embodied experience of occupation

Dear Friends,

My last nights was added to the many nights that made me live once again the attack on my body, family, home, privacy, including the attack on my own bed and bedroom.
It was late at night and since it is Ramadan, Gaby goes to work in his clinic in Wadi El Jozz at 8:30 pm and comes back home at midnight, while I was home, working on finalizing the last touches of a paper that will soon be published in Jadal- an electronic journal of Mada al-Carmel. Gaby called around midnight to say that he was on his way home, but was stuck in traffic. It took him over an hour to find a parking spot for his car, mainly since for the last 9 months, the non-Jewish residents of the Armenian quarter were prevented (I mean kicked out) of the parking lot that is exactly opposite to our building. He called, cursing, while asking me to look from the window – maybe I could detect an empty spot for him to park. At around 1:30 am, he finally succeeded in locating a place, parked the car and walked home. We sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and talking about our daily survival. I went back to my bed, and as usual put my laptop on my lap and continued my work, while Gaby tried to sleep beside me. He was very tiered, and I turned down the light, so as not to bother him. But, it is the Jewish holiday season, and Jews from all over Israel were visiting the Wall, so sleeping was hard, for they were noisy, singing Yerushalayem shelh Zahav ( Jerusalem of Gold); and many other songs, while using musical instruments. They not only were singing and speaking in a very loud voice; they were also ringing our doorbells. It was a very noisy night, were my home, my bedroom, and my serenity was invaded by songs that praise Israel, Jews and Jerusalem. At around 3:00 in the morning, my neighborhood was calmer, Gaby fell asleep, and I decided to reply to the last emails, shut down my computer and go to sleep.
At around 3:40 am, when I turned off the light and went to sleep, I heard very loud noises, but was too tiered to get up. But, again the singing and the noise was too loud, and worried that Gaby might wake up, I jumped from the bed to close the window to prevent him from hearing the clamor. I was so shocked to see, a large group of people, a group of maybe 40 of 50, singing for almost 10-15 minutes in such a loud voice “Mavet La Aravim” Death for the Arabs, while banging their drums. They were singing, in such a loud voice, with such boldness that made me once again tell myself….no Nadera….it is not fear…it is boldness, rudeness, inhumanity, it is their voice that said, “I have the right to live, and you Nadera and your people…you should die.”
Gaby woke up, very disturbed, then said: “why are you surprised? I told him, that these are young soldiers that are visiting the old city, they must have their leaders and captains with them, how could they sing such a slogan, as a group, openly, in such a loud voice, at 3:40 am – how? I know that people might say it, but this way?
Here in the old city, scrawled on the city walls in graffiti you might read “Death to the Arabs”; “Death to Armenians” and more, but singing it so loudly not only attacked my family, home, bed, sleep, and serenity, it also violates all moral codes, measures and mores Israel could claim.

Within this highly oppressive militaristic regime, the home is one of the few places where women can find solace from the exigencies of a domineering government. As the only place for refuge, the home is a place for personal growth and community-building. As such, the home is an oppositional site within a military-state patriarchy and a place where Palestinian women can be safe from the “dual spheres of racism and sexism.”
Our home is one of the greatest powers that produce thoughts, memories; it is our past that was violated, our present and future. In the life of women, the house thrusts aside contingencies, and maintains us during and through hardships and uncertainties. It is an individual’s first world, and ours was attacked and violated.
So, how can I, a Palestinian woman living in the Old City feel safe in my home space? Home time? Homeland? In my own home bed?

Nadera

MyChild

Dearest Friends,

I might start writing letters from the Armenian Quarter of Jerusalem, for every day, there is a new story of fear, agency, and of questioning the physics of power, and today's story requires a serious look at the way our silence, our fears, our worries are affecting the future generation. In my academic/activism work, and mainly in the past 5-6 years I write and work on the political economy of fear, on education, on trauma, and the industry of fear, as I define it. The economies of power, and the trauma of the day to day experience of my people, children, elderly, friends ... makes me wonder, how can we turn a blind eye to such ordeals, how would all this affect our life, and our future?.

