CHAPTER VII

THE SOCIAL LIFE OF THE VILLAGE

Kinship, religious association, party traditions and proximity, these

four influences are important in the order named in helping to form

society. Among the people whom we are considering the fact of kinship is

the first determining cause of social relations. In fact it is so

important that the farther we get away from a city the more does it tend

to become the sole basis of friendly association. In the villages

kinship overshadows all other considerations. In the desert there is

practically no other bond in which is the possibility of society. The

law of hospitality is really an invention of necessity, the guest

becoming by a fiction a temporary kinsman.[168]

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As men come to live more closely together they are compelled to heed

other considerations than blood relationship, and so in the village,

while kinship dominates everything, yet there must be some regard to

other claims. One might live in a village a long time without realizing

the fact, but a little inquiry would elicit it, that any happy social

group of people is almost certain to be a group of kindred. The village

will have as many distinct sections, or, as we should say, wards, as

there are tribes. One does not discover much that is comparable to

society existing between members of different divisions of the village.

Religious association counts for something, however, in making society

for the villager, though this is less the case than in the cities. The

celebration of feasts, pilgrimages and ecstasies gives the Moslem not

only society but a deal of entertainment. The Christian population finds

an important social center in the church, and in the festivals and

celebrations of the church much of its pleasantest entertainment.

Party traditions, such as those which have divided the villages of

Palestine into Yemen and Ḳays, have besides their divisive effect a

social significance in an interest which is engendered between the

villagers the country over belonging to the same party. As the old

enmities die out this broader social spirit may persist and even offer a

basis for wider interests.

Proximity might seem at first thought to offer only added occasion for

hostility between those whose family or religious differences keep them

apart, and so, no doubt, it often does have this effect. But it was

noticeable that, when a squabble arose between Christians living in

el-Bîreh and others in Râm Allâh, the Bîreh Moslems threw themselves

into the question in favor of the Bîreh Christians, and the united Bîreh

populace came over in a rage to take vengeance on the Râm Allâh people.

It was not that Bîreh Moslems welcomed an opportunity to fight

Christians even to the extent of assisting other Christians, but it was

a pure case of neighborliness with the nearer neighbor. Ordinarily Râm

Allâh and el-Bîreh are neighborly enough, both being of the Ḳays

faction.

The diversions of the Syrian peasant are extremely simple. Doubtless

conversation is the chief social delight. Pictures, books and formal

entertainment are out of the question. It takes most of the time to earn

the sustenance of the family. The idea of spending money for pure

amusement is scarcely to be dreamed of by a sane person. Young men often

take pleasure in the possession of a silk head scarf or a black, thin

overgarment, articles of dress which are not strictly necessary, and yet

sufficiently useful luxuries. The children play merrily if they are

healthy. The old men sit about and talk in the shops and market.

Visiting in each other’s houses is almost unknown unless the persons be

near of kin. The men see each other in the market. The women see each

other at the springs and at the ovens. News goes about with

extraordinary rapidity from lip to lip. The entertainment of visitors

and guests is a matter of honor. Conversation is lively and the little

points of etiquette much regarded. Among the well-to-do the visitor is

served with preserves, fruit, lemonade and, lastly, coffee. Before the

serving of the coffee the visitors are hardly at liberty to withdraw. If

an early departure be imperative the coffee will be hurried and served

early. It is said that among the Bedawîn a full cup of coffee is a sign

of enmity. So the cups are not quite filled to the brim. The coffee-cup

(finjân) is a tiny affair, usually without handle or saucer. Sugar is

not commonly added, milk never. When sugar is used it is ordinarily

cooked with the coffee.

