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Överlevarna

En podd, fyra ämnen: Om de som överlevde Förintelsen, Andra generationen, Det judiska Högalid samt den palestinska Nakba.
Poddens olika projekt har finansieras av bl. a. Statens Kulturråd, Palmefonden, Victoria AB, Kungl. Patriotiska Sällskapet, Helge Ax:son Johnson Stiftelse, Annika och Gabriel Urwitz ´´Stiftelse, Samfundet S:t Erik, bokförlagen Lind & Co och Ordfront samt privata bidragsgivare.

Nkba #18 - Hayat Dawud Muhammad al-Qawasmi by Överlevarna

Nkba #18 - Hayat Dawud Muhammad al-Qawasmi

1946
“My father owned a lot of land where he grew grapes, figs, olives, and other crops. We also had livestock. Many people worked for us during the harvest season. My father died when I was three years old.
I remember the olive harvests. The men stood on ladders picking olives, and the ones that fell to the ground were gathered by the women and carried back to the village.
There were no Jews living in our village. They lived in the neighboring town of Nahariya. There was a doctor there whom one of my sisters-in-law visited. She underwent a minor eye operation there. We had many Jewish friends in Nahariya: Shlomo, Auerbach, and Jitzchak. They worked together with my brothers. They were Palestinian Jews, not like the Jews who came from Russia and Poland.”
- Did you go to school?
“No, we did not have a school for beginners in the village, only for older children. There were only four girls in my village who studied.”
1948
“The Israelis demanded that the village mukhtar surrender. If he did not, we would be expelled. Auerbach, my brothers’ Jewish friend, advised us not to leave the village. But if we were forced to flee, he promised he would help us return.
When the mukhtar refused to surrender, the Israelis attacked the village with heavy artillery. The men defended the village for a week against the Israeli army.
One of my brothers sought out Auerbach to ask him to keep his promise. He objected, saying that because they had fought the Israelis for a week, his promise was no longer valid. The Israelis killed 45 people, mostly elderly people and women.
Kuwaykat was surrounded and eventually fell. The Israelis gave us safe passage eastward so that we could flee in that direction. We fled during the night. Young resistance fighters returned the next day and found elderly people killed in the streets. Their bodies were dragged to the well and lowered into it so that wild animals would not eat them. One old man was found killed in his home. He was buried outside the house.
We walked on foot to the other side of the Lebanese border. After a month, some kind of ceasefire was declared, so we returned to Kuwaykat to collect our belongings. But the Israelis broke the agreement, and we were forced to flee a second time. Once again, we fled on foot. Again, we arrived in a village on the Lebanese side of the border.
My brother bought three fig trees from a man so that the Lebanese would not say that we had stolen their trees. The trees became our homes. A few years later, we moved to Beirut and to Burj al-Barajna. At that time, it was nothing but desert. I have lived here ever since.”
- Who bears responsibility for your situation?
“It is like the story of Yusuf in the Qur’an, where his brothers conspired against him. Arabs, Jews, and the English—all of them conspired against us.
In the past, we lived with dignity and honor in our land. We used to invite Jews into our homes and share our food with them.
If Israel were to open its borders, I would want to return and work the land. I want to sit in my own country and build my own house. I do not need electricity. I have hidden an antique oil lamp that I could take with me. I would rather be eaten by snakes than remain here. Lebanon is not our land. We want our land back.”

