Prayer Rug or Billiards Table

One day in September 2015, in Balata Refugee Camp in the city of Nablus, Palestine — a day that could only be described as “ordinary,” meaning one filled with ongoing clashes between Palestinian security forces and other groups — I was leaving theater rehearsals when I stumbled upon a scene that captured the very essence of daily life in the camp.

A corn seller was lighting his small fire with pieces of wood he had gathered throughout the day. An old woman sat by her doorway, calmly picking molokhia leaves. A young man was writing on a wall, beautifully painting a message welcoming a pilgrim returning from Mecca.

As I walked through the camp’s narrow alleys, surrounded by a cacophony of sounds — gunfire in the distance, wedding songs from nearby rooftops, the afternoon call to prayer, and the rhythmic clanging of a gas vendor tapping his metal canisters as if composing a chaotic melody — I suddenly noticed three children playing billiards on a prayer rug, right in front of the house of the newly returned pilgrim.

I paused, struck by the surreal harmony of contradictions: holiness and play, war and innocence, faith and survival — all existing side by side. It was a moment that could only belong to Palestine, where even chaos knows how to be beautiful.

‍