Palestine Voices: Jana Alhanafi

Jana Alhanafi is mentored by David Heap at We Are Not Numbers

This is our third publication of works by Palestinians. These creatives are supported and mentored by We Are Not Numbers.

The past week has brought a shattering series of events. As is so often the case in these polarised times, too many responses are full of hatred, violence, revenge, unholy rejoicing over past deaths and baying for more destruction.

For all of us who long for peace, this is a challenging time. Let’s not give up on the quest to build connections, and find ways to move through the brokenness all around us.

Rose Levinson, Ph.D.

Founder of Emerging Voices

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Jana Alhanafi

Our Palestinian writer, Jana Alhanafi, lives in Lebanon. She is mentored by WANN (We Are Not Numbers). Note: this story was written before October 2023.

Jana Alhanafi

An image reveals a Palestinian love story in Lebanon, weaving together resilience, culture, and emotions.

A revelatory conversation about a photo from my parents’ wedding came on a day when I was exhausted from my previous night’s work. I had been watching news of the fires engulfing the forests of the south in Lebanon, very close to where I live and threatening nearby compounds. My work in news editing forces me to stay up late during such urgent events. Also that day, I had to present research about ethical values in my journalism course on campus, so I was very tired when I finally hurried home.

The next morning, I discovered one photo among the old photographs in a room of our home that echoes with stories of individual lives interwoven into a family tapestry. It was the photo of my parents’ wedding. Its edges had gently curled with age.

It’s more than just an image, as my dad said. It’s a testament of the love they still share. His eyes spoke louder than words.

Image of a wedding in a Palestinian village by Ibrahim Ghannam. Courtesy of the Palestine Poster Project Archives.

“It is a timeless moment,” my mom noted. “We had to wait five years to take this photo.”

As if traveling in time, we were transported to that momentous event.

My parents were each just twenty years old when they met at their university, but they were strong enough to fight for their dream of becoming a family, our family. They had to convince their families to accept their choice at a time when marrying for love was not accepted. Twenty-one years ago, Arab society didn’t recognize love as a reason for marriage—or rather, it considered that love should be a secret between the two lovers only. It was expected that families should participate in choosing a partner, either the bride or the groom, and they should even set conditions on who the partner could be.

My parents insisted on breaking these rules. They chose each other and, after a long series of conflicts, united both families with their love. My eighty-year-old grandma told me the beautiful truth about them: “Palestine taught them to be brave when they take up a vital issue. Be like your parents!”

Shared smiles turned to gentle tears as our collective journey through their wedding photo evoked a profound sense of connection between us. My parents’ words captured the very essence of their relationship. They happily shared stories about the obstacles that delayed their engagement for five years.

“Challenges are evidence for true love,” my mother said proudly as she explained that they couldn’t find space in the Palestinian refugee camp for a new house. They spent tough years with limited finances, struggling desperately to afford a home outside the camp. My dad didn’t find a job for two years, but then finally was hired by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) school. This reflects another nightmare for Palestinians in Lebanon: they are subject to restrictions on employment and often require work permits that can be difficult to obtain, in order to work as a lawyer or a journalist. This is in addition to limited access to job opportunities for everyone due to the serious economic situation in Lebanon.

My mother also found work as an English teacher in an UNRWA school, and she and my father finally saved up enough money. They rented the house that I was born in, which had to be registered in the name of a Lebanese owner.

The most significant lesson I’ve learned from my mother’s eyes, which are bright when she talks about their story, is that love can really motivate us to persevere through difficulties. “It is the sense of purpose that pushes us. Our families lived through one Nakba. If your dad and I were not together now, it would be like a second catastrophe for me.”

Their happiness was more than a fleeting emotion; it became the foundation of the life they built together. As they described the tender moments leading to their wedding ceremony, I silently realized that we were embarking on a journey into their past together.

My dad enjoyed telling us about the pre-wedding customs. Firstly, he told us about zaffa, a party involving the groom, his family, and friends where they dance and sing in the streets of the camp, accompanied by traditional songs like “Ya Zarifa Altol.”

