1892-2011: Shabb3an Y’abba: The Journey of my 119-year-old grandfather

The land of Palestine was part of the Ottoman Empire beginning in 1516. By the late sixteenth century, Ottoman control extended westward in Europe to Austria’s borders and southward along the Mediterranean coast, reaching Algeria. During this time, there was no defined entity called “Palestine.” Instead, the area was integrated into the administrative divisions of the Ottoman Empire. In 1874, near the empire’s decline, Jerusalem and its surrounding towns were designated as a separate district governed directly from Istanbul. This change did not alter the international legal status of the territory. During World War I, when Britain and the Ottoman Empire were adversaries, the region that later came to be known as Palestine fell under British military occupation on December 9, 1917. I was born in Lebanon and escaped its civil war. I eventually made my way to NYC. In 2011, I boarded a plane from New York to Tel Aviv, eager to sit beside my 119-year-old grandfather, a living relic whose life stretched across empires, revolutions, and a century of change. My grandfather was born in 1892 to a Christian family. Like millions of others and for hundreds of years before him (Arabs and Jews and people from the Balkans) born under Ottoman rule, he was considered to be an Ottoman subject. I wanted to learn the meaning of two words he had said to me years before, “Shabb3an y’abba”–“I’ve had my fill”–and uncover the secrets of his extraordinary journey. But instead of quiet conversations and shared memories, I arrived just in time for his wife’s funeral. Today, as the Middle East burns with anger and division, I am drawn back to that trip–not just to honor my grandfather, but to confront the haunting questions of humanity and belonging that remain heartbreakingly relevant. His life was a masterclass in endurance. His presence a quiet call to action: to reject hate, embrace unity, and build bridges where others build walls. These reflections aren’t just about him–they’re about all of us. They’re a reminder that time is a gift, and the choice to use it wisely–to create something lasting, something kind–is a responsibility we can’t afford to ignore.