Yesterday for example, as we were having our family dinner, my mother in law, a woman who is over 90 years of age, and is one of the survivors of the Armenian Genocide, was looking from my window to see Jewish and Armenian kids fighting. She started calling: "nadera, nadera come see what is going on." I looked from the window, and saw a group of young Jewish boys ( maybe 8 or 9 ) standing on one side of the street, while Armenian girls and boys ( maybe 9 or 10) standing close to the wall of my building, on the side walk . I talked to the young Jewish kids in Hebrew from my window and asked them what happened, one of them replied fast: "we want to hit the small arabs" - Rotzeem le harbeetz la aravim ha ktaneem. I decided to leave my family, and go down talk to both groups.
I went down, and started talking to the Armenian kids, they were telling me that Jewish kids were spitting at them, and cursing them. I asked them to calm down, and told them that I will go to the other side and talk to the Jewish kids. I started asking the other group ( see attached picture taken by Salpy from my window while I was talking to the Jewish kids) why they are fighting. I told them that this is an Armenian building, and neighbours should live in peace with each other. I further explained that we are all neighbours, and showed them were I live, and told them that it would be really sad to see one of them hurt. The youngest child, a short, very handsome and sharp kid replied: " Don't worry, we won't be hurt, we always hurt them". I then explained that in such quarrels anyone could be hurt, and plus we are all neighbours, so why don't we find a better way of solving the problem. Then one other kid told me that the other group is spitting on them, while they are playing in the street. I told him that this is not right, and that I will right away go talk to the other group, and their parents ( all parents were already in the street watching me talking to the kids in Hebrew [ a very small number of my neighbours could converse in Hebrew]) I then asked whether we could try to keep the peace in our area, when another one replied: "see we have our playing area, and football court, it is right there ( pointing to the area behind us); we just do not want the Arabs ( meaning the Armenian children) to come play in our play ground, and if they come we will hit them." Then I again tried to explain, that we should share the area, mainly because this is very small space, and it is the old city, but I did not make sense to the kids, so I went back to my argument that we are neighbours and we should live in peace. I told them that I will speak to the other group, and want to ask both sides not to fight and keep the neighbourhood peaceful. When one of them said: Ok, with us Jews, you could speak, but with the Arab kids, use your hands". I then explained that this is not Jewish behavior, and that Jews lives all over the world and they do not fight with others, and gave them the example of Jewish American. Such an explanation convinced some kids, and made the eldest call them all to leave the area. They left while one told me: "We have a big football yard, we will go play there, and they can't come even close".
I crossed the street and went back to request peace from the Armenian kids, when one of them said: "I do not want peace with them, they keep on hitting us, look at the sticks in their hands" I then explained again that we are neighbours, and we must feel safe with each other, and fighting won't do us good, when another girl said: "so why did they steal our parking ( Armenians were kicked out of the parking lot 8 months ago, now it allows only Jews to park their cars, while we are deprived from doing so- although it is right opposite to our building as you could see from the picture attached)....why can they park their cars and you and my father need to suffer......I don't care, I want to spit at them every time they come close to our building...they have their spaces, this is my area, and I won't let them step in".
It took me a long time, and with the help of the parents, we managed to explained to the kids that it is always better not to fight, when the same girl said: "but I want to fight with them"; so I told her, if you want to fight use your brain, be good to your friends, study well, be an educated woman, take care of your family, this is a better way of fighting back...then when you grow up, you could tell the world your story. Her she asked me: " and then my father will be able to park his car in our parking?? the parking is not for Jews alone...it is our parking, we live here."

Coming back home, my sister in law said that all parents were listening to me, and that it was good to speak to the kids, when my mother in law interrupted her by saying: " what are you talking about, they will come back and hit the kids, in today's world El Haq Ma'a3 el Awwi- Justice is with the powerful" , it is might not right.