It is customary to make calls of courtesy upon the occasion of any gala

day or feast day of special significance. For instance, the leading men

in a village may call on the government representative, say the _mudîr_,

on the occasion of the Sultan’s birthday. Or Moslems may call upon the

church officials in honor of the great church days. The natives honor

foreigners by calls if they learn that some day of great significance to

the foreigner’s home country is at hand. It is customary to call upon a

neighbor who has returned from a journey immediately and felicitate him

and hear of his experiences. Upon entering a house for a call, if it be

among their own neighbors, little formality is indulged. The burden of

that is on the host, who should greet the comers with “_Fût_” (enter),

or “_Foḍḍel_” (welcome). Among the more pretentious visitors the

preliminaries of calls are smoothed through the medium of servants. The

passing over the threshold may be made the occasion of the expression of

much hospitality and courtesy. The seat of honor is the one farthest

from the door, but modesty dictates that one should sit down in the

humblest place, that nearest the door, until expostulation and entreaty

prevail on one to take the place of honor. The first questions are

concerning the health of the host and his family. In a Moslem’s house it

is not customary to ask concerning the man’s wife. The conversation may

be made sprightly by the keenness of the interest shown in these objects

of inquiry, or it may be disagreeably dull on account of the perfunctory

manner in which they are mentioned. A matter of business, if there be

such, is kept back until other subjects of conversation fail. The

introduction and carrying on of a conversation may be a very graceful

and interesting thing, but if either party be boorish,[169] and the

purpose be to demand some advantage, as when official business brings

together those of different religious beliefs, the meeting can be a very

strained and uncomfortable affair. Such an occasion would be the meeting

of a proud city Moslem with a Christian peasant, or even with a Moslem

peasant. But between village peasants themselves, though of different

faiths, there is more real courtesy than elsewhere. Not many of the

people like trouble and hard feeling. Most of them like the atmosphere

of good-will and at least the externals of good fellowship and generous

treatment.

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Invitations to a hospitable meal or feast are often sent out shortly

before the actual hour, if not just at the very time.[170] It is

commonly the case that a courteous host seeks to dissuade the guest from

bringing the call or visit to a close.[171] The departing guest usually

says something like “_A khâṭrak_,” “By your leave,” to which the host

answers, “_Ma‛ Salâmeh_,” “[Go] with peace.”[172] The first speaker

responds to this with “_‛Ala selmâk_,” or “_Selimt_.”

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[173]Greetings in the market-place and on the road are formal but

graceful. The common greeting of “_Salâm ‛alaykum_,”[174] “Peace be on

you,” is replied to by “‛Alaykum es-salâm,” “May the peace be on you.”

In strictness this is the salutation of Moslems, though it is commonly

used indiscriminately. Now and then one may hear of a bigoted Moslem who

would not return this salutation to a Christian, but would mumble out

“Peace be on the faithful ones,” in which class he would include, of

course, none but his coreligionists.[175] More characteristic are the

rustic salutations, “Marḥabâ,” “Welcome”; “Mîyet marḥabâ,” “A hundred

welcomes”; “Kayf ḥâlak,” “How are you?”; “Ḥumdillâh,” “Praise God”;

“Allâh yofathak,” “May God preserve you”; “Ḥumdillâh salâmeh,” “Praise

God, you are well,” or, “I see you well”; “Salâmtak,” “Your peace.” The

peasant’s early good morning salutation is “Ṣubâḥkum b’l-khayr,” to

which the response is, “Yâ ṣubâḥ el-khayr.” When the day is well on the

pleasant greeting is, “Nahârak sa‛îd,” “May your day be happy,” to which

the gracious reply is, “Nahârak umbârak,” “May your day be blessed.” The

evening salutation is, “Mesâîkum b’l-khayr,” answered by, “Yâ mesâ

el-khayr.” At night it is, “Layltak sa‛îdeh.”

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An evasive answer to one asking a question as to another’s destination

in traveling is to reply, “A(la) bâb Allâh,” “To the gate of God.”

