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DOI: 10.5553/TIJRJ.000108

The International Journal of Restorative JusticeAccess_open

Notes from the field

Living together in the same land: if we, bereaved families, can do it, you can too

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Layla Alsheikh, 'Living together in the same land: if we, bereaved families, can do it, you can too', (2022) The International Journal of Restorative Justice 93-102

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    • 1 The beginning

      My name is Layla Alsheikh. I come from Battir, a village near Bethlehem.
      I will start my story from the beginning when my parents got married. In 1967, my father went to Jordan to be a teacher for the refugees. That year the war started. The Israeli government closed the border, my parents lost their Palestinian citizenship and they became Jordanians. My brothers, sisters and I were born in Jordan, but we grew up listening to my father’s accounts about Palestine: we could see sparkles in his eyes when he was telling us about his childhood in his homeland. Because I love my father so much, I have been dreaming all my life to go back to Palestine. It is not just me: every Palestinian born outside Palestine dreams of living there.
      I concluded my studies in accounting and business. I met my future husband in Jordan, although he too comes originally from Bethlehem. I came to Palestine in 1999 to get married and continue my life here: for me, it was a dream come true. I was really delighted to have my own family and be here. That first year was amazingly beautiful: I tried to visit all the places mentioned in my father’s accounts or that I had heard of. In my second year in Palestine, I had my first child, a girl named Yara. We were so happy.
      After a few months, the second uprising – or intifada – started. I was shocked and afraid: it was my first time in such a situation, and I hoped to see it end soon. Unfortunately, instead, every day became worse and worse. At that time, the Israeli government decided again not to grant people like me, who came from Jordan, proper ID documents. I had entered Palestine as a visitor, but in principle I was supposed to receive my papers as a Palestinian resident after a few months, which did not happen. I was not free to move: should I be caught, I could go to jail or be sent back to Jordan. I would stay at home most of the time with my husband and my daughter. I wanted to see my relatives, but I had my family to take care of.
      After another year, we had our second child, a baby boy. We named him Qusay. We were happier and happier seeing our family growing. I was busy with the children, which mitigated the longing for my family in Jordan. Unfortunately, our happiness was to come to an end a few months later, when Qusay turned six months old.