In keeping with Palestinian traditions, my father and his male relatives dressed in typical Palestinian attire including a thobe, or long embroidered robe, and kuffiyeh, a traditional scarf.

The story becomes more beautiful when it comes to Palestinian food at weddings. It is not only about traditional dishes like maqluba and mansaf, but also the warm atmosphere created as family members and friends share in cooking and serving.

Like the wedding preparation for men, Palestinian weddings are rich in special traditions for women, also. The henna night, a pre-wedding party for women, was the most meaningful event for my mom. The bride and her friends gathered to apply henna designs on their hands and feet. My mother’s henna party was full of dance and Palestinian sweets like tamreyya and namoura that my grandmother prepared. She is proud of the delicious sweets she served!

Concerning the wedding dress, my mother’s old photo show that hers had intricate embroidery. The most beautiful surprise about this dress was that it was embroidered with threads that came from Yafa (Jaffa). These threads show that we are always connected to Palestine. Even two generations after the Nakba, my grandmother kept the threads to make my mother’s dress. My sister and I can only wish to have a wedding dress like my mother’s!

Loving touches are also present in the gifts that guests bring to the bride, especially jewelry. My mom still keeps most of her gifts with my father’s kuffiyeh, as the guardians of their happiness and blessings.

The pre-wedding rituals ended with the large wedding ceremony at which bride and groom meet. “As I stood beside your beloved mom, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in a bubble of shared emotions,” my dad said happily.

It was the unforgettable night where they had their first dance together. As they held each other and moved with the music, their love story was beautifully choreographed. It was a chapter that began with a dance but unfolded into a lifetime of challenges and mainly love.

Their final party was held in a large venue, as was expected for them because of the huge number of relatives they have. My grandfather always says that there were not enough chairs for everyone to sit. Dabkeh, the traditional Palestinian dance, still takes center stage at weddings, even Palestinian weddings in Lebanon. This is evidence that the traditional customs and meaningful rituals rooted in Palestinian culture can cross boundaries.

As I looked with my parents at their wedding photo and traveled back to the past with them, the weight of my exhaustion melted away. The world’s demands faded into the background. I could exhale because I had learned that Palestine is still alive in customs that showcase heritage and maintain a sense of cultural identity. The love of family is the unbreakable thread that weaves together our most cherished memories and supports us through every chapter of our life as Palestinians in Lebanon.

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Along with other Palestinian writers, Jana works with WANN mentor David Heap.

Here’s David on how he became involved with We Are Not Numbers.

Note: This biographical statement was written before the events of Oct. 2023, as was Jana’s story.

When a small group of volunteers founded the Canadian Boat to Gaza campaign in 2010, we knew that Palestinians in Gaza face major obstacles to being heard internationally. Very few international media pick up Palestinian voices when discussing the Israeli occupation of Palestine in general, and the blockade of Gaza in particular. As part of the international Freedom Flotilla Coalition, we put ourselves and our boats on the line to challenge the Israeli naval blockade of Gaza. As important, we prioritized amplifying Palestinian voices in international forums.

When I was finally able to reach Gaza in 2012, as part of an academic delegation, my colleagues and I were struck by the eloquence of the Palestinian students we met at Gaza universities. They had so much to tell us – and the world – about everything from their lives under the Israeli blockade to their unique perspectives on world issues. We owed it to them to get their voices heard. When I learned about We Are Not Numbers, I saw this as an opportunity to put my writing and editing skills to work, helping break the media blockade against Gaza voices. The mentoring process has been mutually enriching: I learn about Palestinian lives in Gaza while they learn about writing and story-telling.

Most of the mentoring I have done with young writers from We Are Not Numbers has involved young Palestinians in Gaza. But recently I was asked to mentor a diaspora Palestinian with her story about her family. This helped me realize that while the media blockade is most severe against Palestinians in Gaza, in fact all Palestinian voices suffer internationally from various degrees of erasure.

So when WANN began its project this year with Palestinians in Lebanon, I was pleased to mentor Jana Alhanafi's story about how family wedding traditions help keep Palestinian traditions alive across the generations. And while I played no role in mentoring it, I was fascinated to read Samer Maysar Manaa's account of stateless "Palestinian non-IDs" in Lebanon.

