It is called the “City of Patriarchs.” Regarded as a holy site for Muslims, Jews and Christians, Hebron exists today within a schizophrenic state between Palestinians and Jewish settlers. It lingers, as its tragic present eats away at the remnants of a gilded past.
Upon entering Hebron’s old city, I could not help but compare it to that of Jerusalem. It’s like walking through a depressing, deflated version of Jerusalem’s lively, tourist haven. There are similarities: old men chatting in huddles, drinking tea and strumming their prayer beads, looking on as shopkeepers welcome us in to buy their wares. For the most part, though, it exists in striking contrast to that of its Jerusalem counterpart. Nearly a ghost-town, Hebron has been stripped of its splendor, broken down to reveal the less than modest living of Khalilis [Hebron's native population]. While Jerusalem’s Old City has light bouncing off the storefronts’ colorful array of jewelry and ceramics, the light in Hebron resembles the chaotic collection of flickering tube lights reminiscent of a doctor’s office. Even the sunlight is oppressed from entering; sifting in through the wire nets the underground Palestinian city is forced to put up to protect it from the trash Israeli settlers throw down from their homes up above.
Hebron exists within the violated crevices of the Oslo agreement, which divided the city into two sections that sound more like viruses than a place one could call home: Area H1 is supposed to be controlled by Palestinians, while area H2 is under Israeli domain. However, in response to the violence which broke out during the second intifada, the Israeli army now has full control of the entire city. Operating in violation of the agreement, the army constructed permanent watchtowers in 2005 in addition to hundreds more walls which further restrict freedom of movement. Palestinians in Hebron live asphyxiated, the noose of the Israeli army's strong presence wrapped tightly around their everyday lives.
Basma and her family live in this place. In fact, they live in the only Palestinian home of its kind – next door to an Israeli settlement. Their roof is the residence of an Israeli outpost, constantly guarded by one or more soldiers armed with massive machine guns. These soldiers watched us carefully; their hands positioned cautiously on their guns as Basma’s children giddily invited us up to play a game of tag. Basma explained that they very rarely, if ever, leave the house. This is not only because of the prolonged curfews, but even within the confines of their home, the family faces daily harassment from their Israeli neighbors. They spit down on the family through the wire nets, call them nasty names, and throw down stones, dirt, and boiling water. Basma fears that if they go outside, such bullying will only be more violent.
It is Hebron’s spiritual spaces, though, which seemed to best highlight the city’s schizophrenic existence. The Ibrahimi Mosque and the Abrahama Avinu Synagogue are separated by a wall, and both have windows looking into the tomb of Abraham, where he is believed to be buried. Peering through the window from the mosque, I could see a Jewish woman praying towards the tomb from within the synagogue. The common ground between these two religious traditions is glaringly obvious, but grossly overlooked. It’s another unsettling admonition of how the state’s political packaging of Zionist existentialism has wrought both physical and emotional barriers between communities.
Due to my background, discernable through my choice of dress, I was advised not to enter the synagogue. Not wanting to incite settler anger, it was a precaution I adhered to without contest. My friends who roamed around inside, reported back: Like the mosque, the synagogue is guarded by heavily armed Israeli soldiers; the mosque’s call to prayer reverberated loudly throughout it, as though it were coming from within the Abrahama Avinu itself.
Entering the mosque required us to pass through an Israeli guard post. It was my first experience being in such a space, as a soldier pointed his gun directly at me. My headscarf revealed more than my spiritual inclinations. It simultaneously exposed the apparent racism pervasive in Israeli security procedures. I was asked to provide identification, while my “obvious” and “proper Western” peers from Europe, were not. Nonetheless, in their company, I could not help but feel ashamed by the bizarre sense of protection I felt. It made me realize how deep the occupation cuts through; not just through its volatile military means, but by its attempts to strip a person of one's innate sense of pride in their identity, and replace it with contemptible fears.
It is a pity that the mosque is best known neither for its historical significance, nor for its striking architecture but rather for the brutal massacre of February 1994, in which a Jewish settler went on a murderous rampage killing more than 30 Muslim worshippers and injuring 270 more. It was the holy month of Ramadan, and they were in the midst of performing the dawn prayer. You can still see the bullet holes in the walls.
Yet, despite these underlying tensions, worshippers continue to faithfully attend prayers at the mosque. In fact, life goes on across the city. People continue to go about their business buying bread and fruit from the street vendors; children kick footballs up against walls inundated in graffiti; and policemen direct traffic in a city that is ultimately, not within their control.