In addressing foreigners the peasants use the term _khawâjah_ for a man

and _sitt_ for a woman. In speaking to a superior of their own race they

employ the term _sayyid_, _lord_, or _sir_, or _effendy_. Among

themselves they use the word _shaykh_ for an elderly, a learned or a

holy man. To their equals in age and station the peasant’s titles of

address are numerous. “Yâ shaykh” to such is used in expostulation or

derision. “‛Ammy,” “My uncle”; “Ḥabîby,” “My dear”; “Mu‛allim,” “Master”

or “Teacher,” or the first name of the one addressed are used in

conversation. If the talkers are uncertain of each other’s name they may

say, “Hayû, shu ismak?” “Eh, there, what’s your name?” though this is

rather contemptuous. In rough conversation the speakers may grace each

other with such address as “Yâ bârid,” literally, “Thou cold one,”

meaning foolish one; “Shu ente,” “Who are you anyway?”; “Majnûn, ente?”,

“Are you mad?”; “Ana ḥamâr?”, “Am I a donkey?” _i. e._, “Do you take me

for a donkey?” or, sarcastically, “Shâṭrak,” “You are clever.” To boys,

“Yâ ṣuby,” or “Yâ weled,” and to girls or any unmarried woman, “Yâ

bint,” are the simple forms of address. “‛Amty,” “My aunt,” is often

used to middle-aged or elderly matrons. A father will often call his

child by the relation which he himself sustains to the child, “Yâ aba,”

literally, “O father!” A maternal aunt has been heard to call her niece

or her nephew by the relationship which she holds to either, viz., “Yâ

khâlty,” meaning literally, “My maternal aunt.”

A very graceful salute is executed with the right hand touching lightly

first one’s breast, then the lips and then the forehead. The one saluted

answers by the same set of gestures. In Damascus I once saw a group of

citizens who had gathered in a tiny room for conversation executing

simultaneously a similar salute, except that they first swept the right

hand downward towards the ground in lieu of the touch on the breast.

This variation is more elegant or more humble than the former way,

according to circumstances.[176] I once saw a villager presenting a

paper to be read to one of the official class. The peasant made a

sweeping motion toward the ground with the hand holding the document.

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In meeting, the native seizes the hand of his superior and endeavors to

bring the back of the hand to his lips and forehead. The other, however,

generally succeeds in withdrawing his hand before more than a touch of

hands has been accomplished. On meeting, especially after a separation,

the custom has obtained among women friends of kissing each other first

on the right cheek and then on the left. Men salute each other in the

same way in some localities. Strangers enter into amiable conversation

with each other without the necessity of introductions.

The guest-house of the tribe makes a place of rendezvous for men, where

congenial companions may be met in a social way. Song and story are much

enjoyed by the men. Those who have a knack for story-telling, or who can

sing to their own accompaniment on the _rabâb_, a kind of fiddle, or on

the _‛ûd_, a kind of lute, are assured an appreciative audience. The

social and kindly amenities may be seen here at the guest-house after a

funeral. The nearest of kin to the deceased among the men is constrained

by his men friends to accompany them to the guest-house where, by

preparing food and supplying a stream of conversation, they try to

divert his mind from his grief. They may seek to entertain him thus for

several days. I accompanied one such group of mourners and sympathizers

to the guest-house where we sat cross-legged upon the floor. A man and

his wife who lived in the same house and kept the guest-room in order

prepared coffee. Green coffee berries were roasted in a long-handled

iron ladle over the coals in a clay brazier. The roasted berries were

put into a wooden mortar and pounded with a long wooden pestle. When

they were quite fine the odor was very pleasant. The coffee was then put

into a tin pot having a long handle and allowed to cook over the brazier

until it swelled up in the pot several times, when it was served in

handleless cups, of which there were but two in the company. They handed

me the first cup, but I passed it on, refusing to drink before the old

men had partaken. The cup that I used was washed after my predecessor

had drunk from it, but I noticed that for the others the cups were

refilled without washing. It was most delicious coffee. Some of the men

had previously refreshed themselves with cigarettes. The talk had been

general and lively and an air of comfort and good-will had filled the

place. I admired those good-hearted men and their simple and sensible

way, as with the fumes of coffee and the interest of their talk they

beguiled their friend and themselves for several hours. The female

friends of a woman in grief assemble at the house where she lives with

the object of comforting her. So with all the great events of life,

birth, marriage, death, a feast, a return from a journey, the friends,

who are usually related, distantly at any rate, gather together for the

pleasure of conversation and discussion, to drink coffee and, as they

say in the native idiom, to “drink tobacco,” for they always describe

smoking as drinking.

