Unclaimed property?

What would you do if you were to find out your house used to belong to Arabs expelled in 1948?

27 March 2008

by Yehuda Litani

My grocer was baffled: "Why are you returning the organic eggs? They're fresh; I only got them this morning."

"I discovered that they come from a settlement in the West Bank," I replied.

"So, what's the problem? They're not Jewish?" he asked.

"Yes, they are," I said, "but I don't buy products made in settlements."

"Since when?" asked the grocer. "Since always," I responded,

He looked at me as if I have lost my mind and concluded, "Everyone has his limits."

Later that day, at a supermarket known for its cheap prices, I realized as I was a approaching the cash register that a few salads I have placed in my shopping cart originate in a factory in Samaria. It was hard to tell by the name of the factory, but the Chief Rabbinate's kashrut certificate enabled me to identify the production location.

When I went back to the salad stand to return the salads, I found out that almost half of the brands sold in this supermarket were made in settlements.

And, it's always a bit embarrassing to have guests coming to my house bearing a fine bottle of wine from a vineyard in Mount Hebron, the Golan Heights or Samaria. I usually smile and thank them, knowing in my heart I would never open these bottles.

I'm frustrated enough by the government's failure to dismantle the illegal outposts or to stop the so-called spontaneous expansion of the settlements. Thankfully I still have the choice whether or not to purchase their products, even if that makes me part of an ever-shrinking minority.

I have always made sure not to buy a house that used to belong to Arabs who were forced to leave or were expelled from Israel.

Whose land is this anyway?
Last month, I invited to my house a locksmith from east Jerusalem named Salah, to do some work for me. He asked whether he could bring along his father, who came from abroad to visit. The elderly man sat in the yard while Salah was busy erecting a fence, and every once in a while I approached him with a drink or refreshments.

On one of these occasions, the father turned to me and told me he very much enjoyed sitting in my yard, after so many years have passed since he last visited the area. How do you know this area, I asked.

"I grew up here," he replied. "In the village nearby, which we had to leave in 1948. Everything here used to belong to us. Here, in your yard, olive trees used to grow and we would harvest them every year. In between harvests we would cultivate the orchard and sometimes play among the trees.

"Down there, near the big Eucalyptus tree, the house of our village head used to stand. He also left shortly after we did."

I was astonished. I told Salah that all these years I was certain that my house had been built on land purchased from the Greek-Orthodox Church. The father, who was listening to our conversation, said, "No, no, those were our lands, or actually, our neighbors'."

Salah, who noticed my distress, quickly said: "Never mind, all of this happened a long time ago. Sixty years. I wasn't even born then. For peace between our two nations, we are willing to give up our property in the village, the houses and the land, right father?"

The father reluctantly nodded his head, but his face conveyed deep sadness.