A Lifetime of Pursuing Post-WWII Dreams in the Shadow of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict with a focus on Lebanon.

A Lifetime of Pursuing Post-WWII Dreams in the Shadow of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict with a focus on Lebanon.

What I learned from my Lebanese Father, My Palestinian Mother and growing up in the war in Lebanon (1975-1990)

My personal journey through generations of suffering in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I am writing about the enduring impact of this conflict on my Lebanese family, my parents resilience, and the search for peace.

Disclaimer:
The opinions expressed in this article are solely mine, rooted in personal experiences and perspectives. My intent is to provide insight into my unique viewpoint and historical recollections. I acknowledge that discussions related to political conflicts, extremism, and terrorism can be highly contentious and divisive. Not everyone may share these views, and I encourage open and respectful dialogue.

 Prologue:  
At the age of six, I was old enough to venture to "عمّو مسعود ammo Masoud's" shop to buy my favourite snack. As I walked up the stairs and reached the exit of our apartment building, I gazed to the right in the direction of "uncle Massoud" shop, and what I saw was terrifying. Six Palestinian fighters were striding down our street towards me, boldly strolling in the middle of the road. I could tell they were Palestinians by the distinct black and white PLO scarves they wore.

In my hand, I clutched tightly the 5 lira that my mom had given me to purchase my beloved Nutella cup. Not only were we in the midst of a war during a short ceasefire, but we also resided on the most critical street on the eastern side of Beirut, bordering the Christian militia stronghold. On the western side lay the enemy lines.

Without a moment's hesitation, my heart pounding at supersonic speed, I swiftly turned on my heels and sprinted back down the stairs toward our apartment. I shouted hysterically, " يحنّي بالشارع عنّا They are walking in the street! They are in our street!" This moment would forever be etched in my memory.

In following moments of fear, I had recurring panic attacks, contemplating that if they were to come and harm us, my refuge would be the storage space beneath our sleeper sofa. There, I believed, they would never find me.

Subsequently, for many years, I have experienced a recurring nightmare in which Israeli fighters fly above our street in Achrafieh and bomb it into the ground. The images in my dream are reminiscent of what is being shown in Gaza. It is a lucid dream because I see myself running from one shelter to another, looking at the destruction around me in utter disbelief. 

From a very young age, I have been scared of the Israeli army's weapon arsenal. Today, Hezbollah's arsenal sends shivers down my spine."

Fortunately, as a child, these unsettling moments remained as memories, and it is these memories that have shaped my unwavering belief in the only viable solution to the devastation of wars: PEACE TALKS ☮ .

Today, countless children bear memories that are even more horrifying and traumatic. My hope is that they, too, will grow up with a profound yearning for PEACE ☮ rather than a desire for REVENGE. 

In this bonus episode, I am emotionally charged, I delve into a lifetime shaped by the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, with a focus on Lebanon. I reflect on my upbringing amidst animosity and unrest, tracing my mother's story as Christian Palestinian refugee. I highlight the tragic events of the Lebanese war and its connection to the Palestinian struggle, including the notorious Sabra and Shatila massacre.

As I reflect on my upbringing, I recall the prevailing animosity among many Lebanese people towards Palestinians. They held them responsible for the war in Lebanon, resenting their presence in the country and the turmoil they brought. This disruption shattered the chance of living a peaceful, ordinary life. My personal aversion even extended to my father due to his sympathy for their cause, as he passionately desired their right to reclaim their land, viewing it as one of the most grievous injustices faced by any group since the Holocaust.

To better understand the context of my narrative, let me take you back to my early years.

I am born in 1974 in Beirut, Lebanon, just as the Lebanese war commences. My mother, Julia, is a Christian Palestinian refugee, and my father, Fawaz, at that time of their meeting serves in the Lebanese army. Their union faces challenges, particularly from my grandmother, who opposes his marriage to a Palestinian girl. It may seem perplexing, to have such reservations about a Palestinian girl. My parents' paths crossed in the mid-60s, I am the youngest of their four children, with two older sisters and a brother. 

The year 1975, one year after my birth, marks the onset of the war in Lebanon. To provide a deeper understanding of the subsequent content, let me provide some historical context regarding how this war unfolds.

In my memories, the Palestinians are closely intertwined with the Lebanese war, as the Lebanese Phalangists, also known as the Kataeb Party, accuse Palestinians of launching attacks on Christian neighborhoods, igniting the conflict. This eventually led to the Phalangists wanting to establish dominance over the capital, Beirut.

The start of the war summarizes in a tragic incident that occurrs on April 13, 1975, in Ain al-Rummaneh. A gunfight erupts between Phalangist militiamen and Palestinian militants. While the exact cause of the shootout remains somewhat disputed, it is widely seen as the spark that ignited the civil war.

The firefight in Ain al-Rummaneh rapidly escalates, leading to violence and street battles in various parts of the city. This initial incident and the subsequent violence heightens sectarian tensions and draws other factions into the conflict.

In the days and weeks following this incident, violence spread to other areas of Lebanon, involving different religious and sectarian groups, militias, and foreign powers.

