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Överlevarna

A podcast with four themes: survivors of the Holocaust, the Palestinian Nakba, the second generation and Jewish Högalid. The podcast’s various projects have been funded by, among others Statens Kulturråd, Palmefonden, Victoria AB, Kungl. Patriotiska Sällskapet, Helge Ax:son Johnson Stiftelse, Annika och Gabriel Urwitz ´´Stiftelse, Samfundet S:t Erik, Lind & Co, Ordfront and private donors.

- Min pappa var född i Sverige och vi bodde på eleganta Östermalm. När jag kom till judiska lekskolan så minns jag att de här föräldrarna såg annorlunda ut, dom såg liksom rädda ut och kunde inte tala ”riktig” svenska, säger Mirjam Ettlinger Frajnd.

Det judiska Högalid #24 - Mirjam Ettlinger Frajnd

1945
“My mother milked the sheep and sold the milk in ‘Akka. Just a few days after she had given birth, she started working again.
Our house was always full of people. We had enormous wedding celebrations. The bride wore a white, glittering dress. The bride and groom rode forward on a white horse and we followed them, singing songs. In the song for the groom, we sang that the barber would shave his beard with a golden razor.
My mother fell ill and died. Then my father married my mother’s sister.”
1948
“One day, when my aunt as usual was baking bread and then spreading the finished loaves out in the room, the army attacked our village and some soldiers entered our house.
‘Either you leave here or we will kill you,’ the soldiers said.
We immediately left our house and fled barefoot. The bread was left behind in the house.
Many people were fleeing. My father brought our sheep with him. We passed through Druze villages and asked for food and water. There was no time to stop so that the sheep could graze. Half of the sheep died of hunger along the way.
My father cut up the meat and shared some of it with the other refugees.
We arrived in Srobbine, in southern Lebanon. There my older sister died. The flight had terrified her. She felt pain in her chest and her heart stopped beating. She was 18 years old. We were forced to bury her in a cemetery for non-believers.
In the end we reached the Shatila refugee camp in Beirut.”
Afterthought
“My daughter died less than a year ago. After that I got several infections on my body—on my arm, my hand, and my eye. After several treatments, only this infection on my cheek remains. I have been like this for seven months now; my cheek burns.
Here in the Shatila camp I wake up broken. I get tired even after sleeping. Back in Palestine everything felt holy, even the sand. If you touch the ground you are comforted. The smell of the cucumber in my home village used to break my heart. Palestine is my lover.”

Nakba #36 - Nabiha Hammad Abu Jamus

1946
“There were some Jews living in my village, and we were friends with them. In Akka there were more Jews. If I got sick, I used to go to a Jewish doctor in Akka named Nathan. As children, we did not distinguish between Christians, Muslims, and Jews—we were friends.”
1948
“The Jews began attacking us with heavy artillery, just to scare us. Then the aerial bombardments of our village began and people started to flee. Some families refused to leave Tarshiha; they hid with their neighbors, who were Palestinian Jews and Druze. Some of the children and grandchildren of those who hid are still living in Tarshiha today.
There were about twenty people in my family who fled toward Lebanon. We loaded as many mattresses as possible onto one of our horses. I was barefoot, and I was given a pair of shoes, size 42. I was a child. I rode the horse for a while, then I got down and started running barefoot. I remember it clearly. We walked ten kilometers. I was afraid. My parents tried to calm me, but deep down they were also afraid. We were running to escape death.”
– Who was it that drove you out?
“The Jews, but not the same Jews we knew before. These were Jews who came from outside. I saw dead bodies lying in the groves.
After crossing the border into Lebanon, we came to Ayta ash Shab. We ate the food we had brought with us. We continued on to Aleppo in Syria. There were seven of us in the family, and we lived in a barrack. The rooms were three by three meters and were divided with blankets. If someone had sex with his wife, everyone could hear it.
The Nakba took everything from us. The only thing we had left was to study at school. I was good at my studies, but in order to study I had to go outside—there was no space indoors. I remember once in winter, when it was cold and snowy. I had to go out into the cold and sit on the snow to study. I was in the fourth grade.”
2015
“The first exodus, from Palestine, was very hard, but it helped us survive the second exodus, from Syria to Sweden. When I was 74 years old, in 2015, we were forced to flee from Syria to Turkey, crossing the mountains on foot. From Turkey we took a rubber boat across the Aegean Sea to Greece. There were 44 people in the boat; it was approved for a maximum of ten. Then we continued through Macedonia, Yugoslavia, Hungary, Austria, Germany, Denmark, and finally to Sweden.
For the journey to Turkey, my wife and I paid 30,000 kronor, and from Turkey to Sweden the same amount.
I am glad that Sweden took us in, but this is not my father’s house.”

