Jerusalem Heart of the City

Palestinian visions from within 8 - 18 MAY 2018

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw www.paauw.photography

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 9, 2018

The Giro Rat Race

Sunset over Tel Aviv. Swifts race on the sea breeze. On the rooftop terrace of the guesthouse I meet Mark. Being a huge cycling fan he came to Israel to watch the start of the 2018 Giro d’Italia in Jerusalem. He was kept by the Israeli border control for 7 hours of interrogations. Despite his Arab looks, he is born and bred in Britain.

He tells me: ‘They asked the name of my grandfather, which is Jeffrey. They wanted to look into my cellphone. I handed it to them and invited them to look not only into my photos, but also to check my Facebook, Messenger, everything. It was a cat and mouse power game. They asked my second name, which is Idam. Then they thought they could nail me down: ‘That is wrong, you should write is like Adam, you must be a muslim.’ My answer was: Adam the first human, his language was probably Hebrew or Aramaic, there is no A to be found in it!’ I realised they were on a 10 hour shift; I was their game of the day. Of course I felt discriminated against, but it is nothing compared with what Palestinians have to face everyday.’

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

We run like we live

‘We run for the same reason as you do in the West, to be fit and healthy. But we also claim the right to run freely in East-Jerusalem, our Capital. It is bitter sweet to run through areas that used to be Palestinian territory and a rich part of our history.

Although these places might look fancy today, it is heart-wrenching and feels as if our identity is being killed, to know that our cultural heritage is disappearing from these places. We see the 8-9 meters high Apartheid wall, surveillance towers, helicopters, soldiers and checkpoints, every day. We are stuck. We feel out of control of our lives, as we cannot plan ahead for anything. It raises anger and frustration. Running with our friends in the Right to Movement is like fighting back in a positive way.

We are actively involved in the yearly Palestine Marathon. In 2018, over 7.000 people participated. The air was full of vibrant happiness and pride. Because of the Israeli occupation, we have to stay within the West Bank. The route runs through two refugee camps –Al Aida and Ad Dheisheh, and along the Apartheid Wall, deemed illegal by the International Court of Justice in 2004, but still standing, separating Palestinians from their land and each other and preventing the basic human right to freedom of movement. The course is 21.0975 KM, that is why the runners doing the full marathon will run two loops.

In the future, we dream of running the 42 km from the Nativity Church in Bethlehem to the finish at Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, carrying our Palestinian flag.’

George Zeidan and Nadine Abu Rmeileh are the co-organizers of the running group Right to Movement Jerusalem.

The spirit of religion

‘As a Muslim leader I know my religion well; its commandments, ethical guidelines, the sharia laws, but I prefer to talk about the fourth aspect of it: ‘imagination.’ To envision what could be, to add the spiritual aspect to what cannot be seen with the visible eye. ‘Imagination’ provides us with remarkable possibilities. In a similar way, the Palestinian identity consists of a great, many aspects, like a kaleidoscope: we have beautiful poetry, refined embroidery, fierce demonstrations and an infamous political leader called Yasser Arafat.

My mother, being a devout Muslim woman, breastfed not only me, but also a neighbouring Christian baby who could not receive milk from her own mother. Through that white milk relationship, the child became my sister. We Palestinians don’t let blood define our relationships as that suggests limiting love only to family members. We celebrate the ‘womb connection’: inviting those we deeply care for into our lives. The generosity of my mother was the ultimate gift of nurturing.

One day I was rushing through the streets, because I was late for my Ramadan dinner. My Christian friend Osama invited me into his shop and discretely offered me a meal. Religion is where we need each other to weave and strengthen the social tapestry.’

Professor Mustafa Abu Swai (1958) is the first holder of the Integral Chair for the Study of Imam Al-Ghazali’s Work at Al-Masjid Al-Aqsa and at Al-Quds University. He is Professor of Philosophy and Islamic Studies at Al-Quds University in Jerusalem, Palestine, since 1996.

Our captured Palestinian Butterfly

‘I descend from an ancient Jerusalemite Muslim Palestinian family. We have been living here for over 700 years. We eat and breathe Jerusalem, the Sun of Palestine.

