In the tumultuous landscape of the Israel-Palestine conflict, international law emerges as a critical but often elusive framework for addressing the issues at hand. Its application becomes both a beacon of hope for justice and a labyrinth where legal principles intersect with geopolitical realities. 

This month’s curated book bundle unveils a series of thought-provoking works that dissect the interplay between law, politics, and human rights in the context of Israel-Palestine. These books traverse the historical, legal, and humanitarian dimensions of the conflict, offering readers a comprehensive understanding of the challenges and potential avenues for justice.

Justice for Some: Law and the Question of Palestine by Noura Erakat contends that judicial intervention has failed to address the most pressing challenges facing the Palestinian struggle for freedom. She delves into the shortcomings of occupation law, which, rather than deterring Israel’s settlement enterprise, has proven ineffective in curbing its expansion. 

Furthermore, Erakat scrutinizes the laws of war, revealing how they have permitted the use of lethal force and widespread destruction during Israel’s military offensives in the Gaza Strip. The once-promising Oslo Accord’s two-state solution, as posited in 1993, is declared a dead letter, underscoring the need for a fresh perspective.

Justice for Some introduces a novel approach to understanding the Palestinian quest for freedom by examining the relationship between power dynamics and international law. Erakat navigates through pivotal historical moments, from the Balfour Declaration in 1917 to contemporary conflicts in Gaza, illustrating how the strategic manipulation of legal frameworks has played a pivotal role in shaping the current conditions of the region.

Erakat persuasively argues that, over the past century, the application of law has disproportionately advanced the interests of Israel, highlighting that the outcome was not an inevitable consequence but rather a product of political interventions. 

This book emphasizes that law is inherently political and that its interpretation and enforcement are contingent on the actions of states and individuals. It posits that change within the legal realm is possible and that international law can become a potent force for advancing the cause of freedom when mobilized in support of a political movement.

Noura Erakat, Justice for Some: Law and the Question of Palestine (Stanford University Press, 2019) ISBN: 9781503613577, 352 pages

Protecting Human Rights in Occupied Palestine: Working Through the United Nations offers a brilliant and authoritative exploration of the UN’s attempts to address and expose Israeli violations of international humanitarian law and human rights in the occupied Palestinian territories since the 1967 War. 

Authored by three independent international legal experts who served as UN Special Rapporteurs, the book unveils a compelling narrative of their six-year-long, unpaid mandate to investigate and report on Israeli transgressions.

What sets this study apart is the unprecedented political independence enjoyed by the Special Rapporteurs outside the typical UN bureaucratic constraints. Despite divergent backgrounds and political perspectives, the experts unanimously confirm the routine and diverse violations of Palestinian basic rights by Israel. The book delves into their frustrations, trials, experiences, and the consensus they reached.

This collaborative effort sheds light on both the positive role the UN can play in addressing contentious issues and the geopolitical forces that hinder the implementation of international law. The vehement reactions from Israel and pro-Israeli NGOs underscore the importance of a reliable account of Israeli violations of Palestinian human rights. 

The book exposes how critics sidestep substantive charges by resorting to discrediting attacks, including accusations of anti-Semitism, aimed at undermining the credibility of the Special Rapporteurs.

While skeptics may dismiss the UN’s ability to enforce international law, this book emphasizes the impact of expert findings on shaping international public opinion and solidarity politics. The well-evidenced conclusions presented within the book have fueled transnational activism, exemplified by the growing global support for the BDS Campaign and other nonviolent external pressures.

Richard Falk, John Dugard, and Michael Lynk, Protecting Human Rights in Occupied Palestine: Working Through the United Nations (Clarity Press, 2023) ISBN: 9781949762549, 398 pages

The United Nations and the Question of Palestine: Rule by Law and the Structure of International Legal Subalternity, authored by Ardi Imseis, unravels the complexities and tensions that exist between the UN’s actions and the requirements of international law, revealing a nuanced and often contradictory relationship when it comes to Palestine. The exploration delves into the various forms that the UN’s failure to adhere to international law has taken and the far-reaching implications of such deviations. 

The book unveils a state of ‘international legal subalternity’ imposed upon Palestine and its people. It contends that the promise of justice through international law is consistently offered, yet remains elusive, perpetually withheld under the guise of political legitimacy furnished by the international community.

The book provides readers with a critical perspective on the UN’s handling of the Palestinian question. The author’s exploration invites readers to reconsider preconceptions, offering a thought-provoking analysis of Palestine’s pursuit of justice on the global stage.

Ardi Imseis, The United Nations and the Question of Palestine: Rule by Law and the Structure of International Legal Subalternity (Cambridge University Press, 2023) ISBN: 9781009076272, 303 pages

In Gaza: An Inquest to Its Martyrdom, Norman G. Finkelstein delivers a powerful and meticulously researched examination of the tragic plight befalling the Gaza Strip. As one of the world’s most densely populated areas, with a majority of inhabitants under eighteen and two-thirds classified as refugees, Gaza has been the recurrent target of eight devastating Israeli military operations since 2004. 

Finkelstein portrays the dire reality faced by its largely defenseless population, with thousands perishing and tens of thousands left homeless, exacerbated by a merciless and illegal Israeli blockade.

Finkelstein’s book, drawing on numerous human rights reports, conducts a penetrating inquest into Gaza’s martyrdom, challenging Israel’s justifications for these actions as self-defense. He convincingly argues that these assaults were blatant violations of international law. 

However, the book also unveils a disheartening narrative of the failure of international guardians, including renowned organizations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, as well as the UN Human Rights Council, to adequately address Gaza’s suffering.

One of the most unsettling conclusions is the succumbing of human rights organizations to the Israeli juggernaut, particularly highlighted by Judge Richard Goldstone’s retraction of his UN report. Finkelstein’s book only serves as a tribute to Gaza’s martyrs but also stands as an act of resistance against historical forgetfulness. 

In unraveling the man-made humanitarian disaster that is Gaza, Finkelstein offers a compelling call to action, urging readers to confront the uncomfortable truths and advocate for justice in the face of ongoing tragedy.

