martedì 12 maggio 2015
Sintesi personale
Il SUV rallenta quando si avvicina a un posto militare. All’interno, Ramzi Aburedwan, musicista palestinese, prepara i suoi documenti per la guardia israeliana. Dall’altra parte di questo checkpoint si trova la destinazione del giovane, l’antica città palestinese di Sebastia. Compagni musicisti si stanno radunando lì quel pomeriggio per eseguire, tra le rovine di un anfiteatro costruito in epoca romana, un concerto. Nel sedile posteriore vi è la moglie Celine con il figlio di un anno dai riccioli biondi.
Il soldato prontamente lo informa che non può passare. “Questi sono gli ordini“, aggiunge, senza ulteriori spiegazioni, lo indirizza verso un altro ingresso distante 45 minuti. Ramzi svolta in direzione di Shavei Shomron, un insediamento israeliano arroccato su una collina e poi di un “avamposto“costruito dai coloni. Infine passa attraverso una serie di barriere e filo spinato, raggiunge l’entrata designata, ottiene il permesso di passare e finalmente arriva in tempo per il concerto.
Ho assistito all’incidente checkpoint, una delle migliaia di piccole umiliazioni quotidiane subite dai palestinesi, dal sedile anteriore del SUV di Ramzi nel 2010. Ci eravamo incontrati 12 anni prima, quando i manifesti di Ramzi a Ramallah avevano catturato la mia immaginazione. In una foto scattata nel 1988, durante la prima Intifada palestinese, Ramzi aveva scagliato una pietra contro un soldato israeliano invisibile. Sullo stesso manifesto vi era un’altra foto scattata 10 anni più tardi di Ramzi impegnato a suonare il violino.
Il poster era uno spot per il Conservatorio Nazionale di Musica in Palestina e una metafora per dare speranza a molti palestinesi, al momento degli accordi di pace di Oslo. Ramzi allora aveva un duplice desiderio: suonare nella prima orchestra sinfonica nazionale della Palestina e aprire scuole di musica per i bambini palestinesi.
“Voglio vedere molti conservatori in tutta la Palestina,” mi disse. Un bel sogno, ho pensato, ma ancora più improbabile per un adolescente di un campo profughi cresciuto dai nonni poveri.
Poi, alla fine del 2009, in un incontro casuale in un ristorante italiano in Cisgiordania, ho rivisto Ramzi che mi annuncia di aver aperto una scuola di musica qui in Palestina”. (Ha anche filiali in tutto la West Bank e nei campi profughi in Libano).
Ora il suo SUV per Sebastia sta attraversando la Cisgiordania, una terra più piccola dello stato del Delaware, ma costellata da oltre 600 posti di blocco. La sua deviazione è parte di un sistema che chiude i palestinesi in enclave sempre più limitate, circondate da insediamenti ebraici e dalla presenza militare di Israele, ma questo tipo di umiliazione quotidiana e confinamento rimane sconosciuto alla maggior parte degli americani. La realtà quotidiana non è nota.
Milioni di americani hanno visto Exodus. In quella storia l’attenzione è centrata sulla nascita eroica dello stato ebraico dalle ceneri dell’Olocausto. I palestinesi sono al margine del racconto. La narrativa di base dei media americani ha potenziato la visione che Israele sia circondata da un mare di nemici, ma come la narrazione che ha dominato i media prima dell’invasione americana dell’Iraq, secondo la quale Saddam Hussein possedeva armi di distruzione di massa, i fatti sul terreno sono spesso ignorati.
Il denaro annebbia il quadro ancora più. Milioni di dollari da Sheldon Adelson (che ha anche sostenuto l’uso di armi nucleari contro l’Iran), dal miliardario Paul Singer, nel consiglio di amministrazione della Coalizione ebraica repubblicana, da William Kristol Comitato di Emergenza per Israele, hanno ulteriormente distorto la conoscenza della realtà. Questi finanziatori hanno contribuito a elevare falchi come Tom Cotton.
Il denaro e l’ AIPAC hanno avuto un effetto simile su alcuni democratici; Charles Schumer del New Jersey ha recentemente accusato il senatore Robert Menendez sull’accordo quadro con l’Iran, ma il problema parte da lontano. Per anni, come la giornalista Connie Bruck ha rivelato lo scorso settembre sul New Yorker, l’ AIPAC ha condizionato la stampa tramite donazioni sontuose e la legislazione Bozze spesso scritte da personale dell’AIPAC sono state introdotte sotto il nome di qualche membro del Congresso.
