Nakba

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “So what do you think we should do, Caleb?” Hava asked. “I think you have taken up the job of Adnan.”

  “I can never hope to be like him, with his wisdom. But my thought is to go with Sabria and maybe you Hava, to Al Shati and check it out. There is no point in uprooting ourselves again with the children, if it doesn’t work out for whatever reason.”

  Everyone broke out in animated chatter. Sabria nodded toward Caleb. “I think we have a plan for the next step. If it meets with your approval, we will leave soon to go to the Beach Camp and report back.”

  The group embraced the idea with animated chatter. Hava winked. “I suspect you two might enjoy the trip. Too bad I have to go along.”

  Chapter 55

  Caleb’s parents had trouble sleeping in their Dallas home after discussing the unknowns about their son and the reports from Palestine, or now Israel. Joseph tried to gather as much information as possible from radio and the newspapers over the next few days. He found occasional articles about fighting the Arabs in their cities and villages, but mostly about the progress of the new nation of Israel.

  The letter had a postmark in English: Fureidis, Palestine. Ten days ago. Nothing more since. No mention of Israel by the postmark or in Caleb’s letter. Joseph visited the main library in Dallas to look up this place, and found it a small Arab village not far from the Mediterranean coast, south of Haifa.

  “I can’t imagine what our son is doing,” Helen said one morning over their coffee. “Those experiences he had with people killed and wounded in Haifa must have had a greater effect on him than we realize. He did say some strange things about not believing the biblical predictions anymore.” She bit her lip as she often did when thinking. “Caleb must not be in school now if he is in a small village.”

  “Possibly he’s on a school project. International events intrigue him, and he may be in the middle of one of them.”

  “I doubt it, Joe. Remember he told us on the phone that he had picked up bodies in Haifa, and helped people wounded by soldiers. Something ominous may be happening, and our son seems to be caught up in it.

  “I’m going to write him care of general delivery in Fureidis and hope that they can get it to him,” Joe said. “With air-mail it should be there in at least ten days.”

  “Maybe you should go there to find him.”

  Joe stared at his wife who looked out the window, leaning on the kitchen table. “Are you serious?”

  “I am. Pan-Am has flights all over the world just like Caleb took. I think he landed in Damascus as I recall.”

  “But Helen, Syria is one of the Arab countries fighting the new state of Israel. There’s a war going on,” her husband protested. “I couldn’t go there.”

  “I didn’t know that Syria is our enemy. In that case, you could land in Cairo.”

  “Look, Helen. Egypt is also one of the countries trying to push little Israel into the sea. Besides, I don’t want to go hunting for our son in a war zone. He seems to be okay. I’ll write him and ask him to give us another call. Maybe he can get to a telephone somewhere.

  ***

  With Caleb’s blond hair and American passport he had no problem on the trip to Jaffa. The passengers in the bus, mostly Arabs, carried bags of various sizes. Sabria with her hair in a bun, could pass for being a Jew if needed. She did not have any identification from the new Israeli government, but did possess an ID from the British Mandate, now no longer valid. The same with her mother. Hava sat with Sabria on one side while Caleb joined another man just across the aisle.

  A fellow passenger greeted them in Arabic and then asked about them.

  “We’re on our way to Jaffa, but probably won’t stay there,” Sabria said.

  “Probably a good idea,” the man replied.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “It’s no place for Arab Palestinians. We still live there along with a few others scattered through the city, but it’s hard to find food. So different from the past.”

  “What happened to the food supply?” she said, pausing to translate for Caleb.

  “Ever since the militias took the city, they have been looting the food from shops and even homes,” he said, voice lowered. "It’s been mayhem. The soldiers have gone wild and we have no power to stop them.”

  “I’ve heard that the port is still active in exporting our oranges.”

  “They say so. But much less is going out now with the mass displacement of farmers to sell their produce. But what also affects us in the city is the takeover of the warehouses. Most of the fruit and vegetables are going out to the villages and cities now in control of the soldiers.”

  “It sounds like you know what is happening.”

  “I do.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a paper. He looked around before handing in to Sabria. “This mimeograph is a copy of a note to Ben Gurion from our military governor.”

  Sabria raised her eyebrows and read: “As for your demand, sir, that I will make ‘sure that all the commodities required by our army, air force and navy will be handed over to the people in charge and taken out of Jaffa as fast as possible,’ I can inform you that as of 15 May, 1948 an average load of 100 trucks a day is taken out of Jaffa. The port is ready for operation. The storehouses were emptied, and the goods were taken out.’”

  Sabria handed back the paper to the man from Jaffa with thanks for sharing the copy of the memo. She remembered Jamal and the sacrifice he made to save the city for the local residents. It cost him his life in Tantura, and the small defeated Arab population of Jaffa bore the cost of a military occupation. They had become second-class citizens in their own city.

  ***

  The bus from Jaffa pulled into the station at Gaza City. Sabria felt a wave of thanks for having enough Palestine pounds from the farmer cousins in Fureidis. The Tantura families had worked hard, contributing to the operation of the farm, and been paid for their efforts. So they had additional funds to buy food and to hire a taxi for herself, her mother and Caleb to take them to Al Shati, the Beach Camp at the edge of the City.

