Saja – An Iraqi at the Iraqi Cemetery in Jenin
By Saja • Jun 27th, 2009 at 20:51 • Category: Biography, Children's Corner, Culture and Heritage, Features, Newswire, Palestine, Religion, Resistance, Somoud: Arab Voices of Resistance, War, Zionism
The original plan was to visit Palestine to express solidarity with Palestinians. But what ended up happening was that Palestine immersed me in solidarity to my ears.
Aside from learning valuable lessons in the strength of the Palestinians’ resilience and dedication to freedom, which I could write an entire book about, my two trips to Palestine have convinced me that Palestinians hold extraordinary reverence for Iraq, perhaps more than Iraqis even care for ourselves. For an Iraqi to be in Palestine truly means to love and be loved. For every single Palestinian I met, just being born in Baghdad and speaking in a functional Iraqi accent was enough for them to express humanity and generosity one encounters only in Hatem Al-Taie(1)
Karen Armstrong wrote that some people have a God-shaped hole in their conscience. An expatriate for a long time, I have an Iraq-shaped hole in mine. Every Palestinian I met seemed to feel personally responsible for filling that hole with their memories of Iraq, pointing me to graffiti of solidarity with Iraq, condemning the US occupation, refusing to accept a penny for services and goods, and suggesting that I visit the Iraqi cemetery in Jenin. The Iraqi army had defended Palestine against the invading Zionist army in 1948 and liberated Jenin, an area that witnessed another heroic battle some 54 years later during the second intifada. Jenin Refugee Camp played a key role in the Palestinian people’s resistance to their occupation and subjagation. This in turn led the Zionist occupying forces to murder and imprison scores of the Camp’s residents and demolish many of its houses.
The road to Jenin Refugee Camp that sunny morning in July 2005 was every bit as heartwarming for this perpetually homesick Iraqi as was the camp itself. I shared the taxi, called "the service", with four people and my friend from Britain, Rana. The man in the seat in front of us had worked as an engineer in Baghdad in the 1980's. During our journey to the camp, he told me about the bridges he helped build over the Tigris. Although we'd known the guy for only two hours and were most likely never going to see him again, when we arrived at our destination he paid for my and Rana's full taxi fee over our objections!
I had asked the father of my host family in Jenin Refugee Camp, whom I had met briefly on my previous Palestine trip, to direct us to a hotel. But he insisted that we stay at his house. Chatting on the roof of their house, which overlooks the entire camp, I was very surprised when he told me the first night I got there that the occupation of Iraq had caused five guys from the camp to have heart attacks! I've never even heard of any expatriate Iraqis who were that devastated over anything that has happened in Iraq since 2003 (let's not even talk about the Iraqis who celebrated the war). He introduced me to his little children and nephews and nieces, who all had the Sba’ AlFalluja (Lions of Falluja) song memorized. He said people in the area did their zaffa (wedding) to that song!
His 12 year old son told me how Jenin Refugee Camp collected a million pencils to send to Iraq during sanctions. They couldn't physically deliver them to Iraq, of course, because of the borders. The father told me how Iraq had sent trucks of supplies to Palestine that said "to our people in Palestine" instead of "to our brothers in Palestine". Those trucks were never allowed in either. However, while borders stop solidarity cargo between Iraq and Palestine, they don't stop the free flow of solidarity sentiments, as I was about to learn at the cemetery.
On my first trip to Palestine four months before that, I had visited the cemetery of Jenin's martyrs from the April 2002 incursion. I revisited the Jenin Cemetery the day before I went to the Iraqi Cemetery. Our host family’s eldest daughter, 10 years old, was our guide. Visiting the cemetery where her relatives and friends were buried seemed as normal to her as kids in other countries visiting playgrounds.
A Palestinian historian from Haifa told me there were a couple more Iraqi cemeteries in Nablus, but I didn't have a chance to see those. It is clear, though, that this one in Jenin is the best known Iraqi cemetery in Palestine (if not the best known outside Iraq generally).