    • 2 The loss

      11th April 2002, 4:00 in the morning.
      Qusay woke up in a very critical condition. The day before the Israeli soldiers had come to our village and threw tear gas: he smelled some of it. Medical treatment in our village was not good enough. We took the baby to a doctor, who also was not expert enough to handle his case. We tried to take Qusay to the hospital in Bethlehem as soon as possible. But we were stopped by Israeli soldiers: ‘You can’t enter.’
      Our next chance was to take the baby to the next city, Hebron. It is a 20-minute drive via the main road. But again, the soldiers told us the main road was forbidden for us. Our only way was to reach Hebron through a rough and long road, crossing many villages. But again we were stopped by Israeli soldiers at another checkpoint: our car was searched; my husband’s and my father-in-law’s IDs were inspected. My father-in-law explained to the soldiers that our baby was in a critical condition and they should let us go: ‘No, you should stay in the car until we allow you to move,’ was the reply.
      During that never-ending time, I kept looking at my son in my arms: I knew he needed medical attention in hospital as soon as possible. I was feeling hopeless. So I decided to talk to the soldiers too: as mentioned earlier, as a foreigner without a Palestinian ID, I was taking a risk. I feared I would never see my children again, but the worries for my son’s health was urging me. So I did talk to the soldiers, who laughed at me and asked me to stay in the car. More than four hours passed until they allowed us to move.
      When we reached the hospital, it was too late for Qusay. If he survived the following 48 hours – the doctors said – he would remain mentally and physically handicapped. As a young mother – I was just 24 years old – it was like the hospital crashed over my head. I started to cry, I did not know what to do for my child. A few minutes later, Qusay was taken to the intensive care unit: his condition had worsened.
      At two o’clock in the night, the doctor told us to leave: Israeli soldiers would search the hospital to look for fighters that sometimes came to hide. We begged the doctor to explain to the soldiers that our son was in the intensive care unit. ‘Your son – the doctor said – is in the intensive care unit, and you can’t be with him. They will ask you to leave, so please leave now. We will be looking after your baby.’ It was so hard for me to leave: how could I leave my son alone in that room without being beside him and speaking to him? Without doing anything I could let him feel that I was beside him? The doctor did not allow us inside the room: ‘You can see him just for two minutes’ – he said – ‘Don’t touch him, don’t kiss him, don’t go close to him. Just look at him and leave.’
      I left my heart and mind in that room.
      We went to my parents-in-law: once home, I immediately reached a phone to inquire about my son’s conditions. The doctor said something about his case: I understood his words, but I did not want to believe. My husband came in. I told him I did not understand what the doctor was talking about. My husband asked to put the speaker on: he wanted to hear too. The doctor repeated the same words to my husband. I started to shout: ‘What do you mean by this?’ The doctor stopped talking for a minute then said: ‘I’m so sorry. Your son died.’ These words were like a bullet into my heart that smashed it into many pieces.
      I cried, I screamed. I did not know what to do. The house was full of people, relatives, neighbours, friends: but I did not care about anyone. I was just thinking about my son. I then started to convince myself it was not true: we would sleep in the car, wake up again in the morning, go back to the hospital, bring Qusay back and he would be in a good health again. But I soon realised what the truth was.
      I had a dream that night that helped me later: I saw a white dove coming near my shoulder and saying ‘Mum, don’t cry, I’m so happy.’
      The usual justifications of the Israeli army for the killing or jailing of Palestinians are that they threw stones, were snipers or had tried to attack soldiers. But my son was just 6 months old: what crime could he possibly have done? His only crime was to be Palestinian.
      Our life turned upside down.
      The next day, they brought me my baby to say goodbye: until the moment I held him in my arms, I was still hoping someone was lying to me or playing some kind of bad joke. But when I took off the blanket that covered him, I was shocked: he was blue. I tried to kiss him on his cheek, as I always do when I hold him: he felt like a rock. I hugged him so tight to warm him. This was probably the hardest moment for me. It was the first time I was going to be separated from him. When I hugged him and saw him blue and cold, my heart was boiling. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, Qusay had been taken to be buried.
      I took the decision not to have any kind of relationship with any Israeli person.

    • 3 The aftermath

      For sixteen years I complied with my commitment and refused all sorts of relations with Israelis. My husband used to work with Israelis and before the death of our son we were used to having them come to our house. But after Qusay’s death, I asked my husband never to bring any one of them to our house. I did not want to talk to them. I did not want to see anyone of them.
      I never thought of revenge, though: for me, who seeks revenge is weak. Revenge is the easiest way. Revenge will never bring anything back; it will never bring my son back. On the contrary, revenge could destroy my other children, my husband and myself. My priority, back then, became the care of my family and their protection from being part of the cycle of violence.
      My husband was trying to convince me to have another child, but I did not want to. We argued over this for three years, until one day my doctor asked me why I was not having other children. My answer was sharp:

      Why should I have other children? They will finally end up in jail for the rest of their lives, or end up being killed… I will lose them anyway. Do you forget that we have been living in this conflict for many years, and it will not end soon? My children will somehow become part of this cycle of violence.

      After three years, my third son was born nevertheless. We gave him the name Qusay because we did not want to go over what had happened. We wanted to always remember my first son. We did not want to forget, not even for a minute. When I look at my son and call him by his name, I am reminded of the whole story.