Since 1986 my family and I have successfully run three bookstores: two at the Salah Eddin Street and one at the American Colony Hotel. Business started to take off during the first intifada in 1988 when many NGO’s and press agencies came to Jerusalem. They were in search for English books and information addressing the Palestinian side of the occupation. Nowadays we are the most specialised bookstore on this subject in Israel and Palestine. I visit book fairs and buy books anywhere in the world and bring them here to sell. Our Educational Bookshops are an intellectual fortress of resistance. We have a message to spread.

With reading comes education. I am deeply concerned about the current educational system. Schools are forced to alter textbooks, political and historical facts like geographical borders in favour of the Israeli concept; otherwise, they will lose their funding. Israel is also ‘cleansing’ the language: names of Palestinian towns are changed into Hebrew. They even captured our Palestinian Butterfly and changed its name into Israeli Butterfly. Our Palestinian existence is being erased.’

Imad Muna (1964) is a renowned bookseller in Jerusalem and Managing Director of the Educational Bookshop.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 9, 2018

Abiding good news. Insjallah.

Gaza is suddenly nearby. I am staying at the guesthouse of the Augusta Victoria Hospital on the Mount of Olives. This Lutheran hospital specialises in the treatment of cancer, dialyses and childhood diseases. The patients are from East Jerusalem, the West Bank and Gaza. To be eligible for treatment here, patients from Gaza are dependent on a permit issued by the Israeli government. This can take 3 weeks to months. In the latter case, the treatment is delayed or interrupted, the patient becomes more and more sick or does not survive at all.

I meet two women with cancer. A daughter and girlfriend guide them. The days between treatments, they stay in a hotel in the village. Thanks to Google Translate we can communicate and I hear their stories. They do want to be photographed, but I am not allowed to release their names. They are too afraid of repercussions by Israel, such as stopping treatment. Speaking here is literally a matter of life or death.

Inquiry at the hospital reveals that: the age of the people accompanying patients is subject to strict rules. People between the ages of 16 and 35 are not welcome: they pose too great a security risk. It can happen that a toddler is sent to this hospital without their parents.

In the shade of the trees in front of the hospital, people are waiting for good news. Insjallah.

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

Submit to our rule

‘Busloads of Israeli settlers as well as international visitors, come to Jerusalem to take part in the ‘Flag Dance Parade’ on Jerusalem Day. In 2017 over 30.000 people attended, demonstrably waving Israeli flags, marching down the streets inhabited by Palestinians, raucously singing nationalist songs. For Palestinians, it is a display of force, conquest and aggressiveness. It epitomises the occupation.

Immediately following the 1967 war, Palestinian East Jerusalem was annexed by Israel. Over the past 51 years it has virtually disappeared as a city, integrated into a large Israeli Jerusalem by extension of its municipal borders and fragmented into dozens of tiny enclaves.

The route of the parade deliberately weaves through the Muslim Quarter of the Old City, deliberately provoking the Palestinian residents. Shopkeepers have to close their shops and locals are ‘advised’ to stay in their houses. This march is the most graphic example of the triumphant Zionist campaign to transform Palestine into an exclusively Jewish Land of Israel. The message of this march to the Palestinians is clear: submit to our rule, get out of ‘our’ country or die.’

Jeff Halper (1946) is an American-Israeli anthropologist, author, lecturer, and political activist. He was nominated, together with the Palestinian intellectual and activist Ghassan Andoni for the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 13, 2018

Joyless flag display. Resistance of the little man.

Despite various warnings, I go into the Muslim Quarter during the Flag Dance Parade. I want to see the infamous flag show with my own eyes. Groups of (predominantly) young male settlers march through the narrow streets. For at least a quarter of an hour they chant slogans and wave the Star of David at the intersection of the Al Wad ha Gai Street with the Suq El Quatanin. Shivers run down my spine. I admire the entrepreneurs in the Suq for their composure. They know what to do and do not allow themselves to be provoked.

Most stores in the Muslim Quarter are closed, but Khaled’s jeans shop is open as a protest. I go in and he offers me a stool. While we are talking, the masses pass by. Suddenly, a settler in a safety vest posts himself in the doorway of the shop. It is a young man with chilly, blue eyes. I ask Khaled what he is doing there: 'He is probably protecting us,’ he responds. In the small 3x3 meter shop, without a back door, we are trapped like rats if the crowd wanted to mob us. However, according to Khaled, we are safe. The Israeli government has deployed around 2,000 military personnel to make this a ‘perfect’ event. They do not want bad publicity on the eve of May 14th: the 70th anniversary of the founding of the state of Israel and the opening of the US Embassy in Jerusalem.

