Nur Mahdi al-Shahdi wasn’t born just once, but several times throughout the years of his life in the alleys. The first was on April 1, 1991, when he lived and his mother Noura died, along with her twenty years of age, her golden curls, and the sun of Al-Lydd, which was eclipsed when his father was arrested just weeks after his wedding only to return from captivity five years later broken, betrayed, and bewildered, silent and silenced. Nur was born a second time from his father’s silence and his tea and coffee cart, and he took refuge in his grandmother Sumayyah, who raised and nurtured him on stories of Al-Lydd and his mother Noura. That was until Sumayyah died or, rather, decided to die on the fiftieth anniversary of the Nakba, her efforts to produce descendants and strengthen her family tree having failed. Mahdi and Khadija had been struck by drought, and their bed was dry and desiccated, waterless down to its depths.…