


To access the article online, click here: https://www.palestine-studies.org/sites/default/files/jq-articles/Time%20Travelers%20in%20Palestine%20-%20Stereoscopic%20Journey.pdf?fbclid=IwAR2JCxvJFB-EW0m6cGvPkzu5qRad_JzHW3UMuEizdIXwbH6pwEfSCrkaNf8

Google’s attempt to translate can be charming at times and completely wrong as well. Here is how Google translated a post on Facebook about an old article regarding the transcription of South Arabic “Himyarite” letters. For those who do not know Arabic, the word for donkey is hamir, a close match for a computer… And Playfair was definitely not recent…
Dervish; photograph by Sevryugin Anton (1830 – 1933),
the official photographer of the Imperial Court of Iran
In the early 19th century there was a florescence of Protestant missionary interest in saving Muslim, Jewish and other kinds of Christian souls in the Middle East. This thread continues excerpts from one of the earliest accounts from the 19th century, that of Joseph Wolff (1795-1862), a convert from Judaism to Christianity. In 1837 he published a diary of his travels. Like a number of Christians visiting the Muslim world, Wolff is more impressed by Muslim sobriety and devotion in their ritual than he is by the Christians he sees:

There is also an intriguing encounter between the Christian missionary and a Kurdish Muslim dervish:


Chalk one up for the Kurdish dervish over the atheists of Europe.

