A visit to the absentees

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I have already visited refugees in refugee camps here at the West Bank. A week ago, I visited the homes of some Palestinian refugees inside Israel. It is not the homes they are living in. But it is the homes that they are still remembering and wishing to return to.

Around 750,000 Palestinians fled during the internal violence and the Arab-Israeli war between 1947 and 1949. Of the 150,000 that remained within today's Israel, 40,000 were internally displaced. However, more Palestinians have been internally displaced after this, among other things because of war and house demolitions. As I have mentioned before, UN called for the return of the refugees in resolution 194, passed on 11th of December 1948.

Israel never allowed this return. Instead it defined the refugees as "absentees" and took over their property, first by emergency ordinances and in 1950 by the Absentees' Property Law. Those who were internally displaced also lost their property in this way, as they were defined as "present absentees". An example of this is the city of Akka, where those who didn't flee, took refuge in the old city, where they were forced to remain. Families who had their homes outside the old city were defined as absent and thus lost them. How much was taken from Palestinians in this way, is highly disputed. The Israeli Custodian of Absentee Property in 1980 suggested about 70 percent of Israeli land. The refugee organization Badil says 80 percent.

According to the Israeli organization Zochrot, out of the around 700 Palestinian villages, approximately 500 were destroyed. Most of the villages were destroyed during the war, as Israeli forces blew up the houses, occasionally leaving churches, mosques and cemeteries. Zochrot also estimates that parks belonging to the Jewish National Fund contain 86 destroyed villages. Zochrot is working to make the public in Israel aware of this part of their history, among other things by making signs marking the villages, which you can read about in this article from Haaretz.

We visited one destroyed village now turned into a park, Lubya. There were 2726 people living in Lubya in 1948. Now you find only pine trees there, planted by the Jewish National Fund. If you go there without knowing the history, you will probably never guess what this place used to look like. Only when you search for it, you find little signs: stones and marks of foundation walls on the ground. Olive trees that used to supply people with food.





In another village we went to, Shajara, more of the buildings were still standing. For instance, there was still a well with steps leading down to it.



One interesting point about refugees and return, is that most Israelis live in urban areas, while the majority of the refugees come from rural parts of the country. According to Badil, it is estimated that in 90 percent of the communities that the refugees come from, there is no conflict with existing built-up Jewish communities.
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An image in captivity

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It's four in the morning, the thirteenth of December. Gjermund and I are walking through the Gilo checkpoint, on our way back to Beit Sahour after a week in Norway. There this morning is a special one, it is the time for celebrating St. Lucia. Although Norway has been a Protestant country for almost 500 years, at this day children dress in white and walk in candle processions while they sing about St. Lucia. Afterwards people eat yellow buns.

At the Gilo checkpoint this morning is nothing special. Like every morning, at four o'clock people are already waiting in hundreds to get through the checkpoint, so that they can reach work in time. There is no waiting room, just narrow lanes separated by iron rods. It looks more like a cage than anything else. It's outside. It's cold, the wind is blowing. Some people are lighting cardboard to get some warmth from the fire. By the entrance to the lane the desperation not to be the last person to get in is clear to see.

Just two days before this there was a candle procession in Bethlehem, not for a saint, but for a document. It's called the Kairos document, or "a cry of hope in the absence of all hope". It is a theological document, written by Christian Palestinians, as an encouragement to other Palestinians, and as an appeal to the rest of the world.

The authors describe a harsh reality. The tragedy has reached a dead end, they say. Still they do not give up their faith in a good and just God. To the contrary, they claim to be "inspired by the mystery of God's love for all". Because of this God and this love, Christians cannot give up their faith in humanity either. So the Kairos authors declare that all people are created in God's image and therefore carry a dignity that is from him. The occupation distorts this image in the people who are occupied, but also in those who are occupying. Therefore the occupation is a sin. And therefore an end to the occupation would mean liberation for both.

The love Jesus talks about is a love for enemies also, because they too are loved by God. But it is also a love that resists evil and injustice. If the church takes side, it is with the oppressed, the Kairos document reminds us. Church members are asked to read the document and to come and see the realities for themselves. The international society are asked to insist on international law. If it is not respected, it will be replaced by the law of the jungle.

I recognize the interpretation made in the Kairos document. The checkpoint lane is a cage. But so is the booth where the soldier is sitting. It is the image of God that is held captive.


From the wall.
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Latest on Umm Salamona

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While I have been to Norway for a week, Lars has been back to Umm Salamona. There between fifteen and twenty trees had been uprooted and burnt with acid by settlers. You can read more at his blog, At the Bank. For background, see my two latest blogs from November.
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