Lulu Palestina. Beit Duqu, Palestine to San Leandro, CA. "It was the first time that we went back to Palestine since 2005, so the Israelis grilled us for hours at the airport. What were we doing here? Why were we here? Who were we here to see? Who my father is? My grandfather? Who my mother is? My mother’s mother? All these different things. And it’s funny because I felt more at home at that point than at any other time in my life. And the reason why I say that is because I felt like they know that I have roots. They know that I have roots in that land. That I have a connection to that land. More than they do. You know? And when I say 'they,' it's that piece of shit 17-year old from Brooklyn who was grilling me. It’s a powerful thing. It’s something you don’t necessarily feel ever in your life. It’s kind of like, I don’t know, sometimes I imagine being an orphan, like what being an orphan feels like and then finding your mother, you know that feeling? That’s what I feel when I go back home."

Amin Aftim Saba. Lydda-San Jose. When the Jews took Palestine, we were obliged by force to leave. They came to Lydda with guns. “Go on, finished. It's not your country no more.” They wouldn't let anybody stay. “All out, go out, go out. The Jews forced us out. My friend, his name is Amin also. Amin Hanhan. Hanhan owned grocery in Lydda. When the Jews came, Hanhan had 2,000 guineas saved. How could he take with him? He brought a bonbon box, put the money inside and covered it with bonbons. A Jewish soldier asked, “What’s this?” He told him, “These are bonbons for my kids.” He didn't believe him. The soldier emptied it, found the money and took it. Hanhan began crying. 2,000 guineas is a lot. A major came and asked him, “What's the problem?” Hanhan said, “The soldier took my money. You are taking our country and even the money we have.” The major said, “Do you know this soldier?” He said, “Yes. This is the one.” The major said, “Give the money back.” The soldier returned it. That soldier followed Hanhan and later took the money again. Hanhan cried again. The Jewish soldier killed Amin Hanhan.

Duraid Musleh. Birzeit-San Francisco. I come from 'Ajul, a village in the mountains near Birzeit. You can see the Mediterranean. My father was an olive farmer. Our village is famous for olive oil. Real old-fashioned farming, hand-picked. Transported by donkey. It's really hard work because it's all manual. Collecting olives, one by one. The fragrance of crushed olives filled the air, especially at the press. I grew up around that. As kids, we followed the farmers to collect whatever they left to sell ourselves for some smoke or something. My mother loved the olives. She would not let a season pass without being part of the harvest. She just loved it. It was the family’s main income during my father's days. But later my mother felt a responsibility to the trees and the village. She’d do it by herself every year. Enough for the family and some excess to sell. She did it as if it's a religious responsibility. I continue to live the simple life here. I still eat olive oil and zatar every morning. My mother's menu is still my menu. Although I'm not religious, I fast during Ramadan. It’s a family tradition and I love it.

Sandra Nasser. Birzeit, Palestine to Castro Valley, CA. "I equate home with comfort. I equate home with a feeling of belonging. And despite the turmoil all around us in Palestine, when you get yourself under an olive tree and you’re facing an area where you’re not seeing an Israeli settlement, you really feel one with the land. You really feel like this is where you belong, this is who you are. "I was born in San Francisco. When I was one year old, my parents decided to go back home to Palestine, to a village called Birzeit, a few miles north of Ramallah. We stayed until I was seven, then returned to San Francisco. Those six years shape who I am today. And even though I was born in the US, I consider myself an immigrant. I can’t seem to think of myself as someone other than that person who grew up in Birzeit and is still calling that place "back home". "I’ve been here 44 years but I always feel like I’m from somewhere else. "I like diversity. I would enjoy living next door to a Jewish person who is politically aware and is willing to live in peace with the Palestinian people."