  Approaching the camp, she saw hundreds of tents, some white and some black, with dirt paths between rows of the dwellings. After Caleb paid the driver, the three of them walked along a narrow dirt walkway where children played. The stench of sewage permeated the air at several points.

  “Most of the tents look occupied,” Caleb noted.

  Sabria stopped to chat with a woman who cooked a pot of something over a small fire. After the usual greetings she asked, “How long have you been here?”

  “About three weeks.”

  Sabria noticed two small children sitting glassy-eyed around her. They looked thin and listless. The mother looked tired and the children’s clothes were splotched with dirt and mud. “Are you happy you came here? Oh, and I don’t know your name. I’m Sabria.”

  “I’m Talisha.” She rose from attending to her cooking. “My name means ‘fortunate.’ I don’t know whether I am or not. We had nowhere else to go. I am glad for some kind of refuge. We were expelled from our village east of Jaffa. We had nothing with us. Just forced to leave our home by the soldiers. Having nothing makes us dependent on the generosity of others. We feel so helpless since my husband has no job, and we had to go without any money or extra clothes. It’s humiliating.

  “Have you received the help you need?”

  “We do have food that they distribute, sacks of flour to make our flat bread. Milk powder and some basics.” Talisha squatted to stir the pot of soup.” There is a tent for children without families where they can go for meals along with elderly people who are alone. But our food allotment is small for all five of us. The children don’t get enough.” “I’m worried that being so thin will affect them long term. They did give us a couple of pots and several cups . . . and spoons.” Talisha stopped to check the pot and then stood up.

  “What about water? Where do you get it?”

  “I have a jug and we carry it from a well about a h
undred meters from here. My husband does this except when he’s gone, I carry the water.”

  “Do you have beds in the tent?”

  “Yes. Canvas folding cots. The camp gives us blankets we use as a mattress since we arrived in the heat. We’ll use them this winter I’m sure. They tell us it can get quite cold.”

  “What about your neighbors? Do you have friends here?”

  “Oh yes, we are getting acquainted. One family in particular. We share things and I’ve found we have much in common, including our Muslim faith. But we do hear screaming at night. Sometimes children, shouting of parents fighting. We heard of a knife fight two nights ago. People’s lives have been so disrupted. It’s not surprising that they get so stressed and do violent things.”

  “I’m sure you are worried for your family.”

  “Yes we are. We take a walk with the children to the beach in the late afternoon, but never at night.”

  “What about families with no father to protect them?”

  “I don’t mean to frighten you. I think most women are safe if they use good judgment about not being out alone at night. But this is true anywhere.”

  “How is your husband doing?”

  “He’s discouraged about being dependent, not being able to provide for us. He hates to take handouts of food. He tries to improve our tent home and somehow finds scraps of wood to improve our living. But the high unemployment here, probably ninety percent, makes it difficult for the men who are here and not in prison. He thinks maybe he can get on a fishing boat. They do need help with all the fishing here in the ocean.

  “But how about you, Sabria?”

  “We were forced out from our farm in Tantura with nothing but the clothes we wore.”

  “We had a farm too, with fruit trees,” Talisha explained, “mostly citrus, and also olives. The Irgun took over our house, moved in several soldiers and told us to leave. My husband argued with them, but gave up when they threatened to shoot all of us including the children.”

  “I’m so sorry. We did lose a dear young friend, shot to death on the beach. Then his father and mine were marched away at gunpoint. We don’t know where they are, probably in prison somewhere, or in a forced labor camp. We fled to some relatives in a village that somehow escaped being cleansed.”

  “And you can stay there? That sounds good to me.”

  “Not really. We live in a barn and can’t stay there. Our cousins have others they shelter before we came. But they rescued us when we had nowhere to go.”

  “So you are coming here?”

  Sabria introduced Hava and then brought Caleb into the conversation by translation into English from the Arabic what they were saying. “Caleb, Talisha asks whether we plan to come here. I think that is our plan. What would you say?”

  “Tell her we appreciate Talisha telling us of her family’s experience. The camp sounds pretty grim. We need to find out more about it. Refugee camps are new and trying to help. We don’t know their plans, how long we could stay. We don’t even know whether they would have places for us.”

  Sabria with raised eyebrows looked at Caleb. “I thought that we had already made that decision, to come here. Now you tell me we don’t know about coming.” She threw up her hands, whirled around and walked back down the path retracing their steps.

  Caleb ran after Sabria. Catching her arm he threw his arms around her. She tried to push him away, but then went limp and put her head on his shoulder. She cried with convulsive sobs. He gently patted her back repeatedly and remained in a silent embrace. Finally he spoke softly. “Sabria my love, you have been through so much heartache, I understand. It’s okay to cry. I love you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want us to know more of this camp and whether we can even come here.”

  Sabria gave a double sigh and clung to Caleb. Regaining her composure she whispered, “We have to go somewhere. This camp is worse in some ways than where we are. Maybe it will get better. But you are right. Let’s go talk to the head of the camp if we can find the office.”

