I am a Palestinian born in the United States. My father is from a town in the West Bank and immigrated to the United States as a young man just before the war of 1967. He does not have the right to return to his hometown to live, but he, his brother and sisters travel back to visit family that still live in their childhood home. I started visiting Palestine as a young person during university. I have made several trips to visit family, to volunteer at an NGO that provides legal aid to political prisoners, and to work on contracts for work.
The Israelis always give me a difficult time entering Palestine whether I am coming through the airport in Tel Aviv or over the crossing with Jordan. I am planning my first trip to Palestine this summer after over a ten year absence. Like many Palestinians in the diaspora, my mind stays in Palestine while physically removed from it.
My large, extended family in the United States is a tribe. I grew up surrounded by Palestinian families that were all related to us in one way or another. Our community celebrates and mourns together. In some ways our community is a microcosm of Palestine in the 1950s. These families mostly immigrated to the States mid-century seeking economic opportunities. Many first went to Detroit to find work in the auto industry. That's where my dad went in 1966 and he worked for Ford on the assembly lines. He has great stories of that job, even of falling asleep on the line. Being the worldly man that he is, he was more concerned with going out drinking and dating women, and he didn't last long there. He eventually found success in his own business in the South.
What a joy my upbringing was surrounding by a rich culture of large gatherings, traditional food, weddings that lasted days and comfort in being different, but not odd. My parents and family are politically aware, but Palestine for them and our community is more than politics. It is family, it is culture, it is longing. It is a fantasy for many as a majority of our community has not returned or visited their homeland. I stumbled upon the real Palestine out of curiosity as a university student.
In 1990, I joined a tour of youth to visit Israel, the West Bank and Gaza. The group met with community committees, unions, and peace activists. We toured Beit Sahour and Beit Jala to learn about the tax resistance and other nonviolent measures against the occupation. We met Israeli lawyers defending Palestinian political prisoners. We met the women running underground schools for Palestinian children because of the frequent closures imposed by the Israeli army during the first intifada. We sat with the incomparable Haidar Abdul Shafi in his office in Gaza amazed by the energy and wisdom of this old man.
I returned often and made close connections with the family that stayed and with other friends. My long absence has forced me back into the land of the fantasy Palestine. I am in for much shock and dismay when I confront the real Palestine again in a few short weeks. The early 1990s, while terribly difficult and oppressive, were a time of hope and dialogue. Israelis would regularly come to Ramallah for meetings of human rights groups working on the issue of prisoner deaths in detention. Now those meetings have ceased. The Separation Wall stands with the imagined security it provides Israel while shielding Israelis from the reality of their state's policies. It is their version of the fantasy Palestine--one populated by terrorists that seek to destroy them. Settlements have expanded rapidly in the time I've been away. The lives of the settlers barely come in contact with the Palestinians living in the old terraced villages of the West Bank. The settlements sit on hilltops destroying the natural beauty of this land. There is nothing indigenous about their design or way of life.
I will be confronted forcefully with my identity at the border. While I carry a U.S. passport, my name will cause much discomfort to the Israeli border guards. Will they allow me in? Will they insist on strip-searching my children? These are the fears that haunt me in the nights leading up to our visit. How do you prepare young children for the racism and hatred that they will face? I wish I had good answers to this question. I refuse to teach them to see anyone as an enemy.
I am grateful to be able to come back to reality of the situation every so often. It keeps Palestine alive in my heart and keeps me motivated to continue to work for a just solution to my homeland's great troubles. That is my birthright and responsibility.