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Posted on: 1999
By Dr. Hala Fattah
Over the years, a number of misstatements have entered the academic field and obscured the true meaning of the Palestinian experience. 
One of these is the notion that Palestinian nationalism was non-existent until the birth of Zionism and that, much like the rest of the Arab world, it only flourish under the impact of a model imported wholesale from the West.
Professor Rashid Khalidi has written a subtle and powerful book that examines the issue within a historical framework entitledPalestinian Identity: The Construction of Modern National Consciousness.
Rashid Khalidi believes that, much like the rest of the world’s nationalisms, Palestinian identity is both a construct and a process. In other words, the Palestinian sense of selfhood and nationality is at once a concrete set of expression arising from a collective notion of people hood and “belonging”, and a phenomenon that changes over time. It is therefore both fixed and fluid. Moreover, like all “ imagined”constructions, it incorporates within it different levels of affiliation. Khalidi states,” the intellectuals, writers and politicians who were instrumental in the evolution of the first forms of Palestinian identity at the end of the last century and early in this century…identified with the Ottoman empire, their religion, Arabism, their homeland Palestine, their city or region, and their family, without feeling any contradiction, or sense of conflicting loyalties”. After the collapse of the empire, a wrenching transformation occurred that forced a reorientation from an Ottoman and pan-Islamic identity to Palestinian national consciousness. Once existing among a set of loyalties, Palestinian identity became the primary focus of the leaders, intellectuals and politicians of Mandate-era Palestine.
In the period that followed, this sense of nationhood only developed and strengthened among the different Arab communities in Palestine. Khalidi believes that “Although the Zionist challenge definitely helped to shape the specific form Palestinian national identification took, it is a serious mistake to suggest that Palestinian identity emerged mainly as a response to Zionism”. This is because Palestinian nationalism developed alongside the nationalism of the Arab world, and in fact helped revitalize and refocus a Arab identity that had roots as far as the 18th century. And he goes on the caution that “While studies of Palestinian nationalism have concentrated on its evolution in recent decades, in fact most elements of Palestinian identity- particularly the enduring and parochial, local ones- were well-developed before the climactic events of 1948, although they continued to overlap and change both before and after that date”.
Because of its important religious and , Jerusalem became a significant symbol of that new identity. As described in our preceding article on the building and population of Jerusalem, the rise of Western schools and new Western-influenced juridical codes opened up the educational and legal system to novel changes. This displaced the locus of power from the traditionalist Muslim religious elite to the “new men”. Moreover, as a result of trying to thwart the constant interference of foreign consuls and governments, Ottoman central authority took on more authority, thus jeopardizing further the influence of the local religious hierarchy.
Eventually the old notability adapted, switching their sons to the new schools and training their offspring in the new law codes and systems.
Alongside the adaptability of the class of notables in Jerusalem, and their continued hold on the intellectual and social life of the city, another literate section of the city turned to the publication of newspapers. Among the most important was the official al-Quds al-Sharif [published in Arabic and Turkish], another paper published purely in Arabic called Al-Quds, and al-Najah, al Nafir, al-Munadi, al-Dustur and Baytal-Maqdis. Khalidi states that “As the Ottoman era drew to a close, what can be seen in the press, as in a few other sources, is the increasing usage of the terms, “Palestine” and Palestinian”, and a focus on Palestine as a country”. However, this literary and intellectual ferment came to an end with the collapse of the Ottoman centuries. Again Khalidi puts it best: “As the Ottoman era in Palestine ended with the capture of Jerusalem by General Allenby’s troops in December 1917, there passed with it not only sovereign domination-transferred from one power to another-but also the possibilities of autonomous development for the indigenous population, and of unfettered economic social and intellectual interaction between Palestine and other parts of the region.”
Of Iraqi origin, Dr. Hala is a historian of the Arab provinces of the Ottoman Empire, especiallyIraq. She is the author of The Politics of Regional Trade of Iraq, Arabia and the Gulf, 1745-1900(S.U.N.Y Press, 1996). Presently, she is an Independent Scholar.