A man comes in to buy clothes and moments later, a mother with 2 children. They have defied the crowd and their solidarity is pure courage. Then an older man with a worried look in his eyes arrives. He speaks to Khaled, who then decides to close his shop anyway. We walk out of the Damascus Gate and into the blockade: the Old City and surrounding districts are hermetically sealed until 10.00 p.m. The Arab buses nor taxis drive, no car comes in. On foot I go to my guesthouse on the Mount of Olives.

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

I won’t leave

'I have a degree in microbiology and immunology. For twelve years I enjoyed working at a laboratory in Jerusalem. I had to quit because the Israelis were threatening to take over our family shop in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. I could not let that happen, so I have been a business owner here since 1996. In March 2018 I was asked to represent the 1420 merchants of the Old City in the Jerusalem Chamber of Commerce. That is a huge honour to me.

It is difficult to make a living with such a small shop. Over the last 5 years 250-300 shops went out of business. The costs are rising and my turnover dropped by 30% in recent years. The main cause is that it has become virtually impossible for many of my clients from Gaza or the Westbank to pass the checkpoints. Also, each gate of the Old City is guarded by the Israeli military who check Palestinians in a very insulting way. This reduced the number of people who succeed in reaching the Old City. It is killing our merchandising.

I hope my family will keep this place for generations to come. The occupation forces are doing their best to take over the whole market, but it will be impossible, not only in the Muslim Quarter but in the Old City as a whole. People will resist and will stay. Jerusalem will continue to be the city for everyone regardless of religion, nationality or race.’

Khaled Essaheb (1961) studied microbiology and immunology at Yarmouk University Jordan. He worked at a laboratory Hadassah Medical Center from 1984-1996. Since 1996 he runs a clothing shop in the Old City.

I am invisible, I am nothing

‘My parents fell in love when they both worked as nurses at the Augusta Victoria Hospital in East Jerusalem. While they were happy to have found each other, it was the birth of many problems for us, as my mother was from Jerusalem and my father from Gaza. As they did not have the same identity cards, they faced complications for themselves and their future family.

They married and had 4 children together. My eldest brother and I were both born in Jerusalem and, therefore, we each received an Israeli birth certificate with an Israeli number on it, which it is not a full ID, but only a temporary residence permit. I am not an Israeli citizen. I am stateless. My younger siblings did not get certificates because by the time they were born, Israel had changed the law. When a Jerusalemite woman marries a non-Jerusalemite man, the children are put on their father’s ID. This is how Jerusalem can get rid of her Palestinian children.

I went to college and successfully completed my law degree. In order to practice law in Israel, I must have a full ID, for which I have been applying for the last 15 years. It has not been granted yet, so I work as a volunteer. I depend on my family for a living. Since I have an Israeli certificate number, it is impossible to get a Palestinian ID. I am neither Israeli, nor Palestinian. I am invisible. I am nothing. Every year I ask Santa Claus for an ID for me and my dear son, so we are able to leave the country.’

Sabreen (1979) studied Law at Al-Quds University Jerusalem and graduated in 2003. Besides needing an ID to practise law in Israel, an ID is necessary to apply for a passport.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 15, 2018

A floral wreath on Nakba Day

The day starts with disappointing news from the Netherlands. At the request of a media company and in accordance with our agreements, I have provided five photos and accompanying texts from this project for publication on their website on May 15. Unfortunately, it appears to be 'too complex’ to publish. I am stunned: this is real life here. How slick do you want it?

I have two photo sessions that day and take the bus to the city. It is quiet in the street: today the Palestinians strike in memory of 70 years of Nakba. After all, 1948 did nothing good for the Palestinians. They commemorate the founding of the State of Israel under the motto: 'Your Independence is our Nakba.’ Your independence is our catastrophe and destruction. The day before, May 14, 2018, the opening of the American Embassy in Jerusalem was celebrated by Israel. The presence and unconditional support of America was a carte blanche for Israel to shoot nearly 60 Palestinians in Gaza on the same day as ‘rabbits in their cages,’ as someone put it. The atmosphere in the city has been let down, paralyzed, bleak. So am I.

