[Song]
Take me to Palestine, take me, if you don’t mind, O bird.
Take me to Palestine, take me, if you don’t mind, O bird.
Take me back to my homeland, to my family and children.
Take me back to my homeland, to my family and children.
Take me to Palestine, take me.
Take me to Palestine, take me.
[Saida Hamad] I recall the first moment when the project to search for what it means to be named or be given a name was proposed in the Experimental Humanities Network. The idea of Asameena (Our Names) immediately sprung to my mind. I thought that, as Palestinians, our connection and attachment to place and history represent our identity, which has been facing obliteration for decades, and our firm hanging on, in all possible ways, to our land, our right, and everything that points the compass to Palestine.
Actually, this subject has been on mind and grabbed my attention for years. As a lecturer in different Palestinian universities, currently working at Al-Quds Bard College, Al-Quds University, I always come across students named after Palestinian cities and villages, to the extent that I feel that our Palestine is present and has not, and will not, become mere history. It is truly alive and embodied in the names of my students. This makes me feel extremely proud.
Consecutive generations are carrying Palestinian memory and future even through the simplest, most personal details: their names. That was one of the many reasons for this project. As I told my project colleagues in more than 12 universities: Palestinian memory will not be in danger as long as its youth and elders carry the names of the places and learn their history. This launched the idea of Asameena (Our Names) Podcast, to discover and learn more about our names.
I, Saida Hamad, will be joining you in this podcast, and we start with Abdul Rahim Al Shaikh, poet and professor of philosophy and cultural studies at Birzeit University.
[Abdul Rahim al Shaikh] We don’t call on people when they are near. I think that as long as Palestinians remain in exile and across the diaspora, sometimes referred to as the present absentees, or even those living in the 1948 occupied Palestinian territories, as well as others currently living in the outskirts of their villages who are subject to ethnic cleansing (and we have many examples: Iqrit, Berem, Ein Hod, and others), people will keep naming their children after the names of their origin villages.
It may be ironic, as I told you in the beginning, there are origins for naming places. We said that there is the divine, the natural, and the human in between. We name places based on humans inhabiting them. However, when people lose their place, as is the case with Palestine, we do the opposite: We take the names of places and name people after them. Why?
This is one of the anti-colonial linguistic methods that came about as a resistance to colonial naming techniques. Palestinians will keep naming their children after their homeland until Palestine is free and people return to their places and the places of their names.
[Song]
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal (a form of Palestinian/levant singing)
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal.
I would live in a tent near the water, but I will not leave my land.
We can earn a humble living by selling sage and thyme.
Calm down, my people. Why despair when the bullets of the rifle are pouring like a cascade?
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal.
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal.
My grandfather told me his dying wish and said: If the land is ever lost, don’t just spend your time praying and forget the executioner (perpetrator?)
Don’t surrender and let the other become the hunter. Don’t forget the olives of the hill and remain passive like a statue.
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal.
From my farm and the high Tall `Asur, the field smiles upon the harvest and sings its Mawwal.
[Saida Hamad] So names are used to call those who are far, to bring them closer and restore their presence. In our case, it’s an advanced expression of our conflict with the Zionist movement over place, time, and history. In the spring of 1948, as Salman Abu Sitta tells us in his guide “The Journey of Return”, the Zionist militia put Plan C, or dalet in Hebrew, whose objective was, and I quote: “The destruction of villages by burning them or bombarding them, planting landmines in their wreckage, sieging densely populated cities and villages, and expelling people from their lands if they resist in any way.”
In the land, by the spring of 1949, the number of villages and cities under Israeli invasion was 675 out of 774. 800,000 Palestinians were expelled and displaced in the largest ethnic cleansing operation witnessed in the 20th century, accompanied with a systematic plan to obliterate the Palestinian cultural memory through a diverse set of methods and techniques, the most significant of which could be the Hebraization of the names of Palestinian cities, villages, and topography to impose the possessive colonial mentality, what Professor Abdul Rahim Al Shaikh describes as the Columbus Syndrome.