by George Nicolas El-Hage, Ph.D.
Poetry is the language of prophecy spoken by the angels and gods when they populated this earth before the fall. Hence, the poet is the offspring of that divine race that has since departed our planet to the lofty skies.
Man will never regain his divine status until he embraces his spirituality. Consequently, we have to use language differently. We have to say less and mean more before we are able to communicate effectively. Words should be spontaneous and timeless. They are meant to be charged with emotions and to embody visions that illuminate experience and communicate nothing but the truth.
The poet is not a prophet if prophecy is understood to be the prediction of future events, but the poet should be viewed as a seer if instead, prophecy is meant to be a warning that if man goes on doing such deeds, then the result will be dire.
Although poetry could be national or regional, nevertheless, it shall never be divorced from its universal message and concerns. It is within this context that I write my poetry and hope it will help make our world a better place, one word at a time.
Samples of My Poetry (Translated from the Original Arabic):
“If You Were Mine”
No, I shall not tell you that I became a poet.
The day I read joy and sadness in your smile and witnessed the sun rising in your eyes, I abandoned my heart, crucified on the ivory ramparts of your face, and setting sail, I strove to navigate the deep waters of inspiration.
That day, I discovered my inner self in the mirror of your pure love, and I vowed to tell you this in words. These are some of them.
You are aware that I consider myself responsible before you for the many words yet left unsaid, more so than those recounted.
Possibly my arrival would be delayed tomorrow. I must prepare myself well. The journey for a poet is long and provisions costly and burdensome.
Perhaps I would find you watching for me and would forget the hardships of travel. Perhaps the sun could have set in your eyes, your black lashes drawing the curtain on the windows of waiting. I know I would be plunged in sorrow. For I have made all the preparations. I would leave the memory of my anguish planted in a tear and write upon its looking-glass: “If you were mine.”
“A Vision”
I bathe every day in the stream of vision.
I wear the cloak of poetry, and I write in the notebook of each morning a new sun.
I create scenes and heroes.
I draw them with colors and words, and they become perfect beings.
They live and die, but I resurrect them anew.
I live with them and become one with them.
I modify their existence and alter their destiny so as to remain their master and their creator.
I am the poet of illusion; my poems are worlds of light
populated only with those who sincerely believe
that poetry is the road to God
and that my poems are the beginning of this road.
“Surprise Attack”
Sway with the breeze
Bow like a lily
Disdain wounds
Become buds
Scattering spring
And light
Stopping tears
And gales
Descend softly with the dew
Become a mound of anemones
The color of my blood
Attack the gardens
Regain your tranquility
My queen
Penetrate the darkness of eternity
Put your arms around the waist of space
The minutes are impregnated
The gardens would be born
Soar with the echo
Be born as you desire
Sister of dawn
Torture hearts with love
Put out the stars of your sky and the moon.
Light anxious eyes
To illuminate your world
Even if the day explodes in fury
Killing itself
Tame wild mares, and meadows
And shadows, tame the multitudes
Pile yourself up
Like autumn’s notebook
Turn inward
Embracing the void as you fall
Couple with the soil
Become heavy with grapes
Sink your roots into my breast
Deep as the carefree shaking
Of a bird’s wing
By the roadside
Or a pulse from within the earth’s darkness
Teach me of the seen
And the unseen
Let your fragrance perfume the wind
Like frankincense
Or dahlias
Become the lines in my hand
For you are the ecstasies of beauty
In my poems
Open within me
Like a star
Like a smile
Watch over my portals
Like a breeze
Fill my windows
Scatter the day
Fill my temple
Become flesh
If only once, become flesh
You would delight in being
The substance of matter, and madness
In enraptured eyes
Attire yourself in the form of letters
And their curves
Tint the syllables
For your garment of beauty is blue
Giving the sky its color
In my hand is a plume
Melting between my fingers
Dripping letters
And blood.
“My People”
I vowed to rise in the eyes of the sun
To have its light wear me as a morning
To build a castle in yesterday’s country
And become the Easter of your holidays.
I relate to you a myth about me
With love and my hands I build your home
I visit you in my poems and my dreams
With the warmth of your eyes I light my tomorrow.
I build for you from the sap of my eyelashes
A swing in the shade of our Cedar tree
Its ropes are my hope and my sinews
And my solemn belief in our awakening
If you had listened to the cry of my lyrics
You would have become again one family and friends
You are the conscience of poetry within me
And the sweet wine in my cup.
I traveled from you to remain for you
I make no distinction… you are all my loved ones
If your love should weaken
Take my blood and the throb of my heart.
“You, Beirut, and the Children”
As the leaves of October,I scatter myself over your blazing inferno;
Your divine and succulent body
From its forbidden summits
Down to its ravenous depths and fertile valleys.
As a summer cloud bearing spring,
I shower gentle kisses upon your flushed lips
Whose color gives the rose its crimson
Whose benevolent banks are a bed of red anemones.
Glory to your heavenly eyes,
Two lakes of pearl and coral
I am the maker of dreams,
Of bracelets most precious
Grant me to fashion an enchanted bangle
For thy delicate wrist.
Your hair,
Waterfalls roaring in the twilight,
Forests of bewilderment,
Fields of ripened grain blessed by the harvest sun
Nourish me from your bountiful fruits.
I am the titan of lovers
Emerging from the womb of legends
Lost in the annals of ancient fables
My odyssey yearns for a happy ending
With the beautiful princess.
O my friend,
In this time of madness
Rootless with each step
Heart forged of iron
What may we hope to plant
But dejection?What may we hope to reap
But regret?
What may we hope to build our home upon
But the banks of sin?
O my Magdalene
My virgin
My sweet lamentation
My beloved City
Lend me your voice
So I can speak unto them
War has broken my wings
My throat is barren
My strings rusted
And despair has muffled my hymn
Tell them to spare the children
To let the children live and dream
YOU, enemies of innocence
Let the children bloom
Let love conquer the forces of darkness
Let peace reign.
Suffer the little children to come unto me
Let my beloved approach
Let my City live
For unto them alone is
My love
My kingdom
My poetry.
For the published poetry books of George El-Hage, click here.

In the early 19th century there was a florescence of Protestant missionary interest in saving Muslim, Jewish and other kinds of Christian souls in the Middle East. This thread continues excerpts from one of the earliest accounts from the 19th century, that of Joseph Wolff (1795-1862), a convert from Judaism to Christianity. In 1837 he published a diary of his travels. Here are the passages related to a brief stop in several of Yemen’s ports:



to be continued…

Here is an interesting article on Qantara.

Tabsir Redux…
In the early 19th century there was a florescence of Protestant missionary interest in saving Muslim, Jewish and other kinds of Christian souls in the Middle East. One of the earliest accounts from the 19th century is that of Joseph Wolff (1795-1862), a convert from Judaism to Christianity. His missionary travels began in 1821 and he also went in search of the “lost tribes” of Israel. In 1837 he published a diary of his travels. This is a fascinating book to read, once one gets by the evangelistic fervor. He was considered by fellow missionaries to be somewhat of an “eccentric,” as he acknowledges in the frontispiece to his travels.

