4th century CE Roman amber pins, found in 2020 at the feet of an individual who was buried in a large sarcophagus at a necropolis in the French city of Autun.
These are stunning pins, crafted with exquisite attention to detail and symmetry…but what’s even more clever about them is the material they are made out of.
Amber is ever so slightly “sticky” as a surface (which makes sense, since it’s age-hardened sap / resin). It can be polished until it’s virtuall glass-smooth, but when tucked into hair, or into the fibers of a woven garment, it will have just a tiny bit more friction, causing them to have that much more of a chance to remain in place. As a material for securing things, they are slightly better than metal and bone, if not quite as good as wood (which has a great deal of microscopic texture for hair, etc, to catch on and cling to).
Most forms of amber are very clouded from inclusions when it was still sap, and fractal from the pressures it underwent as it hardened over the aeons. To be able to find pieces as large and clear as these are makes them all the more rare. Unlike metal or bone (and somewhat like wood) these pins would feel warmer to the touch, and be more comfortable and comforting for the owner, while being less fragile than wood. And lastly, amber does have a faint scent as it warms up, making them a natural perfume source.
These are not cheap throwaway objects, folks. These are indeed treasured posessions, just as much for their functionality & multi-use offerings as for their rarity and beauty.
Gaza’s health ministry has updated its death toll since the conflict broke out on October 7, to 9,061, including 3,760 children and 2,326 women.
Please, please do not be desensitized to the numbers. Please don’t look away! Palestinians do not even have the privilege look away! Do not stop protesting, do not stop demanding for a ceasefire, do not stop donating esims or money or humanitarian aid, do not stop looking ways for help, do not stop talking about Palestine!
I say no to things that don’t contribute to my growth.
I say no to things that rob me of valuable time.
I spend time around healthy people.
I reduce my interactions with people who drain my energy.
I protect my energy against people who threaten my sanity.
I practice positive self-talk.
I allow myself to feel and not judge my feelings.
I forgive myself when I make a mistake.
I actively cultivate the best version of myself.
I turn off my phone when appropriate.
I sleep when I’m tired.
I mind my business.
I make tough decisions because they’re healthy for me.
I create space for activities that bring me joy.
I say yes to activities that interest me despite my anxiety about trying them.
I experience things alone instead of waiting for the “right” people to join me.
When people raise their voice at me, I tell them it’s not okay.
I address issues when they arise instead of allowing them to fester.
When a boundary is violated, I clearly define my expectations for communication in the beginning and throughout my relationships. Example: “I’d prefer if we talked about serious matters in person instead of over text.”
When I notice that someone is trying to manipulate me by intentionally trying to guilt me or pushing my boundaries, I recognize it as manipulation and uphold my boundaries.
When someone says something about me that isn’t true, I immediately correct them. Example: They might say, “You’re always late.” You might respond: “I was late today. However, there are other times, such as ____, when I’ve been on time.” Don’t argue; just state what you know to be true.
I speak to myself as gently as I would talk to a small child.
I coach myself through awkward moments.
I allow myself to make mistakes without judging myself harshly.
I don’t call myself names.
I don’t make mean comments about myself either in my mind or out loud in front of others.
I don’t hit people or any property when I’m upset.
If I feel the need to cry, I allow myself to do so.
When I get agitated, I remove myself from the situation and practice my breathing until I feel calm.
I create an idea of the type of people I want in my life.
When I notice issues in my relationships, I honor myself by speaking up.
Set Boundaries, Find Peace: A Guide to Reclaiming Yourself, Nedra Glover Tawwab
Moments from Palestine across generations and communities
(1) A Bedouin woman smiles in Jerusalem (1898-1914)
(2) Asma Aranki Holding a Child from Her Family at Their House, Birzeit (1948)
(3) Bedouin girls in Jericho (1918)
(4) An extended Palestinian family gathers in front of their house in the village of Beit Sahur, near Bethlehem (1918–35)
(5) From the Mount of Olives, a young woman looks out over eastern Jerusalem (1929)
(6) Ruth Raad, daughter of photographer Khalil Raad, in the traditional costume of Ramallah (1939)
(7) Standing in his neatly ironed shirt and shorts, George Sawabin poses for a studio photo (1942)
(8) Katingo Hanania Deeb, prepares to demonstrate in the 1936-1939 Arab Revolt – which was a nationalist uprising by Palestinian Arabs against British colonial rule in relation to Palestinian independence and the land acquisition and pushout as a result of the mass Jewish immigration (1936)
(9) Young children walking home from school Beit Deqqo Village, the Occupied Palestinian West Bank, 1987
(10) Four young girls decorating vases in a ceramic workshop in Nablus (1920)
(11) A young Palestinian girl squints and smiles as she holds a jar on her head (1920-1950)
(12) The ancient craft of a Palestinian potter (1918-35)
(13) The mothers of Palestinian detainees’ protest in Jerusalem (1987)
Please support, share, cite, and (if financially able) fund these organizations and public storytellers for their rebellious histories and community work!
After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We’ve been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, “We can’t take any more families.” They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They’re now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they’ll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn’t think it’s gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they’re saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There’s no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying “a card from the supermarket, there’s a password and username.” Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won’t load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn’t know what’s happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, “The bombings are getting worse by the day.” The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she’s not sure if it’s because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn’t seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, “they’re not entertainment.” If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I’d argue there are people who do care, but I’m not gonna lecture her pain. And they don’t deserve to be used to fulfill someone’s sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel’s Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That’s what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their “innocent civilians” come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it’s been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won’t risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There’s civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It’s widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel’s arms and surveillance technology industries, said: “Israel has kept the occupation because it’s a laboratory for weapons.”
