On April 30, 1948, prominent educator and Christian Arab writer Khalil Sakakini fled his home in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Katamon, just one day after the area was captured by Haganah forces. Sakakini’s diaries, partially translated into Hebrew, provide Israeli readers with a comprehensive view of life in Palestine, spanning from the optimism of the 1920s to the hardships of war and exile in Egypt, Sakakini’s home-in-exile until his death in 1961. During his escape from Jerusalem, Sakakini left behind not only his house and belongings—including his grand piano, electric refrigerator, liquor cabinet, and narghileh—but also his cherished books. Two months after settling in Cairo, Sakakini bid a heartfelt goodbye to his library:
Farewell, my library! Farewell, house of wisdom, abode of philosophers, a witness to literature! How many sleepless nights I spent there reading and writing while the night was silent and people slept… Goodbye, my books! I know not what has become of you since we left: Were you looted? Burned? Have you been ceremonially transferred to a private or public library? Or did you end up on the shelves of grocery stores, with your pages used to wrap onions?
If oral testimonies represent people’s organic and collective memory, archives embody the systematic and living memory of a nation. The story of the Palestinian archives is compelling and worth telling—both for its historical significance and for what valuable lessons it can teach us.
Following many divergent paths, various Palestinian collections and materials were either looted, burned, or lost due to war. In 1948, following the onset of the Nakba, as Israeli forces pillaged villages and killed civilians, the army also looted numerous private library collections in West Jerusalem. These events occurred between May 1948 and March 1949. These collections belonged to affluent individuals from the upper echelons of Palestinian society. Over thirty years later, on September 17, 1982, the archive of The Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) Research Center was looted during the siege and invasion of West Beirut by the IDF’s Golani Brigade. Even though much of the material was later returned (as part of a prisoner exchange deal), this episode remains somewhat overlooked in the historical narrative of the conflict.
In recent years, there has been increased interest in archive studies in general, and in Palestinian archives in particular. Many recent works, including documentaries, dissertations, articles, and books, explore the story of Palestinian archives. Two documentary films, Looted and Hidden: Palestinian Archives in Israel by Rona Sela, and A Reel War: Shalal by Karnit Mandel, examine hidden archives and tapes in the IDF archives, posing questions about access and cultural erasure. Gish Amit’s article Salvage or Plunder? Israel’s “Collection” of Private Palestinian Libraries in West Jerusalem provides a historical overview, shedding light on the motivations behind the IDF’s looting of private Palestinian collections. Meanwhile, Jonathan Marc Gribetz’s Reading Herzl in Beirut: The PLO Effort to Know the Enemy meticulously examines the history of the PLO’s archives in Lebanon. The body of work on Palestinian archives, including contributions by Palestinians, is too extensive to detail here. Notable mentions include, but are not limited to, Beshara Doumani’s Archiving Palestine and the Palestinians: The Patrimony of Ihsan Nimr (2009) and Mahmoud Yazbak’s Palestinian Files in the Israeli Archives (2011).
The Historical Significance of Palestinian Archives and Their Plundering by Zionist Forces
Between the Nakba and the invasion of Beirut in 1982, Israeli forces looted around 38,000 films, 2.7 million photos, 96,000 recordings, and 46,000 maps and aerial photographs from Palestinian archives, placing some in the Hebrew University archive. The fate of Palestinian books and archives is a poignant story of cultural loss and erasure. Between May 1948 and February 1949, approximately 30,000 books were looted from private Palestinian libraries in West Jerusalem. These books, now part of the National Library in Jerusalem, reflect a systematic effort to appropriate Palestinian cultural assets.
Among the most significant items stolen were the libraries of prominent Palestinian families, writers, and scholars, such as Khalil Sakakini and the Nashashibi family. Other stolen collections belonged to notable figures like Ahmad Hilmi Pasha Abdul Baqi, Fayez Abu Rahmeh, and Francis Khayat. Additionally, the private library of Aziz Shehadeh, a prominent lawyer—and father of Raja Shehadeh, a notable Palestinian lawyer, human rights activist and writer—was also seized in Jaffa. These instances of looting and plundering that took place at the onset of the Nakba, represent more than isolated thefts; they reflect a concerted effort to erase Palestinian culture.
