Volume 4 Issue 4

FALASTIN

Volume 4 - Issue 4

August 2020

PACC

Falastin, a Palestinian American Community Center Publication Falastin Staff Editor in Chief, Reem Farhat

Poetry Editor, Aya Mustafa Fiction Editor, Marah Siyam News Editor, Aseel Washah Arabic Editor, Aseel Zeinati Arabic Editor, Hiba B’irat Copy Editor, Tala Ismail Layout Editor, Ibrahim Issa

We’d like to extend a special thank you to Mohammed Alhaj whose artwork is featured on our front cover. Mohammed is an artist from Gaza who received a Fine Art Bachelor degree in 2004 at Al-Aqsa University in Gaza, Palestine. His art takes a variety of styles from expressionism to abstract and pop art. You can find more of his work on his Instagram @mohammed.alhaj.000 We are always looking for new content and contributions! Submit your work to falastin@paccusa.org 388 Lakeview Ave, Clifton, NJ 07011 // www.paccusa.org // info@paccusa.org // 973-253-6145

TABLE OF

CONTENTS

04 Letter From the Editor 04 Letter From the E.D. 06 Embracing My Debwani Identity 08 Mukhmas 09 ‫قرية عمواس المدمرة والمهجرة‬ 10 The Sweetness of Figs Demetrius Johnson 12 on the Importance of Solidarity 16 Why I Love Jerusalem 18 Battir 19 Feeling at Home in Beit Hanina Reem Farhat

Rania Mustafa Enaam Salem Marah Siyam

‫يوسف القطب‬

Shatha Shahin

Reem Farhat

Yousef Bashir Aya Saleh

Wafai Dias

Simple Ways to Help Palestinians Thrive Not Just Survive

20 22 Gaza Beach: A Refuge 23 ‫ إهماالت الذاكرة‬:‫القرى الفلسطينية المه ّجرة‬ 24 Al Birwa, Lifta, and Qatamon 27 Person of PACC: An Interview with Huweda Elsamna Meha Siyam, J.D. Amal Abukwaik

‫هنادي قواسمي‬

Visualizing Palestine Falastin Staff

Letter from the Editor Reem Farhat It is with great excitement that I present to you the last issue of our fourth volume of Falastin. This issue, we asked writers to reflect on their home villages and experiences there. During a time where many of our summer plans to visit Palestine have been put on an indefinite hiatus, these pieces felt like trips themselves.

Readers, get ready to immerse yourself in the beautiful villages of Palestine. We hope these pieces inspire you to reflect on your own memories in connection with our homeland and inspire you to submit to our next issue.

In this issue, we also had the honor of interviewing Demetrius Johnson, a Red Nation member, on the way COVID-19 has affected the Navajo Nation and on the importance of solidarity, particularly in the context of the Black Lives Matter movement. In these times of uncertainty, the importance of standing up for justice is more pressing than ever as this pandemic has truly laid bare existing injustices. Therefore, we at Falastin urge you to speak up against injustice, whether it be raising awareness, writing pieces to educate others, or even sharing the stories you read in this magazine.

We at Falastin are incredibly grateful to each of our writers and artists who shared their talents with us.

We would also like to thank our sponsors and the PACC board for supporting this magazine. Finally, I’d like to thank you, the readers of Falastin for supporting us each and every issue.

Reem Farhat Editor in Chief

Letter from the Executive Director Rania Mustafa We are living through times that seem to be overtaken by worry, fear and anxiety. In a time where it seems that oppression is overtaking justice, it's important that we try to find ways to hold on to the little things, to hold onto hope and to hold onto the idea of a better future. We hope that Falastin serves as a source for all three.

This specific issue of Falastin hits close to home since many of us did not have the opportunity to travel to Palestine this summer - even our Homeland Project Trip was postponed until next year. It takes you on a journey through the precious lands of Palestine, including Battir, Beit Hanina, Jerusalem, and more. I thank each of the contributors for sharing a piece of their homes, their stories, and themselves with us. Many of our hearts yearn to be there and hopefully one day soon we will be.

At PACC, we have had many developments with our continued social service efforts in the midst of thousands losing their jobs due to COVID-19. We also welcome a new member to our PACC family, our Community Engagement Coordinator, Abire Sabbagh. Her addition comes during a time where we can no longer stand in solidarity with our Black, LatinX and Indigenous sisters and brothers just through our words - but must demonstrate action. PACC is working on developing a community advocacy program where we can show up for our sisters and brothers to pursue justice and freedom for all because an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

Congratulations and a sincere thank you to our Falastin staff for successfully completing the fourth volume. With each issue, I grow increasingly proud of the team and the work that is put into this magazine.

Thank you to our Board of Directors and sponsors for their continuous support. And Thank you for picking up and supporting Falastin.

Rania Mustafa PACC Executive Director 4

Artwork by Hasan Murad IG: hasanmurad.34

5

Embracing My Debwani Identity Enaam Salem

My first trip to Palestine was with my uncle at simplicity in that experience, Deir Debwan at that the age of four. You could say I was his sidekick stage in my life did not satisfy my very American exthroughout my childhood and so when he decided pectations. to take a trip to visit my grandparents in the early On one occasion, I recall the excitement my ’90s, it only seemed natural for me to tag along. My grandfather had as he and my grandmother prefirst cognizant memories of my childhood are on the pared to take me to the Tel, which sits at one of the flight to Tel Aviv. I recall standing on the seats and highest points of the town and overlooks the entire trying to force my friendship onto everyone aboard landscape. The adult in me now would describe it as that flight. At the time, almost everyone who travabsolutely riveting and enchanting. My four-yeareled into Palestine through Tel Aviv, Arab or nonold self begged to differ. Seeing the excitement on Arab, used Tower Airlines. Now that I reflect back their faces meant only one thing: “We were probably on that moment, I am almost certain my very Palesgoing to Disneyland!” I recall the disappointment they tinian presence did not excite all those around me. felt when I threw a tantrum Upon arrival, we of course “To believe we can disarm our chilat the shock of arriving at received the “royal VIP” what seemed like an empty treatment and my four-year- dren of their American privilege at old self did not feel so wel- the gates of Palestine is truly a stretch plot of land. When we arrived at the Tel’ I was sorely comed by the condescending of the adult imagination.” disillusioned. For one thing, soldiers at the airport. we certainly had not arrived Though I did not understand the political context at in Orlando and there certainly was no Magic Kingthe time, I knew there was nothing normal about dom or Cinderella’s Castle awaiting my royal little having soldiers question my uncle and I for hours as self. What lay there was a plot of agricultural land at we tried to enter our homeland. the top of a steep hill neatly lined with rows of olive Arriving in Deir Debwan after what seemed to trees. In fact, the reaction my son had to almost eveme like a week of traveling, everything seemed so rything I was excited to show him during our most small and not as grandiose as my family had hyped recent trip in the summer of 2018 was all too familiar it to be. The streets were narrow and bumpy, the as it was almost identical to my own years ago. To houses seemed so close together, and the air seemed believe we can disarm our children of their Ameristale and dry. In short, the world around me simply can privilege at the gates of Palestine is truly a looked like it had been placed in a dryer for an overstretch of the adult imagination. Nevertheless, those extended cycle. Nevertheless, my grandparents were olive trees I had underestimated years ago were elated as they greeted us and welcomed us home what I later learned to be the source of my late along with an entourage of relatives I had never seen grandfather’s income, as he had sold olive oil or whose presence I had never registered prior and throughout Palestine to sustain his family. In short, whose stories I would eventually become all too fathose olive trees are at the very root of who we are miliar with as an adult. In an ideal world, I’d love to as a family not just in a cultural and patriotic sense describe that trip as the most remarkable but that but in every sense. The adult in me now would pass would be unjust. Almost everyone who interacted no opportunity to spend my summers sipping on a with me throughout that trip can live to tell you warm cup of tea with mint in that very same Tel what a spoiled little brat I was throughout those two overlooking towns over and catching a glimpse of weeks. While I can now look back and appreciate the the Dead Sea from aboard that mountaintop.