[Illustration: WOMEN AT THE SPRING]

[Illustration: FOUNTAIN AT NAZARETH]

Often in a conversation where there seems to be a likelihood of ill

feeling, as, for instance, in business matters, the one who is leading

the conversation will pronounce the opening salutations and addresses

all over again. So in the middle of a conversation that does not appear

to be “getting anywhere,” he may break in suddenly with “Good morning,

sir; how are you?” This repeated several times during a long talk has

the effect of a fresh start with the erasure of what has passed.

Sometimes a man who is being pressed, as he thinks, unduly, will break

out into vituperation, pass his hand over his brow in sign of weariness

and the unreason of his opponents, even weep a little with vexation.

Meanwhile all the other talkers about him observe him soberly and

silence may rest on them for some minutes before the subject is resumed.

All these things make little difference with the results of the business

in hand, however. He who has the advantage holds it unmoved, though he

may be as diplomatic as possible in forcing the conclusion. Any

exhibition of passion or impatience usually betrays the weaker side in

the discussion. Such conversations may be continued at odd times through

days.

When there are visitors at the guest-house who are to be fed, the people

take one of the huge dishes known as the _minsaf_, fill it with food,

generally rice and mutton, and several help to carry it to the

guest-chamber, supporting it in a large piece of sacking, which they

hold by the four corners.

One of the gala times to which the neighbors look forward is what might

be called a roofing-bee. When a house which is in the course of building

has been finished except the roof, the master mason in charge becomes

practically the head of an open-air festival, for besides his usual

helpers the whole neighborhood turns out to assist. The women bring

stone and mortar, the men stand in line to pass it, and amid shouting,

singing and the firing of guns the work goes on merrily to completion,

when the mason is supposed to receive as a present a new robe and the

merrymakers are feasted on rice.

Among the rich, women as well as men smoke the _nârjîleh_, which is

supplied with _tumbâk_, a Persian variety of tobacco.

A great deal of entertainment must be afforded the natives who come in

contact with foreigners, as these latter attempt, and mangle, the

language. But with imperturbable and polite deference the native

listeners betray no sense of our blunders, even declaring our gift in

acquiring the tongue remarkable. The eager learner is fortunate indeed

if the natives do not answer back in the same broken Arabic which he is

perpetrating. Such an excess of accommodation hinders advance in the

difficult idiom. A missionary friend told me of the amusing experiences

of herself and another worker in their early attempts to force their

ability at talking in Arabic. They were almost totally ignorant of the

language, but they went to a garden where there was a group of women and

boldly essayed to tell the story of the rich man and Lazarus. One of

them knowing a word for _man_, _zelameh_, said it, and was followed by

the other, who said the word for _poor_, _fakîr_, and pointed upwards.

The first then said _zelameh_ again, when the second, who also knew the

word for _rich_, _ghany_, said that and pointed downwards. That was the

extent of their exposition. Some one, hearing of it, asked our friend if

she thought any impression was made upon her hearers. She laughingly

replied that she didn’t know, but that some one had stolen her

pocket-handkerchief during the performance.

There is play for all ages. The feasts, the weddings and even the

funerals are practically occasions of play for the adults. The young men

often play a game similar to our _duck-on-the-rock_. The old men sitting

in the streets about the doorways are often seen playing a game called

_sîjeh_ or _lîwan_. In the dust or on the flat surface of a stone slab

forty-nine or twenty-five squares are marked off, as on a checker-board.

