(Hanan Ashrawi’s daughter telling her story)

I am Palestinian - born and raised - and my Palestinian roots go back centuries. No one can change that even if they tell me that Jerusalem , my birth place, is not Palestine , even if they tell me that Palestine doesn't exist, even if they take away all my papers and deny me entry to my own home, even if they humiliate me and take away my rights. I AM PALESTINIAN.

Name: Zeina Emile Sam'an Ashrawi; Date of Birth: July 30, 1981; Ethnicity: Arab. This is what was written on my Jerusalem ID card. An ID card to a Palestinian is much more than just a piece of paper; it is my only legal documented relationship to Palestine . Born in Jerusalem , I was given a Jerusalem ID card (the blue ID), an Israeli Travel Document and a Jordanian Passport stamped Palestinian (I have no legal rights in Jordan ). I do not have an Israeli Passport, a Palestinian Passport or an American Passport.

Here is my story:

I came to the United States as a 17 year old to finish high school in Pennsylvania and went on to college and graduate school and subsequently got married and we are currently living in Northern Virginia. I have gone home every year at least once to see my parents, my family and my friends and to renew my Travel Document as I was only able to extend its validity once a year from Washington DC . My father and I would stand in line at the Israeli Ministry of Interior in Jerusalem , along with many other Palestinians, from 4:30 in the morning to try our luck at making it through the revolving metal doors of the Ministry before noon – when the Ministry closed its doors - to try and renew the Travel Document. We did that year after year. As a people living under an occupation, being faced with constant humiliation by an occupier was the norm but we did what we had to do to insure our identity was not stolen from us.

In August of 2007 I went to the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC to try and extend my travel document and get the usual "Returning Resident" VISA that the Israelis issue to Palestinians holding an Israeli Travel Document. After watching a few Americans and others being told that their visas would be ready in a couple of weeks my turn came. I walked up to the bulletproof glass window shielding the lady working behind it and under a massive picture of the Dome of the Rock and the Walls of Jerusalem that hangs on the wall in the Israeli consulate, I handed her my papers through a little slot at the bottom of the window.

"Shalom" she said with a smile. "Hi" I responded, apprehensive and scared. As soon as she saw my Travel Document her demeanor immediately changed. The smile was no longer there and there was very little small talk between us, as usual. After sifting through the paperwork I gave her she said: "where is your American Passport?" I explained to her that I did not have one and that my only Travel Document is the one she has in her hands. She was quiet for a few seconds and then said: "you don't have an American Passport?" suspicious that I was hiding information from her. "No!" I said. She was quiet for a little longer and then said: "Well, I am not sure we'll be able to extend your Travel Document." I felt the blood rushing to my head as this is my only means to get home! I asked her what she meant by that and she went on to tell me that since I had been living in the US and because I had a Green Card they would not extend my Travel Document.

After taking a deep breath to try and control my temper I explained to her that a Green Card is not a Passport and I cannot use it to travel outside the US. My voice was shaky and I was getting more and more upset (and a mini shouting match ensued) so I asked her to explain to me what I needed to do. She told me to leave my paperwork and we would see what happens.

A couple of weeks later I received a phone call from the lady telling me that she was able to extended my Travel Document but I would no longer be getting the "Returning Resident" VISA. Instead, I was given a 3 month tourist VISA. Initially I was happy to hear that the Travel Document was extended but then I realized that she said "tourist VISA". Why am I getting a tourist VISA to go home? Not wanting to argue with her about the 3 month VISA at the time so as not to jeopardize the extension of my Travel Document, I simply put that bit of information on the back burner and went on to explain to her that I wasn't going home in the next 3 months. She instructed me to come back and apply for another VISA when I did intend on going. She didn't add much and just told me that it was ready for pick-up. So I went to the Embassy and got my Travel Document and the tourist VISA that was stamped in it.