Nakba #17 - Fayza Abed Bayrakji

1937
“I was an only child. My father died when I was four years old. My mother remarried his cousin. They had four more children.”
1947
“I got married when I was fifteen. My husband, Mahmud, was eighteen. It was shortly before al-Nakba.”
1948
“Israeli aircraft bombed the houses in our village. My mother was at home cooking and baking bread. She closed all the doors. Our house survived, but the neighbors’ houses were hit. Luckily, no one was home.
My mother’s new husband and the other male relatives were not at home. They had worked in the fields the day before and slept outdoors, under the open sky.
The women took us children to the caves outside the village. We spent the night there. Names were carved into the cave walls.
A few days later, fighting broke out between Jewish forces and Palestinian and Arab forces. Many villagers were tied up and executed. I remember all their names. Jewish soldiers also died. The attack lasted twelve hours, from midnight until noon.
The night after that, everyone fled. My mother managed to bring a little money. We walked north—we walked and walked. There were many dead bodies along the roads. There had been a grenade attack. We just kept walking.
My mother carried a bag of clothes on her head and held my one-year-old brother, Rashid. She held two other small siblings by the hand. Suddenly she said to me,
‘Your brother is dead.’
Rashid had been wrapped up and had suffocated. It was too much for my mother to manage.
We passed Eilabun and eventually reached my mother-in-law’s village. But she did not want to stay and told me to follow her, and I did. It was very hard to leave my mother, but I felt forced to follow my mother-in-law.
We walked for two days and two nights. At four in the morning, we sat under a tree to rest. It was me, my mother-in-law, and her six children. We were hungry and thirsty. We knew no one, so my mother-in-law had to beg for a little bread. She ate some of it and gave the rest to her children, but I got nothing. After a while, she wanted to continue, but I could not go on.
My mother, her new husband, and some other male relatives caught up with me. They had food and water loaded onto a camel. After resting, we continued walking through the night.
In the morning, we reached Dayr al-Qassi near the Lebanese border. Just as we were about to lie down under a tree, an Israeli aircraft appeared. It circled above us and attacked. Many people were killed, and we fled for our lives across the border into Lebanon.
We slept under olive trees. Eventually, we reached Beirut, where we were allowed to stay in a school. Three families shared one room. After one and a half months, when the school term began, we were forced to leave the building. A bus picked us up and drove us to Joub Jannine in the Bekaa Valley, and from there by bus to Damascus in Syria.
We were given shelter in a mosque on what was called Jewish Street. We stayed there for six years. Then we were given land where we could build our own house. We lived there for forty years. Life began to settle.”
1996
“When Israel attacked Lebanon, we moved to Egypt. Then I went to my son in Poland. All my other children moved to Sweden, and then I followed them. I arrived here five years ago. I do not feel at home anywhere.”

Nakba #16 - Sara Aydi

“I always slept next to my grandmother. I used to lie there hugging her. One evening, I woke up to gunfire and bombing. There were only children and women in the room. It was crowded. Everyone was lying on top of each other. Then I noticed that my grandmother had been shot in one breast. She was bleeding heavily. Even my twelve-year-old brother Ahmad was shot by the occupation soldiers. He was hit in the chest and shoulder. We screamed and cried and ran out of the house before it collapsed.
My father was a resistance fighter and fought against the Jews. He was always armed with weapons and ammunition. He and the other men defended our village. When the ammunition ran out, he and the other men fled to another village.
My mother held up a flag made of a piece of white cloth and shouted, ‘Salam Salam, don’t shoot at us, Salam Salam, we surrender.’ Then they stopped shooting.
The occupying forces gathered all the women and children in the courtyard of a large house where we were ordered to sit down. The wounded received no care. All men and boys over twelve were gathered elsewhere. We never saw them again. My brother survived because our mother dressed him in women’s clothes.
We left everything and ran up into the mountains. During the escape, I saw many dead and wounded. Eventually, we were reunited with my father and his brother. We were eight siblings, father and mother, and my uncle and his family. We were many.”

Nakba #15 - Dunya Hamid

1948
“Before I had turned seven, we finally got a school in our village. My father wanted me to receive an education. I, along with eight other girls, started school. Four months later, al-Nakba occurred.”