At the end of the day I walk into the village to do some shopping and meet three hip, cheerful girls. They want to take a picture with me. Their selfie app has special effects: when the photo is taken, a flower wreath immediately appears around our heads. I rarely laughed so wonderfully. The gravity immediately clears up, but when I ask them about Nakba Day, they disappear in an instant. Sometimes the suffering is too great to talk about. Or you are just done with it.

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

We have to unlearn our fear and victim mentality

‘I was twelve years old when I first sailed in a hot air balloon. It is a soft and stable movement. Peaceful silence suddenly disrupted by loud noise. Because it is a slow way of travelling you are able to absorb what is happening beneath you. The hot air balloon tattooed on my arm is in remembrance of my mother, who passed away some years ago.

I was born in a Jewish, Jerusalemite family. My parents supported me personally and politically when I refused to join the Israeli army at the age of 18. I could not be part of an occupation military in any role. I spent two months in a military prison as a result. It is extremely frustrating to lose your freedom because someone else is controlling your life every minute of the day. Yet, it hasn’t stopped me fighting for Palestinian rights. Many people blame me for this and call me a ‘self-hating Jew’. I got very used to this stigma, knowing that it is a quick way to discredit people, without dealing with their arguments.

We are a suspicious society. Occasionally, zeppelins armed with surveillance cameras are put up as eyes in the sky above Jerusalem. Fear is our fuel and our justification for our actions – including the occupation. We can only bring about change in the Israeli society when we unlearn this fear and victim mentality. We need a realisation that our survival is not dependent on military might or military solutions. It’s not about security versus the rights of others, but rather sustainable peace is about the combination of the two.’

Sahar Vardi (1990) works at the American Friends Service Committee.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 16, 2018

To stretch and strengthen

I have been invited to a yoga class in the old city. The small group of elderly women now know each other well. At the beginning of the lesson we briefly review the events of the past few days: May 13 the Flag Dance Parade, May 14 Israeli Independence Day, the opening of the American embassy and the many deaths in Gaza. On May 15 commemoration of the Nakba Day and the national strike by the Palestinians. It appears that the women did not leave their house these days for fear of disturbances. Their life in East Jerusalem is stressful; the uncertainty creeps into the body and has a major impact on their sense of safety, well-being and self-confidence. After an hour of stretching, everyone is satisfied. Cheerfully they pose for the photo with their yoga mats.

The district center serves 600 older Palestinian Christians in East Jerusalem. They live in the Christian and Armenian Quarters, the Soq Kan al Zeit and Alwad Area, the Jaffa Gate and New Gate Area, as well as part of the Jewish Quarter. A multitude of activities are organized, such as sports, yoga, art, mosaics, drawing, ceramics, glass painting, and a computer course. Individual therapy sessions are offered for widows and others who experience loss in their lives. Because there are not many Palestinian Christians left in the old city, and to strengthen the mutual bond, big parties are organized at Christmas and Easter.

It is striking with how much love and respect the employees speak about their visitors: ‘I am totally in love with my oldies. My dream is that they are happy, able to live in peace and to turn our community center into a vibrant place. Our center is growing because a large number of elderly people are sick and bound to bed. They can no longer walk the bumpy streets of the old town. If someone has no family or relatives, life becomes hard and lonely. They don't deserve that. They need our care and attention. We tend to see older people solely as consumers of assistance. I completely disagree with that. For me they embody vision, advice and experience. The elderly are the experts of life.’

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

Dancing means the world to me

‘I could have led a comfortable life in the US, but returning to Palestine was always in the back of my mind. So after successfully finishing my studies there I came back home; I am a Jerusalemite in my heart and soul.

I found my luck in dancing. Since I was little I watched the performances of El-Funoun, one of the leading dance groups in Palestine. I was over the moon when they invited me as a dancer in 2005. We tour internationally as well as in Palestine. Many of our songs have become household tunes in Palestine and abroad. We are all volunteers, but we don’t go on stage just to have fun and be happy. We want to send a message to the world. We put a lot of effort into creating our choreography which is based on our daily life experiences and show occupation, resistance, distress, humiliation, happiness, love.