Here is how he begins his book…
Continue reading A Wolff in Shepherd’s Clothing #1
by Jon W. Anderson
Amid the blizzard of punditry and spin-doctoring – especially spin-doctoring from perpetrators and advocates of prescriptions for Afghanistan who turned from the Bush administration’s original goal of smashing al-Qaida and denying it sanctuaries in Afghanistan from which the 9/11 attacks were hatched to destroying Iraq and “nation-building” in Afghanistan – it is worth pausing to take account of how the startling swift advance of the Taliban there from a border post to a provincial capital then to all other provincial capitals in less than a week and Kabul on the weekend looks from Afghan and perhaps even Taliban perspectives. So far, those have been limited to interviews with media-savvy Afghan modernists, on the one hand, and a Taliban press conference on the other. Or, all the news that fits the script(s).
What is new among facts closer to the ground is the much derided and in recent months ignored Doha “process,” if we might borrow that term. Doha is the proximal point of departure for everything that has happened in Afghanistan since the former Trump administration negotiated, signed, and exchanged copies of an agreement with the Taliban last year. From the outside, to external observers, this all looked very diplomatic, including accepting the Taliban as a de facto international player. Very diverting, and pundits were diverted into deconstructing it as variously hasty, overdue, giving up on Afghanistan, or a typical Trump deal, all show but bankrupt at its core. But that wasn’t the Doha Process from Afghan perspectives.
By setting a date for withdrawal of US troops on the ground in Afghanistan in return for Taliban agreeing not to molest that withdrawal, that Trump agreement with Taliban negotiator-representatives reset the game in two ways. First, it concluded armed hostilities in a classic Afghan form of conflict-management where one side concludes it cannot win, stops fighting, and effectively changes sides (while on the surface hiding that) by withdrawing from the field, with the other side accepting that instead of destroying its foe. Second, it provided a sort of non-aggression pact, or informal, more private than public, assurance that the withdrawing party would not be molested in return for effectively laying down arms. This underlying structure of the Doha Agreement from an Afghan perspective, on which foreign observers focused as leaving the Afghan government to make its own agreement, has a denser significance in customary Afghan approaches to conflict management. In those terms, the high-level Doha agreement provided a model subsequently applied “down the line,” as it were at all the points of actual armed conflict in myriad local discussions, agreements, and private assurances by Taliban that they would not molest or revenge themselves on soldiers who laid down (and especially surrendered) their arms nor civilians who didn’t oppose them. They may or may not have had a strategy to preserve and take over existing apparatus of government, as well as discarded military equipment much paraded before the cameras. But this much is basic: they managed a negotiated cessation of fighting and freedom of movement for themselves.
I don’t have direct evidence of myriad local negotiations and private assurances of this sort; but the alternative favored by external pundits – that thousands of soldiers and police, all of them, spontaneously and simultaneously deserted a government too corrupt, distant, and indifferent to their own welfare – is inherently implausible. It is implausible, first, that all would do this at the same time, as if Afghans were of one mind like a flock of pigeons and, second, that the occasional holdouts might not have been taken by Taliban as betrayal of the deal justifying their return to fighting. By all accounts so far, there was little of that and a lot of quietly stopping and simply stepping out of their way.
The structural condition for this outcome was set by the final US strategy of driving Taliban into the mountains and hinterlands while securing urban centers where most of the population lived. To old hands, this might resemble an old Vietnam strategy and defiance of the Maoist alternative, though it probably follows a more contemporary counter-insurgency doctrine of pushing insurgents to the margins so the centers can develop and develop constituencies for development. Again, I do not know if this was the rationale, but the effect of pushing Taliban out of sight was to push them out of mind and so to fail to register localizations of the Doha Deal for what they were, a deal and not just threats to kill any who opposed them.
