Entry 10 in the Mondo Awards end-of-year contest are the people of al-Araqib.
It was 6 a.m. when the Israeli police invaded al-Araqib for the third time. Still half-asleep, I stood alongside village residents and Israeli and international activists, trying in vain to stop the impending home demolitions. Thin tarps were ripped from wooden beams, water tanks were dragged away and mounds of sand were poured over each article of the families’ belongings, making it nearly impossible to salvage any materials.
In the end, nothing was left standing. Each time the Palestinian Bedouin village of al-Araqib has been demolished since then – it has been razed to the ground a total of eight times since mid-July – nothing ever is.
I have visited al-Araqib, located near Beer Sheva in the Israeli Negev desert, on over a dozen occasions, interviewing residents about their experiences, their fears, and mostly, about why it is so important for them to remain on their ancestral lands.
“We need to teach even the smallest children that this is our land, and we can’t leave it, no matter what happens,” resident Hakima abu Mdeghem told me, one morning in September. The mother of nine children, Hakima regularly welcomes me into her home whenever I visit the village.
“The hardest thing here is that you’re sleeping in your home and then, suddenly, you have no home. It’s the worst thing that can happen to a human being: to destroy his home,” she said. “My children are sad and they are afraid. They are angry at the army and the entire country, especially the younger ones.”
The impact the demolitions have had on Hakima’s children, and virtually all the other children in the village, is palpable. Even worse than the demolitions themselves is the constant threat that a demolition is imminent. Speech impediments, bed-wetting and difficulty sleeping are all consequences of living in the near-permanent state of fear that hangs over al-Araqib like an invisible cloak; you can’t see it, but you can always feel it.
And yet despite all this, visiting al-Araqib and spending time with the families that continue to live there, is a motivator for me as a journalist, a social justice organizer, and a person. Getting to know the families is the experience that has most motivated me since I moved to Palestine/Israel last May; I’ve been inspired and continue to be inspired by the people of al-Araqib.
Their courage and determination in the face of tremendous adversity is admirable, but it is another quality that inspires me the most: the ability of residents to retain their generosity, humility and above all else, their humanity, in the face of ever-present challenges, destruction and hatred.
This ability is a testament to their strength of spirit. It is a beacon of hope in the otherwise devastated landscape of Israeli apartheid and ethnic cleansing. Indeed, the personal, human moments – not the images of destruction or injustice (and there are many of these horrors seared into my memory to choose from) – are the ones that first come to mind when I think of al-Araqib. They are the ones that make me excited to see the Lehavim Junction taking shape in the distance, knowing I’m only a few minutes away from the village.
Being woken up at 2 a.m. to children’s laughter, as Hakima’s youngest children – Sujud, Ibrahim, Mohammad and Alia – excitedly opened their gifts during Eid al-Adha. Watching Miryam and Zainab expertly prepare bread and trying (read: failing) to do the same. Taking rides with Salim to the nearby town of Rahat to pick up the village children after school. Laughing as I succumb to the fact that my mix of English, broken Arabic and sign-language won’t communicate exactly what I want to say, despite furious minutes of trying.
How to remain human in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges is something that Hakima, Salim, Samieh, and virtually all the residents of al-Araqib have taught me, time and time again. And for that, I continue to stand in solidarity with them in their tremendous struggle for justice, equality and at the most basic level, the right to live in peace. For that, they are my inspiration.
Jillian Kestler-D’Amours blogs here.
