Afew years ago I read a collection of personal reflections on what it means to be a Palestinian in the diaspora.1 Two entries in particular stayed with me. The first was Reja-e Busailah’s. A professor emeritus of English literature born in Jerusalem and educated, blind, in Hebron, Ramle, and Jaffa, he was expelled from his home in Lydda in a forced march under the scorching July sun in 1948, never to return. His entry was titled “The Tree.”
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