Fr. Bernard Poggi. Nazareth-San Francisco. It’s almost impossible to live in that part of the world and not encounter the political situation. You encounter it every time you go through the checkpoints. “Where you’re from?” “America”. “Why’re you here? Who asked you to come to Israel?” “Well, technically, I’m not in Israel. I’m on the West Bank.” “No, you’re in Israel. Why’re you in Israel?” You explain. But it’s never good enough. Your excuse for your being there, for your existence, is never good enough. You must try to get across to that person. Make a human connection. At one checkpoint, a lady on the bus was fasting for Ramadan. She had bought fruits, vegetables. But misplaced her permission. An Israeli soldier made a big scandal. “Where is your permission? Why are you here illegally?” “I had it. Let me look in these bags.” The sun set. It was time for Iftar. She stopped looking, pulled out a banana and offered it to the soldier thinking he too was fasting. He looked at her and said, “No! Go, go. Just go.” She got through to his humanity. At the same time, you lose possibilities to encounter that humanity if you’re afraid. You can’t live your life afraid. That’s what resistance means.

Amin Muwafi. Qalqilya-San Francisco. "I spent fifty years teaching mathematics. Started in Akka, 1948. Then Jordan before obtaining a scholarship to the University of Florida. "My father and uncles planted an orange grove in 1927. A hundred acres. Exported to Europe. Palestine was famous for oranges. My cousins and brother worked in it. In 1948, Israelis kicked them off. But they returned. The Israelis also returned and shot the cat as a warning. On their third return, they took my cousins and brother. Machine-gunned them. "They occupied all the land around Kalkilya. We lost everything except the house. Everyone’s groves were confiscated. Kalkilya had 25,000 acres of groves. "When Sharon built his 'Berlin Wall', it surrounded the whole town. People can't go anywhere, except through a gate with guards.... Now life in Kalkilya is a prison. "Half my family is still there; half in Jordan. That's how we are. Every Sunday I call. One by one. If I don’t, they worry. "I returned once -with Arafat. They allowed one member from families in Jordan to accompany him. I was chosen. I saw my family. There was no “Berlin Wall” yet. I looked for our grove. Where it once was."

Leena Barakat. Anepta-Foster City. I grew up hearing stories about the intifada back home. I wanted to see for myself. I was 18 when I went. I didn't expect to return a new person. The people of Na'lin were protesting construction of the Wall through their village because it cut them off from their farmland. They chanted. Smiling. Clapping. Whistling. Peaceful. IDF soldiers shot teargas, rubber-covered bullets, live-ammunition. It was really scary. I'm thinking, “What's going on...we're not...we're just...” In LA, we stand on Wilshire and protest. Nothing happens to us. We go home. To a restaurant. The firing picked up. I was hit in the knee by a canister and carried to safety. My roommate said, "This is insane," when a barefoot boy comes in with bottled water for me. I felt utter guilt. He shouldn’t take care of me. I should be taking care of him. My roommate said, “Can't wait to go back to the States?” Then it hit that I have that option. They don't. That's the moment for me. “I owe them.” I have a responsibility to use my rights to advocate for theirs. While my family celebrated Independence Day, here in Palestine they are fighting for theirs.

Wajih Saadeh. Birzeit to Daly City. I came to America to study. I completed my doctorate at Loyola. Yet I don't feel I belong here at all. When I came, they pictured the Arab as a man with a tail. I saw these pictures in the newspapers. I'm not unhappy to stay in America. But I belong to the East. I belong to my country. When you sit in Birzeit, you see the whole coast, Lydda, Haifa, Yaffa. We sit at the Byzantine church and look at the coast. I am here because when I go back home, I can't stay more than three months in my country. Also, sometimes I want to go to Jerusalem, the Israelis prevent me. They ask, “Why are you coming back here?” “I was born here. You ask me why I come here. Why are you here? You are from Europe. You are asking me this?” I am happier in Birzeit. Belonging to a small place. I feel at ease. I sit on the veranda. I look everywhere. I study. I pray. I use my computer. I write. I see everything that I saw since my birth. And this has great meaning to me.