It’s nice to think that perhaps one day, Hebron will regain its glory and exist as it’s meant to: a harmonious spiritual space which unifies religious communities in a city paved with the footprints of prophets and saints. However, as long as the Israeli army continues to reside there illegally, as long as Palestinians continue to be suffocated and shoved over to make room for Israeli settlers, such a reality will continue to be what it is – little more than a dream.
Amina Waheed is a Writer for the Media and Information Department at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mid@miftah.org.
The people united will never be divided
Date posted: April 30, 2024
By Joharah Baker
I was born in the United States and lived there through early childhood, but since returning with my family to Palestine, I have never wanted to go back. The United States has always evoked mixed feelings in me. I have a certain nostalgia for the place of my birth but my overall sentiments always culminated in a sense of resentment for this so-called superpower that has systematically aided in my people’s oppression, occupation and dehumanization.
That is, until present day. The scenes of American university campuses breaming with students in kuffiyehs, waving Palestinian flags and resisting the brutality of the police and their own university administrations, has uplifted my spirit in ways I cannot fully articulate. In a word, what is happening on US campuses today is validation of our people, of Palestine and of our struggle. To those who live comfortable lives in free countries, this may sound like an exaggeration, but for my people, who have been denied their very right to exist, who have been demoralized, demonized and dehumanized, this is huge. We are seeing students of all races, creeds, backgrounds and religions, calling for an end to the genocide in the Gaza Strip and marching for a free Palestine and divestment from the Israeli occupation. We are hearing Jewish voices, debunking Zionist propaganda and its below-the-belt attempts to conflate anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism. We are being validated for our struggle, for our resistance against oppression, occupation and settler-colonialism and we are finally being heard and seen.
Students have always been the litmus test for social and political justice. Rallies and demonstrations on university campuses have been the driving force against imperialist wars throughout the ages, the Vietnam War being the best example. However, what is so incredible about this movement is that American students are not directly involved in Palestine. Students are not being drafted into an army to fight on foreign soil, so the stakes are not as high for them at the personal level. What is happening today is the direct result of the intersectionality of struggles and the belief that no one is free until all of us are free. This is a force far more powerful than a genocidal regime will ever be.
The scenes from university campuses in the United States and now in Europe, juxtaposed against the crushing images from the Gaza Strip, are a balm for our wounded hearts. We feel a kinship with these incredible Gen Zs who have put their very lives on the line for Palestine. We send them love, energy and solidarity as we watch them being thrown to the ground, handcuffed and arrested and we burst with pride as we hear them chant ‘Free Palestine”.
This is a moment in time that must not be squandered. May these American university protests spread like wildfire throughout campuses across the world, putting to shame both Zionism and American imperialism, which has allowed this racist ideology to survive. The Palestinians have never wavered in their determination to liberate their land from Israeli occupation and oppression, whether they do it alone or with the help of friends. Today, thanks to the beautiful people all over the world who have championed our cause alongside of us, a free Palestine is not only an inevitability, it is just around the corner.
Who will hear their screams?
Date posted: April 01, 2024
By Joharah Baker for MIFTAH
When Israel claimed women were sexually assaulted on a mass scale on October 7, the world exploded. Almost the entirety of Israel’s genocidal war was based on these and other allegations, many unsubstantiated. We all remember the infamous’40 beheaded babies” story, do we not?
This article is not about Israeli allegations per se, neither will it only focus on violations against Palestinian women. This is about a world that is immediately up in arms when one side merely alleges atrocities while it turns a blind eye to actual documented violations against the “other”.
In Gaza, it is painfully clear that we indeed, are ‘the other’. How else can anyone explain the muted cries of women being stripped, raped, starved and murdered practically in real time, on our phone screens, documented in UN reports and described in horrific detail in eyewitness testimonies? There is no other explanation than that Palestinians are what Arundhati Roy calls “Children of a lesser God”. We are the victims of deep-rooted colonialism, one whose geographic demarcations may have vanished but whose insidious, dehumanizing mentality still prevails and manifests in the ugliest of manners.
For nearly six months, Palestinians have endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of Israel’s occupying army. Today, the Gaza Strip has been reduced to an emaciated shell of what it once was. As Gaza is being systematically decimated and ethnically cleansed, the world, for the most part, looks on. Barring sympathetic supporters and a few well-intended but timid political actors, nothing has been done to stop the carnage. Palestinians once believed there was no way the world would allow Israel to erase Gaza off the map, no way it could see a live-streamed genocide and do nothing. But that is exactly what is happening.
