My name is Sada. Sada means happiness. My father said “If my wife will bring a girl, I will call her Happiness.”  I am 120 years old. I live in Dheisheh Refugee Camp near Bethlehem. When it rains, the house is full of water. I was born in Turkey. My father used to fight with the Turkish army. He ran away from the army. I wanted to be with my father so he took me with him and we came to Palestine. I was twenty years old. We were walking on the bodies of dead people as we came to Palestine.   

In Palestine, we farmed a small piece of land. We seeded it, we planted it. When it rained, the plants came. We harvested the plants. We used to sing the song of the wheat while we were harvesting.  We had animals. I used to milk the cows and sheep. I cooked the milk and everyone liked it.  

We were simple people. We lived in Ramla, Bethlehem, Beit Jala, ‘Ishwa, ‘Islin..... We were under the rule of Britain. Now the land is with the Israelis. The Jewish came after us. They used to come and catch any Palestinian they could. They used to come and shoot us with bombs. We ran away and left our homes. I was married and had 5 kids. All the people of the village ran away at night. We ran to a school. We spent one night at the school. In the morning, a young man came from the village. He was a collaborator. So we ran away from the village. 

They made a camp for us in Dheisheh. This place used to be planted with trees. They cut all the trees so we could have a place to live. The UNRWA came. They brought tents and gave them to the people. We did everything in the tents. I worked as a seamstress. People would bring me fabric. “I can make trousers for you, I can make a shirt for you.” The Bedouin women had beautiful dresses, like English queens. They were many colors and many layers. Many women came to me and I made this dress for them. 

Once I was strong. Now I sit here like a child. I have grandchildren. My grandchildren bathe me and dress me. They do everything for me.  

Once the land was beautiful. Now it is no more.  

Interviewer: Jane Toby from Catskill, New York, who worked for many years with Women in Black and Middle East Crisis Response, Hudson Valley, NY. Interview in cooperation with AEI.

The village I come from is called Al-Walaja Village. When I left my village, I was very young: I was only one year and six months old. My sister was 6 years old. We left at night under fire. It was the time of the Nakba. The Israeli soldiers were shooting at us. My mother carried me in her arms and ran very fast. They shot my mother. The bullet entered the front of her shoulder and went out the back. She was brought to the hospital but she didn’t die.

After that night, we had to move from place to place. When we were in Beit Jala, they brought us to Dheisheh Camp.  In Dheisheh Camp, we lived in tents. In the winter, it was cold and raining. In the summer, it was very hot.  The UNRWA opened schools for us. The teachers taught me to read and write. I went to school for five years. Now I can read and write.

Today I live with my family in Walaja village. It isn’t really our village. We named it after our original village that we had to leave behind. We can still see our village on the hillside across from us, but we aren’t allowed to go there. The Israelis live there now.

Most of our family live in Jordan. Some live in other places like Beit Jala, Dheisheh Camp and Aida Camp. Some of our family live in America. My son Taha was taken to prison when he was thirteen. When we visited him, he could only talk to us from behind thick glass. When he was in prison, he built a miniature replica of the Al Aqsa Mosque. He dreams of praying there one day, though the Israelis won’t give Palestinian men a permit to pray there till they are over fifty. M son Mustafa is a farmer. This winter he was carrying firewood home to us. The Israeli soldiers stopped him and made him stand out in the rain till nightfall. They took his donkey and told him they were taking his donkey to prison.

I like to sew and embroider designs on dresses. I sew by hand. I make bread [shraak] every day for my family. I keep the dough under the covers so that it will rise well. I hope people will visit me so I can offer them warm bread, olive oil, and sage tea.

Interview: January 2008, Al-Walaja. Interviewer: Jane Toby from Catskill, New York, who worked for many years with Women in Black and Middle East Crisis Response, Hudson Valley, NY. Interview in cooperation with AEI.

"It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negroes legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality". These are the words of Martin Luther King Jnr in his famous 'I have a dream' speech of August 1963. Today, these words ring just as true for the predicament that Israel, the Palestinians in Hebron, the West Bank and Gaza find themselves in 60 years since the creation of the state of Israel and 40 years of life under occupation. 