Norman Finkelstein, Gaza: An Inquest to Its Martyrdom (University of California Press, 2021) ISBN: 9780520318335, 440 pages

Prolonged Occupation and International Law: Israel and Palestine is a significant academic study stemming from the 2018 conference on “The Threshold from Occupation to Annexation.” This collection expands the discourse on the 55-year Israeli administration of the Palestinian Territories, covering themes from colonialism to potential international criminal liability.

In response to the prevailing political inertia, the volume offers a poignant examination of international legal frameworks in the context of Palestinian life under prolonged Israeli occupation. It emphasizes the dynamism of international law, showcasing its potential, when coupled with imagination and social movements, to advance justice in Palestine and beyond.

This scholarly collection, featuring contributions from renowned experts, provides a comprehensive exploration of fundamental legal issues arising from Israel’s prolonged occupation of Palestine. It serves as a crucial resource, weaving together rigorous analysis and lived experiences to guide a nuanced understanding of the challenges posed by prolonged occupation and the quest for justice.

Nada Kiswanson and Susan Power, Prolonged Occupation and International Law: Israel and Palestine (Brill, 2023) ISBN: 9789004503922, 402 pages

In the shadow of the birth of Israel seventy years ago, the Palestinian refugee question remains an enduring and complex crisis, making it one of the most protracted post-WWII refugee issues. With over six million refugees scattered across the Middle East, their status is intricately tied to the political circumstances surrounding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, as well as the specific state or territory ‘hosting’ them. Despite the foundational role of international law in addressing their plight, it often takes a backseat in political discussions.

This compelling new edition builds upon the seminal work of its predecessor published in 1998, offering a clear and comprehensive analysis of various facets of international law relevant to Palestinian refugees. From refugee law and human rights law to humanitarian law, the book explores the intricacies of providing international protection for Palestinian refugees and delves into potential durable solutions. Notably, it examines the current interpretations of Article 1D of the 1951 Refugee Convention and various definitions of Palestinian refugees.

A key reference text, this book serves as an authoritative account of the subject, shedding light on the roles of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) and the United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) in relation to Palestinian refugees. It stands out for its innovative framework proposing just and durable solutions, drawing on recent developments in refugee law and a holistic, rights-based approach.

Francesca Albanese and Lex Takkenberg, Palestinian Refugees in International Law (Second Edition) (Oxford University Press, 2020) ISBN: 9780198784050, 608 pages

An Army Like No Other: How the Israeli Defence Forces Made a Nation by Haim Bresheeth Žabner provides a thought-provoking and comprehensive exploration of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) and its profound impact on Israeli society and the nation’s history. As the child of Holocaust survivors who settled in Palestine in 1948, Žabner offers a unique perspective.

Initially embracing the Zionist agenda, Žabner became disillusioned during his conscription into the IDF in the 1967 Arab-Israeli war. Serving in the Golan Heights, he witnessed disturbing war crimes committed by the IDF.

The book delves into Israel’s formation, the establishment of the IDF, and the role of Zionist settler-colonialism and violence in asserting and expanding Israeli power. Žabner’s historical analysis highlights the foundation of Zionism on anti-Semitism and explores how Israeli society accepts the Zionist narrative through crucial roles played by schools, communities, and the IDF.

The book traces the origins of the IDF, connecting it with Zionist paramilitaries like the Palmach and Haganah, and emphasizes how impunity for actions like the Nakba became ingrained in Israeli settler-colonial society. Žabner underscores the integral role of military violence in any settler-colonial project, arguing that it is the linchpin without which such endeavors would be impossible.

However, it’s important to note that the book is not a military history but rather a social history of Israel through the IDF. The author identifies the IDF as the most constant institution in Israel’s 75-year history, receiving 96 percent of Jewish support.

Expanding on this premise, Žabner argues that the IDF is not only a formidable fighting force but also the core ideological, political, and financial institution of Israeli society. The IDF’s influence permeates every facet of Israeli life, emerging as one of the nation’s most profitable and influential industries. It is the institutionalized legacy envisioned by Ben-Gurion to create the Israeli nation and society, as he believed ‘the whole nation is the army.’

The book also emphasizes the racialized experiences of Palestinian citizens of Israel, who have historically faced inequalities and disenfranchisement, including living under a military government for the first two decades of Israel’s existence.

Challenging Israeli claims of being “Jewish and democratic,” Žabner argues that Israel has become a fully-fledged apartheid state, both in practice and de jure, drawing parallels with South Africa. The book examines how racist legislation has institutionalized legal apartheid, reinforcing the antidemocratic nature of the settler-colonial regime.

Adding a left-wing perspective, Žabner critiques liberal Zionists who argue for a “humane” or “liberal” Zionism, contending that such positions deny the inherent inequalities within the Zionist project. He challenges the narrative of equality propagated by liberal Zionism, asserting that it serves as a cover for actions violating human rights and international law.

In conclusion, An Army Like No Other provides an eye-opening examination of the IDF and its role in shaping Israel. Žabner’s work challenges conventional assumptions about true peace in the region, calling for a reevaluation of these notions from an informed historical perspective.

Haim Bresheeth Žabner, An Army Like No Other: How the Israeli Defence Forces Made a Nation (Verso, 2020) ISBN: 9781788737845, 448 pages

Embarking on a reflective journey through the memories and heirlooms passed down through generations within one’s family can lead to a profound exploration of the historical narrative embedded in one’s heritage.

The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonial Conquest and Resistance, 1917-2017 by Rashid Khalidi, a distinguished US historian of the Middle East, stands as a monumental account, representing the first comprehensive history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from an explicitly Palestinian perspective. Khalidi’s familial connection to the history of the region adds a personal and unique dimension to his groundbreaking narrative.

In crafting this extraordinary work, Khalidi draws on a wealth of archival materials and firsthand accounts from his eminent family members, including mayors, judges, scholars, diplomats, and journalists. This meticulous approach not only adds originality and depth to the book but also imparts an authoritative touch to the narrative.

The journey through time commences in 1899 with a poignant letter from Yusuf Diya al-Khalidi, the mayor of Jerusalem and the great-great-uncle of the author. In this letter, al-Khalidi warns Zionist founder Theodore Herzl about the perilous consequences of the Zionist movement’s ambition to establish a Jewish national home in Palestine.

