By: Atef Abu Hajar In a world where principles change faster than the seasons, some husbands remain loyal to a single constant: strictness with the first wife… and seasonal tenderness with the second! If you want a dramatic example of this contradiction, you need look no further than the series Bab Al-Hara, where we witness how a single word can demolish thirty years of marriage, while a fresh smile builds a palace of coddling. Souad Khanum, 'Umm Issam'—thirty-three years of companionship, five pregnancies raised, and a lifetime spent between cooking, cleaning, and laundry, without her husband ever holding a single glass with her in the kitchen or supporting her on a day of exhaustion. Then came the famous word: 'Fasharat' (She bragged/She lied), and so the mustaches and masculinity trembled, and the oath of divorce moved faster than the conscience! Yet, when the Awayniyyah (the spy/informant) entered his life, the scene shifted as if we were in a completely new season of the show. He washed down the courtyard (the Housh) for her in the morning after the wedding, and by the fortieth day of marriage, he made her Kibbeh in the stone mortar (Al-Jurn)! Glory be to the Changer of Hearts...! Is the reason a generational gap and differing customs and traditions? Or is it the kindness of the first and the cunning of the second? Or is it the vast difference in treatment? The first addresses her husband as 'Ya Akhoy' (My brother), while the second calls him 'Habibi' (My love). In the past, water was only for drinking, and soap was reserved for guests. Today, the courtyard is washed with the very first light of dawn, as though cleanliness were a recent invention discovered only after the second marriage. What miracle is this that transformed a man from a general inspector of dust into a health inspector holding a water hose in one hand and a straw broom in the other? And on the fortieth day, the joy is incomplete without the ritual of 'pounding Kibbeh in the mortar.' The mortar, which was once a silent witness to the exhaustion of the first wife, has today become a stage to showcase Abu Issam's muscles of affection. Pounding with a rhythmic enthusiasm and a broad smile, it stands like an official announcement: masculinity is doing fine… and there's life in the old dog yet, but only depending on the season! The irony lies neither in the Kibbeh nor in washing the courtyard, but rather in the timing. Why does cooperation transform into a welcoming bouquet for the new wife, while for decades it was deemed an unmerited luxury for the first? Is not the one who endured for thirty years more deserving of a smile than the one who has not yet completed her first year? The home is neither an arena to prove masculinity nor a battlefield for competition between two wives; rather, it is a space of justice and mercy. Whoever believes that helping diminishes his status should know that the hand pounding the Kibbeh today could have, a long time ago, wiped away the exhaustion of years. Masculinity is not a swift decision of divorce, nor is it a performative enthusiasm on the wedding morning or the fortieth day. True masculinity is consistency in treatment and a justice that does not change with shifting faces. Do not let whims and passing emotions conquer you, do not let the mortars bear witness to your contradictions, and do not leave the courtyard to narrate the story of your transformations—for fairness at home is the very first true test of morals.
By: Atef Abu Hajar In a world where principles change faster than the seasons, some husbands remain loyal to a single constant: strictness with the first wife… and seasonal tenderness with the second! If you want a dramatic example of this contradiction, you need look no further than the series Bab Al-Hara, where we witness how a single word can demolish thirty years of marriage, while a fresh smile builds a palace of coddling. Souad Khanum, 'Umm Issam'—thirty-three years of companionship, five pregnancies raised, and a lifetime spent between cooking, cleaning, and laundry, without her husband ever holding a single glass with her in the kitchen or supporting her on a day of exhaustion. Then came the famous word: 'Fasharat' (She bragged/She lied), and so the mustaches and masculinity trembled, and the oath of divorce moved faster than the conscience! Yet, when the Awayniyyah (the spy/informant) entered his life, the scene shifted as if we were in a completely new season of the show. He washed down the courtyard (the Housh) for her in the morning after the wedding, and by the fortieth day of marriage, he made her Kibbeh in the stone mortar (Al-Jurn)! Glory be to the Changer of Hearts...! Is the reason a generational gap and differing customs and traditions? Or is it the kindness of the first and the cunning of the second? Or is it the vast difference in treatment? The first addresses her husband as 'Ya Akhoy' (My brother), while the second calls him 'Habibi' (My love). In the past, water was only for drinking, and soap was reserved for guests. Today, the courtyard is washed with the very first light of dawn, as though cleanliness were a recent invention discovered only after the second marriage. What miracle is this that transformed a man from a general inspector of dust into