“It’s very scary sometimes, Um Radwan, though thank God we are doing all right. It’s very easy to miss your family there—no one is friendly and the cities can be very dangerous. Things could be worse though. Life is made of good and bad.”

“There are some who would say it is entirely bad,” says Um Radwan. The children are chased out of the room by the women’s disappointments and by the loud neighbor who has no soft words for anyone.

“What is this burden that God has given us to bear?” says Um Radwan.

“It’s the will of God and we must endure,” says Sahar.

“The worst part of it is that my children talk like Americans,” Shahira says, opening up the stories the other women have been waiting for. “Even the two older girls, the ones born here, they live like Americans, always busy and no time ever, and there is nothing I can do to change that.”

“What a shame.”

She waits to continue.

“My husband is very difficult at times and does not respect people, not even his own father. Oof, you should hear the way he talks to him, just like an American. I mean no respect at all,” Shahira says, glancing at her sister, who is listening quietly. “What a shame,” she says.

“When I went to America with my two little daughters, I was not foolish enough to believe that everything would be like a fairy tale, but I did think I would find some comfort in life.” Shahira pauses for a moment, turning to her mother, but her mother’s eyes are nowhere near looking into hers, and are well beyond worrying about the sadness stitched into her daughter’s face.

“It is very difficult to live among strangers and more difficult when those strangers are your own children.” She stares at the television and her sister nods in sympathy.

The visit only lasts two weeks—“How can I stay longer when I have four children to take care of?”—despite the protests of her sister, who begs her to stay another month. Before Shahira leaves, she and her sister go to Jerusalem with a video camera so she can take her country home, give it to her children in a way they will take it.

“Next time, God willing, you will stay for much longer and you will bring all your children with you,” says Sahar as Shahira is saying good-bye to everyone.

Bajis and his van are waiting and Shahira goes to sit with her mother one more time before she leaves. No one else is in the room and Shahira is quiet as she looks at the gypsy scarf that ties up the remains of her mother’s hair.

“Ma, I’m going now.”

Maziuna turns to look at her, but then looks away as though not recognizing her grown-up daughter.

“Ma, please take care of yourself.”