Nowadays, I don’t do a lot of street protesting anymore, l do it my way, through dancing. I train twice a week with El-Funoun in Ramallah. It is quite a hassle to get there and pass the checkpoints. It may take 15 minutes or an hour and a half. I can only do it because I am privileged to have a decent job and can afford a car. Although I am getting ‘old’ for a dancer, I won’t consider quitting anytime soon. I love what I am doing. It means the world to me.’

Sari Husseini (1979) studied at the University of Benedictine USA. He has an undergraduate in health sciences and a masters degree in public health (2005). He is executive officer at Search for Common Ground on Public Health (MECIDS) and runs Beat, a dancing and fitness studio.

Music is the key to our heart

‘I love music A LOT. It has always been a part of my life. We are a musical family, and my mother has a beautiful voice. Singing with her makes me happy. At the age of eight my uncle Assad invited me to sing and play guitar with him and stimulated me to take classes, which I did. I am a student at the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music. For 8 years I have taken classes in singing and one year and a half for playing guitar. I want to become a professional musician and member of the Palestinian National Orchestra in Jerusalem.

I listen to a large variety of music. I rejoice in the cheerful song of the bird ‘snono’ (swallow or swift), but I am also a big fan of the singers Lena Shamameen, Rim Banna and Faia Younan. At conservatory we get to learn a lof of composers and their music. Some is traditional, some is contemporary.

Making music is a way to express my Palestinian identity. I want my people to be proud of who we are and to honor our history. My grandmother was expelled from her hometown Lifta in 1948 by the zionist forces. She still owns the key of her former house. The big key on the wall in our living room is a powerful symbol of the right to return to our land. Life in Palestine is often very difficult because of the occupation. Music consoles, gives strength and brings joy.’

Sara Abul Hawah (2002) studies guitar and voice at the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music in Jerusalem.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 17, 2018

Dignified witnesses

‘Our generation is fading away, but the younger Palestinians need to know what has been done to our people. We were teenagers when the state of Israel was founded on May 14, 1948 and the horrors of that time are engraved in our memory.’ While meeting with Samia and Cedar is the one of the last I’ll have in Palestine, it was the most impressive of my stay. I hear their stories and shoot full of tears. ‘You don't need to cry,’ they say sweetly. I almost feel embarrassed. If anyone has reason to cry, it is they.

Cedar says: ‘I lived with my parents and brothers and sisters in Haifa. The Zionist forces drove through the streets at night, via loudspeakers and in broken Arabic they called on everyone to leave their house, otherwise we would suffer the same fate as the inhabitants of Der Yassin. On April 19, 1948, they caused a massacre there by killing 107 inhabitants and destroying the village. Everyone was terrified. We lived peacefully in the mountains until we were driven out by the Zionist forces. They filled ammunition barrels and laid them on the side of the road, pouring gas from the top of the hill and set it on fire. Our street became a waterfall of fire. The barrels of ammunition exploded. Residents who wanted to put out the fires were shot. We fled like 70,000 other residents from the Haifa region. We thought it was temporary and optimistically said goodbye to our beloved Jewish and Muslim neighbors and friends: ‘See you next week, goodbye.’ The reality turned out differently: our house was taken by Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe and we could never return. We fled to Nazareth, where we had to start a new life without any compensation from Israel. We have experienced the illegal occupation of Palestine for decades. When the world finally realizes what's going on, we've already lost our country. We Palestinians pay the price for the Holocaust and we pay it all by ourselves/alone, even though we had nothing to do with it.’

Samia Nasir Khoury (1933), left, and Cedar Duaybis (1935), on the right in the photo are the founders of Sabeel, Center for Eucumenal Liberation Theology Jerusalem.

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

We live here since the dawn of Christianity

‘As Christians we always are hopeful since we believe in Resurrection, but now we are rock bottom in the pitch of hope. Despite flouting international law and all U.N. resolutions, President Donald Trump moved the U.S. Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, on May 14, 2018. This was exactly 70 years after the declaration of the Independence of the State Israel in 1948.

We watched the opening ceremony on TV. On one half of the screen we saw Ivanka Trump, wearing her plastic, frozen smile, unveiling the inauguration plaque at the new facility. On the other half of the screen we witnessed how Israeli snipers gunned down almost 60 unarmed Palestinians in Gaza, just a few kilometers away. It happened simultaneously, in broad daylight and with mass media attention. Our people were demonstrating against their intolerable living conditions in their open-air prison called Gaza. They were mourning their “Nakba” (catastrophe), 70 years ago when they were driven out of their homes. They were demanding their rights of return to their land according to U.N. Resolutions.