Then, when we thought things could not get any worse, something unfathomable emerged from the deathtrap of Gaza. When this happened, we were certain it would be the turning point in this hellish nightmare. Well-documented reports, corroborated by the UN and eyewitnesses on the ground, told of harrowing stories of sexual assault against Palestinian women in Gaza.
We were paralysed with horror when we heard of women being raped by Israeli soldiers in northern Gaza, assaulted and stripped in front of their families. What’s worse, we all know that in times like these, the undocumented atrocities will far outnumber those documented. Who knows what horrors will unfold once the dust settles in Gaza; no doubt they will be so horrific, our entire nation will be traumatized for years to come.
The real question here is not how Israel’s soldiers perpetrated such gross violations. I think by now we can all agree that this depraved military establishment and its political echelon to boot, has dehumanized and vilified Palestinians so much and for so long, they will justify just about anything. No, the question is more about the moral compass of the rest of the world. While alliances and political interests are always part of the equation, even when the issue pertains to basic human rights, nothing can better explain the blatant hypocrisy, double standards and loss of collective humanity than the deafening silence today.
Our women have not only been killed, starved and displaced, they have been exposed to the very violations that sparked global outrage and a genocidal war against an entire population under occupation, unprecedented in modern history. This is not only unacceptable, it is an indelible stain on humanity. Sexual violence is a crime so heinous it is imperative to condemn and prevent, no matter the perpetrator or the victim. That must always be the baseline in any argument.
Palestinians will never get past this genocide; it is not something you can come back from. However, be assured, this is not only about the Palestinians. The world’s women, the majority of so-called feminists who have remained disgustingly silent, must know this: when you do not stand up for women, all women, no one will stand up for you in your time of need.
A new day will come
Date posted: February 14, 2024
By Joharah Baker
I once heard that anger is not a real emotion, but a cover for other feelings such as sadness, disappointment or fear. You need to peel back that outer layer to understand what is really going on inside.
Strange how this has lately resurfaced for me, but I think I know why. Lately, I and surely, millions of other Palestinians, have been filled with a blinding rage -- at Israel, at the United States, and at the world overall. This is a rage that is all-encompassing, the depth of which is palpable at the cellular level, permeating every molecule and every atom of our being. The genocide in the Gaza Strip has grated our emotions raw and we are left stinging and burning from our head to our toes.
Our anger is like a huge magnetosphere and we are all trapped inside, but its walls are translucent and we can see the source of our rage mocking us from beyond. We Palestinians are angry because we are so disappointed and we are angry because we are disillusioned and we are angry because we are drowning in sorrow.
Our disappointment lies in the fact that the world has failed us in the worst possible way and has allowed the unspeakable to be committed against us. Genocide is the ‘mother of all crimes’ and, contrary to the promises, the conventions and the historical lessons the world was supposed to learn, it has been committed over and over again. The Palestinian genocide, however, is unique in at least one way: it is live-streamed, which means no one can claim ignorance and everyone has a responsibility in stopping it. Hence, our disappointment is not limited to countries, Arab or otherwise, or to international and human rights organizations. It has spread to everyone in our orbit; acquaintances and people we thought were friends, but whose silence towards our slaughter is a deafening betrayal. Our sense of disappointment has discolored every relationship it touches because every relationship for us is a dichotomy: you are either with or against genocide and either support Palestine in word and deed, or not.
Our anger is a thin veil concealing our disillusion with the international community and its institutions, supposedly established to protect people in situations precisely like ours. We have confirmed what we knew all along, that these organizations were constructed for some and not all, for colonial powers and not those who suffer beneath them. Even when the highest court in the land rules in our favor, the Global North ensures that its ruling will not be implemented to save us, the oppressed, indigenous brown people whose lives apparently do not matter.
And finally, our anger is a survival mechanism to shield us from our own grief. Our sorrow over the murdered men, women and children, defenseless, homeless, starving and shivering in the cold, is so deep, so immense, we ourselves cannot fathom it. If we dare peek behind this anger and truly feel a fraction of the aching in our hearts, it will paralyze us for sure, because no people can endure the magnitude and scale of such suffering and not lose their minds.
We Palestinians know we cannot let go and that a new day is near. We know we must hold on just a little bit longer, because Palestine depends on it. We are no strangers to oppression, suffering and sacrifice and we know the price of our freedom has and continues to be painfully high. Still, we also know that a life without shackles and the yoke of oppression around our weary necks is the only life worth living.