Joe Eadeh. Jaffa-Ramallah, Palestine to Burlingame, CA. “People always ask me ‘Where you from? Where you from? Where you from?’ I say, ‘I’m Palestinian.’ Then, ‘When did you come?’ I say, ‘I came before you were born!’ I will be 65 years old this year. No retirement card for me. Still working hard. “I was born in Ramallah. In1948. But I was conceived in Jaffa! People used to go to Jaffa to work. It wasn't a divided country. My grandfather had a business there. My father got a job there with the English government. In 1948 we fled to Ramallah until 1961 when we left for the USA on a cargo ship from Beirut. “Here I got lost in a way, between being Palestinian or being American. I went to school here. Met Americans. There were no Palestinians or Arabs then in Philadelphia. “In 1984 I came to San Francisco for a Ramallah convention. I met Jacqueline and we got married. There are a lot of Arabs here. Oh, my god. It's more comfortable. It's not just Palestinians. You have all different Arabs. You got Lebanese. You got Syrians, Iraqis, Moroccans. You got the whole Middle East here.”

Nizar Haddad. Shafa'Amr to Burlingame. "It took years after I became a believer in Christ to understand why it is important for me to be Palestinian. "Is it because I'm Arab? Is it because I'm Christian? What's so relevant about that? Then I started tracing my history to the land. Who has been there? How did we become who we are today? Who we are today, you know, we are Palestinian Arabs. But that's not necessarily who we were. "We Eastern Orthodox Christians are directly related to the first church in the first century. I can't let that go. I mean there is just so much heritage there. I'm Evangelical now but my roots are Orthodox and we've been there for 2000 years. We are pretty much the Jews who became Christians. This is a wonderful thing to know, to cherish and to pass on to our children. We are directly related to the first century church of Jerusalem. "And that's the part that bothers me. The children are becoming part of this melting pot. They are going to forget who they are. What it means to be from the land of the prophets. From the land of the Messiah."

Elias Tuma. Kfar Yasif to Auburn, CA. "I come from Kafr Yassif in the Galilee of Palestine. I left in 1955 and have lived in the US since. I still have family there. And am still in touch of course. "In 1955 I received a scholarship from the International Institute of Education and attended the University of Redlands. I got my BA. Then I went to Berkeley for my doctorate in sociology and economics. I wanted a high education and I made it. That's not proud. Pride to me is meaningless, to say I am proud I did it. For me, at least, I say go as far as you can. I achieved professorship at a good university. I advised students to go as far as they can. Don't let anybody interfere. Our daughter is a professor in North Carolina; the other has a PhD in Biochemistry. Our son has a Master's from Berkeley in Policy Analysis. "America is home. For me it is home. The people and institutions here have been very nice to me, so I would like to acknowledge that. That doesn't mean that I will forget Kafr Yassif and I will never, never forget it."

Dounya Kardoush Matar. Nazareth-Hillsborough. "I was born and raised here. Most of my friends are American. When I was young, my parents spoke Arabic to me but I responded in English. "I grew up in a very white suburb. Very white. I felt they looked down on Arabs. I was soft-spoken and got teased a lot. So I began believing I wasn’t Palestinian. I thought I would never marry an Arab. I would tell kids I was an Italian-Spanish mix. Never thought I was doing anything wrong. I even started to believe it. Then in college, I found myself and my self-confidence. I felt good about myself. "I gave the Valedictorian speech and spoke about growing up inside a cell; afraid to let anybody know who I was. I described how I broke through, realized who I was and how I became so proud to be Palestinian. After the speech, people who I didn’t know came up crying, saying, 'Thank you for what you spoke. You know, I came from …' or 'I too grew up not wanting to tell people my nationality.' "Then I met my husband, Ibrahim. My cousin introduced us. That’s how we met, here, in this country."

