Our family home was very large, with 2,000 hectares of farmland. We grew date palms, fig trees, olives, grapevines, apricots, papayas… In the garden, there were fragrant herb bushes like parsley, mint, coriander, and what we call molokhia . We kept chickens, ducks, rabbits, goats, and sheep that roamed freely. It was a paradise on earth.
Recently, Ursula von der Leyen congratulated our occupier, Israel, claiming they had "made the desert bloom." We were deeply outraged. Palestine was already a fully developed land with a rich history long before 1948. Our lands were fertile and our culture flourished. Literature, architecture, the arts, cinema, vibrant modern cities — that was the Palestine of the past, before it was partitioned and annexed by the colonial apartheid state of Israel.
Social cohesion in Gaza is immense — as is often the case in Arab countries. We are warm people, with large families and countless friends. In Belgium, people seem to never have time for spontaneous visits; their schedules are packed and life is incredibly rushed. For us, every day was an open house.
In the olive groves, we would lay mattresses on the ground, and in the afternoons after work, everyone would gather to rest there. Our families, neighbors, and their children would come to drink tea, and the typical Palestinian salads were prepared. In our house, there was a large, dedicated reception room. A fire burned, where the men roasted coffee beans, ground them by hand, and then we drank this delicious, fresh Palestinian cardamom coffee.
These gatherings were very important in the villages, especially under occupation. They were places of deep conversation and where key decisions were made for our community. Daily problems were resolved, families in conflict were reconciled, and practical matters were arranged — like deciding who would visit the sick that week. Often an imam would be present to support us, and the advice of the elders was highly respected.
The children played nearby and were always included — nothing was hidden from them. This way, they informally learned our traditions, and we could keep an eye on them and guide them on the right path. Those who didn’t follow the rules received a corrective task — for example, helping to irrigate the fields.
Our great-aunt was a well-known healer and acupuncturist. She often attended these gatherings, not just to provide medical help but also psychological support to traumatized children. She was highly skilled in traditional medicine and specialized in treating gland-related conditions. She made her own herbal salves and oils and offered physiotherapy.
We are deeply traumatized by the destruction of our homeland and the loss of so many lives within our families and communities. Since 1948, we have been the victims of a new form of colonization — a destructive Zionist project. Israel is carrying out a high-tech genocide against our people, while the world silently looks away.
We had no part in the Holocaust, and yet we were displaced from our villages because Europe refused to take in Jewish survivors after WWII. This injustice — of shifting the burden of those victims onto a people who had nothing to do with the war — has endangered our lives for generations. Israelis must dare to look in the mirror and confront their own history. We have been connected to our land for centuries, while they came from different European countries — most are not indigenous.
This is not a religious conflict. We receive enormous support from the Jewish community. They march beside us in protests. Holocaust survivors and their families — like Norman Finkelstein and Gabor Maté — have spoken out. That means a great deal to us. They understand precisely what “never again” truly means.
Anyone who sees what we’ve endured and does not turn away from our suffering cannot help but understand our struggle.