A small, forgotten village with houses of clay, nestled on the slopes of the Palestinian 'Galilee' mountains. Its name is 'Arrabat al-Battuf.' It was there I was born, and in its alleys, I took my first steps. In its lanes, I lived a mischievous childhood and a rebellious youth.

When weary of the world's troubles, 'Arraba' remains my sanctuary, a warm and tender embrace where I rest my heavy head and lay my exhausted body...

I listened to its men and elders speak, argue, rage, and laugh, and I shared in their anger and laughter.

They were my guiding lights in the darkness, before the Palestinian village became 'hybridized and westernized'.

A quarter of a century ago, I journeyed to Jerusalem.

Jerusalem possesses an antiquity that lends it a profound charm. A legend of imagination, an elusive goal. Ancient names lost among its stones in the valleys and labyrinths of history...

Qalawun and Qaytbay, Saladin and Ibn Hasna, and Abu Ubaidah, his face tanned by the desert sun, presenting the Pact of Umar to Patriarch Sophronius. 'The covenant of God, the guarantee of His Messenger, the Caliphs, and the believers.' Witnessed by: Khalid ibn al-Walid, Abd al-Rahman ibn Awf, Muawiyah ibn Abi Sufyan, and Amr ibn al-As...

Jebus is its name... Urusalim is its name... Aelia is its name... Bayt al-Maqdis is its name...

Jerusalem encapsulates and chronicles meanings...

I walk through an old alley, dissolving under new calamities and trials. In narrow streets, the fragrance of history emanates from between the paving stones.

I walk, my emotions plundered. One foot drags loss while the other groans under the weight of dispossession. Within me, the vanquished meets the looted.

I walk, and Jerusalem is dusty and stern, as I tremble from the storm's fury and the emotion's humility.

Jerusalem! A city that narrates its history, a history known to all and disputed by all.

Here, the triumphant narrative recedes before the defeated one.

Jerusalem! A peasant woman sitting at Damascus Gate. In her hand, a sprig of mint, which an occupying soldier crushes under his boot. A Jerusalemite woman born from the foam of the western sea and the morning breeze from the east. Her menses are the passion of Canaanite chamomile, her labor the scent of Jebusite sage.

Jerusalem! My old love and my deepest passion, revealed and exposed by 'Duha'.

• Author: Hussein Yassin
• Year of Publication: 2018
• Publisher: Dar Fadaat
• Number of Pages: 344