Photography Palestine

Imaging and Imagining Palestine
Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

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Open Jerusalem
Edited by
Vincent Lemire (Gustave Eiffel University; Centre de

recherche français in Jerusalem)
Angelos Dalachanis (French National Center for Scientific Research,
Institute of Early Modern and Modern History)
VOLUME 3
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/opje

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Imaging and Imagining Palestine
Photography, Modernity and the
Biblical Lens, 1918–1948
Edited by
Karène Sanchez Summerer

Sary Zananiri
LEIDEN | BOSTON

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Cover image: Untitled c. 1921–23, Frank Scholten, Frank Scholten Legacy, Courtesy of the Netherlands
Institute for the Near East.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sanchez-Summerer, Karene, editor. | Zananiri, Sary, editor.

Title: Imaging and imagining Palestine : photography, modernity and the
biblical lens, 1918-1948 / edited by Karène Sanchez Summerer, Sary Zananiri.
Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2021] | Series: Open Jerusalem, 25430211 ; vol.3
Identifiers: LCCN 2021009329 (print) | LCCN 2021009330 (ebook) | ISBN
9789004437937 (hardback) | ISBN 9789004437944 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Photography—Israel—History—20th century. | Documentary photography—Israel. |
Photographic industry—Israel. | Palestine—Social life and customs—20th century.
Classification: LCC TR646.I75 I33 2021 (print) | LCC TR646.I75 (ebook) | DDC 770.95694—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009329
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ISSN 2543-0211
ISBN 978-90-04-43793-7 (hardback)
ISBN 978-90-04-43794-4 (e-book)
Copyright 2021 by the Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri. Published by Koninklijke Brill NV,
Leiden, The Netherlands.
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Contents
Foreword vii
Salim Tamari
Acknowledgments x
List of Figures xi
Notes on Contributors xxi
Notes on Transliteration xxvi
1 Imaging and Imagining Palestine: An Introduction 1

Sary Zananiri
Part 1
In and out of the Archives: Photographic Collections and the
Historical Case Studies
2 ‘Little Orphans of Jerusalem’: The American Colony’s Christian Herald

Orphanage in Photographs and Negatives 31
Abigail Jacobson
3 Swedish Imaginings, Investments and Local Photography in Jerusalem,

1925–1939 66
Inger Marie Okkenhaug
4 The Dominicans’ Photographic Collection in Jerusalem: Beyond a

Catholic Perception of the Holy Land? 97
Norig Neveu and Karène Sanchez Summerer
5 Bearers of Memory: Photo Albums as Sources of Historical Study

in Palestine 157
Issam Nassar

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vi Contents
Part 2
Points of Perspective: Photographers and Their Lens
6 Resilient Resistance: Colonial Biblical, Archaeological and

Ethnographical Imaginaries in the Work of Chalil Raad (Khalīl Raʿd),
1891–1948 185
Rona Sela
7 Open Roads: John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, 1934–1939 227

Rachel Lev
8 Documenting the Social: Frank Scholten Taxonomising Identity in

British Mandate Palestine 266
Sary Zananiri
Part 3
After Effects: Methodologies, Approaches
and Reconceptualising Photography
9 Edward Keith-Roach’s Favourite Things: Indigenising National

Geographic’s Images of Mandatory Palestine 309
Yazan Kopty
10 Decolonising the Photography of Palestine: Searching for a Method in a

Plate of Hummus 340
Stephen Sheehi
11 Urban Encounters: Imaging the City in Mandate Palestine 359

Nadi Abusaada
12 Epilogue 390
Özge Calafato and Aude Aylin de Tapia
Abstracts 398
Index 406

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Foreword
Salim Tamari
The contributions of this volume are framed by the overlooked context of the
British Mandate, providing a significant overview of photography and the social
histories of the period. They cover a wide range of themes based on a re-reading
of social history through several archival collections (American Colony, École
Biblique, National Geographic), institutional records of service (mission
schools, orphanages, monasteries and charities), family albums (Jawhariyya,
Luci, Mushabek), portrait photography (Raʿad, Whiting, Scholten), urban-
scapes and aerial photography (Scholten, Bavarian State Archive, Australian
War Memorial).
Added to the rich archival material, is the consideration of how we read and
restitute images and their histories. This includes debates on methodologies
for decolonising and indigenising photography as well as re-examining and
‘re-narrating’ photographs that have not been published.
Reading social history through photography has been a crucial antidote to
the absence and loss of Palestinian material patrimony through wars and con-
quests. Alongside professional photographers, family albums constituted the
portable artifacts of memory that is used today to reconstruct the daily life of
bourgeois quotidian.
Among the case studies in this volume dealing with archival fonds and
conceptual approaches to photography, it celebrates, and in one case, resur-
rects from oblivion, the work of four outstanding photographers of Palestine.
Lars Larsson, John D. Whiting, Frank Scholten and Khalīl Raʿad. Both Whiting
and Larsson were pioneering photographers associated with the American
Colony, and both traversed the Ottoman and Mandate periods.
The leading figure in their photography was Lars (Lewis) Larsson, head of
the photographic department in the American Colony and, later, the Swedish
consul in Jerusalem. Larsson was the author of the iconic picture of the sur-
render of Jerusalem by Mayor Ḥusayn Hashim al-Ḥusaynī in the hills of Sheikh
Bader on 9th December, 1917 which was reproduced all over the world signal-
ling the fall of Ottoman rule, and the capture of Palestine by the British.
Biblification of these photographic collections is a major theme that is
examined by a number of contributors. One of the richest of those compendi-
ums is undoubtedly that of the École Biblique in Jerusalem, whose main focus
has been the documentation of archaeological excavations and sites in the late
19th century and Mandate period.

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viii Foreword
Figure 0.1 The Surrender of Jerusalem, 1917. Lars (Lewis) Larsson

Image from the Wasif Jawharriyya album. Courtesy of the
Institute for Palestine studies
The launching of the Scholten collection from Leiden has been an opportune
moment to examine the ethnographic work of the great Dutch photographer
Frank Scholten. Less than one-tenth of that collection has been published in
his seminal study of Jaffa life in the 1920s – a work which is imbued with haunt-
ing and lyrical imageries.1
Scholten appears to have been forgotten, while his work, subsumed under
the rubric of biblification of the Levantine landscape, was eclipsed by an ava-
lanche of ‘Holy Land photographic albums’. In a genre that we might call a
deconstructive biblification, Scholten’s uniqueness is derived from his excep-
tional ability to combine landscape photography with intimate vignettes of
urban life showing the varied communitarian makeup of Palestinian society
that permeate his oeuvre. Scholten’s intimacy with his subjects is visible in
much of his portraiture: leisurely groups frolicking in the sands of Nabī Rūbīn,
seasonal celebrations of religious holidays, men and women of all walks in
life in the marketplace. The ribboned girl holding an Easter egg is an iconic
Scholtian image – a subject which reassesses his work within the context of
biblification with which he was long associated and pigeonholed.
In analysing local photography in Palestine, the case of Khalīl Raʿad shows a
duality can be seen in his substantial involvement in the military photography
1 Frank Scholten and George Robinson, Palestine Illustrated. Including references to passages
illustrated in the Bible, the Talmud and the Koran (London: Longmands & Co, 1931).

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Foreword ix
Figure 0.2 Ribboned Girl with Easter Egg; Frank Scholten, Jaffa 1921–23
IMAGE Courtesy of NINO & UBL
of WWI when he served as a publicist for the Ottoman war effort,2 as well as his
immersion in Biblical theme photography during the Mandate period. This dual-
ity perhaps best embodies the contradictions of modernity and biblification in
the photography of Palestine during the shift from Ottoman to British rule.
The albums of Wasif Jawhariyya likewise show him as a participant and
observer of performative theatre (the shadow play – karagoz – and its earlier
more primitive manifestations in sunduq al ʿajab – the wondrous ‘magic box’).
His photographic collection preserves and immortalises a world that is no
longer with us.
Jawhariyya’s use of the photographic images to illustrate the transformation
of the cityscape and to ceremonial processions (Nabī Mūsā, Sittuna Maryam,
the Saturday of Light Easter parade) – all of which transcended their original
religious content into public syncretic celebrations, capturing the impacts of
political developments in Palestine.3
2 Salim Tamari, “The War Photography of Khalil Raad: Ottoman Modernity and the Biblical
Gaze,” Jerusalem Quarterly 52 (2013): 25–37.
3 This is the topic of a collective project on Palestinian family albums that is undertaken
by three participants in the Leiden conference, but which will appear in a separate vol-
ume. Issam Nassar, Stephen Sheehi and Salim Tamari, Camera Palestina: Photography and
Displaced Histories of Palestine (Berkeley: University of California Press, forthcoming).

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Acknowledgments
This volume is one of the results of a Dutch Research Council (NWO) research
project (Dec. 2017–Dec. 2022) CrossRoads: European Cultural diplomacy and
Arab Christians in Palestine (1920–1950). A connected History.
We would like to thank the NWO for financing this research project, as well
as the Netherlands Institute for the Near East (NINO) for its support of the
international workshop where the papers of this book were first presented and
discussed, for the opening of the Frank Scholten photographic collection and
its support for the various steps towards an exhibition and a catalogue. Our
sincere gratitude goes to Vincent Lemire and Angelos Dalachanis, the series
editors, for their enthusiasm and support to welcome a volume on photogra-
phy from the very beginning and to the Open Jerusalem Team.
We are grateful to many colleagues in Leiden, Jerusalem, Paris, London,
New York, Beirut and elsewhere who, through their contributions to the con-
ference, the workshops and through extended email conversations helped us
to flesh out our questions and approaches. We would like to thank some of our
partners for their support and their scholar in residence programs we greatly
benefited from in our way to this volume (Ecole française de Rome, Ecole bib-
lique et archéologique de Jérusalem, Al Ma‌ʾmal Foundation Jerusalem and
the Australian Archaeological Institute in Athens). There are also a number
of archives who have been very supportive of this project (the American Colony
Archive Jerusalem, the Leiden University special collections, the National
Geographic Society archive, the Palestine Museum Digital archive and the
Palestine Exploration Fund).
We would also like to thank Sarah Irving for her invaluable work and brain
storming during her postdoctoral research at Leiden University and our
constant rich exchanges since, Salim Tamari for our many discussions, his
insightful comments during the workshop and his foreword, Heleen Murre-van
den Berg for paving the way of CrossRoads during and after the Arabic and its
Alternatives project (2012–2017), Lara van der Hammen for her constant and
efficient support to the CrossRoads team, Carolien van Zoest for helping to
facilitate and coordinate NINO’s support and Rachel Lev for her precious help
with captions for articles related to the American Colony. We would also like to
thank the Rijksmuseum Oudheden (RMO) for hosting sections of the workshop
and the exhibition Frank Scholten: Archaeology and Tourism in the ‘Holy Land’
(May to October 2020).
Finally, we thank the colleagues who contributed to this volume in particu-
lar, those who published, and those who for various reasons could not write
but contributed to our discussions.

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Figures
0.1 The Surrender of Jerusalem, 1917. Lars (Lewis) Larsson viii

0.2 Ribboned Girl with Easter Egg; Frank Scholten, Jaffa 1921–23 ix
1.1 Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, 14th December 1917. Captain Arthur Rhodes,
The New Zealand Canterbury Rifles 9
1.2 A reproduction from Ali Kazak’s exhibitions on Palestine, 1979. Mostly likely
reproduced from Captain Charles Wilson’s Picturesque Palestine (1891) 19
1.3 Hanna Bastoli and family members on her engagement day, 1924. (Hanna Bastoli,
George Ayyoub and her mother-in-law, Hilwa Al-Douiri). From Maha as-Saqqa’s
photo album, 0027.01.0054 21
1.4 Bassam Shakaa as a child, 1933. From the Bassām ash-Shakʿa’s photo album,
0050.01.0386 22
1.5 A family trip with friends, c.1940–45. Ghassan Abdullah Collection,
0156.01.0068 23
2.1 ‘No. 3: Marie Aboud’ Part of Christian Herald Orphanage Record Book 32
2.2 ‘Christian Herald Orphanage Conducted by the American Colony’ and
‘Playground of the Orphanage’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album 38
2.3 ‘Sir Arthur and Lady Money during a visit to the Orphanage’ and ‘Untitled’.
Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album 39
2.4 ‘One of the Classes’ and ‘Kindergarten’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album 41
2.5 ‘Untitled’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album 44
2.6 ‘Christmas 1918, C.H. Orphanage’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album 44
2.7 Untitled. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album 46
2.8 Upper photograph: ‘Dentistry’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album 47
2.9 Christmas at the Christian Herald Orphanage, 1918. Part of ‘Members and
Activities of the American Colony and Aid Projects’, Negative Collection, series
24_13 49
2.10 Little Orphans of Jerusalem, 1921. The Christian Herald, 29th January, 1921 52
3.1 High Commissioner Herbert Plumer and Director of Education, Humphrey
Bowman on an official visit to the Swedish School, 1925. American Colony Photo
Department. From left: The Consular Guard, Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson, Herbert
Plumer, Signe Ekblad, unknown woman, unknown man, Humphrey Bowman,
unknown man. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 270068 68

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xii Figures
3.2 The Arab Teachers and headmistress Ekblad, the Swedish School during the
Summer Term, 1926. Photographer unknown. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
Collection, 396359 69
3.3 Photograph of the ongoing work at the Swedish School, Signe Ekblad. Swedish
Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 396354 81
3.4 Children and teachers from the Swedish School on an Easter outing, 1926. Hol
Lars (Lewis) Larsson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, Album No. 9,
293849 82
3.5 ‘Welcome to the Swedish School’, 1927. Reproduction of a watercolour by Swedish
artist Elsa Beskow with caption. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
396356 84
3.6 The youngest children and teacher (Ekblad?) in connection with the move to the
new school building, 1926. Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
3.7 Signe Ekblad and children with foundation stone for the new building,
March 1928. The American Colony Photo Department. Swedish Jerusalem
Society’s Collection, Album No. 9 85
3.8 The new building at the Swedish School, pupils and teachers doing Swedish
gymnastics outside in the school yard, 1928. The American Colony Photo
Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, Album No. 9, 194135 86
3.9 The scene is from the hallway of the new building at the Swedish school, with
children and teachers. Signe Ekblad is standing in the stairs, right, 1930. The
American Colony Photo Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
Album No. 1, 293845 88
3.10 Teachers examining schoolgirls’ eyes in Sunhut. The American Colony Photo
Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 293996 89
3.11 Girls and teachers (Signe Ekblad to the front) washing up at the Swedish school’s
soup kitchen the Green Hall, 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
3.12 Signe Ekblad giving out tickets to mothers and children at the soup kitchen Green
Hall, Jerusalem, May 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
92985 93
3.13 Mothers and children at the food distribution for children at the Swedish School,
May 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 93033 93
4.1 Preservation, scanning and cataloguing of the EBAF photographs by
J.M. de Tarragon, April 2015. Latin Patriarchate archives digitisation 104
4.2 Biblical caravan, 1913 107
4.3 General view of Nablus, early 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00248-J0253 113
4.4 Plate IV Map of Nablus. Jaussen, Coutumes palestieniennes, 1927 114

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Figures xiii
4.5 Nablus and its craftsmanship, the weaver, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 00321-J0326 117
4.6 Plate VIII, 1920s. Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 1927 118
4.7 Prayer in one of the Nablus’ mosques, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 00274-J0279 119
4.8 The suq of Nablus before the 1927 earthquake, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised
glass plate, 00262-J0267 119
4.9 Olive harvest in the region of Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 00256-J0261 120
4.10 Preparation of the qirāb in Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00322-J0327 120
4.11 Plate II, 1920s. Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 1927 123
4.12 Christian Palestinian lady of Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00300-J0305 124
4.13 The wife of Ibrāhīm al-Tuwāl of Mādabā, c. 1905. Raphaël Savignac. Digitised
glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00300-J0305 125
4.14 Portrait of a Nablusi woman, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate, 11 ×
15 cm, 00302-J0307 126
4.15 Portrait of a Nablusi woman lying down, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00302-J0308 126
4.16 Nablusi woman with her baby on her knees, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised
glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00304-J0309 127
4.17 Couple levantin, after 1920. Raphaël Savignac. Digitised glass plate, 11 × 15 cm,
5601-6644 132
4.18 Catholic family of Mādabā visiting EBAF, early 1920s. Raphaël Savignac.
Digitised glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 5468-2484 133
4.19 Riot, 13th October 1933. Caption (in French) on the top part: “Émeutes du
13 octobre 1933”, bottom: “Avant: la police approche …” Betharram Fathers,
Médebielle collection; 22547-LPJ, 1644 135
4.20 Riot, 13th October 1933. Caption on the top part: “La charge …” bottom: “Après:
le débloquement …” Betharram Fathers, Médebielle collection; 22547-
LPJ, 1645 136
4.21 Brass band of Saint Anne ( fanfare), early 1920s. White Fathers collection,
15977-SteA-0146 137
4.22 Nabi Mouça (sic) festival, 1922. White Fathers collection, 19348-Ste
A-Cont.1275 138
4.23 Nabi Mouça (sic) festival, 1922. White Fathers collection, Nabī Mūsā 19355-Ste
A-Cont.1282 139
4.24 A melkite priest with his wife and daughters, 1920s. F. Jules Riffier, photographer
of Saint Anne until 1926, White Fathers collection, from, 18325 Ste A 238 140

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xiv Figures
4.25 Nīcūlā Dāhbār and his father from Yabroud, 1920s. White Fathers collection,
18291-Ste A-Cont.204 141
4.26 Salesian school, tractor Fordson, 1938. Collection of the Salesians Fathers,
17165-Sal.196, Beit Jimal, 1935–38 142
4.27 A class outside, Ain Karim, 17th February 1934. Latin Patriarchate archives,
22572-LPJ, 1669 142
4.28 Catholic scouts of Beit Jala, 1925. Caption behind, ‘À Sa Béatitude Mgr.
le Patriarche Latin, Jérusalem’. Blue stamp, ‘Palestine Catholic Scouts
Association. Beit-Jala’. On the sticker: ‘I giovani esploratori col loro
Parroco D. Bonaventura Habase – 1925’. Latin Patriarchate archives,
21420-LPJ, 0524 143
4.29 Catholic scouts in a trip around Palestine, Lydda junction station, 1930s. Salesians
archives, 26489-scouts 28 143
4.30 Alumni of the Sisters of Sion, charity for the poor of the Bab Hutta neighbourhood,
1926. Sisters of Sion Archives 144
4.31 Rosary sisters and their pupils, Zababdeh, 1933. Archives of the Rosary Sisters,
22188-LPJ, 1293 145
4.32 Rosary Sisters with Alumni and priest, Zababdeh, 1933. Archives of the Rosary
sisters, 22189 LPJ 1294 146
4.33 School for girls in Yaffa en-Nasariyye, 1922–1923. Caption on the back, ‘Jaffa de
Nazareth. 1922–1923’, ‘La scuola feminile nel 1920’. Latin Patriarchate archives,
21617-LPJ 0721 147
4.34 Latin procession at Beit Jimal, 1935, with Greek-Catholic, Maronite, Armenian
Catholic and Syriac Catholics. Salesians archives, 17098 Sal. 100 147
4.35 Food distribution in Gaza, 1948. Caption ‘D. Sourour with refugee children’. Latin
Patriarchate archives, 21763-LPJ 0868 149
5.1 A page from the album showing the mayors of Jerusalem. Album 1, Wāṣif
Jawhariyya 161
5.2 A photograph of Ottoman mutaṣarrif Ra‌ʾuf Pāshā. Album 1,
Wāṣif Jawhariyya 162
5.3 General and Lady Allenby in Jerusalem. Album 1, Wāṣif Jawhariyya 164
5.4 The Ottoman pilots in Jaffa. Album 1, Wāṣif Jawhariyya 165
5.5 The surrender of Jerusalem. American Colony Photo Department. Album 1,
Wāṣif Jawhariyya 166
5.6 Julia and sister in-law. Julia Luci’s album 170
5.7 Julia’s nephew Solieman Salti. Julia Luci’s album 171
5.8 Julia and husband on vacation in Lebanon. Julia Luci’s album 172
5.9 Bombing on BenYehuda St, 1948. Julia Luci’s album 174
5.10 Cover of the album. Olympic Album, George Mushabek 175
5.11 The inside cover of the album. Olympic Album, George Mushabek 175

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Figures xv
5.12 Page from album that has an imprint of Hitler with the German team and
Mushabek at a game, 1936. Olympic Album, George Mushabek 177
5.13 The friends at train station in Lydda during their return trip, 1936. Olympic
Album, George Mushabek 179
5.14–16 The friends onboard the Greek ship and visiting monuments in Greece.
Olympic Album, George Mushabek 180
6.1 The store of Raad in Jaffa St Jerusalem, 1930s 186
6.2 Chalil Raad and Annie Muller in their Wedding Day, 1919 189
6.3 Raad Family, 1932. From left to right: Chalil, George, Ruth and Annie 191
6.4 Raad, P. [probably photographer], Established 1895’ (Sefer Hareshimott, 1936,
34) 191
6.5 ‘Let it now be known and announced that whoever seeks photographic
pictures of all kinds, at the finest quality and for an affordable price, is welcome
to contact me […] ! Chalil Raad. My workshop is located outside the [old] city
[of Jerusalem], near Hotel Howard at the bookbinder Rabbi Leib Kahana of
Safed’. Hahavatselet, 24th July, 1899, 320 (translated from Hebrew) 193
6.6 An envelope ( for film negative) with stamp of Prussian Court Photographer 193
6.7 Jaffa Street, Jerusalem, 1898–1914. On the right side Raad’s and Savides’
stores. On the left side, Krikorians’ store, American Colony Photography
Department 194
6.8 Chalil Raad and John Krikorian, 1930. Catalogue of Lantern Slides
and Views made by C. Raad & J. Krikorian of Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies,
Costumes, etc. of Palestine & Syria Identical with Bible History, C. Raad &
J. Krikorian Photographers. Jerusalem, Palestine (Jerusalem: The Commercial
Press, 1930) 195
6.9 and 6.10 Chalil Raad, 1933 Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views made by
C. Raad Photographer of Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies, Costumes, Etc. Etc., of
Palestine & Syria Identical with Bible History (Jerusalem: Beyt-Ul-Makdes Press,
1933) 196
6.11 and 6.12 Pages from Raad’s Albums 200–201
6.13 Native children of Banias, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 745 in Raad’s albums/
textual catalogue 206
6.14 Women of Ramallah embroidering, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 285 in Raad’s
albums/textual catalogue 207
6.15 Boy selling oranges, undated. Chalil Raad. No. a269 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue 208
6.16 Untitled, undated (uncatalogued). Chalil Raad 209
6.17 The Mufti leaving with the procession to Nabī Mūsā, date unknown. Chalil Raad.
No. a230 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue 210
6.18 The Palestine Directory, 1920 211

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xvi Figures
6.19 Ruth the gleaner, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 656 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue 212
6.20 Old Canaanite wall at Beith-Shems and women carrying baskets of debris,
c. 1928–1933. Chalil Raad. Excavation conducted by Dr. Grant, 1928–1933,
No. a148 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue 214
6.21 Washing and cleaning potshards c. 1928–1933. Chalil Raad. Excavation
conducted by Dr. Grant, 1928–1933, No. a144 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue) 214
6.22 Ruins of an old crusader in Samaria. Chalil Raad. Excavation conducted by Prof.
Sellin, 1913–1914 or 1926–1927, No. 317 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue 217
7.1 John D. Whiting [left], Ḥusayn Salīm Afandī al-Ḥusaynī (Hussein Selim Effendi
al-Husseini) [Mayor of Jerusalem] and Ismāʿīl Bay al-Ḥusaynī (Ismail Bey
al-Husseini) [Director of Education], c. 1908. From Members and Activities of
the American Colony, c. 1890–1906. Photograph album. Photographer Unknown.
Visual Materials from the papers of John D. Whiting 228
7.2 Studio Portrait of John D. Whiting, c. 1905–1910. From Portraits of the Vester
and Whiting Families and the American Colony, 1905–1913. Photograph
album. Photographer unknown. Visual Materials from the Papers of
John D. Whiting 230
7.3 Typical Diary in Photos album page. Above: Trip to Trans-Jordan with
four Anglo-Catholic Sisters, 1937. Sketching in Kasr Kharani. Below: Trip
to Trans-Jordan with four Anglo-Catholic Sisters, 1937. Sketching in Kasr
Kharani 231
7.4 Group portrait of the Vester and Whiting Families at the American Colony,
1924. With John D. Whiting (third from left up, wearing dark suit). ACPD pho-
tographers. Glass Negative. From American Colony Members and Associates,
1880s–1930s. Glass Negative Collection 232
7.5 Typical Diary in Photos album pages (from left to right). a. Tortoise laying eggs /
Jewish Protest to White Paper [1939]. b. Jewish Protest to White Paper [1939].
c. Iris Trip to Syria. Kasr el Banat / Bedouin woman and boy digging Kimme
[1939]. d. Iris Trip to Syria, Camel calf just born [1939]. Diary in Photos,
Volume V, 1939.Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting 234
7.6 To Syria with the Bowens, 10th–20th December. Lebanon reforesters at
work, 1937. From John D. Whiting’s Diary in Photos, Volume II, 1936–1937.
Photograph album. Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting 235
7.7 Staff of the American Consulate, Jerusalem, 1910–1914. With William Coffin,
Consul General of United States of America, John D. Whiting (second from left,
leaning against the wall), Deputy Consul, the qawās (consular guards) and
others. Photographer unknown. From Early Photographs of the American
Colony, 1870–1925, Photograph album 236

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Figures xvii
7.8 Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935. a. Sir Edgar
and Mr Lever. Tomb of the Urn, Petra, 1935. b. Sir Edgar at El Khazna,
Petra, 1935. c. Mr Lever on top of the Crusader Castle, Petra, 1935.
d. Sir Edgar [Horne] in the siq, Petra, 1935. From John D. Whiting,
Diary in Photos, Volume I, Part II, 1935. Photograph album. Visual Materials
from the Papers of John D. Whiting 240
7.9 Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935.
Left: Mr Rutenberg (younger) explains to Sir Edgar the workings, 1935 242
7.10 Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935.
Right: The party outside the electrical station, 1935. From John D. Whiting,
Diary in Photos, Volume I, Part II, 1935. Photograph album. Visual Materials
from the Papers of John D. Whiting 242
7.11 Wedding of Emir Talal (Amīr Ṭalāl), Amman, November 26 & 27, 1934.
a. Emir Abdullah (with Shaykh Mutgal el Fiez) watching the procession
passing palace, 1934. b. Bedouin Warriors in medieval armour, 1934.
c. Returning from the Palace. ‘The mahmal’, 1934. d. Emir Abdulla’s Horse, 1934.
From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume I, 1934. Photograph album.
From John D. Whiting, Bedouins in Jordan and Other Locations, 1934–1935.
Photograph album. Visual Materials of the Papers of John D. Whiting 246
7.12 Bedouin and Circassian Leaders, Amman, April 17, 1921. With T.E. Lawrence
(third from right in grey suit and hat) and John D. Whiting (sixth from
right), posing with an airplane and pilot at Amman Jordan. From Meetings
of British, Arab and Bedouin officials, Amman, Jordan, 1921. Photograph
album. Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson, ACPD. Visual Materials from the Papers of
John D. Whiting 247
7.13 Bedu Camp at Dayr al-Balaḥ. Invitation of ʿĀrif Bay, Sept. 29–Oct.1, 1934.
a. Watching the Gaza races. b. The camp near Deir el Belah, 1934. c. Lunch
in Bedouin tent. Grace [Whiting], Mr. Palmer, Mrs. Palmer, ʿĀrif Bay and the
Sheikh. d. The party on the sands. From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos,
Volume I, 1934. Photograph album. Visual Materials from the Papers of
John D. Whiting 249
7.14 To Palmyra with Cromwell Party, April 15–19, 1938. a. Reception party at Palmyra
aerodrome, 1938. b. Desert Patrol riding standing atop camels, 1938.
c. The camel chariot race driven by black riders in gazell[e]-skin suits, 1938.
d. A Bedouin wedding staged by Gypsies. Accompanying the bride on the
mahmal, 1938. From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume III, 1938.
7.15 City Women [and Children] Watching the Races. To Palmyra with Cromwell
Party, April 15–19, 1938. From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume III, 1938.

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xviii Figures
7.16 To Palmyra with Cromwell party, April 15–19, 1938. A traditional ‘mock (ghazū)’
raid. The bride alights from the camel, 1938. From John D. Whiting, Diary in
Photos, Volume III, 1938. Photograph album. Visual Materials from the Papers of
John D. Whiting 257
8.1 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Jaffa Port. Digitised negative. Frank Scholten.
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Jaffa_06_0048, Frank Scholten Collection 269
8.2 Cardboard divider with letter transfers. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_
Doos_07_0285. Frank Scholten Collection 273
8.3 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A ship arriving in the Port of Jaffa.
Digitised negative. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Jaffa_16_0008, Frank Scholten
Collection 275
8.4 and 8.5 Jour Nabī Mūsā and Untitled (also Nabī Mūsā), 1921–23. Frank Scholten,
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_02_0071 and UBL_NINO_F_Scholten
_Fotos_Doos_02_0072. Frank Scholten Collection 281
8.6 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A shepherd playing the flute. UBL_NINO_F
_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_0821, Frank Scholten Collection 286
8.7 and 8.8 Yazur, 1921–23. Frank Scholten, UBL_NINO_F_Scholten
_Fotos_Doos_04_0403 and UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_04_0025.
Frank Scholten Collection 287
8.9 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A village house decorated with patterns
similar to cross stitch. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_0820. Frank
Scholten Collection 289
8.10 Tel Aviv, 1921–23. Frank Scholten, UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos
_Doos_17_0186, Frank Scholten Collection 290
8.11 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Portrait of ʿĪsā al-ʿĪsā and son Raja. UBL
_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_07_0407, Frank Scholten Collection 293
8.12 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_17_0215,
Frank Scholten Collection 294
8.13 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Gurkhas in Jerusalem leaving for Nabī Mūsā.
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_02_0074, Frank Scholten Collection 296
8.14 Zweedsche matrozen, 1918–19. Frank Scholten. ‘Swedish sailors’ at Amsterdam
Centraal Station. Part of his album ‘Amsterdam’. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten
_Netherlands_Amsterdam_010, Frank Scholten Collection 297
8.15 and 8.16 Untitled [marked Sarafand], 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Nissan huts used
as soldiers’ barracks at the British Military Base in Sarafand. UBL
_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_1005 and UBL_NINO_F
_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_1009, Frank Scholten Collection 299
8.17 David and Jonathan, 1891. George Heywood Sumner, published in ‘The Studio’,
1891. From the ‘found images’ collection, Frank Scholten Collection, Box
A8 301

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Figures xix
8.18 Untitled [French soldiers in Jerusalem], 1921–23. Frank Scholten. UBL_NINO_F_

Scholten_Fotos_Doos_17_0216, Frank Scholten Collection 301
9.1 ‘Zerin, formally Jezreel, city of Ahab and Jezebel, looks off past Little Hermon to
Nazareth and its well, here seen, is not far from the road, but it is seldom visited
by travelers. The costume of the women is unusually colorful but I could not get
them to pose for color plates. In the background are the Galilean hills west of
Nazareth. Palestine.’ Unpublished photograph and caption by Maynard Owen
Williams, 1927 323
9.2 ‘Photograph of Abdel Kader Shihabi, Official Calligrapher to the Government of
Palestine, and the finest calligrapher in this part of the world. Among Moslems,
calligraphy is the highest form of art and the best work commands prices for
which very fair painters would gladly do a portrait or a landscape. In this view
are shown some famous samples of calligraphy, some of them very old and
many of them very valuable. ($200 to $700). Jerusalem.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. A portrait of
Shihabi posing alone in his studio was published with Keith-Roach’s
December 1927 article 324
9.3 ‘Governor Keith-Roach’s personal qawās wearing a head scarf and camel hair
crown, outside the American Colony at Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927 325
9.4 ‘Major Keith-Roach is very desirous of a picture of the Jaffa Gate traffic cop.
I show him here amid such traffic as passes. The view is north up Jaffa Road
from near the walls of the Citadel. Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. A closer view of
this policeman taken from a different angle was published with Keith-Roach’s
December 1927 article 328
9.5 ‘A young Christian Arab girl, whom Governor Keith-Roach thinks the prettiest
girl in Palestine, wearing the Bethlehem costume. Jerusalem.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927 A similar portrait
of this young woman was published in black-and-white with Keith-Roach’s
December 1927 article and another in colour in Williams’ companion
photo-essay of autochromes from Jerusalem in the same issue 329
9.6 Hilweh Abu Tayr, born in the village of Umm Tuba in the Jerusalem District
and raised in Bethlehem, identified by her grandson, Rauf Malki. ‘Moslem
woman wearing the fine costume seen on the day of the Nabī Mūsā
procession, Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished photograph and caption by
Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. Another portrait of Abu Tayr was published
with Keith-Roach’s December 1927 article and three other images in colour of
her and her mother were published in Williams’ companion photo-essay of
autochromes from Jerusalem in the same issue 335

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xx Figures
10.1 ‘Turkish Official Teases Starving Armenian Children’, 1915. (Featured in Donald
Bloxham) 341
10.2 Mohammed al-Durrah Mural. Santa Fe, NM by artist Remy 343
10.3 Eating Hummus, 1935. Elia Kahvedjian. Elia Studio Jerusalem 354
11.1 Map of Bavarian aerial photographs in Palestine during the Great War, 1916–18.
Map by author 363
11.2 ‘Jaffa Old City – The dotted line A-B marks the approximate line of the first
Demolitions’ 367
11.3 Example of two pages from Gustaf Dalman’s 1925 book, including descriptive
texts for two aerial photographs of Jerusalem 371
11.4 Above: ‘The Jaffa Gate reconstruction as at present, looking towards the city.’
Below: ‘The same, as suggested when the unsightly obstruction that hides the
walls are cleaned away’ 375
11.5 Above: ‘The Jaffa gate reconstruction at present, looking towards Bethlehem.’
Below: ‘The same, as suggested after the removal of the market to the other side
of the road’ 376
11.6 ‘A black-and-white photograph of a crowd gathered in front of al-Awqaf,
Ma‌ʾman Allah St during the opening of the Second Arab Industrial Exhibition,
in 1934, in Palace Hotel, in response to the Zionist Exhibition which had opened
in Tel Aviv’ 379
11.7 A page including photographs in Jaffa from Theodore Sarrouf’s album.
The captions read: ‘The mounted Police disperse the demonstrators at the
martyr-ground square Jaffa’; and ‘Demonstrators in front of the entrance
of the great Mosque of Jaffa, Policemen obstructing the way leading to the
Governorate’ 383
11.8 A page including photographs in Jerusalem from Theodore Sarrouf’s album.
The captions read: ‘Constables & Police Officers are attacking the
demonstrators at the New Gate & striking them with their batons. Some
are thrown as illustrated’; and ‘the mounted Police are rushing upon the
demonstrating ladies’ 384
11.9 and 11.10 Two pages from ‘Arab Progress in Palestine’ report by Khalil
Totah 385
12.1 Ceremony to lay the foundation stone of the Calouste Gulbenkian Library,
Jerusalem, 1930 396
12.2 Untitled, 1920s. Members of the Jerusalem community, with in the centre a
secular priest, probably not belonging to the congregation of St James, who is
also a refugee in the neighbourhood, 1920s 396
12.3 Departure of the children to Jerusalem 397

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Notes on Contributors
Nadi Abusaada
Nadi Abusaada is a Ph.D. Candidate in Architecture at the University of
Cambridge. He is a Cambridge Trust scholar and a member of the Centre for
Urban Conflicts Research. His Ph.D. research focuses on urban transformation
in modern Palestine (1880–1940), particularly the rise of municipalities and
architectural changes in this period. More broadly, he is interested in the rela-
tionship between the built environment and sociopolitical dynamics in cities.
Nadi is currently the Co-Editor in Chief for the 2019/20 issue of Scroope: The
Cambridge Architectural Journal. Nadi holds an M.Phil. in Architecture and
Urban Studies from the University of Cambridge and an H.B.A. in Architecture
from the University of Toronto.
Özge Calafato
Özge Calafato is a cultural studies scholar focusing on the relationship
between vernacular photography, gender, memory and cultural identity. In
2020, she completed her PhD dissertation on photographic representations
of the Turkish middle classes from the 1920s to the 1930s at the Amsterdam
School for Cultural Analysis, the University of Amsterdam. From 2014 to 2020
she was the Assistant Director for the Akkasah Center for Photography at NYU
Abu Dhabi, home to an archive of the photographic heritage of the Middle
East and North Africa. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science and
International Relations from Boğaziçi University in Istanbul, and a Master’s
Degree in Journalism from the University of Westminster in London.
Abigail Jacobson
Abigail Jacobson is a historian working on social and urban history of late
Ottoman and Mandatory Palestine and the Eastern Mediterranean. Her main
research interest is the history of ethnically and nationally mixed spaces
and communities, especially during times of war and conflict. Her first book
is entitled From Empire to Empire: Jerusalem between Ottoman and British
Rule (Syracuse University Press, 2011). Her second book, Oriental Neighbors:
Middle Eastern Jews and Arabs in Mandatory Palestine (Brandeis/New England
University Press, 2016), is co-authored with Dr. Moshe Naor. The book won the
Yonatan Shapira award for the best book in Israel studies for 2017, as well as
the best book award from the Center for the Relations of Muslims, Jews and
Christians at the Open University in Israel (2017).