[Abdul Rahim al Shaikh] Usually, naming places is the responsibility of the state, which denotes sovereignty in the land. In Palestine’s case, there is no state or sovereignty, so people took it upon themselves to name the places, as an act of resistance against the opposing re-naming methods perpetrated by the Zionist movement and later the state of Israel. We know that the Zionist movement, since its establishment, and even before its establishment, going back to the year 1856, started to give Hebrew names to the Palestinian scene over seven decades before the establishment of Israel. During the British Mandate, commissions were established to rename places, and the Zionist movement established its own commission with a mandate in 1922.
Also, after the Palestinian Nakba in 1949, Ben-Gurion formed a naming commission to Hebraize the Palestinian scene in An-Naqab from 1949 to 1951. During that year, the two Zionist commissions were unified and became part of the office of Israeli Head of Government until today.
Now, these names or naming of the Palestinian scene took three forms. Ironically, or perhaps unironically, it mimics all the colonial movements in the world, and this is exactly what I call the Columbus Syndrome, which means that the colonizer names the colonized places within three circles or domains, as researchers call them: the divine domain, in which they take names from religious texts, whether the Old or New Testament. That is what Columbus did during his invasion of what they called “the new world.” So, this is the divine domain, derived from holy books or texts, the Old and New Testament. The other domain is the natural, which means that the names are derived from the nature of the scene or the topography. The third domain, the human, connects the two, and names are derived from the names of leaders, kings, etc.
The Israeli Naming Committee took these three domains as a base and expanded it whilst giving Hebrew or Zionist names to Palestinian places, and this has a long history, difficult to summarize in a few minutes. But, when Palestinians realized that names are also a form of resistance, attempts of what we call linguistic resistance or cultural engineering began to reclaim the names of their homeland.
The Palestinian “scene” has Arabic or Canaanite(?) names, which predate Zionism, Israel, and all modern colonization of Palestine. Palestinians began to emphasize and consolidate the original Arabic naming of places. One tool to consolidate these names and keep them alive in the Palestinian memory and mind is to name individuals after the names of places.
Ironically, in 1956, I think, Zionists issued a law, which the Knesset passed, to change the names of the settlers coming to settle in Palestine from their birth names given to them in the countries they came from to Hebrew names. The law became binding for government employees. For Palestinians, we name our children after our homeland.
[Song]
Take me to Palestine, take me, if you don’t mind, O bird.
Take me to Palestine, take me, if you don’t mind, O bird.
Take me back to my homeland, to my family and children.
Take me to Palestine, take me. Take me to Palestine, take me.
[Saida Hamad] Imagine asking a young man or woman about their name, and they answer with the name of their homeland and its sites and locations. They answer: Yafa, Bisan, Jenin, or Al-Karmel, and say: I’m the child of this land, and I carry it within me like it carries me. That’s how Palestine raised its children to carry it in their hearts and in their names. Palestinians kept searching for ways to resist, so they got creative with naming. The dream of every Palestinian is for the map of Palestine to become a reality, to walk around its streets, cities, villages, and springs, and not just remain a picture on the wall or a metal pin worn as a medal on their chest. They divide this map amongst their children through their names to collect these memories of longing, happiness, and heartbreak, and then build another image of Palestine free from sea to river. That’s how they spend their days during this long wait, but there is certainty in their eyes and hearts. That’s how Falasteen (Palestine) carried the name and walked with it.
[Thaer Hamayal] I’m Thaer Hamayal, Director of Personnel and Branch Management at the Bank of Palestine. I named my daughter Falasteen because I love Palestine a lot. I love my homeland, and I considered it my duty, no matter how small the gesture was, to at least name one of my sons or daughters after this country. Just like people name their children after their father or mother, I named mine after my homeland. I considered it my duty to name her after my country because I love my land. I live inside Palestine and Palestine lives inside my home and in my heart. This is important to me. As I told you before, and I say it again, I love my homeland a lot and considered it my duty. The least I could do for my country, Palestine, is to name my child after it.
[Saida Hamad] I met many people in my life who carry Palestine’s name, and every time the name reaches me laden with a feeling of longing to the land and its fragrant smell.