Altayeb Abdelrahim. Jericho - San Mateo. The day I walked into Palestine in 1978, there was an explosion in a movie theater. So Israel decided to close the Jordanian border. No one in, no one out. I said, “Hey, that’s my dream. I'll be forced to live in my country.” That trip was supposed to be three days, ended up 30-40 days. It was the best time of my life. I visited everywhere except Gaza. I don't want to be a spoiled kid. I don't want to be the kid who comes from Saudi Arabia whose parents have money all the time. I didn't care about material things. No, I want play soccer in the streets. I want to beat the shit out of the neighbor’s kids. I want to steal fruits. I want my grandmother to wake me up 4am to sweep, clean. I want to change the chickens. My aunt had a donkey. Me and my brother stole it to ride. We want to live the natural life in Palestine. I want to be a Palestinian kid. I didn't want to be a Saudi kid. I love this culture. I may never live there. But I love that culture.

George Bisharat. Jerusalem, Palestine to Berkeley, CA. "As I age, the less I’m invested in national identity of any kind. The more I feel, not exactly like a citizen of the world, but united with other people not by blood, but by values and commitments, particularly commitments to justice. Part of this shift is the result of thinking about where things are going in Palestine. And the way I see it is the Jewish community in Israel/Palestine is not going to be going away. It’s not going to disappear. Not in the near future and possibly not any time. It’s going to remain there. The same is true for Palestinians obviously. They’ve withstood a lot of pressure to leave. And they are not only still there, but they’re there in increasing numbers, which is an amazing feat. So what are you going to do with that situation? You have to, it seems to me, create a society in which anybody lives decently. When you start thinking about that, then you realize justice isn’t for one side. Justice is for everybody. And you have to start thinking about community in broader terms than just your narrow nationality."

Jumana Hassan. Beitunya to Burlingame. I’m from Beitunya 20 miles from Ramallah. I don’t remember nothing about it except for the pictures because I was so young when we left. But returning I saw it in such bad shape. I cried because the land wasn’t taken care of around it. If the walls could talk say my mom, my dad [cries]. I was very close to mom. I was in Jerusalem when I got the call. She’s at Peninsula Hospital in a coma. As my plane landed at SFO, I swear to God, I heard her calling my name. It was 10pm. My husband picks me up. I said, “I wanna see her now.” At the hospital, I asked the lady, “Where is Mrs. Hassan’s room?” She says, “I’m sorry, she expired.” I looked at her. I screamed, “What?” The nurse came. She says, “I’m so sorry. That was very cold. She shouldn’t have said that to you. She took me in my mom’s room. The minute I heard her voice at the airport, that’s when she died. She was still warm. They were taking all the IV’s. I picked her up, I hugged her. I says, “Mom, I’m home.”

“I am Abdullah Saadeh. I was born in Birzeit. We left when I was about three years old. I’m a structural engineer living in Orinda, California. “You’ve probably heard this from a lot of people about how beautiful it is back home. That's how I remember it. “I went the first time around '90. I was 18. Walking around Birzeit would take two hours to get 300 feet. People see you and say, ‘You! Who are you? Come.’ I'll go over, say my name and they'll go, ‘Oh! you’re Wajih’s son! We're related like this’n’that. Come, son. Let’s sit and talk.’ They'd tell me stories, share Arabic coffee, finish up and walk another 40 feet when somebody else called out and the same thing happened. That was sooo beautiful. The warmth, the connectedness with people was something I never experienced here. “I fit like a glove back there. It was really magical. I felt Palestine. I really felt it the way my parents used to talk about it in the stories. It was life changing for me. I came back to America more Arab because something clicked. Totally clicked. It was a pilgrimage for me. It was really a pilgrimage.”

Alaa Daoudi. Jerusalem-Fremont. I was born in Palestine and immigrated to the US when I was two. I still have family in Jerusalem. I am fluent in Arabic, but you wouldn't know it when I speak English. I'm proud to be Palestinian. Nonetheless, I am as American as they come. It's that inner struggle of self-identification. Palestine is still home. Regardless of the political situation, I very much know it's my home. I love it. That's why I go back. We are called the Daoudi family because we have custodianship of Nabi Daoud where King David is buried. For centuries our family provided pilgrims hospitality and are its caretakers. In this area of Jerusalem, called Shaikh Jarrah, Israeli settlers have overtaken some homes. I live next door to militant settlers. Our home has been under eviction orders for a decade. We've sued to keep it. So for me the conflict is not just the “Palestinian-Israeli issue”. I literally see it when I step out the door. This isn't something historical. It’s still happening in 2014. The irony is we are very invested in this conflict, but we also want to live normal lives, whatever that means. And be happy.