This moment, according to Khalidi, serves as the prologue to the prevailing Zionist narrative, marked by the dismissal of indigenous populations and their interests as inconsequential. Khalidi provides a meaningful reflection on this letter, offering his unique and authentic perspective.

Weaving together personal history with pivotal events that have shaped the conflict, Khalidi challenges conventional interpretations that frame the Israeli-Palestinian conflict merely as a tragic clash of competing nationalisms. Instead, he unfolds a narrative of colonial warfare waged against the Palestinians, underscoring its underappreciated centrality to the issue.

This colonial campaign, initiated by the Zionist movement and later endorsed by the state of Israel with the support of influential global powers, including Britain and the United States, becomes a focal point of Khalidi’s analysis.

Ilan Pappe’s remarkable work, Ten Myths about Israel, takes a fearless approach to scrutinizing the contested ideas surrounding the origins and identity of the contemporary state of Israel while offering a critical examination of the past, the present, and the path ahead. In this insightful exploration, Pappe meticulously dismantles ten myths, etched into the collective consciousness, that have long perpetuated and shaped our understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Focusing on the fallacies of the past, Pappe confronts six enduring misconceptions. The first myth contends that Palestine was an empty land, a claim he systematically debunks by delving into the historical record. The second myth suggests that the Jews were a people without a land, a notion Pappe addresses with a nuanced perspective that challenges conventional wisdom.

Myth number three posits that Zionism is synonymous with Judaism, a misconception that Pappe dissects to reveal its fallacious underpinnings. He also tackles the assertion that Zionism is not colonialism. Pappe’s exploration examines the formation of Zionism and its instrumental role in the early phases of nation-building

The fifth myth claims that the Palestinian population voluntarily left their homeland in 1948, a narrative that Pappe refutes by drawing from historical accounts and testimonies. The sixth myth revolves around the belief that the June 1967 War was a conflict of “no choice,” an assumption he subjects to rigorous examination.

Pappe then shifts his focus to the fallacies of the present, highlighting three prevalent myths that continue to shape the discourse on Israel. Myth number seven proposes that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East, a claim he scrutinizes through the lens of contemporary politics and policy.

W

hen the Guardian reported on the negative Israeli reaction to the Netflix release of the film Farha (2021), the debut feature by Palestinian-Jordanian director Darin J. Sallam, they gave away a crucial part of the plot. It is difficult to discern whether this was a deliberate act of sabotage to ruin the film for potential viewers or a clumsy mistake by Bethan McKernan, the Guardian’s Jerusalem correspondent.

What is undeniable is that there has been a concerted effort to rubbish the film and suppress it. Just before the film was released worldwide on Netflix, hundreds of spam accounts left negative reviews on IMDb in what the Middle East Eye described as an “organized campaign.” Furthermore, Avigdor Lieberman, Israel’s minister of finance, described Netflix’s decision to platform it as “crazy.”

So why has this film created so much controversy? Not to repeat McKernan’s mistake, I advise the reader to watch the film before reading any further. I will be analyzing the film in some detail in what follows so as to work out why it has unnerved so many and in order to tackle some of the criticism that has been leveled against it. I first watched Farha on the opening night of the 2022 Safar Film Festival in London, knowing nothing about it beforehand—I believe is the ideal way to experience this film.

The film is set in Palestine in 1948. Fourteen-year-old Farha (Karam Taher) wants her father (Ashraf Barhoum), the mayor of their small village, to allow her to continue her education in the city. Her uncle (Ali Suliman) argues in favor of Farha being educated rather than married off and the father eventually agrees. Just as Farha is on the cusp of achieving her dream, her village is attacked by Zionists. It’s a testimony to the filmmaking that you could be fooled into thinking you have seen extensive battle scenes when much of the war is implied through sound rather than image. Farha’s father locks her in a pantry for her own safety and seals the door. He promises to return at a later time.

We begin to feel Farha’s increasing claustrophobia. Everything is a challenge: from finding a light source to collecting rainwater through a hole in the wall and solving the problem of how to go to the toilet in such a confined space. All this happens almost silently or with very effective use of sound. It is pure cinema that allows us to get close to Farha as we experience the visceral intensity of being confined with her. We long for her to find a way to break the door.

Then, through a gap in the door, Farha witnesses the arrival of a family. A woman gives birth. Farha calls out for the father of the family. Just as we think he is going to rescue her, Zionist soldiers arrive. The film goes from second gear into fifth. Every passing second the tension mounts. The danger the soldiers represent is palpable. At one point, a female soldier reaches inside the garment of the Palestinian woman who gave birth and extracts the large, heavy metallic key to her house tied around her neck. The soldier teases her by telling her she can keep it as a souvenir, implying she will never see her home again.

The family is eventually lined up and shot. We don’t see the moment of their execution, only the reaction on Farha’s face as she witnesses the horror. Then comes the crucial part, the part McKernan ruined for the Guardian readers: the newborn baby is left behind. A young Jewish soldier is ordered to kill him without wasting a bullet. He contemplates stomping on the baby, but in the end leaves a handkerchief over him and joins his departing unit. Finally, when Farha finds a hidden gun and blows open the door, she discovers flies feasting on the dead baby’s corpse.

With such a powerful, unflinching story, the Israeli reaction to Farha is perhaps not surprising. The irony is that much of Sallam’s secondary research on the events of 1948, which the Palestinians refer to as “Al-Nakba” (The Catastrophe), came from the work of Israeli historians such as Ilan Pappé. The violent expulsion of some 750,000 plus Palestinians from their villages which led to the creation of Israel is hardly a secret. The Israeli denial is a testimony to the power of the film.

What is surprising are some of the negative reviews the film has received in the Arab press. Some have critiqued the film for pandering to Western orientalism by having a young girl longing to be educated and being denied that right by her Arab community—but those critics misread the early scenes. The film shows Farha’s struggle but also her triumph. She persuades her father to let her be educated and you feel that he is secretly proud of her “stubbornness.”