[Song] Haifa is the bride of heroes
Haifa calls the men
My blood is a waterfall to quench its thirst
I would die for my homeland
All the land and apples
And the worker hugging the farmer
We all walk the path of resistance to cleanse your land, my country
Haifa is the bride of heroes
Haifa calls the men
My blood is a waterfall to quench its thirst
I would die for my homeland
[Saida Hamad] I’m a mother. I know exactly what it means for a mother to think about the name by which she will call her son or daughter forever. I know how much that carries love, longing, and attachment, and how much the heart and mind are connected to a name. And I think: How do parents name their children? What do they wish to say to themselves first, to their children second, and to the world at large? We met Widad Barghouti, professor and lecturer at Birzeit University.
[Widad Barghouti] Of course, I thought of the name when I was a student, even before I got married, this name, and a number of other names, such as Yafa, Bisan; these beautiful names of Palestinian cities and locations, and so I thought of the name Karmel.
[Saida Hamad] From coast to mountain: Mount Karmel. Haifa’s Karmel, carries as much Canaanite holiness as the embrace of Palestinian freedom fighters, the mother’s embrace, when they sought safety. It was the refuge close to the Ibn Amer Plain that extended to the sky, and thus the first meeting took place through the window of a bus heading to meet a loved one. That was the birth of Al-Karmel.
[Widad Barghouti] And so I decided to name my son after Mount Karmel. I saw Mount Karmel in person once in my life. I only saw one side of it in 1974 while visiting my father in Al-Jalamah Detention Center. It was my first visit to my father in prison. It is, of course, well known that the occupying forces have a long history of obliterating all that is Palestinian, whether connected to the place, time, people, or anything in the land or above it. For that reason, one form of resistance and defiance is to keep these names alive in the minds of people for years to come, since the occupation was certain that future generations would forget. This emphasizes that we will not forget our right, and rights which are claimed will never be lost.
[Saida Hamad] Names carry many stories and connotations. She named her son, the apple of her eye, Al-Karmel, although she had only seen Mount Karmel once in her life and she had never stepped foot on it or heard the sound of the nearby waves of Haifa sea. Imagine that all this happened though she had only seen the mountain once, and she lives a few kilometers away from it and cannot return there, but she has chosen it as the name of her son to keep it in front of her eyes forever, to keep the hope that one day they will return there together.
[Song]
The glowing palms of the sun rose with the blowing wind
They picked the thyme and mugworts to weave the robe of freedom
The youth of the field paved the path of resistance, and hung the sun at the door of their hearts
The sun shone a light that revealed the secret of their heartbreak and they glimpsed the hidden journey.
The glowing palms of the sun rose with the blowing wind
They picked the thyme and mugworts to weave the robe of freedom
[Majdal Abdul Salam] I’m Majdal Abdul Salam Khatib from Beit Rima. I’m 19 years old. My name means a lot to me, actually. I think it is unique and it expresses my personality. I feel that it gives me strength because it’s unique. Not many people have that name. I have never visited Majdal, and I wish I would soon. I want to get to know this place up close. I have a lot of feelings toward Majdal. I want to visit it because it’s part of my homeland Palestine, part of its villages and places. There are several places called Majdal. There is Majdal Shams, Majdal Sadek, and Majdal Abdeen, I think. There is more than one Majdal and I want to visit them all because they are part of our country. They cannot be divided. I love my name a lot because it’s very unique. I would never consider changing it or having another name. I’m proud that this is my name.
[Saida Hamad] Many places carry the name Majdal: Majdal Tiberias, east Palestine, destroyed by the Israeli occupying forces in 1948. All that remains are the name and the memory. The second is a Tulkarm Subdistrict, known as Khirbat al-Majdal. It was also destroyed, and an Israeli settlement was built over its vibrant spring, withering it into a yellow autumn. As for the large Majdal, Majdal Askalon, it enjoyed the liveliest presence. It was the light and lifeline of the area, so it was stolen, too.
[Abdul Salam Rimawi] I’m Abdul Salam Rimawi, journalist and author. I have also made some poetry-writing attempts, but I have never published any of my poetry. We always load our children’s names with connotations, our beliefs and emotions. It’s like we’re embodying the totality of our culture. Just as artists or poets represent their feelings in a poem, we, too, represent our emotions, feelings, culture, and social-political-human awareness through the names of our children. It is the most beautiful harmony that combines the beauty of the name itself and its geographic significance. Now, I have Yafa, Majdal, and Al-Jalil, too.
