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Sumud Story House
Oral Histories
The following stories are from:
YOUR STORIES ARE MY STORIES: A PALESTINIAN ORAL
HISTORY PROJECT.
Saint Joseph School for Girls, Bethlehem
Wi’am – Palestinian Conflict Resolution Center
Arab Educational Institute
Bethlehem, 2000
I Was Born In War. I Have Lived In War. And I
Feel That I Will Die In War.
Amal Owaineh
My grandfather is a great man. He is an educator
but not like a teacher at school; he got his
education through the school of his life. He was
born in 1926 during the British period;
afterwards he lived the Jordanian and now the
Israeli period. I like spending my spare time
chatting with him. He tells me wonderful stories
full of history and lessons of life. With the
help of the history stories I can foretell the
future of us as citizens of Palestine, a country
occupied for ages by powerful countries. History
repeats itself!
Before my grandfather started talking about his
past life, he sighed as if he had bitter, severe
or painful memories. I felt sorry for him. I
just couldn’t leave him because I wanted to know
what bothered him so much. I thought that if he
told me what was on his mind, he would feel
better. Finally he spelled out some words:
“Oh, my pretty daughter, I really don’t know
where to start. Our suffering never stopped for
a moment. Our life is full of painful stories.”
My grandfather started telling me about his
father’s life. He told me that during Turkish
rule, life in Battir [a village to the
south-west of Bethlehem] was miserable. Women
and men worked the whole day just to have
something to eat at the end of the day. The
soldiers would execute anybody found with
weapons. My grandfather said: “Once my father
and his brothers were arrested because the
soldiers found bullets inside the house. But how
come? They didn’t have any bullets, how were
they found in the house? They didn’t even have
money to buy food, how could they buy bullets?
Punishment was death, but at the last minute a
good, rich and powerful Arab man was able to
save them. Everybody was relieved.”
“People were poor, hungry and desperate. They
couldn’t even work in the fields to get their
food. They were prevented from doing so. The
Turks wanted people to beg them for work for a
very poor salary.”
“After the end of the First World War, Turkey
left Palestine and Britain came in. The
situation became different. People started to
find jobs and to plant their fields. After a
couple of months our village was flooded with
vegetables and fruit. People sold large
quantities to different places, especially
Jerusalem. Apart from helping the men with
cultivating, the women were responsible for
selling the vegetables and fruit. On top of
that, they were good housekeepers. Oh, Amal,
your grandmother was a great woman, she
sacrificed her life for all of us. I couldn’t
imagine my life without her. I hope that you
will be as good as she was because if you are,
your husband will certainly love you.”
I caught my grandpa at that point and asked him:
“Does that mean that you were in love with my
grandmother?” His face reddened, he panicked and
quickly changed the subject: “So, our situation
became better after we sold vegetables and
bought what we needed. But do you know to whom
we used to sell them? The customers were all
English. They earned a lot and the Palestinians,
too, were busy collecting money. A few
Palestinians were greedy; they sold their lands
to the British in return for large sums of
money. You might not believe that, but I am
telling you that there were mean Palestinians
who sold big parts of Palestine to Britain.
Maybe some of them were put under pressure or
forced to sell their lands. The transactions
happened with the help of middlemen.”
“Later, English soldiers started torturing
Palestinians. The soldiers were totally
indifferent, they used to hit people and take
their property. Even women were treated badly.
Your grandmother once went to sell some
vegetables in Jerusalem but English soldiers
took them and kicked her away. When I had heard
such things I became very upset and wanted to
kill them. I was afraid for her so I prevented
her from going there again, but for how long?“
“There was not a single person in the village or
in the whole of Palestine who was not harmed by
Britain in one way or another. In 1917 Britain
had declared Palestine to be the national
homeland for the Jews [the Balfour Declaration].
After that the number of Jews increased. They
left the countries of their residence all over
the world to come to live in Palestine. As I
said, Britain bought or took lands from
Palestinians for Jews to live in. As a result,
the Palestinians’ anger exploded in the
revolution of 1936.”
