Impressions of a Nakba village

The remains of the Palestinian village of Lifta, west of Jerusalem

A little to the west of Jerusalem, a narrow, unmarked road curves away from the highway and dips into the valley below. The roar of the city fades away as the lane twists down the hill through steep banks of long grass. A heavy silence falls. Then, as the road rounds a corner, we see it: scattered across the hillside, the crumbling houses of the former Palestinian village of Lifta.

Yesterday marked 64 years since the nakba, the ‘catastrophe,’ the day on which Palestinians commemorate their expulsion from the land of Palestine. In May 1948, over 700,000 Palestinians were made refugees, forced from their homes or massacred by the advancing Jewish militia, an act of ethnic cleansing which paved the way for the establishment of the Jewish state. 

Sixty-four years on, there is still no justice for the world’s largest refugee population. The descendants of former residents of villages such as Lifta now live in refugee camps throughout the West Bank, Gaza and wider Middle East, denied the right to return to their homes; in many cases, even denied the right to visit their ancestral land. 

Houses in Lifta remain unoccupied, 64 years after the expulsion of their inhabitants

The homes of Lifta are still standing, though weeds now push through their crumbling walls and fallen roofs leave hollow rooms open to the sky. Many Israelis simply moved themselves in to houses left empty after the nakba, but Lifta has remained unoccupied. The only inhabitants now are the roosting birds, and some of Jerusalem’s homeless, their blankets spread like rugs on the cold hearths of unlit fireplaces. 

Until earlier this year, plans were proposed to destroy what is left of Lifta, and to turn it into a luxury housing complex. The decision was overturned in February a surprise ruling by the Jerusalem District Court to ensure the historical site, one of the last visible remnants of the nakba, would remain untouched. 

As the sun beats down, we push our way through overgrown paths and patches of cactus, past house after empty house with gaping arched windows and grass-covered porches. Inside the houses, the stone walls are cool and mottled green with mould and age. Some have been covered in graffiti, spray-painted letters and pen-scrawled scribbles in Hebrew, Arabic and English. 

"We will return": Graffiti inside one of Lifta's houses. Many of those forced out of Lifta, as well as their descendants, are still refugees.

A little further down the hill, a stream runs along the bottom of the valley, and we follow its course upwards. Emerging from the trees, the scene changes. In the midst of this vacant village, a ringed stone wall cuts round the stream and creates a large pool of cold green water. The air is filled with the sound of splashing and laughter. For Israelis, the ruins of Lifta are the perfect spot for a picnic on a warm spring afternoon.

Once a thriving Palestinian town, now a desolate sprinkling of stones on an unmarked hillside of Jerusalem; a small pocket of memory in a now thoroughly Israeli neighbourhood. The destruction and devastation of Palestine’s past, hidden from view behind the haze of barbecue smoke.