Second, subsequent Afghan behavior supports the hypothesis of quiet assurances not just in Doha and not just in myriad local settings but all up and down the spectrum from local to national forces and government. The sudden night-time flight of President Ghani, a day after a final – recorded – broadcast in which he proposed to plan a meeting to mediate a national council to negotiate differences, followed the next day by not-so-former grandees who still represented important constituencies, some armed, stepping forward to announce that they stood ready to organize and host such a meeting with the Taliban, suggests the fix was in, notwithstanding his professions of sudden decision and sudden departures. Former President Hamid Karzai, current co-President Abdallah Abdallah, and surviving Mujahadin leader Gulgbeddin Hikmatyar interposed themselves with not-so-subtle reminders of other constituencies in Afghanistan, including armed ones, that Taliban would have to take into account.
While Taliban do not have such a reputation from their previous takeover and time in power, their performative defiance of the rest of the world in that period has so far (not this week but since the Doha Agreement) taken a back seat or at least been supplemented by professions of wanting international recognition following performances of such at Doha and in – of all things – a press conference in Kabul two days after Taliban fighters entered the capital. Whether a Conference of the Big Birds will occur, and whether it might include the volunteer grandees, the gesture and the roles claimed by persons making it are wholly Afghan. Call it speculation in settlement, jockeying for position, attempts to take the game ahead now that the game behind is up. This is the normal next phase in customary Afghan conflict-management: it is not de-escalation, not compromise or cutting the difference, but realignment that recognizes and accepts interests and a politics of alliance-making that begins with collusion. Even former President Ghani’s statements from his new not-yet-exile in the UAE are such a bid to, in journalist terms, “relevance.” In this regard, it may have been wiser than the pundits realized for US President Biden to blame the Afghan army for its debacle, since that cast him, an outsider, and not them as the betrayed party.
Where does this leave journalists and other observer-interpreters? For the most part, they have been outside the local versions of the Doha Process in Afghanistan; within Afghanistan they have been close to modernist constituencies that hitched their stars after the first Taliban period to the two domains that Taliban then forbade, especially to women – namely, education and media broadly interpreted to extend from fashion to broadcasting, publicity, and centering on expressive professions. These are most accessible to foreign observers, first, because they want to be – those are their reference groups – and second because foreign observers already have categories for them that provide a kind of pre-understanding that is at best thin when it comes to Taliban but also when it comes to the other demographic most threatened by them in the past, the Shia Hazara.
The coming test not just for the New Taliban but for the old grandees is who will take an interest in those Afghans in whom foreigners take an interest. This is not just the media world of commentators and interpreters focused by modernists, and particularly by urban women who have grasped the opportunities in education and media to measure the distance they have come from the last time Taliban were in power; it also must include the Shia Hazara whose marja (religious leader/exemplars) in neighboring Iran have deep networks among co-religionists in Afghanistan. This time, Iran is not a bystander and, for those who worry about such things, has two decades of experience recruiting and deploying third-party volunteers/mercenaries in its own regional adventures. Whether or not it could mobilize them, at the least, Iran would take an interest in direct threats to the welfare of Shia in Afghanistan. Arguably, the stability of Afghanistan going forward will depend on such negotiations and alliances formed that Taliban neglected (or rejected) last time but whose public spokesmen now profess to want to engage.
My only prediction is that the process will drive outsiders crazy, and lacking local points of reference will test abilities to tell their own. Among those local perspectives…
In The Conference of the Birds, the Persian Sufi poet Farid al-Din Attar of Nishapur (1142-1220) described a meeting of all the birds to decide who would be their sovereign. Each bird represented some human fault, and after some discussion the wisest urged that they seek out the Simorg. To do that, they had to pass through seven valleys, one where they abandon dogmas, one where they abandon reason for love, one where they abandon worldly knowledge, another where they abandon desires and lusts. In the Valley of Unity they realize that everything is connected, in the Valley of Wonderment that they have never understood anything, and in the final valley of Poverty that the ego is nothingness. The birds experience agonies and pain. Many die of fright even at the prospect of the journey, but some do set out, and a final 30 reach the abode of the Simorg (=30 birds in Farsi), which they realize is like the reality of a mirror in which one sees oneself reflected.
Jon W. Anderson is Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at the Catholic University of America. He conducted ethnographic research in Afghanistan in the 1970s.