[Song]
Shake your spears, O powerful men.
Where do you hail from, noble knights?
We are the youth of Palestine
It's our honor to fight with you
We cross the river safely
And our adversary bears witness
Let history keep record
Of the tyranny and betrayal of the Westerners
We cross the river safely
And our adversary bears witness
Let history keep record
Of the tyranny and betrayal of the Westerners
[Saida Hamad] There are Palestinian cities that are rooted in their land and have witnessed the bitter side of history. Yafa, the bride of the sea, is one of them. It stood against the systematic Judaization. The occupying forces destroyed the land and then falsified and distorted the facts. In resistance, Yafa spread the bounty from its core and fragranced the sea breeze with its oranges and beauty.
[Abdul Salam Khatib] Names always reflect a special kind of awareness, culture, and emotion. Yafa, Haifa, and Akka, those are big names. They hold a great significance. They were the center of novels and literature for great writers such Ghassan Kanafani’s who doesn’t need an introduction. Names always reflect the personality, culture, and awareness of those that carry them. As I mentioned, I opened my eyes to the literature of Ghassan Kanafani and these big names which are referenced in his work. So, I was indecisive: Should I name my child Yafa or Majdal? I changed my mind in the last moment and went with Majdal. I thought I would be the first person to name his daughter Majdal. As for the name Yafa, it was just postponed. As I mentioned before, Majdal was supposed to be named Yafa. When we were expecting our third daughter, we automatically named her Yafa. Now, I have Yafa and Majdal. It’s a beautiful positive harmony. I used to dream about one name and now I have both: Majdal and Yafa.
[Saida Hamad] In this instance, the father granted his children the crown of cities and their names. The children are living reflections of the stolen coasts and plains after being deprived from the right to visit them since Al-Nakba.
The occupying forces thought that the children would stand helplessly behind the checkpoints. Little did they know that they have collected the names and memorized them properly.
[Abdul Salam Khatib] Yafa is present in all details, as a person who inspired me and whom I fell in love with their voice from afar. I mean the anchor for Al-Quds radio channel, or Yafa, the beautiful city, which I met through the literature of Ghassan Kanafani.
I had many reasons to name my daughter Yafa, and that is still her name. In the past, they used to load their children’s names with other connotations, such as Thaer, Monadil, Jihad, and so on, but I always had a different view. I don’t like names that are loaded with direct connotations, as these lose their meaning with time. I prefer to charge the name that I choose for my child in a different way so that the name doesn’t lose its luster over time. The name will continue to impart a beautiful value, for us, at any time or place. In my opinion, repeating these names is a dedication to awareness. I know that our political experience has been difficult and tough, but in my mind, names have a more lasting effect. For example, when names, like Majdal and Yafa, are repeated inside the home, they will remain as a reminder of this geography which extends from river to sea, from Jalil, from south Lebanon to the Gulf of Aqaba. The places will remain present, even if just as names. I also say that it’s an expression of rarity. What politicians have failed to achieve can be restored through the names of our children, to keep these places present.
[Song]
Between Haifa and Jenin, we saddled our horses
The horses gallop away, erasing the darkness of the night.
And men… Knights…
[Saida Hamad] From coast to mountain, and cities and even events, many children were named to commemorate a significant historical event. Unfortunately, in this case, it was connected to a massacre.
[Mohsen Mahmoud] My name Mohsen Mahmoud Omar Sattouf Rimawi. We named our daughter Jenin to commemorate the massacre or battle that took place in Jenin and Jenin Camp in 2004. My daughter was born in 2004. The day she was born, war was raging in Jenin and Jenin Camp, so I named her Jenin to commemorate the battle. Whenever someone calls Jenin, they recall the battle and assault on Jenin and Jenin Camp in 2004.
[Saida Hamad] And the most important is the feeling the children have towards these names: a feeling of love, pride, and connectedness.
