Palestine embodied: teens from Dheisheh refugee camp dance their experience.

S. SMITH PATRICK'S AWARD WINNING DOCUMENTARY, THE CHILDREN OF IBDAA: TO CREATE SOMETHING OUT OF NOTHING, IS THE STORY OF A TEEN DANCE TROUPE WHOSE MEMBERS HAVE SPENT THEIR ENTIRE LIVES IN A PALESTINIAN REFUGEE CAMP.

IN ARABIC, "ibdaa" means "to create something out of nothing." It's an apt term for the troupe of teenae Palestinian dancers of the Dheisheh Refugee Camp, which toured sixteen U.S. cities this summer. The camp, near Bethlehem on Israel's West Bank, houses 11,000 people in less than half a square kilometer, and there's very little for youngsters to do. An Israel-imposed curfew often prevents them from attending school.

The Ibdaa Cultural Center, build in part with donations gathered by the Middle East Children's Alliance (MECA) in Berkeley, California, was destroyed several years ago during a raid by Israeli soldiers. Now rebuilt, it carries on, keeping the camp's 5,000 children occupied with a computer center, sports, and other activities, including dance.

Members of the Ibdaa dance troupe, which was founded in 1995 as a porject of the Cultual Center, consider dance much more than a pastime. It's a vehicle for a political message, a means to communicate Palestinian suffering ot the American people, says performer Manar Faraj, 17. "We are struggling to tell the story of the reality in Palestine with our bodies, our motions." Those motions combine debkeh, traditional Palestinian dance, and narrative theater in a compact repertoire of works telling the story of Palestine's occupation and loss of historic lands.

IBDAA'S DANCES can be didactic, with much flag-waving and graphic portrayals of oppression at the hands of Israeli soldiers. But the dancers' sheer youthful passion is captivating, and their movements are hypnotic. At a July 8, 2003, performance at Scottish Rites Temple in Oakland, the dancers' rhythmic hops, kicks, and side steps traced a choreographic mosaic on the boards.

Ibdaa's U.S. tour is part of a cultural exchange, organized by MECA, between American teens and their Dheisheh counterprats. In the San Francisco Bay Area, the troupe collaborated with Destiny Arts Youth Performance Company in Oakland (see page 74), and Loco Bloco in san Francisco. Both Bay Area organizations use music and dance to teach young people self-confidence and self-expression as a means to prevent teen violence.

At first the Palestinians were struck by the dissimilarity of their lives and their American peers. "We wonder if Americans are empty inside," adds Faraj. "They are thinking about manicures and pedicures, and we think about getting killed."

"Everyone here worries about where to go on vacation, or whre to go salsa dancing," says Ahmed Algrouz, 17. "They think Palestinians are terrorists who want ot blow them up. But when we go home, we don't know whether we'll have to face a tank or be taken to prison."

BUT BEFORE long the youths discovered that tey had more in common than they knew. Many of the Palestinians' steps are surprisingly similar to hip-hop and African-based dance, as the teens discoverd in rehearsal when they traded capoeira moves and hip-hop choreography to create a collaborative piece. Offstage, the Ibdaa youths slouched in oversized sweats and sneakers like their American counterparts.

"Sometimes we feel selfish to be on tour, because we have many freedoms here, but our friends back home are not free," says Jehad Abbas, 2. "Still, all of us are working with the same issues of rights for all people."

The Americans were impressed by the Palestinians' perseverance in the face of routine uncertainty. "I think just being in the presence of people from Palestine is an experience in itself," says Loco Bloco dancer Scarlette Charles, 20. "Seeing how much they love one another and how they're willing to fight for one another is to share a common spirit. It's an honor to be with them."

Just before the show began, even politics made way for the universal message of dance. "The best moment is when we stand onstage feeling the wood under our feet, with our legs nad hands ready and the people out there," says Faraj. "So many politicians talk and talk and it comes to nothing. We are thinking, 'Look, we are here; we are doing something. In the camp we may be dirty and poor, but inside, I feel shiny and rich.'"

Chiori Santiago is editor of Nikkei Heritage journal and covers art, performance, and music from the San Francisco Bay Area.