“The rebels’ demands were two-fold: the
canceling of the declaration about the Jewish
homeland in Palestine and a cessation of the
buying or taking of Palestinian lands. But these
demands were refused. The people and the rebels
became even angrier. The first thing they did
was punishing the Palestinians who sold their
lands to Britain. There were a few people in our
village that sold their lands to Britain, and
those people were put in prison or even killed
by the rebels. One night most of the village men
sat together in the public square when suddenly
a couple of rebels rushed in and asked for
certain people. They then took them and beat
them heavily. No one was able to defend them
because he would have received the same
treatment. As they were the traitors of
Palestine, I think they deserved it.”
“The second thing the rebels did was cutting off
any connection with Britain by obstructing the
roads and the railway that connected the village
with other areas. People in the village
supported the rebels and stood by them. They
gave them a home, security, aid and food. Women
did a lot. They used to cook for the rebels
every day. One woman would observe the road in
order to announce when the soldiers approached
the village. She would shout a secret word for
the people to know that danger was near: “It’s
cloudy, it’s cloudy, everybody!” Upon hearing
that, the people took the food away, hid it
somewhere and extinguished the fire as if
nothing had happened. If they were caught
cooking that big amount of food, the soldiers
would know that it was for the rebels and would
throw it away.”
The British High Commissioner knew what the
rebels did and that they had cut off the lines
of communication between Palestine and Britain.
He informed the British Prime Minister, who
decided to send troops to Palestine and
re-occupy it in 24 hours. The next morning the
village was full of British soldiers who
arrested all adult men from Battir, Al-Khader,
Hussan and other nearby villages. The men were
put in a square without food but their families
would send the food secretly. That happened a
lot. More than once people were followed by
planes and shot by machine guns. People were
killed just like they are killed these days.”
“Britain violently suppressed the revolution. In
World War II, America defeated Germany. Now it
was time for Britain to leave Palestine but not
before making sure that the new Israeli state
was strong enough to become independent. Glubb
Pasha ruled Jordan at the time; he took the West
Bank and incorporated it into Jordan. The
situation didn’t become much better. It was
occupation, too.”
“In 1948 war came over Palestine. People started
to flee. Some people went to nearby cities. My
family and I went to Beit Jala. I put my family
in a safe place, the house of a friend who, by
the way, was a Christian. I went back to Battir.
Like others, I used to put the lights on in the
houses so that the soldiers wouldn’t feel that
the village was empty. If they thought so, they
would occupy it. During the day we used to put
some clothes on the lines and irrigate the
fields. If the soldiers saw us they shot at us
and then we ran away. No one was injured except
once, when my cousin was seriously wounded. We
tried to save him but to no avail. He died on
the same day. The hardest thing was to tell his
wife about his death. He was just 25 years old.”
My grandfather’s tears poured out, and mine
also. I felt it was enough. He then gave me the
summary of his life: “I was born in war. I have
lived in war. And I feel that I will die in
war.”
I wanted to make my grandfather feel better, so
I asked him about social life in those days. He
said:
“That was the positive side of our lives. We
were living together like one hand. We all woke
up early and went to the fields. Your
grandmother used to bake that delicious bread
and bring it to us in the fields; it was really
delicious even though it was very simple. We
spent the whole day working, then returned home
very tired. But our tiredness was bodily, not
emotionally. That means we were happy. When we
laughed we did it from the bottom of our hearts,
not like today. Many times we slept in my
brother’s house and stayed up late at night
chatting and laughing until we slept with a big
smile on our faces.”
“During the harvest days we used to help each
other and work till the last person finished his
field. Life would have been impossible if we
hadn’t done that. My daughter, nowadays I sleep
on a bed, I don’t work, I eat the best food
there is and my body is at rest, but I tell you,
I don’t sleep during the night.”