[Jenin Mohsen] My name is Jenin Mohsen Mahmoud Sattouf Rimawi. I’m 17 years old. Names express the personality of their holder. Some names are arbitrary, while others express a certain memory or commemorate a certain event. My name, Jenin, which is a Palestinian city, commemorates the battle that took place in Jenin in 2004. I was born on 1/6/2004, but the war had started before the first of June. My father named me Jenin to commemorate this event in which many martyrs lost their lives, and thus keep the memory alive in us.
[Saida Hamad] In 2004, the city of Jenin stood against an Israeli military invasion that destroyed every stone and house and uprooted every tree. Jenin suffered the horrors of war during the invasion, but it bravely resisted. And it remains, until this day, a symbol of historic resistance that inspired the youth to walk on the same path and dig the ground with their own hands to rebuild the city, even though it had been said that it was impossible. It’s Jenin, the road of rebirth.
[Jenin] Yes, it is certainly a beautiful name. I love it, as a person that loves and supports the Palestinian cause. It’s a constant reminder of our cause. The name Jenin always reminds me of the Palestinian cause, not just the city of Jenin, but the Palestinian cause in general, with all its events, memories, and martyrs. The cause is always present in my heart. Whenever someone calls me by my name, I know that the cause is alive. It’s not like ordinary people who might forget the cause sometimes. No, my name, and by extension the cause, are deeply ingrained within me. I visited the place after which I was named in commemoration of an event. I was overwhelmed with emotions that words fail to describe. It was beautiful to see my own presence and personality reflected in a location.
[Saida Hamad] Oh, Bisan, a name immortalized by the voice of the iconic Fairuz with the words written by Al-Rahbani brothers: Take me to Bisan, to the shadows that now weep. Rows of those returning speak of their longing. Take me to Bisan.
Our Bisan, in this interview, carries a lot of the beauty of her namesake.
[Bisan Amerh] I’m Bisan Amerh, refugee from Dayr Aban in Al-Quds, residing in Bethlehem. I study human rights and international law at Al-Quds University, Bard College. I’m named after a beautiful Palestinian city in the northern valleys of Palestine. I’ve been trying to learn more about my namesake since childhood. My parents used to always say: “Look, Bisan. This is Bisan on the map.” Or ask me to listen whenever there is a national song where they mention Bisan. And so, a deep connection was formed between me and this city although I don’t have any origins there.
Usually, when someone from my family calls me, they do so in a way that expresses this presence. I feel the presence of the city. Or when someone calls me, they look at me in a way that emphasizes this presence within my name. It’s as if, by repeating my name, they are directing my attention towards that presence, let’s say. This is something I always feel. When someone calls me “Bisan”, I can sense their curiosity. They want to learn more about my name: Who named you Bisan? Do you like it or not?
A lot of people think that maybe I don’t like my name because it’s the name of a city, but no. I like my name because of its authenticity, presence, and the beauty the name carries because the city of Bisan is very beautiful. I hold the green identity card, the West Bank ID, and currently Bisan is under Israeli occupation, so it’s very difficult for me to gain entry there. Even when we managed to get an entry permit, we used to visit Al-Aqsa Mosque, because we had limited time, and we wanted to make the most of it. I haven’t been able to visit the city of Bisan yet, although I have a deep connection to it, and I have learned everything about it. I know its waterfall and its green plains. I will go one day, hopefully. The pain of not seeing Bisan is akin to the pain of not seeing Dayr Aban, my hometown. I’m connected to Dayr Aban because I'm originally from there, but Bisan is my name. It’s the name I carry, the name people call me by, the name registered on all my official documents and so on. It is the name by which my loved ones call me. I prefer to be called Bisan. I don’t like nicknames. I feel that my name, in itself, is complete, majestic, and laden with presence.
[Song]
Birzeit with Kharabiah and Ramallah…
Saffuriya, Az-Zeeb, and Kufr Labiya
Shafa Amr, Rummana with Tamun
Silwad and Burka with the Valley of Al-Lydd
With Kafr Kanna, Al-Shajara and Silwan
Fureidis, Bala’, Mazra’a, and Tur’an
Khan Yunis and Yarka with Al-Yamun
Nur Shams and Latrun with Iksal
Oh, soaring flag, explain your colors to Al-Quds: that black night and white hope
The triangular heart on the left watering the green olives with blood
[Saida Hamad] The naming of Bisan has a story, a cause, and an awareness.
