Written by: World Vision
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Sarah Al Ghawi and her mother are just two of the 53 Palestinians living on the street in Jerusalem for the past week. Sarah turns 2 next month. Photo by Jennifer Chiodo.
By Jennifer Chiodo, Advocacy/Communications Associate
Aug. 11, 2009
"Have you eaten? We're all eating lunch now and there's some if you are hungry." Those were Maher Hannoun's first words to us as we approached the street corner in Sheikh Jarrah, East Jerusalem, where he and his family have been living for more than a week after being evicted from their home by Israeli authorities on the dawn of Aug. 2. While they live on the street, Israeli settlers have moved into their home.
My friend and I, both humanitarian workers living in Jerusalem, assured him a couple of times that we had just eaten. "If you'll excuse me a few minutes I'll eat and then come back and talk to you. I can't say 'feel at home'... but feel 'at street'." Talk about Palestinian hospitality?! Here a family of 18, with Maher and his two brothers' families, including six children, is homeless and is offering us food and drink. We take plastic chairs and sit in the shade of an olive tree, joining the group of 20 people just hanging around. Having followed the news of their eviction, we came to show our support.
We start talking to the lady in front of us while we wait for Maher to eat his lunch. She introduces herself as 'Im Kamal' (the mother of Kamal) and it takes me a few minutes to realise she's Ms Al Kurd, whom I recognise from news reports. She has been living in a tent next to her house in the same neighbourhood since last November when Israeli authorities evicted her family from their home. Her husband, who suffered from chronic heart and kidney disease, died days later.
The Al Kurd family and the Hannoun family (and the Al Ghawi family also living on the street after being evicted Aug. 1) were refugees in 1948 and resettled in Sheikh Jarrah under the protection of the Jordanian government and the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA). "What is it like to be homeless, to live on the street?" I ask myself as we sit there. Where do you brush your teeth, get dressed, charge your cell phone, etc? Some of this is evident - cushions are stacked up and some weary internationals lean against them on the neighbour's wall. More cushions are just inside the gate. An electric cord hangs over the wall and a cell phone is being charged. I ask Im Kamal if she gets bored and what she does all day.
She motions to sitting in the chair: "What else can I do?" But this is Ms Al Kurd, and street living is not new for her. She's my hero. She's strong and resilient and not backing down. She's not leaving Jerusalem, her home. This I can tell by her eyes. She appreciates that we are there sitting with them, she tells me in Arabic. Maher comes over at this point and begins telling us bits and pieces of his family's story. It's a long story, a struggle for the last 37 years to keep his house. He doesn't accept charity from the UN or Red Cross. "We don't need a tent or food or blankets. We want their help to return to our house.
Friends, family, and neighbours have been extremely gracious. I eat better now than I did before. They help us with whatever we need and one day we will return the favour when they are in need." The deeply ingrained hospitality again amazes me. Two nights later, as part of a candlelight vigil in Sheikh Jarrah, I find myself sitting with the Al Ghawi family - another homeless family. They live one street over from the Hannouns. Their neighbours are present with them. They too are worried because the whole neighbourhood is under threat and they know it is just a matter of time before they are in the same situation.
We are speechless, disgusted, angry. There is nothing to say in response. The situation is utterly absurd, yet it goes on. We see Israeli settlers come and go from their house while Palestinians sleep on cushions in the street. The Hannoun and Al Ghawi family evictions are not isolated instances; they must be seen in the larger context of Israeli settlements which continuously chip away at Palestinian land. Sheikh Jarrah is particularly vulnerable to illegal Israeli expansion because it connects Jewish West Jerusalem with the Old City.
My friend and I, both humanitarian workers living in Jerusalem, assured him a couple of times that we had just eaten. "If you'll excuse me a few minutes I'll eat and then come back and talk to you. I can't say 'feel at home'... but feel 'at street'." Talk about Palestinian hospitality?! Here a family of 18, with Maher and his two brothers' families, including six children, is homeless and is offering us food and drink. We take plastic chairs and sit in the shade of an olive tree, joining the group of 20 people just hanging around. Having followed the news of their eviction, we came to show our support.
We start talking to the lady in front of us while we wait for Maher to eat his lunch. She introduces herself as 'Im Kamal' (the mother of Kamal) and it takes me a few minutes to realise she's Ms Al Kurd, whom I recognise from news reports. She has been living in a tent next to her house in the same neighbourhood since last November when Israeli authorities evicted her family from their home. Her husband, who suffered from chronic heart and kidney disease, died days later.
The Al Kurd family and the Hannoun family (and the Al Ghawi family also living on the street after being evicted Aug. 1) were refugees in 1948 and resettled in Sheikh Jarrah under the protection of the Jordanian government and the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA). "What is it like to be homeless, to live on the street?" I ask myself as we sit there. Where do you brush your teeth, get dressed, charge your cell phone, etc? Some of this is evident - cushions are stacked up and some weary internationals lean against them on the neighbour's wall. More cushions are just inside the gate. An electric cord hangs over the wall and a cell phone is being charged. I ask Im Kamal if she gets bored and what she does all day.
She motions to sitting in the chair: "What else can I do?" But this is Ms Al Kurd, and street living is not new for her. She's my hero. She's strong and resilient and not backing down. She's not leaving Jerusalem, her home. This I can tell by her eyes. She appreciates that we are there sitting with them, she tells me in Arabic. Maher comes over at this point and begins telling us bits and pieces of his family's story. It's a long story, a struggle for the last 37 years to keep his house. He doesn't accept charity from the UN or Red Cross. "We don't need a tent or food or blankets. We want their help to return to our house.
Friends, family, and neighbours have been extremely gracious. I eat better now than I did before. They help us with whatever we need and one day we will return the favour when they are in need." The deeply ingrained hospitality again amazes me. Two nights later, as part of a candlelight vigil in Sheikh Jarrah, I find myself sitting with the Al Ghawi family - another homeless family. They live one street over from the Hannouns. Their neighbours are present with them. They too are worried because the whole neighbourhood is under threat and they know it is just a matter of time before they are in the same situation.
We are speechless, disgusted, angry. There is nothing to say in response. The situation is utterly absurd, yet it goes on. We see Israeli settlers come and go from their house while Palestinians sleep on cushions in the street. The Hannoun and Al Ghawi family evictions are not isolated instances; they must be seen in the larger context of Israeli settlements which continuously chip away at Palestinian land. Sheikh Jarrah is particularly vulnerable to illegal Israeli expansion because it connects Jewish West Jerusalem with the Old City.
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