A Simple Tale ...

This post should have been written May 15, but ...

I've spent countless hours listening to my grandmother (the only grandparent left) telling tales of her life; World War II, the 1948 war, her exodus from Haifa, life in Mount Lebanon, her experiences in Damascus, the time of Nasser, the atmosphere of 1967, etc. If I didn't do what I currently do, I might have spent time documenting the details - simply because her life was a life lived by many, and forgotten by most.

My grandfather (on my mother's side) is from a not-so-small family in Mount Lebanon. My grandmother's parents settled in what-became Palestine and what-is-now Israel, and she was born there. 1923.

In 1948, around 5 years after they had married, they left their land. That sounds euphemistic, doesn't it. "Left their land." That is how she would tell the tale. "Tarakna baladuna." And then she would pause for a few moments before she continues with her story. It was always that way. By 1948, she had already exprienced World War II, bombs in the distance, the night that never went dark, but she would continue and say that this was different. Tension was in the air. She did not want to leave - and they believed that what had happened in 1948 would blow over. "Our neighbors were 'Yahud'. They kept telling us that we should stay, that things would settle down. But we kept hearing news from other villages. Your uncle was only a few years old. Your grandfather said that he would come back when things had calmed down."

Calmed down.

That is the tale of the Middle East - its fatal flaw. Everything is claimed to eventually calm down.

Yet nothing ever does.

They did leave, never to go back. Her cousin was ill, and had decided that things would eventually "calm down". They never saw her again.

Their exodus was to Mount Lebanon to the rest of my grandfather's family. They settled down for six months, the key to their house in my grandmother's purse - she still has this key today - until things "calmed" down slightly and my grandfather decided to go back and work the olive trees.

The "calm", as it would for the next 58 years, exploded within a few weeks, and there was no word from him. Weeks and months passed. He was able to make it back 9 months later. During that time, he had tried to go back to their original home.

He couldn't find it.

They spent some time in Mount Lebanon since he was able to find temporary jobs, but eventually, he was offered a position in a British engineering company in Syria - it was a stable job, as my grandmother told me so many times. So off they went. My mother was born a few years later. And as they say, the rest is history ... but it never really is, is it?

"I had settled down, made friends, had just started raising a family. All of a sudden, I find myself in Damascus, with nobody to talk to. Your grandfather, allah yerhamo, would spend most of the day at work, and it took time before I eventually became friends with the neighbors."

She lived in Damascus for just over 40 years. 42 to be precise. She is now in Beirut, living above us. She did not have an easy life. Friends she had made had been killed - whether it was in Haifa or in Hama or in Beirut. Her elder son was chased out of an appartment in Beirut in 1976 because some demented "Pure Lebanese" had decided that he had "Palestinian blood" and thus did not deserve to live ... he hasn't stepped back in the Middle East since. Canada, unlike the region he was born in, has been a good home to him. Her younger daughter - my aunt - left to the US when she got married. Her husband - my grandfather - died in the early 80's, and she left Damascus 10 years later to live with her daughter - my mother - while her other son continued to work in Damascus for the next two years, until he was finally able to leave. Her son in law died in 1988. Her daughter in law died of cancer last year - only two years after she and my other uncle were married. She has 8 grandchildren - the oldest of which is 32, and the youngest of which has just turned 13.

She did not have an easy life. Yet her life, like so many others, will go undocumented.

She is 83 years old now.

This is my mother's mother's nakba. I have heard her tell her tale many times - and every single time, her eyes glaze over as she remembers life in all its ... this is where authors usually use the word "glory", but I doubt that is what it was ...

... her eyes glaze over as she simply remembers life.

posted by Lazarus, 10:28 AM