
My Gaza house felt like a castle. Now it is rubble
The house where I grew up, where I was born, was destroyed a little over a week ago. No one was inside at the time the Israeli missiles hit, flattening it into a perfect pile of rubble.
In losing my family home, I’ve lost a little part of me.
It was in that humble concrete structure, sitting at my grandmother Eisha’s feet, that I heard my first stories. I grew up to become a writer so that I could share them with the world, revisit the life she once had in a grand villa in Jaffa. That was before the Nakba of 1948, before she came to live in this narrow little house in the Jabalya refugee camp, having walked over hot sand with thousands of others, her young children in tow.… Seguir leyendo »