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xxii Notes on Contributors
Yazan Kopty
Yazan Kopty is a writer, researcher, and oral historian. His work centres around
the acts of listening and narrating, focusing especially on memory as resist-
ance and community-sourced histories. He is a National Geographic Explorer
and lead investigator of Imagining the Holy, a research project that seeks to
examine and connect thousands of images of historic Palestine from the
National Geographic Society archive with Palestinian community elders, cul-
tural heritage experts, and field researchers to add new layers of indigenous
knowledge and narrative to the images. He previously established and headed
the oral history and intangible cultural heritage programs at Qatar Museums.
His forthcoming debut novel is inspired by oral histories he conducted with
his grandparents and his family archive of films, photographs, and documents.
Rachel Lev
Rachel Lev heads the American Colony Archive Collections in Jerusalem. She
gained experience both as a curator and an exhibition designer starting as a
junior curator in the fields of Prints and Drawings and Photography and later
as an exhibition designer where she created many temporary and permanent
displays. She established and heads the American Colony Archive Collections
in Jerusalem and consults with researchers and curators with regard to
primary sources essential to the collection. Rachel’s interest lies in the rela-
tionship between perception and presentation of content in space; and the
relation between dominant and alternative narratives in art and photography,
specifically in the work of the American Colony Photo-Dept. photographers
(1896–1934).
Issam Nassar
Issam Nassar is an historian of photography and the Middle East at Illinois
State University. Nassar taught at the University of California at Berkeley in
2006; Bradley University in 2003–2006 and al-Quds University in 1998–2003.
He is associate editor of Jerusalem Quarterly (Arabic: Hawliyat al-Quds) and
author of a number of books and articles, among them: Different Snapshots:
The History of Early Local Photography in Palestine, European Portrayals of
Jerusalem: Religious Fascinations and Colonialist Imaginations, Lewiston, NY:
The Edwin Mellen Press, 2006. Gardens of Sand, edited with Clark Worswick
and Patricia Almarcegui, TrunerPhoto Middle East, October 2010. I Would
Have Smiled: Photographing the Palestinian Refugee Experience, co-edited with
Rasha Salti (Jerusalem: Institute for Palestine Studies, 2009).

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Notes on Contributors xxiii
Norig Neveu
Norig Neveu is a research fellow at the French National Center for Scientific
Research (CNRS) based in IREMAM (Aix-en-Provence, France). As a special-
ist of Modern history, she has been conducting research for the last ten years
in the Middle East, especially in Jordan and Palestine. Her present research
focuses on sacred topographies, religious politics and authorities in Jordan,
Palestine and Iraq between the 19th and 21st centuries. Thanks to this long-term
approach she observes the evolution of tribal and kinship networks and the
reconfiguration of the sources of religious authorities in the region. She has
published several articles on local pilgrimages, sacred topographies, religious
tourism and its impact on local societies. Since 2017, she is one of the coordina-
tors of the MisSMO research program about Christian missions in the Middle
East since the late 19th century (https://missmo.hypotheses.org/).

Inger Marie Okkenhaug (Ph.D. University of Bergen 1999) is a Professor of
History at Volda University College, Norway. From 2000–2009, Okkenhaug was
a researcher at the University of Bergen. In addition to a number of published
chapters and articles, she is the author of “The Quality of Heroic Living, of High
Endeavour and Adventure.” Anglican Mission, Women and Education in Palestine,
1888–1948 (Brill, 2002) and the co-editor of Gender, Religion and Change
in the Middle East: Two Hundred Years of History (Berg, 2005); Interpreting
Welfare and Relief in the Middle East (Brill, 2008); Protestant Mission and Local
Encounters in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Brill, 2011); Transnational
and Historical Perspectives on Global Health, Welfare and Humanitarianism
(Portal Books, 2013). Among her most recent publications is “Religion, Relief,
and Humanitarian Work among Armenian Women Refugees in Mandatory
Syria, 1927–1934”, Scandinavian Journal of History 40/3, 2015; “Scandinavian
Missionaries in Palestine: The Swedish Jerusalem Society, Medical Mission
and Education in Jerusalem and Bethlehem, 1900–1948”, Tracing the Jerusalem
Code: Christian Cultures in Scandinavia, 3., ed. Ragnhild J. Zorgati, (forthcom-
ing) and “Orphans, Refugees and Relief in the Armenian Republic, 1922–1925”,
Aid to Armenia, eds. Joanne Laycock and Francesca Piana (forthcoming).
Okkenhaug’s latest book, En norsk filantrop. Bodil Biørn og armenerne, 1905–
1934 (2016) deals with Norwegian mission and humanitarian work among the
Armenians in the years from 1905 to 1940. Okkenhaug is also a co-producer of a
documentary film War, Women and Welfare in Jerusalem, 2009, financed by the
Norwegian Research Council.

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xxiv Notes on Contributors
Karène Sanchez Summerer

Karène Sanchez Summerer is Associate Professor at Leiden University. She
is the PI of the research project (2018–2022), ‘CrossRoads- A connected his-
tory between Europeans’ cultural diplomacy and Arab Christians in Mandate
Palestine, 1918–1948’ (project funded by the Dutch Research Council NWO,
https://crossroadsproject.net). She is the co-editor of the series Languages and
Culture in History with Prof. Em. W. Frijhoff, Amsterdam University Press. Since
2017, she is one of the coordinators of the MisSMO research program about
Christian missions in the Middle East since the late 19th century.
Last publications: she co-edited with Sary Zananiri (eds.), European Cultural
Diplomacy and Arab Christians in Palestine, 1918–1948. Between Contention and
Connection (Palgrave MacMillan, 2020); with Inger Marie Okkenhaug (eds.),
Brill LSIS series 11, Mission and Humanitarianism in the Middle East, 1860–
1950- Ideologies Rhetoric and Practices, 2020; with Philippe Bourmaud (eds.),
Missions/ Powers/ Arabization, Special issue Social Sciences and Missions, Brill,
32/3–4, 2019; with Heleen Murre-van den Berg, and T. Baarda (eds.), Arabic and
its alternatives: Religious minorities and their languages in the emerging nation
states of the Middle East (1920–1950), Brill series Christians and Jews in Muslim
Societies 5.
Rona Sela
Rona Sela is a curator and researcher of visual history and art. Her research
focuses on the visual historiography of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, the
history of Palestinian photography and colonial Zionist/Israeli photogra-
phy, colonial Zionist/Israeli archives, archives under occupation, seizure
and looting of Palestinian archives and their subjugation to repressive colo-
nial mechanisms, visual representation of conflict, war, occupation, exile,
immigration, and human rights violations, and on constructing alternative
postcolonial mechanisms and archives. She has also conducted research on
the development of alternative contemporary visual practices connected to
civil society that seek to replace the old Israeli gatekeepers. She has published
many books, catalogues, and articles on these topics and curated numerous
exhibitions. Her first film is entitled Looted and Hidden – Palestinian Archives
in Israel (2017, film-essay).
Stephen Sheehi
Stephen Sheehi is the Sultan Qaboos bin Said Chair of Middle East Studies. He
holds a joint appointment as Professor of Arabic Studies in the Department
of Modern Languages and Literatures and the Program of Asian and Middle
Eastern Studies. Prof. Sheehi’s work meets at the intersection of cultural,
visual, art, and social history of the modern Arab world, starting with the

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Notes on Contributors xxv
late Ottoman Empire and the Arab Renaissance (al-nahdah al-‘arabiyah). His
scholarly interests include photography theory, psychoanalysis, post-colonial
theory, Palestine, and Islamophobia.
Salim Tamari
Salim Tamari is Professor of Sociology (Emeritus), Birzeit University; Research
Associate, Institute for Palestine Studies; Editor, The Jerusalem Quarterly.
Recent Publications: Mountain Against the Sea: A Conflicted Modernity (UCP,
2008); with Issam Nassar, The Storyteller of Jerusalem: The Life and Times of
Wasif Jawhariyyeh (Olive Branch Press, 2013); Year of the Locust: Erasure of the
Ottoman Era in Palestine; The Great War and the Remaking of Palestine (UC
Press, 2018); with Munir Fakhr Ed Din, Landed Property and Public Endowments
in Jerusalem (Mu’assasat al-Dirāsāt al-Filasṭīnīyah, 2018). Camera Palestina:
Photography and Displaced Histories of Palestine (UC Press, forthcoming).
Aude Aylin de Tapia

Aude Aylin de Tapia is a historian, currently Postdoctoral Fellow at Aix Marseille
University and Lecturer at the University of Strasbourg (France). Her research
interest focuses on history and anthropology of Christian communities and
interreligious relations in the Ottoman Empire and Republic of Turkey. She
works on this topic by using various kinds of written, oral, iconographic, and
audiovisual sources. In 2018, she has co-organized the symposium “The First
Century of Photography: Photography as History/ Historicizing Photography
in (Post)-Ottoman Territories (1839–1939)” in Istanbul, Turkey.
Sary Zananiri
Sary Zananiri is an artist and cultural historian. He completed a PhD in Fine
Arts at Monash University in 2014. He co-edited European Cultural Diplomacy
and Arab Christians in Palestine, 1918–1948. Between Contention and Connection
(Palgrave MacMillan, 2020) with Karène Sanchez Summerer, and exhibits
and curates widely, most recently Frank Scholten: Archaeology and Tourism in
the ‘Holy Land’ at the Rijksmuseum Oudheden (May–October 2020). He pro-
duced a short documentary with Maartje Alders Frank Scholten Photographing
Palestine. He recently received a research grant from the Palestine Museum for
the project ‘Orthodox Aesthetics: Christianity, Solidarity and the Secularisation
of Palestinian Religious Art’. He is also producing a digital humanities project
Mapping the Mandate: Frank Scholten in the ‘Holy Lands’. Sary is currently a
Postdoctoral Researcher on the NWO funded project CrossRoads: European
Cultural Diplomacy and Arab Christians in Palestine, 1918–1948 and the
Netherlands Institute for the Near East at Leiden University.

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Notes on Transliteration
In the volume we have opted for different transcription standards, with Arabic
and Ottoman Turkish according to IJMES International Journal of Middle East
Studies table; Armenian and Hebrew are in an anglicised transcription.
For personal and place names, full transcriptions as well as simplified and/
or anglicised forms have been allowed, depending on the sources and general
familiarity with one or another transcription.

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Chapter 1
Imaging and Imagining Palestine: An Introduction

Sary Zananiri
The British Mandate period in Palestine was a tumultuous time, one that
began with the cessation of more than four centuries of Ottoman rule and cul-
minated in the Nakba with the creation of the State of Israel. In this respect,
we might view it as a period of significant transition, transformation and, ulti-
mately, displacement and dislocation. From a cultural and social perspective,
the Mandate period saw the continuation of the modernisation project begun
under the Ottomans. This process is entangled and evident in photographic
perspectives, which during this time was also marked by significant shifts and
developments in technology that enabled new modes of photography, in turn
impacting the imaging and imagining of Palestine.
The first photograph of Palestine was taken in Jerusalem in 1839, the same
year in which the process was invented, making it one of the first places in
the world to be imaged using the new process.1 In the years to follow, photo-
graphs of Palestine formed the basis of photobooks and postcards. By the early
twentieth century, non-professional photographers began to take similar pho-
tographs, as well.
This volume attempts to create a first overview of photography during the
British Mandate, bringing together scholars and experts from disciplines rang-
ing from history to cultural studies to architectural theorists, archivists and
creative practitioners. It intentionally focuses on the interactions of photo-
graphic production and its effects within indigenous Palestinian communities
rather than Jewish and Zionist photography of the Yishuv, which although
inflected across this volume, is well documented and researched.2
In light of this, defining what constitutes Palestinian photography is a con-
troversial topic. Here Issam Nassar offers a useful framework for defining ‘local
photography’, that is predicated upon questions of photographic production
and consumption.
1 Issam Nassar, “Early local photography in Jerusalem,” History of Photography 27, no. 4
(2003): 322.
2 See for instance, Vivienne Silver-Brody, Documentors of the Dream: Pioneer Jewish Photo
graphers in the Land of Israel 1890–1933 (Lincoln, Nebr.: University of Nebraska Press, 1999).
© Sary Zananiri, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_002

This is an open access chapter distributed under the termsKarène
of the Sanchez
CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 license.
Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4
via free access
2 Zananiri
[L]ocal photography would be any photography that represented social

life in Palestine as opposed to the depictions of biblical landscapes, on
the one hand, and Zionist photography, which tended to focus almost
exclusively on the Jewish settlement project in Palestine, on the other.3
Underscoring Nassar’s argument here is an understanding that analysis of

photography should be intersected with questions of indigeneity, processes
of identity formation that shifted radically from the late Ottoman period to
the British Mandate, and the effects of migration and mobility both within the
Ottoman Empire (during and after its demise), and from elsewhere.
1 Towards an Understanding of Indigenous Photography in Palestine
The term ‘Indigenous Lens’ was discussed and problematised at length by

Ritter and Schweiwiller in The Indigenous Lens? Early Photography in the Near
and Middle East. Notwithstanding their broader geographical focus, and their
focus on photographic histories of the nineteenth century, their definition
of an indigenous lens ‘serves as a metaphor for local and vernacular photo-
graphic practices, visual traditions, actors, uses, and contexts of photography,
or in other words, for an alternative view of photo history in the region’.4 Such
designations, of course, overlap and intersect with Nassar’s ideas of local
photography, but a category of indigenous photography might also give us an
understanding of the specificities of local modes of production, consumption
and circulation of photography.
Earlier in the Ottoman period, there is the notable example of Menden
John Diness. A Jewish immigrant who arrived in 1849, Diness who hailed from
Odessa, presents a particularly curious case. He converted to Protestantism
amongst much scandal in Jerusalem’s international milieu before later emigrat-
ing to the US.5 His story speaks to transnational and transcommunal political
affinities present in Ottoman Palestine as well as the boundaries of communal
3 Issam Nassar, “Familial Snapshots Representing Palestine in the Work of the First Local
Photographers,” History and Memory 18, no. 2 (2006): 144.
4 Markus Ritter and Staci G. Schweiwiller, eds., The Indigenous Lens? Early Photography in
the Near and Middle East, 8. Studies in Theory and History of Photography (Berlin/Boston:
De Gruyter, 2017): 12.
5 Dror Wahrman, “Developing a Photographic Milieu: Mendel John Diness and The Beginning
of Photography in Jerusalem,” in Capturing the Holy Land: M.J. Diness and the Beginnings
of Photography in Jerusalem, edited by Dror Wahrman, Carney E. S. Gavin, Nitza Rosovsky
(Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 8–35.

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Imaging and Imagining Palestine: An Introduction 3
porosity – and indeed the results of their transgression – that would later
shape the politicised context of the British Mandate.
In the years before and after Palestine was shifting from Ottoman rule to
British Mandate, a number of Jewish, and generally Zionist, art photographers
such as Yaacov Ben-Dov, Zvi Oron-Orushkes and Ya’acov Ben Kaltor, to name
but a few, migrated to Palestine and came to prominence as photographers
under British rule.6 Alongside these are slightly later examples of photojour-
nalists that visited or migrated to Palestine against the backdrop of European
antisemitism in the 1930s like Tim Gidal, Felix H. Man, Kurt Hübschmann,
Otto Umbehr, Robert Capa, show the interesting parallels of Zionist transna-
tional mobility of the medium7 to the contributions in this volume in which
Christianity is predominantly implicated.
Tsadok Bassan is a salient example of Jewish photography in Palestine
with which to consider assertions of local and indigenous photography. As a
member of the Old Yishuv, born in Jerusalem to a third-generation family in
Palestine,8 he seems exceptional in the categorisation of localness in compar-
ison to other Jewish photographers of the period, though, at the same time, is
clearly not indigenous. More research is needed to understand the significance
of his practice and his exploration of Old Yishuv communal life, although
the assertion he was ‘the first Jerusalem photographer’9 does actively negate
other practices, such as those of early Armenian contributions or Arab fig-
ures like Khalīl Raʿad who predate or were contemporaneous to him. Bassan
tests the ways in which we might delineate the ascription of indigeneity, but
also underscores the complexities, importance and limitations of considering
the indigenous lens, particularly given the fraught, contemporary context in
which nationalist ideologies colour our understanding of photography in ret-
rospect. For a well-known early Zionist example, we could look to the Russian
immigrant Yeshayahu Rafflovich, who was active as a photographer from the
6 A useful and extensive of biographical list of local photographers is compiled by Shimon

Lev and Hamutal Wachtel in the catalogue accompanying the exhibition The Camera Man:
Women and Men Photograph Jerusalem 1900–1950 (Jerusalem: Tower of David Museum, 2016),
140–126.
7 Rebekka Grossmann, “Image Transfer and Visual Friction: Staging Palestine in the National
Socialist Spectacle,” The Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook 64, no. 1 (2019): 22–23.
8 Sue Serkes, “For a photogenic Jerusalem, a look at how locals first captured their city,” Times
of Israel 26th May, 2016. https://www.timesofisrael.com/for-photogenic-jerusalem-a-look
-at-how-locals-first-captured-their-city/#gs.g99sd4.
9 See for instance the exhibition curated by Guy Raz, Tsadok Bassan – Orphan Girls at Jerusalem
Artists House, 24th September–13th November, 2005. https://www.art.org.il/?exhibitions
=tsadok-bassan-orphan-girls&lang=en.

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4 Zananiri
1890s10 and more closely typifies patterns of Jewish photographic production

in Palestine.
There is currently no evidence of indigenous Jewish-Arab photographic
practices, paralleling those of Christian and Muslim Arabs or the ancient and
longstanding Armenian community of Palestine prior to its significant expan-
sion resulting from the genocide and World War I.11 It is clear, however, that
indigenous Jewish communities were, along with many others, photographic
subjects for both local and visiting photographers alike, often within the
Biblical rubrics outlined below.
The establishment of Jewish-run commercial studios during the Mandate
period, such as Palphot, an enterprise that is still active in the ‘Holy Land’ sou-
venir market today,12 also underscores Jewish participation in the lucrative
market for biblical souvenirs. However, Palphot’s co-founder Tova Dorfzaun’s
problematic assertion that ‘when we came here, I had to admit I had doubts
about succeeding – because there was so little here to photograph’,13 displays
just one aspect of the conceptual complexities involved in widening the scope
of this volume further.
Early photography in Palestine was indeed marked significantly by mobil-
ity, from European photographers, both Jewish and Christian, who travelled
to the region, as well as internal mobility within the Ottoman Empire. Such
internal Ottoman mobility, by the time of the British Mandate and the creation
of the new nation-states that exist today, viewed from a current perspective
gives an appearance of internationalism to contemporary understandings
of national origin. Khalīl Raʿad, born in present day Lebanon, or the works of
Armenians like Issay Garabedian or Garabed Krikorian, both born in present
day Turkey, are poignant examples. However, Ottoman mobility needs to be
viewed within the broader context of Ottoman communalism, the spread of
communities and the networks, both local and regional, that enabled them.
Notwithstanding the complex context of the shift from Ottoman subjecthood
to the new nationalist identifications that were cemented by the borders
10 Yeshayahu Nir, The Bible and the Image: The History of Photography in the Holy Land 1839–
1899 (Philadelphia: Philadelphia University Press, 1986), 248.
11 Raymond Kevorkian, “From a monastery to a neighbourhood: Orphans and Armenian
refugees in the Armenian quarter of Jerusalem (1916–1926), reflexions towards an
Armenian museum in Jerusalem”, in Special issue ‘Eastern Christianity in Syria and
Palestine and European cultural diplomacy (1860–1948). A connected history’, ed.
by Karène Sanchez Summerer and Konstantinos Papastathis, Contemporary Levant,
6: 1 (2021).
12 Tim Semmerling, Israeli and Palestinian postcards: Presentations of national self (Austin,
TX: University of Texas Press, 2004), 13.
13 Ibid 14.

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imposed by the Franco-British authored Sykes-Picot agreement during the

World War I, a significant indigenous photographic milieu came to promi-
nence by the time of the British Mandate. This includes the brothers Najīb and
Jamāl Albīnā, Ḥannā Ṣāfiyya and the Ḥanāniyya brothers (whose studio would
later be bought by Kahvedjian) in Jerusalem, Dāwūd Sabūnjī and ʿIsā Sawabīnī
(whose Jewish apprentice, Rachmann, would go on to practice in Tel Aviv)14
in Jaffa, Zakariyyā Abū Fahīla in Bethlehem and, of course, Karīma ʿAbūd who
is recognised as the first female professional photographer in the region15 to
name but a handful. This underscores the significant research yet to be under-
taken on photography in Palestine.
2 Modern Images and Biblical Imaginings
In the last two decades research on photography in and of Palestine specifi-

cally, and the Arab World in general, has grown considerably.16 Significantly
14 Nassar, Familial Snapshots, 146.

15 Issam Nassar, ‘Early Local Photography in Palestine: The Legacy of Karimeh Abbud’,
Jerusalem Quarterly 46 (2011).
16 For instance, Issam Nassar, Patricia Almarcegui, and Clark Worswick, Gardens of sand:
Commercial photography in the Middle East, 1859–1905 (Madrid: Turner; 2010); Issam
Nassar, Photographing Jerusalem: the Image of the City in Nineteenth Century Photography
(Boulder: East European Monographs, 1997); Mitri Raheb, Ahmad Mrowat, and Issam
Nassar, Karīmah ‘Abbūd: rā’idat al-taṣwīr al-niswī fī Filasṭīn, 1893–1940 (Bethlehem: Diyar
Press, 2011); Noorderlicht Foundation and Wim Melis, eds, Nazar: Photographs from the
Arab world (New York: Aperture, 2004); Hanna Safieh, A Man and his Camera: Hanna
Safieh: Photographs of Palestine, 1927–1967 (Jerusalem: 1999); Issam Nassar, European
Portrayals of Jerusalem religious fascinations and colonialist imaginations (Lewiston:
Edwin Mellen Press, 2006); Stephen Sheehi, The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait
Photography, 1860–1910 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016); Markus Ritter, Staci
Gem Scheiwiller, eds., The Indigenous Lens?: Early Photography in the Near and Middle
East (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018); Stephen Sheehi, “The Nahda after-image: or all photogra-
phy expresses social relations,” Third Text: Critical Perspectives on Contemporary Art and
Criticism 26, no. 117 (2012): 401–414; Gil Pasternak, The Handbook of Photography Studies
(London: Bloomsbury Visual Arts, 2020); Elias Sanbar and Salim Tamari, Jérusalem et la
Palestine: le fonds photographique de l’École Biblique de Jérusalem (Paris: Hazan, 2013);
Rona Sela, Ḥalil Ra’ad, tatslumim 1891–1948 (Tel Aviv: Muze’on Naḥum Guṭman, 2010);
Ariella Azoulay, From Palestine to Israel: A Photographic Record of Destruction and State
Formation, 1947–1950 (London: Pluto, 2011); Elias Sanbar, The Palestinians: Photographs of
a Land and Its People from 1839 to the Present Day (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015);
Ali Behdad and Luke Gartlan, eds., Photography’s Orientalism New Essays on Colonial
Representation (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2013); Ali Behdad, “Orientalism
and the Politics of Photographic Representation”, The Trans-Asia Photography Review 10,
no. 2 (2020); Ali Behdad, “Mediated Visions: Early Photography of the Middle East and

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6 Zananiri
however, there is much yet to be said and to be researched as this volume

attests, making clear the archival gaps in the field. As photography outside
Europe and North America is relegated to regionalised and, implicitly, inferior
quality,17 one of the most pressing issues in the research of photography in
Palestine is, indeed, the question of how the photographic process – one of the
technological fruits of modernity – bestows or denies that modernity.
The transformations of the late Ottoman period were many. Modernity was
more than just technological or bureaucratic innovation, though these were
formative at a macro level. It was also a lived experience that ‘colonized local
politics, cultural practices, and everyday life by bringing into the discussion a
consequence of modernity: modernity draws and redraws boundaries of class,
and, critically, the ideas, institutions, and politics associated with modernity
have given rise to a uniquely modern middle class’.18
The ways in which modernity and religious narrative collide in the case
of the photography of Palestine gives us a particular avenue for understand-
ing different aspects of social history, especially given its prevalence by the
time of the British Mandate. Photographs produced in Palestine by indigenous
Palestinians and non-Palestinians alike had a significant audience in the West
as the many publications from the German Georg Landauer’s Palästine: 300
Bilder (1925) in the early the British Mandate period to the Australian war pho-
tographer Frank Hurley’s The Holy City (1949) just after its disastrous end.19
‘Holy Land’ photography the nineteenth century would develop into a lucra-
tive market, with many Europeans, and later North Americans, Australians and
New Zealanders, travelling the region to produce photographs, postcards, travel
books and atlases. The reading of the Palestinian landscape through Biblical
narrative was commonplace, eschewing the modern in favour of the putatively
ancient. Such photographs sit within the rubric of what Nassar describes as
Orientalist Network”, History of Photography (2017): 362–375; Ali Behdad, “Orientalism

and the history of photography in the Middle East”: 82–93 in Inspired by the East, eds.
William Greenwood and Lucien De Guise (London, British Museum Press, 2020); Lorenzo
Kamel, Imperial Perceptions of Palestine: British Influence and Power in Late Ottoman
Times (London: I.B. Tauris, 2016); Amanda Burritt, Visualising Britain’s Holy Land in the
Nineteenth Century (Cham: Palgrave MacMillan, 2020) have all written about photogra-
phy and visual culture in Palestine specifically or the region at large.
17 Issam Nassar, “Bearers of Memory: Photo Albums as Sources of Historical Study in
Palestine”, chapter 5 in this volume.
18 Keith Watenpaugh, Being Modern in the Middle East Revolution, Nationalism, Colonialism,
and the Arab Middle Class (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 8.
19 See for instance Nur Masalha, The Palestine Nakba: Decolonising History, Narrating the
Subaltern and Reclaiming Memory (London: Zed Books, 2012) and Ilan Pappe, The Ethnic
Cleansing of Palestine (Oxford: Oneworld, 2015).

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biblification, that is, the reading of Palestine through Biblical narrative, effec-
tively projecting the land and its people backwards into an ancient past, while
also excising the modern from the photographic frame.20
Perhaps unsurprisingly, technological developments also had significant
impacts on photography, its production, distribution and circulation. The
daguerreotype, developed by Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre in 1839 would
give way to Frederick Scott Archer’s wet-plate collodion method, which
became the standard by late 1850s. Professional studio and landscape pho-
tography reached a peak in the 1860s and 1870s.21 The introduction of Box
Brownie camera in 1900 sparked a significant technological shift, enabling
portable equipment and quick exposures times22 and the global economic
boom in period after World War I, further democratised the medium,23 coin-
ciding with the beginning of the British Mandate in Palestine.
From the context of an earlier photographic market addressing pilgrims and
‘arm-chair’ tourists at home in the West,24 local photographic studios would
emerge in Palestine from the late nineteenth century onwards.25 The Armenian
community was instrumental in the growth of indigenous photographic stu-
dios, with the medium introduced locally by the Armenian Patriarch Issay
20 Issam Nasser, “Biblification in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth-century

Photography,” Third Text 20, no. 374 (2006): 317–326.
21 Zeynep Çelik and Edhem Eldem, eds., Camera Ottomana: Photography and Modernity in
the Ottoman Empire, 1840–1914 (Istanbul: Koç University Press, 2015).
22 Brian Coe and Paul Gates, The Snapshot Photograph: The rise of Popular Photography 1888–
1939 (London: Ash & Grant, 1977): 22.
23 Ibid 36.
24 Randy Innes, “Jerusalem Revisited: On Auguste Salzmann’s Photo-Topography,” Religion
and the Arts 15, no. 3 (2011): 306–337; Emmie Donadio, “Seeing is believing: Auguste
Salzmann and the photographic representation of Jerusalem,” in Jerusalem idea and real
ity, eds. Tamar Mayer and Suleiman Mourad (Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon; New York:
Routledge, 2008), 140–154; Abigail Solomon-Godeau, “A Photographer in Jerusalem,
1855: Auguste Salzmann and His Times,” October 18 (1981): 91–107; Douglas M. Haller, In
Arab Lands: The Bonfils collection of the University of Pennsylvania Museum (Cairo: The
American University in Cairo Press, 2000), 11–27; Keri Berg, “The imperialist lens: Du
Camp, Salzmann and Early French photography,” Early Popular Visual Culture 6, 1 (2007):
1–17; Francis Frith, Julia van Haaften, and J.E. Manchip White, Egypt and the Holy Land
in historic photographs (New York/London: Dover Publications; Constable, 1980), 77;
Douglas Nickel, Francis Frith in Egypt and Palestine: A Victorian Photographer Abroad
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004).
25 This includes the studio of Garabed Krikorian, Khalīl Raʿad, ʿIsā Sawabīnī, Karīma ʿAbūd
and Dāwūd Sabūnjī to name a handful.

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8 Zananiri
Garabedian to train young Armenians26 through the Armenian Patriarchate27

quickly giving rise to both Armenian and Arab commercial photographic stu-
dios in Palestine.28
This underscores several questions fundamental to this volume. Firstly, it
highlights the role of the market for photography. That is to say consumers had
a strong role in dictating photographic production, whether it was biblified
material for the Western market or the commissioning of photography either
for personal portraits,29 use in scholarship,30 or indeed even by the state.31
Added to these categories, with the increasing accessibility of the medium,
was the growth of amateur photography amongst the middle and upper classes
globally, but also, and pertinent to the context of Palestine, amongst soldiers.32
Secondly, and related to questions of cultural consumption and produc-
tion, are the class connotations of photography. While photographic images
were becoming increasingly commonplace and accessible, particularly with
the invention of the cheap and portable cameras for non-professional use, the
medium still required a certain financial investment, skewing access to photo-
graphic production by class.
Third, is the role of Christianity. While photography was far from being the
sole purview of Christian communities33 – either Palestinian or globally –
the influence of Christianity in photography of Palestine was great. On the
one hand, biblified photography was lucrative and greatly in demand in
26 Badr El-Hage, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer”, Jerusalem Quarterly 11–12

(2001): 34.
27 George Hintlian is quoted on the subject in Yeshayahu Nir, The Bible and the Image:
The History of Photography in The Holy Land, 1839–1899 (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 2017), 121.
28 Salim Tamari, The Great War and the Remaking of Palestine (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2017), chapter 8; Nir, The Bible and the Image: The History of Photography
in The Holy Land, 1839–1899, 235.
29 See for instance Issam Nassar, “Early Local Photography in Palestine: The Legacy of
Karimeh Abbud”, Jerusalem Quarterly 46 (2011): 23–31.
30 For instance, collections related to archaeology such as photographic archives at the
Dominican École biblique et archéologique française de Jérusalem or the London-based
Palestine Exploration Fund.
31 See for instance Salim Tamari, “The War Photography of Khalil Raad: Ottoman Modernity
and the Biblical Gaze,” Jerusalem Quarterly 52 (2013): 25–37.
32 Coe and Gates, The Snapshot Photograph, 30–35.
33 All we need to do is to look to the example of Muhammad Sadiq Bey’s photography
of Mecca and Medina in 1861, to see the swift adoption of photography outside of the
Christian dominated photographic milieu in Palestine. Stephen Sheehi, The Arab Imago:
A Social History of Portrait Photography 186–1910 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press:
2016): 1.

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Figure 1.1 Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, 14th December 1917. Captain Arthur Rhodes,
The New Zealand Canterbury Rifles
Image courtesy of the Palestine Exploration Fund
the western market. On the other, the role of indigenous Christians – both
Arab and Armenian – was significant, particularly around the establish-
ment of photographic studios and the commercial practice of photography
in Palestine. This reflects the historical diversity and cosmopolitan nature of
urban dwellers, a result of the Ottoman policy of higher taxation on minori-
ties, making urban livelihoods increasingly more tenable through the period
of Ottoman rule.34 This had significant impacts on Palestinian social structure
by the British Mandate period.35
This process of biblification created a contradiction. Photography was a
modern medium that enabled the production and reproduction of images.
It has continued, since 1839, to be the object of constant technological
development. However, market dictates of the plural subject matter of the
medium – which in the case of Palestine cut across popular, scholarly and state
sponsored imaging – delineated and delimited the bestowal of modernity,
34 The impacts of Ottoman taxation regimes in the 17th Century and their aftereffects are
dealt with at length in Felicita Tramontana, “The Poll Tax and the Decline of the Christian
Presence in the Palestinian Countryside in the 17th Century,” Journal of the Economic
and Social History of the Orient 56, nos. 4–5 (2013): 631–652. During the British Mandate
period, the specific focus of minorities by agents of Western cultural diplomacy further
cemented opportunities for Christian Palestinians and the class status they had develop.
See, for example, Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri, eds., European Cultural
Diplomacy and Arab Christians in British Mandate Palestine, 1918–1948. Between Contention
and Connection (London: Palgrave McMillan, 2020).
35 See for instance Sherene Seikaly, Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate
Palestine (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 2015) or Watenpaugh, Being Modern in
the Middle East.

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10 Zananiri
projecting the image back into the imagined ancient past. By the time of the
British Mandate, imaging conventions established during the nineteenth
century still held significant sway, despite both the significantly increased
accessibility to the medium and its increasingly plural modes of operation.
The range of photographs from the British Mandate period show this plurality
morphing in different ways: scholarly uses in fields like archaeology or anthro-
pology; commercial portraits, production of souvenirs and travelogues; the
documentation of current affairs and social events; humanitarian imaging that
marked the plight of orphans and refugees during the turbulent years of the
First World War and its aftermath; or information-gathering in the course of
urban renewal and, indeed, even espionage. That is to say, many of these pho-
tographs actively produced or ruminated upon historical, or quasi-historical,
narratives, projecting multiple points of view in which religious narrative is
often embedded, sometimes in the subtlest of ways.
3 Biblification and Orientalism: Towards an Understanding

of Legibility in Photography
Embedded within the tumultuous context of the multifarious medium of pho-

tography is an interplay between biblification, Orientalism and modernity.
While biblification made legible the landscapes and people of the ‘Holy Land’
through a process of reading via Biblical interpretation,36 Orientalism oper-
ated through an inverse procedure. As Edward Said notes in the opening to his
seminal work of the same name ‘Orientalism is a style of thought based upon
an ontological and epistemological distinction made between “the Orient” and
(most of the time) “the Occident”’.37
In this regard, we can see the interactions of biblification and Orientalism in
photography – and elsewhere – as affecting a process of delimiting and acces-
sioning both the landscapes and people of Palestine into the western Biblical
imaginary, whether through scholarly or more popular modes of the medium.
While biblification made familiar the foreign other, Orientalism actively
marked the delimitation of otherness. The net result of these twin processes
is the demarcation of a mode of ‘civility’. This civility implicitly attempts to
36 For a longer discussion on Biblical readings of Palestine in imagery, see Sary Zananiri,
“From Still to Moving Image: the Shifting Representation of Jerusalem and Palestinians in
the Western Biblical Imaginary”, Jerusalem Quarterly 67 (2016): 64–81.
37 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 2.

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assume the neutral positioning of a western Biblical imaginary that is rooted in

the lived experience of modern western bourgeoisie. That is to say, a recouping
of the ancient spiritual roots of Western Christianity set against the wild and
untameable otherness of an implicitly Islamic ‘Orient’.
Implicit, and perhaps complicit, in this twin process is the role of moder-
nity. The assumptions of progress, objectivity and the scientific neutrality of
modern methodologies (and the subsequent Occidental attitudes to civil ques-
tions of education, health, welfare and the built environment that it entails),
produced a thoroughly partial and subjective point of perspective from which
biblification and Orientalism, as imaging systems, are constructed. This paral-
lels the broader social and cultural contexts that are explored in a number of
the contributions included in this volume.
Within the often transnational histories of imaging Palestine, we find a
complex confluence of actors involved in photographic production, photo-
graphic subjects, circulation networks and audiences. These also need to be
read within the context of Palestinian class structures, in which middle-class
urban Palestinians, participated. It is worth noting the over-representation of
Christians in this middle-class,38 particularly in cities like Jerusalem, with its
significant photographic market.
This matrix of class dynamics and transnationalism produces particularised
perspectives. With few exceptions, Western photographers tended to focus on
biblified production, often rural communities cast as heirs of an ancient Biblical
past, holy sites and Biblical archetypes for circulation in the West. Meanwhile,
local photographers variously addressed similar international markets, but
also worked on commission for local middle-class populations, institutions
and the state(s). This dynamic produced skewed visions of Palestine and its
social histories during the Mandate that cut across class divides.39 Figures such
as rural fallāḥīn (villagers or peasants) or Bedouins, along with other indig-
enous curiosities for the Western market like the Samaritans or the Domari
(often described as Nawar in Arabic or ‘Gypsies’ in English), for instance,
may have heavily populated ethnographic elements the Biblical lens as pho-
tographic subjects, but sustained examples of photographic production from
38 See for instance Salim Tamari, Mountain against Sea. Essays on Palestinian Society and
Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008).
39 Jewish communities in Palestine can be seen as operating across a similar binary between
ancient biblical actors and modern subjects, but embedded within Zionist ideology, and
its reception particularly in Europe, was the fundamentally modern nature of the Zionist
project. Rebekka Grossmann deals with this tension at length in “Negotiating Presences:
Palestine and the Weimar German Gaze,” Jewish Social Studies 23, no.2 (2018): 137–172.

