My friend, Muntaha

Editor’s note: this article first appeared in Arabic at Rommanmag, and was republished by Mondoweiss with the author’s permission. Translated into English by Yara Farraj.

My friend Muntaha lived her short life always in a hurry — always rushing, always pushing to accomplish what she could immediately and without delay, never neglecting her political, national, and societal duties. She lived through the First Intifada, armed with the unshaking conviction that the uprising was one of salvation from the occupation, an Intifada of liberation.  She moved between the streets and alleys of Ramallah, which she had memorized by heart. She was born and raised in this city, grew up in its old paths, and was a descendant of one of its oldest families — the Ibrahim family that founded the city in the sixteenth century.

She lived through the events of the First Intifada as a fighter in the field. She would start her day in the early morning hours, and end it late into the night. She participated in protests against Israeli forces, hurled stones, distributed pamphlets carrying the words of the leadership of the Intifada, wrote graffiti on the walls at a time when that was one of the most effective tools for mobilizing the people to revolt. 

When I befriended her, writing on the walls had become her source of inspiration. What did these walls tell people who were under curfew at night? What message did it send the workers who went to work in the morning? Or the merchants who disobeyed the orders of the Israeli Civil Administration and refused to comply with the Israeli tax collectors?

What will Muntaha’s walls tell the “children of the rocks” who will be among the protesters tomorrow? Muntaha made the walls of the city speak, she used them to convey the messages of the Intifada and its leadership, and urged people to show solidarity for one another. 

She did all this silently, because she was convinced that the Intifada was the moment of salvation and liberation.

Through her membership in the First Ramallah Scout Club (Sarriyet Ramallah), beginning as a member and eventually becoming a scout leader, Muntaha contributed to preparing a generation of young scouts that would participate in the revival of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of national and religious events.

At Birzeit University

Amid the enthusiasm and activity of the intifada, Muntaha joined Birzeit University, which had been closed by military order of the Civil Administration. Professors and lecturers continued to teach classroom sessions in temporary headquarters or in their own homes. 

When the university opened its doors in 1992 after a long closure, Muntaha returned to bear the burdens of union action and student work along with her friends. Her greatest concern was that the university remain at the forefront of leading the Intifada, to be at the vanguard of nationalist action and community work. She was a distinguished student leader whose concern was to preserve the university as a forum for supporting diversity. 

She was also the bravest in confronting those seeking to destroy the university’s political, social, and religious diversity, especially in the face of those who were trying to subvert the role of Birzeit University as a Palestinian national and political incubator.

Her concern was people and their resilience

Muntaha’s friends were people in their farms, workshops, and small factories, ordinary merchants, poor students, street vendors, and children. 

Muntaha decided to always be with her friends, so she chose jobs through which she would be able to help them. She worked at the Bisan Center for Research and Development (closed by the occupation authorities alongside six other organizations under the pretext of supporting “terrorist” organizations), and later at Save the Children, and the Office of the Representative of Norway to the Palestinian Authority as the Coordinator of the Development and Human Rights Program. 

Our friend Muntaha chose these jobs to share people’s burdens and urge them to persevere and continue.

I have known Muntaha for about 37 years, and until her very last day, January 10, 2023, I do not remember ever seeing her in a bad mood, even in the darkest and most difficult part of her illness, which she faced with unparalleled courage. 

Her illness was harsh for us, her friends, her husband Khaled, her two daughters Nowwar and Sarah, and her son Ammar. Muntaha had been planning Nowwar’s wedding, preoccupied with Sarah and Ammar’s education, and thinking of her partner throughout her journey, her silent friend Khaled Elayyan. 

She kept caring about the smallest details of her friends’ lives. Despite the intensification of pain, her smile did not leave her face, and she never forgot to ask after everyone, just as she did not hesitate to participate in all occasions of joy and sadness.

I knew Muntaha through the “Union of Secondary Students’ Committees” in the mid-1980s. She was a leader in the union, working to spread awareness of the Palestinian cause and union work. Our friendship flourished in the city’s alleys and streets, and then grew at university. 

She was present at all stages of my life. Every time I was released from prison, Muntaha was among the first to welcome me; every time I fell ill or became unwell, she was the first to be present. When I injured my leg and underwent several surgeries, she was there. And when I got married in the year Ariel Sharon invaded the West Bank, she was present. 

Despite the curfew, she played the roles of organizer, confidant, friend, and sister. My marriage was a twofold occasion for Muntaha — the first consisted of the celebration of marriage itself, and the second was an occasion to express a desire to live, despite the city’s siege, or the death and destruction caused by the invading tanks. When my wife, Nai, gave birth to our eldest daughter Farah, Muntaha was present, as she was for our second daughter, Yara, and for all our other family milestones.She took joy in our joys, and was sad in our sadness. She was always a loyal, honest, supportive, affectionate, concerned, and vital friend, even in her departure.

Muntaha loved everyone around her — her family, friends, colleagues at work, all the people of her city, and others — and she always worked for their comfort and happiness. Perhaps her short course of treatment reflected her fear that those who loved her would suffer as a result of her pain, and the disease would alter her beautiful features and her wonderful smile. She left without allowing her cancer to change her, out of compassion for those she loved.  Just as she was always in a hurry to accomplish things in her life, she also rushed her departure, and she left us, beautifully and radiantly, on a moonlit night in Jerusalem. 

To Khaled and Nowwar, Sarah and Ammar,

You witnessed Muntaha’s funeral and participated in it, and you received the processions of mourners who led the funeral home, from the Galilee and the Triangle area, from the north and the south. You witnessed the gathering of grieving friends at the Mutalla’ Hospital in Jerusalem, and in front of the Ramallah Medical Complex. Do you know what this means? This means that people loved Muntaha, loved her ways, her kindness, and her will. They loved her because she left a beautiful legacy. Perhaps this could be your consolation for her brief life and departure.

 To Hunaida and Ibrahim,

You may not have had time to grieve Muntaha, due to your duty in arranging for a proper funeral and condolences, tasks that did not allow you to mourn those whose time will inevitably come.

Rest in peace, Muntaha.