Nakba #17 - Hayat Dawud Muhammad al-Qawasmi

1941 “The house I grew up in was located on one of Jerusalem’s main streets. The façade was white and the door was blue. When you entered the house, you went down a few steps and arrived in a large room. On the ground floor there was a living room on the right, and on the left there were three bedrooms: one for my parents, with a balcony; one for my brother; and we three sisters shared the third bedroom. Then came the kitchen. We owned three houses in Jerusalem. The house in Baq‘a was built by my father with his own hands. It was three stories high and had six apartments. He built the house for us four children. When it was finished, the British confiscated it. We also owned a fourth house in al-Khalil (Hebron).” 1947 “My family lived in the neighborhood of Qatamon in Jerusalem. We lived in a house that we owned. It was me, my two sisters, my brother, and our parents. We were a very happy family.” (begins to cry) “I still feel the pain in my body. I miss our house and my school. It is a tragedy. How would you feel if you were thrown out of your home? My father owned a printing press and a gas station. He was known throughout Jerusalem for his generosity. People who had problems with the British occupiers often turned to him for help. One day, a woman from Egypt visited us. She explained that she was looking for someone who could show her around Palestine. She needed a car, a driver, and a hotel. My father offered her his car and his driver. ‘My house is your hotel,’ he said. The woman stayed for thirty days. The driver showed her around Palestine. Before she returned home, she gave my father her name and address. ‘Look me up when you come to Egypt. I will receive you,’ she said.” 1948 “The Israeli soldiers were armed, and they kicked us out of our home in Jerusalem. It happened during the day. We left in one of our ten cars, a large Mercedes. My father drove from Jerusalem to our vacation house in al-Khalil. There were five of us in the car: my parents, my two siblings, and me. We were not allowed to take anything with us, only the clothes we were wearing. I was forced to leave my dolls behind. Through the car window I saw men, women, and children fleeing on foot—some were barefoot. Some were walking, others running. Dead bodies were scattered everywhere. When we arrived at the house, my mother cooked food for us, and everything felt fine. I had other clothes and dolls there. My father said we would only stay one week in al-Khalil and then return to Jerusalem.” • What happened after one week? (laughs) “After one week, the Jews had occupied Palestine. My father lost the house, the printing press, nine cars, and the gas station. My father organized the young men in al-Khalil into a resistance movement. He supplied them with food and clothing. On one occasion, he parked his car in a large field. The young men were standing there waiting for him. He had filled the car with weapons. ‘Come on, now we do it—start fighting,’ my father shouted. My father’s men fought the Israelis. They captured some villages and areas, but in the end they were defeated by the Israelis. All the Arab leaders and armies betrayed us. Two months later, the Jews had won.”