Nakba #35 - Muhammad Abu Hashem

1948
“The Egyptian army was supposed to defend the village, but when the Jews attacked at night, the Egyptians abandoned us. My mother, my older brother, and I fled into the darkness to a field where our cows and sheep were grazing. All the men stayed behind to defend the village, but when the ammunition ran out, they too were forced to flee. Two of my uncles were shot dead by the Jews. They were in a field and were both shot in the chest. They were shot because they defended their land. Later my uncles were taken to the village, and I saw their bodies. My mother and I cried. She continued to cry until the day she died.”

Nakba #34 - Ismail Yakub al-Sayfi

1945
“Behind our house there was a large fig tree. I used to play in the shade beneath it. Behind the house there was also a cave. My mother and grandmother gathered firewood there. They lit a fire and cooked food, fried eggs, and baked bread. My mother fetched water from a stream that ran near our house.”
1948
“We heard gunfire in the distance. It went on for several days, especially at night. Rumors spread that the Zionist army was in Bayt Safafa, a nearby village, and that they were probably advancing toward our village. I lay on my mattress, frightened. My parents told us to get up, that we had to leave. My father had to carry my grandmother on his back. She had panicked and could not stand up. She was also old and weak. My father carried a small sack of flour in one hand. I held his other hand. I was four years old. My eldest brother, Mustafa, carried a container of olive oil. My mother carried my little brother, who was ten months old.
Many families were fleeing. We walked until we could go no farther. Then we rested under the trees. When morning came, the gunfire had stopped. The men were then able to return to the village to fetch mattresses and pillows. We waited in the shade of the trees. My father returned the next day. By then someone had hired trucks that took us to ‘Amman in Jordan. The journey took a couple of days. I had difficulty understanding what was happening. I was in shock. I was silent, sometimes I cried. The only thing I understood was that the Jews had taken our land and our homes.”
2015
“Religious settlers took control of the stream that ran behind our house. The settlers used it for various religious rituals. At the same time, they prevented us and other Palestinians from going near the stream.”
Afterthought
“The Israelis never lived up to their promises. It was just ink on paper.”

Nakba #33 -Maryam al-Sayfi

1936
“My paternal uncle was 16 years old when he was killed by Jewish guards on horseback. They struck him on the head and he died the following day. My father’s employer, a Zionist named Dubel, offered my father a bag containing 10,000 pounds in banknotes as compensation for the murder of his brother. My father refused the money, but took four pounds from the bag and said: ‘With this money I will buy ammunition.’
A short time later, he and two relatives managed to set a trap for Dubel and his 16 bodyguards aboard his boat as it traveled through a canal surrounded by forest. My father hid in the woods and was only a few meters away from Dubel when he fired the fatal shot. The British issued a death sentence against my father, who was forced to go into hiding. A few months later, I was born.”
1948
“When I turned 14, I was allowed to carry weapons. I took part in capturing three Zionists. They were fishermen and had no right to be there. That is why my comrade and I acted. The Syrian border was one kilometer away, and it took us an hour to walk there with the prisoners and hand them over to the Syrian police. They were later used by Syria in a prisoner exchange.”
1967
“My village was located near the Syrian border on the Golan Heights. When it was occupied, we fled to the Yarmouk camp, outside Damascus. We could barely bring even a shirt with us. I joined the armed struggle and was trained as a commando soldier.”

Nakba #32 - Ziyad Hamid Maziyad

1946
"We were farmers and grew wheat, olives, fruit and tobacco. Our tobacco was well-known, it was on a level with the Greek. We had different names for each area of land, depending on what we grew on it. Sometimes we slept in the fields. The land is our life, it is more important than the houses, better than working in a factory."
1948
"I was in fourth grade. We were used to the Zionists attacking us. We used to flee a bit away from the village and stay in an olive grove. When things calmed down, we returned to our house. We had received reinforcement from a volunteer Arab force from Syria. But after a while it got worse and the Arab force left us to our fate. We heard stories of how Jewish soldiers killed women and children in other villages.
I remember the planes that attacked the village. One of the pilots shot at a woman in a wheelchair. At the same time we were attacked on the ground by Jewish soldiers. Chaos and panic broke out among thousands of villagers. We fled on foot to Lebanon. We brought one of our horses and loaded some mattresses. I myself was wearing shorts. When we passed Safad we heard that the city had been occupied by the Zionists. Then we started running. We were attacked from the air and by Jewish soldiers on the ground. Even when we sat under the olive trees they came and shot at us. Some who returned to the village were killed. That's what we heard.
In Lebanon we sold the horse. We needed the money. We took a freight train from Tyre to Aleppo in Syria. At each station along the way, they emptied one or two wagons of refugees, so that not all refugees ended up in the same place. In Aleppo we were first placed in al-Nayrab, an old French military camp, which was next to the airport. Then we had to move into Aleppo. There we got to live in a building that had previously been a hospital."
 