6

My relationship with the town of my parents and ancestors is, like most first-generation descendants of immigrants, intricate. As an adult, I appreciate and value my Palestinian and Debwani identity in ways I did not as a child. That was not always the case. In the late 90’s when my parents decided to move us to Palestine, I protested and fought the move. Little did I know at the time, as I look back at the experiences that made me who I am, those were soon to be the most formidable years of my life. Deir Debwan soon grew on me and became very much a part of who I am. Deir Debwan soon came to mean endless road trips with my parents as my father toured us through every geographical landscape without ever once referencing a map or a navigation system. I know as a child he probably protested those geography lessons but as his offspring, we appreciated his acute command of the discipline, or at least I know I did. Deir Debwan also meant unsupervised playdates with cousins and friends without having to worry about New York City traffic or scheduled playdates, for everyone was simply a short walk away.

through checkpoints. In New York, I had been to one school since kindergarten. In short, living in Deir Debwan also exposed me to the most egregious and inhumane military occupation, one that does not distinguish between children and adults but only between Arabs and non-Arabs.

As Palestinian Americans, our generation stands apart in the way we reflect on our Palestinian towns and villages. I believe it takes a certain experience or immersion to romanticize one’s connection with a plot of land the way parents and grandparents do. If we wish to foster that same level of adulation we have to our Palestinian towns and villages onto our children and the generations to come, then the onus is on us to work towards a better future for all of Palestine. Continuing to share our stories and anecdotes with our children, accompanying them on trips to the homeland will hopefully instill within them a fervor and appreciation for Palestine. Perhaps our children will do better than us. After all, it took my son just about two weeks into a five-week trip to appreciate the scenery and soak in the blaad environment. Now, on the top of his summer bucket -list is to spend his summers in Palestine every year.

He takes after his mama.

Life in Deir Debwan meant walking down to the local dukkana just to buy a Ali-Baba chocolate bar or an ice-cream on the hot sunny days with the shekels my grandfather spoiled me with in exchange for an unsolicited kiss on the cheek or for reciting him a poem I had just memorized for school. It meant passing by people and saying salaam or wishing them a great afternoon because everyone there was somehow related or at least knew who I was. It meant eating the freshest seasonal fruits from my grandmother’s garden, watering plants with my grandfather in the shade of the afternoon right before the sunset and harvesting his tomatoes, cucumbers and green peppers for his traditional evening salad. It meant packing Maklouba picnics under the olive trees during the olive harvest season.

Living in Deir Debwan and attending private schools in Ramallah alongside my brothers also meant facing a disturbing political reality I was sheltered from understanding while living in the United States. Traveling to and from school meant facing sporadic and untimed military checkpoints, unexplained closures, and unforeseen harassment by soldiers half the age of my father. In a matter of two months, my parents had to relocate my brothers and me to three different schools to avoid traveling

Photo by Enaam Salem

7

Mukhmas Marah Siyam

When I was ten I went herding sheep with my uncle under the close Mukhmasi sun, I drank water out of the same stone bowl as the sheep. I even waited until all the sheep drank as much water as they wanted leaving me the rest. I was sick for a month but I felt as if I had done something good.

Every small shop in Mukhmas is named after the owner. I used to beg my grandma for shekels to buy pop rocks and ice cream. Scaring people walking by while keeping cool with ice cream was an everyday activity until I got too old and began embarrassing my parents.

The Dwar is a long trail off the north of Mukhmas that leads to huge cliffs and many different people’s orchards of olive trees and other plots of fruits and vegetables. After Maghrib is the best and worst time to go. The wind blows strong swerving in and out of the cliffs and caves, cooling me after those long summer nights, but the dogs have chased me out once or twice when I stayed too long.

Most of the scars on my body have been from climbing mountains, riding skateboards down steep Mukhmasi hills, running away from wild dogs, and jumping fences in Mukhmas. I love these scars. They connect me most to the land through both the physical scars and the memories they hold. My appendicitis scar isn’t as cool or important.

My grandma and grandpa on both sides, and now my uncle are buried in Mukhmas. It’s very important to my father to keep that cemetery clean and quiet even while we are here in America. He keeps tabs on the graves as if keeping the line of communication to them while he is away overseas working to bring them something.

Tel Mariam is a mountain next to my house that is believed to have been the cave Mother Mary stayed in on her journey while pregnant with Jesus.

The cave is mostly still there but for my entire life, me and my friends have had picnics in the cave until I saw a bus of Christian foreigners coming to see the mountain without climbing up to the cave, just sitting at the bottom of the mountain crying. So now my friends and I try to not leave even crumbs in the cave after our picnic to keep it clean and be respectful. We understand now how much history this village holds that we may never even know.

I always fall asleep during the drive from Jericho to Mukhmas and yet I have the road memorized. I wake up right before we make the last right turn into Mukhmas. Those last few seconds before driving up the hill to my house are satisfying, to say the least, especially after the 24-hour journey from Jersey to Mukhmas to eat some figs and see some people before going back.

Mukhmas is surrounded by three Israeli settlements and they often release wild boars with huge husks to destroy crops and hurt people. Once, while on my roof, a boar climbed up the path to my house reminding me of the views I stay up all night to watch are actively being stolen and threatened. The land and the skies aren’t safe.

Palestinians know each other from one look.

Many people have told me they know I’m Mukhmasi from my “blood,” common Arabic saying that does not translate well. I always thought the Falahi accent gave it away. Being from a village comes with pride, it’s like a club that not many people have experienced and I’m grateful I have. I have felt the freedom of space and a true connection to Palestinian land that still stands. I pray my house in Mukhmas continues to stand high, despite the occupation, for as long as I live.

A Palestinian radio show host once asked, “What’s the greatest village in Palestine?” The answer was Mukhmas because they have mukh or brain in Arabic and mass as in… mass. The most repeated joke I’ve ever heard, but I still laugh every time.

8

‫قرية عمواس المدمرة والمهجرة‬

‫يوسف ايقط‬

‫تقع قرية عمواس في فلسطين على مبعدة ‪ 52‬كيلومترا ً شمالياي بار‬ ‫مدينة ايقدس ايمحتلة‪ ،‬إيى ايجاناو ايشارقاي مان يالفال باماسايارة ناحاو ‪52‬‬ ‫كيلومترا ً عنهل‪ .‬يبلغ ارتااالا اياقارياة ناحاو ‪ 522‬ماتار عان ساطاح اياباحار‬ ‫ومسلحتهل ‪ 842‬دونملً‪ .‬وهي ذات موقع استراتيجي هلم يشرف على طريا‬ ‫ايقدس ـ ايرملة ـ يلفل‪ ،‬وطري رام هللا ـ بزة‪ .‬حيث تشكل ايحد ايالصل بايان‬ ‫جبلل ايقدس وامتداد ايسلحل‪.‬‬

