Al-Nakba is the Palestinian term for catastrophe. It means upheaval, violence and cataclysmic loss; it describes the terror which drove almost one million people out of their homeland, as well as the perpetual terror in exile – of being displaced, dispossessed, stateless, lost and forbidden to return. It remains the multiplying injustice of another people’s sin burgeoning in our collective silence.
For 63 years, the situation has dragged on, with ageing men and women holding the papers and keys to their former homes, clutching faded and cracked photos of happier days. Everything was rendered obsolete by the artificial creation of a state for a foreign people on land that had been home to Palestinians for millennia.
But if that is too complex and distant in time to touch your heart, then imagine for a moment being wrenched from all that is familiar, from everything you love, and hastily running into the unknown after grabbing only those few personal possessions you can carry. At first, you are sure that you will soon return, even if only to pick up the pieces shattered by war or disaster and begin again.
Then think of yourself going back only to find someone else opening your front door and shamelessly banging it shut on pleas of ownership you should not have to make. Think of your street and neighbourhood, the same and yet not the same, as everything that once was so familiar is now given over to a people who have never walked before in the footprints of your forefathers...The eyes gush and the heart bleeds. Talk about rewriting history to erase all trace of the Jews (who, sorry to break it to you blubbering Leftoslamies, were there first, Moses long predating Islam's founder and all).