This text is from the book Patterns of the Past Prospects for the Future Edited by Thomas Hummel, Kevork Hintlian and Ulf Carmesund
On the eve of the Great War in 1914, the Arab provinces of the empire (including notably Palestine) while still nominal Ottoman rule, stood de facto under the joint suzerainty of the Porte and the European powers, a result of the interplay between the financial tutelage and the combination of the millet policy and the Capitulations as they had evolved. 
There was indeed a struggle between the Young Turks, who were attempting to get rid of the Capitulations altogether ( and who finally opted for war on Germany’s side in part because France and Britain would not hear of revoking them) and some Arabs of greater Syria, who wanted to use their millet status and the Capitulations to further their autonomy. France and Britain, to name only those two powers, had specific ambitions with respect to the region, before the outbreak of war. In 1912, France was recognized (by Britain, not by Italy or Russia) as the prime protector of greater Syria (including Palestine and Lebanon), but with great reservations, as was later to become manifest with the Balfour declaration.
Findley has made a significant conceptual breakthrough with his characterization of the late Ottoman empire as ‘doubly imperial, that is to say, subject to the historical laws as they affect empire ( a political entity composed of many sub-entities). It was doubly imperial…
On the one hand, it remained a formally independent, multinational empire. On the other hand, it lost territory to separatist nationalisms and to great-power imperialism, and it slipped into economic and political dependence. We have here been dealing with a particular aspect of that doubly imperial quality, or rather one of the various ways through which it can be grasped historically. We have attempted to show unexpected results relating to this doubly imperial quality, were obtained through the particular effects of historical processes.
The interaction between sectarian policy and international politics in the late Ottoman period demonstrates the unexpected effects of particular causes, as well as the interaction of diverse policy elements in producing unanticipated results. The Capitulations were initially agreed upon under conditions where the Ottoman empire was dealing with its European partners from a position of strength; in later centuries, as the empire declined, the treaties remained and the Europeans did everything they could to interpret them in the sense of increasing their influence upon and control over various areas (port cities for example) and communities (Greeks, Jews, Armenians) in the empire, and thus over its policies as a whole
Posted on: 2000
By Adly Muhatadi
The Wailing Wall, or Western Wall, is held by most Jews to be the remnant of the Second Temple, and thus has become an object of veneration. It forms the base of the Haram al-Sharif, where stands the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa mosque. 
This wall is also known to Muslims as al-Buraq, considered a holy place because it was here that Muhammed tethered his winged steed on his journey to Jerusalem. Access to the wall was through a passage in the Magrebi residential quarter, completely destroyed by Israel in 1967.
The wall and much of the area around it constitutes Waqf property ( a religiously and legally protected endowment), owned by the Muslims since the time of Salah-al-din.
Acquired by trade and purchase, this Waqf property is open to all to come and worship and pray there. Throughout the centuries of Muslim rule, Jewish rights to pray at the wall have always been safeguarded. With the emergence of the Zionist movement, more militant Zionist elements began to emerge, and in the late 1920s these groups sought to change the status of the wall. Rather than addressing their demands to the appropriate concerned authorities, these elements forced the issue by bringing screens, benches, and other objects to the area. These objects not only caused great congestion in the area because they did not allow for the free passage of people, but it also was a change in the “status quo”.
The concept of “status quo” in the religious sites in Jerusalem allows religious communities to preserve their rights over certain sites. According to the British who were ruling Palestine at that time, “the regulations pertaining to religious practices at the holy places in Jerusalem and the balance between the rights and claims of the different faiths and denominations with regard to these places have in the past always been based the so-called Status Quo.
” If any change in status is not protested by a community, then after a period of time, the change becomes the new status quo. Thus, the Moslem community was concerned that any additions to the wall by Jewish worshippers would change the status quo- “ for after stools would come benches, the benches would then be fixed, and before long the Jews would have established legal claim to the site.
Zionists Jews in the 1920’s forced such changes in the status quo. The Jewish worshippers brought benches and a screen to separate men and women, which were removed by the police several times. The Deputy District Commissioner noted in 1927 “ several incidents and many problems caused by the Jews around the question of the Buraq plainly indicate that they have laid down a plan of gradually obtaining this place.”