‫ي بتهجير ايمواطنين اياعار واالساتاياالء عالاى‬ ‫قلم االحتالل اإلسرائيل ّ‬ ‫أراضيهم ومنلزيهم وزرعهل بليمستعمرات اييهوديّة‪ .‬وأجبر عادد كابايار مان‬ ‫ايالسطينيين على اينزوم إيى األردن بعد اياحار اياعادوانايّاة عالم ‪.8498‬‬ ‫وسدرت إسرائيل يتحقي ذيك ايمجلزر ايجملعيّاة واإلرهال واياعاناصاريّاة‬ ‫وهدم ايمنلزل وايقرى واألحيلء في مدن ايضاة ايغربية ايمحتلة‪ ،‬كامال حادث‬ ‫في منطقة ايلطرون‪ ،‬حيث هُدمت ايقرى ايثالث‪ :‬عمواس ويليو وبايات ناوبال‬ ‫في ايسلدس من حزيران‪ /‬يونيو علم ‪8498‬م‪ ،‬بعد أن تم طرد أهالاهال ماناهال‬ ‫وتدمير ‪ 8522‬منزل‪ ،‬وأقيم على أراضيهل مل يُطل عالاياه "ماتانازه كانادا"‪،‬‬ ‫تبرا دوية كنادا ياتاغايايار ماعاليام اياقارياة واعاتارافاهال بالياكايالن‬ ‫وذيك بسب‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫اإلسرائيلي وايتعلون ايمشترك بين ايدويتين‪.‬‬

‫وتحد قرية عمواس شملالً قريتل يلياو وسالابايات‪ ،‬ودارباة ديار ناحالاة‪،‬‬ ‫وجنوبل ً قريتل بيت سوسين وبيت جيز‪ ،‬وشرقل ً قريتل يليو ودير أيو ‪ ،‬وبربال ً‬ ‫قرى ايقبل وأبو شوشة ودير محيسن‪.‬‬ ‫عمواس ذات موقع استراتيجي مهم‪ ،‬وموقع قرى ايلطرون عمومل ً مهم‬ ‫جدا ً بلينسبة يلقدس‪ ،‬وتأتي أهميّته من كونه يشكل حلجزا ً دفلعيل ً عان مادياناة‬ ‫ايقدس‪ ،‬فهذه ايمنطقة هي ايبل ايغربي يهل‪.‬‬ ‫ي ذاك يعبت دورا ً كبيرا ً في ايحرو عالاى‬ ‫وبسب موقعهل االستراتيج ّ‬ ‫مدار ايتلريخ‪ ،‬وكلن آدرهال حار عالم ‪ ،8442‬حاياث اساتاشاهاد ايشاهاياد‬ ‫إسملعيل فليز أبو بوش على ترابهل في حر ‪ 42‬في منطقة (أباو كابايار ‪،‬‬ ‫بتلريخ ‪ .81518442‬يطل موقع قرى ايلطرون على "بل ايواد"‪ ،‬وهو ممر‬ ‫يربط ايسهل ايسلحلي بجبلل ايقدس‪ ،‬وتتشعّ منه طرق ايقدس وايرملة ورام‬ ‫هللا وبيت جبريان وبازة‪ .‬ويشاتامال اياماوقاع عالاى وادخ عالاي ومادادالاه‪،‬‬ ‫وايهضل ايمطلّة عالاياه‪ ،‬واياقارى اياقارياباة ماناه‪ ،‬كاعاماواس وتال اياجازر‬ ‫وايلطرون وأبو شوشة ويليو وبيت نوبل‪.‬‬

‫ويبل ايواد أهميّة عسكريّة كبيرة‪ ،‬فهو مااتالم مادياناة اياقادس‪ ،‬دارت‬ ‫ي‬ ‫فوق أرضه معلرك كبرى على مر ايزمن‪ ،‬فعنده ص ّد صالم ايدين األياوبا ّ‬ ‫خ‪ ،‬وفي موقعه‬ ‫بلرات ريتشلرد قل األسد أوادر ايقرن ايثلني عشر ايميالد ّ‬ ‫خ عالم‬ ‫وقف أبنلء جبل ايقدس ونلبلس في وجه جيش إبراهيم بالشال اياماصار ّ‬ ‫‪ ،8284‬وأديرا ً معركة بل ايواد بقيلدة عبد ايقلدر ايحسيني علم ‪.8442‬‬

‫ايقط قرية عمواس‬ ‫تصوير يوسف ايقط‬

‫ايقط قرية عمواس‬ ‫تصوير يوسف ايقط‬

‫ايقط قرية عمواس‬ ‫تصوير يوسف ايقط‬ ‫‪9‬‬

The Sweetness of Figs Shatha Shahin

My family comes from Beit Hanina, a village that neighbors Jerusalem. Archaeologists say it may date back to the Canaanite period. It is also where a large part of the Palestinian diaspora comes from in Cleveland, my birthplace. Despite being scattered around the world, the community is a close knit one bound together due to our inseparable ties to the village. Annually, the community in Cleveland hosts a day of celebration called Beit Hanina Day to not only cherish our ties to Palestine, but to remember the village our parents and forefathers came from.

Although I was not born there, I find Beit Hanina in every person of this community. My connection to them is proof that roots run deep.

Before Israel began constructing the apartheid wall that would eventually cut through Beit Hanina, my parents' village flourished and was full of life.

Under Jordanian control, Beit Hanina expanded. The old village is referred to as al-Balad and the new part

of the village is referred to as “upper” Beit Hanina or Ras Al-Tariq. I assume that Israel felt threatened that despite the conditions of the occupation Beit Hanina grew, so now there is a wall separating the old and new village. My father’s family remains in the old village while my mother’s side of the family lives on the other side of the wall. The road that once connected the two sides, only a five-minute walk, is now dead. It is hard to imagine how lively it once was as businesses that once stood have their shutters closed and houses that lived along the road are now empty.

There are many empty houses in Beit Hanina.

Some obviously newer and some very old. When I would visit Beit Hanina, on three different occasions, I would take walks around the village fascinated by houses that were in near ruins. Who once lived in them? Are their descendants in the refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan? Do their children

Grapes my paternal grandfather grows in “lower” Beit Hanina Photo by Shatha Shahin 10

Grapes my maternal great grandfather grows at “upper” Beit Hanina Photo by Shatha Shahin know from which village their family lived for generations? When will they return? Will they rebuild, or will the ancient homes crumble to dust with no one to mourn them?

There is so much history that we aren’t allowed to unearth ourselves, that is now only told in stories. One story that always sticks with me happened on my family’s summer visit to Beit Hanina in 2017, when we resided in the old part of the village. When the fig groves were full of ripe fruit, my aunt invited me, along with my cousins and other kids from the village, to pick them. Bored of picking figs, we turned to throwing rocks into the ditch nearby. We made a game out of it: How far can you throw the rock? As if we were skipping pebbles on a river.

Though it became clear that I couldn’t throw far, I didn't see the obvious danger of the game.

Not too far ahead of us, there was a metal fence, separating roads. Up ahead, we failed to take notice of an Israeli Offense Forces jeep coming down the hill. Even though we were only playing a game, to the soldiers it could be easily taken as an act of aggression. Only when the jeep stopped did my cousin, sixteen-years-old like me, notice it and began to taunt to the boys that wandered into the ditch, “Come back up before the Israelis take you.” I wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or not. Did they stop 11

because of us or for something else? Then, one of the younger boys started to scream out for someone to help him up. I can never forget the look of sheer fright on his face. A fear that I could only imagine.

He was eight years old, at most, and already knew what happened to kids who threw rocks, like he just did.

Fortunately, the jeep passed, and everyone moved on to another game and ate their fill of figs.