1982
“After the Israelis attacked Beirut in 1982, the Red Cross issued temporary permits to travel to Palestine. My husband and I crossed the Lebanese border and stayed for one month in Ijlil al-Qibliyya. We had relatives there. Ijlil al-Qibliyya is close to my home village, and my husband pointed out where the village had once stood. I sat down on the ground and covered my clothes and my hair with soil. I cried, bowed my head, and kissed the earth.”
- Did you have any dreams as a child about what you wanted to become?
“I had no dreams back then. After we were forced to Lebanon, I became aware of dreams and hopes. When I became aware of my situation, I dreamed of returning to my country. That became my dream: to regain my true national identity, which ensures my dignity and erases the concept of being a refugee.” (begins to cry)
“The concept of ‘refugee’ is deeply humiliating.”
- Perhaps a foolish question, but in what way is it humiliating?
“When I say the word ‘refugee,’ my heart aches and fills with tears. Our hearts cry because we want our land back. We do not want to go to Canada or Australia. We want to return to our own land. That land suits us.”
- Who is responsible for your situation?
“It is difficult to answer that question. My father used to say that he regretted leaving his land. Then he would say, ‘My tears fall down my cheeks.’ Our family left Palestine, but most of my relatives stayed. More than 70 years have passed since al-Nakba; it has been a very difficult time. If I had been strong enough in 1982, I would have stayed in Palestine. That land suits us.”

Nakba #14 - Fawzeeyya Mustafa

Nakba #14 - Dunia Hameed

“My country is not a suitcase, and I am not on a journey.”

Nakba #13 - Hassan Ahmed Jaber

1948
— When was the first time you met a Jew?
“It was when they bombed our village and we were forced to flee with only the clothes we were wearing. Everything else we had to leave behind. But I never actually saw them.
We fled to the Christian village of Rmeisch, on the Lebanese side of the border. Friends of my parents owned a house there. They allowed us to stay for six years. They bought clothes for us and were very generous. After six years we were forced to leave. We had become an economic burden on our hosts.
We moved to another village where my father got a job on a tobacco plantation. Then we moved on to Qana, where I helped my father with the work. We were not paid, but we were allowed to live in a house. I went to school in Qana. In middle school I began attending a school in Yafariya, in Tyre (Sur). We lived in a house and had our own tobacco fields.”
1976
“I got a job as a teacher in the Tel al-Zaatar refugee camp in Lebanon. The camp played a central role in the civil war in 1976 between the PLO and the Israeli-backed Phalangists. They carried out a massacre of the camp’s residents. Five thousand people were killed or disappeared. I was one of the 120 who managed to escape. We were forced to leave the elderly and the wounded along the road. Some were eaten by wild animals. After fifteen days of flight, without water or food, only seventy of us were still alive.
Palestine belongs to us and will be returned to us. Those who do not like my words can go and drink from the sewers of the refugee camps. The British gave Palestine away through the Balfour Declaration of 1917. But how can a guest give away the home to other guests?”

Nakba #12 - Mofid al Sadek

- When were you born?
'How can I remember when my mother gave birth to me? I am 95 years old. As a child, I had a carefree life. We used to collect wood so that my mother could light a fire and bake bread. I helped at home too, preparing food.'

- What did your father work with?
'He was a farmer.'

- Did you go to school?
'No, we laughed at those who went to school. I ought to kill you.'
(Starts laughing)

- Because I am Jewish?
'No, no reason. I just wanted to make you laugh so we could have a fun time together. You do not need to be afraid. You can stay here tonight if you want. But I still want to kill you.'

- When did you get married?
'I was 13 years old. He was 45.'

- Wasn't he a little old?
'It does not matter. My family decided and I had to obey. I cried and cried, but in vain. They have sinned because of what they did to me. My husband died 55 years ago. I had no children. Now I sit here alone.'

- Was he kind to you?
'Yes, very. I wish I could have given him a child, so that he could have lived on.'

- Did any Jews live in your village?
'No, but they lived in some villages nearby. We lived side by side. They were good people. We used to play football together.'

- When did that change?
'They bombed and shot at us. We were forced to move.'

- How long did this go on for?
'For three, four days.'

- Were any killed?
'Yes, many, many, many.'

- How were you affected?
'Be quiet! Why are you asking?'

- Is it hard to talk about these events
'Yes. Until the day I die I will remember this.'