At the Freedom Flotilla, our work remains focused on challenging the illegal and inhumane sea blockade of Gaza. More broadly, we continue to advocate for freedom of movement for all Palestinians, wherever they live, including the right of return to 1948 Palestine. At the same time, we are committed to helping break the media blockade against Palestine. Our ongoing collaborations with We Are Not Numbers fits into both of these efforts.

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David Heap is an Associate Professor of French and Linguistics (affiliated with Gender,Sexuality and Women's Studies) at the University of Western Ontario, Canada. He helped found the Canadian Boat to Gaza campaign in 2010.

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Passport Apartheid

Condemn the South African apartheid regime and support the international boycott (1976) vintage poster by Rachael Romero.

In Zimbabwe, one of the popular relishes to go with the staple dish of sadza (a porridge of cornmeal and water) is “haifiridzi”. The history of this delicious dish speaks to the stringent pass laws in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe’s name under colonial rule) under the Native Passes Act. The same effects of these pass laws in colonial times can be seen in the present day visa system. Haifiridzi was invented by the witty native working men in Rhodesia’s high density towns as a way to cope with the law that hindered them from owning property and having their wives in their worker’s quarters. These men were only permitted to have two pots--one for sadza and one for relish, which was usually a meat portion. Most relishes would be missing a rare component, marrow-stem green kale known as muriwo, a side dish staple in Zimbabwe even today.

Failing to have an extra pot in which to cook the muriwo, after cooking their sadza and meat in the other two pots, the native workers would then simply add the muriwo to the pot with the relish, giving birth to what is known today as “haifiridzi”. The name is a Shona language version of Highfields which was a popular high density town housing most workers quarters. It was strategically positioned by the Rhodesian town planners to be next to the industrial area of what is now Harare (then called Salisbury) amongst other worker’s towns such as Mufakose, Glen View, Glen Norah and Kambuzuma.

Today’s restrictions resemble the pass laws that blocked black citizens economic opportunities, decent wages and a healthy social and family life.

To this day, Zimbabweans under self rule are still making their own compromises, their own mixes. Many don’t come out as nicely as “haifiridzi”. Today’s restrictions resemble the pass laws that blocked black citizens economic opportunities, decent wages and a healthy social and family life. Visa laws today are separating working husbands and wives. Just as pass laws stopped ‘natives’ looking for empowerment in certain districts, visa laws are obstructing Zimbabweans and Africans at large from working at good jobs.

This is a form of systematic racial discrimination based on one’s nationality. Many people are disenfranchised from the right to travel. People with Zimbabwean passports have great difficulty obtaining visas, be they for tourism, study or work. Some African citizens have to travel to other African countries to obtain a visa due to lack of consular services in their respective countries. This form of segregation is reminiscent of in-country travel for a black man during colonial times when Zimbabwe was Rhodesia.

In Rhodesia, failing to walk around with a pass or a “chitupa” or failure to produce it at required times was lethal. There could be dire consequences, some resulting in death. Today many Zimbabwean dreams, especially of youth, are killed for lack of obtaining a visa to work and study in other countries. Soon after high school, one of my friends was unable to pursue a career in criminology because he failed to obtain a study visa. This was in spite of the fact that he had excelled in his studies, had been enrolled at a reputable institution and had even secured a scholarship. But failure to get a visa was the end of his dream of a good education.

The visa application process itself is so intense and so interrogative it feels inhumane. The patronizing treatment received at the consular offices to the frisking, detention and interrogation received at immigration and border controls if one misses but a single correct response during questioning are humiliating.

The visa application process itself is so intense and so interrogative it feels inhumane.

Such treatment is akin to the treatment given native workers during colonial times when a person was found outside their district of origin or their registered district of employment.