My hosts suggested taking me to the Iraqi cemetery my first night in Jenin Camp (after a feast and tea with basil), and of course I jumped to the opportunity. It was dark because there were no street lights, and the gates were locked. But the flash on my camera was strong enough to show the picture I took of the sign on the door. It displayed the martyrdom verse from the Quran. Under it: “Palestine’s martyrs from the Iraqi Army in the Battle of Jenin”, then a beautiful poem about the brotherly bond that this place symbolized.
We went again the next day during the afternoon. There was a guard on duty. You don't see guards even at cemeteries in the US, so this was a sign of serious concern for the martyrs of a war that happened six decades ago. My heart always flutters when I encounter the slightest indication of my beleaguered homeland; when I see an Iraqi painting or when I overhear a child speaking Iraqi at a supermarket for instance. So I had told myself to be ready for a grand meeting with Iraq at the cemetery, but little did I know what lay ahead. When I entered the cemetery I spent a few of the most profound minutes of my entire life.
Much of Jenin Camp was flattened in April 2002. I had just seen the victims' graves for myself earlier that day. I saw maimed people. I met the mothers of martyrs. I saw the "football field" that a belligerent drunk Zionist soldier decided to make, and went on a demolition rampage in his bulldozer. But Jenin somehow managed to display very high esteem towards the Iraqi martyrs. In spite of their dire economic situation and the devastation of their lives and livelihoods under Zionist occupation, Palestinians have flooded the graves of the Iraqi martyrs of 1948 near Qabatiya/Jenin with flowers and wreaths. The cemetery is protected by a wall, and is very well taken care of. You'd think a Palestinian royal dynasty was buried here. Such courtesy and generosity from people who have been robbed of everything. The Iraqi soldiers are held in such high reverence, as if 1948 occurred just yesterday.
For the first time ever, I was in a place where Iraqis were buried. I've never been to Iraq. So my connection to Iraq has always been abstract. There was never anything tangible or concrete between Iraq and me. To enter the space of a large number of dead Iraqis was overwhelming. I'd been disconnected all my life from the heroisms that my homeland has produced, and I've regretted not being there for Iraq during its anti-occupation protests. Iraq was always accessible to me only as images on a TV or computer screen, news headlines, ink on paper, words of solidarity from activists, memories buried deep in my parents' conscience. But Iraq suddenly manifested itself to me as I stood in Jenin where my fellow Iraqis had once roamed.
My fellow Iraqis' bodies were beneath this soil. Their spirits were present, stroking Jenin's blossoms and living on in its people's fond memories. The Iraqi cemetery near Qabatiya captures a memorable moment in history. Here, time has frozen to preserve a shrine for the call of duty that these Iraqi soldiers heeded. Here, time embodies the warm, sincere emotions that Palestinians selflessly hold towards Iraq, which is a lesson in humanity in itself. How a people, in spite of 60 years of brutal Zionist occupation, can afford the emotional and material capacity to care so genuinely for another people attests to the steadfastness of the Palestinian spirit and the selflessness of the Palestinian character. Khalil Gibran's words from The Prophet are a proper description for the special interaction between time, duty, solidarity, love and transcendence of geographical boundaries here in the Iraqi cemetery:
That which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space. Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless? And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the center of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds? And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless? But if you thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons, and let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.
Moments within walking into the cemetery, when its deep significance struck me, a profound sadness engulfed me. I, usually talkative, became silent. This Iraqi flag and these Iraqi graves for people who were killed by foreign Zionist aggression in 1948 probably resemble the graves where Iraq's victims of today's foreign American aggression are buried in Baghdad and elsewhere. My host family's kids, who are far more mature than their age, must've noticed a sad expression on my face, and they walked to the opposite corner of the cemetery to give me some space. Rana asked if I was ok, and I nodded without saying a word, fearing that the tears I'd been holding back might start flowing if I spoke.
I suddenly forgot everything outside these walls that usually consumes every waking and sleeping moment. The US occupation of Iraq, the Zionist occupation of Palestine, my work in Ramallah, my family, my friends; all these thoughts ceased. The cemetery engulfed every iota of my existence.
