Lifta, December 1947-48
At the end of 1947, the first shots rang out in the village.
In 1948 the Palestinians fled in fear from the village. Since then they have not returned to the place.
The houses still stand, part of them ruined, olive trees, fig trees, fig trees and vines sprout wildly awaiting their owners.
The place is quiet, there is nobody there.
During the Intifada, I was drawn to the place, time and again I returned to it, I felt connected.
A daughter of the village – that’s me!
I sewed long black dresses. One, then another one and another and another.
Eight dresses, each one 180 cm long. I took all of them to the village.
I hang them there in between the houses, on a roof, in a stairwell and also in the spring.
Empty houses lacking inhabitants, empty dresses without bodies.
Silence and quietness hovers over the place. Only the wind resuscitated a scream – my cry!