“After the Israeli planes bombed the olive trees,” Teta began, “the soldiers gave us thirty minutes to leave our home. I remember watching my mother turn off the stove before leaving the house. My father locked the front door and clutched the house key, as if certain we would return soon. It seems so foolish now, looking back. But what we were experiencing was unfathomable.” She frowns, pushing out the words slowly. “Can you imagine someone breaking into your home, on land you’ve lived on for generations, and forcing you to leave?”
