A Palestinian's Journey

By Sabi Atteyih

The radio was blaring with news that the British army, which occupied Palestine at the time, turned over the country to a handful of European Jews; they decided to call the land Israel. News stories recounted atrocities and massacres committed against the Palestinian people. The year was 1948. For Sabi Atteyih, the news started his life story fifteen years before he was born.
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Like many other Palestinians, Sabi's grandfather, Mohammad Atteyih, decided to retreat temporarily to neighboring countries such as Syria, Jordan and Lebanon with his wife, six sons (one was Sabi's father) and two daughters awaiting the promise that the Arabic army would restore peace and give the lands, homes, businesses and olive groves back to their rightful owners.

In Syria, away from the destruction of innocent lives, the Palestinians suffered a similar fate as the Palestinians in other neighboring countries; unemployment, crowded schools, unbelievable living conditions and discrimination top the list. In a few years life was unbearable for Ismail, Sabi's father, who was only 19 at the time. Faced with the responsibility of helping his father (Mohammad), unable to tolerate dreadful living conditions and seeking an education, he traveled to Yemen southeast of Saudi Arabia.

Once in Yemen, Ismail had a bit of luck balancing school and work, in addition to being able to send some money to help the rest of the family in Syria. After ten years, Ismail armed with a degree in pharmaceuticals, moved north to Kuwait and found a job in his field. While traveling back and forth to Syria to visit a his family, Ismail met a young woman named Khayreia who was a Palestinian. After a year, Ismail and Khayreia married and she moved to Kuwait with her husband. There, three children, two girls and one boy, were born. They were also Palestinians.

In 1966, just when things started looking good for the whole Atteyih family in Syria and Kuwait, the Kuwaiti government accused Ismail of conspiracy to overthrow the king of Kuwait. Ismail was seen in a group of Palestinians that may have met to demand better living conditions. With only 48 hours to leave Kuwait, the family of five was deported, never to be allowed back. Once again Syria seemed to draw Ismail back, but this time with a bigger load. Syria continued to absorb many Palestinians from the 1948 immigration which contributed to the housing shortages. Ismail, his wife and three children lived at his parents' house until able to find a place to call home. (One can imagine what it must have been like at “Grampa's house.”)

Living in Syria and working in the same city with his brothers, Ismail's life was once again stable. Ismail and Khayreia were the proud parents of another boy, bringing the family to two boys and two girls.

In the summer of 1973, Ismail received an invitation from his brother-in-law. Khayreia's brother had moved to Syria in 1948, then on to the United States in 1959. At his request, Ismail, Khayreia and two of the children packed their suitcases and visited him in the United States. While the visit in New Jersey was brief, the United States “bug” bit Ismail: He was fascinated with the American way of life, the open market economy, five-day work weeks, innocent until proven guilty in a court of law and — baseball.

Ismail returned to his home in Syria dreaming the impossible dream: “I need to help provide a better future for my kids. I want them to experience peace, happiness, good education and, most of all, success.” Years went by, yet the dream was still running. In 1978, Ismail applied for immigration to the United States of America. At that time, Sabi was fourteen years old and he again spent the summer in the States while his father, Ismail and Uncle Saleh were working on moving the entire family to the States. The application took three years to process. In 1980, a heart attack ended Ismail Atteyih's life, but not his dream. A visa arrived several months after his death which enabled Khayreia to carry on the dream with her four children. In August of 1981 they moved to the United States. At the time, the oldest of the children was 18.

Sabi was only sixteen when his father died, but the years spent with his father, traveling around Europe and the Middle East, taught him so much. The most important lesson was that he is always a Palestinian. No matter where or how they traveled, they would always be treated suspiciously—like criminals. While living in Syria, the passport issued was a Palestinian passport. The Arab countries, to preserve Palestinian nationality, issued Palestinian passports. With the Palestinian passport, they were often denied entry into certain countries.

Sabi was born in Kuwait but has never been considered a Kuwaiti. While this policy helped keep the Palestinian issue alive, it also enabled the whole world to discriminate against more than 10 million Palestinians scattered around the planet.

In 1986, Sabi received his American citizenship. For the first time, Sabi realized his father's dream: to roam the planet free without interrogation and to be simply treated like a human being.

Eleven years of isolation from aunts, uncles and cousins ended in December 1992 when Sabi was finally allowed to enter Syria for a period of thirty days. Because of a new Syrian law, Sabi returned for a short time without being forced to serve in the Syrian army. This law went into effect in 1992. Free to roam, Sabi felt as if he were in Europe once again with Ismail, but these feelings came with tears. They were Sabi’s tears as he walked the streets of Milan, Italy remembering a sweet past, when his father was showing him the landmarks; and remembering the bitter past when he had a label that frightened the world around him— Palestinian. No one can better describe the trip to Syria than Sabi Atteyih: “It was like a dream. I still cannot get over it. I can see the picture of the plane touching down in Damascus (Syria); the highway lights lead my eyes to the city, twinkling at night like a faraway galaxy. I can still smell the fresh winter air with a slight hint of a pine scent. I felt the earth shake, but it was I that was shaking, trembling as chills raced down my spine. What will they say? Will they remember my face? What are they thinking? These were the questions that echoed in my head the entire distance from the plane through the terminal and into the lobby. I could not believe my eyes when I saw the crowd that came to greet me. Had the entire city come out? It was impossible to recognize all the faces. It seems that some of the people had features I have seen but on a child's face twelve years before in 1981. It was as if I expected that nobody would change but myself. I felt like a stranger among my family. Yet I was in a place I called home for fifteen years. It was like asking a sailor to navigate in the Sahara Desert. I felt out of place.”

In Syria I visited the cemetery that holds my father's grave. For most of an hour, I sat like a messenger telling the stone that represented my father all the events that shaped our lives in the last twelve years. Oh, how I wished I could see Ismail's response when I described how successful his wife, sons and daughters are and how handsome his grandchild is. Somehow, I felt that he had been with us during our long and painful journey.

As the days went by, my relationship with my extended family grew stronger and before leaving I was loaded with memories, hugs, kisses, stories, photographs and gifts to connect us all. I headed back to Wisconsin (my new home), fueled by anger but directed by love. As I walk through life, I look forward to my next visit, hating the distance that has torn us apart. I find security in the thought of reuniting our big family (now scattered over seven countries) in a place called Palestine.

(Sabi Atteyih branched off from the family restaurant— “Lulu's” in Madison and now owns Casbah, also in Madison. His feelings and sense of isolation from his homeland are a common thread among millions of Palestinians in this world.)