Furthermore, among the seized archives was the collection of photographer Khalil Rassas (1926-1974). Rassas documented various battles in Jerusalem, capturing the efforts of Palestinian fighters and recording the activities of the martyr Abdel Qader al-Husseini until his death in 1948. His photo albums were taken from his private studio in Jerusalem and eventually transferred to the Haganah archives. Similarly, many other Palestinian archives, along with cultural and heritage libraries, were confiscated, as well as creative works including paintings and sculptures. While the whereabouts of some of these collections are known, some held in places like the National Library or the Haganah archives, others have disappeared without a trace; perhaps some were even destroyed during the war.
Libraries and documents from Palestinian public institutions, schools, and churches were also taken and stored in the warehouses of the National Library of Israel in Jerusalem, which contains over 8,000 books marked with the letters “AP”—abbreviation for “Abandoned Property.” Most of these books were in Arabic, while others were in English, French, German, and Italian; they cover a wealth of subjects, ranging from Islamic law and Qur’anic exegesis to European literature, science, history, and philosophy. This plunder was sanctioned by the newly formed government of the State of Israel, which appointed the National Library as custodian of these “salvaged” books at the request of the library’s director at the time, Curt Wormann.
In 1949, Wormann reported the seizure of around 1,000 books from the Swedish School in Jerusalem. The books were primarily focused on Christian theology and the Land of Israel. An additional 500 books, mostly on biblical studies, were taken from storerooms near St. Paul’s Church. The cataloging of these books, many of which remained in sacks for years, only began properly in the 1960s. Of the first 500 cataloged books from looted Palestinian collections, the largest category was translated literature from English into Arabic. These books, totaling 5,787, were labeled with the “AP” abbreviation, but more accurately referred to as “Stolen Property.”
Palestinian journalist and author Nasser Al-Nashashibi expressed concern over the loss of his personal library, saying:
Most of the furniture was stolen, including my personal books. However, this pales in comparison to the literary treasure stolen from my uncle Muhammad Is’af Al-Nashashibi’s home, where rare manuscripts and copies of the Qur’an were kept. He wonders: What happened to his books? What happened to his private library? Where is it, and who took it?
Al-Nashashibi further noted:
Among the stolen items were rare pieces of poetry and a handwritten copy of the Qur’an adorned with gold. A professor at the Hebrew University informed me that he knew me and my family and that he had some of my books. This was astonishing. He mentioned that some of these looted books were brought to the Hebrew University, and I saw some of them. One book, Al-Mukarramiyyat, had a dedication, “To the literary scholar Nasser Al-Nashashibi.” It was one of my favorite books. There are over a hundred such books belonging to me and others, now housed in the libraries of the Hebrew University and the National Library.
Justification and Exploitation
The looting and plundering of cultural assets was rationalized in several ways. Gish Amit observes that this rationale mirrored the European justification for transferring intellectual and cultural assets from colonies to Europe, presenting it as a universalist endeavor in the name of humanism and national culture. Institutions like the Hebrew University, particularly its Department of Oriental Sciences, reaped significant benefits from the plundered materials, underscoring their value to academic progress. Eliyahu Strauss, the department’s director at the time, was especially enthusiastic about the operation: “Not only is there a large percentage of books among those found in the occupied territories which we did not have, there are also series of journals (beautifully bound) which are not in the Library’s archives…. If a substantial number of these books are bestowed on the National Library, we will be able to extend our research opportunities considerably.” (Quoted in Amit’s Salvage or Plunder).
However, the seizure of these cultural assets violated international law. According to Article 4 of the 1954 Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict, while an army may use certain enemy property, it is strictly prohibited from confiscating or plundering private property, including cultural assets, in occupied territories. These regulations were established in response to widespread cultural destruction during World War II, aiming to safeguard cultural assets during conflicts. At the time, in the newly established State of Israel, the governing law was the Absentees’ Property Law (1950), which relates to the status and management of property in Israel that belonged to individuals classified as “absentees.” This law was enacted after the establishment of Israel to address properties left behind by people who fled or were displaced due to the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. Under this law, abandoned property was transferred to the Custodian of Absentees’ Property, who assumed legal ownership and control over the assets, managing or reallocating them as deemed necessary by the state. The law replaced the provisions of the Emergency Regulations (Absentees’ Property), 5709 (1948), effective from the 13th of Nisan, 5710 (March 31, 1950), although both are read together as a single legal framework, with the earlier regulations considered as amended by this law. By this logic, the law effectively allowed the newly formed government to seize the assets of all those who were forcibly displaced.
