Testimony before a briefing of the

Today, I am here to break the silence surrounding the history of displacement of nearly a million Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa. I would like to do that, honorable members of this Caucus, in the only way I know how – by sharing with you, my personal story.

Jews have lived in Libya and the rest of the Middle East and North Africa for more than two-thousand years. By the time I was born, in 19-48, there were about 36-thousand Jews living in Libya. By 19-67, there were only six-thousand left. Today, there are no Jews left in Libya.

I grew up in a middle-class Jewish family. I am the eldest of four children. My father, Rahmin Bublil, imported equipment for oil companies. My father often spoke of the 19-45 Mora’ot – the Pogroms which took place in Tripoli. He spoke of burying severed bodies of his friends – an experience that traumatized him for life. My ancestors have lived in Libya for hundreds of years; however they were not given citizenship nor passports. They were denied basic civil and human rights which were granted to all other Libyan citizens.

I was six-years-old, when I first experienced hatred. It was in 19-54, when I attended an arithmetic lesson at the local Madrasah school, where the teacher instructed the students:

“ If you have 10 Jews, and you kill five of them, how many Jews do you have left to kill?” This was a traumatic and painful experience. I came home crying and asked my mother:

“Does this mean that I will be killed?”

In order to cope, we lived in denial and pretended that everything would be okay because we were forbidden to leave the country.

Forty years ago, on June 6th, 19-67, the Six-Day War broke out between Israel and its Arab neighbors. I was 19-years-old. The mobs took to the streets and shouted, “Edbah el Yehud!” “Slaughter the Jews!” Armed with bottles of gasoline, the mobs surrounded Jewish homes and businesses and burned them down to the ground. Many Jews were killed.

At the time, I was working for a British Engineering company. I received a desperate phone call from my mother asking me not to come home. The only person I could turn to for help was my Christian British employer: Brian Foreman. Brian took me home to his wife Deidre who lent me her clothes. I lived with the Foremans for over a month. While in hiding, I learned that the mobs had burned my father’s warehouse and that they were about to burn our home, when a Muslim neighbor stopped them and saved my family’s lives. I am eternally grateful to the honorable and kind Muslim neighbor who stood up against evil.

One month after the Six-Day War of June 19-67, the Foremans took me back to my home. It was at that time that the Libyan government ordered the expulsion of all the Jews. We were being expelled from a country were Jews had lived for more than two millennia. The government confiscated our homes and all of our assets.

At first, we were relieved to escape from the violence. Then, we realized we had no place to go! We had no money or resources. I can never forget how for days, my family and I sat silent and motionless around the table, desperately thinking about our future. We felt anguish and fear, which grew into anger and despair.

A few days later, with one suitcase per person, and the equivalent of only 20-dollars in our pockets, we boarded a bus to the airport. We were the only passengers on the bus. Half-way to the airport, the driver and the conductor of the bus pulled over on the side of the road. They told us there was something wrong with the bus, and one of them left to supposedly, get some help.

Fortunately, I remembered that Brian Foreman lived nearby so I followed the conductor planning to call Brian and ask him for help.

I followed the conductor to a nearby gas station, where he was using the telephone. He refused to let me use the telephone. I struggled with him physically and with my hands trembling I called Brian Foreman. I spoke to him in English, hoping that the conductor would not understand. I begged him to come quickly, and told him we were in serious danger. I gave the location and hung up.

When I tried to leave the small office, I found the conductor and two other men trying to block my path to the door. I pushed my way out and ran back to the bus. When I arrived at the scene I saw my mother and my 13-year-old brother gazing out of the window. They were paralyzed by fear. I saw my 70-year-old orthodox grandfather praying in silence.

THEN, I saw the driver standing by a pool of gasoline, under the bus with my whole family inside. He held a box of matches in his hand. The lives of my parents, my brother, grandparents and my uncle, were in that box of matches. This image is forever engraved in my memory.

I don’t know how much time passed, but I am sitting here in front of you today, because Brian and his friend came to our rescue. The two British men took one look at the pool of gasoline, and quickly helped my family out of the bus and into their jeeps. We sped off to the airport. Our lives were miraculously spared!

At the airport, a police officer said to us, “Bublil family? You are not supposed to be here! Yehud Kaleb Al Arab - Jews are the dogs of the Arabs!” Airport officials spat on us and strip-searched us, before allowing us to board the plane to Italy. It was a one-way ticket out of the country, never to be allowed to return. I want to call you attention to the Temporary Travel Document reproduced on this poster. This was issued to my sister.

In Rome, our lives were very difficult. We lamented the absence of our rich and vibrant culture. We missed our traditions carried on for MORE than two millennia. For example our pre-nuptial Henna ceremony with Judeo Arabic music and dance, our exquisitely hand-woven and colorful costumes, our unique cuisine, our rituals. These traditional customs will never be seen again. My community is now extinct. There is NOT A SINGLE Jew left in Libya. We mourned the loss of “our own selves” for we felt that we had been lost to civilization, lost to history forever.

Despite our oppression, despite our suffering, and despite our humiliation, we rose above seeing ourselves as victims. We rose above desire for revenge. We focused on rebuilding our shattered lives. We sought dignity and hope and searched for a better life. I have personally forgiven the people who tried to kill my family and me. I do not believe in hating and I truly believe that hate is a weapon of mass destruction.

I wish I could say that this story represents only my own experience – and mine alone. But I cannot. My story is not unique; it is the story of nearly one-million Jews who were displaced from Arab countries. The majority of these populations - approximately 600-thousand - fled to Israel. Honorable members of the Caucus - Israel became not only the largest refugee camp in the Middle East, but also, the most successful one – The State of Israel successfully integrated these refugees - giving them dignity and hope. The remaining 300-thousand were kindly and generously absorbed by the United States and the rest of the western world.

Two years after my expulsion, I came to the United States as a refugee. My Jewish community in San Francisco integrated me. For the first time in my life, I felt safe. I am very grateful to this country for the opportunity and I am proud to be an American.

One of the most painful things for me to endure – was my later discovery that the United Nations as well as the rest of the international community was apathetic and indifferent to our historical injustice.

We felt abandoned by the United Nations and the rest of the Western world which knew of our plight, and still ignored us.

The real consequence of this omission from history creates an inaccurate view of the Middle East refugee narrative. The fact that these displaced Jewish populations were forgotten is not just a matter of history. Forgetting nearly one-million Jews who were indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa means, that we have a distorted view of the Middle East Refugee Problem today. This omission has created political consequences relevant to the future of the Middle East Peace Process.

It is time to recognize the plight of nearly one million Jews from the Middle East and North Africa. It is time to recognize the destruction of a two-thousand year old Jewish civilization.

Today, I appeal to you to restore my story and a million others like mine to its rightful place in history – to condemn the discriminatory treatment and the displacement of the Jews from the Arab Countries. Only with the recognition of this historical injustice can we move forward towards reconciliation and a fair and balanced peace in the Middle East.