Neither President Trump nor Prime Minister Netanyahu are known for being religious, but they greedily accept the political and financial support of tens of millions of evangelical Christians in America. This movement preaches that Israel is entitled to occupy, have and hold all of Jerusalem and Palestine, in order to hasten the second return of Christ and conversion of the Jewish people.

We, Palestinian Christians living here since the dawn of Christianity, are the living stones of faith. We feel forsaken and abandoned by our fellow Christians.’

Samia Nasir Khoury (1933) is a founding member of Sabeel Ecumenical Liberation Theology Center in Jerusalem.

Freedom of life

‘We love to throw parties and celebrate life. We like to dress up, enjoy good food, making music and dancing together. We have extended families, so usually huge crowds show up. Hundreds of people is very common. We cherish this sense of belonging. We are often portrayed as willingly being martyrs. That is an abhorrence. We have a zest for life; we value it deeply. Maybe even more so because we know how precious life is and how easily and brutally it can be ended.

Life is difficult here because of travel restrictions: Palestinians have a special ID depending on where they are born. Palestinians born inside Israel have Israeli citizenship and they are not allowed to travel to the West Bank and Gaza by Israel. Palestinians born in Jerusalem have Israeli resident cards that are temporary residency in Jerusalem and they are not allowed to live outside Jerusalem. Palestinians born in the West Bank are not able to travel to Israel, Jerusalem or Gaza without a permit. The same applies for Gaza citizens who are not permitted to travel to West Bank, Jerusalem or Israel without a military permit.

I hope our children will enjoy freedom of movement in their life. That they can go wherever they want. Study where they wish. Visit family here and abroad without harassment or restrictions. That no one will be limited and controlled by Israeli borders, barriers or the bad mood of a soldier blocking their way. This freedom of movement is not only my dream for the youngsters, but also for the older generations. Some seventy-year-old Palestinians living in East Jerusalem or the West Bank have never had the possibility to see the Mediterranean See with their own eyes. It is only 75 kilometers away…'

Omar Haramy (1980) is an administrator at Sabeel.

TRAVEL REPORT MAY 17, 2018

Peace or piece?

My last evening in Palestinian territory. I have been invited by Palestinian friends for a graduation party in Bethlehem. The family has rented a huge party room. A spotless white space, with a light show and fireworks. Guests in sexy clothes. Delicious food, dance and pleasure. When we leave after a few festive hours, the usual route appears to be blocked: it is the first evening of Ramadan and the Israelis are afraid of disturbances. There is no alternative but to take the ‘settlers road’: a highway exclusively for Jewish settlers and therefore prohibited for Palestinians. The tension rises and it becomes quiet in the car. At the checkpoint we are allowed to drive on unhindered, after all we are the innocence itself: a young couple, toddler and blonde middle-aged woman. We glide to Jerusalem in a matter of minutes.

Jerusalem. Holy unity. Palace. God’s see. Oasis of justice. Refuge. Temple. Navel of the world. A city guide summarises current events: ‘Many tourists ask me: ‘When will there be peace in Jerusalem? ‘I cannot answer that question, because I have forgotten how you write it: peace or piece?’

I leave Jerusalem with a heavy heart. It is hard to continue to believe in a just solution for the Palestinians: right to return to the land that has been taken from them, compensation for suffering, equal rights as citizens, full control of their country, international recognition, to name but a few. But can you deprive people of their hope?

I saw their resilience, enjoyed their humor. When I asked, ‘How are you?’ Was the answer: ‘Great, apart from the heat and the occupation.’ Almost no one lives here exclusively for themselves, for their own success. It is always: ‘We Palestinians’, despite the enormous differences between them. The Palestinian identity, the strong bond with family, the country and history and the realisation that they are fighting for a just cause: no one can ever take them away.

Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw Jerusalem Heart of the City

made possible by Het Boekenschop Tilburg, The Netherlands and Sabeel Liberation Theology Center, East Jerusalem

Copyright © 2018 by Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the photographer Gerdien Wolthaus Paauw. For permission requests, write to www.paauw.photography Take a stone from our house So that our descendants Will remember their way home.

Mahmoud Darwish