On prophethood and pickles 🥒

& friendship and freedom.

I’ve been thinking about how language influences how we think and move in the world. This tweet captures a thought that’s been brewing in my mind: 

This sentiment makes me miss Palestine. Specifically, day-to-day existence in Arabic. “Ya3tik el 3afiyeh” is such a common, everyday phrase. It is essentially an off the cuff prayer for another, reminding us that even in passing, we can see and exalt a fellow human. I miss the very many ways to express gratitude and appreciation in Arabic. I miss the ease with which Arabic facilitates everyday big heartedness. I sometimes cheekily slide in Arabic phrases in English when I feel unsatisfied by thanks. “Bless your hands,” I’ll say to someone who’s made me a meal. Awkward and archaic in English, yet so perfectly natural in Arabic. 

A street scene I snapped in Khalil. 2018.

I’m remembering a time when my dear friend Rand and I drove from Ramallah to Khalil, the southernmost city of the West Bank and the prophet Abraham’s place of death. Basking in our shared love of language, Rand and I discussed the meaning and origin of the word khalil. Through Islam, I know this word to mean “friend,” specifically a title bestowed upon Abraham by God. Khalil-Allah, Muslims call him. God’s dear companion.

Rand explained the Arabic etymology of khalil, how it relates to being permeated, integrated, or merged with another. Its root is shared by the Arabic words for vinegar (khal) and pickle (mkhalal). Like vinegar saturating a cucumber, friendship that unifies souls is transformative. I don’t know about you, but the interplay of poetry, wisdom, language, and mysticism makes my heart double in size. 

Arabic has many words for friend, as displayed by the delightful graphic below. Only a few of these terms are used colloquially, but the nuances live in the psyche of the language. I think about the effect of having a vocabulary so reflective of intimacy’s many textures – how that may influence the relational depths embodied by a society. 

Shout out to my bosom friends with whom I commune.

I think about what it means to exist primarily in English - as a writer and a human. With roots in Urdu and knowledge of Arabic, English can feel stifling to me. But there are undeniable wisdoms begging to be uncovered in every language. A few weeks ago I was listening to this episode of Green Dreamer featuring writer and thinker Mia Birdsong who advocates for a return to a communal way of life to combat injustice. Mia’s research led her to uncover that in English, “friendship” and “freedom” share an etymology, reflecting the relationship of liberation with being seen and held by the collective.

So much conditioning is baked into language, creating a self-perpetuating loop that shapes how we show up in the world. I wonder what tiny changes may ripple just by being more conscious of the words we choose. For example, what happens if we shift from spending time to sharing time? Or, by internalizing a deep knowing that ‘friendship’ and ‘freedom’ are fruits of the same tree - how might that change how we relate to or prioritize one another?

I return to the fact that language is a form of biodiversity – an ever-evolving, dynamic force of nature. That’s where our power as wielders of language comes in: to create new permutations of expression that push the boundaries of thought. And if we can expand thought, we can expand feelings, which, in turn, expands emotional range. And maybe the culmination of all that can expand how we take action in the physical realm and form relationships - nuanced and nurturing - to one another and to earth. 

Just some pickles for thought. 🥒

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Fresh off the press! Some words of mine got published in the Porter House Review. A short piece that takes place on a harsh & tender night in Gaza. You can read it here.