The operation is marked by ambivalence: some view it as an act of cultural preservation, while others see it as theft and plunder. The establishment and maintenance of archives require dedicated institutions, leadership, and individuals; without these elements, archives lose their value, and collective memory is diminished. Israeli historian Ilan Pappé describes two types of looting that occurred in 1948: official, government-directed looting, which targeted resources and property systematically for redistribution, and sporadic, private looting by individuals. Initially, the government sought to manage the appropriation of assets, appointing officials to oversee confiscations. However, widespread looting—both sanctioned and unsanctioned—became difficult to control, with security forces and militias often seizing property without authorization. In urban centers like Jerusalem and Haifa, attempts at an orderly takeover soon gave way to rampant confiscation, including the appropriation of libraries and archives, further erasing Palestinian historical and cultural records.
Reading Herzl
In his recently published book Reading Herzl in Beirut: The PLO Effort to Know the Enemy, Jonathan Gribetz provides a detailed account of the PLO Research Center. He begins with his chance discovery, during a fellowship at the University of Toronto, of an Arabic translation of The Zionist Idea (an anthology of classical Zionist texts, compiled by Rabbi Dr. Arthur Hertzberg) by the PLO Research Center. Gribetz traces the history of the PLO and the establishment of the center, analyzes key works produced by the center, and concludes by analyzing the impact of this intellectual endeavor on the broader Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The looting of the PLO Research Center is not widely known, as it was overshadowed by the Sabra and Shatila massacres of September 1982, carried out by Lebanese Christian militias (Phalanges) and supported by the IDF.
Despite this, the efforts of the PLO were taken seriously by scholars and intellectuals. Gribetz notes that “Palestinian activists and supporters took very seriously the potential power of the pen”. The Center’s publications demonstrate an attempt to engage with the subject in a nuanced way, rather than solely from a hostile perspective. Ironically, the PLO Research Center can be considered a pioneer in the field of Israel Studies. Many of the research questions explored by the Center—the connections between Judaism and Zionism, issues of ethnicity and gender in Israel, and the dynamics of colonialism and violence, for example—contributed to the broader academic discourse on these topics. Some of the Center’s findings even anticipated future trends in the field of Israel Studies. One such title is The Jewish Woman in Occupied Palestine, an Arabic book written by the Nazareth-born Adib Qaʿwar and published by the PLO Research Center in April 1968. Another is the 1970 publication al-Talmud wa-l-Sahyuniyya (The Talmud and Zionism). Authored by Assʿad Razzouk, it criticized Palestinians and other Arabs for uncritically adopting European antisemitic myths and conspiracy theories about the Talmud.
Leading scholar and former Shin Bet analyst Matti Steinberg has asserted that, to understand the thinking of the PLO leadership, one only needs to consult the publications from the PLO Research Center. Many of these were based on open sources, such as news outlets and magazines.
In the conclusion of his book, Gribetz recounts a 2016 interview with Sabri Jiryis, who served as director general of the Research Center in 1978, in which he inquired about the impact of studying the enemy. Jiryis responded that the experience made him more realistic—not more sympathetic, hateful, or emotional, but simply more rational. He notes that his research and articles influenced the PLO leadership to seriously consider participating in the Geneva peace summit, held after the 1973 war, with the aim of advancing Arab-Israeli peace. Ultimately, Jiryis reflects that studying the enemy may have instilled a ‘moderating impulse’ within the PLO leadership, encouraging more pragmatic approaches to conflict resolution.
Although there is a clear contrast between the contents of private collections looted in Jerusalem and those of the PLO in Beirut, both can be considered integral to the national identity of the Palestinian people. The collections of individuals like Khalil Sakakini and Tawfiq Canaan—prominent Palestinian thinkers and pivotal to the Palestinian cause—are particularly significant. These individuals contributed to the writings on the Nakba as first-hand witnesses, shaping the Palestinian narrative even though their collections were ultimately looted. Canaan, a doctor, collected amulets, coins, and bowls as payment from the peasants he treated. He conducted extensive scientific studies on these items, as well as on topics such as the peasants’ beliefs in spirits and jinns.
