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Lyt når som helst, hvor som helst 

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.

1945
“I grew up in the Romayma neighborhood. My father traveled a lot on business, among other places to Jaffa and Jordan. Jews, Christians, and Muslims lived side by side in al-Quds. My uncle did business with a man named Moshe. He owned a dairy in Machneyuda. Some Jews who came from Aleppo in Syria lived with my uncle. They were businessmen, just like us.
1948
“We used to go to my uncle’s house, and from there we could see how the shooting went on from both sides, day and night. The British helped the Jews against the Muslims, against the Arabs. We heard about Dayr Yasin, that they had killed 90 people and thrown them into the village wells. Life became very difficult; conditions worsened over time. My school was closed, people were murdered. The Jews continued to shoot from Hadassah and the Hebrew University, day and night. We feared for our lives.
We fled north, toward Ramallah. We left at night in buses that the British army had left behind. My younger siblings and I took shelter on the floor of the bus.
Not everyone was as fortunate. It was summer and the grass in the fields was tall. My sister-in-law, who had been so ill that she had been admitted to Saint Joseph’s Hospital in East al-Quds, was forced to crawl on all fours across a field so as not to be discovered and shot.
When we arrived in Ramallah, there were already many others there; they had fled from Lydda, al-Ramla, and Jaffa. People lay sleeping under the trees. Quite soon we received help from UNRWA with food and a tent. My father, my brothers, and I were eventually able to return to our house in Romayma. My mother and my sisters stayed in Ramallah. Life was hard; we had no money.”
1967
“We were forced to flee again, this time on foot, to Ariha (Jericho). Many families walked for a whole day and a whole night across the mountains, along difficult paths. We stopped and rested, each family under its own orange tree. When we arrived in Ariha, Israeli soldiers shot at us. We stayed in Ariha for a week, and after the Six-Day War we were able to return to al-Quds. Our family has lost 150 dunams of land, with olive trees, vegetables, and fruit.”
Reflection
“The Israelis believe in doing everything by force. But they stand only with the support of the USA and Europe. We are free and have the right to live in peace. Since the founding of the state in 1948, Israel has demolished houses, arrested people, killed people. We will never accept being slaves under Israel. I want the world to know that Arabs are human beings. We do not intend to live our lives as slaves.”

