Smell the Jasmin and Taste the Olives: You're in Palestine

الخميس 07 نيسان 2011

Words and Photos by Jude Sajdi

This time it didn’t take us endless hours to cross the border, as the trip was relatively smooth. It was a calm Saturday morning with not much traffic. I also learnt my lessons, and refrained from using my camera. So instead of an intimidating interrogation at the Israeli check point for reasons why I would be spying on Israel, I got an ‘ahhh, Khilweh inti’ with a smirk from the sleaze ball checking my passport. Pause. ‘Araf yi’rifak’

Our previous trip in September, which was technically my first, was overwhelming. It was my first time to experience occupation one on one; to go through tight security checks; to be looked down on; to experience boarder checks between each city; to see sniper towers and military tanks as part of normal everyday activity (although it was far from normal); to find ugly ‘Lego-like’ settlements everywhere I turned my head; to experience the apartheid wall firsthand; to feel restrained, oppressed and overly frustrated. I experienced all of this at an unusual time; I was in the holiest place on earth, during the holy month of Ramadan. That trip will forever be carved in my mind – every single detail of it.

This time however was different. It wasn’t the first, but it was still sentimental. Palestine was beautiful as ever; it was the perfect time and the perfect weather. We stayed in Ramallah for the most part, with short visits to Nablus and Jenin in between. Spring had arrived there, bringing with it the most beautiful greenery, and blossoming flowers, to keep the famous Palestinian olive trees some company for a few months. This, along with the hills of Ramallah and the colorful skyline, made picture perfect landscapes that left us in awe everywhere we looked.

I can tell you about the hills, the ageless olives, the endless green and the old houses of Ramallah, how beautiful they are. I can tell you how every corner tells a story, I can tell you about the coast of Yafa, which has been occupied since 1948, I can tell you how you can get a glimpse of it from hilltops of Ramallah. I can tell you about the sea, which you can no longer swim in or visit. I can tell you about all these things, and even show you pictures. But words and pictures will not do them justice… As much as I tried, I couldn’t quite grasp the feeling in any of the pictures; the serenity, the beauty and purity of this occupied land. This visit got me to realize – there is a reason why this land is holy, and there is a reason why it is occupied.

In 1914 Chaim Weizmann, later president of the World Zionist Congress and the first president of Israel said:

‘In its initial stage Zionism was conceived by its pioneers as a movement wholly depending on mechanical factors: there is a country which happens to be called Palestine, a country without a people, and, on the other hand, there exists the Jewish people, and it has no country. What else is necessary, then, than to fit the gem into the ring, to unite this people with this country?’

To every Zionist out there, to every supporter of this apartheid regime, to every person who believes that Palestine is a country without a people, I tell you this: the people of Palestine exist; the people of Palestine will not cease to exist for years and years to come, and they are as great as their cause.

Abu William is Palestinian. He’s a husband and father of four. He owns a sweet little Italian restaurant in down town Ramallah. He believes that with people comes knowledge, and with knowledge comes power. ‘Don’t worry my loves’ he said, ‘There are so many good people in Palestine who are fighting. You, I, him and her, together, we will get Palestine back’

Noora is Palestinian. Her family is split into two because of the occupiers, who gave half of them Palestinian nationality but refused the other half. As a result, she lives with her sister and mother in Ramallah, while the rest are scattered all over the world. She also holds an American passport, but chose to stay in her hometown and work in performing arts. Her weapon is the Palestinian folklore.

Abu Fuad is Palestinian. He’s an 80-year-old Fallah from Al-Luban who visits Ramallah once a week to sell his produce. He sits in one of the side streets of Al-Manara Square, and greets the by-passers while selling walnuts. He told me that he’s one of the biggest land-owners in Palestine and asked me to have breakfast with him: boiled eggs.

Um- Isam is Palestinian. She lives in Jenin in her 90-year-old house. She loves her home and refuses to move anywhere else. A cup of tea every morning on her balcony, which overlooks the whole of Jenin, is worth the world to her. She is a fighter. When the IDF soldiers invaded Jenin in 2002, which later turned into a massacre, Um-Isam’s house was hit. Part of her house, including the living room and garden, were completely destroyed. She still refused to leave, and stayed in her house which was half torn down, because ‘these soldiers had to know that someone lives here’.

There still are some good people out there. There still is a Palestinian heart, and as long as it’s still beating, no soldier, no resolution, no settlement, no tank, and no wall will stand in its way. Long live Palestine, and long live her people.

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