- How did the flight happen? 
"We went on foot to al-Burayj. We stayed there for two months. We settled in Ajanjul. We stayed there for one month. Then we left for Bayt Nuba. We stayed there for three months, and after that ‘Aqbat Jabir by the Dead Sea. We lived in tents. We were not allowed to build houses at first, but later we were. After Israel occupied the West Bank in 1967, they said there was no place for us other than in Jordan. So we continued on foot over the mountains and came to Jordan, to the Baqa‘a refugee camp."
- What has been the hardest part of your life? 
"Everything."

Nakba #11 - Ghalia Thahir Al-Harbishi

1946
”As a boy, I remember the beach in Tantura. I was five or six years old. The sand was soft, clean, and white. The water was shallow far out. The coast consisted of alternating coves and small islands. I used to swim in the sea with my father. That is an important memory.
1948
”I started school in March 1948, but three months later we were forced to flee. Tantura was occupied on May 24, 1948—the same day I turned seven years old. I remember how the bloody night began. I heard bursts of gunfire and the deafening thunder of cannons. The Haganah attacked from three directions.
Our family—my aunts on my father’s and mother’s sides and their families—gathered in my grandmother’s house. Everyone was afraid; everyone was screaming and crying. My mother held my three youngest siblings in her arms. That night I could not sleep. Some prayed to Allah; others cursed the Jews. Even the dogs were afraid.
More than one hundred villagers were killed that night.
In the morning, the streets were filled with bodies. My father and some male relatives went to the school to organize resistance.
Around noon the Zionists entered Tantura. The village raised a white flag; there was nothing else to do. The Jewish soldiers gathered the women and children in the square. In the chaos I spotted my mother and my younger siblings. They were searched by female soldiers looking for gold and money. They took everything—rings and necklaces. They tore off earrings so that blood spurted from the women’s and girls’ ears.
The soldiers went into the houses and emptied them of everything of value—furniture, valuables, and money. The items were hauled away by horse and cart. Other soldiers collected the dead bodies scattered in the streets. They dumped the bodies in front of the women and children, as a final act of humiliation.
Then some of the village’s snipers began shooting at the Zionists again, despite the white flag. They killed some Haganah soldiers, which resulted in the Jewish soldiers, in blind fury, shooting every man who came in their way. People fell like bowling pins. Meanwhile, people from a nearby Jewish settlement joined the Haganah.
When things calmed somewhat, we were ordered down to the beach. On the way I saw several dead bodies, among them my maternal grandfather, Abu Hamek Jidek, and one of my uncles, Ami Abdel Aziz. Crying women wandered around looking for men and children among the bodies.
The May sun was mercilessly hot. When we reached the beach, the sand was hot like fire. Everyone was barefoot. We began hopping like grasshoppers. We were hungry and thirsty, but the soldiers gave us nothing to eat or drink.
My grandfather was the village mukhtar. He had smuggled weapons from Syria to Palestine, and now the Haganah wanted to make an example of him. Two soldiers took him to a house by the beach. They pushed him inside and closed the door. Shortly afterward, two pistol shots echoed out over the sea.
The men—those aged sixteen and older—were lined up on the beach. A soldier whipped those who did not keep the line straight. The soldiers marched them away, ten at a time, a few hundred meters down the beach. There they were shot. The remaining men were taken to the village cemetery, lined up, and ordered to dig their own graves. When a line had finished digging, the men were shot in the back of the head and fell into the graves they had dug.
We remained on the beach, paralyzed with terror. For some, their stomachs turned.
Those of us who survived the massacre were forced to go to Fureidis, a neighboring village about four kilometers away. We walked on foot, and I still remember how badly my legs and feet hurt. We were guarded by soldiers. Some pleaded with the soldiers to be allowed to return to their houses to fetch clothes and other belongings, but in vain. When we arrived in Fureidis, the villagers gave us food and drink. We stayed there for a few days. We learned that the military had blown up all the houses .”

Nakba #13 - Hassan Ahmed Jaber

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