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12 Zananiri
within such communities are rare to come by, if they exist at all, and present
very significant gaps in current historiography, let alone attempts to decolonise
the photography of Palestine.
The absent-present qualities of such communities underscore the relation-
ship of photographer to camera, and camera to subject, hinting at the extent of
archival silences in textual material into which photography may give us some
insight. Several chapters in this volume address the silent role of such relations
in Palestine and further afield, with workers, peasants, Samaritans, Bedouins
and Domari who are often well recorded in photography, but only minimally
discussed, and generally not by name in corresponding textual records, while
middle class actors, regardless of their ethnic, religious or national back-
grounds are much better represented.
In one of the discussions during the conference40 that led to this publi-
cation, Stephen Sheehi described the relationship between biblification and
modernity as a mode of Biblical Moderne, a useful tool for thinking through
the paradoxical push-pull temporality of photography in Palestine. At one
and the same moment a product of modernity, but also constantly recalling, if
not actively imposing, the Biblical past.
This certainly raises questions about the configuration of biblification,
Orientalism and modernity and the ways in which the putative ancient past
is remediated to the understanding and aestheticisation of the more recent
past on which this volume is focused. The attempts to reconcile the Biblical
and the scientific that the Biblical Moderne entails can be seen as an attempt
to reconcile the spiritual and the temporal. It could, indeed, be argued that
organisations such as the Pro-Jerusalem Society, under the auspices of Charles
Ashbee, went so far as to actualise the Biblical Moderne in stone and mortar41
with the urban planning policies that they developed in Jerusalem as a conse-
quence of the British occupation of Palestine.
In curating this volume, a diversity of material was sought to reflect the
breadth of different photographic archives. The various chapters engage with
archives from the scholarly to those which were commercial in nature and, of
course, archives of home photography that developed significantly during the
course of the Mandate. In dealing with such a plethora of material, this volume
40 Imaging and Imagining: Photography and Social History in British Mandate Palestine was
held at Leiden University, 16–18 October 2019 and convened by the editors as part of NWO
(the Dutch Research Council) VIDI project CrossRoads: European Cultural Diplomacy and
Arab Christians. A Connected History (1920–1950).
41 The impacts of the Pro-Jerusalem Society are dealt with at length in Rana Barakat, “Urban
Planning, Colonialism and the Pro-Jerusalem Society”, Jerusalem Quarterly 65 (2016),
22–34.

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considers the ways in which different modes of photography shed light on

social histories. Likewise, this volume intentionally addresses these different
modes through an interdisciplinary framework, bringing a diversity of exper-
tise necessary to approach the already diverse archival context.
The title Imaging and Imagining Palestine attempts to deal with the often-
fraught contradictions of photography in Palestine. The ambiguous nature
of photography, which purports to be a process of ‘documentation’, shapes,
frames and narrates Palestine across a plethora of fields, as the following chap-
ters make clear.
4 Approaching Photography in Palestine
This volume is divided into three sections. The first deals with specific archives
containing photography in Palestine, the second with individual photogra-
phers and the third with conceptual approaches to photography. This taxonomy
neatly divides the chapters by their approaches. But, beyond these broad ways
of engaging with the subject, the interdisciplinary nature of the contributions
and contributors addresses a number of different themes in terms of subject
matter.
Often, the modern social apparatus that is tethered to photography ulti-
mately relies on Biblical tropes developed in the nineteenth century. One
particular poignant example is humanitarian photography, as explored by
Abigail Jacobson. As Jacobson shows, the sponsorship of orphans in the
American Colony’s Christian Herald Orphanage was the practice of a mod-
ern institution with a transnational remit. But, it was fundamentally linked to
American philanthropy centred on Protestant Christian networks, with pho-
tographic materials using Orientalist tropes to garner donations to charities.
Even though the material she discusses effectively deals with the impacts of
modernity, in this case the aftereffects of the First World War with its social
and cultural ramifications, Christian narratives are fundamental to the ques-
tions of charity with which she deals, effectively purveying new modes of
biblification, through auspices of the charitable.
The photographs of Inger Marie Okkenhaug’s chapter shows the role of
Swedish aesthetics in mediating a position between the Arab communities
that sat within the remit of the Swedish School, funders in Sweden and the
American Colony. The images hint at the social dynamics where the increas-
ingly Palestinian teaching staff intermingled with an ordered Swedish world.
Okkenhaug’s chapter gives us a sense of the ways in which cultural affiliation
and cultural diplomacy interacted within the visuality of the Swedish School.

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14 Zananiri
Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig Neveu’s chapter also deals with
transnational connections, in the form of the École biblique et archéologique
française de Jérusalem (EBAF), a photographic collection that drew from a
number of Catholic missionary institutions in Palestine. They deal with the
diverse nature of Catholic imaging of Palestine from more scholarly archae-
ological and anthropological photographs to more personal collections that
indicate the changing relationships between the missionaries and their con-
gregants and were used for reporting either to national or religious authorities.
The chapter traces the diversity of photographic material produced by EBAF,
and other associated Catholic agencies, tracing how photographic production
shifted over the course of the Mandate.
Issam Nassar’s chapter is the only one which deals overtly with non-
professional photography. Nassar looks at three family albums as an archival
source, analysing the ways in which each are narrated. The albums of Wasif
Jawharriya, Julia Luci and George Mushabak each narrate a particular per-
spective on the British Mandate period, giving us a comparative set of
micro-histories. The nature of such albums, designed for private uses and cir-
culations, focuses more on life events than nationalist politics of the day. In
conceiving of the importance of such photography, Nassar points to their use
in understanding the quotidian middle-class urban life.
Rona Sela considers similar remediations of Palestine from an indigenous
lens with the works of Khalīl Raʿad, particularly in relationship to his archaeo-
logical photography. Sela argues that Raʿad’s engagement with New Testament
narrative and archaeology provides an insight into nationalist reconfigura-
tions of biblification and that, as an Arab Christian, his work engages carefully
with the colonialist overtones of archaeology and biblified cultural material
through the photographic market itself.
Rachel Lev also deals with a singular photographer, John D. Whiting from the
American Colony in Jerusalem. Lev’s chapter cross-references the Palestinian
born Whiting’s photographic albums with his travel diaries. In linking the two
sources, Lev traces a plural photographic practice looking at the ways in which
Whiting negotiated a position between his upbringing in Jerusalem and his
American identity. Delving into Whiting’s broad corpus, she considers his role
in producing publications about Palestine, brokering collections of cultural
materials for travellers, facilitating tours and even intelligence gathering, all
of which underscore his position as a mediator between Palestine and world
beyond, particularly the USA.
This transnational connection can also be seen elsewhere. The Frank
Scholten Collection, in particular, gives us a sense of the complexities of trans-
national connection. The intention behind the production of Scholten’s large

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corpus was fundamentally vested in the Biblical, but he also undermined typ-
ical readings by going into great detail around the ethnic, confessional and
class dynamics of his subjects. His taxonomic methodology, which borrowed
from disciplines as diverse as theology, art history and sexology, cut across
confessional divides whilst also reifying communal description, a significant
example, indeed, of the collision of religious and scholarly narrative that the
Biblical Moderne entails.
Yazan Kopty looks at single collection, the National Geographic Society’s
accumulation of photographic images of Palestine and how we might
re-interpret the collection through a contemporary lens. Kopty’s chapter deals
with an institutional acquisition of photographs from multiple sources and
poses multiple questions that problematise the photographic gaze, proposing
to recoup readings and re-articulations of such biblified photographic mate-
rial. Given the historical entwinement of colonialism and photography in the
imaging of Palestine, Kopty proposes an indigenisation of the archive through
his project Imagining the Holy, positioning this as an alternative framework
within contemporary calls for decolonisation. Such a project is particularly
useful in reinstating the social histories of such archives through community
sourced accounts, bringing to bear the elision of personal histories through
contemporary technologies.
Likewise, Stephen Sheehi’s contribution proposes a conceptual method for
re-envisioning photography in Palestine. Sheehi’s methodology provocatively
invites us to radically rethink the truth-value of photographs and their role in
(re)constructing social history. He questions attempts to seek the ‘truth value’
of photography, seeking to clarify a methodology of decolonisation as distinct
from a project that seeks to recover lost histories. Sheehi proposes a ‘seizure of
the means of knowledge production’, complicating such a call further with the
problem of class, as fundamental to understanding the implications of pho-
tography. The chapter underscores the amount of work yet to be done, both in
dealing with unpublished archives, but more importantly in reconceptualising
the field of photography in Palestine in its entirety.
Focusing on the impacts of aerial photography, Nadi Abusaada considers
the weight brought to bear by a pairing of dual forces: the technological devel-
opment of the medium and the impacts of Biblical and Orientalist images of
Palestine in shaping attitudes to the built environment and the urban modern-
isation project itself. In doing so, Abusaada considers the romanticisation of
architectural heritage, but also the ways in which such heritage was radically
altered and reshaped in the light of colonial modernity. Like Frank Scholten,
his paper exemplifies ideas of the Biblical Moderne in producing the British
colonial landscape of the Mandate era.

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16 Zananiri
5 Framing Photography and Social History
Photographs of the Mandate era continue to circulate through many networks,

often acquiring new meanings in their remediation. What is clear across all con-
tributions to this volume is that photography is a medium that was designed to
be reproduced and circulated, and that this has particular significance in the
case of Palestine.
Imaging and Imagining Palestine re-examines the possibilities of recouping
aspects of the past through the study of photography. It considers the state
and institution building so fundamental to the British Mandate period, as well
as their significant undoing by its close, grappling with networks implicitly
embedded in such enterprises. It also attempts to contextualise them within a
broader transnational narrative that better explains the complex social milieu
in Mandate Palestine.
This edited volume thus asks crucial questions. What can photographs tell
us of the British Mandate as a site of connection and interconnection? How
has the meaning of photographs taken in the period shifted since their initial
production? Do they indeed present possibilities for recouping the past? What
information does the analysis of photography, both as a record itself and in its
the afterlife of circulation, yield for the research of social histories?
If we are to take photography – a significant marker of cultural production –
as an index of the complex social histories involved in networks of production,
consumption and distribution, then perhaps a Cultural Studies approach to
cultural diplomacy, like that of David Clark, might represent a useful model
for framing the social, cultural and political importance of photography. He
defines four actors in his approach to meaning-making in cultural diplomacy:
policy makers, agents (both institutional and individual) who implement
cultural diplomacy, cultural practitioners and cultural consumers.42 In think-
ing about the process of meaning-making, those actors who are producing
photographs are equally engaged as those who are consuming photographic
production. He stipulates that:
Cultural consumption is, firstly, a complex process of meaning-making,

in which the boundary between cultural ‘producers’ and ‘consumers’ is
blurred; and, secondly, that in the realm of culture both production and
consumption are intrinsically bound up with the articulation and negoti-
ation of identity in a social context.43
42 David Clarke, “Theorising the role of cultural products in cultural diplomacy from a cul-
tural studies perspective,” International Journal of Cultural Policy 22, no. 2 (2016): 154.
43 Ibid., 153.

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The actors considered in this volume are involved in production ranging

from commercial photographers to recorders of humanitarian crises, archae-
ologists and ethnographers, indigenous and foreign alike, with these categories
often overlapping, let alone the plethora of cultural consumers. We might look
to Abusaada’s chapter to see the direct intersections of policy-making and pho-
tography in the shaping urban life. But for most chapters, a convoluted matrix
of agents, practitioners and consumers dictate the ways in which the market –
and implicitly Christianity – shaped the photography of the Mandate period.
The implications of meaning-making for Palestinian social and cultural his-
tories is significant in thinking through the context of photography. It upends
straightforward readings of photographic production, but also beckons
further analysis of such complex networks.44 The cultural consumers involved
in the process of meaning-making are as varied as the agents and practition-
ers involved in its production and, given our chronological distance from the
period, are also an unstable and changing demographic. They might include
pilgrims, tourists, scholars, governmental agents, donors, private networks of
friends and acquaintances and of course those for whom Palestine had reli-
gious resonances.
6 Photographic Instability: Old Photographs and New Meanings
Part of the problem in imaging Palestine is that so much weight is brought to

bear on an image. Images, and photography in particular, have become part of
both the contestation and substantiation of political narrative. In the highly
politicised terrain of Palestine, photographs have come to be regarded as
‘modes of proof’ about a historical past. The impact of lineages of imaging sys-
tems before, during and since the British Mandate has had consistent effects
on the ways in which we might think about the medium and the state of per-
petual cultural, social and political turbulence since. This political turbulence
makes for an increased instability of the photographic document, particularly
in retrospect.
A poignant example of this instability of the photographic document is
exemplified by the series of photographic exhibitions curated by Ali Kazak,
the former Director of the PLO Information Office, in Australia. The first
44 We might look to further complications of these networks as does Behdad in regards

to the Orientalist networks of photography in the nineteenth century. See Ali Behdad,
“Mediated Visions: Early Photography of the Middle East and Orientalist Network,”
History of Photography: Special Issue: Photography and Networks, guest eds. Owen Clayton
and Jim Cheshire, 41, no. 4 (2017): 362–375.

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18 Zananiri
exhibition was held in Storey Hall, at the Royal Melbourne Institute for
Technology in 1979. While many of the photographs dealt with contemporary
political issues – sometimes in brutally graphic ways – a significant section
of the exhibition was dedicated to the use of historical imagery, particularly
biblified and Orientalist representations of Palestine, both as prints and pho-
tographs. Kazak asserts that such material was useful in proving the existence
of the Palestinian people in the political context of 1970s and 80s Australia.
Arguably, it also points the shifting self-perception of Palestinians, in line with
the reimagining of the Palestinian falaheen as a symbol of Marxist resistance
so prevalent in the period, which had an overlap with the class-skewed images
produced by Orientalist and biblified imaging. In this way, the use of popu-
lar Western historical imagery became a means to subvert political discourse,
effectively challenging their representational limitations, and perhaps the
intention of the original works, in a period before digital technologies enabled
easy access to and circulation of images.
The enormous shifts in digital technological developments have ena-
bled photographs to circulate in ways that were unthinkable in the periods
when the original photographs were originally produced. Facebook groups
such as Mona Halaby’s British Mandate Jerusalemites Photo Library use such
means to attempt to recoup the past through period-specific photographic
materials drawn from institutional and family archives alike, in this case pro-
viding a public platform with over 20,000 followers.45 Such platforms are
knowledge-sharing devices with a public interface, but have their effects on
the process of meaning-making, generating new meanings in the ways in
which they (re-)instate Palestinian narrative. Notwithstanding the reliance
on materials available from the period (and the social biases inherent to such
material), through Halaby’s carefully researched textual annotations, as well
as those sourced from her interlocutors and followers, photographic materials
are animated and activated in ways that traditional archives are not, making
it a community locus as well as a page of much research interest for those in
the field.
On an institutional level, the Palestine Museum initiated a digitisation pro-
ject aimed at documenting and preserving family albums in 2015.46 The ongoing
family album project operated under the slogan ‘Your memories, your pictures,
45 See British Mandate Jerusalemites Photo Library, https://www.facebook.com/BMJeru

salemitesPhotoLib/, accessed 3rd May, 2021.
46 The fruits of this and other digitisation initiatives by the Palestine Museum can be viewed
through their online portal https://palarchive.org.

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Figure 1.2 A reproduction from Ali Kazak’s exhibitions on Palestine, 1979. Mostly likely
reproduced from Captain Charles Wilson’s Picturesque Palestine (1891)
Image courtesy of Ali Kazak

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20 Zananiri
our heritage’.47 The instatement of the national through the social underscores
the cultural importance associated with the documentation of daily life in
what had typically been the preserve of the private sphere. The archive, which
spans a considerably larger period than just the British Mandate, shows the
development of intimate familial portraiture and, from a social and techno-
logical perspective, the ways in which family snapshot photography evolved
over time, making it important not just as a project for Palestinian history, but
indeed a chronological study of the medium itself.
The Palestine Museum’s digitisation presents a very different strategy to
Kazak’s earlier Australian exhibitions. While both insist on photography and
image production practices as important modes of disseminating Palestinian
narrative, a shift in focus from Western cultural production to a focus on
domestic photographic practices emphasises the significant growth in interest
of indigenous voice, in this case through the accumulation of micro histories
rooted in the family album.
The need for a comprehensive overview of Palestinian photography dur-
ing the British Mandate is all the more urgent with the growth of online
archives, image repositories and digital humanities methodologies. With the
digitisation of photographic collections, images are more available than ever
before. The need to research and contextualise such material is all the
more important to understand the shortcomings of photography and the pho-
tographic archive as well as what they explicate that other primary sources of
historical study do not.
It is also clear that the photographic archives to which we refer are also prone
to their own biases, by virtue of the market, questions of the socio-economic
status of producers, and the rubrics of Christianity, both in the production and
marketing of photography in and from Palestine. This underscores the signifi-
cant amount of work that still needs to be undertaken. Much work has looked
at biblification with respect to Western collections and such materials have
already been analysed as products of colonial claim,48 effectively underscoring
cultural entwinement with political policy.
With the implications of biblification, Christian narratives create a multi-
farious series of interactions that intersect with class. While on the one hand
the representation of Palestine and Palestinians in both photography and
scholarship led to significant erasures, it is also evident that class formation
47 ‘The Palestine Museum’s Family Album Project: The Intimate Side of Life in Palestine’
press release from the Palestine Museum 13th May 2015, reproduced by Jadaliyya, accessed
27th October 2020 https://www.jadaliyya.com/Details/32080.
48 Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism”, 317–326.

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Figure 1.3 Hanna Bastoli and family members on her engagement day, 1924. (Hanna Bastoli,
George Ayyoub and her mother-in-law, Hilwa Al-Douiri). From Maha as-Saqqa’s
photo album, 0027.01.0054
Image courtesy of the Palestine Museum and Maha as-Saqqa

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22 Zananiri
Figure 1.4 Bassam Shakaa as a child, 1933. From the Bassām ash-Shakʿa’s photo album,
0050.01.0386
Image courtesy of the Palestine Museum and ash-Shakaa family

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Figure 1.5 A family trip with friends, c.1940–45. Ghassan Abdullah Collection, 0156.01.0068
Image courtesy of the Palestine Museum and the Abdullah family

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24 Zananiri
and modernity played a significant role in the selective highlighting of cer-

tain Palestinian groups over others. Internal Palestinian dynamics of class
formation also point toward mercantile Palestinian complicity in the photo-
graphic erasure of Palestinian modernity, through the proffering of biblified
materials to the Western photographic market. This is an irony given that this
was precisely the same class most actively involved in the documentation of
Palestinian modernity through carte de visites and other forms of photogra-
phy in the nineteenth and early twentieth century49 or through vernacular
photography in the interwar period. As Sheehi reminds us in his chapter, ‘the
decolonisation of photography is not magical undoing … an ahistorical process
or a reading through nationalist frameworks that sees indigenous photogra-
phy as ‘speaking back’ to power … [the] decolonisation of photography should
not seek an ‘epistemic reconstruction’ … awaking dormant histories are not
the same as hoping to resurrect arcane or dead practices, fetishising them as
authentic culture’.
A Palestinian deployment of Biblical narrative in the case of photographers
like Khalīl Raʿad, can also be viewed as an intervention into biblification as
an imaging system when read within the category of agents in Clark’s cultural
studies approach to meaning-making in cultural diplomacy. Raʿad used the
international interest in the biblified photography of Palestine as a platform for
proffering an indigenous vision that counters the colonial lens. Arguably, the
photographs from the Armenian General Benevolent Union in the epilogue,
that will be included as part of the collections in the new Armenian Museum
in Jerusalem, also implicitly deployed the Biblical in requests for humanitar-
ian donations from the West. In considering Palestinian agency, it does raise
important questions about how biblification and its transmission between
Palestinians and Europeans functioned. A partial answer can be found in ques-
tion of class dynamics and the urban-rural divide in Palestinian society.
This volume synthesises both social history and photography, attempting to
garner an overview of the British Mandate. But also, this volume shows us the
limitations of photography as a study for social history, particularly in relation
to questions of class, confession and colonialism, let alone questions of gender
and sexuality. Given this, we proffer this volume as a gesture towards mapping
the plurality of photography, its circulations and its conceptualisation, both
during the Mandate period and in retrospect since.
49 See Stephen Sheehi’s chapter, “The Carte de Visite: The Sociability of New Men and
Women,” in his book The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography 1860–1910
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), 53–74.

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Part 1
In and out of the Archives: Photographic Collections
and the Historical Case Studies

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Chapter 2
‘Little Orphans of Jerusalem’: The American

Colony’s Christian Herald Orphanage in
Photographs and Negatives
Abigail Jacobson
Marie Aboud, eight, is a little maid of the Greek Orthodox Church.

Her father, George Aboud, is paralyzed from shell-shock, and her
mother, Wardy/Wandy, is dead. Marie’s family came from the moun-
tains of Ajalon in northeastern Palestine. Some Moslems wanted to
take Marie from her helpless father by force, which meant to make
her somebody’s concubine. To avoid this he sent her to Jerusalem
to a distant relative of her mother’s. This person is very poor and
unable to feed her own family of three children. Marie is stunted
and thin, but bright and lovable. (Fig. 2.1)1
∵
This brief description of little Marie is one of 33 descriptions of girls, aged
3–15, that appear in the Record Book of girls who received support through
the American Colony Christian Herald Orphanage in Jerusalem (1918 to 1923,
estimated dates). The pages of the Record Book are organised uniformly, give a
sense of a catalogue or an index of the orphans and already hints to the power
dynamics involved in this institution, as discussed below. On the right-hand
corner is the girl’s portrait photograph with a brief biographic outline includ-
ing her name, religion, family history if known, place of residence before
joining the Orphanage and a description of her character. In some cases, such
1 Bertha Spafford Vester and Christian Herald Orphanage, Record Book listing girls receiv
ing support through the Christian Herald Orphanage, as supervised by the American Colony.
Library of Congress, American Colony Collection, Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www
.loc.gov/item/mamcol.092/, 5. (Hereafter: Record Book). The Record Book and the Album are
both preserved by the Library of Congress as part of the American Colony Collection. The
American Colony Archive in Jerusalem holds the negatives of the photographs, as well as vast
collections on the different activities and endeavours of the American Colony.
© Abigail Jacobson, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_003

of the Sanchez
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32 Jacobson
Figure 2.1 ‘No. 3: Marie Aboud’. Part of Christian Herald Orphanage

Record Book, 5.
Image courtesy of the American Colony archive

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‘ Little Orphans of Jerusalem ’ 33
as in the case of 10 years old Salfeetie, listed as number 17 in the Book, this
description also includes the destiny that awaited the girl had she not been
sent to the Orphanage, again suggesting the close link between the moral mis-
sion and institutional power: ‘[t]here was nothing for such a child but to roam
the streets and learn all kinds of wickedness, had not the Orphanage opened
its loving gates’.2
The Record Book with the girls’ biographical descriptions joins another
visual source that can teach us something about this institution: an annotated
Photographic Album dedicated to the Christian Herald Orphanage, document-
ing life in the Orphanage. The Album consists of photographic prints, featuring
trips and excursions held by the Orphanage, daily life and activities of the girls
and staff, celebrations and, again, individual photographic portraits of the
girls.3 The Record Book and Photograph Album of the Orphanage offer us an
opportunity to bring back to life this somewhat forgotten venture, one of a
number of orphanages and welfare institutions in post-World War I Jerusalem
(and Palestine). These records enable us to ask many questions, both about the
history of the Orphanage and the girls who stayed there, but also about pho-
tography as site of investigation and documentation. Specifically, this chapter
will critically address the connections between the medium of photography
and the acts of humanitarianism, as playing out in the case of the Orphanage.
As suggested by Issam Nassar, photographs should be regarded as visual
documents which cannot be separated from the historical context and circum-
stances in which they were produced.4 This chapter, then, aims at uncovering
the history of the Orphanage within the overall activities organised by the
American Colony, as well as the social life of the images included in these
albums.5 What is the main narrative that the Album and Book wish to portray
and to whom? What can they teach us about the institution, the people behind
the camera and their intended audience? Was there any significance in the
way the albums were organised, the taxonomy of the images and the staging
of the girls in the photographs? Who was excluded from the albums? And
how is the Orphanage connected to its surrounded socio-political and urban
2 Ibid., 21.
3 Unknown, American Colony in Jerusalem, and Christian Herald Orphanage. Photograph
Album, Christian Herald Orphanage. Palestine, 1919. Unpublished Album, Library of
Congress, American Colony Collection Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/mamcol.091/.
(Hereafter: Album).
4 Issam Nassar, Photographing Jerusalem: The Image of the City in Nineteenth Century Photo
graphy (Boulder: East European Monographs, 1997), 24–26.
5 Stephen Sheehi, The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography, 1860–1910
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), 55.

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34 Jacobson
context of post-World War I Jerusalem, the early years of British colonial rule
and to the grand project of humanitarian aid and relief efforts during this
period?
1 Establishing the Context: The American Colony in Jerusalem
The American Colony Christian Herald Orphanage in Jerusalem opened in

1918 and closed in 1922 or 1923. The Orphanage, as its name indicates, was oper-
ated by the American Colony in Jerusalem, in conjunction with the Christian
Herald newspaper, which was in charge of the financial support and the contri-
butions for the Orphanage.6 The nature of cooperation between the New York-
based newspaper, which used photographs in order to promote humanitar-
ian aid projects around the world, and the American Colony in Jerusalem will
be discussed below. In order to fully contextualise the activities and nature of
the Orphanage, then, it is essential to first understand its host institution, the
American Colony in Jerusalem.
Established in 1881 by a group of 17 Americans from Chicago and 2 British
citizens, the American Colony was led by Horatio Gates Spafford and Anna T.
Spafford. Driven by Evangelical Protestant motivations and explaining their
pilgrimage from Chicago to the Holy Land in spiritual and messianic terms,
the founding group was joined in 1896 by a group of 77 Swedes and Swedish-
Americans and 28 Anglo-Americans, who were influenced by the ideas and
charisma of Anna Spafford as the Colony’s leader. By 1900 the Colony consisted
of around 150 people, mostly Swedes and Americans, as well as others coming
from Britain, Canada, Denmark, India and Lebanon, among other places.7
During its almost 70 years of existence, the American Colony was a promi-
nent religious, creative, educational and commercial institution in Jerusalem.
It developed business enterprises, ran philanthropic and humanitarian pro-
jects (the Christian Herald Orphanage being one of them) and developed a
commercial photography department, a guest house and a store. It became
6 In her memoir, Bertha Spafford Vester, the daughter of the founders of the American Colony
and one of its leading figures, mentions that it was Major Theodore Waters, the assistant
editor of the Christian Herald and a major in the Red Cross, who first suggested that the news-
paper would offer support for the work done by the American Colony in Jerusalem. Bertha
Spafford Vester, Our Jerusalem: An American Family in the Holy Land 1881–1949 (Jerusalem:
Ariel Publishing House, 1992), 297.
7 Ruth Kark, “Post Civil War American Communes: A Millenarian Utopian Commune Linking
Chicago and No̊ s, Sweden to Jerusalem,” Communal Societies 15 (1995): 75–114.

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a meeting place and a centre for tourists, explorers, ethnographers, diplomats,

political leaders, religious figures, artists and scholars.
Unlike the Christian Herald newspaper, which, as will be discussed below,
held missionary aspirations and used the language of the mission as part of
the act of contributing money to the Orphanage, the American Colony was
not a missionary institution. As such, one way of understanding its activ-
ities and existence is to place it within the context of nineteenth-century
American Evangelical Protestantism and American religious communes,
which were often utopian and premillennialist in nature.8 Within the context
of American Studies, another perspective is that offered by Milette Shamir,
who argues that the American Colony is an example of a wider cultural desire
within American national discourse and analyses the connection between
the ‘motherly’ character of the Colony, as manifested also in its charity work,
and the Protestant American imaginary of the Holy Land.9
The American Colony was known for its matriarchal nature, under the domi-
nant leadership of the founding ‘mother’ Anna Spafford and, later, her daughter
Bertha Spafford Vester. Bertha, who became the leader of the Colony after the
passing of Anna in 1923, was one of the second generation of Colony members
who assumed leadership roles in the early 1900’s.10 Bertha was a prominent fig-
ure in running the Orphanage as well as the liaison between the donors and
the Orphanage. She is featured in some of the photographs of the Orphanage,
together with several teachers who were members of the Colony, mainly Ruth
Whiting and Hulda Larsson Beaumont. Other members of the American Colony
featured in the Orphanage’s photographs were Ernest Forrest Beaumont, Hulda’s
husband, who was the Colony’s dentist and a self-taught artist, draftsman, sur-
veyor, city engineer and archaeologist.11 In addition to Colony members, other
teachers were employed at the Orphanage, such as a certain Milly Jacobs who
appears several times in the Orphanage’s records.
The charity work carried out by the Colony members is central for under-
standing its unique position in the city and the region as a whole, as well as in
8 Yaakov Ariel and Ruth Kark, “Messianism, Holiness, Charisma and Community: The
American-Swedish Colony in Jerusalem, 1881–1933,” Church History 65 (1996): 641–658.
9 Milette Shamir, “‘Our Jerusalem’: Americans in the Holy Land and Protestant Narratives of
National Entitlement,” American Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2003): 29–60.
10 For some of the main account of the American Colony see Helga Dudman and Ruth Kark,
The American Colony: Scenes from a Jerusalem Saga (Jerusalem: Carta, 1998); Jane Fletcher
Geniesse, American Priestess: The Extraordinary Story of Anna Spafford and the American
Colony in Jerusalem (New York: Nan A. Talese, 2008); Odd Karsten Tveit, Anna’s House: A
Story from Stavanger to Jerusalem (Oslo: Cappelen, 2000).
11 Jack Green, “From Chicago to Jerusalem (and Back Again): The Untold Story of E.F.
Beaumont,” The Oriental Institute News and Notes 227 (2015): 15–19.

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36 Jacobson
the context of the Orphanage. Different projects began in the Colony’s early
years and were especially important during the crisis of World War I and its
aftermath. Aiming to extend support to women and children in need, the
Colony established medical clinics, soup kitchens, schools and workshops to
support girls and women, as well as a hospital. The Christian Herald Orphanage,
then, was one aid project among several organised by the American Colony.
These projects started during World War I, continued throughout the British
Mandate in Palestine with one, the Spafford Children Centre, that continues
to operate since 1925 to the present day. Most of these institutions served all
those in need, regardless of ethnic and national background and, as men-
tioned above, had no missionary aspirations. The Christian Herald Orphanage,
discussed here, is unique in this sense.
Another major enterprise carried out by the American Colony which
is relevant for discussion of the Orphanage is the American Colony Photo
Department (ACPD). The ACPD’s photographers documented landscape, peo-
ple and all major events of the time, creating one of the largest visual archives
of Middle East history. Established in 1898, the ACPD operated until 1930
under the leadership of Swedish Lewis Larsson, together with Olof, Lars and
Nils Lind, Jamil and Najib Albina, Eric and Edith Matson and John D. Whiting.
As demonstrated also by Rachel Lev’s contribution to this volume, the work
of the Photo Department included thematic photographic albums, pano-
ramic photographs, aerial photography, motion pictures, postcards, souvenirs,
glass-lantern slides and travel albums. The photographers guided tourists,
archaeologists, ethnographers, fellow photographers, scholars, pilgrims and
explorers through Palestine and the region and served as interpreters of the
region’s history, culture, geography and current realities.12 Even though there
is no clear indication that the ACPD’s photographers were responsible for the
Orphanage’s Photograph Album, the fact that the original negatives of this
12 On the work of the American Colony Photography Department see, for example:
Barbara Bair, “The American Colony Photography Department: Western Consumption
and “Insider” Commercial Photography,” Jerusalem Quarterly 44 (2010): 28–38; Rachel
Lev, “Visionaries and Creators: Members and Creative Ventures of the American
Colony in Jerusalem, 1881–1948” (Exhibition Catalogue) (Jerusalem: American Colony
Archive Collection, 2014); Dov Gavish, “The American Colony and its Photographers,”
in Zev Vilnay’s Jubilee Volume: Essays on the History, Archaeology, and Lore of the Holy
Land, Presented to Zev Vilnay, ed. Ely Schiller (Jerusalem: Ariel Publishing House, 1987)
(in Hebrew). To use Michèle Hannoosh’s suggestion, it is important to understand
the ACPD’s photographic experience, both within the local and regional context of the
Levant. See Michèle Hannoosh, “Practices of Photography: Circulation and Mobility in
the Nineteenth-Century Mediterranean,” History of Photography 40: 1 (2016): 3–27.

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Album are kept at the American Colony Archive Collection suggests that this
is indeed the case. As such, this Album joins other visual records of the ACPD
and should be analysed keeping this context in mind. It is this Album and the
narrative that it entails to which we now turn.
2 Narrating the Orphanage: The Photograph Album
The black leather-bound Photograph Album featuring the Christian Herald

Orphanage comprises 97 black-and-white photographic prints, of which 46
are individual portrait photographs of the Orphanage girls. Most of the pho-
tographs are titled in black ink handwriting below the photographs including
the Orphanage girls’ names below their individual portraits. The Orphanage
Record Book is organised alphabetically and lists the girls with clippings of
their portrait and biographical notes at the top of each entry.
The visual narration of the Album comprises three parts. The first, from
pages 1 to 17, features high quality black-and-white and sepia photographs,
presenting daily life in the Orphanage. Most of the first part consists of two
photographs per page, organised one below the other. Pages 13 to 17 consist of
between one and five photographs per page. The second part spans pages 18
to 23. It features individual portraits of the Orphanage girls. An assembly of
13 loose photographs (not pasted in) constitute the third part of the Album.
These photographs were scanned by the Library of Congress and appear on
their website as complementary visual narration of the first part, featuring
mainly snapshots of events, picnics, trips, birthdays, play time and holidays
where girls and staff are shown together. Captions of these photographs are
handwritten in pencil on the back of the photograph. It may well be that the
visual editing of the third part was completed after the Album was already
arranged.
The Album narrates the Orphanage’s daily life, including outdoor activities
and trips, indoor activities, events and celebrations. They are mostly group
photographs. The first page presents the location and the main actors, opening
with two photographs, organised vertically: the top one is entitled ‘Christian
Herald Orphanage Conducted by the American Colony’ showing the front
façade of the Orphanage building. Below it is a photograph entitled ‘Playground
of the Orphanage’, showing girls playing in front of the Orphanage building. In
both pictures the building and playground are isolated from their surround-
ing environment, without any clear indication of their exact location (Fig. 2.2).
The next page (page 2) displays two group photographs, one above the other:
‘Sir Arthur [Chief Administrator in Palestine] and Lady Money during a visit

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38 Jacobson
Figure 2.2 ‘Christian Herald Orphanage Conducted by the American Colony’ and
‘Playground of the Orphanage’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album, 1.
Images courtesy of the American Colony Archive

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Figure 2.3 ‘Sir Arthur and Lady Money during a visit to the Orphanage’ and ‘Untitled’. Part of
the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album, 2.
Image courtesy of the American Colony Archive

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40 Jacobson
to the Orphanage’ is displayed at top and, at the bottom, a group photograph

of the girls and their teachers from the American Colony in Jerusalem (among
them Bertha Vester and Ruth Whiting are seen standing on the left next to the
girls), in a beautiful garden at the entrance to the building. In the far distant
upper middle right of the photograph one can see the Augusta Victoria Stiftung
(Foundation) with its tower, located on the north-east side of Mount of Olives.
(Fig. 2.3). Already, by examining these two first pages, one can capture two
very different photographic languages: a snapshot of playful girls, running
barefoot and swinging on the swing set, versus a well-staged scene in which
the girls are well-dressed, all wearing white cottons dresses and facing the cam-
era. These two photographic languages of the Album, the seemingly un-staged
scenes versus the staged ones, will reappear in different sections throughout
the Album, conveying both a joyful, free ambience as well as a disciplined one.
Both of them portray a rather distanced, not personal, image of the girls.13
As we continue turning the pages of the Album, we uncover parts of the
daily routine of the girls. For example, photographs on page 4 consist of interior
scenes of classrooms, the top one (captioned, ‘One of the classes. Milly Jacob
teacher’) showing girls sitting in front of writing desks and a small bell placed
on the teacher’s desk. The lower photograph is titled ‘Kindergarten’, where ten
girls are sitting around a large wooden table, with a convertible blackboard
at the background with the letters A and O written on it, suggesting that the
girls are learning the alphabet (Fig. 2.4). The photograph on page 5, captioned
‘Recess’, features another scene from the school-life of the Orphanage: the
girls are sitting barefoot on the floor, facing the camera, seemingly playing,
some holding dolls and toys. Photographs on page 6, ‘Sewing Class with Ruth
Whiting as the teacher’ (top image) and another where the girls are ‘Learning
how to mend and Darn’, (bottom image) take place outdoors; later we witness
a gardening lesson in a blooming garden, where the girls seem very busy and
happy.
The girls are also documented on laundry day and are seen hanging the
laundry in front of the building. A cooking class is then featured, followed by
three pictures of them in the dining room. What is interesting about the meal
pictures is the way the table is set: each girl has a plate and cup, maybe with a
spoon, with a glass of water. In the middle of the tables stand small vases with
flowers, possibly wild flowers picked in the garden or on one of the excursions
(which are featured later in the Album). The last photograph of this series –
‘daily routine’ – shows the girls washing the dishes.14 Some of these images are
13 Photograph Album, 1–2.


