Silence now surrounds the area of the people's cemetery of the destroyed village of al-Lajun, almost the last remnant of what until the War of Independence was an Arab settlement at the southwestern edge of the Jezreel Valley. Al Lajun's mosque, which Kibbutz Megiddo used for decades as a carpentry shop, is also now abandoned and surrounded by barbed wire. The thousands of demonstrators from nearby um al Fahm, descendants of displaced persons from al-Lajun, who have demonstrated there in recent months, are preparing for the next campaign. The two factions of the Islamic Movement, the legal (southern) and the illegal (northern) movement, are strong on the issue. Dormant demons and old wounds are reopened. The Zionist consensus that stretches the compromise line to the "right of return" (not included) is not a relevant player in this old-new game started by the Arab side.
The people of al-Lajun, second, third and fourth generations of "displaced persons," live the Nakba as if it happened yesterday. Many of them visit the abandoned lands, the landscape and the green grove, conduct heritage tours there, mark plots and remains of old houses, take pictures and document in videos the members of the first generation, which is decreasing. They do not cease to deal with their "right to return," first to the mosque and cemetery and then to the 34,<> dunams of al-Lajun land expropriated from them by the state after the War of Independence. Some of the lands are now occupied by Kibbutz Megiddo.
Their story is no exception. This is exactly the case, accompanied by appropriate legislation, the state acted in hundreds of other Arab settlements throughout the country that were abandoned during the War of Independence. Hundreds of Jewish settlements arose on the ruins of Arab settlements. Kibbutz Barkai was established in place of the village of Harbat Wadi Ara, the Alon Reserve near Kibbutz Gan Shmuel was established on part of the lands of the village of Cherkess, Kibbutz Carmia instead of the village of Harbia, Kibbutz Harel instead of the village of Beit Jiz, and so on and on.
In 1948, the Arabs fled/were expelled/left al-Lajun as well. It depends on when and who you ask. Other Arab communities throughout the country were similarly abandoned. First the rich fled to Beirut, Damascus, Cairo. Later, part of the Arab leadership issued a call to the residents to evacuate their homes, in order to make it easier for the Arab armies to conquer the land from the Jews; In order to make it easier for them to thwart the UN resolution establishing a Jewish state in the Land of Israel. The residents were promised that they would be able to return not only to their homes, but also to the homes of Jews who would be liquidated or expelled.
General Ismail Safwat, for example, who until May 1948 served as commander-in-chief of the fighting forces in Palestine, formulated in a telegram to the Arab League secretariat the goal: "the elimination of the Jews of Palestine and the complete cleansing of this state from them." The Greek Catholic Bishop of Galilee, George Hakim, later admitted that "the refugees were assured that not many days would be absent and that they would return again within a few days, within a week or two. Their leaders assured them that the Arab armies would soon crush the 'Zionist gangs' and that there was no room for panic or fear of prolonged exile."
But the Jews won and the State of Israel was established, and since then the refugees who left the borders of the country and the displaced persons (those who moved to another place of settlement within the country) have not let go of the demand for return, which an Israeli-Zionist consensus, which crosses political camps, rejects it outright and sees it as the end of the Jewish state.
This lawsuit has a longer shelf life, than any other refugee story in the world. The Arab states, UNRWA and the Palestinians are concerned with preserving the "refugee problem" as a weapon against Israel.
They refuse to rehabilitate them, liquidate the refugee camps, or give up their status and refugee certificate, which are currently held by some 6 million Palestinians. Palestinian refugeehood, unlike any other refugee event in the world, is passed down from generation to generation and from father to son, even if the refugee becomes a citizen in his new place, even if the refugee has recovered economically and even become rich.
The people of Al Lajun mostly moved to um al Fahm. Among them was the family of Raed Salah, former head of the northern branch of the Islamic Movement and now one of the key figures in the monitoring committee of Israeli Arabs. Most of the first generation refugees are no longer alive. The struggle is now being waged by a generation of sons and grandchildren. Their story is another chapter in this ongoing refugee saga, yet a different one.
Residential, Galleries and Public Buildings
This time, the displaced persons from Al-Lajun meet the members of Kibbutz Megiddo, which was established in 1949 by Holocaust survivors, partisans and fighters from Poland and Hungary who immigrated to Israel. The kibbutz was founded by the first Zionist youth movement in the Land of Israel, Hashomer Hatzair, from which grew the National Kibbutz Movement (today part of the Kibbutz Movement). In the old days, Kibbutz Artzi had a party in the Knesset, Mapam. The party was for many years Mapai's partner in the parliamentary bloc known as "The Alignment", and later joined forces with Meretz. In 1997, Mapam ceased to exist.