This piece of Palestinian land was much more than soil under which fighters from my homeland were buried. I'd mentioned to my hosts from Jenin Refugee Camp that I'd never been to Iraq and they understood that my lifelong dream has been to go home. I finally understood why they really wanted me to see the Iraqi cemetery. They were exceptionally generous towards me and Rana, both emotionally and materially, but this was their ultimate expression of hospitality; they were placing me in Iraq. They were giving me, a lifelong expatriate, a strip of my homeland. Such a thoughtful gift, indeed an oasis for a lifelong desert dweller, was more precious than I can ever hope to pay back.
The closest I had ever physically been to Iraq before that was on a highway in Jordan when I was 14 years old. I saw a road sign that pointed to "Iraq", so I rolled down the car window and took a deep breath, hoping I was filling my lungs with an Iraqi breeze that escaped the Iraqi border. But here in the cemetery, for the first time in my life, I finally felt home thanks to my hosts' thoughtfulness. For giving me these few minutes in my homeland, Jenin has my eternal gratitude.
Probably noticing that I was so stunned, the father of my host family gently woke me from my bittersweet stupor by asking if I wanted to take any pictures. So I approached the tombstones and read the names on them. Many were "unknown".
Some tombstones had very Iraqi-sounding names like Kathim, Hussain, Abbas, Khthayir, which are commonly used by Iraqi Shiis. These engraved names are gems from an era when imaginary sectarian divisions didn't stop Iraqi Arab Shiis from fighting and dying alongside Palestinian Arab Sunnis.
While the cemetery of Jenin's martyrs in the April 2002 assault had shrubs and bushes, here in the Iraqi cemetery fully grown trees stood tall. Many years from now, when Palestinians visit the graves of the Palestinian brothers who defended Iraq in 2003 against US aggression, they'll notice tall palm trees casting shade and chronicling the passage of time.
I saw the seal of the Iraqi state engraved on a tombstone. My country's seal, my people's tombstones, my Iraq right here. As burdened as I felt by the heavy hand of death, Iraq’s motherly presence quenched my yearning for my homeland.
My host family told me there used to be an Iraqi tank from the 1948 war parked outside the cemetery. It sat there for nearly 60 years, but the Zionists removed it very recently. If I live long enough to see liberation in my lifetime, and after we reclaim our self-determination, our oil, our children's happiness, our infrastructure, our looted art, maybe we can reclaim this tank as a souvenir of intra-Arab solidarity.
The cemetery was a microcosm of Iraq and probably a window on my own future. Will it feel like this when I finally go home? Is this a small scale of how conflicted I will feel when I see Baghdad? Torn at the sight of its bombarded streets and oppressed population, but at the same time relieved to finally thrust myself into the embrace of my hometown?
On the 15th of July 2005, an Iraqi stood in the Iraqi cemetery in Jenin despite the overwhelming odds of the Zionist occupation, the barbed wire, the checkpoints, the barriers and numerous other obstacles. As if that wasn’t touching enough, my hosts later said I was the first Iraqi to walk there since 1948. Since that day, I've asked myself what good deeds I must've done in my life to deserve this privilege. Unable to think of any, I can only perceive this visit as a footnote in the long narrative of the Arab struggle, a testimony that our superpower oppressors and their lethal weapons will never stand in the way of our compassion with each other.
[i] Hatem Al-Taie, a pre-Islamic Arab poet, was an icon for Arab hospitality
Saja is Flinging words at the invaders and their house Arabs.
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Your words touched me deeply.
You, an Iraqi, speaking of your profoundly moving experience in Jenin, brought tears to the eyes of this Canadian woman, touched my soul.
Having grown up never knowing such ups and downs in my life, words fail me but somehow yours resonate through me.
Thank you for sharing this moment with me, with the world.
I didn't get to the cemetery, but I did witness family values and experienced hospitality in the homes of underground Fatah during my journey to Jenin camp, by way of Zababdeh and led by destiny.
I first visited the impoverished West Bank Christian village of Zababdeh in June 2005, with Dr. Khaled Diab, the founder of the Interfaith Olive Trees Foundation for Peace. The first-and so far only- Olive Trees Foundation for Peace’s Keep Hope Alive Olive Grove and Playground is in Zababdeh.
