the calls that sound imagined communities to war have recently become personal to me, in a way in which before they were only abstract.

on the 4th of elul, 5784, in the city of بيتا beita, the call to war that sounded in חרבו דרבו kharbu darbu, murdered my clasmate ayşenur.

on the 5th of cheshvan, 5785, the country i am told to call mine, elected a president, who, by all accounts i can find, does not see large parts of my existence as fitting into his vision for that country.

nor does he see any future of the locals who have been where they are for millenia – the very position and knowledge that ayşenur put her life on the line to protect.

חרבו דרבו kharbu darbu calls out implied threats to several public figures who dared to speak out against a nation-state. the soldier who killed ayşenur was acting on that sentiment of threat.

the leader of the country by which i hold a passport, he is quite fond of threats himself. we will see how many he manages to follow through with.

i walk this following project with both these tragedies in my step. i do not think i have a choice.