    • 4 The unexpected

      Sixteen years after the death of my son, I received a call from a friend with whom I had not been in contact for years. We were chatting, when he started telling me about the Parents Circle-Families Forum (PCFF), and how he had joined the association. I made him stop: ‘Are you crazy? I am the last person you should be talking to about this.’ ‘I know you and your story’ – he said – ‘How come you haven’t told your other children about what happened to their brother?’ I replied: ‘Because I do not want them to be part of the cycle of violence. I do not want to lose them. I lost one already, and it is much more than enough for me.’ My friend insisted: ‘Maybe this will be a chance for you not just to protect your children, but maybe other families from both sides too.’ I replied firmly: ‘Please stop, this is crazy; these things do not happen here!’ But my friend kept calling me every two or three days, trying to convince me, until one day he told me there was a conference of the Forum in Bethlehem: ‘Please come, just listen to them. After that, I will never talk to you about it again.’ I agreed, just to make him stop bothering me. On the day of the conference, I woke up in the morning thinking of an excuse to not go: ‘I’m waiting in the car. Get dressed and come down. I know you: you are going to try to find an excuse.’ So we went.
      At the beginning there were just Palestinians with whom I started talking. A few minutes later, the Israelis entered the room: I felt something in my chest, I wanted to leave. My friend pushed gently: ‘Please, sit down, just listen to them.’ During the conversation, I was looking at the persons attending: I was struck by seeing that a lot of them hugged and kissed each other, just like family members or friends do. ‘Are they all crazy?’ – I thought – ‘How could they act like this after all these years of conflict and killing each other?’ I told myself I should sit and listen: I wanted to know what was the thing that made them so close to each other.
      The Israelis told their personal stories: I was really amazed and touched.
      For the first time, I was looking at them as humans like me, as mothers or fathers, brothers or sisters who lost their loved ones. No one can understand your pain and the meaning of the loss better than someone who experienced the loss. Sometimes, words are not even needed: it is enough to look at the other person, and he or she can understand what you cannot even say.
      It was the first time I felt that we shared the same pain and tears and we are both humans.

    • 5 Pathways of transformation

      Thanks to this experience, I decided to participate in The Parallel Narrative Project (see contribution by Robi Damelin in this Notes from the field) which brings Palestinians and Israelis together several times to confront themselves with the history of both sides. We went to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem, where the Palestinians were faced with the Shoah; we also went to Palestinian villages demolished after 1948, where the Israelis were faced with Palestinian history and the crimes that occurred during that period. But first we were asked to talk about something that happened to us during the conflict and affected our lives: for the first time since his death, I spoke about my son, something I had never done even in my own family where everyone kept their memories and feelings inside.
      It was so hard for me: it was like opening the wound again. Anger, hatred, and other emotions came back together with memories. I could not complete the story: I stopped and cried. There was an Israeli woman who came to me; she put her hand on my leg and apologised. ‘Why are you apologising to me?’ I asked. ‘I know I didn’t hurt you’ – she said –

      but I know that the people who hurt you are from my own people and I’m really sorry. Besides, I’m a mother too: I can understand your pain. I can understand even your untold and unspeakable words because as a mother I know how painful it is.

      Then she hugged me and cried too. This gesture touched my heart from inside: it was the first time someone spoke to me like this. This Israeli woman could not know, back then, that with those very words she had changed my whole life forever, opening my heart and my mind again. I felt that her words were a light coming from a deep, dark place to open my eyes, my mind, my heart and make me realise the situation and see it differently.
      From that moment, I took the decision to become a member of the PCFF, and I started giving lectures inside Israel, Palestine and around the world (Sweden, Italy, Switzerland, etc.).
      Meeting the Israelis and talking to them helped me understand a lot of things I did not know about them. Mostly, this has given me the chance to heal myself. Peace, reconciliation and similar words are easy to say: what is important, though, is to mean it and feel it from inside. And one cannot really mean and feel it until they start to heal themselves. This in turn helped me to stop thinking of myself as a victim and supported my thinking that I am a survivor. When you think as a victim, anger and hatred kept inside transform your heart and mind into a rock, which prevents you from thinking in a better way.
      A transformation in me had occurred: I was becoming a new person. Even those around me could see this new person whose transformation was for the best, and my children too could perceive a change in me. I, in turn, began to realise that a shift in my life was necessary for my children in the first place, in whom I should have faith and hope. I should throw seeds on the ground for them to have a better future. These seeds are peace and reconciliation without which no future is possible. This is when the idea that I should forgive those who harmed us was conceived: not just for the sake of them, but for me and us. Being filled with hatred and anger is like carrying stones on one’s shoulders: this heaviness is an obstacle to thinking correctly and a burden that prevents me from doing a lot of positive things.