This historical and ideological position is uncomfortable for those who have attacked the settlers for decades for "dispossessing Arabs" and "expelling them." Perhaps this is why the kibbutz residents are cloaked in silence and are unwilling to be interviewed, at least not publicly. They may be even more concerned about opening Pandora's box. Their silence hides not only embarrassment but also confusion. Within the kibbutz there are those who understand some of the demands of the people of Al-Lajun and are even willing to come to them. In the past, fierce arguments were sparked there, but outwardly - they are silent.
This story is different for another reason: the people of Al-Lajun express a renewed trend among some of the displaced persons of '48 who settled within Israel to turn the dream of return from a theoretical issue of heritage and memory into a real-practical one. About a decade ago, as part of the "Odena" ("Shabanu") project, the Baladna youth association hired architect Shadi Habib Allah to redesign al-Lajun.
Shadi prepared an architectural, conceptual plan for the reconstruction of the settlement, this time as a city, adjacent to Kibbutz Megiddo, on the same lands expropriated by the state. The plan is quite detailed. It includes public buildings, cafes, a visitor center, residences, a museum and art galleries, and of course housing for displaced persons and refugees who will come from outside. According to Shadi, the new city is a "utopia." Just.
Shadi (38), a resident of the village of Ein Mahal, near Nazareth, says that his work was preceded by a fierce discussion among the youth who initiated the project – whether to settle for returning to the area, or to the expropriated lands themselves. "The conclusion was that they wanted to go back to that point. The vision is to carry it out near the kibbutz, in an area that is now an open area, where there is no construction."
Did you have contact with the kibbutz?
"Nope."
Do you yourself identify with the demand for the right of return?
"I may be the professional, but of course I empathize. I also think that this utopia can become a realistic idea. The space in question is free space. I wish Jewish society would learn to accept this idea."
Omar Samir Mahameed (28), whose grandfather Mahameed (90) lived in Al Lajun, was one of the youth who participated in the initiative. He even made a film about al-Lajun, which was screened a few years ago at Zochrot's return conference.
"I hope we can go back there," he says today, "I myself go there almost every week. When I talk about returning there, I'm talking about returning in a state of peace, without fatalities, without people being evacuated from their homes, as they did to us."
Samir, a resident of um al Fahm, used to work in Givat Haviva as a group facilitator for a project for meetings between Arab and Jewish students. "The main purpose of the architectural plan is to give hope to the third and fourth generations, to tell our story about the Nakba and to preserve a connection to the place. It has a feasibility in the future. Not today, but in the future, of course."
"We have a taboo"
Do you understand Jewish society's fear of such initiatives and demands? Do you understand the fear of those who see this state as the nation-state of the Jewish people and know that the Al-Lajun story is not specific, but part of a broad demand for "return"?
Samir: "I understand that it's complicated."
Some 5,000 people participated in demonstrations in the Megiddo area, mostly from um al Fahm. One of them was attorney Muhammad Lutfi Mahajneh, a member of the local committee. His father and grandfather also lived in Al Lajun. Mahajneh, like Samir, visits the lands of al-Lajun, "knows every corner there," but Mahajneh is currently reducing his demand for return to two places: the cemetery ("we want to renovate it, our grandparents are buried there") and the mosque ("which the kibbutz denies us access to").
"The mosque," he clarifies, "we strive to preserve. not to add construction to it," rejecting the claim that the Islamic Movement is involved in the demonstrations. "It's nonsense. It comes from below, from the field, from our deepest faith." Mahajneh compares the fate of the ancient synagogue in Shfar'am to that of the mosque. "They guard the synagogue there in Shfar'am like a diamond, and Jews can visit it. Why isn't that the case here?"
Perhaps the difference is that in Shfar'am there is no general claim to the right of Jewish return; there is no threat to the character of the Arab community, as there is here.
"The difference is different: We have a taboo on these lands. My uncle, Mustafa Mahajneh, holds the bills of ownership of them. That's the difference."
You present the story as a story of property rights, but you know full well that you are part of a much larger story, part of a refugee event that you refuse to end and a demand for a total right of return. It's not about a mosque here or a cemetery there.
"I'm not getting into the big deal, I'm talking about the mosque."
But you do get into the big deal, because you and the demonstrators in front of Megiddo waved Palestinian flags and talked about 34,<> dunams and the realization of the right of return, not just the mosque.