It boggles the mind to think this form of discrimination even transcends diplomatic ties. A recent example is the inhumane and frustrating experience of South African President Ceril Ramaphosa at the hands of Polish immigration authorities on his way to the Ukraine-Russia Peace Talks. In June, 2009, then Mining Minister Obert Mpofu was denied a UK visa to attend an investment conference. Today many Zimbabweans face deportation from South Africa as this neighboring country has decided not to renew the Zimbabwean Exemption Permit (ZEP) visa. Visa requirements and visa restrictions are a huge stumbling block to the economic and social progress of many Zimbabweans.

Zimbabweans are Africans, and Africans are disproportionately impacted by visa restrictions. A European can mostly travel freely, often visa free. Europe has a relaxed inter-continental visa-free travel system. But in Africa, a Zimbabwean would need a visa to visit Egypt, a country with which it shares a continent.

As an individual who has been fortunate enough to travel to around eleven countries, I am appalled at the problems faced by my fellow African citizens due to visa restrictions. Now technology and online visa appointment booking begin the stress and mental strain of securing a visa even before the formal process itself starts. Failure to attain a visa can be fatal, killing one’s travel plans dead. My first time traveling was to Washington D.C. I received my visa at the Embassy at around 1400 hours and my flight was four hours later. If my visa interview had been delayed by even a day, I would not have been able to travel.

I was going on an advocacy tour to prepare me to attend college. My whole future prospects would have shattered had I failed to secure a 10 minute interview.

A Letter to My Non-Jewish Friends

'Woman Writing a Letter' by Rupert Shephard. Arts Council Collection, Southbank Centre

It’s difficult being a Jew today. Of course, over the centuries, that’s often been true. Jews have been reviled, excluded, insulted, isolated, murdered. The Holocaust, in which six million Jews were murdered, was the apotheosis of Jew hatred, mercilessly eliminating much of European Jewry.

Then, in 1948, when I was very young, the State of Israel was declared. In my parents’ synagogue, I sang Hativah, Israel’s national anthem, my young eyes tearing up. A Jewish state, wow! Over time, Jews in America became more and more integrated into the social fabric, flourishing and influencing. Israel was a place of joy, something special.

In my parents’ synagogue, I sang Hativah, Israel’s national anthem, my young eyes tearing up. A Jewish state, wow!

Blinded by pride and relieved to have a Jewish home, from the beginning we refused to see that Israel was a nation-state, not a holy piece of land exempt from disastrous decisions every human-made political entity makes. As to the Palestinians: we didn’t see them; we didn’t acknowledge their existence. They were indistinguishable from all those who wished for our destruction, and we had every right to destroy them as sworn enemies. They were entitled to no human rights.

I can’t speak knowledgeably about Jews in the UK, as I’ve lived here only seven years. My sense is that whilst Jews are much a part of life here, flourishing in communities both orthodox and more secular, they are less of a force than in the US. I suspect this has to do with myriad factors, including Jews’ exclusion from English life over the centuries, living outside city centres both physically (in Oxford, there was a wall around the city which Jews could not cross) and in terms of how Englishness is defined and expressed.

There’s less room here for marginal voices, more pressure to blend in to an Anglicized way of being. At the recent coronation of the king, for example, Protestantism in the form of the Church of England was a continual presence in validating his kingship. White Christian Nationalism is a growing movement threatening US democracy, but there is not yet an official declaration of a marriage between church and state as expressed in the UK monarchy.

These are generalities; discard what feels off. I aim to set the context for where we are now, in summer, 2023. Israel is a nation-state moving further towards a destruction of its democratic institutions, such as the judiciary. Its leaders embrace a set of beliefs underpinned by religious orthodoxies; religion in Israel is intertwined with all major appointments and activities. Watching Israel becoming a de facto theocracy is angushing. I see no difference between the blending of religion and nationalism Israel is embarked upon and the blending of these elements in Hindu India or Islamist Iran. We Jews were often lauded for our cosmopolitanism, our ability to flourish in any culture, at any time, making that culture richer by our presence. In today’s Israel, the desire of those in power is to assert Jewish supremacy and to extinguish that worldliness which once defined us.

We Jews were often lauded for our cosmopolitanism, our ability to flourish in any culture, at any time, making that culture richer by our presence. In today’s Israel, the desire of those in power is to assert Jewish supremacy and to extinguish that worldliness which once defined us.