Afterthought
- Doesn’t the feeling for your lost land disappear with the years?
“On the contrary, it remains, and we inherit that feeling from parents to children and grandchildren.”
- As a lawyer, do you want compensation for your lost land, or do you want the land back?
"I want the land (laughs). The land is a person's life. We don't sell any land, no houses. I am not a seller. I sell nothing. We inherit the land from generation to generation. I am still a refugee. I have no country, no passport, no rights. I don't know what happened to my schoolmates. I never got to finish fourth grade."

Nakba #31 - Kamil al-Shaykh Qasim

1948
"The Zionists killed my maternal uncle, Ahmed Shaban, and three others. They were shot in front of all the villagers. My uncle, who was perhaps 30 years old, was in the resistance movement, first against the British occupation, then against the Zionists'. After the executions, people got scared.
Half of my relatives fled to Syria, my paternal uncle fled to Jordan and we to Lebanon, on foot. The only thing we brought with us were the clothes we were wearing. I was four years old. During the flight, I heard gunfire and got scared. I wanted mum to carry me. My little sister started screaming too and wanted to be carried too. After al-Nakba my parents were sad."
1955
"In the Ain al-Hilweh refugee camp in Lebanon I went to school. The teachers were very harsh. They hit us. Once I got a beating when I was standing outside the school smoking. I was eleven years old then. I was more scared of my teachers than of my parents. In the beginning I hated them, but then I understood that they wanted to take care of us. After school we used to go into Saida, a 20-minute walk. We pinched oranges from the plantations along the way. In Saida we went to the cinema. I liked everything with Omar Sharif and Faten Hamama. We were home again for dinner, at eight, nine.
My parents were offered to become Lebanese citizens, but they declined. They expected to be able to return to Palestine. Nasser and the Arab world promised that they would be allowed to return. They promised and promised. The Arab world is the Palestinians' worst enemy. It was a mistake to refuse to become Lebanese."
1961
"Me and my friends were politically active and organized demonstrations in the camp. We got in trouble with the Lebanese security police. Once a friend told a funny story that I laughed at. Then some Lebanese security police showed up and wanted to know what was so funny. We had to spend the night at their place. We were oppressed by the Lebanese security police. I left the refugee camp in 1964 and started at a UN school in Siblin, outside Saida. There, the Lebanese security police tried to recruit me as an agent. I would get 150 lira a month. That was a lot of money at the time. They would give me a pistol and promised to pay for my parties. All I had to do was snitch on my friends..
1967
"I was bullied by my Swedish colleagues. They imitated the defeated Egyptian soldiers who had fled barefoot through the desert.
One of them kept calling me a "fucking Arab". I took a stranglehold on my honor as a slut. To defend myself against the bullies, I joined the KPML(r)."
1995
"When I became a Swedish citizen, my family and I were able to go back to my home village. The only thing left was the mosque and the cemetery. The mosque was full of cow dung, so we started cleaning it. After that, six Israeli soldiers showed up and explained that there were too many of us in there.
"This counts as a demonstration," said one of the soldiers.
"It's not a demonstration, we're just cleaning the mosque. I'm a Swedish citizen and I was born in this village."
"Okay, don't let me go, don't let me go, let's say he left us alone."
Reflection
"At night I dream that I kill all the Arab leaders. I fly in a helicopter and shoot them. I hate them more than I hate Zionism. I respect the Israeli leaders because they take care of their own people."

Nakba #30 - Ali Saadi

1946
”My father owned a lot of land where he grew wheat and tobacco. He sold the tobacco to a company in ‘Akka. We had sheep, goats, camels, and cows. My father bought donkeys from Cyprus; they were strong.
I used to help with the milking. I would scoop the top layer of milk from the bucket with my hand and drink it.
I ran around on our land. When I think about it now, it feels as if I was flying above ground covered with flowers. I was free.
In winter we gathered firewood and loaded it onto camels.
Deir al-Qasi lay high up on a mountain with a beautiful view and fresh air. People from ‘Akka and Haifa often came on weekend outings to our village.
There were no Jews living in Deir al-Qasi. But Nahariya, which was nearby, was a Jewish village. We had good relations with them. They came to shop in our village, and we went to a doctor in theirs.
Before the Nakba, I did not notice any tension between us and the Jews. However, there were strong tensions between the British and the Palestinian resistance fighters. We were constantly afraid of the British soldiers.”
1948
”I had turned eight years old and noticed nothing about the war approaching. Suddenly people fled from al-Quds to our village.
One day I was going to milk the goat. I was standing in the shade of a tree. Suddenly I heard a loud explosion. When I looked up, I saw three airplanes dropping bombs. I got scared and ran back to our house. I saw black smoke rising.
By a well stood a man. His leg had been torn off. I felt pain and saw blood coming from my shoulder. My father, who was ill, was lying down resting. I tried to lift him up, but I did not have the strength.
“The Zionists are coming!” my cousin shouted as he came running.
My father slowly rose from the bed and we left the house.
Outside, all the animals had been killed in the bombing. Even the dog was dead. The camels survived because they were with my grandfather.
Everyone fled—men, women, children, and the elderly. We went to seek shelter in a nearby forest. My father leaned on my cousin for support. In the darkness I saw dead bodies on the ground. We continued walking toward the Lebanese border.
We had no food and no water. At the border stood Israeli soldiers. They shot a young man before our eyes.
“Dear ones, go to your leader, he will give you food,” one of the soldiers shouted to us.
We crossed the border and arrived in the village of Ayta ash-Shab, where my father had a cousin. We were able to stay there.
After a while, when things had calmed down, my mother and I returned to our farm. I brought some chickens with me from there. My mother also took some things from inside the house—I don’t know what. That was the only time we returned. Later, the house was demolished.
We stayed with my father’s cousin for three days. So many refugees had gathered in Ayta ash-Shab that we decided to go north to a refugee camp in the city of Sur. There we hired a truck and everyone was driven eastward, toward the Syrian border, to the Baalbek refugee camp.
Our family and five other families had to share one barrack. We remained there for twelve years, until the early 1960s.”