After that long conversation, I felt that my
grandfather became quieter. Then he told me in a
very calm voice:
“Thank you darling, I feel I put a heavy burden
away. I feel much better now and I think that I
will finally sleep tonight.”
The Longest Moment
Mary Hazboun
I made an interview with my grandfather about
his old memories. It was really interesting. I
realized I should have done it a long time ago.
My grandfather’s name is Emile Harb. I asked him
just one question: “What do you remember about
your past?” He took a breath and started:
“I was born on 5 August 1930. At the beginning
of the Second World War, I was nine years old
and used to hear the news on the radio and
listen to the stories of my father about the
war. My family and I always supported Germany
because my mother came from Hungary. When the
Germans occupied France, I was happy; you cannot
imagine my feelings. Germans were always my
heroes, full of power and strength. My dream was
to become a hero like them as any other kid with
imagination and dreams would have thought. I
didn’t know what would later become of us
because of them. I was ignorant.”
“I used to buy tin soldiers and make plays about
the Second World War. Each soldier cost 15 kirsh
[100 kirsh = 1 pound sterling]. In the
afternoon, I called my friends and let them sit
in the garden. I took half a kirsh from each of
them. After that, I started performing the play
with my little soldiers. My friends would be
very happy and anxious to continue the next day
after hearing the latest news.“
“… From 1917 till 1948, we lived a good life,
peacefully, without war. The country was in a
good condition – in my opinion of course. 15 May
1948 was the worst day, the day of the nakba.
We lived in the Musrara quarter in Jerusalem.
After the confrontations started we left home.
We didn’t take anything with us except blankets.
The Palestinians told us that we would stay a
few days at another place and then return home.”
“We hid in the old city, the Christians in the
churches and the Moslems in the Dar-Al Awqaf
buildings owned by Moslems. We stayed in a room
in front of Saint Anne’s Church. I was 18 years
old. We initially stayed for three days, but
then our stay was extended to two years. We were
refugees. Our former house was occupied by the
Jews. My father stopped working. We hadn’t
anything except our blankets and the keys of the
house. My father used to tell us: ‘Don’t worry,
kids, as long as we have the keys our house is
in peace’. Unfortunately our hopes did not match
reality. Our house was destroyed. It was a big
house, called Dar Al-Shiber, one of the most
beautiful houses in Jerusalem. The Israelis
destroyed it because it was located in no man’s
land, on the border between them and the Arabs
[near Road 1 and the taxi station in front of
present-day Damascus Gate]. Terror spread in the
villages upon hearing the news about Deir Yassin.
Many villagers left their houses and ran away.
In Jerusalem, my father used to sell cigarettes
in a small booth so as to live and eat. The 1948
war killed 2,500 Jewish soldiers during clashes
between Israel and the Jordanian army. The
bodies were spread all over the hills of Latrun
[to the west of Jerusalem] and Bab el Wad [to
the east]. There was a Jordanian soldier who
asked my friends and me to collect the corpses
and put each in a coffin and give it to the
Israelis. It would take a dinar to find a dead
body. I was happy to find a job no matter what
it was. We went and searched, and found frozen
bodies in forests, caves and on the mountains.
Each day we worked from 8:00 a.m. till 12:00
a.m. We worked for about a month until all the
2,500 bodies were recovered.”
“There was a day in 1948 I can’t forget. It was
an unbelievable and horrible experience. That
morning, I asked my father permission to go and
feed the rabbits that were in our home before it
was destroyed. It was the fourth day of the
nakba, 19 May 1948. My father refused, but I
didn’t listen and went with my friend ‘Issa El-Masri
whose mother asked to bring some plates and cups
from their house. While traveling we became
frightened, our former houses were Jewish now.
Unfortunately when we left the area to go back
Jordanian soldiers saw us. Thinking we were
Jews, they caught us. They took us to their
leader who told us: ‘You are spies and you are
going to be killed’. We screamed and said we
were Moslems and Arabs, but they didn’t listen.