Nakba #48 - Muhammad Musa Abu Lial

1948
”Vi hade ett mycket bra liv i Talbiya, i al-Quds. Min far var affärsman i tryckeribranschen. Familjens verksamhet gick tillbaka till
1920-talet. Vi hade ett vackert hus och en vacker trädgård med dahlior
som växte högre än jag. I trädgården fanns det en damm med guldfiskar.
Vi hade fester i trädgården, med en massa maträtter. Det var ett bra liv.
Mina föräldrar och bröder hade åkt till Yafa på en kusins bröllop.
Men eftersom jag hade mässlingen fick jag stanna hemma med mina
morföräldrar. Jag var ensam och rädd och gick och la mig i mina för-
äldrars säng. Då exploderade en bomb, rummets fönster krossades av
tryckvågen och jag fick glassplittret över mig. Jag hamnade i chock.
Som tur var kom min farbror, som bodde i närheten i Katamon, och
tog hand om mig.
Vi hade en judisk student som hyresgäst och Haganah hade snappat
upp att han jobbade för deras konkurrent Irgun. Vårt hem låg nära den
brittiska arméns högkvarter och för att väcka deras intresse hade Haganah sprängt en bomb i vår trädgård. När britterna kom upptäckte de
att studenten hade sprängmedel under sin säng.
Mina föräldrar återvände hem med en gång och de bestämde att vi
skulle lämna al-Quds. Jag hade börjat skolan ett år tidigare. Vi åkte till
vårt vinterhus i Ariha. Jag kommer inte ihåg om vi åkte bil eller buss.
Vi skulle bara stanna ett par veckor. Lola, min älsklingsdocka i porslin
som min far köpt i London, blev kvar hemma. Jag kunde inte förstå att
han, familjens överhuvud, inte kunde åka tillbaka och hämta dockan
till mig, trots att jag grät.
Jag började i en ny skola i Ariha, som en kvinna hade öppnat i sitt
hem. Där lärde jag mig läsa. Jag ville åka tillbaka till mitt hem, till min
säng, till mina kläder, till mina leksaker. Jag saknade min kompis Ruti.
Hennes föräldrar hyrde ett litet hus i hörnet av vår trädgård. De var
palestinska judar och vi växte upp tillsammans, lekte tillsammans och
åt tillsammans.
Efter ett par månader återvände vi till al-Quds, min far åkte till ‘Amman för att söka jobb. Vi hyrde två rum av franciskanermunkarna på Casanova. Vi väntade och hoppades på att få återvända till vårt hus. Ingen trodde att det skulle bli på det här sättet.
Till slut flyttade vi efter min far till ‘Amman, där han fått jobb. Jag
och mina syskon började på en internatskola i al-Quds, eftersom skolorna i al-Urdunn var eftersatta, så att säga. På internatskolan var lärarna mycket stränga, de övervakade hur vi gick, hur vi hälsade, hur vi åt. Vi fick inte sitta med armbågarna på matbordet. Det var inte lätt, men mina studier gick bra. När jag var 16 började jag på college i Bayrut. Jag var den yngsta eleven och alla kallade mig för »bebin«. Men jag trivdes mycket bra, jag kände mig nästan vuxen. Efter examen återvände jag till ‘Amman. Jag fick ett stipendium för att åka och studera på ett universitet i USA. Men min mor tillät inte att jag åkte.
2022
”Min barndomskompis Ruti bor fortfarande kvar i stugan, i hörnet
av vår trädgård, som de hyrde av mina föräldrar. Hon har renoverat
stället och byggt på en våning.”
- Har ni fortfarande kontakt?
”(Suckar). Inte egentligen. Det här är mycket smärtsamt. Hon är i
mitt hus, på min egendom. Och jag är på gatan. Varför? Jag skulle vilja
veta varför. Vad har jag gjort?
Ruti blev professor i antropologi och jobbade på Hebreiska universitet. En gång blev jag intervjuad av en journalist utanför vårt tidigare
hem. Och hon kom ut och sa:
»Å, det är den där Claudette igen.«
Jag svarade henne:
»Så länge jag inte fått tillbaka mina rättigheter kommer du att få
se mig. Ruti, du och jag vet att stugan som du bor i tillhör min fars
egendom.«

Nakba #47 - Claudette Habesh

1936
“There were about 2,500 people living in my village. In 1936, the same year I was born, a general strike took place. It lasted for half a year. It was the longest strike in the history of Palestine.”
1941
“We were divided into two teams. The other team chose seven stones and stacked them into a pyramid. We tried to hit the pyramid with a ball. If we succeeded, the other team would try to hit us with the ball.
At school I sometimes did everything, sometimes nothing. But I was never beaten by the teacher. I respected not only the teacher, but also myself.”
1942
“My father worked as a chauffeur for a British major. After the workday ended, he was allowed to take the car home.”
1947
“The UN divided Palestine into two states. We went to school as usual. We saw Jews celebrating and singing. They drove cars, buses, and even trucks along Jaffa Road, which runs between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. We stopped along the road and watched. Some students, older than me, shouted ‘shut up’ at them and threw stones at the vehicles.
A Jew stopped his car and began shooting at us. From that day on, we never returned to school. It was closed.
Jews lived in a neighborhood very close to our school. After the school closed, our Jewish neighbors began appearing in our area—threatening and armed. Eventually we left our home and drove to al-Jura, a village near Ayn Karim, in my father’s car. We had relatives there and were allowed to stay in one room.
My father stayed behind to guard our house. Sometimes he came to visit us after work, but each time he returned to Lifta, near Jerusalem. Later, Jews blew up a couple of houses near ours.”
1948
“We moved on from al-Jura to Ayn Karim. I went to school there, but only for one month. Then the massacre in Dayr Yasin took place, which was adjacent to Ayn Karim. Refugees poured into our village. But no one dared to stay, and the next day we all made our way to Bethlehem and Bayt Jala.
For two days and two nights we walked, mostly at night. The first night we reached Walaja. But we were afraid the Jews would come after us, so we continued on to Bayt Jala. My older brother and I helped carry our younger siblings. Many, many people were fleeing. In Bayt Jala we rented a room.
When the British left Palestine, my father became unemployed. He joined us in Bayt Jala. The Egyptian army had a camp nearby, and my father managed to get a job there. After a few months we moved to Bethlehem. One of my maternal uncles had moved there and arranged a room for us.
I don’t remember all the details—we moved and moved and moved. I wanted to start school in Bethlehem, but my father was told that the school had no places for refugees. I didn’t take it very hard. I was younger then.”
1955
“My brother, Abdul Karim, was killed by the Jordanian army in Bethlehem. He took part in a demonstration against the Baghdad Pact.”
1967
“For the first time since 1948, I was allowed to return to my home village. I visited Lifta, but I was not allowed to stay. Some people were living in my house; they had rented it from the authorities. They offered me a cup of coffee.
The house was as I remembered it, yet different. I found none of the belongings we had left behind.”
- Were they kind to you?
“It wasn’t important whether they were kind. What mattered to me was seeing my house. But I was not allowed to stay.”
- Did you try to reclaim your house through legal channels?
“No. I already knew the answer would be ‘no’. It had already been decided.”
2005
“In 2005, the Israelis blew up my house and 30 others in order to build new houses for themselves, with a road and pleasant landscaping.”
- Why?
“Ask the Israelis. I pass the remains of my village three times a week on my way to medical treatment. Every time, I am reminded. It is not good for my mind. When I see it, it feels bad. But what can I say? What can I do? Screaming doesn’t help.
I still feel like a refugee. I cannot forget Lifta.”

