Our Stories

This morning I began to cry. And with tears tumbling down my face I began to sing. At that point of wounding, there right there where it hurt like hell, the light was entering, piercing, scalding, cauterising, after years of deadness...I was taken by surprise, knocked off balance...I wept and sang. I remember every second of the day the music died. I was not singing Bye Bye Miss American Pie. I was sitting in a wheelchair struggling to breathe, struggling to keep my head abov

Our Secret Garden Project continues showing signs of growth and with it, kindness. We will continue on. #Gallery #English

" There's a point where you have to leave the dough alone. It's silly to anthropomorphize bread, but I love the fact that it needs to sit quietly, to retreat from touch and noise and drama in order to evolve." ( Jody Picoult:The Storyteller) We have retreated. No noise. No drama. Their story is the drama. At this point, no touch. The word " yeast" comes from the Old English, from an Indo -European root meaning " to boil, foam and bubble."We give our Kids space to do just that

You remember the scene from the film Narnia, where Aslan arrives to confront the Witch, and slowly the ice begins to melt, and winter begins to end and fade away? Well I am needing an Aslan right now to enter so that we can be done with this never ending Baba Noel that began back somewhere and goes on ad infinitum!! But anyway, Happy New Year from Kurdistan!! We held a New Year party today for our Kids in War. Yes the playing of Jingle Bells isn't quite my scene but, and it's

You've heard about our Kids. Our Kids in War City. Simply amazing mostly Syrian children, mixed with some from Mosul...all of whom have escaped, bombs, death, destruction, civil war, Isis...all of whom have kind of just survived and grown up by themselves without any TLC. They lost all and now do life in War City, well it's safe but its more than rough with a big black American car that prowls the streets, and with only bright spot on the horizon, that being the candy man who

There is a tiny 40 family Yezidi camp. Two years ago it was love at first sight and we all adopted each other and have walked close since. Halfway up a mountain, the other side of our mountain, the air is clearer, the snow is snowier, the sunsets are more magical, and the tent-dwellers are largely forgotten. We love loading up and heading out to our friends. No connection with feasts or fasts, we just give whatever we have and whatever we can, whenever we can. It's freezing u

It wasn't an event. Or a" one-off." It was the introduction of a culture. A culture of peace. Three days later and we are still unable to process this historical day where two cultures and two people groups met and engaged . Yezidi and Muslim. It was a day where peace reigned and hope abounded and love broke through. So for today, just pics because they will say it all...in no particular order...because sometimes things just happen in no particular order. And it can be the ve

At our incredible Yezidi students who are the first in Kurdistan ( in all of Iraq come to that ) to study for an university degree online. Such a joy to see them set up and at home in their Shariya camp based study centre. Meet Amal, just married, our woman pioneer..." I would like to thank Springs of Hope Foundation for the hope to study again after the Isis genocide, and to University of the People for opening the door" May I add, that we highly desire to see many women fol

Consists in this. The gift should cost very little, and yet be greatly coveted, so that it may be more highly appreciated " Baltasar Gracian. We love giving. Yes everyone talks about " self sustainability ' and we believe in that, work for that and promote that every way possible. But nothing compares to the joy of giving. To giving with a passion that draws you close into the community. Giving that says, " hey we care, you are not forgotten, the passing of time does not caus

It has been one of those rare joys and honors to participate with Henrique Cymerman in the screening of his exceptional documentary, ' The Lost Childhood" in Madrid. The reception and response was simply overwhelming. A photo diary of the screening. Photo credits: Cuco Cuervo. #English

Right. They don't match do they? I do have my grumpy days, and they are not necessarily connected to sandstorms, or cockroaches or lack of sleep. They just are, in fact as I process, maybe I have caught the bug from our good Doctor Happy who relishes his monthly grumpy day. The guys, my much loved guys told me it was Eid. A Muslim Eid and that we should celebrate with our Kids In War. Now that was like a red flag to a bull or asking me as a Jew to go to Mecca. I apologize in

Is found in the place where tears are shed. That deep place which permits the heart to speak the words that the mouth is unable to formulate. We told our Kids in War, our Kids in Hope a story. Only it was not a story, nor a fable, nor a legend, nor a figment of the imagination from Never Never Land. It was history that is both past and present and future all unfolding at the same time. Here and now. That which had marked us for ever. We did not tell our Kids in War who are be

That's what we discovered when we entered the Rainbow Zone. We, mere mortals, thought we were building a restorative arts community centre. Oh what we men can construct and demolish with words!What foolishness! You know our story, we came, we saw, we liberated type thing..and then we stood back, and realized that there is a Zone here where man has not been, where things do not happen according to our plans and careless words. It's the Rainbow Zone. Tread with caution. Handle

Genocide present. A day with no hope and zero comfort. A day spent amongst the mourners of Shariya Camp, Kurdistan, North Iraq. A day of scorching sun. But a day of night. A day of silence. Mourning without words. Mourning with few tears. Mourning with uncontrollable shaking. Mourning with fainting. Mourning with epileptic attacks. Deep mourning." To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time" Elie Wiesel, Night. They stood, family by family, tribe by tribe,

We're gaining more Kids in War. Tread carefully child. You are entering a new zone. One you have not touched before. Here you tread differently. Here you breathe differently. Here you walk with a difference. Here you stand taller than tall. Here you are loved and dare to love with an exuberance and passion. Potential Peace Wagers. Those who dare to break the classic rules of War. The parents come, their faces etched with pain inflicted in a now far off land. Their hope is tha

I watch our kids this morning. All super colorful individuals. All super broken, torn and fragmented by the cruelties and injustices of life and endless war . We collect kind of Humpty Dumpty kids. Those who had a great fall and then the King's horses trampled on them en route to another battle somewhere out there. Our Kids. Their young lives have been turned and spun around and around. From country to country, on the run, fleeing, seeking asylum. Their life resembles our emp

I spent some time outside our community centre this morning, watering our trees and picking up the endless trash that this community just loves to drop wherever...the wherever being around my trees which between the heat and the trash are struggling to survive. Dr Happy turned up, in his usual happy mood. " Binti Yakub" he chided me, " You are watering the trees at the wrong time of day" . " I know Doc Happy, but the watering can't wait, they are thirsty for water and I need

" We walked on the moon. We made footprints somewhere no one else had ever made footprints, and unless someone comes and rubs them out, those footprints will be there for ever because there's no wind." Frank Cottrell Boyce: Cosmic. That's life in here in War City. No wind. Footprints yes, many. We teach our kids to walk different. To make footprints where no one else has ever been. We carry them when they don't know where to tread. We lift them when they don't know how to pla

A pictorial essay of War Paint War Paint. It's a color. It's a sequence of sounds. Sometimes boisterous. Sometimes silent. Sometimes patience. War Paint is a fabulous flaunting of color. War Paint is unique. War Paint is unity in diversity. War Paint sings. War paint shouts. War Paint. War Paints. It's respect. War Paint, its acceptance. War Paint it's tolerance. War Paint, its freedom. War Paint, its dignity. War Paint. #English #Gallery

We love our War City kids. We take good care of them. When we first opened our War City community centre for Syrian refugees we debated about food. Our first thought was that the morning break would be a good time to serve them a cookie with the ubiquitous water, that actually is ongoing throughout the day. Then we stopped and thought again. Dumped issues of budget. Threw out the history of our predecessors. And thought, What If? What if these kids are hungry? What if they do