Most discourse on Palestinian refugees focuses on the events
of 1948, when Israel
was established and the indigenous Palestinians were ousted from their native
lands and made into refugees. Unbeknownst to many, Israel continues to create Palestinian
refugees in the present day by revoking the residency rights of Palestinians
from Jerusalem; one of these newly-minted refugees is my mother, whose Jerusalem residency rights were revoked in 2010 based on an Israeli law that stipulates that one's "center of life" must be in Jerusalem in order to retain a Jerusalem ID card.
My mother grew up in a picturesque and historical
neighborhood in southern Jerusalem called Beit Safafa. A native Jerusalemite, she was born there and lived in the city through adulthood. After marrying my father, she left her native Jerusalem
for the very first time and moved to the United States. I was born less than
a year later; my younger siblings soon followed. Five years later, my parents decided to live apart so that my
siblings and I could be brought up in Jerusalem (since my father is a descendant of refugees, he was
not allowed to live with us in Jerusalem); my mother and father placed tremendous importance on their children
knowing their heritage and the Arabic language. The next four years were, and remain to be, the
best of my life. I attended a UN school in Jerusalem and excelled in Arabic. Several times
a week, my mother would take my siblings and I to the Al-Aqsa mosque after
school. The mosque features a very large courtyard and I spent much of those
few years running and playing around the mosque’s gardens and olive trees. Eventually, despite the happy childhood memories I gained
living in Jerusalem,
my parents realized that living apart was impractical. With no way for my father
to come and reside with us in Jerusalem, the
decision was made and we returned to the United States.
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| The author at her former school in Jerusalem. |
Once we returned to the United
States, my mother began a series of trips to Palestine in order to retain her Jerusalem residency status. Every two or three years, she
would fly to Palestine
and stay there for a week or two. The purpose of her trips was to not
exceed the Israeli-imposed limit of three years that she could be out of the country as
a Jerusalem ID holder. Like clockwork, every couple of years, she would leave me and my younger
siblings in the care of our full-time working father and fly half-way around
the earth. She timed her trips to be during the school year so that we wouldn’t
be home alone during the daytime while she was abroad. Little did we know that
all of the sacrifices that had made to retain my mother’s Jerusalem ID would be in vain.
In 2010, on one of her routine trips to Palestine,
my mother was informed by 18-year old Israeli border officials that her Jerusalem ID
had been revoked. In one moment, her past, present, and future were
completely changed.
My mother’s trip to Palestine began normally that year. She said goodbye to us and departed from Los Angeles International Airport.
After a layover in London, she arrived in Amman, Jordan
and took a taxi to the Allenby Border Crossing between the West Bank and Jordan. Upon
arriving at the border crossing, everything was routine and Israeli border
authorities issued my mother her Jerusalem
ID card allowing her back into
the country. After spending two weeks with my grandmother, she departed Jerusalem and took a taxi
back to the Allenby Border Crossing. At the crossing, unusual occurrences began to
unfold. My mother was taken to an interrogation room and interrogated for two
hours. She was then informed that Israel
was aware that she was residing in the United
States and that she held a US passport. Despite never
exceeding the Israeli-imposed limit of how long she could be outside of Jerusalem, her Jerusalem ID
was permanently revoked. After a lifetime, she suddenly had no
claim to her home. To add insult to injury, Israeli soldiers at the border
crossing informed my mother that should she wish to return to Jerusalem in the future to visit my
grandmother, uncles, aunts, and cousins, she could try to apply for a tourist visa. My
mother, a native Jerusalemite, now had to “try” for a tourist visa just to go
home. She was subsequently denied from exiting the country from this border
crossing and told that she had to drive 90 minutes north to another border
crossing for foreigners. In the blink of an eye, she became a foreigner in her
own land.
Israeli law stipulates that a Jewish person from any country on earth is automatically eligible for Israeli citizenship and the right to live in Jerusalem from the moment he steps foot in the country. Israeli law also dictates that the residency rights of any Palestinian Jerusalemite whose "center of life" is not Jerusalem can be revoked at any time, even if that person was born in Jerusalem, raised in Jerusalem, worked in Jerusalem, and that her mother and siblings still reside in Jerusalem. After consulting with lawyers, my family received confirmation that nothing could be done to help my mother.
The revocation of my mother’s Jerusalem ID
card came swiftly and unexpectedly. And in the following months, the exact same scenario played out with two of my aunts residing in Dubai and the UK. It has been a big blow to my entire family. My mother has not returned to Palestine
since her Jerusalem ID was revoked. I often try to encourage her to attempt to go to Jerusalem so she could spend time with my ailing grandmother; however, she refuses to discuss the subject. I know
that she longs to go home; however, she fears that
she will be denied entry. Quite frankly, I sometimes feel that it's best that she does not try to go back; at her age, I deeply worry about the implications that could result if my mother has to deal with another bout with Israeli border authorities.
Despite what took place with my mother, I try to go to Palestine as frequently as possible in order to maintain a connection with my homeland and extended family. This summer, I flew to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. After hours of
interrogations, Israeli authorities granted me a tourist visa so I could visit my family in Jerusalem. In the two
months I spent there, my 80-year old grandmother kept asking me the same question
every morning after having breakfast and our daily cup of mint tea, “am I ever
going to see your mother again?” I didn't have the heart to try to explain everything. So every morning, with a straight face, I
told her the same lie over and over, “of course”.
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| The author overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem. Sept. 2012 |