The tensions escalated and the ensuing violence resulted in riots on August 1929 with hundreds of casualties on both sides. The British sent in a Commission of Inquiry to investigate the cause of the “disturbances.” The Commission, headed by Sir Walter Shaw, former Chief Justice of the Straits Settlements, arrived in Palestine in October that same year and remained there for two months. One of the recommendations he made to the Secretary of State for the Colonies was the need to establish an ad hoc Commission to determine the rights and claims for Moslems and Jews in connection with the Wailing Wall and, on January 1930, it was decided that:
A Commission shall be entrusted with the settlement of the rights and claims of the Jews and Moslems with regard to the Wailing Wall:
The Commission shall consist of members not of British nationality…
Elief Lofgren, formerly Swedish Minister for Foreign Affairs. Member of the Upper Chamber of the Swedish Riksdag (as Chairman). Charles Barde, Vice-President of the Court of Justice at Geneva, President of the Austro-Roumanian Mixed Arbitration tribunal and C.J. Van Kempen, formerly Governor of the East Coast of Sumatra, Member of the States-General of the Netherlands.
On June 13, 1930, the members of the new Commission sailed for Palestine and arrived on the June 19, and stayed for one month. The Commission was appointed by the United Kingdom and approved by the League of Nations.
From the book The Right and Claims of Moslems and Jews in connection with the Wailing Wall at Jerusalem by the Institute for Palestine Studies.
With respect to the position of the Western or Wailing Wall ( in Arabic Al Buraq; in Hebrew, Kothel Maarawi and the lie of the surrounding area, see the official plan drawn by the Palestine Government.
The Wailing Wall forms an integral part of the western exterior shell of the Haram-el-Sherif which itself is the site of the ancient Jewish temples, at the present day supplanted by Moslem Mosques. The Haram-el-Sherif ina ctual fact is a vast rectangular platform, several hundred metres in length and width. One of the said Mosques, the Mosque of Aqsa, is contiguous to the southern exterior wall of the Haram and extends up to the Wailing Wall at its southern end. The other Mosque, the Dome of the Rock ( in Arabic, Qubet Al Sakra), or, as it is usually called, the Mosque of Omar, is situated in the middle of the Haram area.
The Eastern Wall of the Haram-el-Sherif as a whole is a structure of more than 100 meters in length and about 20 meters in height. The very large blocks of stone at the base of the Wall, more especially the six courses of drafted stones, are dated by most archaeologists to the times of the Temple of Herod (i.e., the second reconstructed Temple). Many of the stones bear inscriptions in Hebrew on their faces, some of them painted, others engraved.
Above these stones there are three courses of undrafted masonry; these are probably colony by the Emperor Hadrian). The upper strata again are of much later date, belonging probably to the period about 1500 A.D. Recent researches go to show that the boundaries of the Wall coincide with those of the platform of the Temple of Solomom, of which courses of stones are supposed to still remain beneath the surface. The part of the Wall about which dispute has arisen between the Jews and the Moslems comprises about 30 metres of the exterior wall mentioned. In front of that part of the wall there is a stretch of pavement to which the only access, on the northern side, is by a narrow lane proceeding from King David’s street. To the south this pavement extends to another wall, which shuts the pavement off at right angles to the Wailing Wall from a few private houses and from the Mosque of Buraq site to the south.
In the year 1929 a door was made at the southern end of the wall last mentioned, and it gives access to the private houses and the Mosque. At the northern end of the pavement a third wall, with a door in it, shuts off the area from the courtyard in front of the Grand Mufti’s offices.
The pavement in front of the Wall has a width of about 4 metres. Its boundaries of three sides have already been indicated; on the fourth side, i.e., the one opposite to the Wailing Wall, the pavement is bounded by the exterior wall and houses of so-called Moghrabi Quarter. On that side there are two doors which led to the Moghrabi houses.
It is this Pavement running at the base of the part of the Wall just referred to that the Jews are in the habit of resorting to for purposes of devotion.
At a short distance from it, in the southern direction and within the Wall itself, there is a chamber or niche in which according to tradition Mohammed’s steed, Buraq, was tethered when the Prophet during the course of his celestial journey (as to which see below) visited the Haram-el-Sherif. It is for this reason that the Wall is known to Moslems as Al-Buraq.