Suzy Abu-Nie. Shufat to San Francisco. I was born in San Francisco. But I'm from Shafat, a village outside Occupied Jerusalem. My parents are from Shafat. My home is America but we're still from ‘back home’. I don't feel here is really my home. We just live here. My dad studied here. My mom lived and died here. So it is home. But I love “back home”. My mom loved “back home”. Yes, she stayed in SF, but it’s not ‘back home’. My dad made sure we spoke Arabic in the house because it connected us to family, culture, religion, ‘back home’. One day, we were watching news together. I was middle-school age. Baba started talking. He asked, ‘Would you like it if somebody took this home from you?’ ‘This is what happened in Palestine.’ He talked about Zionism, the Nakba, about Palestine. We talked till four in the morning! Dad gave us a lot. He's proud to be Palestinian. I'm not proud to be American. I don't call myself an American. I say ‘Palestinian with an American passport.’ I identify with immigrant America and Native America. That's how I identify as an American. Not in the sense of the red, white and blue.

Ibrahim Matar. Jerusalem, Palestine to Hillsborough, CA. “I was born in East Jerusalem. I lived there for seventeen years until moving to the US in 1987 to go to college. “Originally we are from West Jerusalem. But in 1948 after the war my family was pushed out and we settled in East Jerusalem. “I believe home is where you're born, where you're raised and where you feel at home. I've been away from home for 27 years. So, America has become our home. We're very proud of that. Also we're lucky to say we have two homes. One where we feel we belong even though we don't live there. “I identify as being Palestinian first and American second. “An analogy about what happened to the Palestinians: Imagine Mexico invades LA. The people of LA think, ‘Let’s run to SF for a few days until things settle down; then we'll go back home.’ A week passes but Mexico remains; so when you return home, somebody from Mexico is already living there. You are denied your belongings and your property. Now you have to permanently relocate somewhere else with no legal right to your home. That’s what happened to us in Palestine.”

Nora Talebi. Shafat and Beit Hanina to Danville, CA. “I was born in Baltimore and went to Palestine when I was 8. Lived there until 18. “Yeah, I do speak like an American. That’s why people are always surprised when I say I’m Palestinian or Muslim. It opens doors. Then you can talk about Islam or Palestine. People ask, ‘How do people know you’re Palestinian?’ I say, ‘To know me is to know I’m Palestinian. You can’t work with me, know me as a mom in school, or whatever; everybody knows I’m Palestinian. It’s who I am, even though I’m very Americanized.’ “I mean, if you live here, you live that American life, coming, going, busy. Who you are inside, that stays with you. “I went to Birzeit for my SAT’s. It was the only place. On the way back, we were stopped at a random Israeli checkpoint. I remember praying the Israeli soldier didn’t read English because my visa had expired. I had seen them before hold passports upside down until they get to your picture! “One of the soldiers joked, ‘It’s expired. Hahaha.’ Oh! My heart just dropped because your whole life could change in a minute.”

Jamal Dajani. Jerusalem, Palestine to San Francisco, CA. "I was born and grew up in Jerusalem. I came to the States when I was 18 years old. However, I want to say, I feel I never left because I go there several times a year. I am in touch with my family and childhood friends. There hasn't been a single year, frankly, that I haven't gone back. "I think about myself as Palestinian-American. I’m an immigrant to this country. My ties are stronger to Palestine and they'll always be stronger than someone who was born outside because of my childhood memories. My son, who was born in NY, I define him as American with Palestinian heritage. I think there is a distinction because when I go to Palestine, the minute I land, the imprinted memories, smells, sounds are back. In the Old City, I have flashes of my childhood; walking to school every day along the via Dolorosa. Imagine, I walked in the footsteps of Jesus Christ carrying the cross on my way to school. You can tell people about it but they are not going to experience it the same way. They just don't have it."