Afterthought
I make a distinction between Jews and Israelis. Jews and Arabs lived in peace in Palestine. But the Zionists who came from Europe destroyed my life. I hate Zionists, but not Jews.
Every day I dream of returning to Deir al-Qasi, the most beautiful village in the world. But I have no passport."

Nakba #29 - Fayiz ‘Auda

1947
“Lubya was a large village. The land stretched all the way down toward Ṭabariyya. We were farmers and grew olives, figs, and grapes. Some of my brothers were able to study in Ṭabariyya. For us girls, it was not considered as important.
From the time I was seven years old, I began to pray—sometimes at home, sometimes in the mosque. Our God never forgets. He records both good and bad deeds.
The Jews and we were friends. They could come riding on horseback to have coffee with my father. There was no conflict. Then the others arrived. They showed up during the harvest, and we saw that they were different—they did not look like our Jewish neighbors. Why had they come here? Worry began to spread. Then the war came.”
1948
“The men tried to defend us with their rifles. But what can a rifle do against an airplane? They attacked us and shot 24 people. I saw it myself. I know their names: Muhammad, Zaid, and Ahmad were brothers. Ibrahim was from another family. Their relatives came and collected the bodies. They could not dig graves, so they laid the bodies side by side in a room and closed the door.
We fled on foot. My sister-in-law was carrying her baby boy, Hussein, whom she was still breastfeeding. He died along the way. She dug a small hole in the ground with a branch. We helped one another so that he could be placed in the earth."
Afterthought
"My father and my brothers worked for others, either in agriculture or in construction. Most of the men in my family later died of heart attacks. Being expelled and forced to leave everything behind brings a deep sorrow that is heavy to carry. What were we supposed to do?”

Nakba #28 - Amna Aydi

“My father was a farmer. He grew, among other things, potatoes and tomatoes. I used to tend his sheep.”
- What do you remember of your home village?
“Your question is wrongly put. You should ask who kicked me out of my land. When the Israelis carried out the massacre in Dayr Yasin, it terrified many people. The rumor spread throughout all of Palestine. Our Arab leaders came to our village and told us to leave so that we would not experience the same thing as in Dayr Yasin. They told us we didn’t need to take anything with us, because we would be able to return after one week. But now 70 years have passed.
Many of the Palestinian villages that were abandoned became settlements for Jews from Yemen.
I was engaged to my cousin Maryam when we left Palestine. Everyone left—not only us, but also all the surrounding villages. Some fled to Jordan, Syria, or Iraq. My village was close to the border, so my family and I walked on foot to Lebanon. My family stayed in Tyre, while I went on to Bint Jbeil to sell my sheep. I had managed to bring 84 of them from Palestine. I didn’t want to sell them, but I had no choice.”
- Did you like your sheep?
“Being a shepherd is like therapy for the soul. I still cry over my sheep.
After selling them, I continued to Yater and then on to my fiancée, who was in Tyre with her family. We married there and she bore me children. When time passed and we were not allowed to return to Palestine, we continued to the Burj al-Barajna refugee camp in Beirut. I had twelve children with her.
The most important thing is to have a country. More than 70 years have passed and we still cannot erase the word ‘refugee.’ I do not belong here in Lebanon. I do not own the house I live in, I am not allowed to work, I have no rights. I had twelve children, but I was given no land.”
- Who bears responsibility for your situation?
“The conspiracy.”
- Who is behind the conspiracy?
“How should I know?”

Nakba #25 - Abdullah Taleb El Salhane

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