Still shaken, I was confused as to how quickly everyone moved on, but I couldn’t. Then, it dawned on me that this was how you cope living in a carceral state of being. Why dwell on a fear that cannot be escaped when you can celebrate this passing moment as a victory? The award being another day at survival and a basket of figs.

An old home at “lower” Beit Hanina’s center Photo by Shatha Shahin

Demetrius Johnson on the Importance of Solidarity Reem Farhat Demetrius Johnnson is a Diné member of the Red Nation, a coalition of Native and non-Native activists and community organizers advocating Native liberation. Diné is a traditional word Navajo people use to refer to themselves. According to Navajo Traditional Teachings, an organization dedicated to teaching about Navajo culture, it is a compound word coming from the two words di meaning up, and né meaning down. It refers to coming up where there is no surface and down where one is on the surface of the earth. Demetrius’s involvement and activism with the Red Nation began in 2015, when he joined the coalition as a student at the University of New Mexico and worked to abolish the college’s racist seal.

I spoke to Demetrius on a Thursday July morning. He answered my call from a food distribution center in New Mexico where he is working with K'É Infoshop, a mutual aid collective, to send food packages across the Navajo Nation. The Navajo Nation is the largest Indigenous reservation in the United States, spanning 27,000 square miles and located across Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona. The Navajo Nation currently has the highest rate of COVID-19 infection in the world at 3.4% of the population. Various infrastructure issues caused by years of the United States government neglecting treaties made with Navajo Nation leaders have exacerbated the effects of the pandemic. The situation in the Navajo Nation, as well as our current political climate, loomed over our conversation as we discussed everything from the Black Lives Matter movement to the importance of solidarity.

Can you tell me about the Red Nation and your work?

The Red Nation was created in 2014 when the founders, including Dr. Melanie K. Yazzie and Dr. Nick Estes, saw how Native people in Albuquerque were being treated, not only by the police but by

regular people. After the murders of Cowboy and Rabbit, two Diné people who were sleeping on the street and beaten to death by teenagers with rocks, the Red Nation started in solidarity with our unsheltered native relatives on Indigenous land. I didn’t join the Red Nation until 2015. It is the journey of a lot of Native people, and a lot of Navajo people specifically, to be told to climb a ladder of education so we can help our communities back home. That’s what I wanted to do, I wanted to study electrical engineering so I could figure out how to get power to my people. There are over 16,000 Navajo homes without electricity. I thought to myself, how can I help that cause?

I met Red Nation members at the University of New Mexico (UNM) and that was how I got started in activism. I realized that we all want to help our community, but also that everything is connected on a broader scale. Our struggles are not only in the vacuum of the Navajo Nation. As a Diné person, the Navajo Nation is all we know, and we think our is12

sues are isolated and that we have to figure out our own problems. I was able to realize that wasn’t the case and connect with Indigenous people all over the world. I could see that these issues stemmed from imperialism, capitalism, racism and white supremacy. It is a beautiful feeling to know there are people all over the world struggling from the same enemy but knowing our solidarity together is what is going to help us win. We are seeing victories. Just this morning, the Muscogee Creek Nation won their Supreme Court case saying that half of Oklahoma is Native land. That is huge.

You touched a bit on solidarity? What is the importance of solidarity between various movements for liberation?

My activism started with the abolishment of the racist UNM presidential seal which is the seal that the university uses on their diplomas, podiums, and letterheads. When we were starting that campaign, we met a lot of older alumni from back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s who fought the same battle. They started the fight to change the presidential seal. When I

found this out, I had thought it was a new campaign, but I realized the fight had been going on for decades. Our campaign started during the time when Amanda Blackhorse, a Diné person, was filing a lawsuit against the Washington Redskins for their racist team name. People were also trying to replace Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day. The campaign wasn’t just tied to the UNM seal.

The seal represents genocide, it glorifies colonizers, and it erases Indigenous people. The seal has an image of a roadrunner, which is supposed to represent Indigenous people. And even larger, surrounding both sides of the seal, there is a frontiersman and conquistador and they are both holding weapons.

When we started writing about it, we got support from everywhere. The year I left UNM the seal was changed and was no longer on the diplomas. It was not on my graduation gown. It was a beautiful thing to see that I was one of the first classes to have that not be a part of our tradition anymore. But it wasn’t just us, it was support from all over pressuring UNM to change the seal. That was the first time I had seen solidarity make something happen so fast.

(Continued on page 14)

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With everything going on with Black Lives Matter there has been a wave of people taking down statues of Columbus and collective action along the Atlantic Coast Pipeline. What has been your reaction to everything?

It’s such a beautiful time to see all this. It is such a beautiful thing to see people stand up and not be intimidated anymore. I remember back in 2015, here in Winslow, Arizona, there was a shooting of a young Diné mother. She was killed by a Winslow police officer in broad daylight. They said she was carrying a pair of scissors and that she was threatening the officer’s life, but she was only about 110 pounds and she posed no threat. They accused her of shoplifting a nearby gas station, and she was just killed on the spot. There was no evidence that she was threatening the officer’s life or posing a threat.

The officer was allowed to walk free. And that is just the legacy of what Native and Black people go

through. And when that happened, the Red Nation supported the family, and we held a vigil and protest. But when people now are making the connections, I think that is a beautiful thing. All the victims of police violence, even in the history of our own nations, to see people rise up and take down these statues and burn down monuments and say, enough is enough. We love our people, that is why we are doing this, not because we hate them but because we love our own. During a pandemic it is hard, but seeing these little moments are so beautiful. We don’t want more victims or unnecessary killings. Not only in the United States, but also in Palestine. When I saw Ahmed Erakat, that video reminded me of what happens here too – on their own land.

I know you’ve visited Palestine before. What was that like and did you see any parallels?

There were two specific events. When we first landed in Tel Aviv it was late at night and we drove

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to the Palestinian village we were staying in, and our driver got lost. He stopped in the middle of an intersection and just honked, and it was midnight, so no one was out, but it was just a res-like moment.

Then we saw some dogs walking around in a gang like they owned the place and it really felt like I was back in the reservation.

The second one is not as lighthearted. It was my third or fourth day in Palestine and we were visiting a Bedouin village. When we got there, we saw that they had no access to electricity or water, and they were living in shacks made of plywood. I thought to myself, these are the exact same conditions that so many Diné people live in. And it was so ironic because they were living next to a power station, there were transmission lines crossing above them, and they had no access to that. It looked exactly like my grandmother’s house to me. And that was the second time I realized that there are these connections, there are people living like us. Your land is being used for water and resources yet you have no access to those things. That’s the story of Indigenous people, that is what these colonial powers do to us.

I’ve been seeing on the news how COVID-19 has affected the Navajo Nation and hearing about everything has been heartbreaking. How has it been on the ground?

It’s very surreal. I’m doing this interview out of a food distribution center. It’s hard. It wasn't until maybe a couple of weeks ago that people here were taking it seriously. We have had the highest rate of infection for a while now. The lockdown has made it harder. Our government has issued curfews, we can’t be out past 8 p.m. to 5 a.m.. During the weekend there is a 57 hour curfew from Friday night to Monday morning. You can’t leave your house, you can’t go to stores, or go to nearby towns. It is hard for people, and it was hard for the mutual aid COVID relief volunteers. Within a week's time, we get all these orders, and we are making boxes and assembling them, using our own vehicles to deliver them to their doorsteps. It’s also a race against time because a lot of these items are perishable. Knowing the Navajo Nation government hasn’t been helpful in allowing COVID relief volunteers to get these supplies out has been difficult. We still have to follow curfews despite being essential workers. The nation doesn’t honor us because we aren’t hospital 15

workers, firefighters or police. But that changed a couple of weeks ago, so we were able to finally make those deliveries on weekends or nights. It’s been hard in those ways to not have the support of the government and to see your own people not understanding or believing the severity of what is happening with COVID. Right now, Arizona is the largest COVID hotspot in the world, and that is where a majority of our reservation lies.