And now, while I am looking from my window, I could see two members of yesterdays Jewish group back, waiting with their sticks in their hands on the other side of the street.

Nadera

MyJerusalem

Yesterday night, as the many nights that are passing.... in Jerusalem.... was so heavy to forget।

I was sitting with the family, when we heard sirens, very loud noise, military cars, police cars, and military men speaking in the speakers in a loud voice passing in such a speed in the very narrow streets inside the old city। They all passed in front of my building, in the old city, Armenian Quarter (this is the only street that cars could drive on and could reach the Dome of the Rock and the Wailing Wall)। Fahed, Salpy's boyfriend (both 19 years old) said that something happened, many cars are passing he said: " Aunty, something serious happened". I checked the news to find out that a Jewish settler started shooting Palestinians (two were injured) because he- as stated in the Hebrew news- felt afraid and anxious walking while many Palestinians ( those that were on their way to pray in the Mosque) around him. People from Silwan (a neighborhood 5 minutes from my house and I could see it from my window) heard the shooting, became also anxious and scared and started throwing stones back at the military and police officers that surrounded the area, and that were arresting Palestinians from Silwan.
To hear Palestinians reactions to the attack, made me realize, once again, how dangerous the situation is। But, to see how the police and military treated Palestinians - although not new nor surprising- was very heavy on all of us. They kept people for hours standing on the side, checking each of them, harassing women and children. It was the military and police forces protecting "them" from "us". To find out once again, how our spaces and places are used to confine us, and how they are turned into a prison, was not an easy thing to absorb.


When looking from my window two hours later, one could see how the scene in my street was affected by the continuous power game played in my spaces for so many years. Just by standing on the window, one could hear the very noisy Jews, including Jewish mothers pushing their children's strollers, speaking in Hebrew in a loud voice, walking in the middle of the street while the soldiers and police officers with their riffles and guns are "protecting them" making sure they are safe; ON the other side, and on the side walk, Palestinian families, with young children carried on the shoulders of their fathers and mothers, walk, very close to the wall of my building, with such silence , the kind of silence that speaks much more than words. With their speedy manner of walking, and the noise of their shoes and women's heals, telling a story of humiliation, a story of fear, of power, and of determination to keep on walking.

All of a sudden I heard a young girl (maybe 6 or 7 years old) looking at the man by her and asking him - she saw me looking at her from my window, and raised her voice-..she asked " why did they shoot at us father? :" Leish takho 3aleina Yabba" ; I replied from my window, with a loud voice to maybe protest the imposed silencing, and allow the young girl to hear me, and maybe let the Jewish group that was walking to notice that we are here, and we speak Arabic - maybe to claim my voice. I said:, " Ma ahllaki Ya binet, w- ma asdq suallek- how wonderful your are young girl, and what a fair and just question"- then her father while looking up at me replied: " Yahoud Yabba Yahoud- Jews father, Jews" and the woman walking with them ( I guess the mother) said with low voice : " Hasbiyya alla Wa Ne3meh Al Wakeel". In seconds, the talks in Hebrew re-filled the street, and the silence of the other side filled the side walk...and I kept on looking from my window, wondering what should we do to change this situation? what?

I kept standing, looking from my window, and what I saw was very sharp.The side walk was filled with Palestinian men and women, men with their praying carpets (small carpet) on their shoulders, or with their young kids on their shoulders; while women holding their kids, holding the hands of their children, or carrying a plastic bag filled with stuff (it seems grocery to cook for the next day). When on the other side, in the middle of the street, Jewish prayers, men and women walking, with such confidence, such power, loud voices of both the young and the old ... and then they claim they "fear" Palestinians.

I am not sure where are we heading, but my Jerusalem became such a dangerous zone, such a suffocating zone, a place where necropolitics could be seen day and night, the kind of necropolitics that tell us who should live and who has no right to life.
The little girl's question, why they shot us, reminded me of my questions to my own dad as a young girl, and the questions of my daughters to me.