Nader Oweis. Ramallah & Jerusalem, Palestine to Petaluma, CA. I grew up in California. My grandparents, uncles and cousins lived close-by. We always went to their houses. They came to ours. Arabic music played on the radio. Arabic movies on the VHS. We listened to stories my Dad or Mom told. Arabic was spoken. That's just the way it was. Didn’t seem different. Didn't seem strange. My first trip to Palestine was 1999. I wanted to go because “home” was never America. We always heard about “back home”. Everything was “back home”. It was trip to understand everything we heard about growing up. Palestine on a map, you don't get the smell, the feel, or the touch. Seeing it with your own eyes is truly different. I really like it there. I felt at home there. I felt I knew Palestine already. It felt comfortable. I enjoyed the family and people. There was a connection I didn't understand until I finally saw it first-hand. In Santa Cruz, I miss social interaction with friends, family, Arabs. As beautiful as it is, it doesn’t feel like home. That's what I enjoy about Palestine. I'm around people who care for me and I for them.

Zahwa Amad. Nablus & Jerusalem, Palestine to Berkeley, CA. "This feeling I don't belong happens wherever I am. Where is home? I lived in Kuwait 20 years. I had a very happy childhood there. But you can't own a home, business or anything. Our status was attached to Dad’s work visa. If he lost his job we would be out of the country. That transient feeling wasn't… These things don't sit well. And you always remember them. "A lot of times here in the US, I don't want to say I’m Palestinian because I don't feel like arguing with people, like somebody on the bus who says, ‘Palestinians don't exist.’ Instead, I just say I’m Jordanian and that’s the end of the story. "After my PhD dissertation, there was an oral committee with five faculty members on it. One of them was quite discriminatory towards me. She was Jewish. She had something against my being Palestinian. She'd tell me, "Some people have blue eyes, some have brown eyes. You just don't have it. You don't have it. Why do you want it? You want to put the PhD in your kitchen?" Anyway, I managed to get her replaced on that basis."

Rena Shanawany. Jaffa & Jerusalem to San Jose, CA. I'm second generation Palestinian-American. I've never been to Palestine. The closest was Jordan visiting my uncle who lives near the border. He has a great view of Palestine from his backyard in the mountains. When I first saw Palestine from there, I was struck by a sense of awe. ‘There's Palestine! There's the country. It actually exists!’ It's real, you know. It's not just something I heard about. There it is in front of me. We should be able to return. At the end of the day, it's just land. And we're all human beings and we need to live. The Israeli settlements are clustered around the country. At night, you can see clusters of lights to the right, to the left, in the center. Just emptiness in-between. They have electricity, running water. They're living very comfortably. Only specific people can live there. Israelis. And the other people? The Palestinians. Are they in those dark spaces in-between? In Palestine, I see a people struggling for their right to live. But I can't ignore the other people around the world who are also struggling. My heart goes out to all of those people. Not just in Palestine. Everywhere.

Samir Totah. Ramallah, Palestine to San Mateo, CA. “I was born in 1938. Came to the US in 1955. Went to Balboa High and studied pharmacy at Berkeley. I worked a couple of years with a private pharmacy, then opened my own. “When I was 8-9 years old, I hung around my father’s café in Ramallah playing cards and backgammon with the grown men. It was fun! Life was simple then, but a great life. We used to eat one meat meal/week. I was nice and thin then, you know! And we were very happy. “I’ve been very active in various Palestinian organizations and a member of the Palestine National Council. We started Palestine Cultural Day in SF 36 years ago. This was successful; we raised good sums of money, which we sent back home for playgrounds for the children in Palestine. “Yeah, a funny thing you mentioned my passport. I demanded the State Department put 'Palestine' as my place of birth. I insisted. I said, 'I was born in Palestine. I have my birth certificate, it says ‘Palestine’ on it. In 1938 there was no Israel, and I want to have ‘Palestine’.' So they put 'Palestine'."

Image Caption Maximum 200 words