They started beating us with their weapons. They
took us to the street and put us down. One put
his leg on my chest and a gun on my head. They
started counting: One….Two…Three… Then one of
them said: ‘A bullet is too expensive for these
traitors, kill them with a knife’. I went out of
my mind. They brought a long knife. At that
moment God sent us an angel. An American or
maybe a British soldier appeared and asked what
was going on. I started screaming: ‘Please help
us, we are Christians… PLEASE’. He stopped them
and they took us to their office. The Jordanians
said: ‘Jews always wear a sign like a star on
their chest; if we find one on yours, we’ll
know’. They made us take off our shirts. My
friend’s turn came first; he had a tattoo of
Saint George or El-Khader on his arm.
Unfortunately for us, they didn’t know the
meaning of the religious tattoo. We stayed for
an hour explaining to them what it meant.”
“The most difficult time had yet to come. They
informed us: ‘There is a street for Jews only,
if any Palestinian walks in that street the Jews
will shoot him. You have to walk in that street.
If you are Arab, they will shoot you but if you
are Jews they will know you and they won’t
shoot. Then we’ll know that you are Jews and
we’ll shoot you’.”
“Those moments when I had to cross that street
walking slowly were the longest in my life. We
looked insane. People started shouting: ‘You
nuts, run, they will shoot you. What are you
doing?’ We were ordered to walk slowly or they
would shoot us from the back. God helped us to
cross without any harm. The story wasn’t
finished yet because the Jordanians were now
certain we were Jews. They took us to court and
put us in jail until they found out the truth.
Fortunately, there was a soldier from Jerusalem
who knew us well. I explained to him what had
happened and we were released.”
I stayed till 12 o’clock that night hearing
stories about my grandfather’s past adventures.
He is amazing. I love him very much. These are
only a few stories from many others that have to
be written down some other time.
Even The Branches Of A Tree Were Separated
Nadine ‘Ali
When I was a child, my dear grandmother used to
live with us, and like many other grandparents,
she told us many tales and stories. Some of them
were traditional Palestinian ones, others were
fairy tales and many came from her own
imagination. But the most interesting were those
which described her own childhood and life. In
the summer she used to spend most of her time on
the balcony, while in wintertime she used to
have her own armchair in the middle of the
living room near the fireplace. All of us
grandchildren used to spend the evenings sitting
around her to listen to her lovely warm voice
telling us interesting stories.
Of course we liked some stories more than others
and that’s why we used to ask her to retell
them. If you want the truth, some of the stories
we heard more than fifty times! Hearing these
stories so many times allowed us to know them by
heart and we used to interrupt her when she
changed a word or skipped some details in case
she got bored. She always reacted with a lovely
smile, and then continued the story.
In 1998 my dear grandmother, born in 1936, died.
You can imagine how sad we felt. Since then,
there have been no more stories. But still I
remember every single word she used to say, and
I can hear her voice telling the stories but
with a little difference – she’s not there
sitting on her armchair and there aren’t new
stories. I’m afraid that when I get older I’ll
forget some of the stories she used to tell.
That’s why I think it is a great idea to write
them down because I believe they are a precious
heritage which we should take great care of.
During the Al Aqsa Intifada we spend horrible
nights together, with bombing, shelling and
shooting. Most of the night the electricity is
cut off, so I have no other choice but to sit in
bed remembering what my grandmother used to tell
us about the wars that took place during her
childhood. As children we couldn’t feel how
terrible the wars were because we didn’t live
similar experiences. However, during these hard
times I feel that one day I’ll have to take over
my grandmother’s place to tell my grandchildren
what is taking place now. If we have the chance
to stay alive, that is!
Well, are you interested in hearing some of the
stories she used to tell?
“In 1948 I was a twelve-year-old girl. I used to
live peacefully with my parents, two sisters,
four brothers and my blind grandfather in Beit
Safafa, a small Palestinian village between
Bethlehem and Jerusalem. Our life was great. You
can say it was simple without all these new
inventions which exist nowadays. Because Beit
Safafa is a very small village, everybody knew
everybody else and lived as one family. I didn’t
go to school but my younger sister did.”
