Ramallah, Occupied West Bank – Seventy-seven years have passed since the Nakba, when more than 750,000 Palestinians were displaced from their ancestral lands in 1948. 

Yet the trauma and the dream of return endure, preserved in simple keepsakes like house keys, coins, and family trunks.

Across refugee camps in the occupied West Bank, families have held onto these keepsakes as tangible links to their past, and as symbols of a right they insist cannot be extinguished.

The Key – Fayez Arafat, Balata Camp

“This camp we live in is merely a station we’re stopping at on our way back home,” says Fayez Arafat, 56, who has lived in Balata Camp near Nablus since he was six-years-old.

Originally built in 1950 to house around 5,000 Palestinian refugees, Balata now holds over 33,000 people, many of whom were first displaced in 1948. 

Arafat’s family was forced to leave Jaffa during the Nakba. With a heaviness in his voice, he recounts his forefathers’ exile—how they were driven to take shelter in caves for days, fleeing Israeli militia forces, until they reached Tulkarem. There, they stayed with the constant hope of returning home, but in 1952, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) relocated them to Balata camp.

With a mix of nostalgia and defiance, he shows his collection of old metal coins, paper money, and a house key -  the most precious things he owns.

“Yes, our houses were demolished,” Arafat says, holding up the old key, “but this will remain a symbol and witness.”

Across camps like his, Qalandia and Jalazoun too, the key to return is a shared token. Others preserve land deeds, tax receipts, or coins stamped with the word “Palestine”—proof not only of identity, but of existence.

“Back then,” recalls Arafat, referring to the time his grandparents and parents left their home in Saknat Darwish, Jaffa, “people didn’t carry much. They locked their doors and left everything behind, thinking they’d return in a few days. But days turned into weeks, then months — and now, 77 years.”

Everyone in the camp has come from land that was violently seized by Israeli forces, and now forms the State of Israel.

“Just ask the children playing in the alley where they’re from, they’ll tell you from Jaffa or  Jammasin,” he says.

For Arafat, that sense of origin is a legacy to be passed on.

Though born after the Nakba, Arafat became a child refugee and inherited both the story and the longing for return.

“I remember the details of the story as my father told it, and today I tell the story to my children and grandchildren," he says.

Some of these relics he keeps hidden in a trunk outside the camp—for safekeeping, he says, from Israeli raids. His personal losses run deep. One son was killed by the Israeli army last October; another had been killed earlier. His third son, 29-year-old Ammar, remains under administrative detention.

By the end of December 2024, the Israel Prison Service (IPS) was holding more than 3,000 Palestinians in administrative detention — a policy that allows authorities to imprison individuals indefinitely without charge or trial, based on secret evidence, suspected of potentially planning to break the law in the future.

Violence committed by illegal Jewish settlers and the Israeli army in the occupied West Bank has escalated sharply since October 7, 2023. In late January 2025, Israeli forces began a large-scale military offensive, which led to the displacement of an estimated 40,000 Palestinians. 

And yet, even amid turmoil and loss, Arafat clings to the past through what remains. He speaks vividly of his father’s memories: their house, the ancient olive trees, the John Deere tractor purchased in 1947 to plough their lands, with receipts still intact.

“These relics from the past are our struggle and resistance,” he says. “I have a right, and I won’t stop demanding it,” says Arafat. “It’s inherited hope.”

The Necklace – Mahmoud Safi, Jalazoun Camp

Seventy-seven-year-old Mahmoud Safi was born the same year as the Nakba and has lived his entire life in Jalazoun camp, north of Ramallah in occupied West Bank.

“My father's legacy is the house key,” he says, “which he wore around his neck, especially on Nakba anniversaries. When he died, I inherited it.”

“When I was old enough, I would ask why we lived in a tent while neighboring villages had houses made of stone and cement, that’s when I learned about the Nakba.”

Originally from Beit Nabala in the Lod district, Safi’s family fled during the Zionist massacres of 1948 and ended up in Jalazoun after his father found work with UNRWA.

Safi recalls how their village was bombed, forcing them to flee. Thinking they’d return within days, his family stayed nearby—only to face gunfire from Israeli militants when they attempted to go back. Ninety people were arrested and exiled to Jerusalem, including members of his family.

Eventually, they were relocated to Deir Ammar camp, living in tents through harsh winters until UNRWA built more permanent rooms.

But Safi's family endured more than exile. One brother was killed by Israeli forces in Ramallah in 1983. Then, five years later, in 1988, Israeli authorities demolished the family’s home within the camp and arrested one of his sons.

His father, he says, never let go of the past: “They left behind 90 jars of olive oil. They lived in comfort until they became homeless overnight. That’s why the key meant everything to him.”

Safi now keeps the key close, just like his father.

“It’s a symbol that won't perish,” he says. “And like my father before me, I’ll pass it on to my children.”

The Trunk – Hasiba Hamad, Qalandia Camp

At 88, Hasiba Hamad is one of the few remaining eyewitnesses to the Nakba.

She lives in Qalandia refugee camp, north of Jerusalem, but her home village of Siris lies only a few kilometres away.

“I remember every detail of it,” she says. “Every year, we used to visit, especially during the olive harvest. Even after being expelled, we would return to pick fruit and extract oil.”

For years, Palestinians in the occupied West Bank could apply for temporary permits to visit Jerusalem and areas inside what is now Israel, including some of the towns and villages they were forced to leave in 1948. But since the beginning of Israel’s war on Gaza in October 2023, no such permits have been issued.

“We’ve been barred from entering Jerusalem. Today, the Israeli wall separates us from my town. I could reach it on foot, but the occupation stole everything—destroyed the land and built settlements.”

Among her most treasured possessions is an iron trunk passed down from her husband’s family.

“I kept an iron trunk where my husband's family used to put everything precious: money, land ownership papers, everything precious,” she says, gently opening her box of memories. “It’s our family heirloom, we will keep it forever.”

This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.