My husband, my son and I were planning on going home to Palestine this summer. So a month before we were set to leave (July 8, 2008) I went to the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC, papers in hand, to ask 2 for a VISA to go home. I, again, stood in line and watched others get VISAs to go to my home. When my turn came I walked up to the window; "Shalom" she said with a smile on her face, "Hi" I replied. I slipped the paperwork in the little slot under the bulletproof glass and waited for the usual reaction. I told her that I needed a returning resident VISA to go home. She took the paperwork and I gave her a check for the amount she requested and left the Embassy without incident.

A few days ago I got a phone call from Dina at the Israeli Embassy telling me that she needed the expiration date of my Jordanian Passport and my Green Card. I had given them all the paperwork they needed time and time again and I thought it was a good way on their part to waste time so that I didn't get my VISA in time. Regardless, I called over and over again only to get their voice mail. I left a message with the information they needed but kept called every 10 minutes hoping to speak to someone to make sure that they received the information in an effort to expedite the tedious process. I finally got a hold of someone. I told her that I wanted to make sure they received the information I left on their voice mail and that I wanted to make sure that my paperwork was in order. She said, after consulting with someone in the background (I assume it was Dina), that I needed to fax copies of both my Jordanian Passport and my Green Card and that giving them the information over the phone wasn't acceptable. So I immediately made copies and faxed them to Dina. A few hours later my cell phone rang. "Zeina?" she said. "Yes" I replied, knowing exactly who it was and immediately asked her if she received the fax I sent. She said: "ehhh, I was not looking at your file when you called earlier but your Visa was denied and your ID and Travel Document are no longer valid." "Excuse me?" I said in disbelief. "Sorry, I cannot give you a visa and your ID and Travel Document are no longer valid. This decision came from Israel not from me."

I cannot describe the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach. "Why?" I asked and Dina went on to tell me that it was because I had a Green Card. I tried to reason with Dina and to explain to her that they could not do that as this is my only means of travel home and that I wanted to see my parents, but to no avail. Dina held her ground and told me that I wouldn't be given the VISA and then said: "Let the Americans give you a Travel Document".

I have always been a strong person and not one to show weakness but at that moment I lost all control and started crying while Dina was on the other end of the line holding my only legal documents linking me to my home. I began to plead with her to try and get the VISA and not revoke my documents; "put yourself in my shoes, what would you do? You want to go see your family and someone is telling you that you can't! What would you do? Forget that you're Israeli and that I'm Palestinian and think about this for a minute!" "Sorry" she said," I know but I can't do anything, the decision came from Israel ". I tried to explain to her over and over again that I could not travel without my Travel Document and that they could not do that - knowing that they could, and they had!

This has been happening to many Palestinians who have a Jerusalem ID card. The Israeli government has been practicing and perfecting the art of ethnic cleansing since 1948 right under the nose of the world and no one has the power or the guts to do anything about it. Where else in the world does one have to beg to go to one's own home? Where else in the world does one have to give up their identity for the sole reason of living somewhere else for a period of time? Imagine if an American living in Spain for a few years wanted to go home only to be told by the American government that their American Passport was revoked and that they wouldn't be able to come back!

If I were a Jew living anywhere around the world and had no ties to the area and had never set foot there, I would have the right to go any time I wanted and get an Israeli Passport. In fact, the Israelis encourage that. I however, am not Jewish but I was born and raised there, my parents, family and friends still live there and I cannot go back! I am neither a criminal nor a threat to one of the most powerful countries in the world, yet I am alienated and expelled from my own home.

As it stands right now, I will be unable to go home - I am one of many.

So today is the third day of Eid Al Fitr that all Muslims worldwide celebrate right after the culmination of the month of Ramadan. Not sure if it’s only me, but Ramadan seems to have lost its glory. Years ago when I was a child, people’s attitudes towards both Ramadan and Eid (festival) were way different than now. Maybe I have grown up to the extent that I see in them nothing but the mere fact that few arrogant relatives come for a visit for a couple of minutes, and everyone just sucks them up.

It has been a gloomy day in deed. Being self-centered often times, I thought that my own family never enjoyed the Ramadan that other people celebrate. But the night prior to the Eid, I went for a drive to Ramallah with my uncle and three sisters, we toured around Al Manara and the mall a bit, and felt the legendary atmosphere. People were happy. That hit me; I am not accustomed to seeing them vividly preoccupied with the preparation for the big “day.”

