She sits in front of me in a beautiful dress of Palestinian embroidery. Her hair is covered with a thin white veil. The walls around her are covered in photographs. Weddings. Graduations. There is an entire room papered with pictures of a young man - her son - who was shot and killed during a raid. The mother watched as the soldier lifted the rifle above his head in celebration of hitting his mark.
She was three during The Catastrophe. She grew up in the stories of her home. Although we are sitting in her house at the refugee camp, very little of her lives there. She shows us her keys. So many displaced Palestinians carry the keys to the homes they left. They are not the sleek little things we know today. They are large, weighty shackles of keys. "God willing, we'll go back home", she says, gripping the cold metal in her hands.
All of her sons have been detained. All of her neighbors sons as well. It is common. Her sons told her humiliating stories of their time in prison. They were made to sit with bathroom trash bins over their heads.
The army broke into her home on several occasions. Most recently, with the raids this past week. She, also, was surprised by the numbers. As always, she offered to show them around, and open any door or drawer they'd like, but she is not trusted, and must sit on the couch while they break through doors and turn over drawers. This time they broke her fridge. How do you break a fridge?
But the worst time was when her sons were dead or arrested, and she was home alone. She saw the soldiers coming, and yelled at some neighborhood boys to run. The soldier ran into her house and began to beat her with their a night stick. They took pictures, and showed it to her sons in prison.
Keith asked her how she holds onto humanity, and she said the hardest part about holding onto her humanity has been as a mother. She does not fear for herself. She would never let any individual take away her dignity as an individual. But as a mother, she would sacrifice anything for the safety and well-being of her children.
She has a reputation as 'mother' to all in the camp. If anyone returns from the hospital or detention, she is the first to welcome them. She is there to embrace them. She will never welcome home her own son who was shot and killed, but you wouldn't know it if you saw her joy in welcoming home her neighbors' sons.
She was three during The Catastrophe. She grew up in the stories of her home. Although we are sitting in her house at the refugee camp, very little of her lives there. She shows us her keys. So many displaced Palestinians carry the keys to the homes they left. They are not the sleek little things we know today. They are large, weighty shackles of keys. "God willing, we'll go back home", she says, gripping the cold metal in her hands.
All of her sons have been detained. All of her neighbors sons as well. It is common. Her sons told her humiliating stories of their time in prison. They were made to sit with bathroom trash bins over their heads.
The army broke into her home on several occasions. Most recently, with the raids this past week. She, also, was surprised by the numbers. As always, she offered to show them around, and open any door or drawer they'd like, but she is not trusted, and must sit on the couch while they break through doors and turn over drawers. This time they broke her fridge. How do you break a fridge?
But the worst time was when her sons were dead or arrested, and she was home alone. She saw the soldiers coming, and yelled at some neighborhood boys to run. The soldier ran into her house and began to beat her with their a night stick. They took pictures, and showed it to her sons in prison.
Keith asked her how she holds onto humanity, and she said the hardest part about holding onto her humanity has been as a mother. She does not fear for herself. She would never let any individual take away her dignity as an individual. But as a mother, she would sacrifice anything for the safety and well-being of her children.
She has a reputation as 'mother' to all in the camp. If anyone returns from the hospital or detention, she is the first to welcome them. She is there to embrace them. She will never welcome home her own son who was shot and killed, but you wouldn't know it if you saw her joy in welcoming home her neighbors' sons.
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