I was around 17-18 years old when we were expelled from our village, Deir Aban. This was 18 October 1948. We had heard that the Zionists had occupied Akka, Jaffa, and many villages and that massacres occurred, such as in Deir Yassin. We heard that the Zionists had put the dead and injured people into a hole and buried them alive in Deir Yassin, the same day that we heard that Abdelqader Husseini was killed. A street was later built on top of them. We were very afraid and when we heard about the story of Deir Yassin, all the civilians in the village went to hide in the mountains.

Depopulated village of Deir Aban, 2007. (©BADIL) Deir Aban. A circular village centred around the intersection of five roads with the ‘Umari mosque in the middle, Deir Aban was home to over two thousand Palestinians. While the villagers were exposed to several Zionist raids and skirmishes starting in January 1948, the village held out until 19 October 1948, when it was the first village targetted in Operation ha-Har, signalling the end of the second truce of the war. The village’s inhabitants and the few Egyptian troops stationed there were exposed to concentrated artillery and mortar shelling in a surprise attack that completely depopulated the village, sending the villagers east towards the Bethlehem and Hebron hills. In 1950, the colonies of Tzor’a, Machseya, Beyt Shemesh, and Yish’i were established on the village lands. Refugees from the village have established an Arabic language website that you can visit at:: http://www.deraban.com

Only the fighters remained, we had one gun per fifteen persons in the village. We stayed in the mountains for four months, until the Zionists attacked the village. Eighteen fighters were killed during the clashes and we had no choice but to leave in search of a safer place. I remember the names of all the fighters who died as well as the names of the two women who were killed by a bomb while picking fruits, some were members of her family. We all left on foot to al Khadr while the fighters went to Hebron. We lived under the trees in al Khadr, in the rain and cold.

We eventually found a cave to rent in Beit Sahour and five families moved there. We lived in very harsh conditions, without electricity or money and with limited water - we had only two water tanks for all the families, if we wanted more, we had to pay. We had brought nothing from our houses. We managed to survive by picking herbs and plants from the mountains. Without basic facilities, it was not a life. We did not feel welcomed by people, although they were also Palestinians, people were accusing us of having left our homes, which made us feel bad. We lived in the cave for around 12 years. During that time, I got married.

I wanted to move to Deheisheh camp, to be with other refugees, but my husband refused because we had been told that during the winter, the tents would flood and that people had to move into the UNRWA school and my husband did not like the idea of living all together crowded into one room without any privacy. While my husband kept refusing to go to Deheisheh camp, I decided in 1960 to go myself with our children, in the end he followed. Life in the camp was better, we were all the same, all refugees, nobody was asking questions about who we were and where we were from. We have since then lived in the camp. I had 4 boys and 3 girls.

In Deir Aban, we had our land from which we could live, we had cows, camels and sheep, to make milk and cheese, we also baked bread. We exchanged our products with others. We were self-sufficient. In the camp, we have nothing - no land and no work, we can no longer be farmers. All we have is the house provided by UNRWA. I miss everything, the mint, the tomatoes, the water, the freedom to go to the sea or walk in the mountains. I miss the air.

I went back to Dir Aban several times since 1948. The last time I went was in 1999, but we can no longer go with the Wall and the closures. When I went, I could not eat from the trees because I felt bad that we had left such a beautiful place. At the same time, we had no choice but to leave. Our exile is still something that tears me apart until today.