The film is very clear about the fact that her education wasn’t so much interrupted by her community but by the attack on her village by the occupying forces. The uncle who helped persuade her father to allow her to be educated turns out in the end to be an informant for the Zionist soldiers. This irked some critics who perhaps would have preferred for all Palestinians in the film to be depicted as heroes rather than as complex characters. The uncle, realizing that the Zionist soldiers lied to him about their intention, breaks down at one point. He reminds us that no one thought the destruction of Palestine was going to be so remorseless and complete.

Light in Gaza: Writings Born in Fire (2022) is a book of, by, and for Palestinians. And that is precisely why everyone can learn from it.

Conceived and created out of a desire and a need to tell their own story, the authors assembled in this collection of essays represent Palestinian journalists, artists, writers, and academics who are engaged in a variety of disciplines, including architecture, artificial intelligence, economics, history, and literature.

What they all have in common is lived experience in Gaza under Israel’s brutal massacres and colonial occupation. What they all rightfully resent is being repeatedly portrayed in the media merely as numbers, as victims with no agency and no voice. Imagine seeing yourself or your loved ones constantly depicted in news accounts as a statistic, falling under the categories of dead or injured, your house damaged or destroyed, your neighborhood obliterated or somehow still intact. The figures themselves are in a way dehumanizing because they can never convey the lives of those you lost—your children, parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, and neighbors—let alone your own trauma and nightmares.

That Palestinians have long been denied “permission to narrate,” as the Palestinian intellectual Edward Said put it, has at least been acknowledged in Western circles for some time now, even though it still must be fought for. Palestinian narratives are beginning to achieve reliable though limited outlets, but a solid infrastructure capable of sustaining those voices is yet to be firmly in place.

This anthology of writings, however, seeks to go beyond “permission to narrate,” as one of the editors, Jehad Abusalim, puts it in the Introduction. Instead of merely narrating, the editors—all connected with the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), including veteran Palestine solidarity activists Jennifer Bing and Michael Merryman-Lotze–and the authors seek in the words of Abusalim “to inspire action and offer a glimpse of hope,” and maybe even “provide an exercise in imagination.”

That the exercises in imagination sometimes appear counterintuitive and unexpected is a confession this reviewer has to make. One such exercise, “Ethical Implications of Experimental Design on Affected Communities in the Gaza Strip,” by the award-winning architect Salem Al Qudwa is a case in point.

Al Qudwa begins the essay by pointing to the lack of Palestinian agency in recovery and rehabilitation efforts following the deadly Israeli bombardments on the densely populated Gaza Strip in 2008-2009, 2012, and 2014 when 100,000 homes were destroyed or damaged. So much of Palestinian culture is based on the extended family, he notes, and yet when international aid agencies and other donor groups arrive to help rebuild, they seek little Palestinian input and ignore Palestinian culture, building units that isolate and break up families even further, adding to the trauma and sense of powerlessness.

So far, so good. But when the author announces that he seeks “to empower Gazans, making them self-sufficient and able to use existing resources without having to rely on Israel or other external sources for building materials,” this reviewer sensed a disquieting feeling. Isn’t the whole point to end the blockade and occupation and ultimately liberate Palestine? Isn’t the struggle inherently and wholly political? And isn’t an effort to build housing self-sufficiently merely an attempt to ameliorate an awful situation that can only be fully remedied once liberation comes?

Yet, as I read on and the author explained further the key importance of community planning in housing restoration, it suddenly dawned on me. So much of Palestinian resistance is based on sumud (Arabic for steadfastness). Al Qudwa’s “exercise in imagination” that resulted in the building of 167 houses was in fact designed to strengthen Palestinian families and culture. It represented “a matter of dignity and empowerment,” as he put it, and thus contributed to sumud , to the ability to carry on the struggle relentlessly.

Similarly, the poet Mosab Abu Toha’s essay, “Exporting Oranges and Short Stories: Cultural Struggle in the Gaza Strip,” explores his personal attempts to resuscitate libraries, art, and cinema in Gaza following Israel’s bombing of the Islamic University of Gaza in 2014, which included the destruction of its library. Abu Toha became particularly motivated to replenish children’s libraries, knowing that children make up half of Gaza’s population and suffered intense fear during the bombings.

Not all of the essays in this collection depict projects. Many describe in depth the manifestations of the Israeli government’s barbarity and its efforts to strangle Gaza and its resistance.  Every essay in this anthology is effective at describing these methods of control, particularly Suhail Taha’s “People’s Light in Gaza’s Darkness,” which details how Israel‘s control of electrical power to Gaza is an attempt “to break the people of Gaza.” Yousef M. Aljamal’s “Travel Restrictions as a Manifestation of Nakba: Gaza, the Path Backward Is the Path Forward.” exposes how the lack of freedom of movement for Palestinians represents Israel’s ongoing ethnic cleansing, which has never ceased since the 1948 Nakba (Arabic for catastrophe) when Zionist paramilitaries expelled more than 750,000 Palestinians from their homes and villages, creating the refugee population that is still the major component of Gaza’s population to this day.

It’s left to Palestinian artist Shahd Abusalama and physiotherapist Basman Aldirawi to address how to get to liberation in their respective essays “Breaking the Vicious Cycle of Permanent Temporality” and “Gaza 2050: Three Scenarios.” Abusalama stresses the importance of “a decolonial strategy,” “a one-state vision,” and the right of refugees to return to their homes. Aldirawi further explores the one-state solution and the deficiencies of a two-state approach.

Steadfastness is on display throughout this collection of essays. Writings born of fire are keeping the lights on in Gaza and all of Palestine.

Since Israel’s establishment in 1948, the Zionist project moved to effectuate and legitimize the gains of its ethnic cleansing campaign through various means, one of which is education. Education is a human right. On this fourth annual International Day of Education, under the theme of “Changing Course, Transforming Education,” it’s important to emphasize the nature of Israel’s education curriculum vis~a~vis its Arab-Palestinian citizens, which serves to uplift the nationality of one group (Jews), and dimish or omit the nationality of another (Palestinians). The indigenous Palestinian community was the majority in Palestine, and now live as a “foreign” minority in the newly founded state, with second-class citizenship.

