Friday, March 3, 2017

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Friday, March 3, 2017 | Indiana Daily Student | idsnews.com

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SARA MILLER | IDS

The Lababidi daughters, Remas, 3; Samira, 10; and Sara, 7, relax in the living room of the family's two-bedroom Indianapolis apartment. Samira and Sara have been attending public school despite speaking very limited English.

Settling in Despite funding cuts for resettlement program, the Lababidi family persists By Taylor Telford ttelford@indiana.edu | @ttelford1883

INDIANAPOLIS — The Lababidi family wanted a normal life in the United States. So on Wednesday afternoon this week, they sat in their small apartment on the west side of Indianapolis and worked on the most mundane of tasks — learning how to pay their bills. Duha and Mohamed Lababidi sat on their mismatched couches and watched as Lina al-Midani, a Syrian refugee turned translator, looked over the bulky stack of envelopes on their coffee table. Gas. Water. Electricity. The bills came addressed to them in a language that they didn’t know except for the words “thank you.” Some of the bills were already overdue because they were sent to Exodus Refugee Immigration Inc., the resettlement group that helped them put down roots in their new life, instead of to their own apartment. Exodus employees sometimes used to handdeliver the mail when they came to check in, but the organization had to fire many staff members. President Trump’s ban on international travel and the refugee program led to losses in grant funding, which supported organizations like Exodus. Now, Exodus is struggling just to keep its doors open.

The Lababidi family had been reading the news, but they had not expected Trump would sign orders to ban Syrian refugees like them along with others from seven other Muslim-majority countries. In his speeches, Trump said refugees posed a threat to the United States, but the Lababidis had come here to escape a threat, not become one. They had arrived in the bitter cold of December 2016. They brought what they’d been told to bring — things like winter clothes, cooking utensils — and the things they couldn’t stand to leave behind. Duha’s father had been ready to follow them. He’d paid $700 for DNA testing to prove he was related to refugees already resettled in the U.S. only to be stopped by the ban. The money was wasted and he was stuck in Syria, a world apart from his family. In Indianapolis, al-Midani explained in Arabic the anatomy of each bill. As the Lababidis listened intently, their 3-year-old daughter, Remas, pranced across the sparse two-bedroom apartment. There were no photos on the walls, no artwork. Exodus had provided most of the furniture, including couches, two floor lamps and a coffee table. After the bills, they worried about the rent. Mohamed hadn’t gotten a job yet. Before he came here, he’d been a painter, decorating the insides of houses. He held out a green sheet of paper to Lina, who studied it with a furrowed brow. She explained it appeared Exodus would pay

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the rent until May 1, but she sounded hesitant. “Exodus might not be able to do as much as it used to,” she said. Shortly after, the other two Lababidi daughters hopped off the school bus and came into the apartment. They took off their parkas, left their boots by the door and kissed their parents and their little sister. Side by side, Samira, 10, and Sara, 7, looked almost like twins. They wore matching jeans with strips of leopard print and had their hair tied in long, dark ponytails running down their backs. They’d started school right after the new year, despite their limited English. Like most things in their new lives, school was exciting but foreign. They had some friends who were also refugees in their classes to help translate occasionally, but for the most part, the girls had to figure things out for themselves. Samira said she was used to being at the top of her class in Syria. She had a knack for math and took great pride in it, but she was struggling to keep up here, and it frustrated her. She was smart, and she knew it. She wanted to do well. She took out a beaten yellow notebook and showed her mother her homework, a set of SEE SYRIA, PAGE 10

Volunteers make bread for charity By Cody Thompson Comthomp@umail.iu.edu @CodyMThompson

BOBBY GODDIN | IDS

Junior guard Tyra Buss jumps for a rebound against Purdue on Jan. 19 in Simon Skjodt Assembly Hall. Buss led the team with eight assists and added 18 points to help lead the Hoosiers to a 74-60 victory against the Boilermakers. The Hoosiers will play Purdue again this weekend in the Big Ten Tournament.

IU set to face rival Purdue By Josh Eastern jeastern@umail.iu.edu | @JoshEastern

Last season heading into the Big Ten Tournament, IU was in the same position it is in now as a four seed. However, the Hoosiers ended up losing that first game to 12-seed Northwestern. Instead of taking two consecutive days off in the days leading up to the game, IU Coach Teri Moren changed up the week of prep in order to avoid a similar result to last year. IU will look to advance to the semifinals of the Big Ten

Tournament when they face the Purdue Boilermakers on Friday in a Big Ten Tournament quarterfinal at Bankers Life Fieldhouse. “I think it’s been on our minds,” senior center Jenn Anderson said of last year’s result. “Knowing last year we were the four seed, we went up there, and we really didn’t show up. We have to put in more preparation now just to know we have to go up there and we have to play and we have to be ready to play because it’s a one and done.” After IU’s win against Illinois last Saturday to close out the Big Ten regular season, it looked as if it would be the five-seed. After

IU (20-9) vs. Purdue (20-11) 25 minutes after noon game ends, Friday, Bankers Life Fieldhouse Nebraska pulled a stunning upset of Michigan State, IU slid up to the four seed. Because of that, the Hoosiers earned the vital double-bye. In order to stay fresh, Moren said the team is getting up a lot of shots to avoid a let down on the offensive end. Because of the uncertainty of SEE BASKETBALL, PAGE 10

A silver bowl of water was set down in the middle of round table inside the Helene G. Simon Hillel Center. Next to the bowl were two pieces of paper stapled together. Written at the top were the words “HOLY *S$&%^ S’MORES CHALLAH!!!” The event “Challah for Hunger” involves volunteers creating the ceremonial Jewish bread to sell for $5 a loaf. All of the proceeds go to charities at the end of the semester. “There’s actually quite a significant population of students on campus who are hungry, and they go to Hoosier Hills Food Bank for food,” said junior Kathryn Stuff, president of Challah for Hunger at IU. The money is donated to Hoosier Hills and Mazon, an advocacy organization working to end hunger in the United States and Israel. “It gives back directly to the community in a way,” Stuff said. Oil was poured into the bowl of water. The two substances collided and refused to mix. Bubbles formed as the two liquids fought for dominance. Small piles of yeast were dropped into the bowl. They stayed clumped together until a spoon was brought down into the bowl, violently mixing the ingredients. The ingredients began turning into a light brown color. The water, oil and yeast had to sit for 10 minutes. In that time, attendees began to introduce themselves. Some

were there for service hours, some because they were part of a service fraternity and others because they were just interested. Sophomore Cooper Weingartner, a member of Alpha Phi Omega, was at the table making jokes with the others and helping make the dough. “It’s one of the most chill places to give back,” he said. Junior Rebecca Tessarolo was sitting across from him at the table. She was there to earn service hours for her class, but she said she ended up having fun. “I’m not Jewish,” she said. “I didn’t really know what anything was, but now I am starting to understand what challah is and why this organization is here.” As Papa Roach’s “Scars” played on a small speaker, 12 eggs were cracked by multiple sets of hands above the bowl. The yellow yolk plopped and settled into the thick substance. Then a whisk came down and began to mix them all together. The liquid turned yellow and began to froth. Meanwhile, people were singing along to the music. Two cups of sugar. More mixing. Then the flour, 24 cups to be exact. The dough would have to be mixed, but the plastic spoon was too weak. After rolling their sleeves to just below their elbows, several people began to knead the dough with their hands. They stuck to the stringy, sticky dough. It got between the fingers, but eventually the dough SEE CHALLAH, PAGE 10


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