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Figure 2.4 ‘One of the Classes’ and ‘Kindergarten’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage

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42 Jacobson
similar to those mentioned by Okkenhaug in her paper on the Swedish School

in Jerusalem. As can be seen, both institutions highlighted the domestic train-
ing of the girls and their outdoors activities in their photographs as part of
their fundraising efforts.
This part seems to take the viewer of the Album through the very daily
routine and the main components of the education that is provided by the
Orphanage, namely both in-class learning and more practical training aspect
of the girls’ education: cooking, sewing and darning. This fits nicely into the
discourse of scientific domesticity that dominated women’s education during
the early twentieth century, which viewed women’s role as primarily located in
the domestic sphere. The tasks that the girls learn also had moral dimensions
to them. Laundry, for example, may have reflected the spiritual, as well as phys-
ical virtue of cleanliness.15
The photographs in the third part of the Album feature mostly outdoor
activities, such as excursions taking place in 1920–1921, mainly to Ein Karem
(and a few to Hebron), where we see the girls play, swing and enjoy picnics.
Interestingly, there are no photographs of the girls traveling to any of the reli-
gious sites, which are located very close geographically to the Orphanage.
Judging from the images, the excursions were only for the purpose of fun and
play. Other photographs of this section show the girls playing with snowballs
in front of the Orphanage building in the winter of 1920. One of the interest-
ing photographs in this part shows three horse-wagons on their way to ‘Ain
Karim,’ (Ein Karem). The first wagon covers most of the photographic space,
thus constituting the central image: it is packed with some 30 cheerful girls
looking at the camera. The second wagon appears to be the teachers’ carriage
and the third is outside the photographic frame. The girls on the wagon seem
playful and excited and the two horsemen seem pleased as well. It seems that
15 See Beth Baron, The Women’s Awakening in Egypt: Culture, Society, and the Press (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 155–158; Ela Greenberg, Preparing the Mothers of
Tomorrow: Education and Islam in Mandate Palestine (Austin: University of Texas Press,
2010), mainly 134–167; Omnia Shakry, “Schooling Mothers and Structured Play: Child
Rearing in Turn-of-the-Century Egypt,” in Remaking Women: Feminism and Modernity
in the Middle East, ed. Lila Abu-Lughod (Cairo: AUC Press, 1998), 126–170. On girls’ edu-
cation and domesticity within the context of Quaker missionary education in Palestine
see Enaya Hammad Othman, Negotiating Palestinian Womanhood: Encounters between
Palestinian Women and American Missionaries, 1880s–1940’s (Lanham: Lexington Books,
2016). On the symbolism of girls’ domestic tasks in a different context see Linda Mahood
and Barbara Littlewood, “The “Vicious” Girl and the “Street-Corner” Boy: Sexuality and
the Gendered Delinquent in the Scottish Child-Saving Movement, 1850–1940,” Journal of
the History of Sexuality 4:4 (1994): 560–564.

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one of the girls is holding the horse whip (Fig. 2.5).16 This image alludes to
the social connections and hierarchy between the girls and their teachers. The
excursions and outdoor play were important in perceptions of hygiene and
schooling – claiming that children (and adults) needed sunlight, fresh air and
movement in order for them to become healthy and strong, and to overcome
the poor physical condition of many children, especially underscored in the
context of the Orphanage.17
The Album also features various celebrations held at the Orphanage. There
are two identical photographs taken during Christmas 1919, on page 3 and
towards the end of the Album on page 32. The latter’s quality is much better
as the photograph is very sharp.18 The picture shows the girls, dressed nicely
and wearing shoes (some other pictures show many of them barefoot), one
of them, possibly a Muslim girl, with a headscarf, with their teachers (Ruth
Whiting being one of them) and possibly again General Arthur Money at the
back, standing in front of a large, well-decorated Christmas Tree. The photo-
graph is taken in a well-decorated room with large curtains. One of the striking
features of this photograph is the fact that each of the girls is holding what
seems to be a Christmas present: mostly, they hold dolls, though the one stand-
ing in the middle of the front row, who looks like a boy and wears trousers, is
holding a wooden carriage. Other than one of the girls, who is smiling and
seems to be leaning towards one of the teachers, all the girls and teachers seem
to be very serious (Fig. 2.6).19 With the presents and the tree, this photograph
alludes to a family-like Christmas atmosphere, which may send a message to
the donors abroad, hinting at the way the girls are treated in the Orphanage.
Other celebrations that we see in the Album are a birthday party held outdoors,
with a table again decorated with flowers20 and another lunch party which is
described as ‘Easter lunch for Mohammadan girls’.21 Both the Christmas and
Easter photographs are odd, considering the fact that many of the girls in
16 Photograph Album, 28.

17 On the connection between hygiene, physical education and nationalism in the process
of Muslim girls’ education in mandatory Palestine see Greenberg, Preparing the Mothers,
138–150. On hygiene education and the process of nation-building within the Jewish com-
munity see Dafna Hirsch, Banu Lekan Lehavi et haMa‌ʾarav: Hanchalat Higiena uBniyat
Tarbut Bahevra Hayehudit Bitkufat Hamnadat (Sede Boqer: The Ben Gurion Research
Institute, 2014) (in Hebrew). On domestic management and its influence on men and
women in Mandatory Palestine see Sherene Seikaly, Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy
in Mandate Palestine (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016), mainly 53–76.
18 Photograph Album, 3, 32.

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44 Jacobson
Figure 2.5 ‘Untitled’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album, 28.
Figure 2.6 ‘Christmas 1918, C.H. Orphanage’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage

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the Orphanage were Muslim. This raises some questions regarding what may
be the missionary agenda of the Orphanage and the possible connection
between the project of proselytisation and humanitarian aid, as will be dis-
cussed below.
Another set of interesting photographs appear on page 11 and 50 of the
Album. The photographs show a commencement ceremony in an outdoor
setting (as the caption of one of them indicates), where guests are seen seated
under a large tent which is partly made of an American flag. In the lower
photograph a British flag is seen on the right-hand side.22 The girls perform
drills in front of the audience, facing the camera and then lining up (the cap-
tion reads: ‘Drill’). The photograph on page 50, taken from the upper floor of
an adjacent building, shows the girls dancing in circles, probably as part of a
performance to the audience.
The audience is composed of well-dressed men and women, sitting on
chairs, one of the men patting a small dog next to him.23 The photographs
may have been taken during one of the 4th of July celebrations, hence the
American flag that serves as a cover from the sun. (Fig. 2.7) These are the
only album pages displaying national symbols. The girls are obviously there
to entertain the guests, who may be dignitaries and officials from the British
administration, representatives of the American consulate, as well as guests
of the American Colony and the sponsoring Christian Herald newspaper. The
physical setting of this ceremony, and the clothing of the men and women, is
similar to a typical colonial photograph, embodying in it the power relations
and hierarchies of colonial society. Here, as in many of the other photographs
discussed, the role of the photograph in representing social dynamics, social
relations and possibly an ideological act, is clear. It also hints at the central
role of the American Colony in the city, and possibly to the position of the US
during the early years of British colonial role in Palestine.24
Throughout the Album we hardly see any men in the photographs. Most
of the images feature the girls and their teachers. The men who appear are
either officers or officials with few exceptions, one of which is Mr Ernest
Forrest Beaumont, the Colony and Orphanage dentist and possibly one of

24 Sheehi, The Arab Imago, xxviii. In this context it is worth mentioning the stormy rela-
tions between the Colony and the American Consulate in Jerusalem, especially in the late
nineteenth century during the terms of two consuls, Selah Merrill and Edwin Wallace,
due to their suspicion of the Colony’s messianic beliefs and communal nature. See
more on this in Ariel and Kark, “Messianism, Holiness, Charisma and Community: The
American-Swedish Colony in Jerusalem, 1881–1933”, 653–654.

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46 Jacobson
Figure 2.7 Untitled. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage Photograph Album, 50.
the administrators, who is seen in several photographs, including one taken

in his dentistry office (Fig. 2.8). The dentistry image may allude to the impor-
tance placed in the Orphanage on the girls’ health and hygiene. It also raises
the question of whether oral hygiene may have been a privilege during these
years. Another exception is a man seen in some of the photographs, who may
be the Orphanage’s butler. The Album is hence a clear representation of gen-
der dynamics and reflects the hierarchical colonial division, in which the men
featured are in a position of power and authority over the girls. The feminine
role is either that of the care-givers (teachers) or the indigenous girls in need
of care and support. The central place of women in the Album also goes very
much in line with the female-dominated atmosphere of the American Colony
and the strong role that the Colony women played within it.
The photographers of the Album are unidentified. However, the original
negatives of the Album are held at the American Colony Archive Collection,
which suggests that the ACPD produced this Album as well. Exploring the neg-
atives, one can learn about the production process of the Album, as well as the
selection of the photographs included in it. The negatives show that some of
the photographs were not included in the Album at all. In other cases, photo-
graphs were included in part or with some editing work done to them. Such is
the case of the Christmas photograph, discussed above (Fig. 2.6). Comparing

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Figure 2.8 Upper photograph: ‘Dentistry’. Part of the Christian Herald Orphanage
Photograph Album, 12. Ernest Forrest Beaumont’s wife, Hulda Larsson Beaumont,
was one of the Orphanage teachers. See: Green, ‘From Chicago to Jerusalem.’

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48 Jacobson
this photograph to its negative one can clearly see that the two are different. On
the left-hand side of the negative there is a blurry image of a girl and a woman,
both unidentified, who were not included in the photograph that appeared in
the Album. Instead of them, the photograph’s corner is folded. (Fig. 2.9) One
can only speculate why the original image was edited before included in the
final Album, due to the poorer quality of the negative.
The Orphanage Album, then, captures the daily life and routine of the
girls, as well as exposes us to their indoor and outdoor activities. The Album
was not supposed to be sold or circulated. Its sole purpose was to present the
Orphanage to the donors and to highlight its main activities and features in
order to raise funds. In this, it is similar to the function of photographs that is
discussed in Okkenhaug’s article, regarding the Swedish School. The selection
of photographs and the high-quality of print suggests that much work and tal-
ent was also put into the photography, the production and the organisation
of the Album.
The main actors in the narrative presented in the Album are the girls,
whose portraits appear on pages 18–23.25 Unlike the small face portraits that
are featured in the Record Book album, these photographs show almost a
full body image of each girl, in more or less the alphabetical order featured
in the Orphanage Record Book. The names of each of the girls are handwrit-
ten in black ink under the photographs. The girls are all facing the camera,
with serious expressions, and are all wearing more or less the same cotton
dress. Most of the portraits were probably taken in a studio, with a dark back-
ground; only a few were taken outside. The girls’ names are the only indicators
to their ethno-religious identity as Muslims and Christians. Not only are they
disconnected from the scenery presented in the rest of the Album, they are
also dislocated from space and represent a neutral identity.26 The story of the
girls, though, is revealed when looking at the next record available, to which
we now turn.

26 Wendy M.K. Shaw, “The Ottoman in Ottoman Photography: Producing Identity through
its Negation,” in The Indigenous Lens? Early Photography in the Near and Middle East, eds.
Markus Ritter and Staci G. Scheiwiller (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 189.

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Figure 2.9 Christmas at the Christian Herald Orphanage, 1918. Part of ‘Members and Activities
of the American Colony and Aid Projects’, Negative Collection, series 24_13,
American Colony Archive, Jerusalem. (Hereafter: Negative Collection).
3 Orphans and Patrons: The Christian Herald Orphanage

Record Book
The black leather-bound 55-page sequential Record Book is entitled: Christian

Herald Orphanage, conducted by the American Colony, List of Children.27
Reading through the Record Book it is clear that this is much more than simply
a list of girls hosted at the Orphanage, but rather more of a social profile of
the girls and their donors, a record of correspondence regarding the money
donated to the Orphanage. The pages of the Book feature the name of each
girl and a small clipping of a facial portrait, alongside a clipping consisting of a
short explanation of the girl’s background and her donor’s name and address,
followed by a handwritten record of the money donated on her behalf from
27 The Record Book was originally organized alphabetically, with the alphabetical letters
replaced with handwritten numbers. These numbers may indicate the order of the girls’
attendance at the Orphanage.

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50 Jacobson
her ‘patron’ to the Orphanage. A newspaper clipping on the first page of the
Record Book, entitled ‘Little Orphans of Jerusalem: A Wonderful Opportunity
of Service is Offered’, explains the rationale of the Album and its purpose:
The Christian Herald today presents to its readers an opportunity for

service that will gladden many hearts. In past years, they have been the
special patrons of thousands of children in India and China, of hun-
dreds in Japan and of a number in Africa … Now, the way is open to
them to become the godfathers and godmothers of little orphan waifs in
Jerusalem, the land which of all the world holds the most sacred mem-
ories of childhood. There are some thirty-six of these little folks in the
Christian Herald Orphanage in Jerusalem – all girls – in whose behalf we
appeal to your love and sympathy. […]
Here is an opportunity for Sunday School classes, Epworth Leagues,
Christian Endeavour Branches, Baptist Young People’s organizations,
Ladies’ Aid Societies and kindred bodies to take up the support of a
Palestine orphan. Their little protégé will be trained and taught to write
to her benefactors at regular intervals, and the latter will thus be put in
personal communication with the children of their adoption. Individual
members, too, will be welcomed as patrons. There could be no nicer
opportunity for getting into personal touch with a little Jerusalem child
and influencing her whole future life. […]
This is a kind of missionary work that lies closer to the heart than any
other, because it links the patron to the protégé in a union that grown
more and more interesting every year. The cost of support, which includes
shelter, clothing, tuition and food, is estimated at $130.00 a year – equal
to $2.50 a week, or almost 35 cents a day. This, in view of the importance
of the work and the great results to be attained, is a very modest figure
and one which cannot be considered burdensome. […]28
The Record Book, then, compliments the Album, discussed above, and also
may shed some light on its purpose. Unlike the Album, the Record Book does
not include photographs, other than those small portrait clippings which were
cut out of the full-body photographs. Each page is divided into two columns,
a left one entitled ‘received’ and a right one entitled ‘sent’. The left column
lists the exact dates in which contributions were sent to the girls (referred
to as ‘protégé’), and the right one indicates what the girls sent to the donor
28 “Little Orphans of Jerusalem: A Wonderful Opportunity of Service is Offered,” Record

Book, 1. The original article appeared at The Christian Herald, January 29, 1921.

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(referred to as ‘patron’). It seems that the correspondence with the donors was
made on behalf of the girls, possibly by Bertha Vester herself. Hence, there was
no direct link between the girls and the donors. The audience of the Album
and the Record Book seems to be the same: the donors among the readers of
the Christian Herald newspaper, and possibly also among the supporters of
the American Colony. Both can be seen as part of the effort to show ‘where the
money goes to’.
In his analysis of Ottoman portrait photography, Stephen Sheehi discusses
the question of repetition of certain patterns within the portraits he investi-
gates, which represent and enact the ideals of Ottoman modernity.29 In the
case of the Record Book, the pages all contain the same elements, create some
repetition and a sense that all the girls are similar to each other. The organisa-
tion of the Record Book gives a sense of a catalogue of the girls and does not
provide any agency to the girls themselves. It overshadows their identities, the
stories of their parents, families and background. The short, and usually tragic,
life-story of the girls is revealed only when looking more carefully at the news-
paper clipping attached to the girls’ images.30
This feeling of a catalogue is enhanced when reading the original article
from which this piece is taken, published in The Christian Herald newspaper
on 29th January, 1921. This two-page article presents the stories of all the girls
living in the Orphanage. Around the article itself are all the portraits of the
girls, with their consecutive numbers, for easy recognition (Fig. 2.10).31 Two
years earlier, on 14th June, 1919, a similar article with children’s photographs
entitled ‘Hear these fifteen little pleaders’ appeared in the newspaper, this time
referring to an orphanage in China. This display of children in need, then, was
not unique only to the Jerusalem Orphanage, but was the way the Christian
Herald was trying to convince its readers to contribute to charity institutions
and welfare projects around the world.32
Who, then, are the girls who found refuge in the Christian Herald Orphanage?
From the short profiles of the girls one can learn something about the trau-
mas and effects of the Great War on them and their families. The girls are
of Greek Orthodox, Protestant and Muslim backgrounds. Before joining the
Orphanage, they mostly lived in Jerusalem, but some also came originally from
Mesopotamia, Hebron, the mountains of Ajloun and Greece. This hints at the
population movement of the post-war period. One or both of their parents
29 Sheehi, The Arab Imago, 14–20.

30 The girls’ destiny after the orphanage was closed (between 1922–1923) remains unknown.
31 The Christian Herald, January 29, 1921.
32 Ibid., June 14, 1919.

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52 Jacobson
Figure 2.10 Little Orphans of Jerusalem, 1921. The Christian Herald,

29th January, 1921

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54 Jacobson
either died or were injured during the war. Some died due to diseases, such as
typhus and tuberculosis, some during their work in the labour battalions and
one died of snake bite. The father of Fareedy Elias (no. 4), George, for example,
deserted his family and travelled to South America, leaving her mother behind
to support their two children. Some of the girls were first adopted by relatives
or other families, who were usually unable to continue taking care of them
and hence sent them to the Orphanage. The girls did not seem to have any
pre-existing links with the American Colony.
Some girls, such as Asma Wahabie (no. 36, p. 44), suffer from trachoma, mal-
nutrition or are handicapped. Asma Najla Aish, age 6, for example, is described
as partly crippled, and also was ‘threatened by tuberculosis, but shows no signs
of it now’.33 In some cases, we can learn about the tragic journeys of some of
the girls before they reached the Orphanage. Marie Elias (no. 20), for example,
is described as the eight year old daughter of a school teacher of the church
missionary society in Gaza, who was forced to leave with his family to al-Salt
due to the Ottomans’ suspicion that he worked with the British. After the
British occupation, and following the mother’s death, the father returned to
Jerusalem with his daughters, but was unable to support them. His three daugh-
ters, described as ‘bright, nice girls’, are held at the Orphanage. Nellie Elias, one
of the sisters (no. 22), has her patron’s photograph next to hers (p. 29).
The Orphanage’s contribution to the lives of the girls is clear. In some
cases, the girls were rescued from ‘going to the wrong’ or from hunger. In
others, the American Colony played a different role. Such was the case of
Guldusta Bada, age 10, who, as written next to her portrait, ‘is pretty and was
asked for in-marriage. The American Colony prevented this and will insist
on retaining her until she is of marriageable age’.34 These descriptions are
indicative of the value system of the American Colony and the Orphanage it
managed, of the way the Colony perceived its mission, as well as that of the
newspaper readership. This language and spirit of protection also go hand in
hand with notions from a different context, that of late Victorian England and
the Child Protection Movement. The mission of the ‘children savers’, as they
were called, were both to remove children at risk from their families and, at
the same time, to protect society at large from their potentially bad influence.
In relation to girls, the mission was to protect the girls from being corrupted
33 Asma Najla Aish, Record Book, 8 no. 6.

34 Guldusta Bada, Record Book, 15 no. 12.

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and turning into prostitutes, and at the same time to protect the society from
corruption and disease.35
What can we learn about the relations between the donors and the girls?
The girls’ voice is not heard in this narrative. It seems that there was no direct
correspondence between the girls and their donors, as all correspondence went
through the American Colony and the Orphanage. From the right-hand (‘sent’)
column of the girls’ pages we learn about the thank-you letters that were sent on
behalf of the girls to her respective patron, including a postcard for Christmas
that was sent by all girls on 8th December, 1921. Sometimes pictures of the girls
were sent to the donors as well. We also learn that at the end of December 1922
many of the donors received a letter indicating that the Orphanage was about
to close (even though correspondence documented in the Record Book con-
tinued in some cases into 1923). There are some cases in which donors sent
not only money, however. Mrs J. Edward Davis from Maryland, who supported
the 9 year old Evelina Izrak, reported in 1923 about a financial crisis she went
through, but wrote that despite her difficulties, she crocheted a luncheon
set and sold it for $23, and sent the money to the Orphanage.36 In February
1922, Mrs Cramer from Warren, Pennsylvania, sent a gold brooch to Naheel
Katooha, 8 years old. A year later the Orphanage contacted Mrs Cramer and
suggested that she send funds to the Orphanage, not only to the girl she was
supporting.37 It seems that at least some of the donors were involved in the
girls’ lives and upbringing, possibly after the closing of the Orphanage. In a let-
ter sent to Bertha Vester, attached to the Record Book and dated February 1927,
one of the donors enquires about the girl she was in touch with, hoping that she
will continue developing and go on to train at nursing school as she desired.38
The period at the Orphanage and the American Colony, then, may have served
as a point of departure for some girls’ future development.39
The Record Book teaches us not only about the girls, but also about their
‘patrons’, the donors who supported them. Who are the donors, and, more
importantly, what is the connection between the Christian Herald newspaper
and the Jerusalem-based Orphanage?
35 See on this, for example: Barbara Littlewood and Linda Mahood, “Prostitutes, Magdalenes
and Wayward Girls: Dangerous Sexualities of Working-Class Women in Victorian
Scotland,” Gender & History 3, no. 2 (1991): 166; Mahood, “The “Vicious” Girl,” 549–578.
36 Evelina Izrak, Record Book, 3 no. 1.
37 Naheel Katooha, Record Book, 18 no. 13.
38 Letter from Ellis Jones to Bertha Vester, Feb. 22, 1927, Record Book, 22–24.
39 Unfortunately, I was unable to track any of the girls after they left the Orphanage. Any
suggestion about their future is therefore only a speculation.

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56 Jacobson
4 Pictorial Humanitarianism: The Christian Herald Newspaper and

the American Colony
The Christian Herald was a New York-based weekly magazine, a pioneer of

pictorial journalism, which used photographic technologies in order to pub-
licise humanitarian crisis in the United States and around the world. Louis
Klopsch, who served as its editor from 1890 until his death in 1910, convinced
the newspaper’s readers to open their hearts, hands, and purses, in order to
feed the hungry, send or carry aid to the sick and to spread the Gospel mes-
sage everywhere.40 The newspaper became the most widely-read religious
newspaper in the world. As a channel for relief and charity campaigns it was
responsible for raising millions of dollars to aid people suffering around the
world.41 Unlike some of the well-known charitable foundations, such as the
Rockefeller Foundation, the Christian Herald newspaper represented a grass-
roots effort to practice American evangelical ideals and translate them into
the practice of humanitarian work, using the tools of the popular religious
media.42 By the turn of the century, the Christian Herald had almost a quarter
million subscribers, with its readers coming from all around the United States,
as well as from other countries.43 Using the language and ideas of evangelical
benevolence, the Christian Herald was engaged in hundreds of campaigns to
collect donations for various humanitarian causes, stretching geographically
from Mexico to China and from Turkey to Russia. By 1910, the newspapers’
subscribers had donated more than $3.3 million for domestic and interna-
tional crises.44
The connection between the newspaper and the Orphanage in Jerusalem
was made through the American Colony. The Christian Herald had pub-
lished several articles about the American Colony, in which the newspaper’s
enthusiasm about the Christian organisation within the grim realities of
Jerusalem in particular, and the Levant in general, was very clear. In an article
accompanied by photographs, published in the newspaper on February 1919,
the writer Wilbur Williams describes his visit and stay at the American Colony,
writing that:
40 Heather D. Curtis, Holy Humanitarianism: American Evangelicals and Global Aid

(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2018), 2. The Christian Herald was founded origi-
nally in Britain in 1876 by Reverend Michael Baxter, and purchased in 1890 by Thomas De
Witt Talmage and Louis Klopsch. Ibid., 7–8.
41 Ibid., 3.
42 Ibid., 5.
43 Ibid., 9.
44 Ibid., 11.

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By this time we were exceedingly interested in the history of the American

Colony, and marvelled at the sturdy sinews of Christian fortitude which
can endure persecutions patiently and meekly and free of hatred, when
nurtured by sustaining faith.45
Later that year, on 19th April, 1919, the connection between the newspaper and
the American Colony was demonstrated more clearly, through Bertha Vester’s
letter addressing the readers of the Christian Herald:
Can I describe to you the thrill of joy when I read that the generous
readers of the Christian Herald were going to continue their beneficent
assistance and keep our poor orphans in the Home they have learned
to love? Nay, it is more than this; they will, by their Christmas gift, allow
us to take more children into the Orphanage, who are pressing us to
admit them into “God’s House,” as they call it. […] It is with heartfelt
gratitude that the American Colony sends these lines to the readers of
the Christian Herald, for their generous contributions contained in the
Christmas Chest, which will enable us to continue this very successful
and necessary work of mothering these motherless, suffering little ones
in the land of the Child Jesus.46
Many of the children in the Orphanage were Muslims, continued Vester, who
were exposed to the Christian ceremonies and atmosphere. According to her,
‘the Mohammedans do not object to a change of religion if it is not a change of
the ‘outer garment’ for gain; that they hate’. And indeed, the religious element
is clearly addressed in Vester’s letter, when she discusses the questions raised
by the children at the Orphanage:
The new surroundings have brought the children new ideas. “Whence
all this bounty? Who made the kind friends in America think of the poor
little miserable, unattractive, dirty looking children in Jerusalem? Then
we tell them of the Child who lived here and who gave his life to save
us, and for his sake we remember to be kind to our less fortunate brothers
and sisters, for he said that to “love our neighbor as ourselves fulfilled
all the law and the prophets”. Then they wished to pray and thank this
45 “The American Colony at Jerusalem,” The Christian Herald, February 22, 1919, 210–212.
46 “Christian Herald Orphanage in the Holy Land,” The Christian Herald, April 19, 1919,
450–451.

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58 Jacobson
new Friend for all they had received. They did not forget their friends in
America; they always ask me to send their love and gratitude to them.47
On 27th December, 1919, Vester writes again in the newspaper with more
news from the Orphanage. This time she updates that with the acceptance
of General Arthur Money, the Chief Administrator of the southern district of
British military rule (OETA-South), the name of the Orphanage would change
to ‘The Christian Herald Orphanage in the Holy Land, under the auspices
of The American Colony’. But then, as she continues writing, a potential
problem arose:
During his [General Money’s] visit at the orphanage, 1 asked him further
about the name, and he at that time gave us permission to use the name
‘Christian Herald Orphanage’ provided the children were all Christian.
At present we have about half Mohammedan and half Christian chil-
dren with us. General Money said there could be no objection brought
if Mohammedans chose to bring their children to the Christian Herald
Orphanage. They would have to take the consequences. This statement
will prove to you, as it did to us, a great relief.48
The importance given to the religious aspect is clear, then, as well as the embed-
ded missionary element and the possibility of proselytisation of the girls. This
may be why the girls, including the Muslim ones, participated in the Christmas
celebration and Easter lunch, and why the Album featured those events as part
of its activities. This did not go hand in hand with the mission of the American
Colony, but Vester, who clearly needed the money (when the check of $3000
arrived, the Orphanage had $25 left in the account, she said) and the support
for the institution, was willing to compromise on this issue. The concern about
the influence of the mission on the Orphanage may also explain the absence of
any Jewish girls from the Orphanage, despite the fact that they too were among
the victims of the war and needed support as well.49
47 Curtis, Holy Humanitarianism, 11.

48 “The Orphans of the Holy Land,” The Christian Herald, December 27, 1919, 1335.
49 The number of Jewish orphans in Palestine, and mainly in Jerusalem, as a result of the
war is estimated at around 4500. There were, however, several orphanages that had
already operated within the Jewish community since the late nineteenth century and
the early twentieth century, including the Diskin Orphanage, the Weingarten Orphanage,
the Sephardi orphanage and others. The Joint Distribution Committee operated the
“Orphanage Committee to the Land of Israel,” which operated between 1919 to 1927 in
Jerusalem and other cities and was in charge of supporting Jewish orphans in particular.

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Charity was viewed as a mission uniting the believers.50 Like other human-
itarian projects and welfare efforts, in the United States and beyond, the
newspaper used evangelical ideas, mixed with political projects and social
agendas, in order to promote what was seen as cosmopolitan charity among
the believers.51 The main motivation was the belief that the US had an obli-
gation to support, and possibly educate, distant strangers as well as American
citizens. The unique mechanism for this vast grassroots welfare and charitable
project was what Heather D. Curtis calls Pictorial Humanitarianism, the power
and influence offered by the illustrative magazine.52 Like other philanthropic
projects carried out by the United States at the turn of the century, though, this
project too was not benign or devoid of political interests and demonstration
of power. In the words of Ian Tyrrell, ‘giving was genuine, but never simple’.53
What, then, is the connection between humanitarianism and photography, as
played out in the case of the Orphanage?
5 Humanitarianism, Philanthropy and the Image
Discussing the history and development of modern humanitarianism in the

Middle East, Keith Watenpaugh argues that the centre of humanitarianism is
the project of unstrangering the object of humanitarianism. This process of
unstrangering is derived not only from empathy towards the victim, but from
the attempt to close the distance between the humanitarian subject (‘patron’)
and the humanitarian object (‘protégé’).54 In fact, as Denis Kennedy argues,
there is an integral relationship between humanitarian relief and imagery.
See Ella Ayalon, “Mevakrot Yetomin Beyerushalayim,” Zmanim 124 (2014): 72–83. In rela-
tion to photography and the concern about conversion, one may also remember the
earlier conversion of Mendel John Diness, a Jew who converted to Christianity in 1849,
and is considered by some to be the first professional photographer in Jerusalem. See Dror
Wahrman, “Mendel Diness – Hazalam Hayerushalmi Hamikzo’i Harishon?” Cathedra 38
(1985): 104–120. Diness’ conversion caused a major outcry within the Jewish community
in mid-nineteenth century Jerusalem.
50 Curtis, Holy Humanitarianism, 47–49.
51 Ibid., 58, 64.
52 Ibid., 283–287.
53 Ian Tyrrell, Reforming the World: The Creation of America’s Moral Empire (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2010), 98. In his book Tyrrell discusses the creation of what
he calls “America’s Moral Empire”, and examines the relationship between Protestant
reformers’ aspiration to create a more Christian and moral world, and the rise of American
imperialism and colonialism.
54 Keith David Watenpaugh, Bread from Stones: The Middle East and the Making of Modern
Humanitarianism (Oakland: University of California Press, 2015), 19, 34.

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60 Jacobson
Because people are less likely to help distant strangers, the challenge facing
humanitarian agencies, until today, is to bridge the distance between the
victim and donor and attract support. This is done by the use of images and
technology.55 Hence, as Kennedy argues, selling pain and suffering is in fact
central to humanitarian fundraising. This close connection brings with it a set
of ethical dilemmas, such as the dignity of the victim, and the way that the
victims in fact become depersonalised and abstract.56
In this regard, the act of unstrangering operates in a way that is paral-
lel to the process of ‘biblification’. That is to say, a process of making legible
that which is distant and removed from the immediacy of the photographic
viewer. Biblified images presented Jerusalem in particular as an empty space,
highlighted the presence of Jewish and Christian minorities who needed pro-
tection, treated the city as an iconic image and ignored the realities of the
living city. Biblification, then, was another mean of discovering the (imagined)
country and bringing it closer to the western audience.57 In the case discussed
in this article, though, it is not biblical images that are presented, but images
of a philanthropic enterprise.
Photography played an integral part in the extension of American philan-
thropy abroad from the end of the nineteenth century, argues Curtis. This
practice, also termed ‘humanitarian photography’, served to mobilise pho-
tography in the service of humanitarian initiatives across state boundaries.58
The invention of the portable Kodak camera in 1888 enabled missionaries, aid
workers, journalists and tourists to document humanitarian crises in remote
places and publish the photographs in different venues, including popular
periodicals.59 The photographs were supposed to arouse sympathy for suffer-
ing strangers and to encourage compassion among the readers, which would
later translate into financial assistance, as in the case of the Orphanage. This
use of images, though, was often used for commercial purposes and for the
55 Denis Kennedy, “Selling the Distant Other: Humanitarianism and Imagery-Ethical

Dilemmas of Humanitarian Action,” The Journal of Humanitarian Assistance (2009),
accessed July 16, 2019, available online at: http://sites.tufts.edu/jha/archives411.
56 Ibid., 7.
57 Issam Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth
Century Photography,” Third Text 20, nos 3/4: 317–326.
58 On Humanitarian Photography see Heide Fehrenbach and Davide Rodogno, “The
Morality of Sight: Humanitarian Photography in History,” in Humanitarian Photography: a
History, eds. Heide Fehrenbach and Davide Rodogno (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2015), 1–4.
59 Heather D. Curtis, “Depicting distant suffering: Evangelicals and the politics of picto-
rial humanitarianism in the age of American empire,” Material Religion 8, no. 2 (2015):
157–158.

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creation of calls for humanitarian appeals which were based on ‘spectacles of

suffering’.60
The case of the Christian Herald Orphanage serves as a demonstration of
the process that Watenpaugh, Curtis, Fehrenbach, Rodogno and Kennedy
describe, but offers a ‘twist’. The photographs that are presented in both
records, mediated by the Christian Herald newspaper, bring the girls closer to
the hearts and minds of the newspaper’s readership and create the hierarchy
and relationship of a patron/protégé. They allow the donors to feel closer to
the girl they support, to personalise her and to follow her development and
growth by actually becoming her godparent. It is through the image, presented
in the Photograph Album, and the ongoing communication with the girls, as
documented in the Record Book, that the physical, as well as psychological,
distance between Jerusalem and the United States is bridged. But it is also
through the image that the girls are made less abstract and more personalised.
The relationship between the donor and the girl, reflected in the photo-
graphs and the newspaper, may also shed light on some of the motivations
behind the act of charity and benevolence. What seems to be the religious
agenda of the donors, as discussed above, is most probably not the only moti-
vation for supporting the orphans. As Beth Baron, Keith Watenpaugh and
Nazan Maksudyan, among others, show, the act and discourse of welfare is not
benign or free of political agendas and motivations. Patrons, or sponsors, hope
to enhance their social capital through supporting the needy and the orphans
serve, in certain cases, as a fresh ground for a proselytising and modernising
effort. Hence, the donors’ motivations may be driven by social, religious, polit-
ical and sometimes even economic motivations, and not only by a pure desire
to save the children.61
The case of the Christian Herald Orphanage, then, demonstrates the close
connection between the humanitarian project and the image, in the con-
text of post-World War I Jerusalem. Regarding the question of context and
location, the photographs play a double role here. On the one hand, they
aim at bringing the orphans closer to the donors, by personalising them. On
the other hand, they present what Shaw portrays as an ‘identity dislocated
from space’ or context, as the girls’ images are not positioned in any particu-
lar ‘classical’ Jerusalem scene, have no ethnic or national features and hence
60 Ibid., 159–160; Fehrenbach, “The Morality of Sight,” 4.

61 See more on this in Beth Baron, “Orphans and Abandoned Children in Modern Egypt,”
in Interpreting Welfare and Relief in the Middle East, eds. Nefissa Naguib and Inger Marie
Okkenhaug (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 33–34; Nazan Maksudyan, Orphans and Destitute
Children in the Late Ottoman Empire (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2014), 10–11, 116.