Nakba #46 - Jamil Jalal ‘Aql

1937
The family settled in Bayt Lahm. I started at a new boarding school, this time in Ramallah. It was run by the Quakers, and I felt very much at home there. In Ramallah, all women wore beautifully embroidered dresses. If they carried a bag, it too was embroidered; on their heads they wore an embroidered scarf. The teachers taught us embroidery, so we learned their patterns, which they had brought with them from the United States.”
1948
“The boarding school in Ramallah distributed our graduation certificates a couple of months early. Then we were sent home. Everyone was afraid that war would break out when the British left Filastin. People were waiting for something to happen.
The Jordanian girls in my class did not know how they would get home. They were picked up by a Jordanian military vehicle. We found that very exciting.
The road to al-Quds was not safe. There was gunfire between the two sides. Four or five of us girls shared a taxi. I got off at Bab al-‘Amud and went to the social welfare office. My father had good connections there. I found a woman who knew us, and she offered to drive me home to Bayt Lahm.
Gradually, everything returned to normal. Peasant women began coming back to Bayt Lahm to sell their vegetables. There was a market on Saturdays, and that was when I got to know these women. They wore beautiful traditional clothing and silver jewelry.
I used to talk to them and took an interest in their garments. They were beautifully embroidered in cross-stitch. When the dresses wore out, they sold parts of the garments: vegetables on the left, pieces of fabric on the right. The embroidery in Bayt Lahm is completely different from that in Ramallah—different stitches and different thread. The tradition is more closely linked to church embroidery, since there are so many monasteries in Bayt Lahm.
When the war broke out a steady stream of refugees arrived from al-Quds and the surrounding villages. Everything was turned upside down. We had upper-class refugees from al-Quds who rented houses, and we had those who had nothing, who lived in camps. Poor refugees sometimes worked for the wealthy refugees. On market days, the refugee women had no vegetables to sell. Yet despite their poverty, they had intact clothing and looked healthy.”
1952
“The pieces of fabric grew into a collection of traditional Palestinian dresses. As soon as I heard that a Palestinian village had been destroyed by the Israelis—another piece of our Palestinian cultural heritage—I reacted by wanting to buy more dresses. I wanted to show how beautiful the textiles are.
And not only that—the work required system and discipline. The women who embroidered strove for perfection. How could they remember the patterns? They had no templates to copy from. Perhaps they looked at their mother’s dress. I found this ability astonishing. The embroidered textiles are an important part of our cultural heritage.
The women stopped embroidering these magnificent dresses when they ended up in refugee camps. Instead, they made simple refugee dresses with simple embroidery.”
1967
“After the occupation of al-Diffa al-Gharbia, the refugees’ situation worsened even further. Bayt Lahm was surrounded by Jewish settlements.”
2022
“In the Al Makhrur Valley, between Bayt Lahm and Bayt Jala, lies the Saint George Monastery. They make very good wine. Now Jewish settlers have seized half of the valley, and there are rumors that they will also take over the monastery.”
Afterthought
“I have been collecting these garments for over 70 years now. The collection amounts to 2,000 dresses, objects, and silver jewelry. My children want me to stop, but I continue to buy dresses in secret. As recently as today, I bought two dresses—one very simple and one more elaborate.”