"It's not in our plans for tomorrow. We want it to stay in the minds of our children. The march was organized by the Committee for the Protection of the Rights of Displaced Persons in the Destroyed Villages. It's my national committee."
You really can't understand the Jewish public's fear of changing the character of the state? From the threat to Israel as the nation-state of the Jewish people? The revolution of the state into a state of all its citizens? After all, you, the "internal refugees" as you call yourselves, are part of a much larger story. You are not willing to give up your dream of return, in the name of any of the millions of people you define as refugees in the Palestinian diaspora around the world. Many of you are not even willing to identify as Israeli Arabs, But only as Arabs living in Israel, as Palestinians living in Israel.
"These fears are detached from reality, and yes, I am Palestinian, and how. I am an Arab. Not Israeli, because Israeli law is not willing to recognize me as an equal person; Because Israel has enacted unequal, racist laws that discriminate against us, that confiscate our property. Why is it hard for you to understand this?"
These laws that you call racist are a natural derivative of the definition of the State of Israel as a Jewish state, as written in the Declaration of Independence. They are also a natural derivative of the fact that the Arab side rejected the partition decision to establish two states and decided to eliminate the State of Israel even before it was established. This is how the refugee problem was created, this is how the problem of displaced persons was created.
"Historical accounts I can edit too. Do you want us to come and say: Thank you so much for expelling, thank you for expropriating, everything is fine, that we are giving up?"
In many other refugee incidents around the world, the refugees, tens of millions, were settled in their new places of residence, and that's the end of the story.
"This argument is bigger than you and me and the kibbutz. This should not scare anyone. I know many mosques in Jewish residential areas where Muslims enter, churches in Muslim residential areas where Christians enter, and synagogues in Muslim areas where Jews enter. That's what I'm aiming for."
"One day they will slaughter us"
The displaced persons of Al Lajun, with the help of Adalah, also tried their luck in court, first in the district court and then in the Supreme Court. Their claims were rejected. Their main argument was that forestry was not part of the "settlement and development needs," as stated in the 1953 expropriation order. The court thought otherwise. He ruled that many times Israeli courts have already recognized the uses of "green spaces" – nature reserves, forests, orchards, etc. – as a public designation for the purposes of the various expropriation laws, even when the declared purpose of the expropriation was settlement and development needs. The justices also referred to another ruling, which relates to the Land Acquisition Law, by virtue of which the land was expropriated. It states that "there is no doubt that this is a one-time legislation that must be viewed against the background of the historical circumstances that prevailed at the time of the establishment of the state..."
Kibbutz Megiddo, which was established on al-Lajun land, refuses to talk about the matter. Unofficially, residents say the state should not have granted a permit for the mass demonstration on Independence Day, which was followed by more protests. "It's taking the genie out of the bottle," one resident told Israel Weekly. "What would the State of Israel look like today if many Arab residents had not fled it? What would it look like today if, God forbid, we allowed them to return, after they were part of the grand plan to destroy us and thwart the establishment of the state? It's not a matter of left or right.
"A Jewish state is a state with a Jewish majority. We are here, also in Kibbutz Megiddo, part of this majority, and we must fight uncompromisingly against those who threaten them and publicly declare that they want a state of all its citizens and the return of refugees and the wheel backwards."
Do most kibbutz residents take your approach?
"Most of them, but there are others."
It is difficult to reach these "others" today, and yet, in an almost remote corner of the Zochrot website, we found a long interview conducted many years ago by Eitan Bronstein with kibbutz resident Lily Troebman. Truebman refused to talk to us this week, but she revealed to Bronstein, among other things, "a discussion that was very difficult and lasted until 1949:<> a.m.," following the screening of Ilan Yagoda's film "Rain <>," about the refugees of Al-Lajun and the Holocaust survivors who established Kibbutz Megiddo.
"Why is it so hard?" Troebman was asked, and replied: "Any mention of al-Lajun was perceived as a threat of expulsion of the Jews. Some were very angry with him, because they thought he gave too much space to refugees in the film... About five from the kibbutz we went to watch a movie in um al Fahm, together with the Al Lajun refugees. It was also very difficult... In this small group, we thought about working on public opinion in the kibbutz, in order to get the displaced people to come to the mosque. Someone planned to write in the kibbutz newsletter, but then the intifada broke out and erased everything. There was also a screening of the film on the kibbutz with the Bat Shalom movement. One of the kibbutz members, who is a Holocaust refugee, kept coming in and out nervously. He met me the next day, and boiling with anger said: 'One day they will come and slaughter us.' In the interview, Truebman expressed willingness to establish a neighborhood of displaced persons/descendants of al-Lajun near the kibbutz. "I'd like them as my neighbors... It doesn't threaten me."
