They sang the tune of young love and the promise of children. The men erupted into songs of families becoming one. The cars lined up on the roads and pressed their horns in rhythmic jubilation. Years passed until it was my wedding day. Afterward, we would sit together and stitch our thawb (thobe) as the light faded in the garden of cypress trees. As the guests left the courtyard, I used to go and help my Tata clear away plates in the small kitchen in the back of our home. Dinner would last until the call to prayer echoed out from the minarets. I unstacked chairs and we ate and laughed. The hot dishes were brought out on brass platters, and just as they were placed down on our table, family and friends would come over and eat with us. When I arrived home, my family was always gathered on the courtyard under grapes, hanging abundantly from the vines. As the sun began to drop in the sky, I would leave my treasure hunt behind and skip home to the smell of my Tata’s maklouba cooked chicken on top of rice, mixed with cauliflower and blanched almonds, as it drifted along the breeze.

It shaded me from the searing midday sun as I searched for the treasure I imagined underneath its soil. As a child, I used to sit under the cypress tree. It is a town that exists on the edges of the West Bank, high up in the mountain ranges, almost touching the peaks of the heavens. When I was a child, I lived back in a northern town of Palestine. I have searched my whole life for this treasure. M y Tata told me about a treasure that is found in a cypress tree garden. The cypress tree is a female-centric story of the importance of these traditions and how their continuation provides a hopeful framework for keeping our home and memories alive. It is also a common feature of the Palestinian landscape and has been used as a representation of rural Palestine and as a motif for national poets such as Mahmoud Darwish. The cypress tree is a symbol on the traditionally embroidered Palestinian dress. I think of the enduring traditions that have kept the Palestinian people connected to the land and the importance of passing on these rituals. However, what I take comfort in is not the changes but the consistencies that have been kept the same and then taught through the family from grandmother to mother to daughter, etc. In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Ī FICTION The Cypress Tree by Shereen Malherbe Author’s note: Over the last two decades, whenever I have returned to Palestine, there has been considerable change.

Muse starlight