Before proceeding further we desire to state that at the date of our sojourn in Jerusalem, the Wall and its environs were not exactly in the same state as before the War, for as already stated by the Shaw Commission certain innovations had been introduced, viz:
– The erection of a new structure above the northern end of the Wall.
– The conversion of a house at the southern end of the Pavement into a “Zawiyah” ( literally to be translated, Moslem “sacred corner”).
– The construction of the above-mentioned door giving access from the “Zawiyah” to the Pavement in front of the Wall, and constituting a through connection from the
Haram area (through the Moghrabi Gate) to the Pavement in front of the Wall.
Posted on: 2000
By Sami Rami
In August 15, 1929, militant Zionist groups paraded in the vicinity of Al-Buraq Muslim Wall, which Jews believed since long times to be their Wailing Wall, in the first political demonstration of its kind after the British occupation of Palestine in 1918. 
Under the British invaders, Palestine witnessed a process of mass Jewish immigration and colonization. The Mandate uthorities encouraged Zionists to build some 60 Jewish colonies in less than a dozen of years, from 1918 to 1929.
As a result of those grave developments, especially the Zionist political demonstration at Wailing Wall stirred Palestinian susceptibility and tolled the bills of an impending catastrophe.
Consequently the first Palestinian revolution erupted in the face of the Zionist attempt to mess with Haram al-Sharif (Noble Sanctuary) and its Western Wall, a Muslim property the seventh century when two Umayyad Caliphs, Abdul Melik and his son Walid built the magnificent Mosque of the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa Mosque, which both constitute Haram Sharif. The Ottomans and previous Muslim rulers allowed Jews to visit and practice their prayers at Walling Wall without changing the legal status of the Muslim holy places allowed Jews.
A British-appointed Commission of Inquiry, with the approval of the Council of the League of Nations, reported rightfully on Zionist instigated violence in the aftermath of the first political militant demonstration by Zionist groups of August 15, 1929 “ the Arabs have come to see in Jewish immigration not only a menace to their livelihood but a possible overlord of the future.”
The Commission concluded that the ownership of the Western Wall belonged solely to Muslims and it formed an integral part of Haram Sharif. Unfortunately, Israel occupation of Arab East Jerusalem in June 1967 encouraged extremist Jewish groups, as Faithfuls of the Temple, to blackmail Muslim worshippers from time to time, threatening to demolish al-Haram and build the third Temple. Moreover, occupation troops surround the Mosque of al-Aqsa every Friday, harassing Muslim worshippers and not letting in anyone who is under certain age or not holding Israeli ID.
Zionists used metaphysical religious myths and the holy places in Jerusalem as fig- leaf to hide their evil designs and insatiable appetite for devouring all the Arab lands in historic Palestine never mind how indigestible they are.
Posted on: 2006
By Saira W. Soufan
The destruction of the Maghrebi Quarter in Jerusalem was one of the first points of the Israeli campaign to change Jerusalem’s Arab character after the conquest of 1967. 
On the 3rd day of the Six Day War, Israeli paratroopers entered the Old City of Jerusalem in order to conquer the Temple Mount, Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. The Maghrebi Quarter which dates back to 1320 a.d. was razed to the ground and it’s Arab inhabitants evicted in order to enlarge the area in front of the Western or Wailing Wall. Two ancient mosques, Al-Buraq and Al-Afdali were destroyed as well as the desecration of the historic Mumillah cemetery in which many famous Muslim heroes were entombed.
The loss of personal properties, homes, businesses, schools, and mosques cannot be calculated. Statistics, architectural planning, and urban layout information has been wiped from text books and records as if the 647 years of the Maghrebi Quarter did not exist. For the Israeli occupiers, it is enough that the Western Wall was located a little too near the Maghrebi Quarter to warrant it’s destruction. The Western Wall was expanded from the original 22 meters to 60 meters due to the demolishing of the Arab area. The Maghrebi Quarter of Jerusalem was the second smallest quarter located within the old city walls, the smallest being the Jewish quarter until 1967.
