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Fbuzi El-Asmar The Institute for Ralestine Studies TO BE AN ARAB IN ISRAEL BY FOUZI EL-ASMAR a,,rr * *hm S^idf A,sblm THE INSTITUTE FOR PALESTINE STUDIES 1978 The Institute for Palestine Studies is an independent non-profit Arab research organization not affiliated to any government, political party or group, devoted to a better understanding of the Palestine problem. Books in the Institute series are published in the interest of public information. They represent the free expression of their authors and do not necessarily indicate the judgement or opinions of the Institute. First published by Frances Pinter 1975, Copyright © 1975, by Fouzi El-Asmar Second Edition, 1978 Copyright © 1978, by The Institute for Palestine Studies, Beirut Reprint Series No. 8 AMe u e\ & THE INSTITUTE FOR PALESTINE STUDIES Anis Nsouli Street, Verdun P.O.Box 11-7164, Beirut, Lebanon CONTENTS Page Introduction. vii Chapter I The Inconceivable Change. 1 Chapter II Haifa. 38 Chapter III The Arab Book Company. 63 Chapter IV Positive Results. 103 Chapter V Days of Tension. 130 Chapter VI Before the Deluge. 176 Chapter VII An Arab in Israel. 236 INDEX 243 INTRODUCTION Western readers are at last becoming familiar with the full implica¬ tions of the Palestine question. What many are still unaware of, how¬ ever, is under what conditions the State of Israel came into being, and what the establishment of a new state in the land of Palestine meant to its indigenous inhabitants. The Palestinians rightly regarded the influx of Jewish settlers into the country as a threat, for with the settlers came an ever-growing demand for land which culminated in the expropriation of hundreds of thousands of dunums and the consequent dispossession of the Pales¬ tinian Arabs. The establishment of Zionist settlements on the ex¬ propriated lands gave further substance to the fears of the Palestinian people as to the real intentions of the followers of the Zionist Move¬ ment. These intentions became clear in 1948 when, in a climate of terror created by Zionist acts such as the massacre of the inhabitants of Deir Yassin by members of the Irgun group under Menahem Begin, the threat of ultimate dispossession became a reality. Possessed of such bitter experience, hundreds of thousands of Palestinian Arabs in 1948 were driven from their homes to seek safety— temporarily, as they then thought—with friends or relatives elsewhere, carrying with them on their march little more than the clothes they were wearing. Families were split up and contact between their mem¬ bers lost, frequently for years. Thus, as a result of the establishment of the State of Israel huge numbers of Palestinians lost both their homes and their country. Thirty, years later, those who were obliged to leave still remain homeless in the refugee camps erected to give them a shelter that was supposed to be temporary. This process of dispossession constitutes the core of the tragedy of Palestine. To Be An Arab In Israel by Fouzi El-Asmar sensitively depicts the effects of that tragedy. A personal account recording the experience VI11 TO BE AN ARAB IN ISRAEL of one Palestinian confronting the conditions of the new Zionist state, it does not claim to be an analytical or political study of that state and its practices, but rather sheds light on its nature and its oppression of the Palestinian Arabs. Fouzi El-Asmar was born in Haifa in 1937 at the time of the British Mandate. As a child, he witnessed the fall, in July 1948, of the city of Lydda, then his home. He noted the pressures directed against his people, which reached new heights that year when the State of Israel was proclaimed. He and his immediate family were among the Pales¬ tinians who managed to remain in Palestine in 1948. Like all those who remained, he experienced the almost over-night transformation from being a member of a majority to being one of a minority under alien rule. In his book, Fouzi El-Asmar describes his concern at the lowly status accorded the Palestinian Arabs, the discriminatory practices which affect every aspect of their daily life, and the development of their political consciousness and their consequent political activity. As a member of a minority which, nevertheless, continued to identify with the Arab world, he describes the interaction between the situation of the Arabs in Israel and the rest of the Arab world, and the impact of the 1956 and 1967 wars on himself, the Arabs and Arab-Jewish relations. He expresses his commitment to the notion of a common Arab-Israeli struggle within Israel against a state which is based on the principles of domination, dispossession and discrimination. It was in order to reach an Israeli-Jewish readership that Fouzi El-Asmar first wrote To Be an Arab in Israel in Hebrew. He subse¬ quently translated the book into Arabic, and it appeared in its first English edition in 1975. In publishing this account, the Institute for Palestine Studies believes that it may serve to enlighten readers unfamiliar with the Palestine experience, and provide them with additional insight into the intolerable tensions which are a feature of the life of the Palestinians in the Zionist State. THE INSTITUTE FOR PALESTINE STUDIES PART ONE THE INCONCEIVABLE CHANGE In 1944 my family left Gaza to settle in Lydda. Before that they had lived in Al-Arish and Haifa. Why did we move from place to place? My father worked for the railways and moved about as his job required. Before he began to work for the railways, he had worked in the Tiberias Police Force. It was at that time he met and married my mother, who had been born in Haifa in 1912. One of the conditions she made before marriage was that my father would leave his work in the police force. ‘It’s a filthy job,’ she said, and has never changed her mind. My three brothers, my sister and I were all born in Haifa. My father had been born in Jaffa, in the part which today is called ‘the Old City’. To this day, whenever I visit the art galleries there I go to the gallery which is in the front part of the house which used to be my grandfather’s, where my father grew up. There I used to visit my father’s family. Many times I have stood and looked at those