Yesterday, I found out something that really scared me. When COVID broke out in the reservation, the Navajo Nation president called in the National Guard. They have been giving us humanitarian aid, delivering water and setting up testing sites.

But with weekend curfews we now have our own checkpoints. The Navajo Nation president has allowed the US National Guard to man these checkpoints. I was shocked that we were allowing the US to govern what happens on our land.

How can Palestinians best support your work and the Red Nation?

We need to continue to strengthen solidarity and make these connections. Keep talking, writing and educating people about them is a huge part of the work. Gallop is a nearby bordertown surrounding our reservation and it is incredibly racist. In Gallop there is a large Palestinan population, and they often profit off Native art and culture. Brandon Denali, who runs the Diné info shop said there was a recent Black Lives Matter protest in Gallop, and there were Palestinians there who were not supportive of that movement or what was happening, and Brandon addressed them and spoke to them. These were younger Palestinian men, but their father was in solidarity with our movement and understood what Brandon was saying, and was lecturing the younger Palestinians. It’s important to just get that conversation started by holding our own people accountable.

It’s just important to speak about these connections and bridge gaps.

To support The Red Nation’s work follow them on their social media sites @therednation on Facebook and @therednationmovement on Instagram and make sure to check out their podcast The Red Nation Podcast. If you want to donate to COVID relief efforts across the Navajo Nation, donate to keinfo.shop.

Why I Love Jerusalem Yousef Bashir

Jerusalem -- The city of God and the city of peace. The Canaanites fell in love with Jerusalem, as did King David, Jesus, and Muhammad. Through their pure spirits, I have been in love with Jerusalem for the last 5000 years -- I, and the rest of my people.

The Palestinian people have known no other home than the city of Jerusalem and the Holy Land. Who would not love their homeland?

When I think of Jerusalem, I imagine the miraculous one-night journey that carried Muhammad (peace be upon him) from Makkah to Jerusalem.

And then from Jerusalem to Heaven, where he met his fellow prophets, all eager to greet the last and final messenger to humanity.

I think of the story of Umar who liberated Jerusalem and freed it from the Byzantine rule in 637 A.D. I think of how he entered the city humbly after Patriarch Sophronius insisted that he personally come to open the city. I think of how he courteously declined an invitation to pray at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, fearing that future Muslim generations would feel compelled to follow him and pray at the Church but deprive their fellow Christians from their place of worship. When my people witnessed such an honorable example of leadership, faith, and tolerance they welcomed Umar with open arms and joined the new religion of Islam. As did the rest of Arabia, which had recently emerged from an age of ignorance when Arabs prayed to idols made out of dates.

I think of how Umar allowed Jewish families to resettle back to Jerusalem. I think of how he made it clear he was not going to oppress or persecute anyone wishing to live and worship within the city.

Jews, Christians, and Muslims would live and worship in peace and harmony in that place for hundreds of years, until the first Crusade in 1095.

God must have smiled upon me the day my mother took me with her and my grandmother to

visit Jerusalem. I remember how ecstatic they were when they learned that the Israelis had approved their permit to visit Jerusalem. Suddenly, both women were jumping up and down, all around the kitchen, as if they had been transformed back into little girls excited about their first encounter with life. It made an immense impression on me. There, in my mother’s kitchen, I first witnessed the power of the city of Jerusalem.

My father drove us to the Erez checkpoint at the northern border between Gaza Strip and Israel. We had to walk through an endlessly long tunnel, then were welcomed by metal gates and gloomily tangled barbed wires. We were all searched one by one. I went through first, then watched my grandmother and mother get searched from head-to-toe by female Israeli officers. When all was done and we were clear, we boarded a mini-bus that carried Palestinian workers into Israel.

Once we got to Jerusalem, it was as though we had been transported back in time. We forgot about all that had transpired over the centuries and all the blood that had been shed. Once within the sight of the Dome of the Rock, we began our peaceful march toward its glorious presence. Our breathing slowed, our anxieties ceased, and our prayers began. All the dreadful check-points were forgotten, all the soldiers, the curfews, the destruction, the racism, the exile, and all the restrictions imposed on all Palestinians. I thought I would hear my mother and grandmother plead with God to free us from the Israelis and to make them pay for the pain they have inflicted on our people. Instead, my mother and my grandmother sobbed. They sobbed incessantly. My mother prayed that the city would be open to all, and that she would be free to come back as often as she might wish. She prayed for forgiveness, for peace, and for good works. Her prayers made a lasting impression on me.

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I followed my mother down to the rock that had carried the Prophet to Heaven, suddenly awed by all my parents had been trying to teach me. I touched the rock with both hands. I watched men and women around me cry, and I cried too. I prayed, for what I do not now remember, but I knew I had to pray if I were to be worthy of another visit to the city. As we walked, my mother kept celebrating that we were treading on paths once blessed by the presence of Solomon, Jesus, and Muhammad.

I would not get to see Jerusalem again for a number of years, when I was on my way to Ramallah in 2006 to become a student at the Quaker Friends School. At the time, I still needed to be close to the Tel Hashomer Hospital in Tel-Aviv, where I had spent many months recovering after being shot in the back by one of the Israeli soldiers occupying my family home during the second Intifada. That date: February 18, 2004, one week after my fifteenth birthday. The M-16 bullet is still in my back.

Although I did not get to enter the city in 2006, I did get to satisfy my eyes with the sight of the golden and glorious dome. I looked and looked and looked, until the kind fellow giving me a ride simply could not wait on me anymore. As we drove away, I turned so I could keep looking until the golden image vanished out of sight.

I have been hoping to return to Jerusalem ever since, and that hope shall never die. My youngest two sisters, who live only about an hour away had there been no restrictions, made me promise that one day I would take them on a trip to visit the city.

As someone who evaded death with God’s permission, and as someone who was once paralyzed, I believe the spirits of Jerusalem are aware of my hopes and prayers. I pray that all shall be free to visit that city, for Palestinians residing in East Jerusalem to be treated equally and with respect, and for the many children of Abraham to break the cycle of hatred and

violence that has gone on for far too long. To add to my prayers, I hum to Fairuz’s song for Jerusalem: For you, O city of prayer, I pray.

For you, splendor of the dwellings, O flower of cities.

O Jerusalem, O city of prayer I pray.

Our eyes go to you every day.

In the corridors of the temples.

Embrace the ancient churches.

And wipe the sadness from the mosques.

Our eyes go to you every day, and I pray.

The leaders of my time have not yet found a way to free the city from segregation, fear, distrust, and loathing.

However, Jerusalem will continue to inspire us to choose love over hatred, forgiveness over revenge, hope over despair, and faith over doubt. It will continue to inspire us to love and to forgive, despite the fog of vengeance that looms over its blessed blue sky. Every day, for the rest of my life, I will walk the earth humbled by the privilege of having descended from the Holy Land, and inspired by my father’s unending commitment to peace in that land.