In June 2005, the grounds around the Melkite/Greek Catholic Church were rocky and barren. Nine months later I returned with a SABEEL group and found the grounds had been transformed by the Melkite priest, Firas Khoury Diab-no relation to Dr. K. Diab, an American Palestinian Muslim.
Firas Diab built the decorative stone wall that embraces the area where one hundred trees, thick green ground cover, benches, a swing set and a slide now occupy the once desolate area.
He told my Sabeel group, “We need your love, we need your presence. We need your eyes and voices to share with the world the suffering of our people. We need you to come and see how we carry the Cross of Christ for we are the Living Stones; the forgotten one’s whose destiny is to love everyone, be they Jew, Muslim, Druze. We practice the love of our Lord and we ask you to tell your government we are people of peace!”
I last saw Fr. Frias Diab in July 2007:
My driver with VIP plates and I left Jerusalem at 9:45 AM and what had once been an hour and a half's drive took us nearly three, but the Palestinians we passed along the way stuck at the checkpoints might possibly still be waiting there…
Once we cleared Beirzeit, I took my first deep breath of fresh air and rested my eyes upon miles of mountain vistas of thousands of olive trees and a few Bedouins whose only shelter was a ripped plastic tent, and who were out grazing a small herd of sheep. There were scattered Arab homes, some quite palatial and then the familiar clumps of red roofed settlements built on the mountain tops and one mount occupied by a half dozen caravans/trailers: the first sign of a new colony.
When we got to the checkpoints, and only because we had the ‘right’ license plate, we were allowed to bypass the queue of scores of Palestinian cars and hundreds of individuals who waited underneath a metal enclosure like sardines in a tin can who are denied the freedom of movement. I wondered why there weren’t at the least explosions of temper, for if such a scene happened in America, there would be an incredible outrage.
Racism is visible on the front of every motor vehicle, for Palestinian plates are green with white numbers; Israelis are yellow with black and VIP cars white with black. The latter two get waved on through, but green and white means you wait, wait, and wait.
When we approached the checkpoint at Wad Elbedar Valley, my driver confessed his anxiety, “I am very afraid of the Israeli’s but also this is dangerous territory; Nablus, Jenin and Qalquiylia.”
I smile and tell him, “Relax, we are doing nothing wrong and I am on a mission from God.”
The soldier who looked about twelve took my passport as I smiled my biggest smile at him.
“Where are you from?”
“America, I help pay your salary. Where are you from?”
“Israel.”
“You were born here?”
“Yes, Haifa.”
“Nice place.”
“Yes, very nice and what are you doing here?”
“I am visiting a priest in Zababdeh.”
“Okay, enjoy.”
“Thanks, bye bye.”
My driver then tells me, “The original plan was to take you only part way and then pass you onto a Palestinian driver, but you would be sitting in the line for hours, just like every Palestinian.”
In the West Bank there are no road signs, so at every fork in the road, my driver repeatedly flagged down taxi’s who all willingly stopped and graciously directed us the way we should go.
Ten minutes from Zababdeh, the priest I was to meet, pulls out in front of us and leads us the rest of the way to his home and church grounds, where the very first and only Olive Trees Foundation Olive Grove and Children Park took root in 2005. I have been to the property three times now, and my first time was as the Christian delegate for the non-profit Olive Trees Foundation for Peace, dedicated to raising awareness about the trees destroyed by The Wall and raising funds to help replant them.
After we greeted each other, I asked, “How did you just so happen to be on the road when we were passing through?”
“The Holy Spirit directed me,” he replied with a smile.
My second visit to the priest’s home and church had been on March 14, 2006, as a member of a Sabeel [Arabic for The Way] reality tour through the West Bank.
That was the very same day that the Israeli Forces stormed the Jericho prison and the Al Aqsa Brigade issued a warning and demanded that all USA and British citizens immediately vacate the West Bank or they would be abducted.
Ahmed Sa’adat and four other Palestinians had been detained at the Jericho Prison since 2002, despite a court decision ordering their release. They were accused of assassinating the former Israeli Tourism Minister Rehavam Ze’evi in 2001. They had been detained under the jurisdiction of the Palestinian Authority under the supervision of guards provided by the UK and USA in accordance with an agreement reached between the British, USA, Israel and the PA.
