Perfume, a charger, a toothbrush, makeup, even food and water, are not allowed. I didn’t need one anyway: We can take only clothes and one pair of shoes. The Israeli occupation authority prevents us from using a suitcase with wheels.
The day before leaving Gaza, I packed a handbag. As I screamed, jumped, and danced in excitement, my dad said, “Pity us, how they make us feel happy when we get a permit to visit our own Palestine.” I would leave for Ramallah in three days and return five days later. I couldn’t believe it when, a month later, my permit was approved. An acceptance depended on getting a permit from the Israeli occupation authorities, and being denied permits is part of Palestinian daily life. When I applied, my expectations were not high. I was headed to a conference in the West Bank for Palestinian alumni of the US Government Exchange and Public Diplomacy programs. On the way to Ramallah, there was nothing but beauty. I saw green trees, rolling hills, modern buildings, and a train station. I’d known from books, pictures, and videos that Palestine was the most beautiful country in the world, but the reality was overwhelming. Born and raised in Gaza, I had never, in all of my 25 years, traveled beyond its confines. I held in tears for the two-and-a-half-hour journey, struck by Palestine’s beauty.
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