Similarly, the archives of the PLO Research Center, though established with a different, perhaps more politically explicit, aim, are also part of the Palestinian national identity. Fayez Sayegh, a founder of the PLO Research Center, stated that the organization’s goal was to engage in an information battle by “refuting the enemy’s arguments, providing information about the roots of the issue, and demonstrating Arab rights”—all with the purpose of “strengthening consciousness and faith.”
Gribetz’s book offers a clear-headed and sober analysis of the PLO Research Center, delving into previously unknown aspects of this historical episode. Notably, it discusses the heated response from author Cynthia Ozick in 1983, who defended Israel’s decision to take the archives, in contrast to Edward Said’s denunciation. Ozick was outraged by what she viewed as the blatant misrepresentation of the PLO Research Center as merely “archives on Palestinian culture and history,” relaying that the PLO Research Center “compiled personal files on high-ranking Israeli military officials, monitored Israeli police, military and civilian radio and television broadcasts and served as a clearing house for communications exchanged by terrorist organizations all over the world.” (Gribetz 216). Said, for his part, argued that this act not only undermined the intellectual history of Palestinians but also constituted an erasure of their cultural identity. Reading Gribetz’s book in its entirety is essential for gaining a comprehensive understanding of this topic.
The Role of Archivers and Hidden Histories
Filmmaker Rona Sela’s work highlights the critical role of archivists in uncovering the Palestinian presence within Zionist archives. Her film sheds light on several incidents of looting, including the one discussed by Gribetz, from a unique perspective and with entirely different source material. For instance, the looting of the studio of Khalil Rassas—the father of Palestinian photojournalism—and the erasure of photographic evidence from the pockets of a dead Arab at al-Bab al-Wad are prime examples of this hidden history. A set of photographs by Rassas in the Haganah Archive is labeled, “Photographs found on an Arab prisoner.” These images were transferred by Moshe Rashkes, a squad commander in Palmach, the pre-1948 Jewish military organization active around Jerusalem. Rashkes explained that the photographs were taken from the pocket of a deceased Arab in Sha’ar Hagai (Bab Al-Wad), near Jerusalem, in early May 1948 while his unit was conducting an intelligence search.
Continuing this history, we also find Sulafa Jadallah, born in 1941 in Nablus, who emerged as the first female Palestinian filmmaker. In 1967, she co-founded the Photography Section within Fatah’s Information Office in Jordan alongside Hani Jawhariyyeh and Mustafa Abu-Ali. As pioneering filmmakers, they combined photography and film to document the Palestinian struggle. Initially focusing on photography, they captured significant events like the battle of Al-Karameh. Due to limited resources, they processed films in the kitchen of Fatah’s office. Jadallah had her materials looted and miscataloged in Israeli archives.
These actions aimed to obscure and erase Palestinian identity, reflecting an official attempt to rewrite the past and control present narratives:
“History hidden deliberately, wiped out, erased. Suppressed signs that need to be extracted, exposed. Traces, snippets of information seemingly insignificant, telling of an existence that was concealed, obscured. An official Israeli attempt to rewrite the past, and control present achievements.”
The plundering of Palestinian archives is part of a broader strategy of cultural erasure and appropriation. However, despite these efforts to suppress Palestinian history, the resilience of archivists and historians ensures that these hidden narratives are slowly being uncovered, preserving collective memory against the ravages of time. These films and photographs present a visual perspective, revealing a somewhat overlooked narrative of Palestine’s past.
A Reel War: Shalal
During her routine work in 2011 as an archival researcher for the Israeli film and television industry, Karnit Mandel uncovered a collection of tapes labeled “PLO Loot 1982.” These tapes, along with the entire PLO Research Center, were looted during the 1982 Lebanon invasion. Far from being mere empirical evidence, these tapes vividly capture scenes of Palestinian life—people working in orchards, sewing, children playing, and engaging in daily activities. One tape, for instance, shows Gaza in 1956, with people tending to their boats by the sea. Another newsreel announces the victory in the Al-Karameh Battle of 1968. While the Palestinian version of this story claims that Palestinians successfully resisted the IDF, the footage from the reels actually depicts a diversionary operation south of the Dead Sea on the same day. This footage is significant as it highlights how these archival resources can help reveal instances where the IDF sought to present a one-sided version of events, and can help uncover what actually transpired.
