Issues

Palestine

Precious Sewing Machine

Posted on Tuesday June 5, 2007

My husband was born in 1936. In 1948, he lived with his family in the Musrara district in what is now West (Jewish) Jerusalem.

His father, concerned about the violence and the threat of increased violence in the land, alarmed by the rumors of destruction of Palestinian villages and the killings of Palestinian civilians, decided to move his family to the Old City of Jerusalem, in a tiny apartment across from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

He knew from radio broadcasts that no one should leave their homes, that people would be stopped by Jordanian soldiers if caught. But he feared for the lives of his wife and their five children, so he decided they would indeed move, but take with them only the indispensable so as not to attract attention. My husband and his twin brother were given the task to carry their precious sewing machine to the Old City with the pretext that it needed repair. The family simply could not afford to leave the item behind. It was much needed to mend the children’s clothes and make new ones for them. Other members of the family carried only a few personal items. They hoped that peace would come and they would return soon to their home.

The two boys carried the sewing machine between them, each holding on to an improvised handle, careful not to trip and drop the heavy item.

The family installed itself in the tiny Old City apartment and sighed with relief. They were safe.

But a short time after that, while they sat with neighbors on the terrace, enjoying the cool night air, something came whistling from a distance. It exploded as it hit the ground, killing my husband’s mother and his little sister, severing the right arm of his older brother, and injuring everyone else.

Thus started the very personal Nakba of one Palestinian family.

My husband died in 1991. After 1967, he never sat foot on Palestinian soil. I am Italian born, but I go back to Palestine every year. In his honor, and in his memory. Still hoping for peace.

Germana Nijim