A testimony from one of the displaced families of the Maghrebi Quarter sketches out some of the losses incurred. The Abu Saud families were residents of Old Jerusalem until the destruction in 1967 of the Maghrebi quarter. The Abu Saud residences consisted of 21 branches of their family living within villas and apartments. Small businesses, a bookstore, the Abu Saud Mosque were demolished along with the rest of the quarter to make way for the Jewish expansion. Due to the close proximity of the Al-Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock to the Maghrebi quarter, the Abu Saud families had set up a School for Islamic Studies. This was also razed to the ground. One of the elder occupants from the Abu Saud family, Um Musa, refused to move from her chair in her home on the day of destruction. She was threatened by Israeli Occupation Authorities to leave otherwise they would bring the building down upon her head. “Destroy my house but I will not leave my home, I remain here.” The IOA proceeded to manhandle Um Musa and physically carried her outside to watch the annihilation of her home.
These activities were repeatedly condemned by international opinion as endangering Muslim holy sites and threatening their ancient foundations. This led the UN General Assembly and Security Council to pass several resolutions condemning Israel’s excavations and appealing to it to preserve Jerusalem’s historical heritage. UNESCO has repeatedly called upon Israel to desist from altering the city’s cultural, structural and historical character, but to no avail. The Archbishop of Canterbury, after his visit to Jerusalem in 1971 remarked,” It is distressing indeed that the building program of the present authorities is disfiguring the city and its surroundings in ways which wound the feelings of those who care for its historic beauty and suggest an insensitive attempt to reclaim as an Israeli city one which can never be other than the city of the three great religions and their peoples.”
None of the large or small families of the Maghrebi Quarter took compensation for their demolished properties. The IOA offered to buy the properties for a nominal fee in order to appease their guilt from the theft and destruction of Arab properties. The Arab families refused any sale or compensation to give validity to the fact that this was an illegal and forced plementation by the Israelis. Till today the families of the Maghrebi Quarter visit the demolished sites of their homes in order to remember the heritage of their fathers and forefathers.
This article was published in 2002 in Al Arabiya News Channel.
Throughout the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, around 800,000 Palestinians have been arrested by Israeli
authorities, more than 10,000 of whom are women. Many of those female detainees were subjected to several forms of abuse, sexual in particular, but very few were willing to talk. On the eve of International Women’s Day, however, some decided to break their silence. S.H., who refused to disclose her full name, was arrested for a few days to put pressure on her husband, also detained at the time, and extract confessions from him. “They striped me and the officer who was interrogating me sat beside me and tried to molest me but I resisted,” she told Al Arabiya.
I am here with you today to share my big unlimited dream, a dream of the hope of a total nation dispersed
around the world.
We Palestinians are different than any other people around the world. We have been struggling for 58 years, clutching hope with all energy we have despite everything, despite the parents we lost, the sons who passed out, the lands taken, the old ladies overloaded by the barriers, we struggled. Despite the wall getting taller, despite the checkpoints for us to get home, despite the humiliation we live, and the disbelieve of the world of what we face. Despite what we are known for of terrorists, despite all the men who bombed their bodies out to get revenge, despite the lack of food, studies, money, despite children murdered, men assassinated by their trees, women thrown out of their homes, youths died by the effect of the dazzling sun as they stood waiting for release.
Despite the chains and the bars of jails we stood on our feet, our situation is old. With burse legs, just like a 58 year old man, our soul is fed by Palestinian youth.
We stood and said No!
We declared that this forever and for always will be our land, our mother, our dignity and our identity. We are not yet satisfied and will never be as long as that man is looking between the bars of the wall and at his piece of land. We will never be satisfied, as long as our children don’t have a place to play in.
No, never we will.
No, never we shall be satisfied as long as part of our family is there and we are here. No, we will never be satisfied as long as our sea is theirs, as long as their footprints are in our sand, as long as they are in our own homes, as long as they are consuming what is ours, and gaining profits while we are here suffering poverty, lack of education and health.
No. Still I can see the tendons of the sun from between the wall bars, I can see a smile on the children’s faces and still I can wake up..
I have a dream.
I have a dream of all Palestinians. I have the dream of Palestine.
I have a dream to be able to go with my friends to the Mediterranean Sea. I have a dream to be able to reach Akka. I have a dream to see the oranges of Jaffa, the beach of Haifa, the mountains of Safad and the grapes of Hebron. I have a dream to taste the fish of Gaza, live the nature of Toolkarm, and visit the mosque of Jerusalem.