So I came back home and wrote to all my contacts wishing them a Happy Eid and expressed my astonishment and satisfaction to see promising smiles in the crowded streets of Ramallah. But the sad part was that I knew it was merely fleeting moments and that those smiles would be wiped off soon. Not only have my fears become true, but I was blind. Yes, blind. Or may be I just chose not to see it. May be I wanted to believe that we are actually happy.

Would I miss Ramadan? NO. Not really. It has been made hell this year.

While Ramadan is believed to be the holy month during which people get closer to Allah by fasting from food and drink all day long and focus on their faith instead, I am not pretty sure this was the case with us Palestinians. It was only a drug. Ramadan numbed our pain. We could handle both the Israeli and Palestinian political, economic, and security pressure knowing that the day of salvation was approaching; the Eid. But after the three days elapsed, then what?

Now thousands of Palestinians are waiting for the next phase. It has been seven months now. Seven months, and thousands of the PA employees have not received their salaries. And two months elapsed with millions of students deprived form their right of education. I have three sisters and two brothers who do nothing but stay at home. They have not attended school from the very beginning of this term. It is both sad and frustrating that they have to “do the time” and pay a high price.

Reading the news headlines on the first days of Eid is not healthy at all. It lessens the effect of the drug, and one starts to get sober. Sounds funny in deed, but that was the case.

Few minutes ago, I surfed some of the blogs and came across few Iraqi bloggers writing on both Ramadan and Eid. If the titles did not mention “in Iraq,” I swear I could never tell the difference between Iraq and Palestine. The hunger, misery, constant killing, and lack of security are all Palestinian symptoms.

I am speechless now; I can hardly verbalize the so many conflicting thoughts. Heaven knows how things would be like next Ramadan, but I would not speculate it already. It is not time to worry about it now, other issues are on stake; food, money, and education. Until then, there are a lot of things to sort out.

Yesterday, I realized that I believe in love at first sight. Not the romantic kind, rather the sense of connecting with another human being without ever having to say a word. Indeed, the person I was so enthralled with last night was a five-month-old girl, who smiled at me and then hid her face in shyness. Those few moments of interacting with this baby lifted my spirits, but it also made me reflect in sadness about the fact that many children in this current conflict are robbed of their joy and their childhood.

I often contemplate how mature Palestinian children seem. Sure, they play the childhood games that we all played in our day, but there is wisdom in their words that is eerily sobering. Their age defines them as children, but if you have a conversation with a Palestinian child, you will realize how much awareness she has of the world around her, of suffering in the next village, in Gaza, in Lebanon. She is a child that has empathy and understands that life, by nature, is wrought with all sorts of difficulties.

A Palestinian child knows better; life is not as it is depicted in cartoons, where those who die are miraculously resurrected not once, but several times, where injuries are healed instantaneously, where death is a joke and life is a series of slapstick moments. A Palestinian child escapes into imagination, but she is never far removed from the reality of children and adults alike being indiscriminately shot outside her window, in her classroom, at the local bakery.

Who would have thought that normal things, simply walking down the street to grab a falafel sandwich, could result in your untimely death? Perhaps the Israeli army mistook the falafel stand for a bomb-making factory, or an ammunition shop? Make no mistake about it; the Israeli military have made too many “mistakes” that there is obviously a pattern there, wouldn’t you think?

A child that is robbed of the sense of security, therefore, is a child that is mature beyond her years. She knows that the bullets and the tank shells do not discriminate. Her father can shield her from the neighbor’s vicious dog, from the crazy drivers, he will hold her hand to cross the street, but he will not be able to capture a bullet in his hand like the mythological superheroes in blockbuster movies out this summer in theatres near you. He might be able to take the bullet for her though. But once gone, who will be her protective shield against the harsh reality of life that goes on in what seems the periphery of the conflict? And who will be there to share some of her joyous milestones; graduation, marriage, the birth of a child? Hers is a joy that is always overshadowed by a greater sorrow.

