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Specifically in 1948 my present domicile did not exist. The land was a vacant lot that may have served as part of the parking lot for the Turkish-owned factory next door.
In 1950 a Jewish man deserted his family of eight in Haifa and received title on the vacant lot. He built my dwelling on the lot and lived here till he died in 1995. In 1994 he obtained a clear title to will to his children. They connected two apartments to the original one, but had no luck in renting them.
In the meantime my companion and I were squatting with our dogs and cats in the Turkish factory courtesy of the Jewish owner. An Indian Jew named Abner and two prostitutes came to occupy the apartments.
Abner became our friend. A street beggar and a drunk, he spoke well-modulated English. As a soldier in the 1967 June War, he carried an unloaded rifle. God forbid he should kill somebody.
Visiting him in 2000, I told him the factory owner was going to kick us out. He said we could live in his garden until he died.
A week later he told me the Angel of Death had appeared to him. That night we rushed him to the emergency room to go on the respirator. He begged us to stay with him, because he feared the doctor would cut off his dick and sell it before he died. The nurse told us to leave. When we refused, she put the Police on us.
The next day we buried Abner without his dick.
So, you see; I had nothing to do with kicking out a Palestinian from his ancestral land.
In 1985 I married into a proudly Arab family. They deemed Palestinians lazy louts sucking off the welfare. Usually whining the beggar bowl always out, they spoke Hebrew and their daughters dressed like harlots.
From Aljazeera's coverage, I determined Palestinians are not the favorites of the Arab World more a nuisance than an equal partner. They were better off under Israel at least as far as the economy and jobs.
