October 1989, Page 25

In Memoriam

Ellen Odeh Nassab

By Pat McDonnell Twair

My first encounter with Ellen Odeh Nassab was in October 1985 as she sprinkled Palestinian soil from a glass container over the coffin of her brother, Alex Odeh, during burial rites attended by several thousand Arab-Americans.

A few days before, Alex Odeh had been blown apart by a bomb triggered when he opened the door of his office in Santa Ana, where he was Southern California regional director of the Arab-American Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC). The former members of the Jewish Defense League named by the FBI as suspects in his murder are living now in the Kiryat Arab settlement in the Israeli-occupied West Bank.

The vial of Palestinian soil Ellen was holding was one brought back by Alex for each of his sisters and his brother only weeks before. She had decided that if her brother could not be buried in Palestine, his casket-draped with the American and Palestinian flags-would at least be buried under a sprinkling of Palestinian as well as American soil.

Ellen and I became friends when my husband, Samir, subsequently became coordinator of ADC activities in Los Angeles and Orange Counties. Over the months, I tried to set an appointment to talk to Ellen about her views-and they were strong ones-about her brother's assassination But there never seemed to be time. Then in October 1988-three years after her brother's assassination-Ellen was asked to preside at a session of the national convention of the Palestine Aid Society in a Los Angeles suburb.

Bright and cheerful as ever, Ellen performed her duties for PAS without mentioning the leg pains for which she had scheduled an examination at St. Joseph's Hospital in Orange, where she had managed the department of obstetrics since 1975.

The news was catastrophic. She had terminal cancer of the liver. Nonetheless, Ellen joined us in December-one month after her diagnosis-and expressed her jubilation along with 2,000 other Arab-Americans who launched balloons in the colors of the Palestinian flag in front of Los Angeles City Hall to celebrate the announcement of the Palestinian state.

After her brother's assassination, Ellen devoted much of her time away from her work at the hospital to educating Americans about the Palestinians. In one conversation, she seemed guilt-stricken as she recalled: "Alex spent so much time promoting the cause, he even took ADC literature to fairs. I'll never forget how his poor bald head would get sunburned after those outdoor events where he distributed books and pamphlets."

Ellen was a founding member of the Southern California Palestinian and Jewish Women in Dialogue, organized shortly after Alex's assassination. She also participated in the Cousins Club of Orange County, to bring Jews and Arabs together in her community. She was active also in activities of the ADC, the National Association of Arab Americand, PAS and the Middle East Fellowship.

Fulfilling Her Brother's Mission

She seemed to be directed by a sense of responsibility for her brother's aborted mission. The eldest of nine children born to a Palestinian Catholic family from Jifna, a town 14 miles north of Jerusalem, Ellen had held Alex, the fifth born, in her arms as a child. When her mother died of cancer, she assumed her mother's role, but nevertheless managed in 1957 to complete her courses at the Jordan School of Nursing, since the West Bank was at that time under Jordanian jurisdiction.

From there she received a four-year scholarship to Syracuse University. It was during her second year in the United States in 1960 that she met her future husband, John Nassab, a fellow Palestinian. It was a love story that continued via correspondence when Ellen returned to Jordan to work as a nurse for the World Health Organization.

They were married in 1965 and lived for four years in Boston before moving to Orange County in 1969. The Nassabs sponsored the immigration of both her brother Alex, and her sister, Angela, a former nun, to the US in 1972.

"As the sister who sponsored Alex to come to the country, who witnessed his birth, watched him mature, and supported his schooling," Ellen explained to me, "I felt I had to much I needed to do that Alex didn't have the chance to accomplish."

Fighting to the End

John, who was at Ellen's side through many of the events commemorating the assassination of her brother, found himself again providing support as his wife's condition worsened.

Even as her strength was ebbing and she was undergoing chemotherapy, Ellen made it a point to join a demonstration organized by her Palestinian-Jewish dialogue group in front of the Israeli Consulate in Los Angeles. The protest marked the first anniversary of the intifada and all of the participants were dressed in black.

Although Ellen was denied permission to deliver her message to the Israeli consul, the spectacle of more than 70 women dressed in black in front of the Israeli Consulate building on posh Wilshire Boulevard made an impact not only on motorists passing by, but on consular officials who confronted us with epithets. On that day, despite the inroads of cancer, Ellen was jubilant.

In May, Ellen made her final trip to Jifna. There she saw her father, now in his 90s, and her brother, a priest, as well as the many other relatives still living in Palestine. Then she enplaned for additional treatment in Germany, where she died June 8 in the arms of her husband and children.

At her funeral on June 16, Ellen also was buried beneath the soil of her beloved Palestine and her adoped America. Remembering Ellen's gesture at her brother's funeral, a Palestinian-American friend, Vicki Tamoush, brought forth a vial of Palestinian soil with a story of its own.

Fearing that it would be confiscated in one of the stringent searches to which incoming and outgoing Palestinian-Americans are subjected, Ms. Tamoush had asked a Jewish friend to bring the vial back with him to Los Angeles. He did and it was mingled with the American soil on the coffin as the Rev. Darrel Meyers intoned to her husband, her children, Joyce, 22, and John Ramzi, 17, and her friends and fellow activists for human rights:

"She's not only 'Mom,' she's our hero. She's the 'wind beneath our wings.'"

Pat McDonnell Twair is a free-lance writer based in California.