I have a dream that all refugees will be able to put their keys in their locks and get back to where they came from. I have a dream to be able to see children playing a game rather than Israelis and Palestinians. I have a dream that all our children can have a better childhood and future than that of ours.
I have a dream to see one marrying another for pure love and not because they both have the same identity cover.
I have a dream to fly around and know exactly the meaning of being free.
I have a dream to go to Nablus to see my mother’s family and watch my newborn cousin grow not by pictures, but by my own eyes!
I have a dream to wake up calm and feel peace in the air.
I have a dream to see a smile on an old man’s face.
I have a dream that smiles will replace frowns. I have dream that tears would dry up and wounds would clot and sorrows will fade. I have a dream that memories be shared and free Palestine declared.
I have a dream to move round my country and see the nature, I was taught in geography books. I have dream to see Marg Ibn Amer green again.
I have a dream to see complete sunrise not blocked by the wall.
I have a dream that all disabled people by Intifada can leave their wheelchairs again.
I have a dream to believe that our martyrs’ blood is not in vain and feel that their souls would rest in peace and not worrying of their families.
I have a dream to see the Palestinian flag rising on my school’s building, to feel that my country does exist.
I have a dream to be able to run in my own country with no fear or peril to be the one to choose where to go, and not the checkpoints.
I have a dream to get my own land in my lifetime.
I have a dream that all people in camps, places sweltering with the sun of injustice, but cold of tragedy would flower again.
I have that all prisoners living under the darkness of torture will be able to see sunlight again and return to their homes, so the yellow faces of their mothers would shine up!
I have a dream that we Palestinians, are allowed to speak for once to the world and to feel that there is someone there caring for us, really wants helping us..
I have dream to see the wall, a gray gloomy monster filled with hatred and injustice, falling and torn apart like a piece of cloth.
I have dream that Eilat will be Um Rashrash, Tel Aviv will be Tal El Rabi and Shkeim will be Nablus again.
My dream is large, larger than the see, beyond what the eyes can see away from mine, myself and me
I have a dream to see on TV: Palestine’s free. Palestine’s free, Palestine’s free. No long lasts a crime, Palestine will someday shine
Palestine will always remain a star
Shining up my track.
Author’s name has been withheld due to the sensitive nature of this article. Edited by: Amber Halford and Christina Saenz
This article was first published in International Solidarity Movement 2006.
My family and I are on our way back to Gaza from the US. We flew in to Cairo last week, and from there embarked
on a five hour taxi ride to the border town of al-Arish, 50 km from the border with Gaza.
We rest in al-Arish for the night.
We carried false hopes the night before last, hopes transmitted down the taxi driver’s grapevine, the ones who run the Cairo-Rafah circuit, that the border would open early that morning. So we kept our bags packed, slept early to the crashing of the Mediterranean – the same ones that just a few kilometers down, crashed down on Gaza’s besieged shores.
But it is 4, then 5, then 6 AM, and the border does not open.
And my heart begins to twinge, recalling the last time I tried to cross Rafah; recalling how I could not, for 55 days; 55 days during which my son learned to lift himself up into the world, during which he took his first fleeting steps, in a land which was not ours; 55 days of aloneness and displacement.
The local convenience storeowner tells us he hears the border may open Thursday -“but you know how it is, all rumors.” No one can be certain. Even the Egyptian border officials admit that ultimately, the orders come from the Israeli side.
It’s as though they take pleasure as we languish in the uncertainty. The perpetual never- knowing. As though they intend for us to sit and think and drive ourselves crazy with thought. I call an Israeli military spokesperson, then the Ministry of Defense, who direct me back to the spokesperson’s office, and they to another two offices; I learn nothing.
As an Israeli friend put it, “uncertainty is used as part of the almost endless repertoire of occupation.”
Even the Palestinian soccer team has been unable to leave Gaza because of the Rafah closure, to attend the Asian games. No one is exempt. Peasant or pro-football player, we are equally vulnerable.
Long days
It is now our fifth day in al-Arish. Rafah Crossing has been closed more or less for more than six months, opening only occasionally to let through thousands of stranded Palestinians. And then it closes again.
