Mahmoud had us over at his house for coffee, sweets and nargileh. We spoke with his father, who corrected me on my pronunciation of the word “oheb”. He said, I’m supposed to say, “b’heb”, and that when I say “oheb,” it sounds too much like “ohev” which also means love, but in Hebrew. And so when he asked me whether I spoke Hebrew, I had no choice but to say, “a little.” And then the language of the conversation switched, and I spoke with Mahmoud’s father while everyone else remained silent and listened to us speak the occupier’s language. After a few minutes I said, “Enough, now we’re in Palestine and I’m studying Arabic. Please, let us speak in Arabic.”