Remembering Al-Nakba

Not to dwell on the past, wallow in self-pity, or cement a culture of victimhood, but today is the 62nd anniversary of Al-Nakba.

I remember those who 62 years ago lost their fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, their lands, their homes, their orchards and fields, their livelihoods and their future in the creation of the Israeli state in 1948.

Not because Al-Nakba--the Catastrophe--is the worst thing that was ever done against a people, or because it was the most recent, or more memorable than other people's catastrophes. But because there are still millions and millions of Palestinians who live in refugee camps in what's left of Palestine, in Lebanon, Syria and Jordan. Since 1948! Children are born into refugee camps, grow up there, and die there.

I remember Al-Nakba because there are yet millions who live under Israeli occupation in Gaza and the West Bank, their every move restricted by Israeli soldiers. I live this reality every day, too, and even though my EU passport can take me out of here whenever I want to, I have understood what this means. It's stripping people of their freedom, every day. For the last 62 years.

I remember Al-Nakba because it marks the day when independence was taken away from one people. So that another could claim theirs.

 Sabr--Patience in Arabic--the Symbol for the Un-uprootable Connection Between Palestinians and Their Land