Every night, it’s the same ritual. We pack all our things, sleep early, and wake up at 5 to call the border.
We’ve rented a small beachside vacation flat here. They are cheap – cheaper than Cairo, and certainly cheaper than hotels, and are usually rented out to Palestinians like us, waiting for the border to open. Its low season now, and the going rate is a mere USD 12 a night.
In the summer, when the border was closed, rates jumped to a minimum of USD 35 a night – and that’s if you could find an available flat. We can afford it. But for many Palestinians who come to Egypt for medical treatment, and without large amounts of savings, even this meager rental fee can begin to add up.
Palestinian slum
During times of extended closure, like this summer, and last year, al-Arish becomes a Palestinian slum. Thousands of penniless Palestinians, having finished their savings and never anticipating the length of the closure, end up on the streets.
In response, the Egyptian police no longer allow Palestinians driving up from Cairo past the Egyptian port city of al-Qantara if the border is closed and al-Arish becomes too crowded.
“They turn it into a ghetto. That and the Israelis didn’t want them blowing up holes in the border again to get through,” explains the taxi driver nonchalantly.
Young Palestinian men on their way to Gaza have it worse off: They are confined to the Cairo Airport or the border itself, under military escort – and only after surrendering their passports.
No one cares
We go “downtown” today – all of one street – to buy some more food. We are buying in small rations, “just in the case the border opens tomorrow.” I feel like we’ve repeated that refrain a hundred times already. I go and check my email. I feel very alone; no one cares, no one knows, no one bothers to know. This is how Palestinian refugees must feel every day of their lives.
I read the news, skimming every headline and searching for anything about Rafah. Nothing. One piece about the Palestinian soccer team; another about the European monitors renewing their posts for another six months. We do not exist.
If you are “lucky” enough to be stuck here during times of extended closure, when things get really bad – when enough Palestinians die on the border waiting, or food and money are scarce enough for the Red Cross to get involved, then maybe, maybe you’ll get a mention.
And people will remember there are human beings waiting to return home or get out and go about their daily lives and things we do in our daily lives – no matter how mundane or critical those things might be. Waiting to be possessed once again.
But now, after six months, the closure is no longer newsworthy. Such is the state of the media – what is once abhorred becomes the status quo and effectively accepted.
Sieged
It used to be that anyone with an Israeli-issued travel permit or visa could cross Rafah into Gaza – but never refugees of course. Since the Disengagement last year, all that has changed.
With few exceptions (diplomats, UN and Red Cross staff, licensed journalists) no one besides residents of Gaza carrying Israeli-issued IDs can enter Gaza now. No foreigners, no Arabs, no West Bankers, not even spouses of Gaza residents, or Palestinian refugees.
A few more days pass. They seem like years.
For Palestinians, borders are a reminder – of our vulnerability and non-belonging, of our displacement and dispossession. It is a reminder – a painful one – of homeland lost. And of what could happen if what remains is lost again. When we are lost again, the way we lose a little bit of ourselves every time we cross and we wait to cross.
We wait our entire lives, as Palestinians. If not for a border or checkpoint to open, for a permit to be issued, for an incursion to end, for a time when we don’t have to wait anymore.
So it is here, 50 kilometers from Rafah’s border, that I am reminded once again of displacement. That I have become that “displaced stranger” to quote Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti. Displacement is meant to be something that happens to someone else, he says. How true. To refugees that the world cares to forget. Who have no right of return. Who return to nowhere and everywhere in their minds a million times. When the border closes, we are one day closer to become that.
Of course, that refugee is Yassine, my husband, who cannot even get as far as Egypt to feel alone. Who cannot join me and Yousuf as we journey back and forth through Rafah.
But the Palestinian never forgets his aloneness. He is always, always reminded of it on borders. That, above all, is why I hate Rafah Crossing. That is why I hate borders. They remind me that I, like all Palestinians, belong to everywhere and nowhere at once. They are the Borders of Dispossession
We’ve packed and unpacked our bags a dozen times. My mother finally gave in and opened hers up in a gesture of frustration – or maybe, pragmatism. It seems like a bad omen, but sometimes things work in reverse here: last time we were stuck waiting for the border to open, when we decided to buy more than a daily portion of food, the border opened.