Tutto ciò ha avuto un effetto disastroso su questo paese ed è stato lasciato fuori da ogni dibattito l’impatto devastante sulla vita dei palestinesi dell’ occupazione militare che va di pari passo con l’espansione degli insediamenti.
Politici americani spesso dichiarano che “Israele ha il diritto di difendersi”. Raramente qualcuno chiede se i palestinesi hanno lo stesso diritto oltre quello di godere della libertà di movimento nella loro stessa patria.
Ho passato gli ultimi cinque anni a documentare sia la dura realtà dell’occupazione israeliana sia il sogno di Ramzi Aburedwan. Mi sono seduto con i bambini nelle colline a sud di Hebron contro i quali erano stati lanciati sassi, mentre andavano a scuola. Ho incontrato una ragazza di 14 anni costretta a suonare una canzone per un soldato a un posto di blocco, presumibilmente per dimostrare che il suo flauto non era un’arma.
Gli agricoltori dei villaggi hanno condiviso le loro angosce con me sui loro mezzi di sussistenza perduti, perché le 430 miglia di barriera di separazione su terra palestinese, in sostanza, ha confiscato quasi il 10% della Cisgiordania, taglia fuori dai loro oliveti i contadini. Ho visto uomini stipati in recinti di sosta prima di entrare in Israele per lavorare, le donne schiacciate tra blocchi di cemento in attesa di pregare nella moschea di Al Aqsa di Gerusalemme. Ho parlato con innumerevoli famiglie oggetto di incursioni notturne da parte dell’esercito israeliano,
Ramzi e gli insegnanti della sua scuola, Al Kamandjati (in arabo “Il violinista”), vedono il violino come un antidoto al senso di oppressione e confinamento che pervade la vita palestinese. Gli studenti affermano che la musica ha dato loro un senso di calma e di protezione .
Rasha, la giovane flautista arrestata e costretta a esibirsi in un checkpoint israeliano, mi ha detto che la musica le ha permesso di affrontare schiaccianti difficoltà. “Mi sentivo come se fossi in un bosco, da sola in un piccolo cottage con nessun popolo, nessun rumore. Montagne, mare, qualcosa di blu puro, non come il Mar Morto. Era una fuga in un altro mondo, un mondo migliore. Ho posseduto quel mondo.” I suoi insegnanti hanno riferito che una arrabbiata ragazza traumatizzata stava crescendo in una assertiva giovane musicista.
Tuttavia, l’espressione creativa non può modificare la realtà della strisciante militarizzazione derivante dall ‘ espansione degli insediamenti. Al tempo degli accordi di pace di Oslo vi erano 109.000 coloni ebrei, incoraggiati da incentivi israeliani che rendevano più economico essere un colono che un abitante della città.
Negli anni che seguirono una rete di nuove strade in Cisgiordania, riservate solo ai coloni e VIP, cominciò ad attraversare terreni apparentemente accantonati per uno Stato palestinese. Ogni anno, nonostante il continuo “processo di pace”, altre migliaia di coloni sono arrivati e sono sorte basi militari. Il sessanta per cento della Cisgiordania rimane controllata direttamente dai militari israeliani, che proteggono gli insediamenti, vi sono “zone cuscinetto”, le strade esclusive che portano velocemente i coloni ebrei a Gerusalemme e a Tel Aviv per il lavoro, la preghiera, lo shopping, il mare.
Ora 350.000 coloni ebrei vivono principalmente sulle colline delle terre della West Bank sequestrate ai palestinesi sempre più costretti a vivere in un arcipelago di “isole” e sottoposti al controllo militare israeliano. In realtà vi è un singolo stato controllato da Israele dove alcuni godono di pieni diritti come cittadini e altri non hanno alcun diritto.
Benjamin Netanyahu ha chiarito definitivamente questa verità essenziale con la sua dichiarazione che uno stato palestinese non sarebbe mai sorto. In altre parole, la soluzione dei due Stati è morta.
