Salwa Issa Abu Salem
15/2/2025
My mother’s sewing machine is so special because it helped us live a respectful and decent life. Besides, this old SINGER machine is older than “their” state; the state of those who are occupying us. This machine went through a long journey from Germany to Jaffa in 1945 and from Jaffa to Nablus in 1948.
In a nice quarter in Jaffa City called Hayy An Nuzha, my mother and her family lived a happy life. Her mother died when she was 14, so her kind neighbors helped her and taught her sewing as they had a workshop. She learnt so quickly even though she was illiterate. She was so intelligent and learnt to read and identify the numbers in English as they are important in sewing. She enjoyed the job and she used to help her teacher. She would sew, knit, and create beautiful designs. She would go to Jamal Basha St. with her and purchase fabric, select buttons, zippers, and thread. She enjoyed working with her teacher and she loved her very much. Subhieh Abu Laban, her teacher helped her order a SINGER machine from Germany. However, it would take a few months to get to Jaffa, so her teacher suggested that she could take her machine and when the new one arrived, the teacher would take it for her to the workshop. Mom was over the moon to have her own machine. She had many clients who left her teacher and wanted her to sew their clothes.
One miserable day in 1948, she was sitting at her machine enjoying sewing, and her father came home earlier than usual and said sadly, “Zainab, we have to leave Jaffa now. Our neighbors are all leaving because it is dangerous to stay under this shelling, shooting, and killing. We don’t have time; they’re bombing the area.” Zainab replied, “I won’t leave without my sewing machine. It’s my soul.”
“But there’s no space for it in the lorry,” her father said. “But I won’t leave unless I take my sewing machine with me,” she insisted. Her father had no choice. He asked the neighbors to help him carry the machine to the lorry and managed to put among other people’s belongings.
This machine was my mother’s precious soul. Without it, we would never be able to live a respectful and decent life. It was so dear to her that she would not allow anyone to use it. When she went to the market to buy her needs, she would say, “Don’t touch the machine.”
This machine suffered a lot during its life journey. In 2004, our house was demolished, so it had to be taken to a safer place.
Last but not least, this machine is still going. Thank you to my mother who finally agreed to let me use it when she was not well and taught me how to cut material and sew.
I think my mother would be happy and immensely proud to know that her machine is still living.
