The second night at my homestay my host mother's brother came over with his family and their mother. As we all sat in the living room, I noticed this beautiful painting centered on one of the walls.
The painting is of The Dome of the Rock, a shrine located on the Temple Mount in the Old City of Jerusalem, or al-Quds in Arabic. There are also two women and a child looking towards the shrine from a high point. I thought at first it was their way of showing their peace with Jewish people, and then I realized that the women were covered, which indicated that they were Muslim. My roommate in my homestay, Sarah, and I talked about it and realized that the women in the painting were probably Palestinian, and that it symbolized them wanting to return home. Our SIT staff told us that some of our Jordanian host families may actually be former Palestinians who were forced to leave their homes a long time ago and become refugees in Jordan. Realizing that this was probably a sensitive topic, I did not want to ask my host family any questions.
Today, Sarah and I went to a family picnic with our host family, my host mother's brother and his family, and my host mother's mother. Most of the time the family talked in fast Arabic, and neither Sarah nor I could understand, but every now and then they would ask us questions and say Koolee Koolee or eat eat in English. Later on, My host mother's brother, Youssef, sat down next to Sarah and me and told us about how his family was actually Palestinian. His family had five brothers and four sisters, including my host mother. Some were born in Jordan, and some were born in Hebron along with their parents. His mother was forced out of her home and had to seek a new life in Jordan. After living in Jordan for so long they were given Jordanian visas and do not have their Palestinian visas anymore; therefore, they are unable to go back. Youssef told us about how he tried to go back to Hebron and see his land and his home, but he wasn't able to. He talked about how life is so much better in Palestine relative to life in Jordan because of the abundant resources and wealth that Palestine offers. I could see the sorrow in his eyes when he was talking about the things that Israel has done to the Palestinians, and he ended his stories saying that he is still sure that one day his family will be able to return to their home. Throughout the time we just sat there and listened and did not ask any questions. I let what he said sink in. All that I knew about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict was from what I heard on the US news and the articles I read trying to understand the issue, but right here was my first real interaction with the issue. I was not sure entirely how to feel. Knowing that America was fully supporting Israel, I wasn't sure how he even felt about us being there, but his welcoming personality made me feel that he had nothing against America.
To be honest I don't have a particularly strong opinion on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. I can't take a side because well I don't necessarily understand the personal issues of the situation. I only know the general facts and politics surrounding the issue. Could I give a rough political analysis of the situation. Probably. But I didn't know how it felt to be taken away from my home and family like what happened to the Palestinians, and I didn't know how it felt to finally find a place where I could start a life with members of my community like the Israelis were able to do.
This situation made me really think about what home meant for me. Home for me isn't a physical place, and it never has been. I don't identify India as my home even though I was born there because I have spent 18 of my 20 years of life in America. I have moved quite often in America, spending the longest time in my house in Plano, Texas (about 8 years). But even then I don't consider my house in Plano my home because of all the terrible memories I associate it with. When my dad told me a couple of months ago about us needing to move out of state to find a new job, I didn't really care so much about leaving my house. I don't have any attachment to it. With my parents moving to India after I graduate, I realized that I won't have that home to come back to where I can look back to my childhood, but I don't care about that. While I felt saddened by what Youssef told me I realized that I just couldn't entirely relate to my host family's situation. Home for me I guess has always been about four people. My mother, father, sister, and me.
Today, Sarah and I went to a family picnic with our host family, my host mother's brother and his family, and my host mother's mother. Most of the time the family talked in fast Arabic, and neither Sarah nor I could understand, but every now and then they would ask us questions and say Koolee Koolee or eat eat in English. Later on, My host mother's brother, Youssef, sat down next to Sarah and me and told us about how his family was actually Palestinian. His family had five brothers and four sisters, including my host mother. Some were born in Jordan, and some were born in Hebron along with their parents. His mother was forced out of her home and had to seek a new life in Jordan. After living in Jordan for so long they were given Jordanian visas and do not have their Palestinian visas anymore; therefore, they are unable to go back. Youssef told us about how he tried to go back to Hebron and see his land and his home, but he wasn't able to. He talked about how life is so much better in Palestine relative to life in Jordan because of the abundant resources and wealth that Palestine offers. I could see the sorrow in his eyes when he was talking about the things that Israel has done to the Palestinians, and he ended his stories saying that he is still sure that one day his family will be able to return to their home. Throughout the time we just sat there and listened and did not ask any questions. I let what he said sink in. All that I knew about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict was from what I heard on the US news and the articles I read trying to understand the issue, but right here was my first real interaction with the issue. I was not sure entirely how to feel. Knowing that America was fully supporting Israel, I wasn't sure how he even felt about us being there, but his welcoming personality made me feel that he had nothing against America.
To be honest I don't have a particularly strong opinion on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. I can't take a side because well I don't necessarily understand the personal issues of the situation. I only know the general facts and politics surrounding the issue. Could I give a rough political analysis of the situation. Probably. But I didn't know how it felt to be taken away from my home and family like what happened to the Palestinians, and I didn't know how it felt to finally find a place where I could start a life with members of my community like the Israelis were able to do.
This situation made me really think about what home meant for me. Home for me isn't a physical place, and it never has been. I don't identify India as my home even though I was born there because I have spent 18 of my 20 years of life in America. I have moved quite often in America, spending the longest time in my house in Plano, Texas (about 8 years). But even then I don't consider my house in Plano my home because of all the terrible memories I associate it with. When my dad told me a couple of months ago about us needing to move out of state to find a new job, I didn't really care so much about leaving my house. I don't have any attachment to it. With my parents moving to India after I graduate, I realized that I won't have that home to come back to where I can look back to my childhood, but I don't care about that. While I felt saddened by what Youssef told me I realized that I just couldn't entirely relate to my host family's situation. Home for me I guess has always been about four people. My mother, father, sister, and me.
I have never been attached to a location nor do I understand how that feels to be taken away from a place where my ancestors lived for decades. Regardless, it struck me again how complicated the conflict is, and provided a reminder for me of human rights issues and people suffering in the world. I felt incredibly grateful that my family is still together.
My host parents both work for IRD which is a branch under UNHCR the organization that helps refugees. They both work to help Syrian, Iraqi, and Palestinian refugees make a new life in Jordan. I realized what that meant for my host mother, to be helping someone find a new home and not suffer the same way that her mother did. In the same way, my host parents helped Sarah and I find a short-term home in Jordan. Thanks to them I have a beautiful and amazing family to come home to in Jordan.
My host parents both work for IRD which is a branch under UNHCR the organization that helps refugees. They both work to help Syrian, Iraqi, and Palestinian refugees make a new life in Jordan. I realized what that meant for my host mother, to be helping someone find a new home and not suffer the same way that her mother did. In the same way, my host parents helped Sarah and I find a short-term home in Jordan. Thanks to them I have a beautiful and amazing family to come home to in Jordan.