In first reading the title, I always thought of it being a decisive one more than a hopeful one. I ask Leila and Noelle if they have navigated the idea of hope (which others may read into or even seek). Leila describes it as “a raw open wound of what we’ve been through”. It is refusing an end because the rage and memory is so strong. It is “Palestinian aliveness through all dimensions.” For Noelle, this looks like holding death with aliveness. It is digging deeper to hold memory and telling it anew. Anger and violence are easily intertwined. However, it is a deep response from our bodies to find energy, to mix itself with sadness or pain, to cause a shift, and/or to remember. Perhaps, a way to embody history and lineage into ourselves, to feel those absent, to welcome them back by feeling their energy. A way to let our bodies be a conduit for aliveness.

Understanding their roles as creative partners, individuals, and extension of ancestors, I wondered how they navigate these complexities. “We are processing while it is happening, while making.” Being in the USA is the reality. “Palestine does not need the show. The U.S. needs it, because our bodies are different. We need space to feel and to be with each other in diaspora.”, Leila expresses when asked about this work reaching other Palestinians. A common question I pose myself and other BIPOC artists is this layered experience of following who we are as individuals in any specific moment, while considering and remembering those before us and after us. Something so ingrained in wanting to honor the sacrifices of those who have allowed us the choice to become who we are, while continuing the fight among our white counterparts is always present. For Leila and Noelle it is hearing the stories of their father born in Palestine and interconnecting with their reality of being U.S. born, while leaving the future in the unknown. It means taking time and energy to stay connected. To let live stories passed down and keeping them alive through both of them. Noelle expresses these layered possibilities, “There are spaces to fill with imagination. Perhaps our past ancestors would have curiosity or be confused as to how we are keeping them alive. Our future generation would be like ‘fuck yeah’, in our continual affirmation of Palestinian existence in the U.S.. The role of colonization is to force us to forget and replace our memories. We refuse its violent grasp and manipulation by instead, amplifying memories of the past with imagined visions of future. To remember everything. Collectively. And tell it all.” 

As I listen to how this work emerges from their experiences, I recall the broader connection of their work in community and in the piece. “Dabke” is a combination of line and circle dancing with hands grasped, foot stomps, chanting, and singing. It is a communal dance filled with joy, honoring folklore, celebrating each other, holding each other, and seeing each other. In “After the Last Red Sky”, Dabke presents itself not necessarily as a celebration of the work, rather as an extension of the full year of community brought together under the “Grief and Rage Circle for Palestine” held by Leila, Noelle, Aziz Bisanz, Anniessa Antar, and Erica Jo Vibar Sherwood in the Twin Cities. It is a collective experience, where safety and vulnerability live. Where grief can take all shapes, but never experienced singularly. Dabke moves through heavy emotion and into space as a collective action. An echo, demonstration, and affirmation of Palestine aliveness. Even during this time of genocide Dabke is still alive in Gaza. “After the Last Red Sky” is a piece directly experienced by Leila and Noelle, but as they mention previously, it is also about a future involving community. This work is not meant to give hope or to be celebrated. Rather it is a moment where we as an audience see them hold the weight of community, and are left to decide how to respond.