returned arrived

Sound Design/DJ: Jamal Awadallah

Prop Design: Noelle Awadallah, with support from Jamal Awadallah and Josie Johnson

Leaflets: gazapassages.com

Sound Sample Credits:

• The Three Quarters of Hope - Raed Yassin
  
• The Deaf Oud - Raed Yassin
  
• The Bird Prays for Allah - The Master Musicians of Jajouka
  
• Water Broken (The Opening of the Stargate) - Ras G, Ras G & The Afrikan Space Program
  
• Mama El Karima - Yunis
  
• Imama of Dusk - Raed Yassin

Text Credits:

• The Prison Cell - Mahmoud Dariwsh
• for comrades who ask “what is to be done?” during this particular historical conjuncture a (partial) list of practical things to do - Tim Blunk

performance details

Premiered at Red Eye Theater, New Works 4 Festival, Isolated Acts (2024)
35 min run time

review by keila anali

We begin the piece with a hard look at the truth. Through projection, sound, and a black box devoid of light- we see and hear the dreams of Palestinian children. One wants sugar, the other wants to see their brother again. They are eager to answer with the dreams in their throats. 

Then, Awadallah turns the projection toward the audience. The words of the children live on our bodies. They glint off my chain and I feel the sorrow turn in my chest. 

Before I can devolve into guilt, we are in a quick change of pace. The lights are turning on and off, lights I never knew existed in space. With each movement, Noelle is at once reverent and completely totally here, grounded. There’s this sense that I pick up that Noelle is readying herself. She’s gearing up, she’s preparing, she’s organizing. The light and sound reflect this strategy; everything feels so intentional like the piece has been running for years instead of debuting this weekend. The audience eats this up. I eat this up. It’s as though Noelle is leading us, demonstrating. 

 I feel like she can see me. Can she see me? 

Then another swift change and we enter a world. Noelle brings forward a figure. Speaks to them and brings them to life. She tells us we are in Palestine, so we are. The molecular shift is present in the story telling. While Noelle is dancing- people are clapping, shouting, breathing, I find myself wanting to cry. But when we enter the dreamemory the audience is quiet- the moment feels so intimate that I want to look away. Noelle speaks to her paternal grandmother about her time travel, about birdcages. We watch the wave of affection reaching its peak. 

Suddenly, Noelle takes us out of that moment that felt almost too sweet to watch by bringing out a mirror. The sirens sound and from the ceiling hundred of sheets of paper are released. Floating on us like doves but carrying heavy weight. 

On mine, a Palestinian survivor recounts their exhaustion on November 21st. I think about seeing this piece at the beginning of June. Is this person alive? The tears come now, I’m distraught. But before I have time to unpack that, Noelle changes the world- again. 

With a soundscape made by her sibling Jamal Awadallah, the music is fast and delicious. Noelle moves with the same precision as before but here she brings an energy so generous, so robust, I suddenly feel rich. I would follow her anywhere- and I do. I follow her on stage as she lets her shoulders shake in rhythm. I can feel my body sweat in response. The audience is screaming, clapping, rolling their tongues. We are mad for her.

Awadallah has brought us a specific gift- she’s brought us on the complicated journey of our own personal relationships with Palestine. The words projected on us, the papers falling. We are here and we are complicit. But she’s also cracked us in the emotional truth that anything can happen- that the fight for Palestine isn’t dead but here and alive and necessary. Noelle is dancing like that alone can save Palestine and for a second we believe this impossible possibility. 

In twirls of spoon scarves and a pulling of everyone behind her, Noelle ends the piece and we shoot up out of our seats. There isn’t anything we wouldn’t give to her at that moment. I miss that moment all the time.