    • 6 Human, like you and me

      As a member of the PCFF, I was once asked to meet with the Israeli girls conscripting to the army. To be honest, I did not sleep the night before this encounter. To me, the mere word ‘soldier’ was hard to listen to and was bringing me back to the time my son died. I thought it over and over again and came up with the decision to just go there, tell my story, speak about the Forum and leave. But once I got there and saw these girls, I was shocked: they were of the same age as my oldest daughter. ‘They are so young – I said to myself – you should now imagine being their mother; you will now deal with them as they were your daughters, not soldiers.’
      In the beginning, we talked about our personal stories and about the project. Then questions came. A girl asked me what I was expecting from them, and if I wanted them not to join the army. ‘How can I answer this?’ – I thought. When you speak from your heart, you do not need time to think nor time to find beautiful words. So I replied:

      I have a girl of the same age as you. I can’t tell her what to do or not to do. I can give her advice, tell her what is good and bad, but she is the one who shall take decisions about her life. I can’t choose in her place. I cannot tell you to act against your rules and against your country. But what I do ask you, all of you, once you join the army, is to please deal with anyone in front of you as a human being like you. Do not look at their colour, background, religion, or anything else. Just look at them as a human being like you: this is enough for me.

      The girl was crying. I realised – and was touched – how innocent these young future soldiers are, and how they are the victims, not me. Children of that age with a gun in the middle of a terrible situation could do anything because they are afraid. I started feeling really sorry for them.
      The reaction of the young girl soldiers was really amazing: when, after the meeting, I was leaving, they would come after me still wanting to ask questions and know more. Most of them had never met a Palestinian before. It was like a chance for them to learn. It is the same for me: every single time I participate in these dialogues, inside Israel or Palestine or even in other countries, I learn something new. It is not just meeting people, telling them about yourself: it is their questions. The questions I am asked make me learn something new, and make me learn how to answer these very questions. You cannot understand the life and situation of others until you sit and talk with them. This is one of the remarkable aspects of the Forum.
      This encounter strengthened the idea of forgiveness in me.

    • 7 Recent violence and future hope

      During the 2020 summer, another war started against Gaza: it was very hard for all of us on both sides.
      The night the attacks began, it was Ramadan. In my family we were just breaking the fast, standing around the table: we saw rockets from our village located in C Area. We could hear explosions. We were afraid, my children were shouting, my youngest daughter, aged six, cried the whole night and could not sleep because of fear.
      I was really confused: it was the first time I was facing a war since I had become a peace activist. I was in the middle of my thinking about what to do with my children when Robi Damelin called me: ‘How’s your family? How are your children?’ We chatted a little bit, I asked her about her family and grandchildren. When the call was finished, I told my children: ‘Do you know who was calling me right now?’ They said: ‘Yes, it is your friend Robi.’ I told them: ‘Yes! She wanted to check if you are in a good health and that you are not afraid.’ They were amazed: ‘How could she ask about us in this difficult time?’ I told them:

      Not all the Israelis want to kill us, just like not all the Palestinians want to kill the Israelis. Some people want to do this, but we don’t. We do not want to kill anyone. God gave this land to both peoples, not to us only, nor to the Israelis only. Why should we kill each other over land? This is not something we should do.

