By Aaron Lakoff
Toronto – March 1, 2005

On my last day in Palestine, just before leaving, I went back to visit one
of my favorite spots in Jerusalem. Located in the Western Wall plaza,
there is this place you can stand where the shining gold of the Dome of
the Rock arches ever so slightly over the holy wall. Seeing the two
religious sites juxtaposed against each other is breathtaking. It’s a
visual symbol of how close two societies in conflict are to each other,
yet it’s depressing because they’re so far apart.

It was my last day in the country after coming to Israel on a Birthright
trip, a free 10-day trip to Israel given to anyone who is young and
Jewish. I had come for the ten days, and stayed for two months to work in
Palestine. I figured that seeing Israel without seeing Palestine would be
selling myself short – it wouldn’t really be cashing in on my birthright.
This right came easily to me – I simply registered and was on the trip.
However, such rights don’t come so easily to others.

Take the Ayoub family in Montreal for example. They just won a huge
battle for their rights, and unfortunately for them, it wasn’t as easy as
walking into an office, claiming their ethnicity, and signing some papers.

The Ayoubs (Therese, Nabih, and Khalil) are all Palestinians in their 60s.
They came to Canada as refugees from the Ein El Hilweh camp of Lebanon,
but before that, they had lived in a village just south of Haifa, in what
we now call Israel today. The Ayoubs, like 750 000 other Palestinians,
were victims of the “Nakbah” of 1948 – ethnically cleansed to pave the way
for a Jewish state.

As if being evicted from their homes and then forced to live in
sub-standard conditions in Lebanon wasn’t bad enough, the Ayoubs came to
Canada in 2001 hoping to seek asylum, and were promptly rejected. In our
post 9-11 climate of fear against the enemy (whoever and wherever they may
be), our state couldn’t be bothered by a few Arabs showing up at our
doorstep, desperate to find some safety.

So, in early 2004 when the three were served a deportation order, they
chose to take sanctuary in the basement of a Montreal church rather than
to be sent back to a life of misery and statelessness in Lebanon.

For 13 months they lived like prisoners, stuck in a basement, and unable
to leave for fear of being nabbed by the Immigration Canada authorities.
I visited the Ayoubs in their church in Montreal’s Notre Dame de Grace
district last summer. The most foretelling thing about these elderly
Palestinians was the look on their faces – a worn out, depressed, and
tired look. Certainly what you would expect to see on the faces of
prisoners. It was a look that I can now compare to having seen on other
people’s faces in Palestine. It’s the look of being pissed off, exhausted
from fighting, but accepting of the fact that you’re just going to have to
keep fighting anyways.

However, on February 27, everything changed for the Ayoubs. They were
finally granted permanent residency status by the government, and are now
legally allowed to remain in Canada. This is a tremendous victory for
them, something they fought long and hard for.

There will be a short victory dance, the Ayoubs will take their first
breath of fresh air in over a year, and many a back will be patted.
Unfortunately though, as over 100 Palestinian refugees in Montreal alone
are still facing deportation orders, the struggle is far from being over.
I am happy for the Ayoubs, and as I left Palestine, their experience
became an emotional one for myself. I have a birthright to come to a
place I really feel no attachment to, while the Ayoubs and millions like
them have no right of return to their homelands. It’s a privilege that
disgusts me to the core.

The flight of Palestinians was one little story that wasn’t mentioned
during our Birthright tour. We never heard the stories of places like
Deir Yasin, Al Qubaybah, or other Arab villages which were obliterated
underneath Israel’s creation. At one point during the tour, we were out
in the countryside when a tour guide pointed out a patch of cacti, and
noted that those were a sign that an Arab village used to be here. Nobody
raised an eyebrow, and the group moved on, made to believe that these
Arabs must have just packed up peacefully and said goodbye to their new
neighbors.

To restore a bit of the sanity lost during this tour, I needed to see some
of the camps myself, to see how Palestinian refugees were living today in
the West Bank.

One of these visits brought me to the Al Fawar refugee camp, located just
south of Hebron. We turned off Fawar’s main street, went up another
narrow, alley-like street, and found our way into the home of Taleb
Shawabka. I had never met Taleb before, but I was interested in visiting
him because his son, Rafat, is now living in Montreal and has claimed
refugee status. The visit was difficult for the Shawabka family. They welcomed me warmly into their home, which really wasn’t their home at all.