I love Jerusalem because it continues to remind me that, despite the evils of the West and the East, there will always be women and men conspiring to make peace, and from doing so they will neither rest nor cease. People like my grandmother, mother, father, sisters, and brothers. Jews, Christians, and Muslims are the children of Abraham and that is where I belong. My duty is to do all I can to bring them together because of my commitment to Jerusalem, the Holy Land, and the Palestinian people. Jerusalem teaches me that we are all one people, all believe in the same God. Jerusalem reminds me of that fact incessantly. And that is why I love Jerusalem.

Artwork by Mohammed Alhaj IG: mohammed.alhaj.000 17

Battir Aya Saleh

Battir, my original homeland, will always hold my heart and my fondest memories. When I’m in Battir, my favorite pastime is listening to the strums of the oud, played so beautifully by my family. Just the thought of the oud leaves me feeling nostalgic for good times. The oud always reminds me of my village because the only time I listen to it being played is when I’m there. When my family and I would visit over the summers, we would often gather in a group, sing old folk songs, dance dabke and play instruments like the oud or tabla. We would usually gather at my uncle’s home or on the mountains nearby.

The fondest memory that I have is from the summer of 2015, right before my Khalto and Khalo passed away. Most of my family gathered at my Amo’s house outside on the balcony. We sang songs, took turns with the tabla and oud, and danced dabka until we were too tired, well past midnight. Tea cups were passed around and refilled several times.

Plates of fruits and nuts emptied out as well. That night felt special because it had been a long while since my mom and all of her siblings were gathered together in one place. I remember looking at all of

Photo by Aya Saleh

Photo by Aya Saleh

the smiling and laughing faces of my family around me; I was happy to be with all of them at that moment, and I’ll cherish that time for years to come.

If you asked me what my favorite place in the world is, I would answer with Khribet. It is the place to be when you’re in Battir. You can go any time of the day, have picnics or hike in the area, because it’s basically a mountain. You can pick olives or figs from the branches of nearby trees. Into the evening, you can watch the sunset that spans the horizon between the mountains. You can scream out your name and hear it echo, the wind carrying your voice over the hills and right back to you. One of my favorite things to do there was to build a small campfire; my uncle would play the oud and we would sing along to the melody. Finally, we would lie down on the rocks and count the shooting stars passing over us in the vast night sky. I feel grateful and blessed to have so many beautiful memories of home to cherish. I look forward to the next time I can go back and make more lovely memories to hold onto.

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Feeling at Home in Beit Hanina Wafai Dias

A village split into two There was once a time when you were one Not chopped into two, one thriving and one grappling to survive It’s Beit Hanina An apartheid wall operating under the guise of “security” claimed, -you like many other villages, as a victim It’s absurd that visiting both parts in one day may take three hours I resided in the lower part of you, once walking around to homes with no neighbors My nephew showed me my grandfather’s land With the sun beaming on my face, -I was not ready for this weather As we stood in front of my grandfather’s land a strong feeling of emptiness filled my gut I could feel my brain overcome with so many feelings I look over to the hill of settlements near us My amygdala has been activated with anger, sadness, and triggered depression How do you describe pain if it’s all over you and takes over your mind?

“Look, your grandfather's tree is still intact” my nephew says I excitedly start picking figs off his tree I taste what I believe is the best fig I’ll ever have The wind starts blowing and I’m reminded the shade from his tree is protecting me from the sun’s rays How would my life look like if I had grown up here?

How do you grieve a life you wish you had?

My depression is triggered again Later that week after visiting relatives in the upper part of my village I catch a bus to al-Aqsa On the bus someone says hi because they know my parents How can I be recognized even though I don’t live here?

Moments like this are repeated throughout my trip And I’m consistently reminded that the land and the 19

people welcome me Which is why I feel the most at home I’ve ever felt in my life here The next day I visit my grandfather’s land alone this time With the wind softly blowing, I imagine a Beit Hanina with my grandparents and mother harvesting olives, walking, talking, singing, laughing, praying The hustle and bustle of this village is envied by all This is a Beit Hanina One that is not separated by a wall of hate One that makes me smile For the first time I can smile ear to ear Because of the memory of who you were People think that home is where you have lived all your life But that is not home Home is where your spirit feels at peace Where your ancestors are reimagined Home is that feeling in your heart Home is your land, your people and you

Photo by Wafai Dias

Simple Ways to Help Palestinians Thrive Not Just Survive Meha Siyam, J.D.

Hiking trip in Wadi Al Kuf, Hebron Photo by Jehad Dawoud

“Handouts might not end global poverty, but work -real work- just might.�

-Leila Janah, Give Work When thinking of the issue of Palestine, the first thing that comes to everyone’s mind is the political or human rights issues of the occupation, violence and oppression. This is an enormous problem, where does one begin to resolve it? As an attorney, I thought working in human rights was definitely the way to go. So I moved to Ramallah, got a job in the human rights field and went to work. Even though I loved what I was doing and the people I was working with, I realized after almost two years that this was not the best route for me. Human rights work is extremely important, and the documentation and pursuing of legal channels to resolve the continuous infringment on Palestinian rights and freedoms is inimitable. However, it's all about looking to the long-term and being equanimous in the face of many disappointments.

For me, being patient and watching the very little positive progress that was being achieved due to the corruption within any justice system was very difficult. I truly admire my co-workers and other colleagues in the field for their perseverance and unparalleled efforts in a very brutal landscape. I, as more of a sprinter than a marathon runner type, sought to look for a route that can give me more tangible and faster results, no matter how small.

One way to stay hopeful in these dark times is to look at Palestine on the micro level, by looking at the individual living in historic Palestine or as a refugee outside of Palestine. Giving this person the ability to provide for themselves and their families is one of the best means of uplifting the Palestinian spirit and giving it the space to thrive. Contributing to someone's dignity in having work rather than accepting a handout gives them the agency and autonomy over their lives which inevitably spills into benefits for their families and communities overall.

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There is a sense of worth that comes with work that cannot be filled with any type of aid. This support is especially needed for Palestinians who are forced to encounter threats against their autonomy everyday due to the occupation.

1. Support Palestinian entrepreneurs While living in Palestine I noticed a movement of young entrepreneurs coming on the scene. They create incredible products from bags, soaps, clothing, jewelry, furniture and more. All of these products had the Palestinian identity embedded in them, but taken to new creative levels. They’re not the same boring keychain you get for all your cousins after you visit Palestine for the summer. A lot of these artisans started having small pop up shops at restaurants and coffee shops in different cities. Then, Ramallah’s Municipality took on the initiative to host a large open air market every summer in the downtown area to encourage these artisans and give them a place to market their products.

Similarly, another source of support for Palestinian entrepreneurs is BuildPalestine, a global initiative that is working tirelessly to connect people with social enterprises and non-profits in Palestine. BuildPalestine provides a crowdfunding platform as well as helps Palestinians connect with resources and opportunities to make their ventures successful. Their website, www.buildpalestine.com, is an incredible resource filled with organizations and campaigns in Palestine offering supporters from anywhere in the globe the opportunity to contribute financially, through volunteering or by conducting expert workshops.

2. Visit Palestine Tourism that is centered on supporting Palestinians is very important. PACC’s Homeland Project is a great way to not only keep the connection between the diaspora and Palestine strong, it is also a great way of supporting Palestinians economically. By staying in Palestinian hotels and shopping in Palestinian shops you are adding wealth to a region that is in great need of reinforcement. Every little bit counts.