The markers or men are, perhaps, small stones. The one suggesting the

game says, “I’ll take the lîwan” (hall), which is the central square of

all, and places one of the markers in a space next to the lîwan. Then

each player in turn places a marker in a vacant square anywhere on the

diagram, the central lîwan excepted, until all but that one are filled.

The first player then, he who claimed the lîwan, moves his nearest

marker into it. The player next in turn jumps the marker which the first

player moved. The third player moves into the lîwan and is jumped by the

following player. Jumping must always be towards the lîwan and is

allowable whenever there is a marker in the lîwan, one or more empty

spaces between the jumper and the lîwan and an empty space beyond the

lîwan into which to jump. The game continues until there is but one

marker left on the board, and that in the lîwan.

The more vigorous game called _dôsh_ is played with pitching stones. The

two players try for the first turn by seeing which one can come nearest,

with a throw of his stone, to some mark. Keeping the positions in which

they land in this trial-toss, the first player (the one nearest the

mark) throws his stone at the stone of the other, trying to drive it as

many feet as possible. He continues until he fails to drive his

opponent’s stone, measuring with his feet the ground over which he has

driven it and adding up the score. The other then tries to drive his

opponent’s stone in the same fashion. The one first driving his

opponent’s stone a total distance of forty feet is the winner and is

entitled to be given a ride on the back of the defeated player.

The village men greatly enjoy motion songs, with dancing, swaying,

clapping of hands, etc. Many of these exercises are combined in the

_mil‛ab_[177] at wedding celebrations. When clapping of hands is the

prominent motion, the song may go by the designation _ṣaḥjeh_.[178] When

a sort of dance, which consists chiefly in stamping the foot forward,

characterizes the motion, the accompanying song is designated as

_dabkeh_.[179] In this latter the dancer or dancers, for there may be

one or several in line, hold handkerchiefs fluttering in the hands and

stamp forward first with one foot and then with the other in groups of

three stamps or steps with each foot, changing gracefully from one foot

to the other.

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There are strolling gipsies who go about entertaining by dancing and

thrumming on instruments. Sometimes a man with a baboon or a bear comes

to a village.

The native enjoys hunting. Gazels, partridges and wild pigeons are the

chief game, but he does not despise smaller birds.[180] He seldom has

anything like modern arms, and therefore unless hunting is his business

often misses the object of his aim. Still he enjoys the noise of his

gun.

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Quarrels are of too painful frequency among villagers. They are always

costly affairs, for the officials mulct both sides, unless the trouble

has been hushed up before soldiers are sent to investigate. There has

been considerable improvement lately in the general order and security

of the country. Even within ten or fifteen years, it is said, the roads

have become more safe, outrages much less common and villagers more

peaceable. Formerly the peasants went heavily armed and altercations

were likely to lead to bloodshed. As I am rewriting these notes there

come letters from friends in Palestine bringing news of a quarrel of

serious proportions in one of the large villages. A score or more of the

men have been put into the nearest city prison and great expense and

continued ill-will are inevitable. A marriage had been arranged to unite

young people of two different tribes. This unusual event was not allowed

to proceed without very great jealousies and some disagreement as to

minor terms among the relatives. The trouble culminated on the day of

the wedding; and for some hours a battle raged. From housetops, windows,

doors and in the alleys of the quarter of the village where the tribes

lived stones were hurled and wounds inflicted.

To take revenge is known as _akhadh ith-thâr_, or _astad ith-thâr_. The

blood-revenge is called _ith-thâr id-dam_. A family or tribe feels that

it has been humiliated when any of its members have been assailed by

outsiders. If blood has been drawn or a fatality has ensued the disgrace

must be wiped out. The accomplishment of this is expressed as _nafy

il-‛âr_.[181]

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The People of Palestine An enlarged edition of "The Peasantry of Palestine, Life, Manners and Customs of the Village" · 第 7 / 12 章