Aid: The story of "the hands that support each other"

Aid: When "hardship" became comfort, and stories of the hand that does not stop on its own

There were no invitation cards, and no appointments were recorded on paper. In our neighborhood, the call was not spoken, it was smelled. The smell of roasted flour, or the dew of dawn during the olive picking season, was the "call". When so-and-so's mother would take out the large copper pots on the yard, or prepare the bedspreads for the trees, the neighbors would come by themselves. Each unit puts her home work aside and comes to support her neighbor. We would sit in a circle around the chin. One hand sprays water, one hand drops flour, and ten hands twist in a quick circular motion and do not stop. I was young, sitting next to my mother, watching these hands moving lightly. I was jealous of them, I pulled some flour and water aside, and tried to pull myself together. My hands got tired quickly, and the flour became a dough stuck together. I got upset and threw the dough out of my hand. Here, my mother laughed, wiped her hands of flour, held my little hand between her rough, warm hands, and said to me the sentence that was engraved in my head today: "Yama.. The hand alone does not shake, and if hardship is divided into ten hands, there is comfort. He who works alone will have his back broken, and he who supports his neighbor, tomorrow his neighbor will support him. Over time, I understood that the "help" above the maftoul grove or under the olive trees was not just to finish the work quickly. Between one sprinkle of flour and the next, the worries of the house that did not go to the garbage were told. A neighbor complains of financial hardship, so she hears a prayer to comfort her. A neighbor cries over her absent son, and finds a hand full of flour and oil wiping her tears, and she says, "May God make it easy for her". Help was a "patting" for souls; They knead worries together, and come out of the yard with a spirit as light as a bird's feather. We grew up and were separated into modern homes and kitchens. We started buying ready-made maftoul in bags, and oil in pancakes from the supermarket. But the "spirit of help" continued to live in us. Today, when I see my friend upset, I extend my hand without her asking. When the world stopped in my face, I remember the rhythm of the neighbors' hands, and the voice of my mother saying: "The hand alone does not stop". I understood then that the greatest legacy I took from Dick Al-Lamma was not the recipe for food, but rather the certainty that life was too heavy to be carried on the shoulders of one person.. Blessing always comes with unity.