Israel is required to recognize the right and freedom of its Palestinian minority to practice their culture, religion and language, and to adopt positive measures to avoid discriminating against them. Moreover, indigenous minorities have the right to have their history expressed in state institutions, including the education system. In Israel however, Palestinians are limited in their political and cultural expressions, especially through Israel’s education system. A prime example of this is the Nakba Law, which prevents publicly funded institutions, including schools, from commemorating the Nakba (i.e. catastrophe).

The Nakba represents the ongoing forcible displacement, ethnic cleansing, land theft, and systematic oppression of the Palestinian people. It rests in the collective memory of the Palestinian people, yet it’s suppressed, and hidden in the Israeli history curriculum. In fact, the 1948 ethnic cleansing campaign that caused the dispossession of 750,000 Palestinians is taught from an Israeli perspective as a “just war” while purveying the myth of “the few against the many.”

When the Nakba is mentioned in textbooks, it’s framed as part of the unfolding events of the Israeli war of independence, and Jews and Palestinians as equal sufferers, in effect positing parity between them. Moreover, the resulting refugee crisis is blamed on Arab states or the Palestinians themselves. The purpose of this pedagogical approach is to absolve the crimes of the state’s Zionist settler-colonial project, or at least provide justification for it.

Israeli textbooks reinforce Jewish-israeli territorial identity, wherein Palestinians are not regarded as ancestral inhabitants of the land, and therefore have no claim to it.

Israeli textbooks reinforce Jewish-israeli territorial identity, wherein Palestinians are not regarded as ancestral inhabitants of the land, and therefore have no claim to it. While Palestinians have been appointed to lead the Department of Arab Education since 1987, they lack decision-making authority, which remains exclusively under the direct control of the Ministry of Education. This contrasts sharply with the state’s Jewish religious school system, which is physically and administratively separate from the state’s secular Jewish school system, and maintains complete autonomy over its educational policy, aims and goals.

Israel enacted the State Education Law in 1953, the main object of which is to “educate” on the “loyalty to the State and the Jewish people.” The law as amended in 2002 references the Palestinian minority, referred to as Arabs in Zionist discourse, by “acknowledging” their language, history, and heritage. A mere acknowledgement implies mere mention, as opposed to education.

Palestinian students in Israel are deprived of the Palestinian literary classics taught throughout the Arab world. In addition to not learning about the Nakba or Palestinian history, they also spend many more class hours on the study of Hebrew, Jewish history, and Jewish culture than they do on Arabic literature and history. One example is that of foremost Palestinian poet laureate, Mahmoud Darwish, whose work Israel tried to ban in both Jewish and Palestinians schools. Former Defense Minister Avigdor Lieberman described Darwish’s texts as “fuel for terror attacks.”

A study found that over the years, generations of Israeli jews were taught from Hebrew textbooks that portrayed Palestinian-Arabs in a negative and deligitimizing way. Furthermore, on a general level, Palestinian society was presented as “primitive, backward and passive.” Israeli Jews were thus subjected to this form of negative and dehumanizing stereotyping, which ultimately conditioned how they perceive Palestinians.

What makes this trend more troublesome is that Palestinian history teachers can do little to correct it. They’re limited by the state curriculum and textbooks and banned from using other texts. The inevitable result of this educational regime is that Palestinian students are forced to memorize history as it is presented in these textbooks, because their final high school graduation exams depends on it.

Jewish exclusivity to Palestine was not only taught since the founding of the State of Israel in 1948; in fact, a study shows that history textbooks in the pre-state era (1900-1948) stressed the exclusive rights of the Jewish people to ownership of Palestine. The indigenous Palestinian-Arabs were portrayed as “backward, primitive,” and thus left the land “neglected” while awaiting “Jewish redemption.”

Additionally, the earliest geography textbooks, produced by Zionist authors in Europe who embraced the Zionist slogan of “a land without a people for a people without a land,” omitted the presence of the indigenous population. This orientalist framework represented the indigenous Palestinians as a “negative homogenous mob that threatens, assaults, destroys, eradicates, burns and shoots . . . who strive to annihilate the most precious symbols of Zionism.”

Israel’s education system is designed to maintain racial domination of one racial group over another, while systematically oppressing them. There’s a word for such a system: Apartheid.

Even the updated history textbook of 2016 reinforces the omission, dehumanization, and denationalization of the indigenous Palestinian minority that characterizes Israel’s prior history curricula. They’re referred to in the negative as “non-jewish groups,” and viewed as an amalgamation of religious, cultural and linguistic groups, thereby reinforcing the notion that Palestinians are not a national group, let alone in a struggle for national liberation. Palestinian citizens are thus alienated from their ancestral connection to Palestine, and the Zionist-Israeli ideology, narrative, and history is amplified to reinforce colonial domination.

As we reflect on the right to education, we must first understand how education is sometimes employed to undermine the existence of an entire people. Palestinian citizens of Israel learn their diluted history from within that prism. Israel’s education system is designed to maintain racial domination of one racial group over another, while systematically oppressing them. There’s a word for such a system: Apartheid. This week is that of the International Day of Education, and we recognize Israel’s apartheid education system and rally for all educators and educational institutions to incorporate this fact and knowledge in how we educate about the world.

Years after establishing Israel on Palestinian lands in 1948, Israeli leaders were certain that the old Palestinians would die and the young would forget. But today, 73 years later, the old still remember and the young are more determined for freedom and return.

Between 1947 and 1949, Jewish militias and Israeli army expelled from 750,000 to 1,000,000 native Palestinians, committing over 20 massacres and destroying and depopulating over 400 villages. This is what made Israel.

In the years leading to 1948 Nakba (or catastrophe), Jewish militias had amassed weapons and western support and complicity and it was becoming clear to native Palestinians that these European gangs wanted one thing: forcefully expelling all Palestinians at all costs.

Omar Abedelal, 82, was only 9 years old when he along with his family members and neighbors was displaced from his village Burayr. They were forced to flee as the Jewish militias were closing in on Palestinian villages, burning, plundering, looting, and massacring.

