What It Was Like Being Forced to Leave Palestine 60 Years Ago

By Suzanne Manneh, New America Media. Posted January 13, 2009.

Others managed to take boats north into Lebanon. Some fled by foot. Many of them died of dehydration and exhaustion while escaping. We were lucky. We had a cab from my father's taxicab company at home and we drove off in it, leaving everything else behind.

The other day, I saw a close-up of a little girl's face on my TV screen. She was four, maybe five, years old. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She was screaming, "Mommy! Daddy! Mommy! Where are you? I need you!" Her parents had been killed in missile attacks.

When I saw her eyes, I remembered a little girl from 1948 in my neighborhood. She too had eyes swollen from crying. She found her parents shot dead in front of her home. They hadn't cooperated when they were told to leave. The little girl was still asleep inside the house.

In that violence, over 750,000 Palestinians were forced out. But today I see cruelty that cannot compare to 1948. This is worse than a slaughterhouse. I see fields of human bodies with arms and legs missing. I see dead bodies lying on top of each other in pools of blood, injured people, homes turned to rubble.

I see children in the streets all alone. I see people crying. They have been without food, water, medicine and electricity for weeks.

In 1948, I thought the Palestinian issue was just a Palestinian issue, but this current conflict has become a global humanitarian crisis. International human rights are being violated. Palestinians deserve a home, deserve peace, just like everyone else.

Growing up in Palestine, I had many Jewish, Muslim and Christian friends. You could sense the harmony between us.

I remember many of them visiting me in Jaffa. I, in turn, would visit them in Gaza, an hour's drive away. I still remember the smell of fresh citrus and wild flowers in the air.

I haven't seen or heard from them since I came to the United States. I'm not sure if they're okay, or even if they’re still alive. I have no way of finding out. When I fled Palestine, I was lucky to have my parents, brothers, sisters and a few other immediate relatives to stay with. It was impossible to keep track of everyone else you knew when you were ripped apart from everything and everyone.

After the state of Israel was created, the Israeli government made it difficult for Palestinians to return to their homeland. If I had to go back, I would first need to complete forms and be investigated before I am given permission. Imagine needing permission to go home. It's like someone ripping my heart out, stepping on it and feeding it to the lions. If there had been peace in Palestine, I would have preferred to be there now, even if it meant living like a peasant.

I cried and prayed for peace in 1948, and every time a fresh outbreak of violence erupted. For too long I have been hearing the terms, "cease fire" and "peace talks."

But historically, that part of the world has been an unending cycle of violence and ceasefire. I don't want to see this cycle continue. There must be peace, real peace, and equality.

The only thing I can do now as a 78-year-old man is to pray. Pray for my people. Pray for everyone. Pray for peace.

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