It was immediately after the withdrawal of the American and British troops that the raid took place. The guards had announced their intention to withdraw from the prison but they made no alternative arrangements for their absence. The IDF then began their assault in the absence of any alternative safety-nets. After the American and British forces abandoned the Jericho prison and the IDF showed up demanding Saadate come out with his hands up, rumors began flying throughout the West Bank that the Third Intifada had begun.
Our group had also planned to be in Jericho the very next day, but as John Lennon sang, "life is what happens while you are busy making other plans." We did.
Our group learned the news of Jericho while we were breaking bread with the Christians in the village of Zababdeh. Our Sabeel group had been advised by the locals that although we were perfectly safe with them, we should leave the West Bank ASAP and forget about our plans to visit the Jenin Refugee Camp and our meeting with Badil: the Resource Center for Palestinian Residency and Refugee Rights.
Before we left for Nazareth instead, we learned that there are 5,000 Christians left in all of the northern West Bank. 3,500 are in Zababdeh and over one million Muslims surround them. The priest affirmed, “We all have lived in peace together for centuries. We need your love, we need your presence. We need your eyes and voices to share with the world the suffering of our people. We need you to come and see how we carry the Cross of Christ for we are the Living Stones; the forgotten one’s whose destiny is to love everyone, be they Jew, Muslim, Druze. We practice the love of our Lord and we ask you to tell your government Palestinians are people of peace!”
On July 23, 2007 my plan was to finally see the Jenin refugee camp and within three minutes of my arrival the priest’s best friend, a Muslim drove up and invited me to go and see the facts on the ground in the 100% Muslim, Jenin refugee camp with hope to meet some of the Fatah underground.
In the car, the priest tells me, “There are 2,500 Christians now left in Zababdeh and just over 1,000 Muslims and we have always gotten along. Whenever I have a problem here, I go to Jenin and get help there.”
We traveled past the five years young American Arab University where medical and law students from Israel and Palestine study together. The priest informs me, “We are suffering now. The Israelis denied to renew the visas for the American teachers because they do not like them opening America’s eyes. The teachers tell all about the suffering, hunger and anger of the occupied.”
Jenin refugee camp is home for nearly 20,000 Palestinians who share one square kilometer of land. Within seconds of stopping the car on one of the winding narrow alleys, an elderly woman in the typical Muslim dress approaches us with a broad smile and immediately invites us all to her home for coffee and lunch.
People who actually know Palestinians are well aware of their hospitality and desire to feed one. We thankfully decline as we are on the way to meet 40 year old Krozow, number two leader of El Katib; the underground resistance movement within the Fatah party.
In English, Krozow translates to “good fighter” and Fatah stands for Palestinian Liberation Movement. A new logo has replaced the former depicting two hands holding two guns; to two hands, with one hand holding one gun and the other hand holding an olive branch in memory of Arafat’s pledge at the UN, “Don’t let me drop this olive branch, don’t let me drop this olive branch, don’t let me drop this olive branch!”
Krozow was 16 the first time he was sent to prison for throwing rocks in 1985. He was released in ’88 and resumed his resistance to the occupation and was sent back to jail from 1990-1994, when he was released under the Oslo accords.
Krozow greets us warmly and his beautiful smiling children keep entering the room to look at me, for red blonde hair is a rarity in occupied territory. Krozow patiently and lovingly hugs them all and picks them up in a bear hug and with a broad smile, deposits them back outside the living room door. He returns with water, then after another child enters the room, he repeats the ritual but this time returns with coffee, the third time with orange soda.
He informs me, “Last week Israel and Abbas agreed that 232 persons here would hand over our weapons. We did and Israel agreed that they would not attack the camp. Yesterday the soldiers came and shot out the street lights. The children watched from the windows and saw it all. They also saw when the Israelis shot and burned up an ambulance and the man inside died. What can children think when they must see these things?