      I remembered the dream I had about my son as a white dove. At that time I had not understood what the dream meant, but after I became a peace activist, I realised that God wanted me to be in this field: the white dove is the symbol of peace. I know that God did not want the death of my son, He did not want my son to leave this earth like that. God wants this to be for a reason, and the reason is for the good. God sometimes challenges us, not because He hates us, but because He wants the best for us. For all of us.

    • 8 Advocating the stop of the cycle of violence

      The PCFF was initiated thanks to the thought of one single person, Yitzhak Frankenthal. Now more than 600 families who lost their loved ones have become members. In addition, there are more than 2000 people who did not lose their beloved ones but want to be part of the project. Once a year we have a meeting with all the members, and once or twice a year we organise general events, although we normally gather in smaller groups and communities. As members of the PCFF, we meet with individuals and communities, talk with students in school and soldiers, young and adults. We have summer camps for children from both sides: it is important to let the children meet, know each other, get acquainted: a ball is enough for them to play together even if they do not speak the language of the other. Some of these children then become leaders and facilitators and play a role in our organisation.
      I do not say that all of us inside the Forum love each other or agree on every issue. We do argue sometimes. For instance, we discussed the proposal of an Israeli woman to talk to the settlers in the Territories, something deemed impossible by the Palestinians who worry about the implicit recognition of legal status to the settlements. We argue, but we do respect each other and work together even when we keep disagreeing. We manage to create a kind of common space where respect enables us to sit together and listen to each other. This robust common ground lies in both the loss of our beloved ones and our firm will not to lose anyone else. We want to create the conditions for the best possible future for everyone on both sides.

    • 9 We live together in the same land: overcoming obstacles and difficulties

      Talking to the ‘enemies’ is not easy. Some people refuse, others have different views, others do not want to listen, others are open to the dialogue but afraid to disclose it or fear the reactions from their community. The PCFF has opponents: just a few days ago, two members – one Israeli and one Palestinian – went to a school in Israel where some families and students aggressively criticised ‘bringing “terrorists” to schools’. In Palestine, the PCFF’s activities in schools are forbidden by the local government that considers them as ‘brainwashing’.
      Although even some members of the Knesset (Israeli Parliament) support the Forum, there is generally a lack of interest by political leaders in our endeavours. We hope that one day the institutions of both sides will help us in our journey, but the PCFF does not wait for the leaders to take action. We move: we, the ones who lost our loved ones and who are suffering. In general, leaders do not address common people when they discuss peace agreements: when the Oslo Agreement was negotiated, they did not come to people like me or Robi Damelin to ask our opinion. Nor have they come to ask our opinion when wars in Gaza, fights in Jenin or any other places broke out: no one asks the people if they agree or not with these actions.
      At the individual and personal level, talking to the ‘other’ is not easy either. Especially in the beginning I too had to face opposite reactions from the two sides of my family. My husband and his relatives encouraged me and supported my being active in the Forum, particularly when they saw my transformation. One of my sisters-in-law became a member of the Forum herself, and my oldest daughter too is committed to joining the PCFF summer camps for children. Like me, they recognise that we, Israelis and Palestinians, live together in the same land and cannot be separated.
      The other side of my family, who is in Jordan, instead, did not want me to meet Israelis. During a visit to my family, my father tried to convince me not to be with Israelis: ‘They’re still our enemies. Don’t believe them. They will try to convince you, but they don’t want to have peace with us.’ I sat patiently with my father:

      You do know that my son died. You know that for eleven years I was not allowed to come and see you in Jordan. Do you know what happened to me during these eleven years? How can you judge me? How can you ask me what to do or not do? No one can tell me what to do. This is my life, and I’m the only person who can choose my own way of life.

      My father was shocked: it was the first time I spoke to him like that. ‘I don’t know where you get this strength from’ – he said –

      I did not know you had the courage to speak this way in front of me. Even if I am not convinced about what you are doing, do whatever you feel is good for you.

