Rabiha Dajani (1919-2020)
Habibti Tata,
Much as I miss you, I’m glad that you did not live to see the latest catastrophe Palestinians are enduring. Still, I can’t help but wonder what you would have made of this latest Nakba.
We discussed about many things over the years — your colorful life, wisdom you gleaned from it, insights into human nature — but you never told me how hard it must have been to lose your ancestral home in Jerusalem, where you were driven out at gunpoint, eighty years ago.
Indomitable spirit that you were, you went on to make the world your home in the 100 years that you celebrated life, with style. Kuwait, Germany, Egypt, USA, Jordan, UAE, you made a life in each of these places, but you must have also missed where you were born and raised.
To me, beloved Tata, you were Palestine — proud, daring and resilient — with your ornate Palestinian gowns and delicious spiced dishes you prepared for us growing up.
Yet, you refused to be defined by your losses. When you lost another home to the Kuwaiti invasion, you simply started again. Likewise, when things did not work out in Germany. You dusted the ashes off and rose, once more.
All the while, never losing that twinkle in your eye or hope in tomorrow or bright red flower you set in your hair: a symbol of the arresting beauty you embodied. You kept going on and made the best of what you had, reminding us as kids that life was like a piano : what mattered was how one played it .
Even though you lost two husbands, and had to raise four children by yourself, at a very young age, I never heard you complain. You treated life as a big party and you were always the life of that party: singing, dancing, reciting poetry, wise sayings and naughty jokes.
You were a survivor, and repeatedly reminded us that ‘when there was a will there was a way.’ Nor did you ever let age get in your way, teasing that you were younger than all of us, since your birthday fell on leap day/year, and so you would divide your age by four.
What a rich life you enjoyed! I can only image what you must have seen in the hundred impression-rich years that you thrived in. Your festive life was your work of art, your resilient attitude your monument.
Delightful to discover this description of you, in a memoir by a distinguished author/activist, Ghada Karmi, whom you set up to marry my dad! ‘Mrs Rabiha Dajani, an eccentric, opinionated and imperious character in her eighties was the nearest thing I knew of a Palestinian Grande Dame’
When last I visited with you, in your glorious undiminished nineties, you had a great Christmas tree up in your home and we went caroling with my (Christian) wife, till the small hours of the morning.
I remember that same trip, you chastised a Muslim friend of yours for being narrow minded and judgmental — basically a party pooper, when your musician friends were over and having fun.
I also recall your recounting the legend of your ancient family, the Dajanis: how they acted as the official custodians of the Tomb of the Prophet David in Jerusalem, since 1529, when bloody riots repeatedly broke out between Christians and Jews over control of this site.
How marvelous that a Muslim family in Jerusalem, beginning with Sufi Sheikh Ahmed Dajani, were made the site’s hereditary guardians, custodians, and caretakers, and that position was held by your family until the end of the British Mandate in May 1948 when Israel seized the site.
According to legend:
Sheikh Ahmad Shihab Din Dajani (1480–1562) a renowned Sufi leader had a waking vision. Al-Dajani saw the spirit of God’s messenger David pleading, “Save me, oh Ahmad, for my rescue will be at your hands.”
Sheikh Dajani understood that David’s tomb at Mount Zion was not well taken care of by the Christian monks, who were denying access to any other sect or faith.
Dajani leads a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and struggles to control David’s tomb. When bloody riots repeatedly break out between Christians and Jews over control of this site, the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman (ruled 1521–1566) issues a decree appointing Sheikh Ahmed Dajani and his family as the site’s hereditary guardians,
You were a distinguished member of a long line in a prominent Dajani family, dear Tata, which owned vast lands in both Jerusalem and Jaffa for hundreds of years, with deep roots and influence in the area.
I was impressed to learn that your father, Dr. Fouad Dajani, founded Palestine’s first private hospital in Jaffa in 1933, and you carried on your family’s involvement in the development and modernization of the region as a pioneer.
Fluent in English and German, you were the first Arab broadcaster to work on Al-Quds Radio in the 1940s. where you founded a popular women’s section on the radio.
You were, also, the first Muslim woman from a conservative family to drive a car at that time, after working as a social worker in the Mandatory Palestine government, at a time when women’s work was limited to nursing and education.
With your late second late husband, Darwish Al-Miqdadi , you played a major role in improving education in the State of Kuwait at the beginning of the 1950s. You founded the first private school in Kuwait, “The New Generation School ,” for girls in 1964 to fill a gap in girls’ education and after that, the State of Kuwait appointed her as an inspector for all girls’ schools in the country.
About my illustrious grandfather, your first husband, poet and musician Yahya Al-Lababidi (whom I was named after) you wrote: “There was constant movement and an abundance of joy in the Radio House, and he was active in every aspect of it. He would organize, compose, and participate in talks and narrations. Moreover, he managed the artistic department with all wisdom and knowledge.”
When an elite group of Hebron men visited you to buy a piece of land you owned in the city to build a school on, you said, “The land is not for sale. It is a gift from me for the school project.” So, they decided to name the school after you “Rabiha Al-Dajjani.”
Lately, dear Tata, I feel that you’re with me and that your spirit somehow presides over my difficult forthcoming book. Palestine Wail, dedicated to you, was composed in something of a semi trance, as I try to process and make sense of the madness unfolding in Palestine over the past eight months.
To honor you, I have tried not to succumb to despair or self-pity or bitterness. I have tried, despite my disappointments and righteous indignation, to return time and again in my poems to what is best in human nature, to see it even from under the rubble — to rise up everyday, head held high, like you, and remind us of our strength, dignity and inextinguishable light.
I hope, beloved guiding spirit, that I might have succeeded, in some small measure, to honor the noble Palestinian Cause and your shining example, Tata.
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