rooms, the walls of which are now decorated with paintings and carpets. Any¬ body seeing me thus engaged would think that I was concentrating deeply on the art. But, in truth, I am thinking of my family, of my uncles whom I have not seen for twenty-three years, and of my grand¬ father the last time I saw him before his death. These visions capture my imagination. I see him as an old man, sitting on the colourful Persian carpet in his lounge, surrounded by many notables who had come to visit him. Today, on meeting me and hearing my family name, almost any local Arab my father’s age immediately asks if I am related to Jiryis D. El-Asmar, my grandfather, and they all speak of him with great respect. Similar memories fill my mind when I walk about the streets of Old Jaffa where I spent my holidays with my cousins. They lived in the houses opposite the Greek Orthodox Church, my family’s church community. I do not hide memories and feelings from my Jewish friends, when, with them, I re-visit these places. 2 TO BE AN ARAB IN ISRAEL I was six when we moved to Lydda. My father was very happy to settle in this town which he loved. He had spent a great part of his childhood there, and many of his relatives lived there. My mother was not so fond of the city but accepted the idea of living there because there was no alternative. My father bought a number of vineyards there, adding them to the property he had inherited from his father. In 1948 my father was a senior official in the railways. That year there was a general strike on the Palestine railways. The Director- General offered my father the post of station-master in Rafah, but my father refused, because the British Mandate authorities had instructed the railway employees not to leave their present place of residence, thereby guaranteeing that any form of administration following the Mandate would keep them in their jobs at the same seniority. In the meantime they were to receive their regular salary. To this day my father and other former Mandate employees receive a pension from the British Government. My elder brother George and I studied in a government school for boys in Lydda, while my sister Leila studied in a government school for girls. In 1948, the year when Lydda fell, I finished the fourth grade. Often my Jewish friends would ask when my family had settled in this country. I do not know precisely why they asked me this question but I suppose they had their reasons. I always answered that as far as I knew my paternal great-grandfather had been born in Jaffa. Once, however, one of my Jewish friends stubbornly asked where we were before then. (Presumably he believed that—in keeping with Jewish teaching—this country was largely unpopulated before the Jewish settlement, and it was Jewish development which had lured Arabs from the surrounding countries.) This question intrigued me and when I returned home I asked my father. He referred me to his uncle. My old uncle showed me the chart of the family genealogy. Apparently one of his grandfathers had methodically recorded the names of the family in the form of a family tree. From it I learned that I am the eighteenth generation in the country. Of the history before, no one knows. Since then, many children have been born to the family, con¬ stituting new generations. There is little I regret so much as the fact that this ‘tree’ has been lost. My uncle kept it with him in our house in the old city of Lydda, and after his death his ageing wife moved to live with her married daughter in Ramleh. The house in Lydda was destroyed ‘by mistake’ by the Israeli local government authority, the Company for the Development of Lydda. When we sorted through the things which had been saved, we found that the ‘tree’ was missing. THE INCONCEIVABLE CHANGE 3 My mother had a slightly different background. Her family was well known and well spoken-of in Haifa. Their life-style was more modern because they were of Lebanese extraction. Because of her family reputation my studies in Haifa (1955-1958), where I finished my secondary education, were made much easier. It was difficult to rent a room at that time but when it was known that my mother was from the Kanazeh family I was received with open arms. This some¬ times disturbed me: although of course it was very helpful, I would have preferred to be accepted for myself, and not because of my family background. My mother was a writer. After Lydda was captured in July 1948, my mother became active in the fight for civil rights for Arabs in Israel. She was not prepared to remain silent when she saw injustice; however, she never overreacted and educated us only to the impor¬ tance of an understanding, between peoples. I remember once, when I was six, I returned home and asked my mother if we were Christians or Moslems. My mother wanted to know who had asked me this question. I answered that children in my school had asked me. ‘First of all, you are a human being.’ Then she delicately explained to me that we were Christians, and that each man had his own way to God, who is in truth always the same God. My parents were devout, and we were educated accor¬ dingly. In fact, most of my family are still believers, although they do not go to church every Sunday. When a prayer is being said over the radio, my mother always listens, and no one is allowed to change the station. From time to time we spent our summer holiday in Egypt, Lebanon or Syria. I remember nothing of the visits to Syria and Lebanon, and of my visits to Egypt I remember only those incidents which children have a way of remembering. From our last visit to Egypt in 1947, I remember the zoo (especially the cheetahs), a Negro waiter, and other things of this nature. I also remember the summer picnics we had in our orchard in Lydda. There we sat in the shade of the many large fruit trees. Each one of my brothers had his own tree. I had a fig tree, and I did not allow anyone to climb it without my permission. In the orchard there were also pomegranate trees, olive trees, and a peach tree, with a large cactus hedge surrounding all. At times I would get up early and go to the garden to pick figs from my tree. This became a habit.

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