As we accompany Palestinian and Israeli activists on a demonstration against the occupation up Hebron’s Shuhaddah Street adorned in, "I have a dream" T-shirts we are confronted at every turn with the lack of freedom and inequality here. Shuhaddah Street is the chosen location for the demonstration as it connects the settlements in Hebron to each other. Once a thriving commercial, cultural and social heart of Hebron, it now resembles an eerie ghost town with abandoned homes, boarded up shops, destroyed buildings and Star of David graffiti painted on Palestinian doors. Checkpoints and other types of barriers restricting access and freedom of movement are also dotted within short distances of each other.

The former Palestinian residents are notably absent from the city centres main streets which lie empty, the few that remain in the area stay locked in their homes behind cages. Many of those who have stayed, do not have the means to leave. The city's 600 hundred settlers live among 40,000 Palestinians and conduct their daily lives in an open system of segregation enforced by the army. The settlers are protected by the presence of up to 2000 soldiers and carry out regular acts of violence and harassment against their Palestinian neighbours.

Isaa, Fawas, Husam and Hazem residents of the nearby Tel Rumeida neighbourhood walk with us up Shuhaddah Street in an act of non-violent resistance. Soon the army, police and disgruntled settlers unhappy about our presence and peaceful demonstration, surrounds us. The Palestinians amongst us make a quick exit through a partition in the wall near the cemetery for they are forbidden to walk on their cities main streets. Although freedom from occupation remains a distant dream, Fawaaz remains optimistic, "we dream that one day we will have our freedom and rights within our own city and nation".

"Blindfolded History" is a most moving and unusual exhibition in chocolate. It is an expression of political and historical memories of the contentious Palestinian Catastrophe, or Nakbah, when 531 villages and towns were destroyed and the inhabitants displaced and exiled. The artist, Rana Bishara has frozen moments of history using silk-screened chocolate onto sixty sheets of glass, one for each year of since the people's displacement. We see grieving women, a toddler looking up at the barrel of a gun, an Israeli soldier weeping as he holds a dead child, a youth with a catapult, naked Palestinian youths held at gunpoint, a child standing in the ruins of her home. Each moment has been captured once, yet each of these moments has been repeated so often in the last 60 years.

And why did the artist choose unsweetened chocolate as her medium? It refers to many things including a longing for childhood and peaceful innocence, a past unaware of occupation and prohibition - but looks like dried blood over a microscope slide. Sweet Herschey bars were distributed by US troops to Europeans during World War 2 as a symbol of liberation - in this work unsweetened chocolate symbolises mourning.

The artist says her work demonstrates the danger of time. "I can picture the situation in my country as a game of time, where Israel is gaining at each tick."

Bedouins living in Arab ar-rahmadin ash-shamali


Abdallah's family has been living in their hamlet close to Qalqiliya since 1957. He tells us that his grandfather had to leave Bir Saba with his family in 1948, and until 1957 they grazed their sheep in the area around Hebron. When they had to leave from there, they settled in Arab ar-rahmadin ash-shamali. The hamlet consists of 28 people who live off selling young goats and goat's cheese, while keeping chickens and other animals. In addition they make little plastic trinkets that they sell in Qalqiliya.

In 1989, the Zufin settlement was built, and since then the Bedouins have been living inside the fence that surrounds the settlement. They have special permits to go in and out, but they cannot have visitors, and the hamlet has been under a constant threat of demolition for the last ten years. On March 12, 2008, the IDF came with a bulldozer and demolished two of their houses, one for animals, the other a diwan for the men. After the demolition, the IDF handed over a demolition order concerning 10 of their homes - which effectively means the demolition of the rest of the hamlet. It said that the Bedouins had until 28 April 2008 to give a reason to the court why their homes should not be demolished. Abdallah doesn't think that the Israelis want to build on the land. "They just want us out, but we have nowhere to go", he says.

This story of Abdallah and his family is unfortunately not a single case. There are a number of Bedouin families in the Qalqiliya district whose homes are on the other side of the Israeli separation barrier and they all are experiencing increasing hardships in the face of demolitions, lack of infrastructure, and dwindling access to resources.