| A Carpet Story It was the invitation of Tony Marar his graceful wife Debby and son Antony, for an Uzeizat family reunion with Mansaf & Knafeh dinner in the ancient city of Madaba where our parents and grandparents lived. I sat next to this lady whom I never met before who turned out to be Mrs. Margo Marar, Aunt of Tony Marar, who came all the way from down under. I introduced myself to her and she immediately asked me for my fathers’ name, to my surprise, she went on to tell me how she got to know him even though he has passed away more than forty years ago! Mrs. Margo Marar had a nun sister with Rosery Sisters Order in a convent in Jerusalem near the Jaffa gate of the old city. Right across the street from the convent, my father, Iskandar Sawalha, had a small hotel called the Royal Hotel which was also our home. In 1948 the Zionist terror organizations were terrorizing the Arab population to force them to leave their homes and property in Palestine so they could establish a Jewish state. One day one of their bombs exploded a hundred meters away from my father’s hotel, which raised his concern for the safety of his family. He loaded us with some of our belongings in his car and drove away to Madaba. The Persian carpets we had were too large to fit in his car so he rolled them up and carried them across the street to the Rosery Sisters Convent and entrusted them to the nun in charge there. [Mrs. Marar sister] Upon learning who was my father, Mrs. Marar quite spontaneously began to tell me how my father entrusted her sister at the convent with his carpets back in 1948, and how some time later [her sister told her] she was concerned the moths has reached the carpets and sent him a verbal message urging him to take them away before the moths destroys them. By then the state of Israel was established and its militias blocked all access to Jerusalem and consequently my father was unable to reach his property or his carpets. He managed to smuggle a couple of boxes of anti moth balls hoping the helpful nun at the convent would sprinkle them on his carpets. Shortly afterward, the armistice lines became borders between the Arabs and the Jewish state preventing all Palestinians from returning to their homes. Sometime in the early sixties an aunt who remained behind in Jerusalem managed to persuade an officer of the United Nations to smuggle my father’s carpets out of Israel to the Arab part of Jerusalem where we lived at the time. Despite some moth damage my parents were elated to regain their carpets at last. In 1967 the Israelis again pushed their borders and occupied the west bank till the Jordan River and closed the border again. After the passing away of my mother, and aunt in Jerusalem recently, their rented house had to be vacated. When my wife Muna she saw them at my mother house she made up her mind to inherit them if no one else in the family claimed them and everyone respected her wish. But there is a problem, since we live in Amman we pondered for over a year to how to move them to Amman across the border to Jordan while they remained stored at my sister’s old place after she hassled with them to Ramallah. Anyone who crosses the bridge would know how arduous and difficult the Israelis make it for the Palestinians to cross in person and with bulky heavy carpets it would be even more difficult. Finally in June 2009, while on a visit to Ramallah with my wife, we decided to roll those carpets again and haul them to Amman regardless how difficult that might be. Following a long and laborious day crossing the bridge the carpets arrived at our home in Amman and right away my wife sent them for professional cleaning repair and rejuvenation. My wife was right for once, now these carpets more than sixty years later are lying in our home nothing lesser than a piece of art. These carpets are nearly 80 years old but possess a tremendous sentimental value and a unique historical content. Since they bear witness to the lives of three generations of our family with numerous occasions of happiness and sorrow. If they could ever speak they would tell many stories about our grandparents and parents, our childhoods and adolescence, our children and hopefully one day about great grand children. (to see a picture go to next frame). Hi Khalil can you sent it JPG format Khalil Iskandar Olga Sawalha 3 August, 2009 |