LIFE: STORY OF A REFUGEE
It was 1948. A mass exodus of refugees occurred.
Alarming radio broadcasts announced that the British army had turned over the country to European Jews and they in turn pronounced the land the State of Israel. As Arab armies interfered, they urged the people to leave, promising them that in no time at all they would be able to return to the Holy Land victorious and get all their properties, possessions and lands back. Alas, the armies were defeated as news depicted the inhumanities, massacres and monstrosities committed. And those who left remained refugees - people without a country.
That was how the story of my life started - forty years before I was ever born.
On that fateful day, the refugees amounted to approximately 650,000 individuals. Now, there are more than five million of us demanding the right of return to our country. Most of us have never lived in Palestine, we've never even set foot in it - we are the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who fled in 1948 - and yet we remain solidly faithful to our origins and roots.
On my mother's side, my great-grandmother (pictured above) fled Jerusalem in 1948 while carrying a child in her belly. As soon as she reached Syria, she felt her first labour contractions and gave birth to my grandma. In 2016, at the age of 87, my great-grandmother passed away in Amman, Jordan, where she had settled down 68 years after leaving her home in Jerusalem, with no chance of going back.
I originally come from the beautiful city of Safad - now known as Tzfat. In 1948, my grandfather and his family were forced to flee barefoot, leaving all their possessions behind, as they feared for their lives and that of their families'. They also fled to Syria, where they spent the remainder of their lives in refugee camps.
That makes me a third-generation refugee. One who had never set foot on Palestinian ground, never smelled its earthly scent, never tasted its infamous knafeh, never stood at its checkpoints or thrown a stone, and never heard the Athan resonate from Al Aqsa Mosque. That was until that same year, in 2016, when my dream came true and I finally had the opportunity to visit beautiful Palestine and breathe in its scent and pray both at Al Aqsa Mosque and at the Dome of the Rock.
It is always difficult to speak of things that are personal, and especially difficult when the personal is intertwined with the political. Being from Palestine shaped the person that I am today, and the person that I want to be. I was born fighting for my country. I was born with the struggle of my people. Yet I was born far away from it all - and that is the hardest part to accept.
I am an Emirati citizen, born and raised in Abu Dhabi, the only home I know and belong to, yet I grew up a Palestinian, and I have found ways to bring it to me and incorporate it into my daily life. Palestinian music, books, crafts, embroidery, traditional dresses, and kuffiyehs fill our house. Most importantly though, are the huge family gatherings where tales of Palestine are regaled and passed on to future generations. I know that I will one day be sitting with my children, telling them about Palestine and all the stories of their great-great grandparents as well.
I may not know where life will take us or where I will find myself in the future. But I do know what I will always hope for, and that is a free Palestine.