Palestine Sunbird

Figs, olives, and caged birds singing of freedom

Original photograph by Rafi Raz, design by Wietske Merison

One of my favorite Dutch songs is Over de muur by Klein Orkest. It’s a political song from 1984 about the Berlin Wall, the guarded concrete barrier that used to separate communist East Berlin from capitalist West Berlin. The chorus goes:

Only the birds fly from East to West Berlin
They alone are not called back or shot down
They fly over the Wall, over the Iron Curtain
Because sometimes they want to be in the West
And sometimes they want to be in the East

When I was studying Arabic in the West Bank, the endless Israeli walls and fences segregating the Palestinian people often reminded me of this song. I wonder how many birds have crossed the West Bank Wall since it was first constructed, simply because they sometimes want to be in Jerusalem, and sometimes want to go down to the river Jordan. I wonder how many of them have flown over Gaza’s Iron Wall to visit the town they know from the old stories of the seagulls about abundant fish. I wonder how many atrocities they have witnessed that none of us will ever know about.

The Palestine Sunbird is perhaps the most beautiful bird of the Holy Land. Its feathers have a brilliant metallic blue, green, and purple reflection. It is often seen around flowers, in search for nectar, and it sings a song with many regional variations. It seems to have a preference for the holiest of spaces, for its habitat stretches in a narrow band across all three of the holy cities of Islam: Jerusalem, Mecca, and Medina. It sometimes finds shelter in rocky valleys, including those of Mount Sinai and Jabal an-Nur. And when it needs to rest and recover, it might just choose the warm embrace of a fig or olive tree.

Surah At-Tin, ‘The Fig’, chapter 95 of the Qur’an, seems to paint a perfect picture of the habitat of the Palestine Sunbird: “By the fig and the olive. And Mount Sinai. And this secure, blessed land (Mecca)” (Qur’an 95:1-3). This little bird’s homeland has a radiant beauty that simply transcends words. Yet still, after painting a picture of such richness and beauty; of the Holy Land and the holiest of spaces, God chooses to highlight another part of creation as having potential for even greater beauty: “Indeed, We created humans in the best form.” (Quran 95:4).

Us? Are we more radiant than the light that comes forth from the olive? Are we sweeter than a fig? Does our elevation extend beyond the majestic Mount Sinai and is the sanctity of humanity greater than that of Mecca? Well… it could be. God reminds us that we have the potential for nothing less than that. We were formed in a mold of greatness. But it is up to us to live up to that greatness. And if we do not, that unfulfilled potential might just lead us to be the lowest of all creatures. So how do we live up to our potential? We read on: “But We will reduce them to the lowest of the low. Except those who believe and do good - they will have a never-ending reward” (Qur’an 95:5-6).

It’s as simple as that: if we believe and persist in acts of goodness, we will be more beautiful even than the habitat of the Palestine Sunbird. But if, instead, we choose to corrupt, oppress, kill, and pollute, God warns us that our actions will be judged and that God is the most just of all judges (Qur’an 95:7-8).

And on that day when we will face judgment from the Most Just, the Palestine Sunbird might just testify for or against us. Did it find shade because of trees we planted? Or did it die of thirst because of the water policies we condoned that leave the occupied Palestinian territories in a constant drought? Did it witness atrocities that we silently endorsed? Or did it witness how we cried as it cried?

The Palestine Sunbird roams freely over a land of walls, fences, and checkpoints. But imagine just for a moment that it would be captured and caged. What would happen then? If it was given just enough food and water to keep it alive, but it had nowhere to fly. If it was cut off from Jerusalem, Mecca, and Medina, and was just left with distant dreams of flowers and trees that have witnessed the time of prophets. If its feathers would no longer reflect the sunlight with beautiful hues of blue, purple, and green. If it was cut off from the sea, cut off from the river. Cut off from the mountains, cut off from the fig and olive trees. What, then, would it sing of?

Maya Angelou knew the answer to that question:

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill 
of things unknown but longed for still 
and his tune is heard on the distant hill 
for the caged bird sings of freedom

But what if the song of the caged bird goes unheard? If it is sung for years and years, or even for generations, whilst its cage only gets smaller. If the caged bird starts to wonder if it is invisible or perhaps even non-existent. What happens then? It will either die or sing louder, and louder, until singing becomes screaming, and screaming becomes crying, and crying becomes the type of desperation that would lead a prisoner to kill his captor just for the key to his freedom. And then the prisoner is killed in retaliation.

Does that sound like we are living up to our human potential?

May all caged birds find their freedom. May we remember what our potential is. And may the appearance of the Palestine Sunbird, even in the terrors of war, corruption, and oppression, create little moments of beauty and remembrance.