Negli ultimi anni, la società civile palestinese e i suoi sostenitori a livello internazionale hanno scelto nuove direzioni, abbracciando il confronto non violento diretto con Israele. La scorsa estate, quando i negoziati per un nuovo accordo di pace guidata dal Segretario di Stato John Kerry sono crollati in modo spettacolare e l’amministrazione Obama insolitamente ha accusato l’intransigenza israeliana, i palestinesi ei loro sostenitori hanno sentito la necessità di abbracciare una nuova strategia: BDS. Con esso è venuta una rinnovata spinta per l’Autorità palestinese a chiedere il riconoscimento alle Nazioni Unite della Palestina come stato indipendente e a rivolgersi al Tribunale penale internazionale, che potrebbe portare ad accusare di crimini di guerra i leader israeliani.
Dopo il concerto a Sebastia Ramzi guida nel buio verso Ramallah e mi spiega di aver aderito alla campagna BDS. che considera un passo importante verso la libertà palestinese.“Perché crediamo nella pacifica resistenza e nel nostro diritto ad essere qui, chiediamo a tutti coloro che credono nei diritti umani e nella libertà di boicottare i prodotti israeliani e le istituzioni culturali e accademiche e di continuare fino a quando Israele non capirà che non può uccidere la volontà di un popolo con la forza, imparando a rispettare le leggi internazionali e ponendo fine all’ occupazione. Bisogna insistere sulla energia positiva . Quanto più si crede in quello che si sta facendo, tanto più la luce taglia la terra buia. Lo vedo nei giovani che vivono in un mondo di musica”.
Rallenta a Zatara checkpoint. A sinistra vi è la corsia preferenziale per i veicoli di coloni e vip, a destra vi è la corsia palestinese con una lunga fila di auto per un’attesa infinita.
Ramzi decide la sua versione notturna di confronto non violento diretto con il governo israeliano. Si ferma al posto di guardia riservato ai coloni e ai pochi privilegiati palestinesi:
“Perché sei venuto qui?“, Il soldato chiede indignato.“Aspetta nell’altra corsia “
“Vorrei sapere,” Ramzi domanda in inglese, “se c’è una differenza tra i bambini israeliani e bambini palestinesi.“
“Cosa?“, risponde il soldato spaventato.
“Ho chiesto se “c’è una differenza tra i bambini israeliani e bambini palestinesi? Tra i vostri bambini e i miei bambini. Mi piacerebbe davvero conoscere la risposta a questa domanda. “
Il giovane soldato esita, poi lo lascia passare: una minuscola vittoria in una lunga lotta senza fine.
Sandy Tolan, author of “The Lemon Tree,” is associate professor at USC’s Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism. His new book is “Children of the Stone: A Music School in a Hard Land” (Bloomsbury), about one Palestinian’s dream to build a music school in the midst of Israel’s military occupation. He blogs at Ramallahcafe.com. Follow @sandy_tolan or https://www.facebook.com/SandyTolanAuthor
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Sandy Tolan : Ramzi Aburedwan e la musica come l…
http://frammentivocalimo.blogspot.it/2015/05/sandy-tolan-ramzi-aburedwan-e-la-musica.html
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SUNDAY, MAY 10, 2015 05:00 PM E
America’s dangerous “Exodus” fantasy: What’s lost in the Israel-Palestine debate
Our government’s unbending allegiance to Israel has blinded us to the horrors of its military occupation in Gaza
Paul Newman in “Exodus”
This piece originally appeared on TomDispatch.
The SUV slows as it approaches a military kiosk at a break in a dull gray wall. Inside, Ramzi Aburedwan, a Palestinian musician, prepares his documents for the Israeli soldier standing guard. On the other side of this West Bank military checkpoint lies the young man’s destination, the ancient Palestinian town of Sebastia. Fellow musicians are gathering there that afternoon to perform in the ruins of an amphitheater built during Roman times. In the back seat, his wife, Celine, tends their one-year-old son, Hussein, his blond locks curling over the collar of his soccer jersey.
Ramzi is in a hurry to set up for the concert, but it doesn’t matter. The soldier promptly informs him that he cannot pass. “Those are the orders,” he adds without further explanation, directing him to another entrance 45 minutes away. Turning the car around, Ramzi then drives beneath Shavei Shomron, a red-roofed Israeli settlement perched high on a hill, and then an “outpost” of hilltop trailers planted by a new wave of settlers. Finally, he passes through a series of barriers and looping barbed wire, reaching the designated entrance, where another soldier waves him through. He arrives in time for the concert.
