On May 15, Palestinians around the world will mark the 75th anniversary of what we call the Nakba, Arabic for "catastrophe", where over 750,000 Palestinians were ethnically cleansed from their homes, and 530 villages destroyed. My grandfather's village was one of them.
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Az-Zakariyya, a small village north-west of Hebron and home to a little more than 1000 Palestinians, was known for being named in honour of the Abrahamic prophet Zachariah. And it was the place my maternal grandfather called home.
In 1948, Az-Zakariyya's population - my grandfather among them - were forcibly expelled from their homes by Zionist militia.
He still vividly remembers the fervent belief of the villagers that their dispossession would not last, that they would return to their homes within days. Now in his late 90s, neither he nor any of his fellow villagers were ever granted their right to return.
Shortly after being depopulated, Az-Zakariyya was occupied by Jewish settlers, before being demolished in the 1960s to clear the way for a new settlement. Upon the ruins of the village my grandfather called home now stands a farm settlement carrying the name Zekharia.
But as an Australian-born Palestinian, it wasn't until my first visit to my ancestral homeland earlier this year that it became clear to me that the Nakba is not an historical event, but an ongoing reality for my family in Palestine and Australia.
As my family and I sat at a checkpoint waiting to leave the city of Jenin, it quickly became apparent things weren't going to be easy. We waited anxiously as our driver communicated over a telecom with the Israeli soldier manning the barrier. The checkpoint was closed.
It was the final day of our family trip to Palestine. We were bound for the border to cross back into Jordan. The checkpoint closure forced us off the main highway onto unfamiliar country roads, a much longer route through Nablus and then Jericho.
For Palestinians living in Palestine, this is daily life.
Our entry into Palestine through the Jordanian border involved over three hours of inspections, interrogations and idling before finally being permitted into our homeland by a foreign military.
Visiting al-Aqsa mosque for the first time - what should have been a sublime moment in my life - was marred by having to negotiate the whims of Israeli soldiers stationed at every entrance. The recent violent incursions into the mosque show how easily rights can be stripped from Palestinians.
Visiting Hebron, one of Palestine's largest cities, was a chilling experience. Hebron is occupied from within, with a few hundred Jewish settlers and Israeli soldiers' presence imposed at the expense of the basic liberties of 200,000 indigenous Palestinians.
Jericho, the oldest city in the world, was closed the day we visited, following a three-day blockade by the Israeli army that had ended in the extrajudicial killing of a 22-year-old Palestinian. The population of the city had gone on strike in protest.
Our plans to visit Nablus were dashed by a deadly invasion of the old city in February, which killed at least 11 Palestinians. Our travel agency refused to consider any trip to Nablus.
We almost saw a similar outcome for our visit to Jenin, where most of my relatives live. A deadly Israeli raid on the refugee camp at Jenin's northern edge, which killed at least four Palestinians, came only a day before our stay in the city began.
None of these incidents are isolated. More than 100 Palestinians have been killed in the West Bank this year alone. Jenin has seen more than 20 deaths, the most of any Palestinian city.
They are a continuation of the policies and goals that erased 530 villages in 1948.
Despite all the suffering, Palestine has retained an untarnished beauty. Our fellow Palestinians received us with warmth. As a people they have not allowed the occupation to break their generous spirit or strip away their humanity.
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Meeting my extended family for the first time in Jenin, Ya'bad and Arrabeh was unforgettable. My uncle in Ya'bad recounted how the settlers of Mevo Dotan appropriated his land, and how aided by the Israeli army they stole from his olive trees and prevented his access during harvest season.
Returning to Australia, it dawned on me I have a home here I can return to. One where I don't have to pass through checkpoints every day to get to work.
It is a very different life to that of my family under Israel's occupation, but we still have a shared vision and work together towards the same goal: a liberated Palestine.
- Ammar Abu Shamleh is a Palestinian Australian. He is a software engineer, founding president of Palestinian Cultural Society of The University of Western Australia and an intern at Australia Palestine Advocacy Network.
