A beautiful memoir by a beautiful woman. Wadad Makdisi Cortas was born, raised, and lived in Lebanon between 1909 to 1979 - a period that spanned Ottoman rule, WW1, the French Mandate, WW2, the Nakba multiple other Israeli aggressions, and the Lebanese civil war. She shares her experiences and perspective of these events throughout this book, framing them by her own role as a daughter, wife, mother, student, teacher, headmistress, neighbor, and grandmother. She calls herself Arab - in fact, I don't remember her describing her identity as Lebanese - and throughout the book emphasizes the sense of unity she felt, and the catastrophe that nationalism has brought upon Arabs. To her, the Palestinian cause is her own people's cause. She was truly an incredible woman that had so many unique experiences and I'm so grateful that she shared them in her memoir - I know have more insight about these formative decades of the twentieth century and can just picture the beautiful landscape of Lebanon before me.
Quotes as they appeared from earliest to latest in the book:
"We were taught from early childhood to be proud of our mother tongue, but when I came to understand English I realized that our daily expressions can never be fully conveyed in translation. Our answer to "How are you?" for instance is "Fine, thank God," not "Fine, thank you." Dependence on God was idiomatic in daily Arab conversation, not only in the rural areas but also in the city.
If the weather was good, the common expression was "Thank God." If there was drought, it was "May it please God to send us rain." If the crops were poor, the people would ask, "Why is God against us?" As we often summered in the mountains, we learned many phrases from our village neighbors. To a greeting of "Good morning," the reply might be "Another morning of light" or "A morning of jasmine" or "roses."
We were taught specialized greetings. For masons and builders: "May God build with you." For farmers: "May God bless you with abundance." Upon entering a grocer's store: "God be with you." When we had paid for our purchases, the seller would reply, "May God recompense your giving." When a cloth merchant cut into a new piece of material for a buyer, he would say, “Bil afia,” meaning “May you outwear it in health.”"
Beautiful - and written by an Arab woman who was not Muslim, and who grew up in Lebanon among religiously diverse Arabs <3
in December of 1955, the Ihud Associa-tion, then an important political organization in Israel, declared: 'In the end we must come publicly with the truth. We have no moral right to oppose the return of the refugees to their land. We have no right to ask the American Jews to leave their country to which they are attached, and settle in a land that has been stolen from others, while the owners are homeless and miser-able. We have no right to occupy the house of an Arab if we have not paid for it. The same goes for fields, gardens, shops and stores. We have no right to build a settlement on other people's property. To do this is robbery. We are faced with this choice— either to listen to the voice of truth, or not to listen and to bring evil and misfortune upon us and the future generations.'
Part of a letter sent in 1967, that Makdisi-Cortas includes here: "The deliberate bombing of hospitals in Bethlehem and Jerusalem, the destruction of ambulances by napalm bombs used on retreating soldiers and civilians, were calculated to drive the people from their homes. I appeal to every person to answer this campaign of hatred with a campaign of concern for the Arabs."
How similar is this to Gaza the past couple years :(
as gratified as I was by my family and my achievements at the Ahliah School, I could not help feling that we, the older people who claimed to be the guardians of a civilization, had let our young ones down. Nonviolence was our calling, but the world we bequeathed taught them that violence is the more trusted companion of their dreams.
So here we are. For more than sixty years the world has been going mad. Not the honest nor the brave but the mighty have been its masters. For as long as I have lived, powerful men have authored death and extermination or the means to threaten it, and have perverted science for this aim. They carved up the Middle East to satisfy their whims and their greed, and then watched as the forces they set in motion worked toward a seemingly inevitable disintegration. Colonialism taught its lessons too well. For all their power and wealth the imperial nations of Europe were not able to avoid two world wars; the nations they created by drawing lines on a map or issuing declarations have done the same but more modestly, with regional wars, civil wars, occupations.
Will the strong nations allow us to bandage our bleeding wounds? Will Israel be allowed to continue to do whatever it wants? Will our youth free themselves from fanaticism and rebuild the land of our fathers with the sweat of honest labor? Will they ever see justice? These questions torture my soul. The beauty of Lebanon is not enough to make us forget the folly of this war we have just endured. Our purple mountains against the clear skies, their white peaks reflecting light on the verdant hills, the flowers of the fields, the limpid streams, will continue to feed our souls. Spring will come again with its perfume and color and remind us of nature's immeasurable gifts. Do we deserve all this? Our generation has failed to bring men nearer to one another. Will the new generation prove wiser?