I witnessed the checkpoint incident, one of thousands of small daily indignities suffered by Palestinians, from the front seat of Ramzi’s SUV in 2010. We had met 12 years earlier when posters of Ramzi, pasted all over Ramallah, had captured my imagination. In a photo taken in 1988 during the first Palestinian intifada, eight-year-old Ramzi was hurling a stone at an unseen Israeli soldier. Juxtaposed behind it, on the same poster, was another photo taken 10 years later of 18-year-old Ramzi pulling a bow across viola strings.
The poster was an advertisement for the National Conservatory of Music in Palestine and a metaphor for the hopes of many Palestinians at the time: that the era of the Oslo Peace Accords would bring an independent Palestinian state. In the story I produced at the time for National Public Radio, Ramzi expressed a double wish: to perform in the first national symphony orchestra of Palestine and someday to open music schools for Palestinian children.
“I want to see many conservatories opening up in all of Palestine,” he told me. A lovely dream, I thought, though an unlikely one for a teenager from a refugee camp who had been raised by his impoverished grandparents. Still, shortly thereafter, a determined Ramzi landed a scholarship to study the viola in France. A year or two later, we lost touch.
Then, in late 2009, in a chance encounter at a West Bank Italian restaurant, I saw Ramzi again. “What are you doing here?” I asked him. “I thought you were still in France.”
“No, I’m back,” he replied. “I’ve opened a music school here in Palestine.” (It also has branches across the West Bank and in refugee camps in Lebanon.) In other words, exactly what he had told me he wanted to do as a teenager in the al-Amari refugee camp. Six months later, in June 2010, I began to document his dream — now a reality — to build a music school in occupied Palestine.
Now, his SUV bound for Sebastia is cutting through the West Bank, a land smaller than the state of Delaware but dotted with more than 600 checkpoints, earthen barriers, and other obstacles to normal travel. His detour and the incident that accompanied it are part of a system that hems Palestinians into ever more confined enclaves surrounded by Jewish settlements over which looms Israel’s military presence. Yet this kind of everyday humiliation and confinement remains unknown to most Americans. Despite the torrents of press coverage here about Israel and its relationship with the United States, the daily reality of half the people in a century-old conflict is essentially off the American radar screen.
The reasons for this are rooted in culture, politics, and money. Millions of Americans were raised on the Leon Uris version of Israeli history, as told in his novel Exodus. In that story, the focus was on the heroic birth of the Jewish state out of the ashes of the Holocaust. “Arabs” — that is, Palestinians — remained on the sidelines of the tale, pathetic, obstructionist, and violent. That long ago became the American media’s basic narrative of the struggle in the region: that Israel, surrounded by a sea of enemies, must be secure. But like the narrative that dominated media discourse before the U.S. invasion of Iraq — that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction – the facts on the ground are often ignored.
Money clouds the picture even more. Millions of dollars from billionaire casino magnate and Israeli settlement advocate Sheldon Adelson (who has also advocated using nuclear weapons against Iran) and billionaire Paul Singer, on the board of the Republican Jewish Coalition, as well as from the bankrollers of neocon William Kristol’s Emergency Committee for Israel,have further distorted the conversation. In the process, such funders have helped elevate war hawks like Arkansas Senator Tom Cotton to prominence.
The money and political leverage of backers of the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) has had a similar effect on some Democrats. It helps explain, for instance, the growing challenges from New York Senator Charles Schumer and New Jersey’s recently indicted Senator Robert Menendez to the Obama administration’s framework nuclear agreement with Iran. But the problem has been around for so much longer. For years, as journalist Connie Bruck revealed last September in the New Yorker, AIPAC has strong-armed elected officials, the recipients of the lavish campaign donations it facilitates, into drafting legislation favorable to Israel. Such bills are often written by AIPAC staff and then introduced under the name of some member of Congress.
All of this has had a ruinous effect on debate in this country about Israel and Palestine. Almost invariably left out of any discussion here is the devastating impact on Palestinian lives of Israel’s military occupation, which goes hand-in-hand with relentless settlement expansion that undermines any prospect of a just and lasting peace in the region.
Being Confined
American politicians frequently declare that “Israel has a right to defend itself.” Seldom does anyone ask if Palestinians have that same right, or even the right to enjoy freedom of movement in their own homeland.