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62 Jacobson
their photographs, as well as their portraits, are not easily identified as being
located in Jerusalem.62 In fact, with the dresses and their haircuts, the girls do
not hold local markers at all and can be mistaken for girls living in any other
place, for that matter. The images of the girls, then, are mediated through the
photographs, to create a sense of a local-stranger for the American audience
and present them as decent, clean and respectable. The role of the American
Colony, as the institution running the Orphanage, is central here, as this insti-
tution is embedded within the social and political life of Jerusalem, as well as
in its scenery. The humanitarian project is hence both general and contextu-
alised, can take place anywhere and at the same time is deeply embedded in
the history of Jerusalem and the American Colony. The two records that tell the
history of the Orphanage, then, serve as much more than a pictorial evidence,
but depict in them a multi-faceted story and complex political realities.
Acknowledgments
I would like to deeply thank Rachel Lev, the archivist and curator of the
American Colony Archive in Jerusalem, for her assistance and helpful com-
ments and suggestions on earlier drafts of this paper. I would also like to thank
Liat Kozma, Ilanit Chachkes, and Sivan Balslev for commenting on different
drafts of this paper.
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Photography. Boulder: East European Monographs, 1997.
Nassar, Issam. “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth
Century Photography,” Third Text 20, no. 3/4, 317–326.
Othman, Enaya Hammad. Negotiating Palestinian Womanhood: Encounters between
Palestinian Women and American Missionaries, 1880s–1940’s. Lanham: Lexington
Books, 2016.
Seikaly, Sheren. Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate Palestine. Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 2016.
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of National Entitlement.” American Quarterly 55, no. 1 (2003): 29–60.
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Watenpaugh, Keith David. Bread from Stones: The Middle East and the Making of
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Chapter 3
Swedish Imaginings, Investments and Local

Photography in Jerusalem, 1925–1939
In the fall of 1925, Lord Herbert Plumer (1857–1932), the newly appointed
High Commissioner to Palestine, made an official visit to a small school for
Arab children in Jerusalem, run by the Protestant organisation the Swedish
Jerusalem Society (SJS).1 Also present was Palestine’s Director of Education,
Humphrey Bowman (1879–1965). The presence of these British dignitaries
made the visit a major event in the history of the school, narrated in text and
photographs and published for supporters in Sweden and North America.
While the visit ended with tea and conversation in the teachers’ comfortable
office, a photograph of the meeting shows a formal setting with two women
and four men standing in the doorway under a British flag, reminding us of the
political realities in Palestine under British Mandate rule. To the left in the pho-
tograph stands the qawās – the Consular Guard – wearing the official Ottoman
qawās uniform, hinting at the Middle East context. Next to the qawās we see
the Swedish Consul in Jerusalem and member of the American Colony, Hol
Lars (Lewis) Larsson (1881–1958). To Larsson’s right stands High Commissioner
Plumer, while Bowman is seen to the right of the picture. In the centre of the
photographs, staring at the lens, is Swedish headmistress Signe Ekblad’s tall
and commanding figure, demanding our attention.2 The school’s Palestinian
teachers, Warda Abūdiyya, N. Ḥalabī, Ḥannā ʿAbla, Bīdyā Ḥarāmī and Hīlīnā
Kāssīsiyya were also present at the official visit. However, in this photograph,
taken by a photographer from the American Colony’s Photo Department, it
1 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen. I would like to thank Sary Zananiri, Karène Sanchez Summerer,
Rachel Lev, Issam Nassar, Åsmund Svendsen and anonymous reviewers for insightful com-
ments to various versions of this chapter. I would also like to thank Åsa Henningsson and
other staff at the Uppsala University Library for invaluable help and assistance with the
SJS-photo collection.
2 Comment by Issam Nassar at conference the “Imaging and Imagining Palestine”, Leiden,
October 16th 2019. These images of the Swedish school are all from the SJS collection
held at the Uppsala University Library. They were printed in the SJS publication Svenska
Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift, and in Märta Lindqvist’s travel book Palestinska dagar
(“Palestinian Days”) (Stockholm: Skoglund Bokförlag, 1931).
© Inger Marie Okkenhaug, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_004

of the Sanchez
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Swedish Imaginings, Investments and Local Photography 67
is the British Mandate system that is visualised, to the exclusion of the Arab
teachers.
During the interwar period the Swedish institution received state fund-
ing in a manner similar to other private schools and was part of the British
Mandate’s educational system. From the early 1920s the school was headed by
Signe Ekblad (1894–1952), who had come to Jerusalem as a young woman in
1922.3 Even so, the school’s history went back to Ottoman rule and was estab-
lished by the SJS in 1902.4 This organisation was founded in 1900 by members
of the Swedish elite, and had strong connections to the Swedish state church
and royal family, with King Oscar II as its ‘high protector’.5 The SJS was to
be modelled upon the German Jerusalemsverein. In a similar manner to the
German organisation, SJS focused on welfare and humanitarian work that
included a hospital in Bethlehem, (operating from 1903 to 1925), in addition to
the school in Jerusalem.6 The organisation aimed at representing the Swedish
nation in Palestine in the same manner as the Great Powers, France, Great
Britain, Russia and Germany were represented through national Protestant
and Catholic missions. In the Middle East missionaries faced major obstacles
in their attempt to convert locals.7 As a consequence, organisations like the SJS
increasingly shifted their focus from evangelisation to health and education.
The SJS, active in Palestine from 1900 to 1948, when war forced the school to
close down, transformed its vocation to non-proselytising welfare work among
the local, Arab population.8
By the 1920s, Sweden had long ceased to be an expansionist colonial power,
even so, in the inter war period, it is possible to locate Swedish expansionist
3 Lindqvist, Palestinska dagar, 62.

4 Inger Marie Okkenhaug, “Scandinavian Missionaries in Palestine: The Swedish Jerusalem
Society, Medical Mission and Education in Jerusalem and Bethlehem, 1900–1948,” in
Tracing the Jerusalem Code: Christian Cultures in Scandinavia, vol. 3., eds. Anna Bohlin and
Ragnhild J. Zorgati (Berlin: De Gruyter Verlag, 2021). Sune Fahlgren, Mia Gröndahl, and
Kjell Jonasson, eds., A Swede in Jerusalem. Signe Ekblad and the Swedish School, 1922–1948
(Bethlehem: Diyar Publishing and Swedish Jerusalem Society, 2012), 20.
5 During the Mandate period, King Oscar’s granddaughter Countess Elsa Bernadotte af
Wisborg, head of the Swedish YMCA, became an active supporter of the SJS school in
Jerusalem. Gustaf Björk, Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem. Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen
1900–1948 (Uppsala: Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen, 2000), 50–51.
6 Björk, Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem, 14.
7 Conversion efforts were aimed mainly at the Jewish population, and largely failed.
8 See Inger Marie Okkenhaug, “Signe Ekblad and the Swedish School in Jerusalem, 1922–
1948,” Svensk Missionstidskrift 2 (2006): 147–162 and Inger Marie Okkenhaug, “Att avresa
till Jerusalem som lärarinna: Signe Ekblad, jorsalsfarer, lærer og misjonær,” in Religiøse
reiser. Mellom gamle spor og nye mål, eds. Siv Ellen Kraft and Ingvild S. Gilhus (Oslo:
Universitetsforlaget, 2007), 121–134.

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68 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.1 High Commissioner Herbert Plumer and Director of Education, Humphrey Bowman
on an official visit to the Swedish School, 1925. American Colony Photo Department.
From left: The Consular Guard, Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson, Herbert Plumer, Signe
Ekblad, unknown woman, unknown man, Humphrey Bowman, unknown man.
Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 270068
Image courtesy of Uppsala University Library
ambitions in mission-based welfare projects in colonial (and Mandate) areas.9

In line with what some historians have labelled ‘Nordic colonial thinking’,10 a
9 See for example Seija Jalagin, Inger Marie Okkenhaug and Maria Småberg, “Introduction:
Nordic Missions, gender and humanitarian practices: from evangelization to develop-
ment,” Scandinavian Journal of History 40, no. 3 (2015): 285–297.
10 Peter Forsgren, “Globalization as ‘The White Man’s Burden’: Modernity and Colonialism
in a Swedish Travelogue,” Scandinavian Studies 91, nos. 1–2 (2019): 222–223. See also
Johan Höglund and Linda Andersson Burnett, “Introduction: Nordic Colonialism and
Scandinavian Studies,” Scandinavian Studies 91, nos. 1–2 (2019): 1–12.

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Figure 3.2 The Arab Teachers and headmistress Ekblad, the Swedish School during the Summer
Term, 1926. Photographer unknown. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
396359
humanitarian, Christian, Swedish presence in Palestine, helped boost Sweden’s

self-image as a modern, European nation. The export of Swedish modernity
to Palestine was seen in the fact that the Swedish school was modelled on
Swedish educational culture and to a large extent financed from Sweden. Even
so, the school had a profound local connection to the Arab community.11 The
staff consisted mainly of Christian Arab teachers and the pupils came from
Arab families and, unlike most other mission schools, Arabic was the language
of instruction. The connection to the local environment was strengthened
with the purchase of land and a building in Jerusalem in June 1926. From rent-
ing a house outside the Damascus Gate, the Swedes now owned a property in
Musrara, a prosperous Arab neighbourhood close to Prophet Street. The prop-
erty included a stately villa which was reconstructed into a school for more
11 Björk, Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem, 28–29. The Swedish Jerusalem’s Society (Svenska
Jerusalemsföreningen), started out as a mission to the Jews, but due to Jewish hostility
in Palestine the Swedish missionary agenda was very soon transformed into a cultural
mission; in practical terms this meant education, health and relief work among the Arab
population. The Swedish school opened in October 1902, providing a kindergarten and
the first two years of primary school for girls. In 1909, Ottoman authorities officially rec-
ognised the school as the École de la Société de Jérusalem.

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70 Okkenhaug
than 100 pupils. In 1928, the SJS added a new school building on their property,
expanding the number of pupils to 250. Ten years later, in 1938, as a response
to the humanitarian crisis caused by the war-like situation in Palestine, yet
another building, a soup kitchen named the Green Hall, was added to the
school premises.
This chapter focuses on photographs of the Swedish School, most of them
published in the Swedish Jerusalem Society membership journal and the
Swedish travel book Palestinska dagar (Palestinian Days)12 from c. 1925
to 1940.13
Some of these photographs were taken by Signe Ekblad and printed as
illustrations to her articles in the SJS journal. While Ekblad was an amateur
photographer, a number of the published photographs were taken by photogra-
phers from the American Colony Photo Department (ACPD). The photographic
motifs of the Swedish School included official and private guests, pupils and
staff, buildings, playground and wider surroundings, and the school’s welfare
work. The aim here is to examine the social history told in the SJS photographs.
Importantly, there was a utilitarian aspect to the photographs: in a similar way
to other Protestant missions, photographs were crucial to the funding cam-
paigns. The daily operations of a mission’s school or hospital depended on the
generosity of ‘friends’ back home. The fact that the SJS operated in ‘The Land
of the Bible’ where every Christian nation (of some size) longed for a presence
was of course a great asset in convincing potential donors. The photographers
and the audience, middle- and upper-middle class Swedish men and women
with Protestant sympathies and a humanitarian consciousness, desired
a Swedish presence in Palestine. This was motivated by religious faith and
Swedish national patriotism, but manifested itself in humanitarian work.14
The Swedish people, wrote Ekblad in the SJS journal, not only had a duty to
fulfil their gratefulness to the Holy Land. The people of Palestine expected
the Swedes to act on this responsibility.15 After the closing of the SJS hospi-
tal in Bethlehem in 1925, the only way of living up to these expectations was
to support the Swedish educational work in Jerusalem. In a similar manner to
12 Lindqvist, Palestinska dagar.

13 These photographs are now kept at the SJS collection at Uppsala University Library. There
is a total of seventeen albums in addition to loose photographs. There is no record of all
photographs. Many of the images are found both in the albums and as loose photographs.
See http://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/view.jsf?pid=alvin-record%3A92948&dswid=1023.
Personal communication, e-mail from Åsa Henningsson, November 5th 2020.
14 See Okkenhaug, “Scandinavian Missionaries in Palestine.”
15 Uppsala University Library, Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen’s Archives Svenska Jerusalems
föreningens Tidsskrift 2 (1923): 97.

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the Swedish-American humanitarianism of the American Colony, as shown by

Abigail Jacobson in this volume, photography played an integral part of Swedish
welfare enterprise. I thus argue that the photographs, together with printed
reports dealing with the Swedish humanitarian efforts in Palestine, visualised
the imagined need for a Swedish presence in ‘The Holy Land’, but even more
so the tangible results the Swedish engagement had in the country. Moreover,
the article shows that while the photographs are visual documents of religious
longing, they do not tend to dwell on ahistorical Biblical motifs. Instead, they
reflect the thriving, intense process of modernity taking place in Palestine at
the time, a process the Swedes wanted to take part in as a way of manifesting
their claim to a national presence in Palestine. In addition, the photographs
visualise the extent to which the Swedish enterprise was Palestinian; as men-
tioned earlier, the staff was mainly Arab and the school was part of a local
Jerusalemite neighbourhood. Even so, the people in charge, the headmistress
and board members were always Swedish. This external control is embodied in
Ekblad’s central presence in many of the photographs of the school.
This chapter is divided in three parts. The first part gives a background of the
different people who were behind the photographs discussed here. The second
part of the chapter focuses on photographs of the building process from 1927
to 1929. The third part focuses on the welfare and relief work of the Swedish
institution, in particular the food distribution that took place from 1937 to 1939,
during the Arab Revolt, thus offering an understanding of transnational wel-
fare and local practice as imagined by the Swedish actors in Palestine.
1 The Photographers
Most noticeable here is the Colony’s photo facility with its excellent
laboratory where all photographic work imaginable is carried out. Even
Baedeker (Palestine and Syria) says that fine pictures originate here, the
best available in the Orient.16
This praise of the American Colony’s Photo Department was voiced by Swedish
Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Klas Pontus Arnoldson (1844–1916) who visited the
American Colony in 1911.17 The American Evangelical Protestants who founded
the pre-millennialist community in Jerusalem in 1881 were joined fifteen
16 Mia Gröndal, The Dream of Jerusalem. Lewis Larsson and the American Colony Photo
graphers (Stockholm: Journal, 2005), 151.
17 Gröndal, The Dream of Jerusalem, 151.

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72 Okkenhaug
years later by a large group of Swedes and Swedish-Americans. The Colony’s

Photo department consisted of a collective of men with American, German,
Palestinian, Indian and Swedish backgrounds. According to Rachel Lev, there
were around fifteen photographers who operated the department between
1896 to 1934.18 One of them was Jerusalem born John D. Whiting (1882–1951),
whose Diaries in Photos series is the topic of Rachel Lev’s article in this volume.
Whiting’s peer and colleague Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson became head of the
Colony’s Photo department. Larsson and a younger Swede, Eric Matson both
photographed the Swedish school at various times.19 The high professional
standard of the Photo department was widely acknowledged locally. In 1916,
for example, the Red Crescent appointed Larsson as their head photographer
in the region.20
The Swedish American Colony photographers were not Jerusalemites by
birth. Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson and Eric Matson had immigrated because their
parents had joined a Swedish-American awakening movement. Even so, in a
similar manner to Whiting and other photographers at the American Colony,
these young Swedish men were fluent in Arabic and got to know Palestine
and the region by extensive travels with their cameras.21 Nada Awad also
underlines the local character of the American Colony’s photographers: ‘Unlike
foreign photographers who came for short periods of time, the American
Colony Photo department was established and run for more than thirty-seven
years in Palestine by photographers who lived in the country, knew the culture;
some of them were even born in Jerusalem and spoke Arabic’.22 Larsson was
one of these photographers who spoke both Arabic and English fluently. In 1921
he was to become Swedish vice consul in Palestine and full honorary consul in
1925.23 Larsson’s double identity as local Jerusalemite and official Swedish rep-
resentative was to be a major asset for the development of the Swedish School.
In the same manner as Larsson, Signe Ekblad would also develop a double
identity as a Swede living and working in Jerusalem for most of her adult life.
She was both a labour migrant and a religious agent seeking to fulfil her voca-
tion. Before moving to Jerusalem, Ekblad had trained and worked as a teacher
in Sweden. Later in life, after several years in Palestine, she received an MA in
Semitic languages at Uppsala University. Her religious calling to become a
18 Rachel Lev, comment on the draft.

21 See Edith Larsson, Dalafolket I Heligt Land (Stockholm: Natur och Kultur, 1957).
22 Nada Awad, “Waiting for the Second Coming: The New Photographic Collection of the
American Colony Archives,” Jerusalem Quarterly 61 (2015): 101–112, 105.

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teacher in Jerusalem was inspired by her time working for the Swedish set-
tlement movement’s work among poor industrial workers in the settlement
of Birkagården in Stockholm.24 Birkagården, was inspired by the work of
the British settlement movement in the slums of inner London. It had its
supporters among the radical, Christian, cultural and intellectual elite in
Sweden. Social Christianity, with an emphasis on reconciliation between
the classes and self-help rather than charity, were the central points of this
movement.25 This ideology, which contributed significantly to the establish-
ment of the welfare state, influenced Ekblad’s understanding of her mission
in Palestine.26 The idea of Christian faith, expressed as practical welfare work,
was something Ekblad had in common with Larsson and other members of the
American Colony.
Before World War I, connections were not close between the Swedish mem-
bers of the American Colony and the SJS, as the confessional differences were
too considerable.27 The high church, elite profile of the SJS (as represented by
the Swedish medical staff in Bethlehem)28 and the rural and low church back-
ground of the Swedish members of the American Colony might also explain
the distant relationship between the Swedes in Palestine.29 After the First
World War, however, relations between the Colony and the SJS became quite
close. The Swedish School’s development under Ekblad’s leadership, and her
role in making it into a hub for Scandinavians living or traveling in the region,
would have given the Swedish headmistress a social status that opened doors to
the influential American Colony. Ekblad’s friend, the Swedish-Finnish anthro-
pologist Hilma Granqvist (1890–1972), famous for her ethnographic work in
Palestine in the 1920s, describes the matriarchal head of the Colony, Bertha
Spafford Vester, as a beautiful, charming and warm woman. Vester’s verve and
connections helped Granqvist establish her field work in the village of Artas,
close to Bethlehem. Spafford Vester’s connectedness and talents as a social
24 Okkenhaug, “Signe Ekblad and the Swedish School,” 147–162.

25 Birkagården, http:www.birkagarden.se.
26 Both Ekblad’s and Larsson’s official roles and duties meant that they also quite often were
the object of the photography as main character or part of a group of important figures.
In this manner the Swedes in Jerusalem could be assured that the prominent roles played
by Larsson and Ekblad were transmitted to supporters in Sweden without words.
27 Björk, Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem, 32. Even so, the founder of the SJS, Bishop Henning
von Schéele, wrote with sympathy about the Colony in several articles in the SJS journal.
28 Okkenhaug, “Scandinavian Missionaries in Palestine”.
29 Swedish author and Nobel laurate Selma Lagerlöf’s novel Jerusalem, based on the history
of the Swedish members of the American Colony, published in 1902–03, had made the
American Colony known in the Scandinavian countries. Lagerlöf had visited Jerusalem
and the American Colony herself.

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74 Okkenhaug
player would have appealed to Ekblad’s professional self.30 In addition, by the

1920s, the American Colony was no longer a utopian community. The younger
generation was mostly secular.31 Concerned with commercial ventures and
social relations, their American Colony had become a centre for social events
for the upper strata of all Jerusalem and ex-pat milieus. Ekblad accepted invi-
tations to events at the Colony, and members from the leading families in the
Colony attended Christmas parties and concerts organised by Ekblad and her
staff, thus adding social prestige to the Swedish School.32
The links between the SJS and the American Colony contained more than
social interaction, however. Larsson, Matson and other (unnamed) photogra-
phers photographed the Swedish School and these photographs were printed
in the SJS membership journal in order for the Swedish supporters to follow
the ‘Swedish’ cultural (and financial) investment in Palestine. Like Ekblad and
the SJS, the members of the American Colony did not proselytise, but engaged
in economic enterprises as well as welfare work which was open to all reli-
gious communities in the city. Even so, in the inter-war period, the Colony
focused mainly on the Arab population.33 Thus, the younger Swedish mem-
bers of the Colony shared with Ekblad a yearning to contribute to modernising
Palestinian, Arab society.34 Both parties took photographs that tell a social his-
tory from a local, Palestinian context. This is in accordance with Issam Nassar
who argues that ‘Local photography is any photography that represented social
life in Palestine as opposed to biblical landscapes or Zionist photography that
30 Sofia Häggman, Hilma Granqvist. Antropolog med hjärtat i Palestina (Vasa; SFV, 2017), 55.
31 Comment by Rachel Lev.
32 See Bertha Spafford Vester, Our Jerusalem: An American Family in the Holy City, 1881–1949
(New York: Doubleday, 1950).
33 Abigail Jacobson, “American “Welfare Politics”: “American Involvement in Jerusalem
During World War I,” Israeli Studies 18, no. 1 (2013): 56–76; Awad, “Waiting for the Second
Coming,” 107–108. See also Heleen Murre-van Den Berg, “Our Jerusalem”: Bertha Spafford
Vester and Christianity in Palestine during the British Mandate”, in Britain, Palestine and
the Empire: The Mandate Years, ed. Rory Miller (Farnham/ Burlington: Ashgate, 2010),
328–331.
34 The American Colony created a School of Handicrafts and Dressmaking for girls in 1918
and a hospital for children (the Spafford Children’s Center). Bertha Spafford Vester,
Our Jerusalem. An American Family in the Holy City, 1881–1949 (London: Evans Brothers
Limited, 1951), 328: the School of Handicrafts and Dressmaking had been established
during the war. “After the war it was enlarged and added plain sewing and dressmaking
classes. Instruction given in the three R’s in Arabic, and English was taught. Needle lace
and embroidery, using traditional patterns characteristic to the country, were developed.
Later we added knitting, crocheting, and weaving.”

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was exclusively representing the Jewish settlement project in Palestine’.35 Even

so, local photographs also dealt in the Biblical, as seen in Rona Sela’s chapter
in this volume.
The American Colony’s Photo Department can be seen as both foreign with
photographers like Larsson and Matson who were born in Sweden and local,
with its history and roots in Jerusalem.36 The same might be said of Ekblad who
immigrated to Palestine as a young adult and lived and worked in Jerusalem for
twenty-six years. I would argue that Larsson, Matson and Ekblad are ‘local pho-
tographers’. ‘It is the context in which the images were produced, exchanged,
viewed and assigned meanings that must be placed at the core of our attempt
to discern what is local from what is not.’37 What was the social context in
which the SJS images were produced? What stories were they intended to tell
the viewer, that is, the supporters in Sweden?
2 ‘The Great Gift’: The Swedish School in Jerusalem
Our hearts are filled with happiness and thankfulness towards God and
people for the great gift to us and our work, that are contained in the words
“Swedish Jerusalem Society’s plot and school building in Jerusalem”.38
The gift referred to by the SJS secretary in Uppsala was a large testimonial
endowment from the founder of the SJS, Bishop Knut Henning G. von Schéele
(1838–1920) and his wife, Anna Ekman Schéele (1850–1925).39 The donation
was explicitly assigned to the purchase of a building in Jerusalem suitable for
a school and created a financial and psychological base necessary to develop
the Swedish school into a competitive primary school. This was the ambition
of Signe Ekblad and her ally, Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson, by now the Swedish
Consul in Jerusalem.40 At the time, Larsson who had been fifteen years old
when he left Sweden with his mother and siblings in 1896, had lived thirty
years in the American Colony in Jerusalem. Swedish-American connections
were, however, not unusual at the time. There were strong links between
Sweden and Swedish-American milieus in the United States, not least based
35 Issam Nassar, “Early local photography in Jerusalem,” History of Photography 27, no. 4
(2015): 325.
36 I thank Sary Zananiri for making this point.
37 Nassar, “Early local photography in Jerusalem,” 324.
38 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 194–195.
39 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 3 (1926).
40 Okkenhaug, “Att avresa till Jerusalem som lärarinna,” 121–134.

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76 Okkenhaug
on a shared Lutheran Protestantism. In the United States, Swedish immigrants

tended to keep the Lutheran religion and links to the Swedish state church.41
The importance of Swedish-American ties was also seen among the supports
of the Swedish Jerusalem’s Society: from the beginning the organisation had
a number of Swedish-American members, and Swedish-American congre-
gations funded part of the SJS’s new school complex in Jerusalem.42 Thus,
Larsson’s American ties did not disqualify him from representing Sweden
in Palestine.43 The previous Swedish Consul in Jerusalem, Professor Gustaf
Dalman, a German citizen and thus disqualified to continue his official role
in Palestine after 1918, pointed to both the Swedish roots and deep connec-
tions to Palestine, when describing Larsson: ‘While Herr Hol Lars Larsson
was born in Nås, western Dalarna, he has been in Jerusalem since 1896, has
worked his way up to becoming the American Colony’s most distinguished
landscape photographer and head of its Photo store, is married and soon to be
40 years old.’44
In a similar manner to John Whiting, Larsson became a popular tour guide.
Prominent Swedes visiting Palestine raved about this ‘ordinary boy from Nås in
west Dalecarlia’.45 Renowned explorer Sven Hedin travelled with Larsson as his
guide during a longer stay in Palestine and was full of praise for Larsson, as one
can read in his travel book, Jerusalem. Hedin writes of Larsson:
[M]y faithful companion, a better cicerone on earth is not to be found …

He knew every corner of Jerusalem city, every road, village and ruin in the
whole of Palestine and Syria. If the choice was mine, I would rather have
his knowledge than all the wisdom of Baedeker, for he has travelled the
country in all directions many, many times, partly to take photographs for
sale to travellers and pilgrims, partly as a tourist guide.46
41 More than one million Swedes migrated to the United States between 1885–1915.
42 Björk, Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem, 19, 38. In 1913 there were more than 100 members
in the United States.
43 John Whiting, born in Jerusalem with American parents, became the American consul
during the same period. See Rachel Lev’s article in this volume.
45 Sven Hedin, Till Jerusalem (Stockholm: Bonnier, 1917). 242 of the photographs in the book
were taken by Lewis Larsson.
46 Gröndal, The Dream of Jerusalem, 214. “He (Lewis Larsson) was at home with the country’s
various history and knew his Bible by heart, albeit in English only, which he spoke as
easily as Swedish. He spoke German and French without difficulty, and perfectly fluent
Arabic. And this Lars Larsson … was an ordinary boy from Nås in west Dalecarlia, having
emigrated at 15. During the twenty years since then, he had himself acquired his entire
store of knowledge.”

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Larsson’s success as local guide for an increasing number of Swedish tour-

ists, including the Swedish minister in Cairo, Harald Bildt, made the Swedish
government offer Larsson the position as official Swedish representative
in Palestine.47
The Swedish Jerusalem Society was the only Swedish organisation in
Palestine and as Swedish Consul Larsson became deeply involved in the devel-
opment of the Swedish School. Larsson recognised the potential for a larger
educational institution catering for the Arab community in Jerusalem.48 He
shared this ambition with Ekblad and with the aid of Larsson, Ekblad man-
aged to convince a highly sceptical board in Uppsala that building a new,
large school would be sustainable and worthwhile. Ekblad, who had won the
support of the Governor of Jerusalem, Edward Keith-Roach, spent summer
vacations fundraising in Sweden.49 She and Larsson also engaged the architect
Hermann Imberger from the German Templar society, who, having grown up
in Jerusalem, had invaluable knowledge of local properties, architectural styles
and builders.50
In early 1926 Larsson came across a house in Musrara, near Prophet Street
that was for sale for a reasonable price.51 The three agents in Jerusalem, Ekblad,
Larsson and Imberger, urged the board in Uppsala to make a swift decision
before the two different owners (one of the house and plot, and one of the
47 Larsson, Dalafolk i heligt land, 118–119.

48 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 188. Larsson was in charge of the
purchase of land for new school, he negotiated with the seller, based in Istanbul, and he
acted as a mediator between the SJS board in Sweden and the American Colony regarding
a short-term loan that secured the purchase of the property.
49 Okkenhaug, “Att avresa till Jerusalem som lärarinna,” 129.
50 See Ruth Kark, “Missions and Architecture Colonial and Post-Colonial Views. – The Case
of Palestine, Altruism and Imperialism in the Middle East,” in Occasional Papers, eds.
Eleanor H. Tejirian and Reeva Spector Simon (New York: Middle East Institute, Columbia
University, 2002), 183–207. Since this plot was not large enough for a good-sized play-
ground, Larsson recommended that they buy the neighbouring property – a plot without
a building which was also for sale, for 2000 Egyptian pounds. It was a very good offer,
according to Larsson, and Ekblad agreed, pointing to the good qualities of the house as a
school building. Larsson had the support of architect Imberger, who guaranteed that this
was a good purchase. Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 184–185.
51 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 182–188. The owner lived in
Istanbul and wanted to sell his property in Jerusalem, asking 4000 Egyptian pounds for
the house and plot. “I hope the SJS does not miss this unique opportunity,” Larsson wrote
to the board (19th February 1926). 6000 pounds was 110,000 Swedish kroner. The negoti-
ations were additionally complicated because of the fact that the adjoining property had
several owners who all had to agree on the price.

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78 Okkenhaug
adjoining property with no building on it) received higher offers.52 On 20th

of June, Larsson was finally able to close the deal on one of the properties,
which cost the SJS board 3,000 Egyptian pounds.53 The board also gave Larsson
authority to purchase the adjoining property and he was in charge of the for-
mal procedures to finalise the deals. It would have been very difficult to find
and buy a suitable property in Jerusalem without Larsson’s experience and
knowledge of the city. The board in Uppsala, overjoyed by the fact that the deal
was completed, thanked both Ekblad and especially Larsson for succeeding in
the difficult negotiations.54
Before the building could be used as a school, however, there were repairs
to be done.55 By mid-October, the Department of Education finally approved
the opening of The Swedish School in the newly purchased building. With four
school classes, and a total of 107 pupils, it was no longer only a kindergarten.
The roof had been repaired, a water tank installed and the area outside was
transformed into a modern playground.56
With the purchase of the new building the Swedish School had become a
serious player in the private educational market in Palestine. Due to lack of
state run schools, there was a large number of mission run educational insti-
tutions in Palestine.57 The Arab school system was far from universal and
consisted of government-controlled schools, the large majority being rural
schools for boys.58 The Mandate authorities did not give priority to education
52 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 184–185. The process was also
delayed because the owner of the house wanted to close the deal himself. In order to do
so, he had to make the journey from Istanbul.
53 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 186. Larsson sent a telegram to the
board in Uppsala: “Send via telegraph 3,000 Egyptian pounds. School building bought”.
54 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 4 (1926): 188. Larsson’s connections to the
American Colony was also of great importance, as ‘Vester & Co, American Colony’, prom-
ised to lend SJS the necessary sum of money if the money from Sweden did not arrive
soon enough.
55 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 2 (1928): 36. By the opening day, October 6th,
there were only 60 children attending. The rest had started another school. In
Jerusalem there was little loyalty to one school and it was not uncommon for parents to
send their child to a number of different schools.
57 In theory open to all religions, there were only Jewish children in the Jewish schools.
The use of Hebrew as language of instruction enforced this separation. The Jewish sys-
tem consisted of government supported schools, and schools under the Vaád Leumi
(the Jewish National Council) and Jewish private schools, from kindergarten up to uni-
versity level.
58 Bowman 2/2/10, St. AP. “A review of Educational Policy 1920–1932”. In Palestine, Bowman
gave priority to primary schools in the villages. During the Mandate period, there were
75 missionary schools, fourteen British government schools, 412 Muslim public village

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for girls, and especially in urban areas girls’ education to a large extent became
an arena for private schools (both Christian and Muslim).59 Ekblad was aware
of the lack of schools for Arabs and especially the few educational opportuni-
ties for Arab girls. Her passionate reports from Jerusalem, accompanied with
snapshots of children in the school yard,60 convinced Swedish supporters
that the Swedes were needed among the Arabs.61 As we shall see, it was this
educational void that would help to fulfil Swedish ambitions and competition
against other European powers’ humanitarian presence in Palestine. Is it pos-
sible to detect something of this in the images?
3 Visualised Emotions: Building a School
In her work on photography and transatlantic migration, Sigrid Lien shows

how the photographs migrants sent back to Scandinavia visualised emotions
and conditions that would be difficult to express in words.62 For Signe Ekblad,
the process of building a new school house embodied her deep desire to create
high quality education for Arab girls. Extremely determined and driven by her
professional aspirations, she succeeded. But the fundraising and quarrels with
the board,63 in addition to running a school and learning Arabic, took it tolls.
and town schools and more than 400 Vaad Leumi Jewish schools (secular and reli-
gious) in Palestine. Thomas M. Ricks, “Remembering Arab Jerusalem, 1909–1989: An
Oral History of a Palestininan City, its Schools and Childhood Memories”, 1. https://www
.academia.edu/15767904/Remembering_Arab_Jerusalem_1909-1989_An_Oral_Histroy
_of_a_Palestinian_City_Its_Schools_and_childhood_Memories.
59 The Muslim children in towns who received an education for some period or other
was as late as 1935 estimated to be for boys 75 % and for girls 45%, while in the villages,
40% of Muslim boys received any education and only 1% of Muslim girls. Bowman, 2/2,
St. AP. “Memorandum by Government of Palestine: Description of the Educational
Systems, Government, Jewish and Private, and Method of Allocation of Government
Grants, 1936.” Enaya Hammad Othman, Negotiating Palestinian Womanhood. Encounters
between Palestinian Women and American Missionaries, 1880s–1940s (Lanham/Boulder/
New York/London: Lexington Books, 2016), 13: the government schools provided educa-
tion to approximately 20,288 students, with only 942 of those being girls. Othman quotes
an article by Khalil Totah, “Education in Palestine”; The Annals of the American Academy
of Political and Social Science, 163 (September 1932), 156.
60 Unlike many of the photographs in the Svenska Jerusalemföreningens Tidsskrift, these are
not credited.
61 Svenska Jerusalemföreningens Tidsskrift, no. 1 (1923): 6–7.
62 Sigrid Lien, Lengselens bilder (Oslo: Scandinavian Academic Press, 2007), 21. English
translation: Pictures of Longing. Photography and the Norwegian-American Migration
(Minneapolis/London: University of Minnesota Press, 2018).
63 Häggman, Hilma Granqvist, 166.

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80 Okkenhaug
By 1930 Hilma Granqvist noted that ‘Signe E. has created an adorable creation,
her school, but has herself been damaged’.64 During her years in Palestine,
Ekblad suffered from fever and headaches. These health issues might explain
her serious demeanour in most of the photographs she appears in.
Ekblad’s passion for her school manifested itself in her reports and articles
to the SJS supporters, where she went into great detail about the process of
transforming the old building into a schoolhouse. These reports were accom-
panied by photographs that visualised the transformation of the property
into a modern school for young children. This process was made possible by
local workmen. In Ekblad’s texts, these workmen, when mentioned at all,
are described as ‘labourers’ and not by name (the exception being ‘our archi-
tect Imberger’, who is not seen in any of the photographs). However, in the
accompanying photographs, the active people at work are local carpenters
and masons. When documenting the erection of a beautiful stone wall that
was to encircle the property Ekblad focused on the masons at work. In the
text accompanying the picture, it becomes clear that the fence was paid for
by money from the sale in Sweden of embroidery, postcards with dried flow-
ers from Jerusalem and other craft items made by the teachers and Ekblad.65
The photographs gave the readers and donors a tangible impression of their
contribution not only to education in a country that lacked state schools for
its majority population, but also to Swedish-owned land in Palestine, verifying
that Sweden was a confident player among other nations’ mission enterprises.
In addition, the image of building is not only a documentation of an ongoing
process, but also an expression of Ekblad’s longing for the future and the com-
pletion of a new and competitive Swedish School.66
In her written reports Ekblad was often concerned with the aesthetics of life
in Jerusalem and her photographs also show an awareness of what she finds
beautiful and harmonious, including the new wall around the property, the
school’s garden with its leafy trees and the new playground.67 In the caption of
a photograph taken by Ekblad printed in the SJS journal, she has written: ‘The
School’s beautiful plot fence and (tomtmur och port) gate under construction.
In the background one can see the school house, framed by the leafy trees’.68
While Ekblad was an amateur taking pictures, she shared a desire to pho-
tograph Palestinian landscapes – rural and urban – with Hol Lars (Lewis)
64 Häggman, Hilma Granqvist, 166.

66 Lien, Lengselens bilder, 47.
67 See Okkenhaug, “Att avresa till Jerusalem som lärarinna.”
68 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 1 (1927): 59.

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Figure 3.3 Photograph of the ongoing work at the Swedish School, Signe Ekblad. Swedish
Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 396354
Larsson.69 Even so, Larsson’s photographs of the Swedish School also include the
building process, the new school building and the garden. In addition, Larsson’s
photographs printed in the SJS journal also include a landscape photograph of
the school children on an Easter outing in March 1926.70 In the foreground is
a large, old olive tree, giving a sense of ‘eternity’ or reference to Biblical times.
The children and teachers are seen at a distance gathered in a large circle in an
open landscape. Thus, Swedish audiences might see that they were funding
an institution that educated the younger generation of Palestine while at the
same time being located in a biblical landscape.
69 The Dream of Jerusalem, 242.


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82 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.4 Children and teachers from the Swedish School on an Easter outing, 1926. Hol Lars
(Lewis) Larsson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, Album No. 9, 293849
4 The Sense of a Swedish Childhood in Palestine
In 1927 the SJS journal printed a watercolour by the Swedish artist Elsa Beskow,
whose illustrated children’s books were extremely popular in the Nordic coun-
tries. The picture was made for the Swedish School and it depicted a Palestinian
boy and girl, each holding a Swedish flag, in front of a low stone wall (similar
to the one around the Swedish school). Behind the wall was a Middle Eastern
urban landscape that linked the Swedish School to the city of Jerusalem. On the
bottom of the picture was written ‘Welcome to the Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
School’. While the motif was Palestinian, the style was distinctly Beskow – the
way she created fairy tales in words and paintings for Swedish children.
The original of the watercolour hung in the St John’s hotel, while the SJS sold
copies in order to raise funds for the school.71

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Elsa Beskow was a prominent and active supporter (together with Selma
Lagerlöf among others) in Sweden of the SJS work in Jerusalem. She was married
to the Swedish minister Nathaniel Beskow, whose leadership of Birkagården,
from 1912 to 1946, includes Ekblad’s three years there as a social worker (from
1912 to 1915).72 If it is this connection between Ekblad and Nathaniel Beskow
that made Elsa Beskow paint for the Swedish School, is not known. However,
her picture of the Swedish School connects Sweden with Palestine in a manner
that would have resonated with the Swedish viewers and donors.
There are several photographs taken by photographers from the American
Colony that might have been inspired by, if not Beskow’s style, at least refer-
ences to Swedish aesthetics. In connection with the move to the new school
building in 1926, the SJS journal printed a photograph taken by Hol Lars
(Lewis) Larsson of the youngest children, around 30, and a teacher (probably
Ekblad) in the background. The children are all wearing wide, white hats and
each child is carrying a large framed picture, poster or basket, helping with the
move. They are standing in a relaxed line in the school yard beside the wall. In
the background are leafy trees.73 The small children in their wide hats reminis-
cent of Beskow’s child depictions of ‘Putte’ in the blueberry woods.
Another image printed in the SJS journal and credited to the American
Colony, is from 1928 and the laying of the foundation stone for the new school
building, one of the most important events in the SJS’ history.74 In this photo-
graph, Ekblad is seen leaning on the stone together with six young Palestinian
children, three girls and three boys. The inscription on the large stone is in
Swedish and Arabic and reads: ‘Foundation stone laid down the 23rd of
March 1928’.75
Another of these images eternalised by a photographer from the American
Colony was used in both the SJS journal and in Palestinska dagar. The photo-
graph is from around 1929, when the new school building was finished. The
building, impressive with its two storeys, large windows and a gallery, is seen
with a Swedish flag high above the flat roof. There are trees on both sides. A
large group of children led by a teacher are seen in the front of the building,
72 Okkenhaug, “Att avresa till Jerusalem som lärarinna,” 126.