Fighting Back

“We left behind the most fertile fields in the area. Just months before the Nakba, I was tending the land, daydreaming about my future. My father worked that land. My father’s father did before him and so many generations before,” recounts Omar Abedelal, as he remembered they were planning to harvest the wheat the year of the Nakba.

Omar Abedelal never forgets. He and millions of Palestinian refugees in Palestine and in the diaspora still cannot forget their inalienable right of return. Stories of the Nakba still harrow us and live in us, giving us hope of return.

He says, “Our village resisted the Jewish militias with what little we had. But the well-armed Zionist gangs were singling out unarmed civilians and butchering them in hundreds. Weeks before the Nakba in 1948, armed Jewish militias besieged our village Burayr and pushed us to leave only after they killed a few villagers.”

Omar Abedelal is currently living in Gaza City and has recently recovered from COVID19. He still has hope of returning to Burayr.

“I was about 9 years old, but if we had had enough guns, I would have fought. Unfortunately, we were overcome and forced to leave our homes,” he pauses, “None thought we would never return back in days or weeks. We were made to believe the Arab armies would come and help liberate Palestine. They never came and we never returned.”

“The Zionists surrounded the Beit Darras, and we refused to surrender,” he narrates, “Each time they attacked, the young men armed only with rifles pushed them back. Three times we foiled their attempt to enter and killed many of the invading militia members. And many Palestinians fell martyrs. Then, they started firing shells wantonly burning the fields and destroying the homes. Like what happened in many Palestinian villages, after the destruction, the Jewish attackers executed some young men,” he continued clearly shaken retelling us the details of the forced expulsion.

Mansi Nassar’s father, Mohammed, was killed by the armed Zionists. In addition, Israel assassinated two of his sons, Emad and Akram, 40 and 60 years later in Gaza.

Historians talk about at least two dozen massacres committed by Zionist and later Israeli occupation forces, “which played a crucial role in spurring the mass flight of Palestinians from their homes.”

Mansi Nassar’s father, Mohammed, was killed by the armed Zionists. Israel assassinated two of his sons, Emad and Akram, 40 and 60 years later in Gaza.

For example, members of the Irgun and Stern Gang, that later became the Israeli occupation army, massacred about “100 Palestinian civilians, including women and children” in the town of Deir Yassin on April 9, 1948. Menachem Begin and Yitzhak Shamir, the leaders of these gangs, later were rewarded as they became Israeli prime ministers.

Pogroms in 2021

As this feature is being written, Israel is invading Al-Aqsa Mosque and beating and shooting Muslim worshippers.

Israel is ethnically cleansing Sheikh Jarrah, a neighborhood in occupied Jerusalem, and Jewish mobs in occupied Haifa, Lydda, and Akka and other cities occupied in 1948 are wreaking havoc, lynching Palestinians and damaging or attacking, torching mosques, homes, and businesses.

Meanwhile, in Gaza, Israel has waged a barbaric war against the Palestinians of Gaza with Israeli forces carrying out hundreds of air strikes in the span of six days. They massacred over 145 Palestinians including 41 children, 23 women, and 1100 were injured. Hundreds of homes are either damaged or destroyed.

So, yes, the Nakba in occupied Palestine continues because it has never ended.

“The anti-Palestinian bigotry and hate and massacres we witnessed 73 ago at the hands of the Jewish militias have simply been repeated by Israeli occupation forces,” Omar Abedelal insists. “The Nakba never ended.”

Omar Abedelal and Mansi Nassar both spend their time around their grandchildren telling them stories about “the good old days”, because, to them, memory is an important weapon.

The recently released report by Human Rights Watch (HRW) which described Israel’s policies towards the Palestinians as apartheid is important. It should serve as a wake-up call and bring attention to the ongoing plight of the Palestinians. The truth, however, is that the conclusion of this report, although it surprised some, did not surprise the Palestinians.

Palestinians have been describing Israeli laws, practices, and orders against them as apartheid for decades now. Since Nakba, the Arabic word for “catastrophe” which Palestinians use to describe the mass expulsion and ethnic cleansing of 1948, the year Israel was established on the ruins of 532 Palestinian villages, Palestinians have been placed under a de facto rule of apartheid. Here is how.

Tens of thousands of Palestinians remained in major cities such as Jaffa, Haifa, and Lod, under Israeli control, while some 750,000 were made refugees. Those who remained in what became Israel were placed in fenced areas called “Arab ghettos.” Some Israeli officials called these places concentration camps, but later, the term was omitted from Israeli archives on purpose.

For years, these Palestinians have needed permits by the Israeli authorities to move from one city to another or merely to go to work. They became strangers in their land and next to their own homes, which were taken from them at gunpoint and given to Jewish settlers.

Since day one, Israel was established on the notion of separation, separating Palestinians from Jews, and European Jews from Arab Jews. For example, the babies of Yemeni Jews were taken to be adopted by European Jews and to be raised as white Europeans in the 1950s. This denial of the other has extended to the dead too.

Recently, I came across a video showing the graveyard of the village of Aqer, where my family comes from. The graveyard where my great-grandfather was buried in early May 1948, after being shot dead while defending the village before it was taken over by the invading Zionist militias, is almost empty today except for what seem to be a couple of stones belonging to graves and some scattered trees.

Israeli settlers, whose villas overlook the graveyard, throw their old furniture inside the graveyard, while some of them bring chairs and have BBQ parties there.

The 10-dunum (acres) graveyard appears to be covered in sand, hiding the graves and trying to obscure the accompanying memories. It would appear that the Israeli settlers who live in the nearby villas do not want to be reminded of what happened here once.

Israeli settlers, whose villas overlook the graveyard, throw their old furniture inside the graveyard, while some of them bring chairs and have BBQ parties inside the graveyard. This is the history they don’t want to remember or talk about, the gruesome truth that must haunt them as they host parties and grill meat over the bones of dead Palestinians beneath them.

Palestinians who became internal refugees in what became the state of Israel were not allowed to return to their villages. At the same time, Jewish migrants who chose to move to Israel were given easy access to these villages and were given houses that belonged to Palestinians. Palestinians ended up as refugees in the West Bank, the Gaza Strip, and some neighboring Arab countries.