I have spent the last five years documenting both the harsh realities of Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and Ramzi Aburedwan’s dream of building a music school that could provide Palestinian children with an alternative to the violence and humiliation that is their everyday lives. I sat with children in the South Hebron hills, who had been stoned by Israeli settlers and set upon by German shepherds as they walked two miles to school. I met a 14-year-old girl who was forced to play a song for a soldier at a checkpoint, supposedly to prove her flute was not a weapon.
Farmers in villages shared their anguish with me over their lost livelihoods, because the 430-mile-long separation barrier Israel has built on Palestinian land, essentially confiscating nearly 10% of the West Bank, cuts them off from their beloved olive groves. I’ve seen men crammed into metal holding pens before being taken to minimum-wage jobs in Israel, and women squeezed between seven-foot-high concrete blocks, waiting to pray at Jerusalem’s Al Aqsa Mosque. I’ve spoken with countless families who have been subject to night raids by the Israeli military, including one young mother, home alone with her one-year-old boy, who woke up to the sight of 10 Israeli soldiers breaking down her door and pointing guns at her. They had, it turned out, raided the wrong apartment. The baby slept through it all.
Ramzi and the teachers at his school, Al Kamandjati (Arabic for “The Violinist”), see it as an antidote to the sense of oppression and confinement that pervades Palestinian life. And it’s true that the students I talked to there regularly reported that playing music gave them a transformative sense of calm and protection — and not only in the moments when they picked up their instruments and disappeared into Bach, Beethoven, or Fairuz.
Rasha, the young flute player detained and forced to perform at an Israeli checkpoint, told me that music enabled her to face previously overwhelming difficulties. “I felt like I was in a forest, all by myself in a little cottage with no people, no noise, nothing,” she recalled. “Mountains, sea, something pure blue, not like the Dead Sea. It was an escape to another world, a better world. I owned that world.” Her teachers reported that an angry, traumatized girl was growing into a self-aware, self-respecting, and assertive young musician.
Nevertheless, creative expression, however personally transformative, can’t alter the reality of the increasing confinement of Palestinians or of Israel’s creeping militarization of their lands, all of which is a direct result of settlement expansion. At the time the Oslo Peace Accords were signed in 1993, just before I first started traveling to the Holy Land, about 109,000 Jewish settlers had claimed West Bank Palestinian lands. They were encouraged by Israeli incentives that made it cheaper to be a settler than a city dweller.
In the years that followed, a network of new West Bank roads reserved only for settlers and VIPs began to crisscross land supposedly set aside for a Palestinian state. Each year, despite the ongoing “peace process,” thousands more settlers arrived and with them came more Israeli military bases. Sixty percent of the West Bank remains directly controlled by the Israeli military, which guards the settlements, the surrounding “buffer zones,” and the exclusive roads that whisk Jewish settlers into Jerusalem and Tel Aviv for work, prayer, shopping, and the beach.
More than two decades after the beginning of the Oslo era, 350,000 Jewish settlers live mostly on the hilltops of seized West Bank lands, and Palestinians are increasingly confined to an archipelago of “islands” within a sea of Israeli military control. In reality, what now exists in the Holy Land is a single state controlled by Israel in which some enjoy full rights as citizens and others next to none.
Ironically, the reelection of the hyper-nationalistic Benjamin Netanyahu to a fourth term as Israeli prime minister only clarified the essential truth on the ground. His election-season pronouncement that a Palestinian state would never be on his negotiating table (whatever his post-election backtracking) said it all: Israel’s 48-year-long settlement-building project and military occupation is now and will remain the preeminent fact of the conflict. In other words, the two-state solution is dead. If Americans grasp that, the conversation here can now shift to one focused on human, civil, and voting rights. However, Palestinians living under occupation have understood this one-state reality for a long time and are not waiting for Americans to come to grips with the obvious facts on the ground.
In recent years, Palestinian civil society and its supporters internationally have moved in new directions, embracing direct nonviolent confrontationwith Israel. Last summer, when negotiations on a new peace settlement led by Secretary of State John Kerry collapsed spectacularly and the Obama administration uncharacteristically blamed Israeli intransigence, Palestinians and their supporters cited the need to embrace a new strategy that included the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement, or BDS. With it came a renewed push by the Palestinian Authority to win U.N. recognition as an independent state and membership in the International Criminal Court, which could result in war crimes charges against Israeli leaders.