Is it fair that 31 Palestinian children have died in a 31-day period? A child-a-day; is that the new Israeli army mantra? Khaled was just a one-year-old, Aya was seven, Sabreen was only three. What lost potential, what lost promise – who knows what Khaled would have grown up to be? An astronaut? A veterinarian? A philosopher? What about Aya; she could have become a fashion designer, a teacher, a mother. By what right has this promise been so violently plucked and trampled upon cruelly and without a moment’s hesitation on the part of the Israeli soldier, who heartlessly unleashed a fiery rain of bullets and shells on a neighborhood as if he is in a simulated video game and those who die are fictitious and unreal? Perhaps that is what he is made to believe, otherwise, who in clear consciousness is so willing to pull the trigger and with one spray of bullets destroy life, potential and rob joy?

If you can see the smiling face of your own child, then how do you go out and unquestioningly take the life of others? If you value life, then how do you live with the burden of knowing that you have taken it so unjustifiably? Perhaps that is your perpetual punishment; the judgment of a child scorned is the harshest of them all.

On Sunday, October 3, Lamiya Qasem Kleeb, 73, of Hares, died of injuries sustained when she was shot in her home two months earlier. Haji [1] Kleeb, as she was known, was killed in a way that is painfully familiar to every village and city in Occupied Palestine.

Army jeeps had been driving in and out of Hares village all day on July 21. For the last six months, they have been doing this most days. Army officials say that this is part of their campaign "to make our presence felt in every village, so that terrorism does not walk free." The soldiers often tell us sincerely that they are here because people in Hares, usually teenage boys, throw stones at their jeeps. When we point out that if they were not here, no one would throw stones at them, they say we do not understand.

The soldiers know that driving slowly through the village will probably result in someone throwing stones at them. Early that evening, they parked near the school, where a group of kids was playing basketball. Sure enough, the stones soon began to fly. The soldiers responded by throwing sound bombs.

Sound bombs, also known as percussion grenades, are plastic explosive devices about the size of a grapefruit, with metal tops that can slice a cheek if they hit someone accidentally or intentionally and which make a loud noise and a small flame when they impact. Often, the soldiers throw them at every crossroads as they drive through the village, especially late at night. The District Coordinating Liaison, or DCL, the army officer responsible for protecting the civilian population in this area, says it is army policy to throw sound bombs and tear gas, in order to "pressure the population, 98% of whom just want to live in peace, to stop children from throwing stones." He rejected our suggestion that this policy constitutes collective punishment, which is prohibited by the Geneva Conventions.

Hearing the sound bombs, people came out of their houses to see what was happening and make sure their children were okay. Kids and young men threw more stones. The army threw three canisters of tear gas and people ran into the nearby houses to escape the gas. The soldiers fired shots into the nearest house, where Haji Kleeb was trying to get her grandchildren off of the stairs. Seven bullets entered her stairwell, piercing the metal bars of the window and leaving their impact on the cement walls. Three of them ripped into her body, two through the back and one through the stomach. Soldiers initially prevented anyone from coming to help her. Eventually someone was able to drive her out of the village, though her husband was forbidden to accompany them. The car was delayed at one checkpoint, and she had to wait again to be transferred to an ambulance for the trip into Nablus. It took her one and a half hours to reach Rafidiya Hospital. If she had not been stopped, it would have taken at most half an hour.

After two and a half months in hospitals in Nablus and in Israel, Haji Kleeb died on October 3.

Bullets fired in response to stone throwing are a daily occurrence in many parts of Palestine. It is also quite common for soldiers to provoke stone throwing in this manner. According to a recent report by the Palestinian human rights organization Al Haq, on five killings in Qarawat Bani Zeid, "[I]t is apparent that the Israeli soldiers, in order to provoke a stone throwing confrontation, entered the village at a time when there would be gatherings of young people, as during the school break." [2]

The Al Haq report points out that these shootings violate not only international law but also the Israeli army's own regulations. "The Israeli soldiers are violating their own open fire regulations, which address two situations: arresting persons who are suspected of having committed a dangerous security-related offence, and defending themselves against mortal danger…The soldier may open fire to injure the attacker, but only him alone. In both types of cases, it is forbidden to open fire if there is a danger of injuring innocent bystanders." Under international humanitarian law, "[I]t cannot be considered proportional to meet stones with lethal bullets."