So visit Palestine as much as you can. There is so much more to do than just sit around your grandmother’s house looking for a WiFi signal. There are numerous groups in the cities that host entrepre21

neurship, hiking, art, rock climbing, sports, music activities and so much more. Participating in something that interests you will make your summer more productive, fun and would allow you to meet many new interesting people. One of BuildPalestine’s community members is Hantourism, “A collaborative local Palestinian tourism initiative that serves as a booking platform for community-based tourism and activities and services.” Their website is hantour.ps. This can be used to book different activities throughout your trip for groups or individuals.

Moreover, BuildPalestine has a comprehensive list of organizations for any field of interest that you can collaborate with.

3. Buy Palestinian in the USA The next step forward is to bring these goods to markets outside of Palestine to provide the disaspora population with the means to buy Palestinian products and support the Palestinian economy directly. This will give these artisans the ability to increase their income, provide for themselves and their families and as they grow they can start hiring more employees. This could lead to a palpable improvement in the staggering unemployment rates in the West Bank of 18% and 52% in the Gaza Strip in 2018. So instead of buying that perfume set from Macy’s for your friend’s graduation party, buy something distinctive because it is handmade in Palestine. They are not just souvenirs, think of buying Palestinian for all of your gift giving needs.

In response to the added difficulties COVID-19 has inflicted on Palestinian artisans we started an initiative to market their products here in the United States. The usual summer markets that help artisans sell most of their goods are cancelled and they are facing extreme financial hardships. Please visit @thevillagebazaar1 on Instagram and shop products from Palestinian artisans to help them through this difficult time.

These artisans are extremely talented and deserve our support. Remember you can always be more intentional when buying that birthday gift for a friend or housewarming gift for your cousin.

Supporting Palestinians economically gives them the strength to stay and resist. Existence is resistance.

Gaza Beach: A Refuge Amal Abukwaik

Most people know Gaza as a headline in the news or as a marketing tool for donations; my family and I know Gaza by a people. By people who have lost nearly everything yet exuding generosity, by new buildings constructed after each war as a sign of their resilience, and by the late nights spent with family and neighbors on the baranda drinking shay with sage. My favorite memories of Gaza are the times I spent at the beach. As a child, my cousins and I would play with a ball in the sand with other children, or take turns riding the camel near the water.

These scenes, on the surface, are not unlike any other vacation spots. The sun is shining; the wind is blowing. Parents are relaxing on the shores; children are playing in the water. However, there is something deeper happening here. Gazans use the beach as a means of a reprieve from their trauma and worries. They see the ocean and the mina as a reminder of their economic prosperity in the past, during

times of peace, and the one part of Gaza the Israelis can never destroy. No matter how powerful and advanced their weaponry is, they will never be able to stop the waves from hitting the shores of Gaza. Still, all of the man-made structures are crumbling to the ground. From this, they learn to rely on God and His power, for if they relied on the buildings, where man’s hands are involved, they would have stayed amongst the rubble.

Of course, three wars within ten years and an air, land, and sea blockade for 13 years has visibly affected a land smaller than Passaic County in size. So, it is not shocking to me that “war,” “orphan,” and “siege” immediately cross people’s minds when they think of the Gaza Strip. Yet, I have never seen more beauty in a land than what Gaza has shown me. Just like the Palestinians’ resistance against their oppressors, Palestinian land resists against manmade destruction.

Artwork by Mohammed Alhaj IG: Mohammed.alhaj.000

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‫القرى الفلسطينية المه ّجرة‪ :‬إهماالت الذاكرة‬ ‫هنلدخ قواسمي‬

‫اياتاعارف عالاى اياقارى‬ ‫نشطت في األعوام ايقليلاة ايامالضاياة جاوالت‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫ايالسطينية ايمهجَّرة علم ‪ ،8442‬دلصة في محيط مدينة اياقادس اياماحاتالاة‪،‬‬ ‫ايتعرف على األرض ايمسلوبة وايتواصل معهل‪ .‬وتُبالدر ماجاماوعالت‬ ‫بهدف‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫شبلبية‪ ،‬بعضهل مستقل واآلدر تلبع يمؤسسلت أو أندية شبلبياة‪ ،‬إياى تانا ايام‬ ‫هذه ايجوالت برفقة مرشدين يتحدثون عن أهل ايقرى وتلريدهال ومال تاباقاى‬ ‫من آثلرهل اييوم‪ .‬ويال َح ارتالا نسباة هاذه اياجاوالت ماع اقاتارا ذكارى‬ ‫اينكبة ايالسطينية ك ّل علم‪.‬‬ ‫يُحس يهذا اينوا من ايجوالت أنه يتيح يلقرى ايمهجَّرة‪/‬ايمحتلّة مسلحة‬ ‫متجددة في مديلة ايالسطينيين‪ ،‬ويعيد تعريف ايقدس وتلريدهل ايعربي دلرج‬ ‫إطلر ايتعريف االستعملرخ ايضيّ ‪ .‬إذ ّ‬ ‫يطالاع طاال اياثالناوياة مان اياقادس‬ ‫وبيرهم من ايمشلركايان فاي اياجاوالت عالاى اإلماتاداد األصالاي واياواساع‬ ‫يمدينتهم قبل أن تُحتل وتُقسّم ويهجّر أهلهل ويضيّ على من بقي فاياهال‪ .‬كامال‬ ‫تسلهم هذه ايجوالت في حار أسملء ايقرى ايماهاجَّارة فاي اياذاكارة حاتاى ال‬ ‫تدتاي وسط زحمة أسملء ايمستوطنلت اييهودية ايتي أقيمت على أراضاياهال‬ ‫وأصبحت معطى ماروضل ً بليقوة‪.‬‬ ‫ايالفت هو تمحور مع م تلك اينشلطلت حول قارى ُماهاجَّارة باعاياناهال‪،‬‬ ‫وإهمليهل قرى أدرى كثيرة ال يُطرم اسمهل إال نلدراً‪ .‬فاي ايقدس مثاالً ثاماة‬ ‫‪ 84‬قرية ُهجّرت إبلن اينكبة‪ ،‬إال أن برامج ايجوالت ال تشمال ساوى عشار‬ ‫قرى‪ .‬وبينمل ال يدلو برنلمج من زيلرة قرى مثل "ياااتال" و"صاوبال" و"ديار‬ ‫يلسين"‪ ،‬نلدرا ً مل نسمع عن زيلرة أوجوية إيى قرية "أشوا" أو "راس أباو‬ ‫عملر" أو "دربة ايلوزة" أو "كسال"‪.‬‬ ‫وسب حضور بعض ايقرى ايمقدسية في تلك ايبرامج هو نشلط أهالاهال‬ ‫ايمهجّرين وتواصلهم ايمستمر مع أراضيهم‪ .‬فقرية ياتل علاى سابايال اياماثالل‬