Palestinian refugees who attempted to return to their villages and towns were shot dead or arrested. From 1948 to 1956 alone, 3,000 Palestinians were shot dead on the northern borders of the West Bank. The aim was to scare refugees not to return, but also to force those who had managed to stay in their homes in what became Israel to move to the West Bank, which was under Jordanian control, and the Gaza Strip, which was under Egyptian control until 1967.

The year 1956 was rife with Israeli massacres of Palestinians, both those living under military rule inside Israel and those in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.

The year 1956 was rife with Israeli massacres of Palestinians, both those living under military rule inside Israel and those in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.

In 1956, 49 Palestinians from the town of Kufur Qasim, 23 of whom were children, were shot dead by Israeli forces. The victims were workers returning from their daily jobs without knowing that Israel had imposed a curfew on their town. As of today, Israel refuses to take responsibility for what happened.

This is only an example of how Israel has always treated Palestinians in Israel. Today, Israel claims to be giving Palestinians citizenship and allowing them to vote in elections.

The expulsion of Palestinians continued even after the establishment of Israel. The residents of the coastal city of Al-Majdal were expelled from their homes in 1949-1950 to make space for Jewish migrants. Al-Majdal was famous for its textile factories and Palestinians were forced to leave and move to the Gaza Strip, leaving behind their textile factories and machines. The 105 residents of the town of Abu-Ghosh were also transferred to the West Bank in 1950 by Israeli forces.

Israeli-American activist Miko Peled notes that Israeli generals had described the occupation of the Gaza Strip and the West Bank in 1967 as “finishing the job.” The “job” that they started in 1948, but were not able to finish then. The entire British Mandate of Palestine came under Israeli occupation in 1967, but the “job” was not over yet. Since then, Israel has engaged in a systemic campaign of expelling Palestinians from their land, be it Palestinians who hold Israeli citizenship or Palestinians who live in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.

Palestinians in Jerusalem were given blue IDs, which give them the status of temporary residents in the city and allow them to visit the West Bank or Israel. As for Palestinians in the West Bank, their IDs only allow them to visit areas in the West Bank, but not Jerusalem. In the Gaza Strip, Palestinians can visit the West Bank or Jerusalem, but only after they get an Israeli permit which is hard to obtain and is given only to a limited number of Palestinians – mostly cancer patients, many of whom have died waiting for these permits to be issued.

The Human Rights Watch report which described Israeli policies towards the Palestinians as apartheid is not the first of its kind by non-Palestinians. In 2017, the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (ESCWA) issued a report by Prof. Richard Falk and Prof. Virginia Tilley calling Israel’s policies towards the Palestinians apartheid. The report was withdrawn following Israeli pressure which pushed Rima Khalaf, the under-secretary general and executive secretary of the ESCWA, to resign in protest.

After the state of Israel was established, millions of Palestinians were either displaced or forced to move from their lands – some into refugee camps and others to Arab or Western countries. This uprooting was highly traumatic and has had profound effects on the Palestinian identity. Yeter Ada Şeko speaks about the effects of this trauma to Palestinian political activist and the Director of the Center for Islam and Global Affairs (CIGA), Sami Al-Arian, in relation to the Palestinian identity as well as the long struggle of Palestinians for their freedom.

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Ada: After the state of Israel was established, millions of Palestinians were forced to move to different regions such as Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. Some of them also left Arab lands and started a new life in Western regions such as the US and Europe. What is the effect of this immigration process on the Palestinian identity?

Sami Al Arian: There are many effects and great impact which depends on generation to generation, and geography to geography. When the first generation was exiled, many of them lived in refugee camps, whether in Gaza, in the West Bank, Lebanon, and later on in Syria. Some of them went to Egypt even though there were no refugee camps in Egypt, and many of them had over the years immigrated to different places, looking for better living conditions such as the Gulf areas. A few also went to the West, especially after the 1967 war, and lived in different regions in the West including the US and Europe. So when we talk about Palestinian identity, many factors shape that identity.

The first is that this was a collective trauma that the Palestinians faced. When they were uprooted suddenly from their homeland, that they had lived in for centuries, it was very traumatic for many people, especially since it did not happen over time but all of a sudden.

80 percent of the Palestinians who lived in the 1948 areas, approximately 800,000, were uprooted and placed in places that were alien to them, some of them living in very poor conditions. People were living in good conditions in their country and suddenly they faced poverty – that affected the psyche of the Palestinians. That psyche has never really left the Palestinians from generation to generation, and the experience was fed into every generation. My father’s generation, my generation, and my children’s generation – we always talked about that trauma. We always talked about the impact of being uprooted so there was always this strong connection between the Palestinians of each generation with Palestine. It wasn’t something that was forgotten or something that was put away.

The pain, the suffering, and the whole experience of being uprooted lived with them as well as their history of living in Palestine. So that is the first thing.

And it may have differed. Some communities have more affinity than others depending on where they are based, but overall Palestinians do connect and have this connection with the land of Palestine.

Secondly, because the majority of Palestinians, especially those living in refugee camps, were never given citizenship – they were never assimilated in a way that immigrants or refugees could have been.

Being Palestinian has always been part and parcel of suffering because being a non-citizen in these countries meant that you were denied many rights and privileges otherwise given to citizens of a country: the right to work, the right to healthcare, education and so forth, and that also cemented the fact what it means to be Palestinian.

Also, you can see the same in the Gulf areas because they do not give citizenship. The Palestinians lived as communities within a community in these countries, like Kuwait before 1990. Before they left Jordan there were very large Palestinian communities and that cemented their identity of what it means to be Palestinians.

In the West, for example in the United States of America where I lived for four decades, you could see whole villages, especially from the West Bank, relocated to the US, and there they would begin life again and eventually gain citizenship. They would form associations that identify with the land of Palestine. So you have different villages and each village would have their association so that they can maintain the feeling and connection to their land, as well as to their fellow Palestinians of what it means to be a Palestinian.

