The last time I spoke to my father was four years ago, the day before my daughter’s birth. I called when they laid her in my arms, but he never called back. Perhaps he could not bear to watch me fail his final test, to see his first grandchild wrapped in a blended identity rather than pure Palestinian colours. As I watch her grow, I often wonder if my choice was right. Maybe she won’t find her name on our family lists either. But I prefer to believe she will take the best of both tribes forward. And that they will come to celebrate her for her unique spirit, rather than for whose flag she bears.