  Chapter 56

  The tent, much larger than what they had seen so far, had a wooden floor and some chairs. The man in a keffiyeh sitting behind a well-used desk rose as they walked in, putting down paper and pen. He reached out his hand to Caleb and nodded to Sabria and Hava. “Asalam alekum.”

  Sabria returned his greeting of peace, introduced herself, her mother and Caleb and then asked whether he spoke English.

  “I do,” he replied in English. “I am Butrus, administrator of Al-Shati Camp, from Cairo. I assume you and your mother are Palestinian, Sabria. But I can’t place Caleb. Somewhere in Europe?”

  “Guess again,” Caleb said with a chuckle.

  “American. Or Australian but you have an American accent. The British or their colonial subjects would never talk like that.”

  “You have it right, but I am becoming half-Palestinian.”

  Butrus straightened up, startled, eyes wide. “We don’t have any Americans here. Or half-Palestinians.” He laughed. “But what brings you here? Sit down,” he said motioning to several wooden chairs.

  Sabria told the story of being expelled from Tantura, with Caleb adding parts of it. Then she said, “We met one of the refugees here, a young mother. She had a sad story including trying to cope with her situation here at Beach Camp.”

  Butrus gazed at Sabria, then turned to Hava and Caleb, placing his hand on his chin. “Yes, it is a difficult time for many of your people. But that is why I’m here, to channel the help from a number of international agencies and governments. Many around the world know of your suffering.”

  Sabria stopped translating for Hava. “They do? Then why don’t they come to help us?”

  “The UN is trying, but there is only so much it can do. It has no military arm itself and most countries are sick of war now. But help is coming.”

  “What do you mean by help?” she asked.

  “The UN is going to form an organization called United Nations Relief and Work Agency abbreviated as UNRWA. It’s being formed in response to hundreds of thousands of your people that have been displaced from their homes during this year.” He spread his arms wide. “In the meantime, we are getting funds from your country, Caleb, and from people and governments in Europe to provide these camps for refugees.”

  I’m pleased to hear that,” Caleb replied. “For just starting, you are doing a great work for so many people who are destitute.”

  “I wish we could do more, the needs are so great. But the numbers of people needing a home are increasing so rapidly we can’t keep up.”

  “Would you have room for a few more?”

  “Oh yes.” Butrus sighed looking at a clipboard with many names. “We don’t turn real refugees away. We could reserve a couple of tents for your group. We’ve never had an American however. I’d have to think about that.”

  “We have to think about it too,” Sabria said as they stood to leave. Our two fathers are imprisoned somewhere, so Caleb is the only man in our group of women and children. We can’t lose him.”

  Butrus winked at Sabria. “I’ve thought about it. We’ll take him since he’s half Palestinian.”

  ***

  “What do you think, Sabria,” Caleb asked as they made their way toward the beach. The sun still high in the mid-afternoon sky made the sea sparkle just as at Tantura. Hava sat down on a rock and motioned for the two young people to go on. He held Sabria’s hand not speaking, waiting for her answer as they walked. He saw several men putting up tents on the edge of the Camp. They looked new, probably purchased with the generosity of many from abroad. He thought of the new organization of the United Nations forming in response to the refugee crisis in Palestine. Other people around the world apparently had heard of it and wanted to help. Good for them. The Zionist government of the new state of Israel in their broadcasts in English, never mentioned the cleansing of Palestinian Arab cities and villages, only the fight against the Arab terrorists who were out to destroy the new democra
cy.

  Caleb finally turned to Sabria, still walking beside him without answering his question. “Has the cat got your tongue?”

  “What are you saying? What do you mean about a cat?”

  “Silly American idiom, Sabria. It just asks whether you can still speak.”

  “I’m thinking. It looks like we can come here if we want. The question is whether we should move to Al Shati. Life is not pleasant here as we found out.”

  Arriving at the beach with fishing boats at a small harbor, Caleb guided Sabria to a smooth rock to sit on. “True. It’s not an easy place to live. But if not here, where? We have no place to go. We can’t stay where we are into the winter. Do you have any other suggestions?”

  She shook her head. “No I don’t. We probably should move here. It has the ocean like Tantura, fishing, maybe a chance to work here or in the city. We’d have to find some way to get back to a more normal life. Right now it looks like too much to think about.”

  “I agree. We really have no other options, and this will at least provide a home, well a tent at least. They do have food allotments every day so we can start out with the basics in place. Food and shelter.”

  “We’d have to divide up the families, Caleb. And where would you sleep?”

  “I don’t know. We’re not . . . I mean it wouldn’t be good for me to be in a tent with you, or for that matter, with the other women and children. It wouldn’t look right in this culture.” He chuckled, “It’s okay in a barn.”

  “Even tonight. What to do? We can’t go back to Fureidis this evening. It’s too late in the day, and I doubt we could find a bus at night.”

  “And we can’t all stay here in a tent together, Sabria. What if people found out we are not . . . well . . . married. These people will become our neighbors and friends.”

  Sabria blushed and looked down. “So what do we do?”