73 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 3 (1926): 178. The caption underneath the
image says: “The caravan of the smallest with pictures and on their way to the school’s
newly purchased home”.
74 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 1, (1928), 43.
75 Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Archives, Uppsala University Library. Published in Svenska
Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 1 (1928): 43.

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84 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.5 ‘Welcome to the Swedish School’, 1927. Reproduction of a watercolour by Swedish
artist Elsa Beskow with caption. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 396356
standing in a half circle doing Swedish gymnastics.76 It is an aesthetically

pleasing image and one of a few with the Swedish flag.
Yet another photograph taken by an American Colony photographer in 1930,
shows the inside of the new school building where a group of children and two
teachers stand facing the photographer, while a teacher is playing the organ.77
The youngest children are standing on the stairs with Ekblad and another
teacher, making a half circle with sunlight coming in from a window above.
The photograph captures white walls with an evergreen plant on a shelf, and a
beautiful tiled floor that dominates the front of the picture.78 The caption says
‘Morning prayer in the hall’, thus verifying the Christian character of the school
76 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift, no. 1, 1929, 79.

77 Lindqvist, Palestinska dagar, 69.
78 Lindqvist, Palestinska dagar, 69. Photograph from American Colony’s Publishers.

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Figure 3.6 The youngest children and teacher (Ekblad?) in connection with the move to
the new school building, 1926. Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson. Swedish Jerusalem
Society’s Collection, 92997
Figure 3.7 Signe Ekblad and children with foundation stone for the new building,
March 1928. The American Colony Photo Department. Swedish
Jerusalem Society’s Collection, Album No. 9

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86 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.8 The new building at the Swedish School, pupils and teachers doing Swedish
gymnastics outside in the school yard, 1928. The American Colony Photo
Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, Album No. 9, 194135
for a Swedish audience. Even so, the image created is a sense of happy Swedish
childhood found in Beskow’s books for children transferred to a Palestinian
setting. It might also remind one of the works of one of Sweden’s most popular
and internationally known artists, Carl Larsson (1853–1919).79 Larsson, who was
an inspiration for Elsa Beskow’s illustrations, is mainly known for his watercol-
ours of idyllic family life. He was hugely influential in Sweden and beyond. Carl
Larsson played a prominent role in the Swedish national handicraft movement
and the local folklore movement (both ideologically influenced by the arts and
crafts movement in England). In Elisabeth Stavenow-Hidemark’s words: ‘Carl
Larsson and his world were considered the height of Swedishness’.80 Larsson’s
79 Lena Larsson, “The Larsson Design Legacy: A Personal View,” in Carl and Karin Larsson.
Creators of the Swedish Style, eds. Michael Snodin and Elisabeth Stavenow-Hidemark
(Boston/New York/Toronto/London: Little, Brown and Company, 1998), 227.
80 Elisabeth Stavenow-Hidemark, “Carl Larsson’s images – mass publication, distribution
and influence,” in Carl and Karin Larsson. Creators of the Swedish Style, eds. Michael

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prints and paintings would have been familiar to the Swedish photographers
at the American Colony and anyone who visited The Swedish School would
have seen reproductions of Carl Larsson’s work on the walls of the classrooms.81
It is possible that Larsson or Eric Matson or some of the other Swedish-born
photographers were influenced by the nostalgia of the Swedish emigrant. A
nostalgia underlined by both Beskow and Carl Larson’s pictures of idyllic child-
hood in picturesque images of Swedish forests, lakes and rural homes. Even so,
this might also be a form of remaking of Palestine in the image of Sweden that
connects Swedish viewers to the Palestinian landscape.82 Photographs depict-
ing the practical, modern aesthetics of the new school building, for example,
can be seen as part of the implementation of Swedish cultural diplomacy. For
the viewers in Sweden, this ‘Swedish vision of Palestine’ would have empha-
sised the role of the SJS’ School as ‘Swedish’, thus contributing to a feeling of a
national and worthy Swedish presence in Palestine.
Carl Larsson’s aesthetics might also have inspired images taken of the
Sunhut – a shelter for warm or rainy days. Desired by Ekblad and her col-
leagues, and designed by architect Imberger, the Sunhut was financed by
Swedish immigrants in North America. The shelter was constructed by
Palestinian workmen and Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson dealt with all practicalities
related to building in Jerusalem.83 The end result was a pleasing, permanent
construction and Ekblad emphasised both its every day, useful sides and its
aesthetics when describing it to Swedish supporters: ‘It is all very practical, but
also particularly nice’.84
In this photograph, some teachers are examining schoolgirls’ eyes in the
Sunhut. Also, here Ekblad has a distinct presence, not at the front, but looking
at the camera from the back. Not tending to any of the girls, Ekblad looks as
if she is in charge of the whole operation. The majority of the young girls, all
wearing the same kind of blue work-dress, are lined up to be checked, but it
is not a very orderly line, as some of them are turned away from the camera,
while the four girls sitting on the bench to the right of the picture look impa-
tient and two of them have their heads turned towards the fence behind them.
The motif of lively children reminds one of the energic children in many of
Carl Larsson’s pictures. This photograph is hand-coloured: the green leaves out-
side the hut give a beautiful, subdued light creating a harmonious impression
Snodin and Elisabeth Stavenow-Hidemark (Boston/New York/Toronto/London: Little,

Brown and Company, 1998), 218.
81 Okkenhaug, “Att avresa till Jerusalem som lärarinna,” 128–129.
82 I would like to thank the reviewer for making this point.
83 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningens Tidsskrift no. 1 (1927): 8, “Solhyddan”, The Sun Shed.

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88 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.9 The scene is from the hallway of the new building at the Swedish school, with
children and teachers. Signe Ekblad is standing in the stairs, right, 1930.
The American Colony Photo Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
Album No. 1, 293845
Note: Held in Uppsala University Library at the Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
Collection, Swedish Jerusalem Society’s photo album 1, p. 30. Retrieved from
https://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/imageViewer.jsf?dsId=ATTACHMENT
-0001&pid=alvin-record:293845

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Figure 3.10 Teachers examining schoolgirls’ eyes in Sunhut. The American Colony Photo
Department. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 293996
against the pale blue dresses of the girls and the table with a ‘still life’ of a white
water-bowl, white napkin and medical equipment.
In a comment on these coloured photographs, Sary Zananari pointed
out that ‘Compared to other American Colony hand-coloured photographs
(which aim for realistic/hyper-realistic renderings), these are much softer
and pastel’ … These photographs ‘are also much more about something of
an impression, rather than reality, despite the slightly clinical nature of what
is depicted’.85 This observation speaks to the Swedish aesthetics of both
Beskow’s and Carl Larsson’s watercolours.
When compared to photographs of other motifs, however, these photo-
graphs are very similar to the work of other photographers from the American
Colony.86 Rachel Lev characterises the creative work of these photographers
as art photography. In other words, it is not possible to know if these
85 Sary Zananari commenting on a draft version of this article, 10th of November 2019.
I thank Sary Zananari for his important insights.
86 For example, two women creating lace artifacts with the view of the Dome of the Rock in
the background, at the American Colony Industrial School, in Jerusalem circa 1930. See
Pelletier, “Jerusalem’s religious pilgrims.”

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90 Okkenhaug
photographs were inspired by Swedish artists, but it is possible that Larsson

or Eric Matson or some of the other Swedish-born photographers were influ-
enced by the nostalgia of the Swedish emigrant. Even so, this might also be a
form of remaking of Palestine in the image of Sweden that connects Swedish
viewers to the Palestinian landscape.87 Photographs depicting the practical,
modern aesthetics of the new school building, for example, can be seen as part
of the implementation of Swedish cultural diplomacy.
Ten years later, photographs from the Swedish School have a totally different
rendering, as black-and white documentary photographs of relief work for chil-
dren on the school premises. No longer a time for yearning for an imagined rural
Scandinavian idyll, the war-like situation in Palestine (and in parts of Europe)
called for different images and ways of portraying Swedish welfare in Jerusalem.
5 The Green Hall: Relief, Food and Care
During the Arab Revolt from 1936 to 1939 the Swedish school added relief and
food distribution to its activities.88 This humanitarian work is the motif of
several photographs. In the fall of 1937, since the food provision in the Old City
did not meet the local population’s needs, Ekblad and some of the female Arab
staff decided to build a soup kitchen on the school grounds.89 While not receiv-
ing news from the board in Uppsala, Ekblad interpreted the lack of response
as approval for building a soup kitchen. She raised the money that was needed
and again Palestinian carpenters and other workers were able to realise the
headmistress’ ambitions. Painted green inside and out, the timber hall was
formally named the Green Hall on King Gustav’s 80th birthday on 22nd June,
1938.90 Originally open only to the school’s poorest pupils, the soup kitchen was
soon extended to include younger sisters and brothers. The photographs from
87 I would like to thank the reviewer for making this point.

88 Letter from Signe Ekblad to her brother Martin Ekblad, the Swedish School, Jerusalem,
23 April, 1936. I would like to thank Signe Ekblad’s family for kindly giving me access to
these sources.
89 Uppsala University Library, Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen’s Archives. Letter from
S. Ekblad to the SJF Board, December 21, 1936. Already in December 1936, Ekblad had
written to Uppsala suggesting that she use some of the school’s savings to assist ‘Arab and
Jewish children in distress’. Uppsala University Library, Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen’s
Archives. Letter from S. Ekblad to the SJF Board, December 7, 1937.
90 Inger Marie Okkenhaug, “Setting the Table at the Swedish School in Jerusalem: Food
Distribution and Transnational Humanitarianism in Mandatory Palestine,” in Food and
Foodways in the Middle East, ed. Nefissa Naguib (Ramallah: Bir Zeit University and Lower
Jordan Series, 2009), 121–127.

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the Green Hall depict a vital part of the attempt at bringing Swedish modernity
to Palestine. In several photographs children and their mothers are seen sitting
by tables, row after row in the Green Hall, waiting to be fed. These images give
the impression of an efficient and well-organised Swedish relief effort. Ekblad
is the dominant individual distributing food tickets and guarding access to the
food. However, the educational aspect of the project was important and the
girls learned how to cook and eat nutritious food.91 This is reflected in some of
the photographs where girls are the main actors. In a similar manner to pho-
tographs of girls in the American Colony’s Orphanage, as shown by Jacobson
in this volume, in the SJS photographs Palestinian girls are laying the table,
eating and drinking and washing dishes. Thus, conveying to the Swedish sup-
porters that these young girls who put in their share of work, were exposed
to the Protestant work ethic and thus were deserving of Swedish aid. In addi-
tion, the photographs document that the poorest of girls at the Swedish School
were taught ‘home economics’, a subject familiar to Swedish and as well as
Swedish-American supporters. Ellen Fleischmann, in her work on American
mission and home economics teaching in Lebanon in the interwar period,
points to the global character of this ‘educational, social and vocational move-
ment that aimed to modernise, professionalise, and make scientific female
domesticity’.92 Teaching home economics was part of the wider welfare pro-
vided by the Swedish School. In Fleischmann’s words: ‘the praxis involved
in implementing home economics resembled social work’.93 Thus the soup
kitchen was more than charity: in the photographs we see young Palestinian
girls being taught domesticity by a Swedish woman, ensuring Swedish home
audiences that what was seen as Nordic values of modern housekeeping were
transmitted to the Middle East. These photographs, capturing the humanitar-
ian Swedish presence in Palestine exemplify the implementation of Swedish
cultural diplomacy. In this instance it is a female who mediates Swedish cul-
tural values and customs to young Palestinian girls. The image thus emphasises
that interwar Nordic colonial practice was not only a male arena.
91 Signe Ekblad, Lyckliga Arbetsår i Jerusalem (Uppsala: J.A. Lindblad, 1949), 18–19.
92 Ellen Fleischmann, “At Home in the World: Globalizing Domesticity through Home
Economics in the Interwar Years,” in Transnational and Historical Perspectives on Global
Health, Welfare and Humanitarianism, eds. E. Fleischmann, S. Grypma, M. Marten and
I.M. Okkenhaug (Kristiansand: Portal Academic, 2013), 158–159, 161.
93 Ibid.

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92 Okkenhaug
Figure 3.11 Girls and teachers (Signe Ekblad to the front) washing up at the Swedish school’s
soup kitchen the Green Hall, 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
Collection, 293998
Note: Held in Uppsala University Library at the Swedish Jerusalem Society’s
Collection. Retrieved from https://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/imageViewer
.jsf?dsId=ATTACHMENT-0001&pid=alvin-record:293998.
6 Conclusion
Photographs of the Swedish School in Jerusalem in the interwar period were

intended for a Swedish audience of potential donors. The photographs visual-
ised the imagined need for a Swedish presence in ‘The Holy Land’ and the
tangible results the Swedish engagement had in the country, thus manifesting
Swedish claims to a national presence in the Palestine. While the written texts
to some extent convey a Christian motivation for a Swedish presence in the
Holy Land, the photographs do not tend to dwell on ahistorical Biblical motifs.
Instead, they convey a message of Swedish modernity. Complementing printed
reports, the photographs underlines the message that Sweden as a European
nation had a mission to develop Palestine. This at the same time as motives
seem to have been inspired by the late romantic style of Swedish artists Elsa

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Figure 3.12 Signe Ekblad giving out tickets to mothers and children at the soup
kitchen Green Hall, Jerusalem, May 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish
Jerusalem Society’s Collection, 92985
Figure 3.13 Mothers and children at the food distribution for children at the Swedish
School, May 1939. Eric Matson. Swedish Jerusalem Society’s Collection,
93033
Note: Held in Uppsala University Library at the Swedish Jerusalem’s
Society’s Collection. Retrieved from https://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/
imageViewer.jsf?dsId=ATTACHMENT-0001&pid=alvin-record:93033.

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94 Okkenhaug
Beskow and Carl Larsson, both representing the ultimate ‘Swedishness’ at the
time. Even so, this was not only about a romantic longing, but a form of remak-
ing of Palestine in the image of Sweden that connected Swedish viewers to
the Palestinian landscape and people. Photographs depicting the practical,
modern aesthetics of the new building at the Swedish School were part of the
implementation of Swedish cultural diplomacy. For the viewers in Sweden,
this ‘Swedish vision of Palestine’ would have emphasised the role of the SJS’
School as ‘Swedish’ and underlining that the Swedish presence in Palestine was
legitimate and worthy of support.
While some of the photographs visualise the extent to which the Swedish
enterprise was Palestinian with Arab pupils and an Arab staff, the people in
charge were always Swedish. This uneven relationship is seen in the photographs,
with headmistress Signe Ekblad often in the background, as the matriarch in
charge. Her presence underscores the colonial aspect of the Swedish humani-
tarian enterprise in Palestine. Even so, on a personal level, Ekblad’s photographs,
visualising her emotional investment in female education, were instrumental
in finding necessary Swedish support for developing a school that prospered in
Jerusalem’s highly competitive market of mission schools.
Bibliography
Ariel, Yaakov and Ruth, Kark. “Messianism, Holiness, Charisma, and Community: The
American-Swedish Colony in Jerusalem, 1881–1933.” Church History 65, no. 4 (1996):
641–657.
Awad, Nada. “Waiting for the Second Coming: The New Photographic Collection of the
American Colony Archives.” Jerusalem Quarterly 61 (2015): 101–112.
Björk, Gustaf. Sverige i Jerusalem och Betlehem. Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen 1900–
1948. Uppsala: Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen, 2000.
Ekblad, Signe. Lyckliga Arbetsår i Jerusalem. Uppsala: J.A. Lindblad, 1949.
Fahlgren, Sune, Mia Gröndahl, and Kjell Jonasson, eds. A Swede in Jerusalem. Signe
Ekblad and the Swedish School, 1922–1948. Bethlehem: Diyar Publishing and Swedish
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Fleischmann, Ellen. “At Home in the World: Globalizing Domesticity through Home
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Forsgren, Peter. “Globalization as “The White Man’s Burden”: Modernity and
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Gröndal, Mia. The Dream of Jerusalem. Lewis Larsson and the American Colony
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Lindqvist, Märta. Palestinska dagar. Stockholm: Skoglund Bokförlag, 1931.
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Nassar, Issam. “Early local photography in Jerusalem.” History of Photography 27,
no. 4 (2015): 320–332.
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Chapter 4
The Dominicans’ Photographic Collection

in Jerusalem: Beyond a Catholic Perception
of the Holy Land?
Norig Neveu and Karène Sanchez Summerer
The Arabs, and chiefly the young among them who are cultivated,
are becoming aware of their right to be considered indigenous.
We need to remember that. Zionism could be the catalyst to bring
about the fusion of Arab society in Palestine.
15 June 1918, Antonin Jaussen1
∵
At the end of the First World War, having lived in Palestine for more than thirty
years, at the École Biblique et archéologique française de Jérusalem (EBAF), the
Dominican Antonin Jaussen was an expert observer of the local situation as
well as the international engagement in Palestine, challenging what he con-
sidered to be the international lack of respect for local populations and elites
in the region.2 Many Dominicans from his generation made an important con-
tribution to visual production during the British Mandate in Palestine, given
the strong relationship to their mission field and their training in historical
and archaeological methodology, along with the increasing availability of light,
transportable cameras.
1 Dispatch from Antonin Jaussen du 15 juin 1918, in Jean-Jacques Pérennès, Le Père Antonin
Jaussen, o.p., (1871–1962). Une passion pour l’Orient musulman (Paris: Le Cerf, 2012), 76. We are
grateful to Emeritus Professor at the École biblique et archéologique française de Jérusalem,
Jean Michel de Tarragon and to the Professor of Archaeology Jean Baptiste Humbert for
opening the photographic collection, their multiple answers, the several and ‘chaleureux’
coffee breaks with many discussions in December 2018 and April 2019, as well as the many
visits in recent years and for his precious advice on our article. We remain the only persons
responsible for the content.
2 H. Laurens, “Jaussen en Arabie,” in Photographies d’Arabie, Hedjaz 1907–1917, ed. Brahim
Alaoui (Paris: IMA, 1999), 32.
© Norig Neveu and Karène Sanchez Summerer, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_005

of the Sanchez
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98 Neveu and Sanchez Summerer
The EBAF was founded in 1890 within the Dominican priory of St Stephen3
by Marie-Joseph Lagrange O.P. (1855–1938) as a research institution.4 The
school was first called the École pratique d’études bibliques, inspired by
the recently-created institution in Paris (1868).5 For Lagrange, members of the
school were to collect and produce information regarding Palestine and
the Holy Land. The methodological specificity he encouraged was the study
of the Bible in its physical and cultural context. The Dominicans of the ‘first
generation’6 (1890–1940) on whom this article will focus were specialised in
different subjects, from epigraphy to Assyriology and geography to ethnol-
ogy. From 1920, the institution became the École biblique et archéologique de
Jérusalem (French Archaeological and Biblical School of Jerusalem) with the
support of the French Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (Paris).7 In
1892, the Biblical school launched its journal, La Revue Biblique, where schol-
arly results were published, including photographs.8
From the early twentieth century, photographs became embedded as evi-
dence for the Dominicans of the Biblical school the development of their
scholarly methodology. This echoes the attempt to develop a scientific method
promoted by Salzmann from the 1850s for documenting archaeological sites.9
However, the photograph taken by the EBAF Friars reveal to a semantic turn in
the use of photography, no longer as a tool for representing projection over a
territory but as scientific evidence about it. Unlike commercial photographers
3 St Stephen’s was established in 1882 in Jerusalem as a Dominican priory.

4 Marie-Joseph Lagrange, a Dominican exegete, was a central figure in the development of
Biblical studies in the nineteenth century. He is especially well known for being one of
the precursors of the historical method in Catholic exegesis. See Bernard Montagnes,
Marie-Joseph Lagrange, Une biographie critique (Paris: Le Cerf, 2005).
5 T.N. Clark, Prophets and Patrons: the French University and the Emergence of the Social
Sciences (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973), 42–45; Jacques Revel, ed., Une école
pour les sciences sociales. De la VIe section de l’EPHE, à l’École pratique des hautes études en
sciences sociales (Paris: Le Cerf, 1996), 11–12.
6 Marie-Antonin Jaussen (1871–1962), Antoine-Raphaël Savignac (1874–1951), Louis-Hugues
Vincent (1872–1960), Felix-Marie Abel (1878–1953), Édouard-Paul Dhorme (1881–1966). On
the history of the EBAF, D. Trimbur, Une école française à Jérusalem. De l’École Pratique
d’Etudes bibliques des Dominicains à l’École Biblique et Archéologique Française de Jérusalem
(Paris: Le Cerf, 2002). The author does not mention the photographic collection.
7 French learned society devoted to Humanities, created in 1663, one of the five academies of
the Institut de France.
8 Up to 1923, the editor of the journal was Marie-Joseph Lagrange, followed by Édouard-Paul
Dhorme (until 1931), then by Louis-Hugues Vincent (until 1938) and Roland de Vaux (until
1953) and others after the Mandate period.
9 Sary Zananiri; “From Still to Moving Image: Shifting Representation of Jerusalem and
Palestinians in the Western Biblical Imaginary”, Jerusalem Quarterly 67 (2016): 64–81.

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The Dominicans ’ Photographic Collection in Jerusalem 99
so prevalent in the region, photography was used to document the findings of

the archaeological expeditions much like the rubbings, drawings and sketches
had previously. In this vein, they were projected during lectures or published
in the Revue Biblique. The continuous interest of the Dominican Friars in
photography throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries resulted in
the current photographic collection of the EBAF. Besides pictures taken by the
Dominicans, the current collection also includes digitised photographs from
the other Catholic institutions in Palestine.10 With more than 30,000 glass
plates, photographs and black and white and coloured slides, the collection of
the EBAF is one of the most extensive photographic collections of the so-called
‘Holy Land’ (Palestine and the Middle East more broadly) preserved today.
Research on Palestine has been influential in the way visual iconography
has been regarded as a valuable source for historians.11 The EBAF photographs
presented in the recent historiography on Ottoman and British Mandate
Palestine dealt mainly with archaeological sites, landscapes and monuments,
with only a few focused on people.12 The main publications concern the his-
10 Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem, Assumptionists, White Fathers, Salesians, Jesuits of the

Pontifical Biblical Institute, Lazarists, Betharram Fathers, Rosary Sisters, Sisters of Zion,
St Joseph Sisters, the German Paulus Haus and the Albright Institute of Archaeology.
11 Eyal Onne, The Photographic Heritage of the Holy Land, 1839–1914 (Manchester: Manchester
Polytechnic, 1980), Sarah Graham-Brown, Palestinians and their Society, 1880–1946. A pho-
tographic Essay (London: Quarter Books, 1980); Mounira Khemir, L’orientalisme. L’Orient
des photographes au XIXe siècle (Paris: Photo-Poche, 1994); Nissan Perez, Visions
d’Orient (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1995); Pierre Fournié and Jean-Louis Riccioli,
La France et le Proche-Orient, 1916–1946, Une chronique photographique de la présence
française en Syrie et au Liban, en Palestine au Hedjaz et en Cilicie (Paris: Casterman, 1996);
Issam Nassar, “Familial Snapshots: Representing Palestine in the Work of the First Local
Photographers,” History & Memory 18, no. 2 (2006); 139–155; Zeynep Çelik, “Photographing
Mundane Modernity,” in Camera Ottomana: Photography and Modernity in the Ottoman
Empire, 1840–1914, eds. Zeynep Çelik and Edhem Eldem (Istanbul: Koç University Press,
2015), 154–200.
12 The EBAF published catalogues deal mainly with the Ottoman period. Itinéraires bibliques
(1995), catalogue of the exhibition at the Institut du monde arabe, Paris 17/01–30/04/1995.
The only EBAF catalogue dealing with the post-Ottoman period is Chrétiens d’Orient,
Institut du monde arabe & Centre régional de la photographie Nord Pas-de-Calais (60 pho-
tographs from EBAF), first catalogue to present photographs that were non-archaeological
and dealing with all indigenous populations. Walid Khalidi, Before Their Diaspora,
A Photographic History of the Palestinians 1876–1948 (Washington D.C.: Institute for
Palestine Studies, 1991); Elias Sanbar, ed., Jérusalem et la Palestine, Photographies de l’École
Biblique de Jérusalem (Paris: Hazan, 2013); Elias Sanbar, Les Palestiniens. La photographie
d’une terre et de son peuple de 1839 à nos jours (Paris: Hazan, 2004).

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tory of Jordan, Oriental Christianity, the Holy Land or Palestine.13 Beyond a

Biblical studies focused approach that favoured archaeological photographs,
the Dominicans and the Catholic missionaries showed an interest across dif-
ferent segments of society, through the lens of Europeans in daily contact with
the Arab populations of the region. How did photographs present scholarly
actions of collecting local knowledge, theatre and music, education and med-
icine developing in these Catholic institutions? Is an Arabisation of the clergy
noticeable from the photographers’ points of view?
During two research projects on Christian communities at the end of the
Ottoman Palestine and the British Mandate,14 we came across an exhibition
organised by J.-M. de Tarragon and J.-B. Humbert ‘Visages d’Orient’ tackling
the question of the indigenous population. Reflecting with them on the rea-
sons for such an exhibition and the relations of Jaussen to his Arab fellows, the
questions that progressively came to our mind were the ways to ‘think about
and to think with images’15 within our historical approach. How can we cap-
ture, through visual representations, the historical changes in Palestine but
also within the scientific perspective of EBAF and other Catholic institutions in
Palestine? To what extent did the First World War and the Balfour Declaration
change the Dominican perception of Palestinian society and communities?
How can we view the photographic collections through the lens of ethnogra-
phy from the current day, given the different approaches to the production of
photography at the time they were produced? From this perspective, how did
the Dominican’s view – with the example of Jaussen – differ from that of other
Catholic organisations? These collections will be decoded as ‘action-sources’,
bearers of a discourse on the history of Palestine at the beginning of the twen-
tieth century. We shall first analyse the history of the photographers and the
collection itself, then discuss the Dominican ethnographic approach via
the anthropological and photographic study of Nablus. Finally, we will envis-
age the evolution of the broader corpus of Catholic missionary photographs
and the missionaries’ perception of Palestinian Arab society.
13 Géraldine Chatelard and Jean-Michel de Tarragon, L’Empire et le royaume. La Jordanie

vue par l’École biblique et archéologique française de Jérusalem (1893–1935) (Amman:
Centre culturel français d’Amman, 2006); Sanbar, Jérusalem et la Palestine; Sanbar, Les
Palestiniens.
14 The NWO project Van Morsel (the Dutch Research Council), thanks to which we could
help in acquiring specific material for photographic preservation and classification,
helping data management, and the international research consortium MisSMO, https://
missmo.hypotheses.org/research-program.
15 Gregory Stanczak, Visual research methods: Image, Society and Representations (Thousand
Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, 2007), 1–22, 83–120.

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1 The Constitution of the Ebaf Photographic Collection
The constitution of today’s collection draws together a multiplicity of views

of Palestine and the broader region. As well as the collections produced by
the Dominican Friars of the Biblical School, it includes collections by a
number of different Catholic institutions present in the region, including
the Assumptionist Fathers of Notre-Dame de France, Betharram Fathers,
Médebielle collection, White Fathers of Saint Anne of Jerusalem, the Salesians,
Catholic order of the Rosary Sisters, the Sisters of Sion as well as some images
produced by commercial photographers like Khalīl Raʿad and the American
Colony Photographic Department.
The photographic collection of the Biblical school is mainly composed of
glass plates. This illustrates, according to Jean-Michel de Tarragon, Professor
Emeritus and archivist of the photographs at the EBAF:
A particularity of the Dominican collection: at this time, it was not con-

sidered as a collection, offered to an audience. It was a scientific tool for
internal use. Between colleagues, with a simple conversation, one was
able to find this or that series of negative glasses […]. Originally, the build-
ing did not house a photographic library as such: the plates remained in
the cells of the Friars according to the subjects they had treated. After
their death, a centralised archiving process was decided.16
The fact that the Dominicans kept their photographs in their cells explains why
they rarely signed their photographs and did not date them. This is one of the
difficulties faced by the archivist and the historian while using this collection.
Some answers can be found in the Revue Biblique or the volumes published by
the Dominicans.
In many ways, the broader context of the collection points to some of the
complexities of how to address them. On the one hand, the collection is vested
in the context of missionaries in and their activities in Palestine. On the other,
they are also a form of scientific engagement as part of historical and archae-
ological methodologies. Overlapping this division is of course the question
of ethnography. Whether images where taken as part of the documentation of
16 Interview with Jean-Michel de Tarragon, April 2019, Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig
Neveu. ‘Those include 2,448 stereoscopic glass negatives. Then, we could add 1,003 ste-
reoscopic glass positives, for projection or 3D viewing through a viewing machine, not
scanned because 95 percent are duplicates of negatives included among the bulk of the
twelve thousand scans.’

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missionary activities or scientific endeavour, where populations are con-

cerned, the collections of EBAF that image people constitute a useful record
of interactions.
The tensions at play between documenting missionary activities and schol-
arly documentation also point to the multiple frameworks that enable an
understanding of European Catholic networks and indigenous communities
across multiple genres of photography. Given the complete and comprehen-
sive nature of the photographic archive, we also have a rare opportunity to
address this relationship with knowledge that all available material is present.
Further, we can regard missionaries’ adoption of photography and the trans-
formations of modernity not just as affecting the indigenous communities
with which the missionaries worked, but indeed transforming the missionaries
themselves and the nature of their work. In many regards, the multiple photo-
graphic lenses of these Catholic collections give us as much information about
the photographers as they do about the photographic subjects.
The digitisation process started in 2001 with the glass plates; many Catholic
communities accepted the offer to scan their collections free of charge, receiv-
ing back their originals and a CD set. In exchange, the EBAF obtained an official
written agreement for the Right of Use to the scans.17 J.-M. de Tarragon chose to
include the imperfections, damage, captions, and in some cases handwritten
notes on the surfaces of the prints – editorial comments, for example, or simply
informal notes jotted down by previous owners or viewers. The vast majority
of the Dominican collection and the Catholic missionaries’ collections have
been scanned. Many pictures, glued into albums, were first dismounted before
they were scanned and duplicated. The structuring of the photographic col-
lection does not correspond to the ordering of the photographers. The notion
of ‘author/photographer’ seems of no importance here. Photographs are
inventoried and organised according to a geographical classification (by mis-
sion fields) and thematic (according to categories such as ‘Churches’, ‘School’,
‘Medico-social’, ‘Youth’, etc.).
Four thousand positive square glass plates (non-stereoscopic) are in the
collection, some of them genuine American Colony photographs from before
the time of Eric Matson, and independent from the collection available
in the Library of Congress in Washington, DC. The twelve thousand negatives
17 J.-M. de Tarragon also scanned two albums stolen in 1948 from the Raʿad Studio, on loan
from Elli Schiller, the Israeli historian who was interested in the photographic collection
of the EBAF (the albums subsequently perished in an accidental home fire later). The
photographs were small paper prints, not such high quality (many were scratched), but
many of them included English captions. The collection also includes 285 pictures taken
by Bonfils.

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are private, being the work of the Dominicans during a period spanning from
1890 to around 1952. Since the 1990s, the EBAF photographic collection has
been expanded. In 1994, the Assumptionist Fathers of Notre Dame de France
transferred to the EBAF 1,603 glass plates of different sizes, taken between 1888
and 1930 in Palestine and neighbouring countries. A few years later, the con-
temporary Assumptionists of St Pierre-en-Gallicante authorised Jean-Michel
de Tarragon to digitise the 302 paper prints from the large Notre Dame de
France photograph albums (the original glass plates are missing). Several
Catholic missionary institutions progressively asked J.-M. de Tarragon to dig-
itise their photographs (Fig. 4.1).18 We consider, in this article, all the Catholic
institutions’ photographs present in the EBAF collection.
The Catholic missionaries’ photographs range from uncatalogued boxes
or albums at one end of the scale to carefully preserved, well-organised
and semi-professionally documented collections numbering hundreds of
thousands of photographs at the other. That makes the EBAF photographic
collection a valuable testimony of the social, political and religious history
of Palestine. Many photographs concern the period of the British Mandate,
although J.-M. de Tarragon has initially chosen to focus on photographs from
the Ottoman period.
Unlike other photographic archives in the region,19 the Dominican pho-
tographs were never destroyed or looted, in spite of their proximity to the
conflict zone in 1948. It is in this context, aware that the Dominicans had never
sold their pictures, that J.-M. de Tarragon started the digitisation. However, the
action was not always understood by his peers as the EBAF as an academic
18 They include the Schmidt school photographs, the former German Paulus Hospiz (139
unpublished photographs, dated between 1907 and 1911). In 2008, the glass plates of the
White Fathers of St Anne were digitised (701 glass plates). Most of them are unpublished,
and the oldest date from before the foundation of the EBAF (from about 1875 to 1939). In
this collection, in addition to the glass plates, there are about 872 old photographs on paper
(digitised), dealing mainly with the Melkite community. Later, an important addition was
made to the collection with the digitisation of the pictures of the Latin Patriarchate and
the seminary of Beit Jala and the photographs taken by the Latin Patriarchate’s former
historian, Pierre Médebielle (so far 2,553 photographs). The collection also includes 366
prints from the album of the Italian Salesian fathers of Beit Jimal (from 1930 to 1940)
and the 1,740 photographs, negatives and glass plates and acetate photographs from the
Jesuits. This collection or donation process is currently continuing; some feminine orders
have recently accepted to share their entire photographic collection (Sisters of Zion,
Rosary Sisters).
19 About destruction and dispersion of photographic fund, see in this volume Rona Sela
about Khalīl Raʿad’s collection and Rachel Lev about the American Colony collection.

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Figure 4.1 Preservation, scanning and cataloguing of the EBAF photographs by

J.M. de Tarragon, April 2015. Latin Patriarchate archives digitisation
institution has focused on textual archives.20 It thus had no image ‘policy’, nor
image ‘spaces’ in the sense of a place devoted to preservation and consulta-
tion. Linked to some French and later Palestinian historians, J.-M. de Tarragon
promoted his initiative among his peers and wider audiences in France. He
initiated several exhibitions, collaborated occasionally with researchers and
obtained financial support to start the digitisation.
As far as the posterity of the EBAF photothèque is concerned, J.-M. de Tarragon
has addressed the next challenge: namely, the need to consolidate searches
across several physically and administratively separate collections. He is think-
ing of a potential platform, a ‘confederation’ of archival source materials, that
would, at a later stage, possibly collate what is learned in one mission collec-
tion with what can be found in another. Photographs are inevitably linked to
many text-based historical records which contain information that can often
be linked to the individuals, events, and subjects depicted in the missionary
photographs (eg. the diaries/daily life reports of the Dominican priory and
20 The EBAF photographs are not part of the recent initiative by the BNF (National
French Library) Bibliothèques d’Orient, like many other missionary congregations,
though A. Jaussen is mentioned as an important actor, “Antonin Jaussen (1871–1962),”
Bibliothèques d’Orient.

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activities). They can function as meta-data and allow a finer view of the pho-
tographers and the context of their approaches. The potential users would be
able to define the search by time, place and theme, sorting the results accord-
ing to the categories, descriptors and keywords used when photographs were
scanned and added to the record. Later on, the viewers familiar with the time,
place and people involved would be able to contribute information that the
EBAF could consider for incorporation into the electronic record. Another
step, linked to the memorial challenges, data availability, the need of preserva-
tion and the property/copyrights issues of private institutions.
1.1 The History of the Photographers: Looking for Biblical Lands

The first pictures of the Bible School were taken by M.-J. Lagrange during a
trip from Egypt to Jerusalem, during the Spring of 1890. Dominicans of the
first generation were encouraged by Lagrange to use photography during
their investigations. From 1900, with a peak between 1905 and 1907, Antonin
Jaussen, Raphaël Savignac, Louis-Hugues Vincent, and Felix-Marie Abel started
to take up photography.21 It was used as scientific evidence which determined
its composition. This appears clearly in comparing the pictures taken by the
Dominicans and the Assumptionists in the early twentieth century. The latter
would focus on the representation of a romanticised Holy Land as Bonfils had
done earlier.22 This asymmetrical use of photography between the different
orders had technical reasons: the Dominicans rarely printed their photographs
as they were not produced to be sold to pilgrims. As they aimed to document
the Bible in its context, the pictures taken by the Dominicans proposed an
alternative representation to the Biblical iconography so common to the pho-
tographic milieus in Jerusalem.23
Dominicans usually worked in pairs, for instance Jaussen and Savignac or
Abel and Vincent. Jaussen and Savignac held a special place because of both
the quality and the quantity of their photographic productions.24 Most of the
21 Jean-Michel de Tarragon, “The photographic-library of the Dominican of Jerusalem,” in

Jérusalem et la Palestine, Photographies de l’Ecole Biblique de Jérusalem, ed. Elias Sanbar
(Paris: Hazan, 2013), 163–175; “Antonin Jaussen (1871–1962),” Patrimoines partagés,
Bibliothèques d’Orient, accessed 12/01/2020, https://heritage.bnf.fr/bibliothequesorient/
fr/antonin-jaussen-article.
22 Estelle Villeneuve, Jacques Nieuvarts, Alain Marchadour and Benoît Grière, Terre sainte.
Les premières photographies (Paris: Bayard, 2010); Gavin Carney, “Bonfils and the Early
Photography of the Near East,” Harvard Library Bulletin 26, no. 4 (1978): 442–470.
23 Issam Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism. Jerusalem in Nineteenth-
century Photography,” Third Text 20 (3): 317–326.
24 The other Dominicans who took photographs were Paul-Marie Séjourné, Raphaël
Tonneau, Bertrand Carrière, Pierre Benoit and Roland de Vaux.