While many Palestinian refugees are humble folks, they have interesting
stories to tell. Rafat’s parents were born in the Fawar camp, but before
that, his grandparents had lived in the village of Beit Jibreen, now
renamed to Beit Guvrin in Hebrew, just inside Israel’s side of the Green
Line. In 1948, when they were forced to leave their homes and lives, the
Shawabka family came to Fawar and pitched a tent alongside many others.
From 1948 until 1958, Fawar was nothing but rows of tents. Each tent
provided meager shelter for a family whose hopes of one day returning to
their houses were quickly fading. Refugee camps aren’t supposed to be
permanent. They are nobody’s home. But after a decade of existence, the
residents of Fawar weren’t going anywhere in the young Jewish state, so
the tents came down and permanent buildings went up.

7500 people now live in Fawar, which, like any other refugee camp, is
overcrowded and lacks proper infrastructure. There is one main road, two
mosques, plenty of unemployment, and a lot of frustration. Baby blue
signs mark the services that the UN has stepped in to administer,
including the school, the women’s center, and the health clinic.

Now that Fawar is established itself as a community, there is at least
some sense of ‘life as normal’, but for refugees here, life is more
accurately described as a waiting process. Everything is put on hold.
Going back to Rafat, things were looking good for this 30-year old before
he left for Canada. He was planning to marry, raise a family, and build a
home for himself just above his parents’ home. In fact, he even started
to do this, but then came the outbreak of the Al-Aqsa Intifada, and a
whole new clampdown on Palestinian life.

Rafat, along with many of his family members, could no longer find work,
as Palestinians were barred from entering Israel. Their economy became
more and more strangulated. Being a young, Palestinian male who had been
beaten and arrested many times before by the Israeli army, Rafat began to
fear for his life, and fled to Canada, leaving his home and family behind.
His house now sits unfinished atop the Shawabka home. There’s nothing
that can be done with it, so Rafat’s parents use it simply to dry laundry.

Taleb took us upstairs to see Rafat’s unfinished home. It was a sad
sight. Idle building materials and tools were lying quietly on the floor.
On the upside, it did provide a wonderful view of the rest of the camp.

Rafat has three other brothers and six sisters. One of his brothers,
Mohammed, is now married and living in Finland. Another brother, Islam,
lives in Ramallah. Abed, the youngest, is still living in Fawar, although
he too expressed interests in coming to Canada to study. He’s currently
studying in Ramallah, but with the six hour trip it takes him to get to
his college, combined with the endless harassment at checkpoints along the
way, you can’t blame him for wanting to leave as well.

I asked Taleb how he felt about his children leaving Fawar to go to other
countries. He explained that he’d like for his children to stay in
Palestine, but the situation and the economy is so bad that he doesn’t
expect them to. Imposed conditions will eventually split this family
apart.

There isn’t much to look forward to when your life is on hold. These
people’s faces could be turning blue from holding their breath for so
long. Even during periods of peace negotiations, there is little optimism
– only gasping for air.

Taleb hasn’t really bet the farm on the recent talks between Ariel Sharon
and Mahmoud Abbas. Asked if he feels if Abbas could negotiate a right of
return for the Palestinian refugees, he replies, “maybe in 1000 years!” in
a cynical manner.

Back in Montreal, the Ayoubs have been offered a small slice of peace this
week. On the other hand, I have to option to make Aliyah, move to Israel,
and enjoy all the peace I want on the shores of Eilat or Tel Aviv. But
what lacked during the Oslo Accords is also lacking from the peace talks
at the moment, and that is justice for the Palestinian refugees. It’s
hard to imagine a peace without this.

I had the privilege of standing in that wonderful spot in Jerusalem to
gaze at the Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock. Any Jew in the world
can take advantage of this too. It may be a peaceful view, but until all
Palestinians, including the Shawabkas and the Ayoubs, can move freely
throughout their lands and return to their homes, the Dome of the Rock is
but a symbol immortalized in photos and postcards.