from fresh angles, figuratively and physically. A young woman flies with joy by stepping from hand-to-hand of the men below. In the pregnancy scene, each woman literally carries a man wrapped around her waist, from whence he somersaults into birth.

A laughter-inducing moment occurs when they play "Army". Three boys line up doing effeminate gyrations while chanting, "Ken, lo, ken, lo [yes, no]." They look as absurd as real life, and it is a relief to be able to laugh aloud at them. They proceed in fluent Hebrew, with the girls paraphrasing for the audience in Arabic. The soldiers line up toilet plungers as listening devices to investigate a ticking sound in a young man's chest, which they pronounce to be a bomb. All the children come together, touching their hearts and pronouncing with awe, "There's a bomb inside me!" This traditional comic scene takes on a dark hue for Palestinians whose very existence is construed as being a ticking bomb.

In another scene, the Army is not visible, but the atmosphere is imbued with its Occupation. The seven actors seem like a large crowd, criss-crossing the stage with various goals and professions until the music stops, and they freeze. Each hand holds up an identity card. The commonness of this scene is the tragedy of it. The dim green lighting accentuates the ubiquitous identity check that colors everyone's experience in Palestine.

Two sides of hope find expression in the cruelty and cooperation of children's play. As the children jump rope, a crippled boy, Ali, approaches. He represents his handicap by straddling a ladder and walking awkwardly on the rungs as if on stilts: "I want to jump," he says. The boy holding the rope is vehemently opposed. "I want to jump," he reiterates. The girl holding the other end of the rope kindly suggests he sing along with them instead. His frustration is palpable, welling up in this impossible hope until he cries fervently, "I want to jump!" They swing the rope for him once, to no avail. Twice. The third time, to his surprise and to the amazement of the entire audience, he succeeds. "I JUMPED! I JUMPED!" he exclaims, as the audience applauds. It is a deeply affecting reminder that a yearned-for goal can become possible, whether it is skipping rope or liberating a land.

These versatile performers succeed in touching our hearts by inviting our eyes to see familiar images in a new light. Most significant is that they did not look outside for a script or famous name. They have relied on their own experience as the greatest resource, and from the bitter and sweet of it, have created something hopeful for every viewer to take home.

The play is performed in Arabic, and is accessible to English speakers by means of a full synopsis handed out before the performance. The play was also shown in Ramallah (Al-Kasaba Theatre), Jaffa (As- Saraya), Nazareth and Haifa (Al-Midan).

Annie Higgins is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic issues, and volunteered this year in Palestine.

The open stage in the small hall seating one hundred draws the viewer in, and the creative use of very few props stimulates the imagination. A drum provides continuity across the shifting patterns and personas in scenes of children's play interspersed with learning, women's work, adolescent experiments, military occupation, death, and marriage. The ensemble works together symphonically to show daily experiences from fresh angles, figuratively and physically. A young woman flies with joy by stepping from hand-to-hand of the men below. In the pregnancy scene, each woman literally carries a man wrapped around her waist, from whence he somersaults into birth.

A laughter-inducing moment occurs when they play "Army". Three boys line up doing effeminate gyrations while chanting, "Ken, lo, ken, lo [yes, no]." They look as absurd as real life, and it is a relief to be able to laugh aloud at them. They proceed in fluent Hebrew, with the girls paraphrasing for the audience in Arabic. The soldiers line up toilet plungers as listening devices to investigate a ticking sound in a young man's chest, which they pronounce to be a bomb. All the children come together, touching their hearts and pronouncing with awe, "There's a bomb inside me!" This traditional comic scene takes on a dark hue for Palestinians whose very existence is construed as being a ticking bomb.

In another scene, the Army is not visible, but the atmosphere is imbued with its Occupation. The seven actors seem like a large crowd, criss-crossing the stage with various goals and professions until the music stops, and they freeze. Each hand holds up an identity card. The commonness of this scene is the tragedy of it. The dim green lighting accentuates the ubiquitous identity check that colors everyone's experience in Palestine.

Two sides of hope find expression in the cruelty and cooperation of children's play. As the children jump rope, a crippled boy, Ali, approaches. He represents his handicap by straddling a ladder and walking awkwardly on the rungs as if on stilts: "I want to jump," he says. The boy holding the rope is vehemently opposed. "I want to jump," he reiterates. The girl holding the other end of the rope kindly suggests he sing along with them instead. His frustration is palpable, welling up in this impossible hope until he cries fervently, "I want to jump!" They swing the rope for him once, to no avail. Twice. The third time, to his surprise and to the amazement of the entire audience, he succeeds. "I JUMPED! I JUMPED!" he exclaims, as the audience applauds. It is a deeply affecting reminder that a yearned-for goal can become possible, whether it is skipping rope or liberating a land.

These versatile performers succeed in touching our hearts by inviting our eyes to see familiar images in a new light. Most significant is that they did not look outside for a script or famous name. They have relied on their own experience as the greatest resource, and from the bitter and sweet of it, have created something hopeful for every viewer to take home.

The play is performed in Arabic, and is accessible to English speakers by means of a full synopsis handed out before the performance. The play was also shown in Ramallah (Al-Kasaba Theatre), Jaffa (As- Saraya), Nazareth and Haifa (Al-Midan).

Annie Higgins is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic issues, and volunteered this year in Palestine.