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photographs in the collection are theirs, especially the glass plates. Jaussen
specialised in stereoscopic views while Savignac mostly produced classical
glass-negative photographs.25
Jaussen’s first photographs were probably taken in Damascus in 1897 during
the School’s study trip. The history of the photographic collection is intimately
linked to that of the EBAF, whose programme of studies included annual trips,
the ‘Biblical Caravan’, to discover the lands of the Bible (Fig. 4.2). They started
in and around Jerusalem and gradually concerned visits to the ‘Holy Land’ and
the region (as far as Transjordan, Egypt, Hauran, Bilād al-Shām). The purpose
of the caravan, made by camel or horseback, was to observe ancient archaeo-
logical sites as well as the natural environment and populations of the region.26
This approach was associated with many other techniques for scientific
recording, including note-taking, drawing, rubbings and, very soon, photogra-
phy. The function of photography, in the context of a positivist approach, was
considered as valuable as rubbings was to provide evidence to illustrate or jus-
tify discoveries or observations. The photographs of the EBAF collection were
taken by scientific amateurs who did not cultivate an artistic practice, even
if the latter is appreciable in some photographs.
The Dominicans of EBAF also made expeditions for other scientific pur-
poses, as for example Jaussen’s exhibition to Petra in 1896 or to the Negev in
1904 sponsored by the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres. Some expe-
ditions are well documented in the photographic collection, such as the one
to Ḥijāz (1907, 1909, 1910) or to the Dead Sea (1908–1909). Until the First World
War, most of the pictures focused on archaeological sites, landscapes and
general views of cities. Individuals usually appeared in support of scientific
knowledge, notably as scale markers indicating the size of an archaeological
site.27 Apart from Jaussen’s famous portraits of some members of the Azayzāt
tribe of Mādabā, few photographs are portraits of local people. Most of the
time during their expeditions, the Dominicans would be hosted by Latin
Catholic missionaries. The pictures document the expansion of these missions,
their schools and hospitals. The photographic collection constitutes precious
25 Jean-Michel de Tarragon, “Holy Land Pilgrimage through Historical Photography,”

Jerusalem Quarterly 78 (2019): 93–111, available via https://www.palestine-studies.org/
sites/default/files/jq-articles/Pages_from_JQ_78_-_Tarragon_1.pdf.
26 Conferences attended by a big audience, Diaries of St Stephen’s priory, Biblical and
Archaeological School of Jerusalem, for example: 19/02/1919: Savignac on Nabatean art;
5/051920, Savignac on Palmyre.
27 E. Barromi, “Archeology, Zionism and Photography in Palestine: Analysis of the Use of
Dimensions of People in Photographs”, Journal of Landscape Ecology 10, no. 3 (2017):
49–57.

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Figure 4.2 Biblical caravan, 1913. Photographer unknown

Image courtesy of EBAF
sources about the history of missionary institutions from the late nineteenth
century especially the EBAF (the Friars, the students, the library, the expansion
of the priory), but also St Anne’s Melkite seminary28 or the Sisters of Sion’s
educational activities.
The photographic collection also provides important evidence for the period
of the First World War as some Dominicans including Jaussen and Savignac
served as intelligence officers for the French Navy. Based in Port Saʿīd, they
met their British counterpart, T.E. Lawrence. The collection also includes the
famous picture of Allenby entering Jerusalem in 1917. After the end of the War,
the activity of St Stephen’s priory started anew in 1920. EBAF members focused
on archaeology and Palestinian cities. During the first years of the Mandate,
Dominicans could access the two major Palestinian holy sites: the Dome of the
Rock (Ḥarām al-Sharīf) in Jerusalem and the Cave of the Patriarchs (Ḥarām
al-Ibrahīmī) in Hebron. They focused less on pilgrimages and processions and
more on the interiors of the sites, their architecture and ornaments.
28 The Melkite Church follows the dogmas of the Roman Church and the Byzantine or
Eastern rite.

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The Dominicans were self-taught photographers. For their training, they

received the help of the Assumptionists of Notre-Dame de France (NDF). By
the end of the nineteenth century, the Assumptionists had established a press
service in Jerusalem. In the 1890s, they ‘contributed to immortalising Palestine
and Jerusalem as pilgrimage sites through a photography service’.29 From the
end of the nineteenth century the Dominicans and the Assumptionists devel-
oped scientific collaborations regarding archaeology, especially during the
excavations of St Peter in Gallicantu.30 These collaborations extended to tech-
nical training in photography.
The techniques and training of the Dominicans had an impact on the way
they took photographs. Conversely, their approach also conditioned each
Friar’s choice of photographic equipment.31 As lighter, more robust and more
portable cameras were developed, and factory-made negatives became availa-
ble, some photographs give the impression of the photographers’ being closer
to the subjects photographed. While Savignac had a more static and frontal
approach due to the tripod chambers, the installation of the camera in the
field and the treatment of glass plates, Jaussen made reports with more easily
manoeuvrable equipment, which allowed him to obtain stereoscopes, which
were more vivid, and to photograph people in situ. The very composition of
the photographs also depended on the scientific goals of the Friars. Many of
Jaussen’s photographs reveal a desire to represent Middle Eastern social
dynamics. He did not hesitate to take his camera into crowds to capture
social events such as pilgrimages.
The plurality of visual narratives offered to the historian is one of the riches
of the EBAF photographic collection. During the Dead Sea Expedition, for
instance, Jaussen was photographing the encampments, the men on the ship’s
decks and so on, while Savignac was scientifically composing photography of
landscapes.32 One can hardly argue that Jaussen restored ‘the individual iden-
tity of the people portrayed’,33 as the subalternity of the relationships between
the Dominicans and the workers accompanying their expedition appears in
many respects in the photographs.
29 Dominique Trimbur, “A French Presence in Palestine – Notre-Dame de France,” Bulletin

du Centre de recherche français à Jérusalem 3 (1998): 117–140.
30 Trimbur, “A French Presence in Palestine.”
31 For a detailed list of the cameras used before the 1950s by the Dominicans see, De Tarragon,
“The photographic library of the Dominicans of Jerusalem” and Renaud Escande, “Un jeu
de regards: la photographie de Jaussen et Savignac à travers la croisière de l’École pratique
d’Études bibliques autour de la mer Morte,” in Antonin Jaussen. Sciences sociales occiden-
tales et patrimoine arabe, eds. G. Chatelard and M. Tarawneh (Beirut: CERMOC, 1999),
109–110, available online https://books.openedition.org/ifpo/5326?lang=fr#bodyftn14.
32 Escande, “Un jeu de regards,” 110–111.
33 Nassar, “Familial Snapshots,” 147.

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The originality of these photographs in comparison to other visual produc-

tions of the time – in particular that of Raʿad or the American Colony – relates
to its scholarly function as opposed to more popular commercial visual nar-
ratives. Thus, what can missionary, but also scholarly, photography teach us
about social history? How can we trace the social history of Palestinian Arabs
in these Catholic missionary archives? The diaries of St Stephen’s priory cover-
ing the Mandate period reveal an intense activity of the Dominicans in terms of
lecturing in the various scientific societies of Palestine especially the Catholic
ones,34 but also in Europe. These thematic lectures were accompanied by the
projection of photographs. Although these photographs were circulated in a
number of scientific societies their influence on representations of Palestine
within the scholarly community or a wider cultured public remains uncertain.
2 Picturing Palestine, Picturing the Holy Land: A Dominican

Ethnography?
Jaussen holds a special place in the Dominican scientific production of the

time that must be considered in terms of the complementarity of skills. He is
the precursor of a comprehensive approach to local societies and the produc-
tion of ethnographic knowledge. His photographs are therefore both original
compared to those of the other friars, while embodying the academic ambi-
tions of his institution. Until the First World War, Jaussen’s observations were
mainly focused on Transjordan.35 Afterwards, he focused on urban dynamics
and Palestine.36 If Jaussen’s involvement as an intelligence agent during the
First World War was considered as evidence of his link with the imperialist
powers,37 his approach to collecting data and iconography was originally as an
34 For example: Catholic Club of Jaffa (Jaussen, 22 January 1927), students of St. Joseph
(Abel, 11 April 1935, on the various monuments of the Haram eš-Šérif in Jerusalem) or
the Palestine Oriental Society (8 April 1936). Diaries of St Stephen’s priory, Biblical and
Archaeological School of Jerusalem, Jerusalem.
35 Antonin Jaussen, Coutumes des Arabes au pays de Moab (Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve,
1948).
36 See for instance Antonin Jaussen, “Trois inscription arabes inédites, du Haram d’Hébron,”
Revue Biblique (January 1923); Antonin Jaussen, “Inscriptions coufiques de la chaire du
martyr al-Husayn, à Hébron,” Revue Biblique (October 1923); Antonin Jaussen, “Inscription
arabes de la ville d’Hébron,” BIFAO (1924); Antonin Jaussen, “Inscriptions arabes de
Naplouse,” BIFAO (1924).
37 Roberto Mazza and Idir Ouahes, “For God and la Patrie: Antonin Jaussen Dominican
and French Agent in the Middle East 1914–1920,” First World War Studies 3, no. 2 (2012):
145–164.

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intermediary between ethnology, Biblical studies and Orientalist influences.

How did the post-war period mark a change in his approach?
2.1 Antonin Jaussen and Nablus, an Ethnographic Turning-point?

Antonin Jaussen (1871–1962) settled in Jerusalem in 1890 where he was one of
the first to become a professor at the EBAF. A specialist in Semitic languages,
he began as an epigraphist. He carried out several periods of field research
among the nomadic Arab tribes of the East of the River Jordan with an eth-
nographic interest. He pioneered work by studying the tribes and Bedouins
of Transjordan, among whom he lived between 1901 and 1905. He published
several articles in the Revue Biblique, Coutumes des Arabes au pays de Moab
(Customs of the Arabs in the Land of Moab, Paris, 1908) and took several pic-
tures of the life of the tribes of Transjordan.
In 1909, Max van Berchem38 described Jaussen’s approach: ‘Jaussen [investi-
gator] prefers the discussion led by the investigator, in the middle of a group of
interlocutors’.39 In this article, Max van Berchem refers to the works of Jaussen
as ethnology. The question of Jaussen’s inclusion among the first defenders of
this discipline at the end of the nineteenth century is a matter of academic
debate.40 This is due to the originality of his approach: the definition of a sci-
entific protocol:
Wishing to know the nomads, I decided to go straight to the source and

went to the desert to study the Bedouins. This work is therefore the result
of my personal observations; it only contains data drawn directly from
the Arabs. […] I did not intend to defend a thesis or support a system;
I wanted to see the facts and record observations […] If I have reported
certain laws or certain facts from the Bible, it is simply as a marker, not
having as my aim to treat such an interesting subject.41
38 Max van Berchem (1863–1921) established Arabic epigraphy as a discipline. Trained in

Leipzig, he had a doctorate. He also studied in the universities of Strasbourg and Berlin.
He made his first voyage to the Orient in 1886, visiting Alexandria and Cairo. In 1888, he
visited Palestine and Syria. From then on, he visited the Near East annually. See Sophie
Makariou, “Van Berchem Max,” in Dictionnaire des orientalistes de langue française, ed.
François Pouillon (Paris: IISMM/Karthala, 2008), 948–949.
39 Max van Berchem, “Aux pays de Moab et d’Edom,” Extract from Journal des Savants (Paris:
Imprimerie nationale, 1909): 33–35.
40 Géraldine Chatelard and M. Tarawneh, eds., Antonin Jaussen. Sciences sociales occiden-
tales et patrimoine arabe (Beirut: CERMOC, 1999).
41 Jaussen, Coutumes des Arabes au Pays de Moab, 2–3.

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Jaussen presents here a scientific method which was an innovation at the time.
Jalabert states, that ‘this Dominican’s approach was part of a long tradition
that considered the Arabic language, then Islamology and Bedouin ethnog-
raphy as a means to a better understanding of the Bible’.42 Jaussen’s approach
paradoxically claimed to be detached from Biblical exegesis, but only refers to
its representatives rather than quoting the precursors of ethnographic studies
such as Lane.43 Thus, until the First World War, Jaussen’s work was at the cross-
roads of a nascent ethnography and reminiscences of Biblical and Orientalist
scholarship productions. This was reflected in the themes he chose such as
Bedouins, nomads and tribal social and religious dynamics. This ethnographic
work represented an important turning-point within the academic activity of
the EBAF.44
After serving as an intelligence agent for the French services,45 Jaussen
returned to Jerusalem in 1918. He stayed there until 1927 when he was sent
to Cairo by Lagrange to open a Dominican priory. In 1933, he founded the
Dominican House of Oriental Studies in Cairo (IDEO). In Palestine under
British Mandate, he no longer worked on Bedouins and tribes but started
focusing on the social dynamics of Nablus and its surroundings which led to
the publication of his book Coutumes palestiniennes. I. Naplouse et son district
in 1927. He was familiar with the city where he had stayed during his travels
and on which he had written an article in the Revue Biblique in 1905 about one
of the sheikhs, Saad, an amulet producer.46 In the introduction of Coutumes
palestiniennes, Jaussen mentions that:
Being unable to undertake a study of the whole of Palestine with its mul-
tiple contours and aspects, I have limited my observations to the region,
and especially the town, of Nablus: a territory largely sheltered from for-
eign influence. […] The method, already used in “Coutumes des Arabes”,
is the same here: an objective study of the facts; personal verification;
42 Cyrille Jalabert, “De l’exégèse biblique au monde arabe,” in Antonin Jaussen. Sciences
sociales occidentales et patrimoine arabe, eds. Géraldine Chatelard and Mohammed
Tarawneh (Beirut: CERMOC, 1999), 69.
43 Ibid.
44 Jean-Michel de Tarragon, “Ethnographie,” in L’Ancien testament. Cent ans d’exégèse à
l’École biblique. Cahier de la Revue Biblique 28 (Paris: Gabalda, 1990), 19–44.
45 See Henry Laurens, “Jaussen et les services de renseignement français (1915–1919),”
in Antonin Jaussen. Sciences sociales occidentales et patrimoine arabe, eds. Géraldine
Chatelard and Mohammed Tarawneh (Beirut: CERMOC, 1999): 23–35.
46 Antonin Jaussen, “Le Cheikh Saʿad ad-Din et les “djinn” à Naplouse,” Revue Biblique (1905):
145–157.

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discussion with the indigenous people concerning some rather extraor-

dinary assertions in order to get at the truth.47
The study on Nablus was conducted between 1923 and 1926. He observed the
social dynamics in and around the city, conducted interviews with privi-
leged interlocutors about the collective memory, habits and customs of the
city dwellers. In an ethnological perspective, most of the cases mentioned
by Jaussen are anonymised and only the first letters of the names are men-
tioned. In the study on Nablus, Jaussen confirms and refines his ethnographic
approach and method. It is by its thematic, a study of a Palestinian city and its
urban dynamics that his work on Nablus marks a turning-point.
2.2 A French Pictorial and Ethnographic Study of an Historic

‘Islamic City’?
The result of Jaussen’s research was published in 1927. The book is divided into
10 chapters focusing on the social dynamics of the city and its region. Several
photographs were taken during the fieldwork with the help of Savignac, rep-
resenting the urban landscape, the surroundings of the city, its workers and
women (Fig. 4.3). Jaussen chose Nablus for a practical reason: his good relations
with the French person in charge of the Catholic mission which opened in the
1860s.48 In 1904, three French sisters from Saint-Joseph settled in Nablus and
opened a dispensary.49 Jaussen used it as an observatory of urban life where he
conducted observations and took photographs. He also chose Nablus because
he pictured the city as protected from the upheavals that were transforming
Palestine, including the British Mandate and Zionism:
A city lost in the mountains and off the beaten track, a city that is almost
cut off from the movement of the world and which has no local resources:
such a town does not feel the need for hard work. Under the pressure of
modern times, it may tend to change; but today it has still kept its ancient
47 Antonin Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes. I. Naplouse et son district (Paris: Geuthner,

1927).
48 Jean Jacques Pérennès, Le Père Antonin Jaussen. At this period the mission was organised
around a chapel, a school for boys and with the help of the Rosary Sisters, a school for
girls; Karène Sanchez Summerer, “Réception et impacts de l’action éducative et sanitaire
des sœurs de Saint Joseph (Naplouse) et des sœurs de Sion (Jérusalem) par les popula-
tions musulmanes rurales et urbaines (1870–1940),” in Histoire et Missions chrétiennes 22,
eds. Nadine Beligand and Philippe Bourmaud (Paris: Karthala, 2012): 163–196.
49 Jean Métral, “Naplouse et son district: un essai de monographie urbaine,” in Antonin
Jaussen. Sciences sociales occidentales et patrimoine arabe, eds. Géraldine Chatelard and
Mohammed Tarawneh (Beirut: CERMOC, 1999), 121–135.

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Figure 4.3 General view of Nablus, early 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00248-J0253
organisation of work. […] To a certain extent this organisation may evoke

for us what industry was like in Samaria.50
Jaussen focuses on the traditional life of a Palestinian city rather than the pro-
found transformations of the urban economy in the 1920s.51 The city seems
detached from its historical evolution. If the book opens with a description of
the topography of Nablus, it focuses mainly on its social structures, religion
and mentality: women, family, important families and notables, work and reli-
gion. The importance given to the family as the basic social structure of urban
social dynamics recalls his analysis of tribes in Ottoman Transjordan. For
Jaussen, the urban identity of Nablus was inherited from its long-term history.
This timeless dimension of urban dynamics echoes the Biblical perception of
the Palestinian territory, but here with an emphasis of the Islamic heritage.
Since the early 18th century, Jabal Nablus had been experiencing a process of
social and economic integration between the city and the countryside.52 At the
beginning of the Mandate period, Nablus remained the centre of a mutasar-
rifiyya (region) of 168 villages whose peasants depended on the important
50 Antonin Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 277.

51 Sarah Graham-Brown, “The Political Economy of Jabal Nablus, 1920–1948,” in Studies
and Social History of Palestine in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, ed. Roger Owen
(London/Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1982) 88–176.
52 Bishara Doumani, Rediscovering Palestine: Merchants and Peasants in Jabal Nablus, 1700–
1900 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995).

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Figure 4.4 Plate IV Map of Nablus. Jaussen, Coutumes palestieniennes, 1927

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Nablusi families. Thanks to its commercial networks, the city was less land-
locked than Jaussen announced in his introduction. Jaussen provides a map
of the city before the 1927 earthquake (Fig. 4.4): it was divided into 12 districts,
some residential, others reserved for economic activities such as trade, crafts
and industry.
Yet, Jaussen chose to publish few photographs of the city itself in the
book and insisted on depicting shrines and places of worship. If one chap-
ter of the book is dedicated to professional activity, this is not reflected in the
book’s plates. Jaussen observed the suqs as a repository of traditional crafts
and factories and not as singular urban or public space He decided to publish
photographs of craftsmanship (Fig. 4.5), perhaps according to folklorist preoc-
cupations as the activity would be considered as more authentic. In addition,
if the monograph insists on the historical importance of the soap factories
in Nablus and on the shared concerns of the city dwellers on the slowdown
in activity after the war period, no picture echoes those thematics. Yet, the
soap factory was emblematic of the economic and social life of Nablus and its
region: agriculture with the olive oil production, industry with the factories,
regional trade and the local history of notables’ families.53
According to Jean Métral, Jaussen perceived Nablus as an exemplary tradi-
tional Islamic city. He presents Jaussen as follows: ‘he is a Catholic, and seeks
to understand in what way, and by what process, another religion, Islam, per-
meates the culture of the city dwellers and their day-to-day practices’.54 This
concern is not new to Jaussen. Coutumes des arabes au pays de Moab already
included a long chapter on religion with a detailed description of sanctuaries,
religious practices and beliefs. In Nablus, Jaussen takes up these themes which
were also studied by some Palestinian folklore researchers of the time such
as Tawfīq Kanaʿān.55 The particularity of the study of Nablus lies within the
theme of amulets and what Jaussen qualifies as magic. Here again, he takes up
themes dear to Kanaʿān whose collection of amulets is conserved at the Birzeit
University Museum. As Muslim reformism was developing and modernist
thinking was flourishing, these endangered social practices were probably
perceived as particularly significant of a changing world. For Jaussen, they
seemed to be constitutive of the city’s religious mode of belonging. Thus, in
the book’s plates he chose to depict a social world structured around shrines,
53 Véronique Bontemps, Ville et patrimoine en Palestine. Une ethnographie des savonneries de

Naplouse (Paris: Karthala, 2012).
54 Métral, “Naplouse et son district: un essai de monographie urbaine,” 133.
55 Tawfiq Canaan, Mohammedan Saints and Sanctuaries in Palestine (Jerusalem: Ariel
Publishing House, 1927).

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Figure 4.5 Nablus and its craftsmanship, the weaver, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 00321-J0326
mostly located outside the city, sanctuaries and religious ceremonies. The pho-
tographs mostly represent buildings, without worshippers, clerics or guides
(Fig. 4.6).
The unpublished photographs of Nablus mirror another social depth
of the city and its inhabitants including: prayer in one of the city’s mosques
(Fig. 4.7), scenes from the daily life in the city’s souks with men wearing the
tarboosh (fez) (Fig. 4.8), the olive harvest in the city’s surroundings (Fig. 4.9)
and photographs of women. In these photographs, Jaussen also takes up more
classic themes, such as the Samaritans, already represented by other pho-
tographers. Beyond Jaussen’s bias in this monograph and its accompanying
plates – depicting Nablus in its tradition and timelessness – the question arises
as to the possibility of a visual ethnography at the time and its methodology,
both ethical and material. Jaussen’s photographs suggest a certain sensitivity
in this regard as, for instance, in the picture representing the preparation of
the qirāb (water bags) (Fig. 4.10). If using video and photography as a tool for
anthropologists progressively became a concern from the 1970s onwards, in
some of his photographs, Jaussen seems to have already, at least in some of
his visual production, in the 1920’s ‘both implicitly and explicitly accepted the
responsibility of making and preserving records of the vanishing customs and
human being’.56
56 Paul Hockings, Principles of Visual Anthropology, ed. World Anthropology Series (The
Hague: Mouton; Chicago: Aldine, 1975).

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Figure 4.6 Plate VIII, 1920s. Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 1927

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Figure 4.7 Prayer in one of the Nablus’ mosques, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00274-J0279
Figure 4.8 The suq of Nablus before the 1927 earthquake, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised
glass plate, 00262-J0267

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Figure 4.9 Olive harvest in the region of Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00256-J0261
Figure 4.10 Preparation of the qirāb in Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass plate,
00322-J0327

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These photographs, whether published or unpublished, are valuable

sources since they document the state of the city before the earthquake of
1927. Jaussen’s bias to depict a timeless city contrasts sharply with the series
of photographs taken some fifteen years later, in 1940, by the American Colony
that instead aimed at documenting the industrialisation of the city.57
2.3 An Ethnography of Intimacy?

In the study on Nablus, the place given to the study of women and women’s
sociability is noteworthy. Two chapters of the book are devoted to women (pri-
vate and domestic lives), whereas this theme occupied only a sub-section of
the book Coutumes des Arabes au pays de Moab. Jaussen explains this structure
as follows: ‘A woman is educated twice: the first time in her family, the second
with her husband’.58 The study of Nablus devotes a significant part to urban
intimacy and household life.
Jaussen analyses the social dynamics of the city through a gendered per-
spective. In his perspective, the public space is reserved for men and marked
by buildings and equipment of power (seraglio and municipality); of trading,
crafts and industry (the souks, the soap factories); the khans and the courts.
‘The law of confinement and separation’59 limits the access of women to these
public spaces. He qualifies the feminine city dwelling through the ritualisation
of their mobility around some places such as the hammam, the cemetery or
events such as weddings or gatherings around olive trees during the summer
season. He also gives some descriptions of their ritualised urbanity60 and dif-
ferent forms of ‘sociability’ between women, through the description of parties
and ceremonies. The book also deals with issues related to intimacy, female
genital circumcision and sexuality.
How did Jaussen investigate women in Nablus, since he stipulated: ‘It is dif-
ficult for a stranger to know the habits of Nablusi women who can never be
questioned directly. The obstacle is even greater if the survey concerns inti-
mate lifestyles’.61 Jaussen collected information during his surveys of Arab
inscriptions in the city or at the St Joseph Sisters’ dispensary. Part of the data
also come from women’s testimonials and interviews with Jaussen’s privileged
57 See the series Arab factories & gen[eral] improvements in Nablus, https://www.loc.gov/
item/2019711122/ttps://www.loc.gov/item/2019711122/.
58 Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 85, ‘La femme reçoit deux éducations: la première dans
sa famille, la seconde chez son mari.’
59 Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 114.
60 Métral, “Naplouse et son district: un essai de monographie urbaine,” 126.

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male interlocutors, in particular sheikhs. The latter potentially take up the fan-
tasy projections of female socialisation by men in the city, but was an attempt
to overcome the methodological limitations imposed by the fieldwork.
The photographic plates of the book echo the focus given to women. Female
portraits were commonplace for photographers at the time. One thinks in par-
ticular of Bonfils’ portrait of a woman from Nablus – very likely a model that
posed – representing a young woman sitting, dressed for the occasion, the
lower part of her face covered by a veil. Postcards62 and family portraits63 were
also widely used to depict women, with different perspectives and objectives.
In addition, colonial fantasies about the ‘Oriental’ harem are the result of the
difficulties Europeans had in understanding female spaces in Islamic socie-
ties.64 The issue of the representation of women in the colonial context has
been the subject of significant literature emphasising their eroticisation. In a
context of growing nationalism, portraits of women have also contributed to
national or activist iconographies, as in Egypt.65 What narrative do Jaussen’s
portraits of women carry?
The discrepancy between Jaussen’s description of social dynamics and the
portraits presented in the book’s plates is insightful. He states:
The black veil (al-burqa‌ʾ) which, like a thick curtain, falls from the top
of the head to the chest, completely obscures the view of the woman’s
features from the curious eye. Describing the physiognomy of a Nablus
woman seems an impossible attempt for the visitor, who is necessarily
kept at a distance.66
However, photographs of three women with uncovered faces within their

house are reproduced in plate II (Fig. 4.11). On the lower right, a posed por-
trait of a woman obviously belonging to the Christian bourgeoisie of Nablus
(Fig. 4.12). The composition of the picture recalls that of the wife of Ibrāhīm
al-Tuwāl, from Mādabā (Fig. 4.13), photographed by Savignac in 1905, especially
62 Annelies Moors, “From ‘Women’s Lib.’ to ‘Palestinian Women’: The Politics of Picture
Postcard in Palestine/Israel,” in Visual Culture and Tourism, eds. David Crouch and
Nina Lubbren (Oxford and New York: Berg Publishers, 2003), 23–39.
63 Nassar, “Familial Snapshots.”
64 Jocelyne Dakhlia, “Entrées dérobées: l’historiographie du harem,” Clio. Histoire‚ femmes et
sociétés 9 (1999): 1–13, online available via http://journals.openedition.org/clio/282.
65 Beth Baron, Egypt as a Woman. Nationalism, gender and politics (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2005).

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Figure 4.11 Plate II, 1920s. Jaussen, Coutumes palestiniennes, 1927

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Figure 4.12 Christian Palestinian lady of Nablus, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00300-J0305
the disposition of the arms. Clearly, the purpose of the photograph is to depict
the clothing and jewellery – which is carefully described in the book – but
also the atmosphere within the house. It is more as a model and not as a
subject-actor that this woman is represented in an almost folklorist perspective.
This portrait does not reveal much exoticisation, but rather the valorisation of
a certain urban bourgeoisie.
On the other two photographs of plate II, the folklorist interest in the mate-
riality of womanhood also appears clearly with a focus on women’s clothing
and headdresses. All the pictures seem to have been taken in the same house.
Moreover, for those two photographs and others unpublished (Fig. 4.14), the
same woman poses to illustrate different situations. Probably confronted with
the impossibility of taking portraits of women from various social backgrounds,
Jaussen opted for, posed and composed portraits. This seems quite far from the
intimacy of female sociability presented in the text. At the top of the page,
the elongated portrait takes up the Orientalist codes of female representation
(Fig. 4.15). The composition of the photograph recalls odalisque paintings. This

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Figure 4.13 The wife of Ibrāhīm al-Tuwāl of Mādabā, c. 1905. Raphaël Savignac. Digitised
glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00300-J0305

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Figure 4.14 Portrait of a Nablusi woman, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised glass
plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00302-J0307
Figure 4.15 Portrait of a Nablusi woman lying down, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen.
Digitised glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00302-J0308

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Figure 4.16 Nablusi woman with her baby on her knees, 1920s. Antonin Jaussen. Digitised
glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 00304-J0309
reveals that the circulation of harem iconography contributed to the creation

of a historically distorted world in which gendered, staged images of anony-
mous models were attributed to Moorish, Bedouin, Jewish and Arab identities.
The subject poses lying down, sideways on a makeshift bench installed on the
floor. The photograph is taken near stairs, far from the intimacy of a bedroom
or private room. It reveals the impregnation of an Orientalist imaginary and
the methodological and technical inability to represent feminine intimacy
differently.
For his book, Jaussen chose posed and highly composed photographs. Yet
other pictures may show this feminine intimacy differently. For instance, one
posed picture shows a woman with her baby on her knees. This representa-
tion echoes the symbolic universe and the canon of representation of the
Virgin with the child and recall Biblical themes. (Fig. 4.16). Several photo-
graphs represent women visiting the Sisters’ dispensary. In his book, Jaussen
depicts women in what he projected to be the intimacy of their homes. To do
so, in some respects, as experimenting with ethnographic portraits, he did not
necessarily detach himself methodologically or artistically from Orientalist
representations or other artistic codes.

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3 A Plurality of Perception?
If Jaussen’s photographs stand out within the EBAF’s collection, they embody
some of the scientific ambitions of this specific Catholic institution. How do
we find, in the photographs of other Catholic institutions, concerns that a pos-
teriori can be read as ethnographic? Along with a visual production directly
linked to religious objects and events in the different European Catholic com-
munities in Palestine, the EBAF photographic collection provides insights into
the Arab Palestinian communities and invites us to reflect on the role of mis-
sionary photography within social history. As observers of political tensions
and social change, the missionaries’ lenses captured more than what was
explicitly and deliberately religious in nature. What representations emerge
from this collection?
3.1 Catholic Missionary Photographs and the Social History of Palestine

We returned to the diversity of missionary images often, during and after our
stay at the EBAF, and asked ourselves what they conveyed; what types of rela-
tionships might be inferred or imagined between the photographer and the
people in the photographs. For us, as historians, the visual archives of missions
must be approached with the same critical scrutiny as any other organisational
record. How do photographs taken by missionaries constitute a distinct cate-
gory of information that can be used alongside the more familiar text-based
materials?
We expected the corpus of photographs of the other Catholic missionaries
to include ‘Holy Land’ sites, archaeology, transnational movements of pilgrims
during the interwar period, views on different aspects of what was presented
as modernity/modernisation propelled by empires.67 Many of the photographs
in the Catholic missionary collections we consulted for this article deal with
what could be described as the physical influence of the missionaries: roughly
one third of the photographs depict school buildings, mission compounds,
construction projects, dispensaries and hospitals; one third (mainly those of
the EBAF) archaeological sites. The other third depicts spaces of religion (deal-
ing with Western and local religious events in Palestine) and spaces of power
(related to consulates, local Arab elites or linked to specific political events).
67 Mary Roberts and Jocelyn Hackforth-Jones, “Introduction: Visualizing Culture across

the Edges of Empires,” In Edges of Empire: Orientalism and Visual Culture, eds. Jocelyn
Hackforth-Jones and Mary Roberts (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 1–19; Michelle
Woodward, “Between Orientalist Clichés and Images of Modernization,” History of
Photography 27, no. 4 (2003): 363–374.

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The collections document the religious endeavours of the missionaries as

they reflect their experiences and agenda. These archives record their views of
communities and the religious and political environment of British Mandate
Palestine. Missionaries had both religious and mundane reasons to take pho-
tographs: they were record keepers and, with the advent of photography, they
began to use photography to compile a visual record of their activities. They
became more sophisticated about the educational and fundraising potential
of photography. They also kept detailed records and photographs for their hier-
archy and for missionary events within their correspondence with the Vatican.
As a consequence, most Catholic missionary orders keep their archives, where
they have an accumulation of historical photographs, taken for a variety of
purposes, and in various styles and levels of technical skill.
When dealing with missionary photographs, inevitably comes the question
of the ‘propaganda’68 discourse these photographs convey. As Anne Hugon
pointed out, it would be necessary to ‘recover the intention of the producer’
and ‘understand how these images were perceived’,69 which is very often
difficult to grasp. The photographs in various missionary journals reflect the
changes affecting missionary work, especially in their relations with indigenous
peoples.70 The ‘transformative’ photographs, i.e. those that reflect the changes
that people have undergone in contact with missionaries, are recurrent.71 But
68 Jean Pirotte, “La mobilisation missionnaire, prototype des propagandes modernes,” in La

mission en textes et en images, ed. Christine Paisant (Paris: Karthala, 2004), 213; Christraud
Geary, “Missionary photography: private and public readings,” African Arts 24, no. 4 (1991):
48–59; Paul Jenkins, “On using historical missionary photographs in modern discussion,” Le
Fait Missionnaire 10 (2001): 71–87; Paul Jenkins, “Sources of unexpected light. Experiences
with old mission photographs in research on overseas history,” Jarhbuch für Europaische
Uberseegeschichte 1 (2001): 157–167; Jack Thompson, “Xhosa missionaries to Malawi: Black
Europeans or African Christians?,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 24, no. 4
(October 2000): 168–170; Jack Thompson, Light on Darkness?: Missionary Photography of
Africa in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries, Studies in the History of Christian
Missions (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 2012).
69 Anne Hugon, “Aspect de la propagande missionnaire,” in Images et colonies. Nature,
discours et influence de l’iconographie coloniale liée à la propagande coloniale et à la
représentation des Africains et de l’Afrique en France, de 1920 aux Indépendances, eds.
Pascal Blanchard and Armelle Chatelier (Paris: ACHAC et Syros, 1993), 77–84.
70 Françoise Raison-Jourde, “Image missionnaire française et propagande coloniale,” in
Images et colonies. Iconographie et propagande coloniale sur l’Afrique française de 1880 à
1962, eds. Nicolas Bancel, Pascal Blanchard and Laurent Gervereau (Nanterre: BDIC, 1993),
50–57; Judith Becker, Menschen – Bilder – Eine Welt: Ordnungen von Vielfalt in der religiösen
Publizistik um 1900 (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz –
Beihefte, Band 118).
71 In a comparative perspective, we questioned the main differences between Protestant and
Catholic missionaries’ photographs for the Mandate and noticed the Protestant

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most of these Catholic missionaries’ photographs were not intended for mis-
sionary journals.72
The acknowledged motive of the missionaries may have been to record
their own evangelical activities, to inform their superiors and ensure contin-
ued public support from their home nations. However, some seem to have
been curious about what happened around them, whether or not those
objects and events were specifically religious. The result is that the themes
illustrated by the pictures in these collections are not limited to photographs
that display or validate the missionary agenda. These images help in capturing
the broader developments of cultural, economic, political and technological
transformation of societies. They also show the international platform that
was Palestine and the dynamics of power between European countries and
different Christian communities, the growing Arab Latin Catholic communi-
ties in Palestine, their traditional celebrations as well as their trans-regional
links, particularly to Transjordan.73
Looking at missionaries as photographers questions situations of complic-
ity/distancing/spontaneity in the photographs, though this is often difficult
to tackle. It also questions the bodies in the photographs. Within the con-
text of a renewed interest in photography as an object, source and method in
anthropology since the 1990s,74 missionary photography was analysed within
a colonial framework. It was approached via the anthropology of the body or
even an anthropology of aesthetics/otherness developed by missionaries75
that made these colonised bodies meaningful (mainly in the context of Africa).
In this article, we tried to question the straightforward documentation, the
‘counterintuitive events, […] scenes that go against common stereotypes’ […]
missionary work in the school field for example, aimed mainly at enabling the forma-
tion of an indigenous clergy and a certain secular elite; images of the child and the nun
are major figures used as metaphors for Protestant missionary work. Norbert Friedrich,
Uwe Kaminsky, and Roland Löffler, eds., The Social Dimension of Christian Missions in
the Middle East. Historical studies of the 19th and 20th Centuries (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner
Verlag, 2010).
72 ‘It would be a pity, of course, if analysis of missionary photography only concerns
themselves with photographs as propaganda’, Jenkins Paul, “The earliest generation of
missionary photographers in West Africa: The portrayal of Indigenous people and cul-
ture,” Visual Anthropology 7 (1994): 137.
73 De Tarragon, “Holy Land Pilgrimage through Historical Photography.”
74 Gilbert Beaugé and Jean-Noël Pelen, eds., “Photographie, ethnographie, histoire.
Présentation,” Le monde alpin et rhodanien 2–4 (1995): 7–17; Emmanuel Garrigues, “Le
savoir ethnographique de la photographie,” L’Ethnographie 109, 87–1 (1991): 11–54.
75 Dahbia Abrous and Hélène Claudot-Hawad, Mimétisme des corps et conquêtes des âmes.
Les photographies des Missionnaires d’Afrique (Kabylie, Aurès, Sahara) (Paris: Non-lieu,
coll; Entre-Rives, 2017), 14.