In the international media, the mention of stone throwing frequently is enough to obscure the reality that the Israeli army is regularly killing unarmed people who are in no way involved in combat. The World Union of Jewish Students website, for instance, contains the following assertions:

"Accusation: Israel uses excessive force against people, often children, who are merely throwing stones.

"Rebuttal: Israel is constantly being accused of a disproportionate reaction... Israel's responses are designed to neutralize specific threats and, unlike suicide bombings, they are targeted at perpetrators not civilians…. "That is not to say that civilians never die. Regrettably innocents, including children, are occasionally caught in the crossfire... Most Palestinian children have been hurt due to their direct participation in violent confrontations, and a minority of the casualties were the unfortunate result of crossfire or return fire directed towards terrorist targets….Palestinian children and teenagers have been active in the violence against Israel. Schools are closed to allow their participation in demonstrations and riots." [3]

This is not a right-wing extremist site. Mainstream news sources mirror the perspective that stone-throwers are combatants. Captions such as "Palestinian stone-throwing youths take cover backed by an Israeli tank and an army bulldozer during an army incursion ...," [4] while technically accurate, also shift the focus from Israel's military operations against a civilian population to its perception of being always in danger. The word “clash” is used by everyone from the United Nations to the International Solidarity Movement to denote a confrontation between stone-throwers and the army. Would we call an encounter between a lion and a chicken a clash?

It is difficult to comprehend how throwing a rock and shooting an automatic weapon can be equated. Throwing stones may not be the best strategy in attempting to struggle for justice, but ignoring the lives that Palestinians must lead under Israeli occupation isn't any better. In fact, refusing to acknowledge the daily deprivations and humiliations that Palestinians must endure does far more harm than the stones that are tossed.

Since the Al Aqsa Intifada began in September of 2000, over 3,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces and 7,480 houses completely demolished. 224,415 dunums (224,415,000 square meters) of Palestinian lands have been seized, much of it for the sake of constructing the Apartheid Wall. In addition, 73,251 dunums were bulldozed and 1,173,913 trees were uprooted in Gaza and the West Bank. [5] The unemployment rate in the West Bank and Gaza has been averaging 35% combined. [6] And then there are the checkpoints, roadblocks, incursions and settler violence aided and abetted by the army.

Is it so surprising that boys throw stones? "Alam" (not his real name) is the son of a wealthy family in the southwestern Salfit district, where the Wall construction has already begun. In near flawless English, he explains why the demonstrations against the Wall so often end in stone throwing.

"I feel when I'm sitting here, I'm just living in a big prison. We can't move, we can't do anything, we can't go to the store or anything, we can't go to our college. We are psychologically destroyed. I can't live like that. Maybe if I'm really supposed to do that, I'm going to throw the stones.

"I don't have to resort to violence, because there is a very very good peaceful way. But when you see the soldier just throwing gas, shooting people, when my friend, I was standing behind him and he was just killed, this anger inside me, makes me throw the stones. You can't stop and just watch. I can't just stand and shout, `Stop the Wall, Stop the Wall.` I have to do something to tell the soldiers I don't accept what they are doing."

Those who like to use Jewish history to justify the actions of the Israeli governments might ponder this question: If a stone thrower is a terrorist, was David a terrorist when he slew Goliath?

On Monday morning three women from IWPS, Kate from the US, Megumi from Japan and Karin from Austria, walked down the settler road between the Palestinian village Hares and the illegal Israeli settlement Revava. We went to meet with a family from the neighbouring village, Deir Istia, who plucked up all their courage to pick their last trees left right under the settlement.

As soon as we were close to the little path leading through the grove, Hassan* came out of the fields with his wife and daughter. With him was the donkey, packed with all the equipment for harvesting the olives. While we were walking towards their field, the family told us about their life and their land behind the settlement.