Nakba #45 - Widad Kawar

1949
“A voice over a loudspeaker announced that we were forced to leave al-Tayyibah, but that we would be allowed to return after a couple of days. I lost my clothes, books, and toys. Some people who had money fled by taxi.
My family—we were twelve people—made our way to al-Jabliya in Jaffa. There we stayed with an uncle for three or four days. We were then picked up by buses. On the way to the bus, I passed a bank next to a police station. It had been blown to pieces, and banknotes were scattered all over the street. I did not dare stop and pick up any of the bills.”

Nakba #44 - Nada ‘Ubayd

1945
“My father died when I was three. I remember two things about him; I remember riding behind him on the donkey. And I remember him lying dead on a mattress.”
1948
“We passed a field of cucumbers and my father picked one. When the farmer realized that we were Palestinians, he threw stones at us.”

Nakba #43 - Abd al-Mannan Hassan Shbayta

1930
“We owned 20 hectares of land and lived a good life. My father had six employees working in the fields. We grew cucumbers, tomatoes, wheat, corn, and other crops.
We transported the produce to the port of Sidna Ali for onward shipment to Port Said in Egypt. In the 1930s the British closed the port. When my father came to collect our goods from the harbor, the British had already thrown them away. Despite this, they forced him to pay the port fee. My father’s cousin became so upset that he suffered a heart attack and died. For my father this was a severe blow—he still had to pay the workers’ wages.
The British tried to break us by forcibly relocating our leaders, sometimes to Akka, sometimes to Safad. Sometimes they arrested people, sometimes they killed some. They wanted to force us to our knees. Many farmers became poor and were forced to sell their land and begin working for Jews. My father, too, was forced to sell a piece of land for a pittance to a woman in Miska. She had become wealthy after selling her land to the Zionists. The woman promised to take care of our land. When my father could afford it, he bought the land back.”
1937
“I was almost 14 years old when the settlers came to the village. The Jews tried to act like the British; they spoke English, but they were known in the village. One of them was called Elimelech. A Palestinian man asked why they were speaking English. He received no answer.
They lined up seven men with their faces against the wall. Then they shot six of them in the back; the seventh lost his leg. I remember the names of some of them: Hassan Zreika, Muhammad Zreika, Ahmed Zreika, and Ali Harbiye. They also shot a man who had come from the south, from the village of al-Jura, and a worker from Syria. The Jews did it to spread fear.”
1948
“The rumor of the massacre in Dayr Yasin spread and people were afraid. Jaysh al-Inqad al-‘Arabi—we called them ‘the Syrians’—came to our village, and we believed they would defend us. But one of their generals explained that we were surrounded by Jewish settlements and that they could not protect us.
One day, while six other women and I were working in the wheat fields, we were summoned and forced to leave the village along with everyone else. We fled on foot eastward, from Miska to al-Tira, a distance of three kilometers. It was the darkest day of my life.”