“I used to do the housework in the morning and
then go with my older sister to a spring near
our village in order to bring some water. In the
evenings my younger sister used to read me some
romance and I can’t forget the moment that she
stopped the reading when she arrived at the most
interesting part in order to ask me to do her
something in return. Of course I had to obey so
as to have the chance to know what would happen.
Around the house the rest of the family used to
spend the evenings chatting.”
“That was how our life used to be before the
1948 war. But everything changed when the war
took place. I still remember when my mother made
us go to sleep with our shoes on and all of our
best clothes as to be able to run away quickly
at night in case the Israelis attacked us.”
When my grandmother reached that point all of us
used to laugh while imagining how she looked in
those clothes. Now I believe that the situation
wasn’t funny at all and they weren’t happy at
that time. Then my grandmother used to continue
but this time with a shaky voice and with tears
in the eyes because it was the time when she
reached the first horrible event in her life:
“One night in 1948 I woke up by the loud voice
of my father arguing with my blind grandfather
trying to convince him to leave the village
while my grandfather refused. At that moment my
mother was packing our clothes and some food;
then we had to wake up, hold our mattresses and
follow my father who was carrying my grandfather
on his shoulders because he refused to leave the
village. My father thought it was necessary for
our safety. We walked till we reached a small
house at the far end of the city of Bethlehem.
My father said that it was the house he had
rented for us to live in temporarily. We entered
without any single word although we were
inquiring: Why did we leave our large house with
the lovely garden around it? Why did we have to
stay in that small, poor house? Why was my
father so anxious? Would we stay in Bethlehem
forever? Or would we return to our dear
village?”
“The following morning, while we were having
breakfast quietly, we wanted so badly to know
why our life had changed. But at that time
children hadn’t the courage to argue with their
fathers. Suddenly the silence was broken by a
question asked by my young brother: ‘Daddy why
are we here?’ My father took a deep breath as if
he moaned and said: ‘I know that all of you are
wondering why we are here. We are here to stay
safe far away from the malignity of the
Israelis’ attacks. They had attacked Deir Yassin,
Ein Karem and many other Palestinian towns,
villages and cities where they committed
terrible massacres against Palestinian children,
youth, men and women. They are on their way to
Beit Safafa; that’s why most of the inhabitants
left the village. But hopefully, my dear
children, with the help of God we will be able
to return to our house and village with all the
other families as soon as possible’.”
“Those words somehow calmed us down although we
as children didn’t know well who the Israelis
were and why they came to our land and attacked
our people. We wondered if they were human
beings or goblins; we were always trying to
imagine the way they looked and dressed. We drew
many pictures of them in our minds. And as
children we wanted so badly to meet an Israeli
in order to know how they really looked. (How
simple we were!)”
“We stayed in Bethlehem for about six months.
One night before going to bed, my father came
home late but pleased: ‘Tomorrow we are going
back to Beit Safafa’. My mother looked doubtful
and said: ‘Are you sure there won’t be any
danger if we go back? Did the Israelis leave
Palestine?’ My father laughed in an hysterical
way and then said: ‘Leave Palestine! What are
you talking about? Do you think that they will
leave so easily? We have to give up many of our
valuable things in order to gain our dear land’.
My mother interrupted him and said, ‘Many of our
valuable things! What valuable things are you
talking about? You know very well that the
occupation under which Palestine had lived under
for hundreds of years didn’t leave any wealth
for the Palestinians!’ My father then said, ‘At
least we still have our souls and bodies.’ These
few words meant a lot for all of us although we
were children. We realized that our father meant
that we might have to give our lives in order to
get back our land. With many questions in our
mind we went to bed so as to wake up early as to
leave for Beit Safafa.”
“We arrived in Beit Safafa before noon, and when
we reached our home we felt both happy and sad.
