Here's my little tidbit from Israel/Palestine for today. By the way, on the
podcast, Tel Aviv Review , I learned about a book which the Israeli Ministry
of Education has banned, I assume, from classrooms. I don't know if they
have the power to ban it from libraries also. The name of it is All The
Rivers. It's a novel written by an Israeli author about an Israeli young
woman and a Palestinian young man who are both living temporarily in New
York in 2003 and fall in love. The book is banned because it is, according
to the ministry, about miscegenation.
Below my name is my little article for today.
Miriam
Mondoweiss
Iftar on the rubble
Israel/Palestine
Nora Lester Murad on June 20, 2017
Iftar dinner by the rubble of the Fawaqa family home, demolished by the
Israeli authorities, Sur Baher, East Jerusalem, June 13, 2017. (Photo: Nora
Lester Murad)
My father was a social worker on Los Angeles skid row for decades. He felt
deeply about the humanity of homeless people, and he did what he could to
help each person to have a better life. Herb Lester, my father, saw
homelessness as a humanitarian disaster; he saw it as the failure of
governments to ensure the well-being of their people. And he felt a
responsibility to act.
If my father were still living, he would have been appalled to hear about
the demolition of Ashraf and Islam Fawaqas home in the Sur Baher
neighborhood of Jerusalem. He would have been furious that Israel
intentionally and systematically makes Palestinian families homeless.
I was thinking about my father on June 13 at the Iftar on the Rubble,
which I organized with my friends at the site of Ashraf and Islams
demolished home.
We planned the Iftar to show solidarity with Ashraf and Islam, and the tens
of thousands of Palestinian families whose homes have been demolished,
partially demolished, or sealed, and who live every day under the imminent
threat of demolitions by the Israel authorities. I felt compelled not only
by the humanitarian instincts I inherited from my father (and mother), but
also by my profound disappointment in the United Nations coordinated
humanitarian response, a prominent feature of the Jerusalem landscape, but
not, in my point of view, an effective one.
Home demolition is not merely an Israeli administrative policy, as it is
often presented in the western media. Home demolition is part of Israels
political strategy to expel Palestinians from any place they want control,
often through the establishment of Jewish settlements.
Given the magnitude of the impact of demolitions on Palestinians, I have
long felt that the humanitarian sector should do more to fulfill its
protection mandate. Protection involves reducing vulnerability, and for
me, this means humanitarians should provide proactive, robust help to
strengthen at-risk communities. Even after demolition, the response of
humanitarian organizations is inadequate, bureaucratic, and according to
some families, demeaning.
My friends and I felt that the least we could do to show these
familiesfamilies who are on the frontline of the continuing Nakbathat they
have real allies, that they are not alone.
On the night of the Iftar on the Rubble, local and international media were
in attendance as Ashraf and Islam Fawaqa talked about the demolition of
their home on May 4 and how they now live in limbo on the rubble of the
demolition site.
Islam Fawaqa holds her daughter Aya, in front of rubble that remains after
the Israeli authorities demolished her home in the Sur Baher neighborhood of
East Jerusalem, June 13, 2017. (Photo: Nora Lester Murad)
Munir Nusseibeh of the Al Quds Community Action Center, one of Jerusalems
most prominent lawyers, spoke about how demolitions are increasing and the
danger demolition poses to the ability of Palestinians to stay in Jerusalem.
Nurredin Amro, whose home was demolished on March 15, talked about his
experience. His wife, Nabiha, spoke about the terrible psychological impact
the demolition had on their children.
Powerful as it was to hear these families talk about their experiences, I
think my father would have agreed that the real accomplishment was the Iftar
itself. Muslims break the Ramadan fast at the sunset call to prayer, and
thats when the nearly 75 attendees pulled out the dishes they brought and
set them out on long tables the Fawaqas had rented for the occasion. There
were grape leaves stuffed by the Domari of Jerusalem, home baked cookies,
whole meals contributed by the zakat society, and roasted chicken donated by
Jerusalem Hotel and Café La Vie, dried figs and juice and more donated by
Tanour Market and Abu Zahra Market. People from different walks of life,
Palestinians and international solidarity activists, sat elbow to elbow and
ate.
The sun went down and the temperature dropped, but people did not rush to
leave. They stayed and talked and talked and talked. In the dim spotlight
Ashraf rigged, an unusual mix of human beings enjoyed the cool Jerusalem
breeze together on the rubble of the Fawaqa family home.
Fawaqa family sits inside of a tent erected out front of their demolished
home in the Sur Baher neighborhood of East Jerusalem. (Photo: Iftar on the
Rubble)
I felt my fathers presence with us that night in Sur Baher, Jerusalem. Like
me, he would have been heartened by this real humanitarianism. It wasnt
programmed. It wasnt funded. And it wasnt part of anyones three-year
plan. It was just people caring for people. And it felt hopeful.