“The camp is a warm place because children dream of freedom. My son is 4 years old and he knows all about weapons. All his words are about the Israelis attacking us and Apache helicopters that drop bombs. Children all over the world get to go play outside, but here all they see are soldiers who come every day to terrorize.
“We are not violent people, but we do resist the occupation, as is our right. What if Russia came to occupy American, wouldn’t you fight? I support Abbas, but he believes in negotiations, I believe in resisting the occupation. Abbas is the political Fatah, they drive Mercedes and roll up their windows and shutout the suffering of the people. I am dedicated to the people and to protecting them from the IDF. We are people under occupation and we would all love to have our children grow up free and live like children anywhere else in the world, who can play outside, go swimming and not have to see soldiers all the time. The Israeli’s tell the world we are violent, but we are only against their occupation. What if Russia came and occupied America, wouldn’t Americans resist?
“Hamas sends people out to Israel and targets civilians. The underground Fatah movement does not do that, we defend our home ground against Israeli forces. I take care of my family, home and community. I do not target innocent people.
“Last week Abbas told us to surrender our weapons and the PA would take care of the people. I surrendered all I had except for this one hand gun, for my personal safety against the Israelis. Every night I leave my home and sleep in the Mukatar [Palestinian government building in Jenin City].
“We have every right to live like the Israelis. My dream is for a viable Palestinian state, but they have cut up the West Bank and the only way to solve the problem is to give Palestinians the right to live like human beings everywhere else in the world, the right to our land, to move with freedom, the right to a good life like the Israelis.
“I have no hope for the immediate future, but I have hope for my children that American taxes will stop going to buy Apache helicopters that bomb them. My dream is that there will be a political agreement between Israel and Palestine and so all children can live in peace. Our relationship with Christians is we are brothers. We are looking to have peace with all the sons of Abraham.”
I stand to thank him for his time and his mobile phone rings. It is Zechariah the number one commander of the underground El Katib Fatah resistance movement and he has agreed to speak with me, in the proverbial “five minutes.” In Palestine five minutes can easily take hours, but I sit back down and Krozow brings the fruit out. After a forty minute wait another phone call and the message received is to leave the camp and drive to where Zechariah is staying that day.
The priest tells me, “Zechariah is number one on the wanted list by the Israelis. He is the top man in Jenin and spends his day solving many of the social problems. His mother and brother were both murdered by the Israelis and his three brothers are in prison. Abbas has asked for his support, for Abbas is very worried about Hamas. Hamas has a very different way of thinking and we don’t hate them, but we hate the way they deal with the issues. No one is born a killer and violence only makes more violence. The stupidest thing Palestinians did was pick up weapons. The second stupidest thing they did was target innocent people.”
We arrived in the home of one of Zechariah’s assistant’s and I am informed, “My roof is higher than the roof of Oslo. Your government is controlled by the Zionist agenda. What Americans see on TV and read in the paper is controlled by the Zionist agenda and it is not the truth of what we live and what we are like and what we want. We are living an existence under occupation for 40 years now. All occupied people have been liberated, except the Palestinians. America liberated herself from Britain and we have every right to a free life. We are a resistance movement and Israel calls it terrorism, but we call it resisting occupation.
“The resistance has no strategy to fight Israel and destroy it, or end their existence. Our resistance message to the whole world is that we are people existing under occupation and we can only exist by resisting.
“The more powerful one is the one who must make peace and that is Israel, it is up to them. The weak cannot bring peace and we are not talking peace between nations but between governments. The Holy Land always had all three religions; this land is holy to all the sons of Abraham. Religions idea is suitable for one state, but the political situation doesn’t make it possible. There is no disagreement between the Christians and Muslims here, but we do disagree with the Christians in the U.S.A. who do not come here and see the truth!
“It is wrong news that Jenin is a terrible place to come and visit. What happened in Gaza with Alan Johnston [kidnapped journalist] is not the true Palestinian culture. We are hospitable and it is not our culture to kill.
“My message to the American government is that Arab people do not trust you. You asked for democratic elections and you don’t support the suffering people, you support only Israel. Palestine is a very holy place for Jews, Christians and Muslims and there is no future for the West Bank if it remains under occupation. What we want is freedom from occupation; we want our land, water and refugee rights.”