      When you speak up without being afraid, when you act to defend your life and the life of your children, people realise that your action is true and important, even if they continue to not believe in it.
      Some people around me still say that I am supporting the ‘normalisation’ with the Israelis and I am a traitor selling the blood of my son. Some of my friends keep having the same idea that my father had but respect me as a person who lost a loved one during the conflict.
      I once was invited with Robi Damelin, Israeli, to a women’s meeting in a private house in Hebron. Some women there did not want to shake Robi’s hand nor talk to her and were arguing about why she had come. For some of them, it was the first time they had seen an Israeli woman in their house. I told my personal story and Robi too told hers, how she lost her son David and how painful it was. The participants were moved and in the end, they hugged Robi, asked her questions and wanted to be kind to her.
      Those who accept to hear us cannot but be touched by a mother or a father who lost their beloved children. Even if people do not agree, they will eventually at least respect us.

    • 10 The healing power of mothers

      In the beginning, the meetings of the PCFF were attended especially by men. Robi Damelin once realised that all the men were inside the room while mothers from both sides were outside waiting, sitting alone. Hence, Robi thought to do something for the women in the Forum: mothers are the ones suffering the most. In our communities, men go to work, hang out with friends, and so on, while women stay at home with the children and receive little care and attention.
      The Forum has initiated several projects for women, such as the ‘Jam Session’ project, where women from both sides bring recipes and cook together, or the ‘Connecting Threads’ project where handmade work becomes also a way to provide an income for women who do not have jobs. The ‘Women’s Leadership for Reconciliation’ project supports women’s leadership in our communities.
      Women are not just one half of the community: women have many responsibilities; they are the mothers and daughters who take care of the children and the house and sometimes even work outside. But mostly, women have a power that sometimes comes from our pain and helps us do amazing things. I saw this during our projects.

    • 11 Peace and justice

      Some Palestinians think of justice as throwing Israelis out of the land they think is theirs, some Israelis think of justice as throwing the Palestinians out of the land they think is theirs. We have been killing each other for more than 70 years: what have we achieved? Nothing. Only more difficulties, more sorrow, more deaths, more everything bad.
      People all over the world seek justice, not just in Israel and Palestine. But justice has nothing to do with putting those who killed our children and loved ones in jail. No. Justice for us at the PCFF is to help them understand the pain they caused by killing our sons, daughters and family members and make this cycle of violence stop. This is important. Even if they killed our children, we are still human, we still want peace, we still want to live. We do not want to die and did not want our children to die. Violence is not the reason we are here on earth.

    • 12 If we who lost our loved ones can sit side by side…

      We are the ones who have lost our children: yet, after the bad times we faced, we became friends and we try hard together to create a better future. If we, the people who lost their loved ones, can sit side by side and call ourselves sisters and brothers, anyone can be on our side and do the same. Our message to all people is that no one else should lose their children and beloved ones.
      During the Joint Memorial Day Ceremony to remember our fallen loved ones from both sides, we send this message out to the world: we bereaved Palestinians and Israelis stand side by side not to kill one another but to change things for the best, to live side by side and make life easier for all of us. I was one of the speakers this year. When I got back home I had a surprise. It was late at night, but my children were still up. They came and hugged me: ‘Mum, we are so proud of you.’
      Our message of peace and reconciliation is not about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict only, it matters all over the world for peoples and groups and even for two friends who break their relationship or two neighbours having a problem with one another.
      We encourage people to sit and talk to each other, avoiding prejudice vis-à-vis the other. Someone once asked me if I agree with the solution of two states or one state. I prefer the one-state solution: both our peoples are so educated, so rich in many ways, we have many good resources to be a strong and powerful country together. If both sides try to put their potential together, it will become an amazing land and such a great country.
      As we say in Arabic, a road of a thousand miles starts with one step: we will walk until we reach the end of this road and will want to achieve much more.