by Darcy Anderson

This Sunday, June 21st, is Father’s Day here in the United States. Although it was created by a daughter wanting to honor her single father in 1910, Father’s Day was not made a permanent national holiday until 1972 when President Nixon signed it into law.

On Sunday, I will be celebrating both my stepfather in person and honoring my own father’s memory with deep reflection. 

But mostly, I’ve been thinking about Palestinian fathers, and really, Palestinian men in general. As an American, I was conditioned through tv, movies, and one-sided news to see Southwest Asian men as scary people to fear. This conditioning couldn’t be further from the reality of who Palestinian men truly are. Over these last few years of witnessing the worst horrors I could imagine in real time on my phone, I saw genuine fatherhood in every Palestinian man on my screen, without knowing if they had any of their own children at all.

In the aftermath of every catastrophic attack, there were the men. Digging, carrying, driving, pushing, lifting, collecting, saving, and burying. Praying, feeding, suturing, standing in line, looking for water. Building and rebuilding. Basically, nurturing and protecting with kindness and love – what fathers do. What we all would want a father to do.

I think of fathers (and grandfathers) like Khaled Nabhan who helped raise his granddaughter Reem and her brother Tariq. When the children died from an air strike, he held Reem and called her “The Soul of My Soul,” as his love for her ran so deeply. Yet throughout the year between this devastating loss of his family until he lost his own life by the same means, Khaled Nabhan continued to spend his time caring for and playing with the children (and animals) around him, bringing joy and love to all. Like fathers do.

I think of Palestinian fathers in the diaspora like my friend Shaher, who graciously agreed to be interviewed. 

I asked, “What does being a Palestinian father mean to you?” 

He responded, “It means carrying an inheritance I never hoped to pass on — an inheritance of heartbreak and the loss of memories that never had a chance to be created. An inheritance of tears that come when I hear Palestinian songs or learn of more devastating occupation news.”

Shaher kindly shared that his father was forced to leave Palestine as a very young man. He longed to experience all the sounds, smells, and tastes of the home he left behind. Although not wanting to return until Palestine was free, Shaher’s dad did go back once, in his much later years, but only with his wife (Shaher’s mom) and did not bring his children along. Growing up experiencing his father’s hesitancy has weighed heavily on Shaher’s heart. Yet he wants to break this cycle and one day take his own family to experience Palestine – home – together. Thinking of and working towards a better future for your children is what good fathers do.

I have yet to meet a Palestinian man in person who isn’t warm, kind, hospitable, and inclusive. I’ve been treated like family (and given the best hugs) by every single one. A far cry from the media’s evil caricature they wanted me to believe. 

So, to ALL the men of Palestine, whether in Palestine proper or diaspora, you are the fathers of your homeland, and I wish you a most blessed Father’s Day! Inshallah, next year in a FREE PALESTINE!!!