The BDS campaign has claimed some modest victories. In May 2013, physicist Stephen Hawking canceled a visit to a conference in Israel. In early 2014, actress Scarlett Johansson was forced to resign as an Oxfam global ambassador after she refused to cut her ties as a pitchwoman to the beverage maker SodaStream which operates a factory in the occupied territories. The boycott of the company appeared to significantly affect its bottom line.
Last June, the Presbyterian Church USA narrowly voted to divest from Caterpillar, makers of the D-9 bulldozer responsible for demolishing thousands of Palestinian homes and plowing under tens of thousands of Palestinian olive trees. Late last year, the European Union announced a ban on importing food from Israeli settlements; and earlier this year, after reportedly losing a $4 billion Massachusetts commuter rail contract due to pressure from Boston BDS activists, the French infrastructure conglomerate Veolia sold offmuch of its operations in Israel.
Supporters of BDS believe they are building momentum from these victories as part of a strategy of shaming Israel in the international arena. In the process, economic pressure and international condemnationhave replaced the Oslo-era approach of well-intended dialogue. That, activists say, created an impression that all was getting better on the ground, while actually facilitating the building of more settlements and the ever-greater confinement of Palestinians. In recent years Palestinian groups, including Ramzi’s Aburedwan’s music school, have embraced BDS.
Life in the Fast Lane
After the concert in Sebastia — part of an Al Kamandjati “Music Days” festival — Ramzi drove through the darkness toward Ramallah. His wife and baby son slept fitfully in the backseat. The SUV curved along West Bank Highway 60, passing again beneath Shavei Shomron, glowing yellow in the night sky.
He chatted with me about what it meant that Al Kamandjati had recently joined the BDS campaign. He viewed it as an assertive step toward Palestinian freedom. “Because we believe in pacific resistance and in our right to be here,” declared the school’s Music Days program, “we ask all people who believe in human rights and in freedom to boycott Israeli products as well as cultural and academic institutions until Israeli understands that it cannot kill a people’s will by force, respects the international laws, and ends the occupation.”
In this way, Ramzi, like many of his students and teachers, sees himself as part of a larger movement of nonviolent action to protest the occupation and support Palestinian independence. “You have to insist on the positive energy,” he told me, his eyes fixed on a white necklace of lights that represented Palestinian villages to the south. He stroked his bearded chin. “The more you believe in what you are doing, the more you keep going on. It’s like a snowball.” Light pooled in an orb in front of the SUV as it cut through the darkened land. “I see it in the young, who are living in just a whole world of music.”
To the east, the lights of the Palestinian village of Beit Wazan came into view. Of his students, he said, “Their world is music now. Their life is now committed to the music.”
He slowed down for the two-lane Zatara checkpoint. On the left was the express lane for the vehicles of settlers and VIPs with their telltale yellow license plates. On the right, the Palestinian lane, where all the plates were white with green lettering, and a long line of cars already were idling for a seemingly endless wait.
Ramzi took one look at that dismal line and quickly decided on his own version of nighttime direct nonviolent confrontation with Israeli rule. He swung his white-plated SUV into the empty left lane and pulled up at the guard post reserved for settlers, other Israelis, and the few privileged Palestinians who had special connections.
“Why do you come here?” the soldier asked indignantly. “You wait in the other line.”
“I would like to know,” Ramzi replied in English, “if there is a difference between Israeli babies and Palestinian babies.”
“What?” the startled soldier replied.
“I said,” Ramzi repeated, his tone sharpening, “is there a difference between Israeli babies and Palestinian babies? Between your babies and my babies. I would really like to know the answer to this question.”
The soldier peered in at Celine, awake now beside their blue-eyed toddler snoozing in his car seat. The French soccer jersey with Hussein’s name on the back — a gift from Celine’s sister — was still on him. The young soldier hesitated, glanced back at Ramzi, then waved them through: one tiny victory in a long struggle with no end in sight.
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Sandy Tolan, author of “The Lemon Tree,” is associate professor at USC’s Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism. His new book is “Children of the Stone: A Music School in a Hard Land” (Bloomsbury), about one Palestinian’s dream to build a music school in the midst of Israel’s military occupation. He blogs at Ramallahcafe.com. Follow @sandy_tolan or https://www.facebook.com/SandyTolanAuthor
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