PALESTINE Memories of 1948 - Photographs of Jerusalem | Page 167

The day that cunning saved Battir
Hassan Ibrahim Harbuk, 90 years old
The people of Battir (the Battiri) call it Nisr – the eagle
which has chosen the hills of southern Jerusalem for its
nesting site. It has never been possible to catch one, yet
all the children of Battir dream of doing so. All the Nisr
has to do is spread its huge wings and let itself be carried
away on the wind. Borders are no barrier to it, so every
year it leaves. And every year, in spring, it comes back
again. Because its home is here. No doubt that is why Bat-
tir means “The house of the bird”, Beit Al Tayr.
Today there is a celebration. It is the wedding day of
Hassan Ibrahim Harbuk’s grandson, and all the villagers
are happy; for a few hours they can forget that 70 years
ago, in 1948, their land might have been wiped off the
map.
In the steep alleyways of the hillside village, the she-
bab, young men, sing and dance the dabkah, a traditional
dance. The rhythm of the daff, the tambourine, carries
them away. At the crossroads of some paths they stop; the
music intensifies until the women arrive in their red-em-
broidered dresses, so very discreet behind their veils that
float in the breeze. They, too, sing until the whole valley
resonates with music and joy.
Even the water sings in Battir. Its insolent gurgling
flows along small channels that man has made to tame
it to irrigate his fields; it runs down from one terrace to
the next, ending in a waterfall. Water sings in Battir, like
the inhabitants sing, proud of their village; it has been
inscribed on the U nesco World Heritage list since 2014. 1
 Cunning, 2 it is said, is the mark of God’s benev-
olence. Be that as it may, it is what saved Battir when
our village, lying a dozen kilometres south of Jerusalem,
might have disappeared, the way around 500 3 other
Palestinian villages have since 1948. Cunning inspires
people when faced with the all-powerful sword. In this
instance it inspired a man, a native of Battir, Hassan
Mustafa. He and I are from the same family 4 and this
is what I know about him and his legend. Like in most
Palestinian villages, the problems started in Battir in
the spring of 1948, when the British left Palestine. We
were all in shock: we had heard about the massacre of
Deir Yasin, 5 a few kilometres away from us, and we saw
people fleeing from villages that were being attacked,
destroyed, or emptied by Zionist groups. Battir was on
the railway line between Jerusalem and Jaffa; 6 we were
afraid that we would be targeted too. In the grip of
panic, more than three-quarters of the population of
one thousand took flight during the course of 1948.
Some crossed the Jordan River but the majority stayed
in the area so that they could work their land during
the day and go and sleep in a safe place. The fields of
the Battiri stayed under cultivation and so the Israelis
never realized that fear had depopulated a large part of
the village.
Hassan
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