Nakba #42 - Safia Hassan Shbayta

”My parents lived in Hiribya. Two of my paternal uncles took part in the resistance when the Israelis attacked in 1948. One of my uncles was surrounded by Israeli soldiers when he returned to the house to collect some belongings. They shot him. Hiribya was occupied and my parents were expelled to Gaza and the Beach Camp.
My maternal grandfather was also active. In 1972 he was arrested and subjected to severe torture for a month. He never confessed to anything, so in the end they were forced to release him. I remember the day he was released. He could not walk. I was nine years old, and I felt hatred toward the occupying power for several reasons. First and foremost: in 1948 they took our land and expelled our people. Second: they attacked Gaza and the West Bank in 1967. Third: four of my maternal uncles were imprisoned; one of them spent 26 years in prison. His son was killed in a rocket attack in Gaza. Fourth: they murdered another of my maternal uncles and two of his sons, also in a rocket attack in Gaza. Fifth: all Palestinians are subjected to this oppression.
When I was 20, I joined a women’s organization. We organized lectures on Palestinian history. The Israelis did not like that. I was summoned many times to the security service, Shabak, for interrogation. Later I became a leader of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) in Gaza. This was during the first Intifada, in 1987.
The first time I was arrested was on December 14, 1987, one week after the Intifada began. I was detained for two weeks. I was given only a piece of bread a day and weak tea. I was forced to share a cell with a group of criminals. They were dangerous and frightened me. They took drugs and became agitated. I kept to myself and hardly slept for 14 days. During that time the guards threatened me with long prison sentences, with deportation, and with punishing my family.
After two weeks I was released on bail pending trial. But there was never any trial. After five months I was arrested again. This time I was held for six months in Neve Tirtza women’s prison in Ramle, without trial. We were 36 Palestinian women divided into six rooms. After two months our situation became extremely bad. We were not allowed to read books or gather with the other women. When family members came to visit, they were forced to strip naked for searches. Mothers were not allowed to hug their children; they were separated by a glass wall. In my ward there were also criminal Jewish women. Every time we were taken out for exercise, they beat us and poured hot water on us. If we became ill, we were never given medical care. The only thing they gave us was Alvedon (paracetamol), regardless of the problem.
One woman had difficulty urinating. After two days her stomach was swollen and she screamed in pain constantly. They refused to call a doctor. Only after we protested loudly did they finally send her to hospital. Another woman was psychologically unwell. She discovered that she was pregnant. When the guards learned this, they demanded that she have an abortion. When she refused, they gave her pills that caused a miscarriage.
After six months I was released, in exchange for payment, but without any trial. I resumed the struggle against the occupation.
In 2005 Hamas won the election in Gaza. Since then there have been four wars: 2005, 2008, 2014, and 2022. And unfortunately, I believe there will be a fifth war.
I came to Sweden in 2005. My body is here, but my thoughts are in Gaza. If I were allowed to return to Palestine, I would first visit my family in Gaza, then al-Aqsa Mosque, and third Hiribya, my parents’ birthplace. I have very warm feelings for Hiribya, even though the Israelis destroyed the entire village—nothing remains. But when I was a girl in Gaza, my father rented a car every Friday and took us to Hiribya.

Nakba #41 - Lubna Alian al-Hissi

“We lived in a house in al-Hilwa in Jaffa, next to the Jabaliya Mosque. Jaffa was largely Arab, but we also had some neighbors who were Palestinian Jews. My parents have told me that people celebrated together and even married each other.
My father was a fisherman and had his own boat. We also had a citrus grove in al-Nabi Rubin, a village located eleven or twelve kilometers south of Jaffa. Our land was about 4,000 square meters and included a farmhouse. The orchards lay next to the river, so irrigation was never a problem.
Once a year, during the harvest season, pilgrims came to al-Nabi Rubin, to the tomb of the Prophet Rubin. Over time this developed into large popular festivals with up to 50,000 visitors. The Rubin Carnival lasted for three months, during which people celebrated honeymoons, got married, or circumcised boys. People came here to vacation. At the same time, commerce developed and people began trading livestock, carpets, clothes, furniture, and handicrafts.
After the Second World War, European Jews arrived in Jaffa. They wanted to take over. My father Muhammad and my uncle Faris helped organize the armed resistance, which guarded our neighborhoods at night. My younger brother Sobhi and I often brought food to my father and uncle at their defense posts. They were stationed at the front. Their post blocked the entire street with light-brown sandbags.
Once, when my brother and I had gone to the market, a man came running. In his hand he was holding a human head by the hair. I grabbed my brother’s hand and ran back home to our mother.
When we decided to leave Jaffa, my father and uncle dug a very large hole outside the house in the courtyard. They placed all our valuables there—gold, money, jewelry, and furniture. They expected that we would soon return.
We went down to the beach. There were boats there, and we boarded one of them. There were so many of us that the water almost reached over the gunwale. I was afraid the boat would sink. My father and uncle were not with us; they stayed behind at the front. We sailed south to Hiribya, where we had relatives. We stayed there for a few weeks. But the war followed us, and we were driven away from there as well.
We fled south on foot to Jabalia, a desert area in the northern Gaza Strip. We had relatives there too. They gave us tents so that we could live on their land. My brother and I played outside all day long. Men were constantly arriving. When Jaffa fell, many resistance fighters were killed. My father survived and came to us, but he was never the same person again. He was a broken man.
We lived in extreme poverty. For four years we lived in tents until UNRWA provided us with a house in al-Shati, north of Gaza City. That was in 1952.
In 1956, during the Suez Crisis, the Israelis took control of the Gaza Strip from Egypt. They imposed a total curfew on the camp for about a week. We heard gunfire. At one point some Egyptian soldiers fleeing passed by. They wanted our civilian clothes. My father took their uniforms and weapons and buried them behind our house.
When the curfew was lifted and I opened the door, a dead man was lying outside. I was shocked and screamed that there was a dead person outside our door. Some people helped remove the body.
Right next to our house there was a forest, which we passed through on our way to school. One day I discovered a blanket lying under a tree. A friend and I ran over and lifted it. Underneath lay two dead Egyptian soldiers.
My father was taken in for interrogation by the Israeli military. They wanted to question him about his activities in Jaffa ten years earlier. He was gone for fourteen days and returned even more shattered.
We heard that the Israelis had carried out a massacre in Khan Yunis, in the south. One of my aunts lived there, and we were worried about her and her family. My brother and I took a taxi there. Our aunt’s family had survived, but she told us that 200 people had been killed by the Israelis.”