Also, those who have been a part of the struggle, and that’s tens of thousands of people that are part of the struggle for Palestine, you will see that the struggle also cemented that Palestinian identity, because for many societies if you are struggling for Palestine that is not something that would come easy, as you will become a target. If you are in the US or if you are sometimes in Europe and even some Arab countries – if people work for Palestine they become targets of the security agencies in which they would suffer for being a part of the Palestinian struggle and that would also further cement their Palestinian identity.

Palestine, over the years, has become a symbol. A symbol against racism, a symbol against oppression, a symbol against tyranny, and a symbol against the occupation, therefore many people identify with that issue from that standpoint. This makes Palestinians even more committed to the struggle, cementing their identity further.

So, what I would say is that being part of a Palestinian exiled community, or being part of people under occupation is a struggle, whether in the areas of 1948 or the West Bank or Gaza, and that struggle continues, the suffering continues, and the pain continues, enduring from generation to generation. The collective memory is transferred from generation to generation, therefore there is more commitment and more association with what it means to be a Palestinian – that identity is further cemented.

Ada: Do you think that Palestinians who live in other lands, where they can get citizenship, may lose their Palestinian identity as a result? Do you think this suffering, i.e. not being able to get citizenship, keeps the Palestinian identity alive?

Sami Al Arian: I think it’s true. Historically it’s true that in many of these communities, particularly in the Arab countries (except Jordan), they never received citizenship, and that cemented what being a Palestinian is. However, many Palestinians would argue that it’s not an excuse for them to be denied basic rights as human beings because not being a citizen in a nation-state system puts huge hardship and burden on these communities and makes them non-entities, non-citizens, and non-human beings.

They are denied necessities, basic rights in life: the right to a decent education, the right to a job, the right to retirement, the right to live in dignity, the right to healthcare, and so forth. So not being a citizen did cement the meaning of what it means to be Palestinian and this was the only identity that people could identify with – being a Palestinian. So with that suffering – yes identity was certainly strengthened.

Ada: For Palestinians who have Israeli citizenship, being an Israeli citizen is another aspect of their identity. What do you think about the identity issue of Israeli-Palestinians and their relationship with the state of Israel?

Sami Al Arian: Palestinians who stayed in Palestine, after the catastrophe of 1948 and after the occupation of 78% of Palestine by the Zionist regime, never felt they were citizens.

For 18 years between 1948 and 1966, these communities lived under military curfew, under martial law, so they never felt part of society. Though 80% of the Palestinians were exiled the remainder lived under military rule, even though they lived side by side with Israelis. Living under military rule for 18 years brutalized an entire generation. Even after that was lifted and they were given citizenship by Israel, they never became part and parcel of society, and you can see the racist policies and mentality of the Zionist leaders in clear and plain ways. They don’t even try to hide it: a Jewish only state, Jewish only laws, some Jewish only roads in the West Bank, and settlements and so on so forth.

When they were uprooted suddenly from their homeland, that they had lived in for centuries, it was very traumatic for many people, especially since it did not happen over time but all of a sudden.

There is a lot of discrimination against the Arabs inside the 1948 areas, which is manifested in education, in job discrimination, in healthcare, and even in their right to go and pray in the al-Aqsa mosque. If they take a different political position, they will be prevented from praying at al-Aqsa. Most Palestinians outside Jerusalem have also been denied this right for decades.

So, even though the Israeli state tries to portray itself as being a state that respects different religions and ethnicities, the fact of the matter is that it is not the case. Numerous studies will prove that what we have in Palestine today, in terms of the Israeli state, is a state that discriminates against its citizens based on their ethnicity, faith, and religion, and therefore we cannot say that Palestinians inside that state enjoy the privileges and rights of being equal citizens to the Jewish citizens.

Ada: As was mentioned before some Palestinians have Israeli citizenship and some do not. From what you say, it is clear that this citizenship isn’t of equal value. So why does Israel give citizenship to Palestinians?

Sami Al Arian: That was a historical decision that the first Prime Minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, made. Many Israeli politicians regret that decision and the reason that Ben-Gurion made that decision, which is basically to grant the remaining Palestinians a form of citizenship, (which now many right-wing groups and settler movements and others, such as even Lieberman, are trying to undo so that they can maintain the ‘purity’ of a Jewish only state) had more to do with the image that Israel wanted to portray to the outside world than to the actual ideology of Zionism.

One of the strategic imperatives of Zionism is to occupy as much of Palestine as possible with as few of Arab Palestinian Christians and Muslims as possible. So they have a problem now that the Arab population inside the state have ‘citizenship’ whether Muslim or Christian. These populations are approximately 20% of the state, and they grow even faster than their Jewish fellows inside the state and that is a concern to them. That’s why in the so-called deal of the century, there is a clause there that says that part of that final status is to transfer what is called the triangle (these are three villages at the top of the border between the West Bank and Israel) numbering over 300,000 Palestinians.

This population will be transferred and they will lose their citizenship and be transferred to the Palestinian communities in case there is some kind of a deal. So there are concerns about that. As I said, for many it was a controversial decision but Ben-Gurion made that decision to improve Israel’s image in the eyes of the international community, after exiling 800,000 people and refusing to allow them to go back to their original homes.

Ada: It appears that Israel is using some narratives to justify their position over the land, right? How does these narratives effect Palestinian relationship with their history and their identity?

Sami Al Arian: Israel has a different narrative. They try to falsify what happened in 1948. They try to falsify the history of the land; they try to falsify the history of an indigenous people – Palestinians of the land. They even try to falsify what’s happening now on the ground. Palestinians unify and they have their narrative and they would like to talk advocate it in a way that will show the true nature of the conflict as well as the identity of what it means to be Palestinian today. So in this sense, you can also see the Palestinians common identity, regardless of where they are. I mean Palestinians today are in dozens of countries and yet they can identify with each other.

Each Palestinian can identify with the land, with the village, with the town they came from, or their ancestors came from. They can recite each chapter and verse of their history. So that collective memory and common destiny are what shapes what it means today to be a Palestinian even for those who live inside the state under racist policies. They identify with their brethren in the West Bank and Gaza and beyond. They still see themselves as part of the Palestinian people and share this common identity.