[Abu Naee’m] A few weeks before Bisan’s birth, I got arrested for 8 days. I was very anxious and worried. I got released 8 days later and immediately chose the name Bisan. I thought of Bisan, the beautiful city and lush nature. I visited Bisan in 1997 as student from Bethlehem University. I spent a whole day there among the trees, the beautiful waterfall, and all of the gorgeous locations. Why Bisan? Because it’s our memory. We need to prevent our collective memory from aging, and so it’s always better to teach children and youth through direct experience. Even today, in our institutions, learning by seeing and doing is always better than reading information in books. Today, all of my children know the city of Bisan, not through reading, but because it’s their sister’s name. So, who is Bisan? Bisan is so and so. It is, therefore, important to keep the memory alive, to stop the memory from aging. The connection to the name is a conversation starter. Secondly, it is important to keep the memory fresh in the minds of my children and others. There is also an important aspect of the name Bisan.
The name of a person plays an important role: it reflects the personality and presence of the individual. I also think it affects body language and even communication. That’s my opinion.
[Song]
O, the beauty of Palestine and the people living there
Those honorable people that protect the land and their existence
O, homeland, offer your bounty to your children
Freedom requires resilience, supported by determination and resolve
O, the beauty of Palestine and the people living there
Those honorable people that protect the land and their existence
[Saida Hamad] With love, warmth, and fatherly pride, Bisan’s father tells us the story when his daughter’s 6th grade teacher called him to congratulate him on his little daughter’s vast knowledge and her reading of the novels of Palestinian icon Ghassan Kanafani.
[Abu Naee’m] She had read all of Kanafani’s novels as a child, and she used to summarize them and present reports about Ghassan Kanafani in the school radio. For me, during the present time, this is a culmination of my moral, national, professional, and paternal feelings in terms of raising a child. For me, it’s an accomplishment to have a child who can read the novels of Ghassan Kanafani in the 21st Century, the period of cultural and moral decline, a crisis which the Arab community at large faces. This is an accomplishment. I don’t know whether she achieved it unintentionally or intentionally because a hierarchy of education, but, to me, this is great. I’m certain that this connection to the land is healing. I’m certain that today… We have worked hard to build and beautify our cities, whether Bisan or any other Palestinian city, and inside, we suffer from insomnia, stress, and so on. Bisan is a part of home. When we call her name, we invoke this presence in personality and so on. It’s a comforting name. Bisan is a comforting name, and Bisan is a comforting person. And the city of Bisan isn’t just comforting, it's therapeutic. Had our country been free, we would have been able to recharge our energy and release all our stress by visiting Bisan.
[Abu Naee’m] Colonization is more dangerous than occupation. Colonization aims to alter the mentality, agenda, and memory of people. We can say it’s like brainwashing, so to speak. And so, these names serve as an immortalization and rereading of history. Every day, someone is reading Bisan again, and tomorrow there will be other Bisans, Yafas, Al-Karmels, and Majdals. It’s a rereading of history, and as long as this practice exists, new generations will read and receive this information. It means that future generations will remember.
[Saida Hamad] Palestinians create their miracles with their own hands. They transmit untransferable knowledge and do their part to keep the Palestinian memory alive throughout time. That’s the role these names serve. They are never arbitrary; Palestinians carry them from birth till death like their own shadow to keep the name, the land, and the rightful owners of the land present. Thank you for listening, dear listeners.
In the end, I would like to thank my colleagues and partners in the Experimental Humanities project “To Be Named”. I thank my colleagues at Al-Quds Bard College. I also thank assistant producers Rand Rimawi and Rand Khodair, and sound engineer Mohammad Nofal. I also thank El Fonoun Palestinian Popular Dance Troupe and Razan Abu al-Hummous, in graphics. My deepest thanks to you, dear listeners. I, Saida Hamad, was with you in Asameena (Our Names) Podcast.