Happy because we returned home, and sad because
half of our house was damaged, we had to manage
with the small part of the house which wasn’t
damaged till we would finish repairing the other
side. The real strange thing that happened in
Beit Safafa was that the Israelis occupied one
part of it while the other part, where we used
to live, stayed under Jordanian control. They
divided the village by a fence that kept us away
from our relatives who lived at the other side.
We weren’t able to visit each other, but we used
to meet behind the fence. You can imagine the
many people behind the fence shouting in order
to be heard, which was even worse when there was
a funeral; people used to gather behind the
fence and walk together as one group. The real
problem was when somebody from the Israeli side
wanted to marry one from the Jordanian side.
They used to solve that problem by helping the
bride run away to her groom’s side at night so
as not to be noticed by the Israelis.”
“It wasn’t just the people who were separated,
even the branches of a tree were separated. A
fig tree happened to be both on the Israeli side
and the Jordanian side. The inhabitants of both
sides shared the fig tree… We stayed in that
situation for many years and you can say that we
got used to it.”
“That was how I spent my childhood, my dear
grandchildren. By the age of eighteen I married
your grandfather and left Beit Safafa and lived
in Bethlehem where he came from.”
Because my grandfather was dead, my grandmother
used to shed some tears when she reached that
point and then all of us felt sad. To change the
atmosphere we used to ask her: “How did you meet
grandpa although he wasn’t from your village?
And how did you marry?” Then she used to
continue her story: “Your grandfather had a
friend in Beit Safafa who was a shopkeeper, and
because it was a village, it was the only shop
there. While your grandfather was on a visit to
his friend, I went to the shop to buy some food.
At that moment your grandfather noticed me, and
then visited the shop every single day in order
to see if I was going there regularly. When I
didn’t, he was sure that I was a polite,
well-raised girl. At that time polite girls
didn’t go out very often. Moreover, when a man
wanted to marry a girl at that time, he used to
follow her and whistle, and if she turned to see
who was behind her, he didn’t marry her.”
“Your grandfather asked my father to marry me.
My father agreed after asking about him because
he was concerned whether your grandfather was
known to be a gentle and generous man. The day
of the marriage came, and I was prepared. All my
sisters and friends were crying. My mother was
also crying because at that time they thought
that someone from Bethlehem or any other
Palestinian city or village was a stranger. And
instead of singing joyful songs they sang sad
songs, about living far away, leaving your
village and missing your people. And brides at
that time used to cry and cry.”
“I left with my groom to Bethlehem where we
lived. And as you know I had my six children,
three boys and three girls. We lived a really
quiet life till 1967 when we had to face a new
war. The Israelis wanted to occupy all of
Palestine. They attacked the Palestinian lands
which were under Jordanian control. After they
won the 1967 war, they also occupied parts of
Syria and Egypt.”
“When the Israelis were on their way to
Bethlehem, I was making wara’ dawali
[grape leaves]. Your grandfather came home very
upset. He told me that we had to leave our home
to a safer place far away from the Israelis. At
that moment the sight of my father telling my
mother in 1948 that we should leave crossed my
mind, and I said to myself: ‘No! Not again! We
can’t bear more wars and flights’. But after a
while I realized that for the safety of my
children I had no choice but to leave. We packed
our things and left to a small house at the end
of Bethlehem. We heard bombing at night, and in
the morning Israelis were walking in the streets
of Bethlehem. When we were sure that our home
was safe, we returned. What shocked us
especially was that the only part of the house
which was damaged was the place where I sat
cooking. I was about to die, my dear!”
That’s true, my dear grandmother, you were about
to die then, but God wanted you to live longer
but at the end you died leaving all of these
precious stories behind you. But I promise you
to keep these stories alive and to tell them to
as many people as I can, so they will form
evidence of the crimes caused by the Israelis
towards us Palestinians. Now, after experiencing
all that happened during the Al-Aqsa Intifada, I
understand much better what happened to you at
the time. |