Everyone is suddenly a credible source on the closure, and eager ears will listen to whatever information they provide.
One local jeweler insisted it would open at 4 PM yesterday – a suggestion that the taxi drivers laughed off; they placed their bets on Thursday – but Thursday has come and gone, and the border is still closed.
Atiya, our taxi driver, says he heard it wouldn’t open until the Muslim pilgrimage (Hajj), a few weeks from now. We’re inclined to believe him – taxi drivers have a vested interest in providing the most reliable information; their livelihood depends on it.
In the end, “security” is all that matters and all that ever will. As Palestinians, we’ve come to despise that word: Security. It is has become a deity more sacred than life itself. In its name, even murder can become a justifiable act.
We sleep, and wake up, and wait for the phone to ring for some news. Every time we receive a knock on the door we rush to see if the messenger brings good tidings. Today? Tomorrow? A week from now?
No, it’s only the local deaf man. He remembers us from last time, offers to take out our trash for some money and food.
We sit and watch the sunset. What does it know of waiting and anticipation and disappointment and hope – a million times in one day?
* Laila al-Hadad is aPalestinian freelance journalist, author, blogger, and media activist from Gaza City. She is currently based in the United States. El-Haddad is the author of Gaza Mom: Palestine, Politics, Parenting, and Everything in Between (Just World Books, 2011) and co-author of the The Gaza Kitchen (Just World Books, 2012). She is also a contributing author of The Goldstone Report: The Legacy of the Landmark Investigation of the Gaza Conflict and a policy advisor with al-Shabaka, the Palestinian Policy Network. El-Haddad writes principally for the al-Jazeera English website and the Guardian.
This article was first published in Electronic Intifada 2007.
I have just found out that I studied in Jordan. I swear I did not know that. Well, that is not the only recent
discovery I’ve made about myself. I have been learning many new things about myself as a Palestinian individual, all by coincidence. For instance, a few minutes ago I learnt that I took my BA degree from Jordan. No, I am not losing my mind. Or maybe I am.
It is funny how when we Palestinians are striving to prove and maintain our Palestinian identity others still perceive us as aliens. It is as if the concept of “Palestine” only exists in our heads. Well, that was actually a comment I heard by a Jewish American comedian several ago. I can never forget that show. It made me feel as an invisible entity although I was still in elementary school. But since then, lots of struggles to try to make our voices heard have materialized. Nevertheless, our attempts to make the world recognize us as Palestinians seem to be all in vain.
Two weeks ago, a colleague from work asked me for some help with a visa application. The place of origin was filled with the word “Jordan,” though he is purely Palestinian, and has never left Palestine. Apparently he noticed my astonished facial expressions, and before I uttered anything, he said, “all the travel agencies consider us Jordanians.” I did not spend much time thinking it through nor arguing it.
However, for the past month or so, I have been filling out some schools’ applications. Most of them are American. It gets easier by time to repeat what you first have trouble in articulating and then jotting down. All follow the same pattern, yet not when it comes to the nationality part. Of course, “Palestine” is never provided as an option. It crushes one’s feelings to find out that you are not considered what you believe you are. It is like hallucinating while the whole world mocks you.
For some schools, I have to select “Israel,” for others “the Palestinian Authority,” or “the Palestinian Territory.” Note that it is singular — territory rather than territories.
Anyhow, we have got used to those variations. And finding that the notion of “Palestinian,” whether authority, territory, or any other affix is provided, lightens us up. It still somehow reveals part of our identity, as long as it is declared. It entails that we are visible, and we Palestinians are accepted and respected as well. It brings back the feeling of being an internationally acknowledged national.
But what really struck me the most is this last joke: we are Jordanians. According to this last application in my hand, Birzeit University (my school) is in Jordan, and my BA degree is awarded, for that matter, from Jordan. For someone who has never been outside the West Bank, it makes me really wonder just how I got my degree from abroad.
The concept of being nameless and without an identity once sounded surreal to me when I was submerged in the world of literature and novels. It is like the classic English literature during Queen Elizabeth’s reign when women were nameless, or the African-American literature where human beings are alienated. I heard that history repeats itself, but didn’t realize that literature could be made literal.
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