The Invisible Men Page #3

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can tear us apart

This is my love

who captured my heart

Oh, father,

who captured my heart...

Do you sing Umm Kulthum?

Do remember any of her songs?

Your eyes took me back

To days gone b)'

Taught me to regret

The past and its wounds

What I've seen...

Tell me about it...

- Tell me about it

Before my eyes saw you...

What a beautiful song.

I was lost...

You know, Abdu,

I've been here for 10 years,

a long time...

and I never thought I'd meet

another Arab like me,

you know?

And that we'd be singing in Arabic.

I never thought it would happen.

I said... "That's it.

"I'll never have Arab friends again."

Let me tell you something.

F*** it, no matter what happens.

- Don't curse.

I'm not.

No matter what happens,

I'll stay a Palestinian.

Even if I get caught

by the Israeli Secret Service,

or the CIA, or the Mossad,

I don't f***ing care.

I'll never stop being a Palestinian.

- Of course.

I'll never change.

Even if they make me wear

a Star of David,

even if they put a yarmulke on my head,

I'll always be a Palestinian.

You know why I wear

a Star of David?

I get it, I get it.

I wear it to keep the police

off my back.

I get it.

The Palestinians won't accept us

because we're gay,

and the Israelis won't accept us because

we're Palestinians without a permit

and we're "illegal."

It makes me sick.

Go live abroad.

F*** the Middle East.

We don't need Israel or Palestine,

Jews or Christians or Muslims.

Everyone here hates everyone else.

Why? Why should I hate you?

To Abdu!

To Abdu!

You'll now be reborn and free

in a new country.

To freedom!

I hope you come back and visit.

God willing.

Everything will be all right,

God willing.

You just take care.

Talk to the lawyer,

and we'll keep in touch

through email.

OK.

- Take care.

I will,

you take care of yourself.

With God's help,

I'll be fine.

Goodbye.

We'll keep in touch.

Abdu left Tel Aviv

and Louie was still waiting

for a final answer on his asylum.

Abud.

Louie, habibi, how are you?

- I miss you.

What's up?

- All's good, God bless.

But how are you doing?

Is it cold there'?

Yes, it's a bit cold at night.

I've got something to tell you. I have

a friend in Ramallah, he's in trouble.

He's what?

He's in trouble. He's also gay.

He's in a bad situation.

I need you to call him

and see if he needs help.

Give me his phone number.

I can bring him to Tel Aviv,

to live with me.

Teach him about life here,

explain how it is...

You know, the way things work.

OK. I'll call him tonight.

I'm also very homesick.

It's hard.

My mom calls me and cries. She's

the only one that knows where I am.

Listen, you talk to your mother, right?

As long as you speak with your mother

and she's healthy,

and everything is fine,

you have nothing to worry about.

I don't have a mother",

and here I am, living my life.

Your mom wants the best for you.

I know that.

She tells you she misses you,

We all live in yearning. I miss you,

I miss my father:.

It's natural.

Don't worry about it.

It'll all pass.

Hello.

- Hello, Faris?

I talked to Abdu today

and promised I'd take care of you,

check that everything was all right.

He told me about you.

Tell me, do you have a profession?

Did you study anything?

We'll try and find you some work,

a place to sleep.

I can work in a restaurant.

A restaurant, huh?

- Yeah.

Do you speak Hebrew?

- Not at all.

Do you speak English?

- Yeah.

Do your parents know you're gay?

- Yeah.

They do?

ls your mother alive?

Yes.

Why don't they take you back in,

sort things out'?

They kicked me out of the house,

nearly killed me.

Now they're after me.

They want to kill me.

I see.

I've been on the run

for two months.

Also, my father

reported me to the Palestinian Police

and now they're after me too.

Because you're gay?

- Yeah.

It'll be all right.

Why did you ask

about my parents?

I thought your mother

might show some sympathy,

but from what you've told me,

there's no way you're going back.

I'm in danger here.

If I could leave,

I wouldn't be here.

I get it.

Fine, I'll talk to you later.

I'll show you what to do.

Trust me. -OK.

Good night.

- Goodbye.

I don't know if I can help him.

I don't know...

It's too much pressure.

Stop filming.

It's hard to hear a story like that.

It's sad.

But what can I do?

After hearing Faris,

I traveled to Ramallah

where it's illegal

for Israelis to go.

Ramallah is only an hour

from Tel Aviv,

but it feels like a distant country.

One moment.

Hi Faris,

what's going on?

Someone I know,

he made a profile for me on Facebook.

He wrote that I'm gay.

My dad and my brother...

He came from Nablus to Ramallah

to hit me.

And now you are hiding?

Yes.

God had mercy on me,

I managed to escape.

I took all my stuff, and ran away.

There he is.

Hello. -Hi.

My father, he called me

and said,

"if I find you in any place

"in Palestine, I will kill you.

"And I will find you.

"And when I find you

I will kill you.

"I promise you."

He told me that.

My dad is very crazy.

He is a dangerous man.

I feel "my smile" is not good.

Because my situation

is not good here,

and I don't have a boyfriend,

my boyfriend died

two years ago.

He died in an accident.

I loved him so much.

Really.

I saw him at the hospital

when he died.

It's too hard.

I'm sorry.

What was his name?

I can't tell you, sorry.

Because I promised him

before he died,

"I will not give your name

to anyone".

I'm sorry.

I left Ramallah and couldn't stop

thinking about Faris,

when I got a phone call from Louie.

Welcome.

Do you know what it says?

Application for asylum

in a third country.

His file was transferred for urgent

consideration in Geneva.

We await their reply.

That's it. This means you're leaving

the country. -it's a big problem.

A really big problem.

For someone who was born here...

I was born here.

Wave...

you know, a hospital stamp from the

State of Israel. I have it in my bag,

I'll show you.

A Thai can work here, can come and go,

an Ethiopian, no problem.

I was born here! So not

in Tel Aviv, in Nablus.

But still, why dont l have rights?

But you've been waiting

for this for a long time,

and now you're hesitating?

I prefer to be here,

go in and out of jail.

I'll manage.

What frightens you

about going there?

I don't feel like

learning their language,

their culture, all that...

I don't know... All that.

I'm sick of it. I'm 33 years old soon.

I'm tired.

I was surprised, even angry at Louie

for not wanting to leave.

A few days later, I saw Israeli-Arab

families celebrating Eid Al Adha,

"The Festival of Sacrifice"

on the Tel Aviv promenade.

It's the week

God forgives all Muslims.

They smile at you

but don't really forgive.

It's so nice to be

there with your family.

To grill, drink, sit together.

It's a good thing.

This is sad.

What can I tell you?

So sad.

You brought me to a tough place.

Shaul?

Yes, Yariv.

Louie's gone.

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