‫مشهود ألهلهل نشلطهم ايمتواصل وسعيهم إلحيلء تلريخ قريتهم ومنع هدم مل‬ ‫تبقى من بيوتهل اييوم‪ .‬أمل ايسب اآلدر فيعود إيى يجوء أهلياي باعاض تالاك‬ ‫ايقرى علم ‪ 42‬إيى مدينة ايقدس أو إيى دادل فلسطايان‪ ،‬مال ياعاناي ساهاوياة‬ ‫وصويهم إيى أراضيهم من دون ايحلجة إيى تصلريح من دوية االحتالل‪.‬‬ ‫وثمة سب آدر يتصدّر تلك ايقرى برامج ايجوالت أال وهاو وقاوعاهال‬ ‫تحول على يد سالاطالت‬ ‫على "دلرطة ايحيلة واينشلط" اإلسرائيلية‪ .‬فبعضهل ّ‬ ‫االحتالل إيى محميلت طبيعية أو أقيمت فوقه مستوطنلت‪ ،‬وبعاضاهال اآلدار‬ ‫يقع بليقر من شلرا رئيسي‪ ،‬بمعنى أنه يسهل ايوصول إييه وايعثور علاياه‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫"ماتانازهايان"‬ ‫وتحديد معليمه‪ .‬وقد يلح ايمشلركون في هذه ايجوالت وجود‬ ‫إسرائيليين في األمكنة ايمقصودة جلؤوا ألهداف أدرى‪.‬‬ ‫ايمرشد إيهل ايجالد‪ ،‬ايذخ يراف عددا ً من تلك ايجوالت‪ ،‬ياؤكاد ذياك‬ ‫ويضر بعض األمثلة ومنهل‪ :‬قرية ياتل تقع على ساح شلرا رئيسي مرتااع‬ ‫في ايقدس‪ ،‬وقرية صوبل تقع في منطاقاة ياقاصادهال ايسايالم واياماساتاجا ّماون‬ ‫تاحاويات إياى ماحاماياة طاباياعاياة ومسالر‬ ‫اإلسرائيالاياون‪ ،‬وقارياة صاطالف‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫يلريلضيين‪ ،‬وقرية عين كلرم تتضمن كنلئس ومطلعم‪ .‬أمل اياقارى اياتاي يام‬ ‫تصل إييهل قدم "اإلسرائيلي" ومشلريعه فقلمل تجد من يصلهل‪.‬‬ ‫وال نقصد من هذه اإلشلرة ايتقليل من أهمية ودور مثل هاذه اياجاوالت‬ ‫في تعزيز ايوعي ايوطني وايمعرفة ايتلريدية يدى ايجيل اينالشا ‪ ،‬بال يااات‬ ‫االنتبله إيى ايتغيي بير ايواعي يبعض ايقرى وإهمليهل فلسطينيل ً تبعل ً يمل هو‬ ‫متوفر من "بنى تحتية إسرائيلية"‪ .‬وبليتليي‪ ،‬ينبغي ألخ برنلماج ياهادف إياى‬ ‫ايتعريف بلألرض ايالسطينية وتعزيز االرتبلط بهل واياتاماساك باحا اياعاودة‬ ‫إييهل‪ ،‬أن يكون عميقل ً شلمالً ال تحدّه "ايتوجيهلت" اإلسرائيلية بير ايمبلشرة‪.‬‬

‫‪Battir Landscape‬‬ ‫‪Photo by Aya Saleh‬‬

‫‪23‬‬

Al Birwa, Lifta, and Qatamon Visualizing Palestine

Al Birwa, 1948, depopulated but not built over We are standing in the Galilee, in the town of Al Birwa, on an open patch of land. Here, there were once 380 houses, 2 schools, a mosque and a church, according to Palestine Remembered. The land was cultivated with olive trees, wheat, and barley. One of Al Birwa’s 1,460 residents was a young Mahmoud Darwish, born in 1941. In 1947, his family fled from Zionist militias and were never allowed to return.

Later, Darwish wrote:

ter of the Palestinian intellectual Khalil Sakakini, was a young teacher here. In her diary, she documented the worsening situation leading up to her family’s flight to Cairo.

March 13, 1948 - We […] were all sitting in the dining room when an explosion took place...two more loud explosions shook our house and we guessed that they were very near...Shooting did not cease until morning. It was a terrible night.

Today, from early morning, we could see trucks piled with furniture passing by. Many more families from Qatamon are moving away, and they are not to blame. Who likes to be buried alive under debris?!... If strong security measures are not taken immediately, our turn of leaving our home will come soon.

A person can only be born in one place. However, he may die several times elsewhere: in the exiles and prisons, and in a homeland transformed by the occupation and oppression into a nightmare.

Israel has not built over the original built-up area of Al Birwa, but two Israeli towns are situated on part of the surrounding village lands today.

April 13 - Not a day passes without Mr. Daoud Tleel asking in his sarcastic way, “What do you say, shall we flee tomorrow?”

Lifta, Jerusalem, depopulated but not built over We are standing on a hill on the road to Jerusalem, amidst over 50 empty stone homes. In December 1947, Zionist militias killed 6 people in a coffee house here. By January, all the residents had fled.

The short video “Sons of Lifta”, by BADIL Resource Center, follows Palestinian refugees visiting their homes from Jerusalem. The video reminds us that denial of the Right of Return affects not just those in exile, but also those living just a short distance away. Palestinians in East Jerusalem cannot return to their nearby homes in Lifta. Palestinians in Nazareth cannot return to their nearby homes in Safuriyya. Israel has designated both areas as national nature reserves.

Qatamon, Jerusalem, depopulated and appropriated as an Israeli neighborhood

April 29 (morning) - We are now the only family left in Qatamon.

The Sakakini family arrived in Cairo on April 30, 1948. Shortly thereafter, Qatamon was repopulated

by Jewish Israelis.

Find out what happened to 1,196 localities of historic Palestine on Palestine, Today: today.visualizingpalestine.org

Download 338 historic maps of Palestine in high resolution from Palestine Open Maps: palopenmaps.org Subscribe to keep up with Visualizing Palestine: visualizingpalestine.org/subscribe

We are standing in a neighborhood in central Jerusalem. Over 70 years ago, Hala Sakakini, daugh24

25

Photo by Aya Saleh

26

Person of PACC: An Interview with Huweda Elsamna Falastin Staff Every issue, Falastin highlights a different member of the PACC community as the “Person of PACC.” This issue, we are incredibly honored to be highlighting Huweda Elsamna. Elsamna is a PACC board member and a highly respected person in our community.

What inspired you to work with the community?

My inspiration comes from the love I love from my homeland. My goal is to strengthen the bonds of American Palestinians to their homeland. I want the American Palestinians to have the same love and connection to Palestine that I do. Growing up in Gaza and going to UNRWA schools made me see first hand the importance of educating and empowering the women and girls in Palestine. There are a lot of issues in the community and we want to help create guidance and the right direction to inspire the young generation.

What do you think our community needs most?

More than anything, I believe the community needs to have more young leaders involved with creating change and supporting our causes in Palestine.

Photo provided by Huweda Elsamna

Can you tell us about your village?

tals, libraries, etc., but it destroys their physical and mental well-being; especially the children who experience terrible post traumatic disorder syndrome (PTSD) after each war.

I was born in Gaza, and my favorite memories are going to the beach every Friday with my eight brothers and sisters and smelling the scent of lemon tree flowers. What I love most about being from Gaza is that most Gazans started off with nothing and were resilient enough to accomplish their goals and succeed. I wish that more people knew how beautiful Gaza is. The weather is perfect all year round and even on the hottest days there are breezes that come from the beach.

The last time I was allowed into Gaza was in 2013 when my mother was ill. I was originally booked to stay there for a month, but my trip was cut short because of the Egyptian Revolution and all the foreigners in Gaza were forced to leave. When I was there I would wake up at Fajr to walk in the bayarah (orchard/farm) to enjoy the smells and tastes of the fruits. During the day I would visit my mother in the hospital. In the evenings I would sit under the grape trees with my brothers and their families.

What I miss the most about Gaza is being with my family in my homeland.

People need to know about the suffering that Gazans endure with the complete Israeli and Egyptian blockade. Gazans do not receive the proper healthcare they need. The reality is that whenever Gaza begins to rebuild itself after an attack from Israel, Israel destroys it again. It is a constant cycle that not only ruins Gazans’ homes, schools, hospi27

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FALASTIN

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