The family has been living in Yemen for a long time and came back when the situation in the West Bank seemed about to get better, Arafat was back from exile, and the infrustructure was increasing. Although the occupation was still there, they were motivated to finally come back to their homeland where their roots are and hoped that they would soon be living in a free country.

Hassan and his wife Suha* both studied in Lebanon – he is a religious lawyer and she a chemist. Hassan´s family is still living in Deir Istia, where he was raised. Suha´s family left Deir Istia in 1948, and ended up in a refugee camp in Lebanon, where Suha was born and her family still lives. Her parents are not able to come to visit because they are both old. Suha is afraid, that if she goes to Lebanon to see her parents before they die, she will not be allowed to enter again at the Israeli border.

In Deir Istia the young family bought a small house in the picturesque old city, keeping animals and maintaining a little garden within the ancient walls. They live a modest life with their three children – two teenagers and a five year old.

Since they came back to Palestine, five years ago, the situation and the living conditions have been getting worse and worse and it seems as if there is no future on the horizon. Suha is very worried about her children, who become more and more frustrated, especially because they tasted another life, a free life with rights in Yemen.

What remains to them now is their olive trees, which are not only a symbol of their heritage and roots in the country, but also their only income.

They told us sadly that two years ago, the Israeli army imposed curfew on the little village for two days in order to cut and uproot olive trees around Revava. Other families were also affected, but Hassan´s family alone had a loss of around 200 trees on a land of about 50 dunams. Only 25 trees were left and so they asked us to accompany them to the area to pick their olives, because they were afraid that the security guard from the settlement would not allow them to access their land.

Hassan was walking in the front with the donkey and suddenly stiffened, looked straight for quite a while, then slowly turned around and said in a sad and slow voice: “We have no trees anymore. They have cut the rest. We can return home.”

We were shocked and walked into the fields, Hassan remained where he stood and stared into nowhere. There was a lot of brushwood and brambles, uprooted trees, some of them burnt. When we walked up towards the fence a security guard showed up immediately and the nineteen year old Aischa*, the eldest daughter, got frightened, that her father would be shot. Her mother a strong woman, stuted: “This is our land, so we can be here. I don´t care about him. This guard has nothing to say here.”

Karin went with Suha through the thorns to some single little trees which were left and could gather a handful of olives. There were only one to ten olives on each tree. For Suha it was clear: “The trees are sad. They don´t want to carry fruit anymore under these circumstances. Also the soil couldn´t be ploughed and that’s very bad for the trees. But we were afraid coming here. The life of my husband is more important than the trees.”

In the meanwhile Aischa went with Kate and Megumi to the fence of the settlement, which was built on land from Deir Istia, Hares and Qarawat. When the armed guard approached the three women Aischa went towards him and told him: “You killed all our trees”. The guard just said: “Leave from here, please”. When Aischa came back to the two Internationals he shouted to them: “Go away”. Kate replied: “Why should we go away? This is her land”. He demanded: “Show me the papers”. And Kate retorted: “She doesn´t have to show you”. It seems that he understood who was right as he just said ok and went back to the settlement.

We sat down under an olive tree of the neighbour´s groves and the family insisted that we eat some of the sweets they only brought for us, because they assumed that we are not fasting during Ramadan. They told us, that their family who was in Deir Istia when the settlement was built in 1985 fought for their land and trees then. In 1999 they went to the court the last time. They showed us the papers of ownership and from the lawyer as well as maps from their land later when we were in their house.

Now the former olive grove looks like a wild and useless field. That makes it easier for the settlement to expand and build new houses. The strategy seems obvious. If the land gets useless to the farmers because their trees are uprooted and burned, they won´t risk being shot trying to start from the beginning. After three years this gives the Israeli Occupation Forces the legal right to annex it as Israeli property.

Before we went back to their home, we spent some time walking through the sad fields. Around the cut stumps of the ancient trees, which were cut two years ago, wild new branches are growing rampant and stubborn towards the sun as if they wanted to say: “We will resist. Our roots and seeds are deeply in this earth. Whatever you do to us. You can´t wipe us out.”

We hope to accompany the family again to this field to plough the soil and plant new trees.

* Names changed to protection confidentiality.