Back to the North... When the Rubble Is a Homeland

In a scene that embodies the will to live in its most beautiful form, and after fifteen months of seeking refuge in the south, where there is no roof to protect from the rain, nor warmth to dispel the cold that devours the bones and creeps up on the little ones at night, the mothers try to cover them with what they can, while the men sit on the edges of the tents, looking to the distant north, as if they draw strength from it to endure another day, they all lived between longing and groaning, they lost many loved ones; they lost a father or mother here, a brother or sister there, families separated by an unjust war, but it could not tear apart their longing for the north, as they longed for their homeland.

When the war intensified, they had no choice. The shells were falling on their heads like “rain,” the walls were collapsing on top of them, and the ground was shaking beneath them. They were forced to leave the north, where they lived their memories, their joys and their sorrows. They knew that the occupier wanted to sever what connected them to the north, but they carried the north in their hearts, in the looks of their children and their constant longing. They settled in the south, or so it seemed. The tents were like small shelters, with no privacy or warmth.

When the news came, the road to the north was opened, none of them needed to think twice, the tents were folded, the bags were carried, and the hands were trembling, not only from the cold, but from the intensity of the longing to go “over there”. They carried their burdens on their backs, and the weight of their hearts in their chests, and ran, as if they were in a race. They knew that the north was no longer what it was, and that destruction surrounded everything, the houses were razed to the ground, and the fields became barren, but they chose the rubble over “exile”. They chose to return to their destroyed cities and neighborhoods. The return was not just a spatial transfer, but rather a journey full of pain and hope, redrawing the meanings of legendary steadfastness.

On the road, the scene was majestic, caravans of people walking as if they were returning from absence, women dressed in black, men carrying on their shoulders the burdens of loss, fathers carrying pictures of sons who had not returned, or would not return, children running barefoot, as if they were searching for the warmth of an absent embrace, the faces were pale, but the eyes shone with a glimmer of hope that would not be broken, the path was not easy, but it was the only way to dignity.

On their way north, they passed by the "Netzarim" axis, a fortress built by the occupier at night like thieves, to be a symbol of his power. He paved the roads and prepared it with "care", until the weak-willed thought it would remain, and that it had established its feet in the heart of the earth, but it fell, as fortresses and walls had fallen before it, and as always, if its beginning was linked to destruction, its end is inevitable ruin. On a night full of moons, as if it were from the repeated pages of history, he demolished everything, carried it and left, and in doing so he did nothing but confirm what the Palestinian knows well, he is only "good" at killing and displacement, but nothing can stand in the way of the Palestinian's will, the fortresses have been built, but his steadfastness is stronger.

They reached the north, there were no houses, only a few, just ruins and rubble, they did not feel defeated, they knew that the land was theirs, and that returning was the first step towards rebuilding, and the children began to play amidst the rubble, as if they were drawing a new future, while the adults were busy collecting what remained of their memories.

History will remember, as we remember now, that they returned in spite of the occupier, and that their steadfastness is unparalleled. History will write about a will that was not broken, and about a love that made them rise from under the rubble, time after time. History will immortalize in its pages that the will to live made them bring life back to a land that the occupier thought - mistakenly - had died. Running towards the rubble was not just a return, but a statement of victory, saying in its first words that the Palestinian will remain the owner of the land, cultivating it during the day, and hiding his dreams in it at night, until one day they become reality.