After coffee and fruit juice, but no sign of Zachariah who was busy dealing with many of the social problems of the people of Jenin, I thanked the ten men who had gathered with me and my three escorts in the living room for their time and information and my driver and I headed back to Jerusalem and some more eye opening checkpoint experiences.
At the Wad Elbedar Valley checkpoint the line of cars extended around the mountain, but my driver passed by and pulled in front of the first in line and we were almost immediately waved into the checkpoint area and after the usual questions of where I am from and why had I come, the soldier handed me back my passport with, “Welcome to Israel.”
After passing through the checkpoint we joined four lines of cars at least a mile long waiting to be funneled into one. It took 30 minutes for us to reach the road home, but the other four lanes of cars waiting to go where we had come from, never moved at all. The people passed their time visiting each other and laughing. I asked my driver to ask one of them how long they had been waiting, “They don’t pay attention to the time, this is normal procedure.”
When we reached the Nablus checkpoint the cars stretched at least a half a mile long and there was no side road for NGO’s and VIP’s, so my driver went down the rocky pitted path and reached a phalanx of rolled barb wire. Somehow, he was able to maneuver around it and turn onto the road first in line at the checkpoint. We waited ten minutes but the soldiers never waved us on, so I got out and walked over to them. They appeared stunned as I approached and announced, “Hi, I am U.S.A. and need to get back to Jerusalem. Can’t you wave us through already?”
As soon as I did, we got the wave and with my biggest smile I handed over my passport as he asked, “Why are you here?”
“To visit with a priest.”
He replied with a smile, “Have a nice day.”
I also was very touched myself when I went there… too many martyers
Then I saw Gaza….
Here is what I saw there: http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=8030E34DC8051C01
Such a kind and patient people, have endured so much…
I will always stand by Palestine.
FREE GAZA! FREE PALESTINE!
[...] Originally posted here: Saja – An Iraqi at the Iraqi Cemetery in Jenin | Palestine Think Tank [...]
Tyler that is a good little play list you have there.
Thank you for sharing. I need to learn how to get around in the new format. I already miss my old account but I cannot get in to do anything anymore, just watch what I have already in my 30+ playlists. grrrrrr
To Eileen.
How can this Krozow person claim that the underground fatah movement does not attack in "israel" when they have sent several suicidebombers and killed many civilians? That's just a crazy thing to claim as fatah has probably killed more civilians than hamas has. At lest hamas supports the rights of the Palestinian people, unlike fatah that change their principles if they get payed for it. It was fatah that was behind oslo, it is fatah that stole money from the people and corrupted the PLO, it is fatah that doesnt do anything to liberate jerusalem and it is fatah that leave the scene when the zionist soldiers come to kill, arrest or terrorize people in the westbank! Does the priest you met in zababdeh support all of this? is this what he means when he says he hates the way hamas deals with things or what? does he want hamas to be collaborators like fatah? i think he has forgotten that many christians voted hamas in because if the option is between fatah and hamas, hamas is the much better choice.
As for the roadsigns, i remember seeing many roadsigns in the Westbank so i dont understand how you can claim that there are no roadsigns in the westbank?
Another thing is there are many blond/red haired people in the westbank, particularly among the Palestinians from Hebron and Nablus as i have seen many people from there with blond hair, especially children so im surprised that you thought those children were looking at you because of your red hair :/ But i havent been in the jenin camp so i dont know about them but those residents are refugees, they arent from the Westbank originally, they are from the parts of Palestine stolen in 1948, which brings me to something else i found strange about what you wrote, namely how one of those fatah underground men said they had no intention of ending israel and that they only wanted to defend their local area, this doesnt sound like something a Palestinian refugee would say as his local area is what is now called israel, that is where he is from, the part of Palestine which he comes from is what the zionists stole and renamed israel so why wouldnt this refugee want his land back if he has joined a resistence group? What, is he resisting so he can live in peace in a refugee camp instead of returning home to his home city or village?
Sorry, but this article sounds a bit fishy, as if true statements have been mixed with false statements.