The Phalangists, part of the Christian militia forces, are embroiled in various armed clashes, including the Sabra and Shatila massacre in 1982. This tragic event involvs the Phalangist militia, allied with Israel, carrying out the massacre. Over several days, they enter Palestinian refugee camps, committing widespread killings, torture, and other atrocities against Palestinian civilians, including women and children. The exact number of casualties remains disputed, with estimates ranging from hundreds to over a thousand. The group's role in the civil war and the massacre remains a controversial and contentious aspect of Lebanese history.

Now that you have a glimpse of the historical backdrop, allow me to introduce myself and explain the motivation behind my writing.

The never-ending blame game of 'us versus them' wears me down. This cycle perpetuates itself across every social media platform, where I'm connected to family, friends, coworkers, and acquaintances from both sides. From the day I am born, this conflict is the central and most destructive issue that defines my life, leaving me deeply perplexed.

Following World War II, efforts were made to address the suffering of the Jewish people, who had endured immense pain and loss. Unfortunately, in the pursuit of redress, a different tragedy unfolds: the displacement and suffering of the Palestinian people. Since 1948, the Palestinian people have borne the heavy burden of this collective punishment, despite not being the primary instigators of violence against Jewish communities. 

Now, let's return to my mother's story, as she offers firsthand insight into the life of a refugee.

My mother is of Palestinian descent, a Palestinian refugee to be exact. In 1948, at the age of 10, she, along with her parents and siblings, fled Palestine. Their journey is marked by enduring hardship that spanned generations. To maintain their refugee status and the right to reclaim their ancestral lands, Arab nations strip them of fundamental human rights, including access to healthcare, the ability to obtain a driver's license, enrollment in universities, work permits, and even the basic right to purchase a home or land. This hindered their opportunities for a better life and a proper education for their children. Consequently, many of my mother's siblings sought opportunities abroad, hoping for a brighter future.

My mother, now 85 years old, has lost three brothers far away in the lands of hope and future. The circumstances of the war in Lebanon and the growing hatred sowed among Palestinians and Lebanese makes it necessary for them to immigrate and be scattered across the world. Many of her refugee friends and family members also passed away without her seeing them, with some remaining in her memory as young as when she last saw them back in 1948.

So here we are, the inheritance of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict endures, pass down through the generations, and I'm still talking about it. Something profound strikes me in this ongoing narrative, and it may deeply resonate with you or lead you to disagree. The same policies that originated in 1948 continue to affect Israel and the Middle East. Different perspectives and opinions are expressed by minorities, but the influential forces remain largely unchanged, passed down from one generation to the next.

These influential forces consist of world leaders with questionable intentions, sowing the seeds of hatred for their gain over many years, permitting the rise of extremist fighters and offering the 'promised land' to the settlers, causing displacement, humiliation, and the exodus of people from their lands. 

It's incredibly mind-boggling how each terrorist attack results in an invasion, more money spent on weapons, and a larger sphere of influence, contributing to the growth of even more radical extremism. It even seems to me that these extremists are, in some way, under contract with these powerful entities. They operate and carry out the dirty work, only for these entities to step in and 'save the day' by killing the people of these lands in the name of eradicating terrorism.

My father would likely turn in his grave now, as the opinions expressed in this article mirror the conversations I overheard from adults discussing the news and newspapers in the '80s and '90s. During those times of war, men would sit for hours, as there was little else to do in times of war besides looking after each other's children, reading newspapers, and analyzing the actions of world leaders.

Growing up, I absorb a wealth of wisdom and insights, and only now do I fully grasp their meaning. Events like 9/11 and the war on terror have opened the doors to more extremism and heightened terrorism, ironically the terrorist initially were collaborators.

Never mind the historical event, what matters is the price my mother is paying since 1948. It is the price every Palestinian endures since the "Nakba - " . Seventy-five years of Palestinian suffering. Seventy-five years of a conflict that today might result in my elderly mother who is confined to her bed, passing away in Lebanon, and I cannot go to see her; the conditions over there are uncertain and dangerous.

What pains me the most is that when I compare my life in Europe to the lives of my family and siblings in Lebanon, I can't help but feel 'privileged' and 'spoiled.' I'm privileged and spoiled to live in Europe with the freedom of movement, while I could have been trapped in Lebanon with nowhere to run if the war were to escalate in the region.

Despite all this, I do not take my freedom in Europe for granted. I live every day feeling grateful for what I have and vigilent for any challenges that may arise.

Now, while writing this article, My father’s voice resonates in my ears. Whenever he listens to the news on the radio or watches it on TV, I hear him reacting loudly with the words: 'you are all عرصات.' This word has no equivalent in English, and my father knew precisely which words to use to express his disrespect, impoliteness, and indignation towards those who had inflicted pain and suffering on Palestinians and on many Lebanese. 

Reflecting on the horrific events that have unfolded since October 7th, I find an ironic sense of relief that my father is not enduring this relentless war any longer. If he can hear me, I'd say to him, "Papa, I believe your soul is finally at peace; there's no need for you to bear the burden of this war. I am ashamed and embarrassed to tell you nothing have changed... well some things have changed, the Lebanese are still standing strong and doing their best for not starting a civil war again. After all, they will not stand a chance facing Hezbollah.

As for my mother, I'll call her this afternoon and tell her, "Mama, I'm hopeful and eager to embrace you soon; my ticket is booked on Nov 20th for my next visit to you in Lebanon. I am scared to travel to you in these insecure times at the same moment I don't have the guts to cancel my flight reservation.