The Megiddo Regional Council also refuses to comment on the media buzz surrounding the protest of the displaced persons of Al-Lajun (the first publication on the subject was by journalist Yishai Friedman in the "Seventh" newsletter). Council head Itzik Cholevsky was satisfied with a laconic response, according to which "the regional council will continue to protect and defend Kibbutz Megiddo."
Referendum among displaced persons
In today's debate is interwoven another historical debate. The prevailing narrative among the displaced persons of al-Lajun is that of expulsion – "the Jews expelled us," but there is evidence that does not support this. A few years ago, the "Letters to the Editor" section of Haaretz newspaper published the words of reader Yaakov Levy from Tel Aviv. Levy said that he personally took part in the occupation of Megiddo Junction in 1947/8. According to him, the residents of Al Lajun village refused the offer of the commander of the Jewish battalion that occupied the area to return to their village, and even to reclaim and rework their land. The Mukhtar of Al Lajun village held a poll among its residents who had fled to um al-Fahm at the time, to which they replied: "We do not want to live under the rule of Judaization."
In a video produced by one of the descendants of the displaced persons, in which he interviews his grandfather, Mahmoud Mahamid, the grandfather is asked, "Have you been expelled?" and replies in the negative. "It was a real war," says the grandfather. "Citizens are afraid, so flee to the side of the Arabs." "Did you run away?" the grandson asks. "We ran away," the grandfather replies. "But," the grandson insists, "it's called expulsion. You were expelled." "They didn't expel us," the grandfather replies. "If it wasn't for expulsion, you'd come back," the grandson corrects him again. "We didn't come back often," the grandfather explains, "when we wanted to return, they destroyed the village" (in '48 the village housed an Iraqi army logistics headquarters. A Golani Brigade force occupied it).
Dr. Michael Milstein, an expert on the Palestinian issue, who has authored books and studies on the subject and wrote his doctoral dissertation on "The Development of the Memory of the Nakba since 1948, and its Impact on the Growth of the Palestinian National Movement," suggests paying attention to what is happening in Al-Lajun. "What makes the story there relatively more urgent is the proximity between um al-Fahm, where the displaced persons and their descendants live, and the place from which they were displaced. It creates a higher intensity of emotion and activity."
How alarming is that?
"It is worrying in this respect that this may set a precedent for other locations. The problem is that you don't know if the story of the mosque and the cemetery is the end of the claims, or whether it will turn into lawsuits in the land registry for land, property and costs."
At the same time, Milstein identifies among the younger generation "a high level of sobriety, which conveys an understanding that return is not feasible, certainly not at the moment." He proposes to separate the slogans and statements in the Al-Lajun affair and elsewhere in the country from the true level of belief of the slogan violators in what can or cannot be achieved.
Adi Schwartz, who co-authored the book "The War of the Right of Return" with Einat Wilf, is not surprised by what is happening between the displaced persons of al-Lajun and Kibbutz Megiddo. "The ethos that the '48 war and the establishment of the State of Israel ended unjustly, and that the existence of the State of Israel is unjust, and that it must ultimately be uprooted – this is the ethos and the narrative, and the broadest common denominator today in Palestinian society, including Israeli Arabs, the diaspora and the West Bank and Gaza."
"When Israeli Arabs today talk about 'two states for two peoples' plus the right of return, the actual meaning is a Palestinian state in Judea and Samaria and another Palestinian state – the State of Israel that will become a state of all its citizens, including return and the repeal of the Law of Return, which will cease to be a state with a Jewish majority."
Schwartz warns: "In the Al-Lajun story, we are not talking about a humanitarian act or the right of one individual or another. This is not movement in space, but movement in time designed to restore the situation to its previous state. The Nakba, as far as they are concerned, is an ongoing event, because the State of Israel continues to exist. When the residents of um al-Fahm say, 'We want to return to Megiddo,' they are actually saying, 'We want to go back to the days before the State of Israel existed.' That is, cease its existence here. This is not a humanitarian or economic demand, but a national, consciousness, historical demand. The debate today focuses not only on the territories, but on all parts of the country. Even as far as the Arab population is concerned, Israel's existence is not a fait accompli."
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