a health inspector holding a water hose in one hand and a straw broom in the other? And on the fortieth day, the joy is incomplete without the ritual of 'pounding Kibbeh in the mortar.' The mortar, which was once a silent witness to the exhaustion of the first wife, has today become a stage to showcase Abu Issam's muscles of affection. Pounding with a rhythmic enthusiasm and a broad smile, it stands like an official announcement: masculinity is doing fine… and there's life in the old dog yet, but only depending on the season! The irony lies neither in the Kibbeh nor in washing the courtyard, but rather in the timing. Why does cooperation transform into a welcoming bouquet for the new wife, while for decades it was deemed an unmerited luxury for the first? Is not the one who endured for thirty years more deserving of a smile than the one who has not yet completed her first year? The home is neither an arena to prove masculinity nor a battlefield for competition between two wives; rather, it is a space of justice and mercy. Whoever believes that helping diminishes his status should know that the hand pounding the Kibbeh today could have, a long time ago, wiped away the exhaustion of years. Masculinity is not a swift decision of divorce, nor is it a performative enthusiasm on the wedding morning or the fortieth day. True masculinity is consistency in treatment and a justice that does not change with shifting faces. Do not let whims and passing emotions conquer you, do not let the mortars bear witness to your contradictions, and do not leave the courtyard to narrate the story of your transformations—for fairness at home is the very first true test of morals.
By: Atef Abu Hajar In a world where principles change faster than the seasons, some husbands remain loyal to a single constant: strictness with the first wife… and seasonal tenderness with the second! If you want a dramatic example of this contradiction, you need look no further than the series Bab Al-Hara, where we witness how a single word can demolish thirty years of marriage, while a fresh smile builds a palace of coddling. Souad Khanum, 'Umm Issam'—thirty-three years of companionship, five pregnancies raised, and a lifetime spent between cooking, cleaning, and laundry, without her husband ever holding a single glass with her in the kitchen or supporting her on a day of exhaustion. Then came the famous word: 'Fasharat' (She bragged/She lied), and so the mustaches and masculinity trembled, and the oath of divorce moved faster than the conscience! Yet, when the Awayniyyah (the spy/informant) entered his life, the scene shifted as if we were in a completely new season of the show. He washed down the courtyard (the Housh) for her in the morning after the wedding, and by the fortieth day of marriage, he made her Kibbeh in the stone mortar (Al-Jurn)! Glory be to the Changer of Hearts...! Is the reason a generational gap and differing customs and traditions? Or is it the kindness of the first and the cunning of the second? Or is it the vast difference in treatment? The first addresses her husband as 'Ya Akhoy' (My brother), while the second calls him 'Habibi' (My love). In the past, water was only for drinking, and soap was reserved for guests. Today, the courtyard is washed with the very first light of dawn, as though cleanliness were a recent invention discovered only after the second marriage. What miracle is this that transformed a man from a general inspector of dust into a health inspector holding a water hose in one hand and a straw broom in the other? And on the fortieth day, the joy is incomplete without the ritual of 'pounding Kibbeh in the mortar.' The mortar, which was once a silent witness to the exhaustion of the first wife, has today become a stage to showcase Abu Issam's muscles of affection. Pounding with a rhythmic enthusiasm and a broad smile, it stands like an official announcement: masculinity is doing fine… and there's life in the old dog yet, but only depending on the season! The irony lies neither in the Kibbeh nor in washing the courtyard, but rather in the timing. Why does cooperation transform into a welcoming bouquet for the new wife, while for decades it was deemed an unmerited luxury for the first? Is not the one who endured for thirty years more deserving of a smile than the one who has not yet completed her first year? The home is neither an arena to prove masculinity nor a battlefield for competition between two wives; rather, it is a space of justice and mercy. Whoever believes that helping diminishes his status should know that the hand pounding the Kibbeh today could have, a long time ago, wiped away the exhaustion of years. Masculinity is not a swift decision of divorce, nor is it a performative enthusiasm on the wedding morning or the fortieth day. True masculinity is consistency in treatment and a justice that does not change with shifting faces. Do not let whims and passing emotions conquer you, do not let the mortars bear witness to your contradictions, and do not leave the courtyard to narrate the story of your transformations—for fairness at home is the very first true test of morals.
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Belated Heroics
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