I grew up in Jerusalem, the second of six children, and I lived what I perceived, even then, to be a double life. I went to an American school where I learned to speak English with a slightly Southern accent, and I could recite the names of the American presidents, all the States and their capitals. Meanwhile, at home, I learned Arabic, Palestinian history and geography, how to bake bread and make labaneh. I spoke English with my siblings, Arabic with my parents and a mixture of the two with my friends. The double life I lived came naturally and did not seem unusual to me. In fact, even now, recalling my childhood, I consider my memories to be remarkably similar to those of my non-Palestinian friends – though the details differ somewhat. For example, I remember having an assortment of pets, cats and dogs of course, but also chicks from the Old City, ducklings from my Aunts and tortoises that had wandered into the garden. I remember picnics and musical afternoons, which turned into musical evenings, with a kamanja, durbakeh, and oud played by my uncles and cousins. I remember ‘camping’, not in the woods, but on rooftops under the stars and grapevines, with my grandmother singing us lullabies and telling us stories.