Mandel’s investigation into the truth of these events is met with vague and ambiguous answers from Israeli officials, leaving many questions unresolved. Another tape in the collection features Jaffa before 1948, highlighting aspects such as the city’s population and orange exports. As of now, the fate of the rest of the Palestinian archive remains unknown, despite Mandel’s efforts to uncover these accounts and delve deeper into the existence of additional material.
Dr. Jacob Lozowick, who served as Israel’s State Archivist from 2011 to 2018, commented in an interview on the legal access to these archival materials (A Reel War: Shalal) that, according to Israeli law, no Israeli official has the authority to restrict access to archival materials beyond the regulated period of classification. After this period, access to the documents should be granted, ensuring transparency. Lozowick’s remarks underscore the legal frameworks designed to protect the public’s right to access historical records, including those related to the PLO and broader Palestinian history.
These two documentaries and Gribetz’s book provide a solid introduction to the story of Palestinian archives, particularly those looted in Beirut, though they fall short of telling the full story. They shed light on Israel’s efforts to suppress history, control archival material, and reshape the past. The works examine different types of archival content—both written and visual, including films and photographs. Additionally, they highlight the challenges faced by those seeking access to these archives, such as Mandel’s difficulties in probing IDF records, and the untold stories that this material could reveal.
Current State of Palestinian Archives
Today, several libraries and institutions house materials related to Palestine. However, there is no single, monolithic institution that gathers all these materials in one place. This dispersion can be advantageous, as it reduces the risk of total loss if archives in one location are destroyed. The largest collection, however, is found in the National Library of Israel. This raises questions about why these materials are not returned to their rightful owners or why they are not in the possession of Palestinians.
In recent years, numerous Palestinian digital archives have emerged online, such as Palestine Remembered, which boasts a vast collection of materials, including maps, images, and information on all Palestinian villages and refugee camps. The Palestinian Museum Digital Archive hosts an extensive array of documents, including identification papers, official records, letters, diaries, manuscripts, maps, photographs, films, and audio recordings that were at risk of loss or damage. These items have been digitized and are accessible online in both Arabic and English for users in Palestine and abroad.
This archive illuminates various aspects of Palestinian life, history, and legacy. Visitors can explore collections contributed by hundreds of Palestinians and browse topics such as culture and arts, resistance, displacement, and everyday life. The archive presents over two centuries of Palestinian narratives from a grassroots perspective, highlighting everyday experiences that are often overlooked by mainstream history. It also aims to foster a culture of preservation and digital archiving while raising awareness about the value and potential of archives.
The Palestinian Oral History Archive (POHA) is another significant project dedicated to digitizing, indexing, cataloging, preserving, and providing access to an archival collection of approximately 1,000 hours of testimonies from first-generation Palestinians and other Palestinian communities in Lebanon. This archive documents the life stories of Palestinians living in refugee camps and various communities in Lebanon, focusing primarily on personal accounts of the Nakba. Additionally, the collection includes narratives from the pre-Nakba period, as well as folktales, songs, and stories of women in the Ein el-Helwe camp following its destruction in 1982.
Independent archive projects like POHA have emerged partly due to the disillusionment of artist-activist-academics with institutional forms post-Oslo, prompting them to seek alternative methods to preserve family histories fragmented by dispossession and diaspora, often with limited funding. In this context, the role of the archivist extends beyond merely seeking proof; it involves uncovering and preserving the complex and personal narratives that constitute collective memory.
As everything that is Palestinian is being obliterated—people, communities, schools, universities, hospitals, and ways of life—the task of the documenter and archivist becomes of utmost importance. In Gaza, the West Bank, and beyond, it is essential to preserve records and memories for posterity. Yet, one might question the effectiveness of archiving amid ongoing conflict and its ability to bring about an end to the war. In these bleak times, however, we must, like Jiryis, embrace our responsibility to engage critically with history. By doing so, we ensure that memories and stories are preserved. What will be done with them, ultimately, is not up to us.