AMMAN, Jordan -- Every day, Jalil Ahar awakens at 4
a.m., washes his body three times in accordance with Islamic beliefs and walks a mile to a
mosque to pray.
"Better to be praising Allah than sleeping," said Ahar, 22, who, like most
Muslims in the poor Palestinian refugee camp of Al Baqa'a, keeps the short growth of
whiskers to show humility.
It's only 15 miles away to Ali Tarawneh's house in Smeisani, another Palestinian sector of
Amman, but Tarawneh, 21, is, like many young affluent Palestinians, on the other side of
the cultural spectrum.
While Ahar recites predawn incantations, Tarawneh is often just getting to sleep, capping
off another night of drinking and socializing at a bar that caters to tourists and wealthy
Palestinians.
During the past decade, the gulf between young Palestinians like Tarawneh and Ahar has
grown, alarming conservative elders, who have tried to keep the fight for a homeland alive
for their children.
Older Palestinians in Amman find the apathy among some Palestinian youth painful.
"Many of our children don't feel the struggle," said Ahmad Abu-Shakrah, a
Palestinian taxi driver in Amman, who has become a refugee twice in his lifetime. After
the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, he moved from Jerusalem to Kuwait, where he watched Iraqi
soldiers destroy his business 23 years later.
He, his wife and their four children have been in Jordan ever since.
"We have a saying in Arabic, 'He who has a hand in the fire is not the same as those
with a hand in the water,'" said Abu-Shakrah, 52. "I know the fire that burns
from my home in Palestine, but my children's home is Kuwait or Jordan, so it is difficult
for them to understand."
Clad in a checkered red-and-white headdress and dusty grayish blue skirt, Ahar keeps
abreast of the latest political developments in the Middle East to "ensure our future
liberation from Israel."
Tarawneh, like many in his Heineken-drinking clique, isoblivious to the latest showdown
between the United States and Iraq and the subsequent peace brokered by the United
Nations. But, he added, he knows all the words to the latest music videos.
"I want you to want me," he blurted out while snapping his fingers and gyrating
his torso -- a la Saturday Night Fever -- next to a female companion. "You know this
group? Solid Harmony? Oh man, those women are so hot."
Tarawneh sported a white, lightweight Armani sport suit and a cleanly shaved face. "I
shave every day, just before Happy Hour, because the real hot girls like soft skin,"
he said.
The loss of interest in Palestine is a phenomenon unrestricted by economic or
social boundaries, Abu-Shakrah said. It manifests itself among wealthy, educated families
as well as the poor who never attended high school.
"This happens everywhere, even in Israel," he said. "The children are
becoming less patriotic and more concerned about making money -- anywhere, any time and in
any way. They sell themselves to any country -- the United States, Canada, Germany,
Australia -- and they forget about their countries and who they really are."
Others warn that the loss of a national identity among some Palestinian youth is
symptomatic of a far more serious problem, namely the decline of morality. The old desire
to send Palestinian children to Western countries for education is coupled with a growing
fear that vulnerable teen-agers and adults will succumb to what is seen as a morally
deficient fast life.
"They go to the United States to learn about engineering, mathematics, or computers,
and they return greedy, selfish and unchaste," said Hamad Fanasi, a 69-year-old
neighbor of Arar. "Many do not care about anything except making money and drinking
alcohol. This is against our people and our religion."
Underneath the flickering lights of the discotheque, Ali Tarawneh is playfully cursing at
his new friend, a dyed blond named Sumirra, who accidentally spilled part of her drink on
his suit.
"We drink moderately, usually beer and only a couple of glasses a night," he
said, seconds before a waiter brought his group a round of shots of peach schnapps.
"It's a special occasion," Tarawneh said.
Alan, the club's British disc jockey, was urging patrons who couldn't "bottoms
up" their liquor to at least hit the dance floor, where only a handful of
well-dressed couples bounced and bobbed in close rhythmic gyrations.
For Ahar, who walks to his neighborhood mosque three to five times a day to prostrate
himself on the ground in prayer while facing the Islamic holy city of Mecca, such scenes
exist only in racy Hollywood movies.
"They are Palestinians? Are you sure?" he asked incredulously when told of such
clubs.
But in Amman, with new discotheques popping up like desert grass after a winter rain, such
nocturnal behavior is fast becoming the norm.
"Why shouldn't we enjoy ourselves?" Tarawneh said. "Come on, you only live
once, right?"
Ahar disagreed. Shaking his head as if he were hearing about a modern day version of Sodom
and Gomorrah, the ancient Biblical cities destroyed by God because of their decadence, he
said the youths in the discotheques are turning their backs on their county and their
afterlife.
"In my opinion, they are neither Muslims nor Palestinians," he said. "They
will not share in our return to our country nor to heaven after death. They can only blame
themselves."
Jim Dyer, 34, is a Detroit News staff writer. He is in the Middle East to report on the
people and issues of the region.
© Copyright 1998, The Detroit News