Along with the destruction of what was once Jewish large-mindedness, there is also the undeniable truth that Israel is sustaining an illegal Occupation, contravening international law in relation to disputed territory. Agents of the state routinely humiliate and torment Palestinians. For the Israeli power structure, there’s no dispute: the land from the Jordan to the Mediterranean belongs to Israel, to the Jews. Period. No argument. 700,000 settlers have moved onto land which does not officially belong to Israel, displacing and tormenting and often killing Palestinians who get in the way. Defending the rights of Palestinians to have a home of their own is to risk being labeled a self-hating Jew, a traitor. You’re a fool for not seeing that Palestinians are the enemy and can never be trusted, only subsumed or destroyed.

I’ll not go on to list those groups who are working for justice, both Jews and Palestinians; those individuals who never give up trying to change minds. Nor will I list those complications that make negotiations difficult -- like a split Palestinian government with a sclerotic 87 y.o. as head of the Palestine Authority (for the nineteenth year and counting) and a militant anti-Israel Hamas in Gaza. I’ll not delve into the alliances the Israeli Right makes with Christian Zionists who are a major source of ongoing US support. I’ll not argue for or against the notion of Israel as a settler-colonial project nor examine the nuances of the term Zionism. The language and slogans and shouting are unrelenting and polarized, and they make it nearly impossible to find common ground.

I will implore my friends not to be paralyzed when it comes to looking at Israeli policy and insist that it must right the wrongs it is doing to Palestinians. It must address this issue and stop hiding behind Jewish vulnerability as an excuse to continue the status quo.

Anti-semitism is on the rise, but that is not a reason to excuse Israeli actions towards Palestinians nor to forgive the inactions of many so-called liberal democracies who turn away.

Anti-semitism is on the rise, but that is not a reason to excuse Israeli actions towards Palestinians nor to forgive the inactions of many so-called liberal democracies who turn away. Anti-semitism has many forms, some more blatant than others. There are visual representations of Jews with hooked noses, huddled over bank notes. There are those who insist Jews run the world, controlling policies through their grasping, moneyed hands. Nazi swastikas are painted on buildings. Jews are called zionist racists as a form of derision. Jews are sometimes shot whilst in gathering places like synagogues. Sometimes the sneering is obvious; other times, it’s a more subtle form of undermining Jews.

Anti-semitism is spreading, not only in right-wing populist countries like Hungary, but even in the good old USA and the UK. It’s real and it’s growing.

Get it clearly: antisemitism exists and it’s scary and it hurts everyone. But that is not a reason to allow Israel to continue its Occupation and to torment Palestinians, denying their human rights. I know it’s difficult to critique Israel because for many, Israeli equals Jew and criticizing Israel can be construed as anti-semitism. Don’t buy into that reasoning; it’s wrong.

I am a Jew. But I am not an Israeli. In fact, twenty percent of Israel’s population is non-Jewish Arab. But Israel refuses to separate out nationality from religion, insisting it’s a Jewish state and its Jewish citizens are to be privileged above its not Jewish ones. No, no, no. This sense of Jewish superiority is used to underpin the belief that Israel is exceptional, free from accountability, unlike other nations held accountable for what they do to all their citizens and what they do in the name of their citizens.

It is difficult and confusing to take a stand on Palestine and Israel. One is whipsawed in many directions. The hatred between Left and Right is extreme. Part of that vitriol stems from the longstanding belief that Jews are different, in horrible ways as in the ancient canard that Jews are Christ-killers and in less egregious but still negative ways. On the other hand, there are those who valorize Jews, giving them extraordinary qualities unlike those of other ethnicities.

Within the Jewish community, the splits between those who support Israel at all costs and those who insist it is on the wrong path are deep and ugly. If you’re not Jewish and you care about this issue, there are verbal landmines everywhere. This is an attempt to bring a bit of light, and to urge you to look as clearly as you can at this nation’s Occupation. Find a way of speaking against it, ever mindful of the distinction between a country--Israel--and an ethnicity--Jew.