“Only Difference Between Me and Them is the Luck My Grandfather Had” by Roula

Reflections from a Palestinian Teacher in Diaspora

If you know me, you know Palestine. You’ve sat with her. You’ve laughed with her. You’ve eaten with her. You’ve learned from her. You’ve embraced her.

When the ethnic cleansing of Gaza began, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus at work or in my day to day life activities. I felt immense guilt putting my phone down and not posting every hour. Because posting was the least I could do. I questioned the silence around me, wondering if people didn’t know what was happening or were avoiding the topic with me.

To some, Palestine wasn’t a topic you could bring up with me because there was no room for a “both sides are suffering” comment. It was either they acknowledged the occupation of 75 years, the siege on Gaza, and the inhumane conditions Palestinians live in, or they weren’t ready for a real conversation on the region.

But still, in the outside world I put on my best performance so as to not seem “too emotional” or “angry” about it all. Because those are two things you can’t be as a woman, especially an Arab woman. Otherwise, the point gets lost in your aggressive tone, or your inability to hold back tears as you watch dead bodies pile up with faces that look like yours and your family’s. Or they find your lack of interest in mundane conversations rude. What they don’t realize is that their concerns are barely audible over the loud screams coming out of Gaza.

Frankly, the people in Gaza could have been me. They look like me, talk like me, even speak the same  language as me. They dress like me. Pray like me. Dance like me. Sing the same songs, and want the same things. They even have dreams like me and you. They are brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, Uncles, Aunts, friends, teachers, doctors, nurses, painters, poets, and every other profession you can think of.

I think that’s what hurts the most. The fact that the only difference between me and them is the sheer luck my grandfather had. I remember his story well, and how he left in desperation after being involved in clashes with Israeli settlers who were trying to take homes in his village. The Israeli government had become hellbent on finding my grandfather and his brothers so they could imprison them, as his family was well known within the West Bank. Thus, this left him with two options, neither of which were ideal. He could stay and put himself and his family at risk (as Israel has a notorious track record of  jailing Palestinians for unethical periods of time) or travel to Kuwait where my great grandfather had begged him to go and build a better life. My grandfather ended up going to Kuwait, where he met my grandmother, whose family had been expelled from their village after the creation of Israel. He got married in hopes of bringing his wife back with him to his village that still existed, but was now under occupation. 

Yet, his hopes were crushed when he learned that Palestinians had no right of return. This meant that once they stepped foot out of Palestine they could never go back, even if his entire family was awaiting his return. It wouldn’t be until many years later when he’d finally set foot on the soil of his home. This was only possible after my grandfather was chosen to be part of the “Arab League,” which the United Nations was helping to start. However, even with UN diplomacy, he would only visit after the tedious and grueling process of obtaining a visit to enter a country which he, and generations of his family before him, were born in. It was always from then on merely a visit to Palestine, and never a permanent opportunity to live there. 

This “luck” has caused all of us, especially my parents, to feel immense survivor’s guilt. My parents stay glued to their television and phones, answering every WhatsApp call to make sure they don’t miss a thing. It’s why they stay awake until 4AM making duaa until there’s daylight in Palestine, and they can finally receive updates on the death toll and conditions. Not a day has gone by since October 7 that the news has been good. In fact, not a day has gone by since the first time I knew of my beautiful Palestine that the news has been good. 

Yet, I remember the faith of the people in Gaza and I tell myself, God is with them. God will protect them. God will reward them in this life and the next. And I must remain steadfast in my prayers. For the people of Gaza have, unknowingly, strengthened us and saved us. Not the other way around.

My grandfather passed away in 2020. Like his father, he never saw a free Palestine again. I feel an obligation towards him to continue to bring life to Palestine’s name, remind people she exists and always has existed. We cannot let another generation die without seeing their homeland freed.

Written by: Roula

Photo Credit: Magda (Last Name Unknown)