Nakba #40 - Mahmud al-Hissi

1936
“At the beginning of the Arab uprising against the British, my father was shot in the back. A couple of years later, the British killed my uncle.”
1938
“My mother was called Husn, and she was a good person: wealthy, beautiful, and religious. Her first husband, Mohamed, was killed in 1938 by British soldiers during the Arab uprising. My mother decided that she would remarry. She asked her father to approach Khalil, her brother-in-law. When Khalil was asked, he began to cry. The memory of his murdered brother still haunted him. Finally, he replied:
‘Ask my first wife, Zahr.’
Zahr answered:
‘I have no objection to a marriage. If Husn comes to live with us, this will be her home. I will give her the protection of my wings.’”
1948
“I was born in 1948. I grew up with what felt like two mothers. I called my father’s first wife Mother Zahr, and my own mother I called Mama.
Husn and Zahr had a good life together. They lived like sisters.
After the massacre in Dayr Yasin, everything changed. In July 1948, I was two months old. The entire family was forced to flee, leaving everything behind and taking only a donkey with them. I know they expected to return soon. My father had difficulty walking because of a gunshot wound in his back. He and my two brothers rode the donkey. My grandmother was disabled, and my mother wrapped her in a blanket and carried her on her back. She carried me on her chest. It must have been terrible.
The road from Filastin to Lubnan was rocky and hilly, making it very difficult to walk. At one point, my mother dropped me on the ground without noticing. After some time, she realized what had happened and went back to look for me. In the end, she found me among some rocks.
We reached Kana, on the Lubnan side of the border, my grandmother’s birthplace. We stayed there with relatives who took care of us. We remained in Kana for a year and a half.
When I was a year and a half old, I suddenly became paralyzed. It happened one day while my father was playing with me. He noticed that I had lost strength in one hand. He lifted me from the ground, and suddenly I could no longer stand on my legs. The doctor told my parents to give me nutritious food.
Eventually, it became difficult to stay with our relatives. My parents heard about refugee camps in the Beirut area. We went to the Burj al-Barajna refugee camp. That is where I grew up. We lived in tents—nine people together. In the summer it was hot, and in the winter it was cold. When it rained, water sometimes ran into the tent. Most of the time, we cooked food outdoors. My happiest moments were when I sat outside the tent and talked to people who came and went.”
1982
“The attack on Sabra and Shatila in Beirut began with Israeli aircraft bombing parts of the city. When I came home, all the neighbors had gathered at Mama’s place. Some even slept overnight in our apartment. Most people stayed indoors, both men and women. Some went to hospitals to help.
I volunteered at Haifa Hospital in the Burj al-Barajna refugee camp. The management had moved all the equipment to safety in the basement. I worked in the emergency ward. People arrived with severe injuries.
One girl had serious burns to her face and body. I helped wash her. She had been my student, but she was no longer recognizable. She died, as did her entire family except for one brother.
Another time, a man arrived covered in dust from collapsed buildings. I could not recognize him either, even though he was my cousin. Much of one of his forearms and one foot had been destroyed.
One morning there was a knock at our door. When my mother opened it, a man asked for me.
‘There is a massacre going on in Sabra and Shatila. You must come.’”

Nakba #43 - Abd al-Mannan Hassan Shbayta

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