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challenging ‘taken-for-granted presuppositions and stimulat[ing] new ways of

looking at social change’.76
By the First World War, male and female Catholic mission agents had suc-
ceeded in establishing outposts wherever the influence of European countries
had penetrated Palestine: in the main cities, but also in rural areas, reaching
remote regions. They were significant non-Arab witnesses to events in those
places. Some were alert observers of the political, social and economic trans-
formations of the period, though these evolutions were not at the heart of their
albums/photographic collections.
3.2 What Representation of Palestinian Society and Its Evolution?

There are more photographs dealing with indigenous people for the Mandate
period than for the period from the EBAF’s establishment in 1890 to the fall
of the Ottoman Empire. Some photographers seem to have sought to docu-
ment the daily lives and traditions of Palestinian Arabs, while others seem
to have been more interested in the changes that the mission brought. Many
pictures were taken in diverse places, from the neighbourhood of the EBAF
to coastal cities and remote villages of Palestine. Those pictures – as ethno-
graphic evidence – represent different social groups,77 not only the employees
of the EBAF and the workers on the archaeological sites. They also show a
good knowledge of some of the elites, as explained above (Fig. 4.17), the qual-
ity glass plate used to photograph this couple indicates that they were close
to Savignac). They document the diversity of the missionaries’ activities, of
the Arab population and different types of events. Those multiple lenses also
interact with the multiple agendas of the photographers so as to constitute
situated testimonies on the Palestinian society of the time. Here (Fig. 4.18), a
Christian family from Mādabā visiting the Dominican Friars, in the courtyard
of St Stephen convent, just before or after WWI, illustrating the mobility and
the transregional exchanges in the zone up to the early 1920s.
We targeted a few subcategories from the many intended and unin-
tended cultural impacts78 of the missions rooted in the early development of
76 Stanczak, Visual research methods Image Society and Representations, 83–120.

77 The First Century of Photography: Photography as History/ Historicizing Photography in
Ottoman territories (1839–1939), workshop organized by Boğaziçi University Archives and
Document Center, RCAC (Research Center for Anatolian Civilization), and IFEA (Institut
Francais d’Études Anatoliennes), İstanbul and Aix Marseille University, LabExMed &
IDEMEC, 19–21 June 2018, https://anamed.ku.edu.tr/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/The
_First_Century_of_Photography_ANAMED-1.pdf.
78 Heather Sharkey, Unexpected Consequences of Christian Missions in the Middle East, Africa
and South Asia (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2013).

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Figure 4.17 Couple levantin, after 1920. Raphaël Savignac. Digitised glass plate, 11 × 15 cm,
5601-6644
missionary-founded congregations. They are by no means exhaustive or repre-

sentative of the diversity of this collection.
The Dominicans commented on the political situation and were conscious
of witnessing formative events for the Arab population. This is also true for
some of the other Catholic missionaries. Though the Dominicans did not
share the same time/space scales to Palestine as the indigenous Arab popu-
lation. Jaussen was a witness of Arab frustration in Palestine during and after
the First World War as evidenced in his reports to the French authorities.
The silence about Zionist activities is remarkable. Jewish religious communi-
ties and celebrations do appear in the photographic collection, but not the
Zionist associations, leaders or activities. This can be interpreted as a negation,
either of their activities and impact in the missionaries’ local environment at a
proto-national level; or as situated outside missionary reality. Several mission-
aries did however reflect on the political events in different archives.
Indeed, during the political turmoil, missionaries were in the front row. For
example, from the Old City of Jerusalem, where most Catholic missionaries
had their compounds, they witnessed riots, curfews, their social and economic

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Figure 4.18 Catholic family of Mādabā visiting EBAF, early 1920s. Raphaël Savignac.
Digitised glass plate, 11 × 15 cm, 5468-2484
impact. Cross-analysed with their diaries when available, the image of

Jerusalem that emerges from this collection is not a sleeping city, resting on its
mythical and biblical reputation during the Mandate, but a worldly and polit-
ical Jerusalem. This might have resulted from the need to record and display
Jerusalem, whether for specific religious audiences, or for French and Italian
diplomats as well as for Vatican interlocutors. But also as a personal testimony,
as confirmed in the diary entries of some missionaries.79 The following two
photographs, likely taken spontaneously, most probably from the building of
the Betharram Fathers in the Old City of Jerusalem, deal with the beginning of
a riot on 13th October 1933,80 when the Arab Executive Committee planned a
79 Archives of the Collège des frères des écoles chrétiennes of Jerusalem ACJ, Bethlehem ACB
and Caiffa (Haifa) ACH, Sisters of Zion diaries ASZ, Archives of Saint Anne of Jerusalem
diaries ASAJ.
80 The riots came as the culmination of Arab resentment at Jewish migration after it surged
to new heights following the rise of Nazi Germany, and at the British Mandate authorities
for allegedly facilitating Jewish land purchases. Rashid Khalidi, The Iron cage. The Story of
the Palestinian Struggle for Statehood (Boston: Beacon Press, 2007), 32, 36.

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strike accompanied by a procession to take place from the Ḥarām al-Ṣharīf to

the Government Offices. The High Commissioner banned the demonstration,
but it went ahead, regardless. British police officers stationed themselves at
all the gates of the Old City and locked the gates to keep the rioters inside and
dispersed them (Fig. 4.19 and Fig. 4.20).
Some photographs show other aspects of political events though not a pri-
ori dealing with them directly. The seminary of Saint Anne for the Melkites
maintained by the White Fathers since 188281 for example, has more than 200
photographs dealing with different political/religious events. The brass band of
Saint Anne ( fanfare) (Fig. 4.21), created in 1887, was requested by the Consulate
General of France for notable events such as the Mass of 14 July (Bastille Day),
the Mass of Joan of Arc or for the arrival of the first plane in Jerusalem on
31 December 1913. Different parts of Arab Palestinian society appear in this
type of photograph. In this photograph of 1932, only the professor is French,
Armand Laily. Saint Anne was also on the route followed by pilgrims during
the celebrations of Nabī Mūsā, near the Ḥarām and the Lions’ Gate (Fig. 4.22,
Fig. 4.23). During the Mandate period, the Mawsim al-Nabī Mūsā (the Prophet
Moses festival), honouring the shrine of the Prophet Moses (7 kilometres from
Jericho) was both a religious celebration and a national gathering for pilgrims
from all Palestine.82 The riots during the Nabī Mūsā festival in Jerusalem in
1920 was an expression of opposition both to Zionism and to the British rule.
These images were probably taken from one of the furthest rooms of the White
Fathers’ building on the Via Dolorosa. Several photographs concern Nabī Mūsā
pilgrims in different parts of Jerusalem, during the different moments of the
celebration. The photographer, a White Father, captured many moments while
being among the crowd of pilgrims until the beginning of 1920, then more from
Saint Anne’s balconies (for instance in 1922; a British officer on horse, Fig. 4.22).
The comments in the Saint Anne diaries and personal notes of some French
Melkite Fathers reveal their understanding of the political repercussions and
81 Archives of Saint Anne of Jerusalem ASAJ, diaries of the junior and senior seminary, 1919
until 1933 and Central White Fathers archives, Rome, Saint Anne of Jerusalem reports, sta-
tistics and programmes of events. Dominique Trimbur, “Sainte Anne, lieu de mémoire et
lieu de vie français à Jérusalem,” Chrétiens et sociétés XVIe–XXe, Bulletin 7 (2000): 39–69.
82 Awad Halabi, “Islamic Ritual and Palestinian Nationalism: al-Hajj Amin and the Prophet
Moses Festival in Jerusalem, 1921 to 1936,” in Jerusalem Interrupted: Modernity and Colonial
Transformation 1917-Present, ed. Lena Jayyusi (Northampton, MA: Interlink Publishing,
2013), 139–161; Emma Aubin-Boltanski, Pèlerinages et nationalisme en Palestine. Prophètes,
héros et ancêtres (Paris: EHESS, 2007); Roberto Mazza, “Transforming the Holy City: From
Communal Clashes to Urban Violence, the Nebi Musa Riots 1920,” in Urban Violence in the
Middle East Changing Cityscapes: The Transition from Empire to Nation State, eds. Ulrike
Freitag, Nelida Fuccaro, Claudia Ghrawi and Nora Lafi (New York: Bergham, 2015), 179–94.

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Figure 4.19 Riot, 13th October 1933. Caption (in French) on the top part: “Émeutes du
13 octobre 1933”, bottom: “Avant: la police approche …” Betharram Fathers,
Médebielle collection; 22547-LPJ, 1644

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Figure 4.20 Riot, 13th October 1933. Caption on the top part: “La charge …” bottom: “Après:
le débloquement …” Betharram Fathers, Médebielle collection; 22547-
LPJ, 1645

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Figure 4.21 Brass band of Saint Anne ( fanfare), early 1920s. White Fathers collection,
15977-SteA-0146
the nationalist nature of this pilgrimage. They discuss the diversity of its par-
ticipants (from Arab peasants to young nationalist activists) and the rivalry
between the Ḥusaynīs and the Nashāshībīs.
Several photographs concern the Arab clergy, its role within the different
Oriental Churches, the cultural and religious influence around them and the
ecclesiastical relationships between European missionaries and indigenous
church members. Some photographs bring to the fore simple congregants, like
in this photograph (Fig. 4.24) of a Melkite priest and his wife with their two
daughters (until the 1920s they were not dressed in the Western style). The
Saint Anne collection also addresses the rural Melkite communities. The fol-
lowing photograph of Nīcūlā Dāhbār (Fig. 4.25), a future Melkite priest and his
father, taken in the garden of Saint Anne, at the beginning of the 1920s, is inter-
esting on different levels. Dāhbār attended the Senior Seminary. He had already
received minor orders (deacon in 1916) as he is wearing the Greek cassock and
the cylindrical hat (without the edges at the top reserved for priests). Born in
1891 in Yabrūd (Syria, near Ḥums), he stayed twice at Saint Anne’s because of
the 1914–1918 war. In 1904 he arrived there as a junior seminarian at the age of
13; he remained there until 1914. During the war he taught in Damascus and
returned to Saint Anne’s, after the armistice. He was ordained in 1920. Friars

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Figure 4.22 Nabi Mouça (sic) festival, 1922. White Fathers collection, 19348-Ste A-Cont.1275

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Figure 4.23 Nabi Mouça (sic) festival, 1922. White Fathers collection, Nabī Mūsā
19355-Ste A-Cont.1282
wore the traditional dress of the cities and urban periphery.83 Later on, Dāhbār
played an important role in the quarrels with the Bishop concerning the impact
of French diplomacy and language on the Melkite communities.
Education was one of the means of social progression in Palestine; mission-
aries had been very active in this field since the last quarter of the nineteenth
century. The photographic collections deal with different types of education
provided for different groups, from the growing Arab Palestinian middle
class to vocational education like that of the Salesian schools (Fig. 4.26). The
Salesians maintained vocational schools mainly oriented towards agriculture,
but also other manual trades according to the tradition they had inherited from
Don Bosco. Initially created for orphans they rapidly admitted non-orphan
children. The vocational schools welcomed children beyond the borders of
Mandate Palestine. For the agriculture section, they recruited throughout
the region. As in the case of the Melkite photographic collection, they show
trans-regional relationships. The estate of Bayt Jamāl owned vineyards, had
83 Réseau Barnabé, “Regards sur l’éducation chez les Chrétiens d’Orient, A travers le fonds
photographique ancien (1890–1930) de l’Ecole biblique et archéologique française de
Jérusalem,” 68.

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Figure 4.24 A melkite priest with his wife and daughters, 1920s. F. Jules Riffier, photographer
of Saint Anne until 1926, White Fathers collection, from, 18325 Ste A 238
developed the production of wine, and taught their pupils how to make good
wine. The technical equipment and knowledge also echoes the Zionist equip-
ment in agricultural outposts (here, a Fordson tractor with metallic wheels, in
a region where harvest was difficult due to the stones).
Within missionary stations, students are mainly presented through class-
room portraits, where they are organised in successive rows according to their
gender. From the 1940s onwards, this aesthetic tends to disappear in favour of
interactions between missionaries and Arab Palestinians. Schoolchildren are
always photographed outdoors, but more often in less organised groups, with
photographs taken ‘on the spot’. In the class photographs for example, one
perceives situations of collusion, spontaneous exchanges, the type of relation-
ships that texts addressed to superiors do not always evoke (Fig. 4.27). Multiple
influences on the Arab Palestinian population are revealed by clichéd gestures
or practices. Appearances show the complexity of the influences: adoption of
another costume, abandonment of local clothing with a strong symbolic charge
(such as the tarbush). The 1930s also present the student’s cultural activities,

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Figure 4.25
Nīcūlā Dāhbār and his
father from Yabroud,
1920s. White Fathers
collection, 18291-Ste
A-Cont.204
Image courtesy of
EBAF
places of sociability and events in which Scouts participated in the competi-

tive educational arena, (Fig. 4.28) offering cultural activities for youth. Catholic
institutions competed the establishment of the YMCA with its multiple activ-
ities. The photographs also reveal the travels of pupils around Palestine and
a comprehension of the ‘national’84 and religious heritage (no captions, but
84 Though the Catholic hierarchy prevented missionaries from taking part in local national
agenda (Apostolical Letter Maximum Illud in 1919 and Encyclic Rerum Ecclesiae in 1926),
the Latin Patriarch Barlassina, pro-Italian, emphasised the importance of the teaching of

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Figure 4.26 Salesian school, tractor Fordson, 1938. Collection of the Salesians
Fathers, 17165-Sal.196, Beit Jimal, 1935–38
Figure 4.27 A class outside, Ain Karim, 17th February 1934. Latin Patriarchate
archives, 22572-LPJ, 1669

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Figure 4.28 Catholic scouts of Beit Jala, 1925. Caption behind, ‘À Sa Béatitude Mgr.
le Patriarche Latin, Jérusalem’. Blue stamp, ‘Palestine Catholic Scouts
Association. Beit-Jala’. On the sticker: ‘I giovani esploratori col loro
Parroco D. Bonaventura Habase – 1925’. Latin Patriarchate archives,
21420-LPJ, 0524
Figure 4.29 Catholic scouts in a trip around Palestine, Lydda junction station, 1930s.
Salesians archives, 26489-scouts 28

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Figure 4.30 Alumni of the Sisters of Sion, charity for the poor of the Bab Hutta
neighbourhood, 1926. Sisters of Sion Archives

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Figure 4.31 Rosary sisters and their pupils, Zababdeh, 1933. Archives of the Rosary Sisters,
22188-LPJ, 1293
the expressions ‘patrimoine’, ‘patrie’ appear in the textual archives) (Fig. 4.29),
Salesians scouts in their ‘tour of Palestine’ in the mid-1940s).
The various schools’ photographs also convey views on girls’/women’s edu-
cation and role in Palestinian society. The alumni photographs of the three
main Catholic women orders offer glimpses of the activities of women’s asso-
ciations, sometimes linked to political activism or welfare actions (Fig. 4.30,
Sisters Sion alumni, charity for the poor families of the neighbourhood of Bab
Hutta, Jerusalem). These archives often contain lists of people that can be
cross analysed with other archives to understand the activities and potential
impact of alumni associations85 and trajectories of girls enrolled in these mis-
sionary schools. They also reveal the impact of the indigenous Catholic order
of the Rosary Sisters (Fig. 4.31 and Fig. 4.32, Rosary Sisters pupils and alumni in
Zababdeh in 1933). Created in 1886 by D. Tannous, a local priest, and the only
Arabic as the national language of Palestine (Ordonnance, 1920, LPA) and the knowledge
of the geography and history of the region for pupils of Catholic schools.
85 Ellen Fleischmann, The Nation and Its “New” Women: The Palestinian Women’s Movement,
1920–1948 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

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Figure 4.32 Rosary Sisters with Alumni and priest, Zababdeh, 1933. Archives of the Rosary
sisters, 22189 LPJ 1294
Palestinian Catholic congregation, the Rosary sisters expanded in the region

and reached remote rural areas.86 They promoted girls’ education, going fur-
ther than the Latin Patriarchate schools by teaching all topics in Arabic (here,
Fig. 4.33 at Yāffā al-Nāṣariyya, 1922–23).87
Other photographs deal with inter-rituality among Catholic communities.
The Catholic Procession at Beit Jimal (Fig. 4.34) took place at Corpus Christi.
The students from the vocational school frame the canopy under which the
priest carries the Blessed Sacrament in procession. The rite is Latin Catholic,
86 Vatican Archives of the Oriental Congregations, Rome, Latini Propaganda Fide, file 451,
Suore del Rosario (in Zabaddeh since 1884; in Yāffā al-Nāṣariyya since 1885, school and
professional school ‘ouvroir’) and La congrégation des sœurs du Rosaire de Jérusalem
(Paris: J. Gabalda, 1913).
87 In the 1922 census of Palestine conducted by the British Mandate authorities, Yāffā
al-Nāṣariyya had a total population of 615; 215 Muslims and 400 Christians; J.B. Barron,
ed., Palestine: Report and General Abstracts of the Census of 1922. Government of Palestine;
Barron, 1923, Table XI, Sub-district of Nazareth, 38. The population had increased at the
1931 census, when Yafa had a population of 833; 456 Muslims and 377 Christians, in a
total of 213 houses, E. Mills, ed., Census of Palestine 1931. Population of Villages, Towns and
Administrative Areas. Jerusalem: Government of Palestine (1932).

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Figure 4.33 School for girls in Yaffa en-Nasariyye, 1922–1923. Caption on the back, ‘Jaffa
de Nazareth. 1922–1923’, ‘La scuola feminile nel 1920’. Latin Patriarchate
archives, 21617-LPJ 0721
Figure 4.34 Latin procession at Beit Jimal, 1935, with Greek-Catholic, Maronite, Armenian
Catholic and Syriac Catholics. Salesians archives, 17098 Sal. 100

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although the students are Greek-Catholic, Maronite, Armenian Catholic and

Syriac Catholic.
Catholic missionaries witnessed the social changes in Palestinian soci-
ety. They were present in Palestine since the last quarter of the nineteenth
century for most of them. For some, they maintained close relations with
different parts of Arab Palestinian society, partly reflected on the changes in
their diverse visual productions. Producing diverse photographs about rural
and urban Palestine and Palestinians, the missionaries also underlined ‘the
emergence of a cultural divide between mercantile coastal communities and
mountain-dwelling smallholder peasants’.88 The visual language used during
the Ottoman period was still influencing their visual production at the begin-
ning of the 1920s, but they transformed it as society faced rapid changes. At
the end of the Mandate period, missionaries documented the social history
of Arab Palestinian refugees during and after the Arab-Israeli War and many
missionary outposts served as refuge zones: Jerusalem, Jaffa, Bethlehem and
Gaza areas (Fig. 4.35 here at the Latin Patriarchate school courtyard in Gaza,
food and clothes distribution).89
4 Conclusion
By attempting to analyse the constitution of Catholic missionaries’ photo-

graphic archives at the EBAF – images not disseminated through the illustrated
press, postcards, so not well-known by researchers and wider audiences –
we hope to contribute to a broader and nuanced redefinition of the British
Mandate visual space. To a certain extent, this responds to the call of
Ali Behdad for archival awareness in the study of photography. Behdad con-
tends that:
Faced with a seemingly endless, dispersed corpus of visual materials,

photographic historians must remain vigilant about the internal differ-
ences and histories of archives and about their modes of production and
88 Salim Tamari, Mountain against Sea. Essays on Palestinian Society and Culture (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2008).
89 Maria Chiara Rioli, “Catholic Humanitarian assistance for the Palestinian refugees:
The Franciscan Casa Nova of Jerusalem in the 1948 Storm,” in Christian Missions and
Humanitarianism in the Middle East, 1850–1950. Ideologies, Rhetoric and Practices, eds.
Inger Marie Okkenhaug and Karène Sanchez Summerer (Leiden: Brill, 2020), 253–275.

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Figure 4.35 Food distribution in Gaza, 1948. Caption ‘D. Sourour with refugee children’.
Latin Patriarchate archives, 21763-LPJ 0868
intended purposes, lest the sheer mass of material impose its own logic
that occludes the complexities of its subject matter’.90
This overview resulted from time spent at the EBAF when for the first time our
research agendas prompted us to rethink what the EBAF images were telling
us about the image maker, the viewer, the way in which images were shared,
talked about and the impact of missionary photography on social history.91
The way observers such as missionaries have looked at, perceived and under-
stood Arab communities remains largely unknown. Missionary photography
cannot therefore be analysed from a single point of view. On the contrary, it
must be read from different perspectives. Interest in Palestinian Arab society
became progressively more important among Catholic missionaries during
the Mandate period. If Palestine is compared to the rest of the ‘Holy Land’, the
90 Ali Behdad and Luke Gartlan, eds. Photography’s Orientalism: New Essays on Colonial
Representation (Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 2013), 5.
91 Friedrich, The Social Dimension of Christian Missions in the Middle East.

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position of the Catholic missionaries as photographers, is of an idiosyncratic

character: it interprets local architectural traditions in a proto-regionalist
manner and, to a certain extent, populations, through a plurality of visual nar-
ratives. The Mandate period corresponds to an in-between period for Catholic
missionaries, adapting their visual approach and production to their adjust-
ment to the mandated control of a non-Catholic European power and to Arab
nationalism.
References
Archives and Sources

Photographic collection of the EBAF (photothèque)
Diaries of St Stephen priory

ACJ Archives of the Collège des frères des écoles chrétiennes of Jerusalem
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ACH Archives of the Collège des frères des écoles chrétiennes of Caiffa (Haifa)
AMGPB Archives of the Maison Généralice des Pères Blancs – Rome
ASAJ Archives of Saint Anne of Jerusalem
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ASZ Archives of Sisters of Zion
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Chapter 5
Bearers of Memory: Photo Albums as Sources

of Historical Study in Palestine
Issam Nassar
This chapter can be generally described as an attempt to engage with three

themes that have been pushed to the margins in the study of the history of
photography. The first of these themes is the study of the photographic pro-
duction of, and by, the Palestinians. Although in the recent years, a growing
number of studies have come to light regarding certain native Palestinian pho-
tographers, they remain marginal if looked at in comparison with studies of
the photographies of Europe or its colonial expansions abroad. This is partly
due to the fact that all non-European histories of photographies have been rel-
egated to inferior status, and never seriously considered when studying what
is deemed to be the history of the practice. Suffice to remember that when
studies appear about photography in the majority world, to use the concept
introduced by Shahidul Alam,1 they do not appear with titles that places them
within the general history of photography, instead with hyphenated titles that
connects them with the specific country or region which they depict, such as
Indian photography, Palestinian, Egyptian, Ottoman, etc. But books on French,
British or American photographies usually appear with titles that places them
into the larger history of the discipline. Furthermore, because the particular
history of Palestine has become a contested subject due to its colonisation
and the uprooting of its people, very little attention is ever given to its pho-
tographic history outside the narrow circle of Palestinians and a few other
academic specialists.
The second theme with which this chapter deals, that has also been pushed
to the margins, is that of the study of the photographic album as a compilation
of images fashioned together to produce certain visual narratives. For albums
are, after all, not only containers that preserve individual photographs, but
1 “Majority world” is the term popularised by the Shahidul Alam as an alternative to the often
used “third World.” See Maia Hibbett, “Free Shahidul Alam, the Photographer of the ‘Majority
World’ in The Nation (August 24, 2018): https://www.thenation.com/article/archive/free
-shahidul-alam-the-photographer-of-the-majority-world/, accessed November 9, 2020.
© Issam Nassar, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_006

of the Sanchez
via free access
158 Nassar
pictorial narratives organised by their owners to tell stories about their own
lives and adventures.
The third of the marginalised themes relates to the fact that vernacular pho-
tography is rarely considered as a subject worthy of serious study in contrast
to professional or artistic work. Albums, more often than not, are composed
of pictures that belong to this kind of photography, even if more professional
images can also be found within their leaves.
The study at hand is, therefore, concerned with both the attempt to reclaim
Palestinian life in Palestine and to interrogate the various possibilities in which
albums of vernacular photographs could enable us to further our knowledge of
that life. Of course, a short chapter such as this, cannot cover all aspects of the
subject, but the hope is that it will be a starting point for further studies. This
essay, therefore, will limit itself to examining three Palestinian albums from
the first half of the twentieth century, before Palestine was removed from the
map as a country and its people were deemed illegitimate Arab refugees.
The examined albums constitute three different types of compilations, not
merely due to the differences in ways of collecting, but also in the fact that
they were put together by very different kinds of individuals, with different
photographic and social intentions. A person who saw himself as the story-
teller of Jerusalem and its historian, Wāṣif Jawhariyya, produced the first of
the albums under study. The second, crafted by an upper-class woman named
Julia Luci, was clearly intended to narrate – whether intentionally or not – the
highlights in her life and that of her family. A playful young athlete named
George Mushabek produced the third, in which he documented a very spe-
cific event, that of his trip to attend the Olympics in 1936.2 While Jawhariyya
collected images from professional photographers that were often given to
him by friends and dignitaries, Mushabek’s photographs were snapshots taken
with the camera of an amateur traveller. At the same time, the album of Luci
was compiled largely from studio portraits in which she or a relative of hers
appeared in front of the camera in a setting that was carefully planned. Still,
we find exceptions in all of the albums that do not conform to the rest of the
included photographs. The albums, therefore, can be said to represent both
the public and the private spheres. The three albums were rescued either
through the fact that their owners took them on their journeys to exile in 1948,
or were reclaimed from where they were left after the occupation of the rest of
Palestine in 1967. All three albums were put together in the part of Jerusalem
that fell to Israeli control in 1948 during the Palestinian Nakba.
2 The Albums of Wāṣif Jawhariyya are kept in the archives of the Institute for Palestine Studies
in Beirut and the other two are with relatives of the two original owners of the albums.

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Bearers of Memory 159
Before delving into a discussion of the albums at hand, I would like to state
three elementary observations that are of great significance for studying pic-
tures. The first is that photographs are never static objects, even if they are
physically so. Rather, they are dynamic artifacts that continue to acquire new
meanings socially and historically, as Elizabeth Edwards argues. In her words,
photographs are ‘not merely passive and inert entities to which things hap-
pen and things are done’, rather, they ‘remain socially and historically active’
shifting between different contexts and open to ‘multiple performances and
the making of multiple meanings’.3 Viewing the photographs affixed in the
albums, a century later and in a dramatically different historical and social
circumstance, one cannot escape imposing new meanings and removing the
intimacy which the people in the photograph and the owners of the albums
must have had with each and every image.
It is through such a process that we neutralise the images at hand and rub
out of them any temporal, personal attachments that led those particular pho-
tographs to be included in the albums. In a sense, we exercise our own power
over the photos, disregarding the power of those who appear in the photo-
graphs. One example that could illustrate this point comes from the album of
Wāṣif Jawhariyya, which he devoted to the late Ottoman period in Jerusalem.
In the album, Wāṣif included a photograph of the infamous Jamāl Pāshā, the
ruler of Bilād al-Shām during the Great War. The Pasha was such a brutal
authoritarian figure, at least in the eyes of his Syrian subjects, that he was given
the name al-Safāh, meaning the blood shedder. It is very likely that a person
living in Jerusalem or Damascus during the Pasha’s reign would never have
dared to look Jamal in the eyes. But now, a century later, I am able to fix my
gaze on his eyes as they appear in the photograph for as long as I want, totally
free from any feeling of fear.
The second observation that I would like to make relating to the nature of
family pictures is in line with Marianne Hirsch’s observation that ‘recognizing
an image as familial elicits a specific kind of readerly or spectorial look, an affil-
iative look through which we can be sutured into the image and through which
we adopt into our own familial narrative’.4 In other words, the familial gaze that
she is referring to relates to the sense of familiarity that a viewer has when look-
ing at family pictures of other people that bear some resemblance to their own
family photographs. In a sense, gazing at another family’s photograph – be it a
3 Elizabeth Edwards, Raw Histories: Photographs, Anthropology and Museums (Oxford: Berg.,
2001), 13–14. Also cited in Nawal Musleh-Motut, “From Palestine to the Canadian Diaspora:
The Multiple Social Biographies of the Musleh Family’s Photographic Archive,” Middle East
Journal of Culture and Communication 8 (2015): 308.
4 Marianne Hirsch, Family Frames: Photography, Narrative, and Postmemory (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1997), 93.

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portrait or a snapshot – we project familiarity from our own family into the one
in the picture, recognising those present in it as a family and assigning roles to
them within the household structure based on the semblance with our own.
The third observation I would like to highlight relates to the nature of pho-
tography albums, treated in this chapter as primarily narratives that recount
a story authored by the people organising them. It is worth remembering
that even if the owner of each of the albums desired to present a certain tale
through the pictures included and the sequence in which they are presented,
the materiality of the album itself often dictates certain elements relevant
to the story being told. By that I mean the album, as a commercial product sold
in the market, already limits the space available for the photographs and their
numbers on each page. Sometimes, the albums have certain designs that might
impose certain additional meanings and artistic touches that could poten-
tially intertwine with the narrative being told. One example from the three
albums under study is Mushabek’s, who used an album designed and sold at
the Olympics and ornamented with the logo of the games, scenery from the
host country and even a picture of the leader of that country.
1 Palestinian Worlds
1.1 Wāṣif Jawhariyya

Moving on to the albums themselves, the subject of this study, we will start
with one of the seven albums of Wāṣif Jawhariyya. The album in question is
that which Wāṣif devoted to Ottoman Jerusalem and numbered album one in
his collection. The album is divided thematically, when it comes to the por-
traits, and chronologically, when the photographs are of events. It centred on
life in the city, including the political changes that were taking place in each
period. Wāṣif kept a separate notebook for each of the albums, in which he
described every picture included.
The album is filled with professional photographs of the leaders and elites
in Jerusalem during the last two decades of Ottoman rule over Palestine. As an
archive, the album is unique in terms of the images it contains. Interestingly
enough, Wāṣif fashioned it as if it was an official album produced by an
Ottoman authority in the city. He even states on the first page that he dedicates
it to both the sultan and the governor of the city, both of whom were no longer
in position, or even alive, when the album was constructed in 1924.
As peculiar as that may seem, it does constitute an indication of
Jawhariyya intention in collecting the photographs and fashioning them into
an album. For there is no chance whatsoever that he had any kind of relations

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Figure 5.1 A page from the album showing the mayors of Jerusalem. Album 1,
Wāṣif Jawhariyya
Image courtesy of the Institute for Palestine Studies
with the sultan, nor that the sultan would have had the opportunity to ever
see the albums. In addition, it is clearly a dedication written after the fact, with
the intent of giving merit to the album as a public work as if it was a pub-
lished book. Moreover, the specific sultan to whom he dedicated the album
was removed from power in 1909, when Jawhariyya himself would have been
no more than a teenager. In addition, in his own memoirs Jawhariyya showed
disapproval, if not outright animosity, towards this specific sultan. The dedica-
tion read as follows:
Sulṭān ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz

I adorn this book with the logo of the Ottoman state […] his royal maj-
esty Sultān ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz, one of the great kings of the Ottoman State who
was followed in the high position by his brother Sultan Abdul Hamid. And
with a photo of his Excellency Ra‌ʾuf Pāshā, the mutaṣarrif of Jerusalem.
As in the case of the sultan, Ra‌ʾuf Pāshā was not the governor of the city at
the time Wāṣif put together this particular album. It is more likely that by not
making the dedications to the last sovereign sultan of the empire, but to two

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Figure 5.2 A photograph of Ottoman mutaṣarrif Ra‌ʾuf Pāshā. Album 1,

Wāṣif Jawhariyya

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previous ones, as well as to a previous governor, Jawharriyya was echoing his

father’s admiration of the specific regime that was overthrown and replaced by
one that was significantly different and perhaps had more elements of Turkish
anti-Arab xenophobia than its predecessor. Jaryas Jawharriyya, the father of
Wāṣif, was a judge in the Sharīʿa court in Jerusalem, despite being a Christian
subject of the state, during the period of both Sulṭān ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd and gover-
nor Ra‌ʾuf Pāshā.5 Hence, the dedication could be read more as honouring his
own father than reflecting his own politics in which, based on his published
memoirs, he appears to have been an opponent of the Hamidian regime. Still,
there is another possibility that could explain such a dedication: namely that
the compiler of the album aimed at reflecting the dominant discourse relat-
ing to the periods he was documenting. A sign of such an act can be seen in
the photographs of the other authority figures that he included in his albums,
such as Jamal Pasha, the head of the Fourth Ottoman Army in Palestine dur-
ing the Great War, to whom he often referred in his memoirs as ‘the blood
shedder,’ even as he was proudly announcing that he saw or encountered him
at some point. The same is true of portraits of British governors and High
Commissioners, whose pictures he included in the other albums in a rather
celebratory fashion, appearing with their wives or entourages, despite his clear
opposition to them in his memoirs as enablers of the Zionist colonisation of
Palestine.6 Jawharriyya, like many Palestinians, celebrated the end of Ottoman
rule in Palestine hoping that it would be a step towards Arab independence.
Writing in his memoirs about the day Jerusalem fell to the British, he stated:
‘[w]e began to breathe relief and praised the Almighty for this blessing’, adding
‘little did we know at the time that this cursed occupation was in fact a curse
for our dear country’.7
What is clear is that Jawharriyya fashioned his albums to reflect the his-
torical record more than to display his personal feelings or the ties he might
have had with the leaders whose photographs adorned his albums. In the cap-
tions, the notebooks that accompanied the albums as well as in his memoirs,
Wāṣif often referred to his relationship to some of the individuals depicted.
Was he trying to place himself, or his family, within the echelons of high soci-
ety in the city?
5 For a more detailed account on Jaryas Jawhariyya see: Wasif Jawharriyyeh, The Storyteller
of Jerusalem: The Life and Times of Wasif Jawhariyya, eds. Salim Tamari and Issam Nassar
(Northampton, MA: Interlink Publishing Group, 2014), 10–12.
6 Jawharriyya’s album 2 devoted to British rule in Palestine includes a large number of portraits
of British officials.
7 The Storyteller of Jerusalem, 99.

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Figure 5.3 General and Lady Allenby in Jerusalem. Album 1, Wāṣif Jawhariyya

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Figure 5.4 The Ottoman pilots in Jaffa. Album 1, Wāṣif Jawhariyya

The answer to this question is in the affirmative for, in his notebooks, Wāṣif
stated that he acquired many of the photographs (carte de visites) as gifts from
the notables they depict. He inserted himself into the photographs as an eye
witness to history, not through actually being one of the people depicted in
the photographs, but through a narration that places him either in the vicinity
of the events depicted or explains his relationship to those present in the pic-
tures. Several examples can be provided to illustrate this point. They include
his lengthy description of what he witnessed in 1914 when an Ottoman plane
was due to land in Jerusalem. The plane never arrived as it crashed in north-
ern Palestine on its way to the city, but Wāṣif described how the people were
waiting in the sun for the arrival of the plane, and how some sold water or
other drinks to make some money and cool off those waiting in the heat. He
inserted a photograph of the plane and its crew before they departed from
Jaffa and described the gloomy feelings that dominated the city upon receiving
the news.

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Figure 5.5 The surrender of Jerusalem. American Colony Photo Department. Album 1,
Wāṣif Jawhariyya
Another example relates to his narration of the last photograph in

the album, the famous photograph showing the surrender of Jerusalem to the
British forces on 9th December, 1917, in which the mayor of the city and his
entourage posed with the white flag of surrender next to the two soldiers that
they encountered on that day. Wāṣif named those appearing in the photograph,
highlighting his personal or family relationship to them,8 and even made the
8 According to Wāṣif’s memoirs those present in the photograph include: Tawfiq Muhammad
Saleh al-Ḥusaynī; Ahmed Sharaf, police commissioner; Hajj Abdul-Qader al-Alami, police
commissioner – lancers; Shamseddine, policeman; Amin Tahboub, policeman; Jawwad Bey
bin Ismail Bey al-Ḥusaynī, who was wearing short trousers; Burhan, son of the late Taher Bey
al-Ḥusaynī; and behind Husayn Bey, the white flag of surrender, held by Jamāl Pāshā’s driver,
a Lebanese man called Salim who was married to the sister of Hanna al-Lahham. The latter
was standing by his side. Only two individuals were present from the other party (the British
army). See Wasif Jawharriyyeh, The Storyteller of Jerusalem, 100.

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claim that the surrender flag was a bed sheet brought from his family’s home
in the Old City.9
This photograph, taken by Lars Larsson, a photographer from the American
Colony group in Jerusalem, is a famous image that had already appeared in
numerous publications with captions which usually highlighted the names
of the two British officers. It constitutes a strong example of simultaneous,
non-intersecting histories from which the people of the city are often left out,
but Wāṣif reverses that process completely. Not only does Jawharriyya fail to
mention the names of the two officers and list the names of everyone else pres-
ent, but he even describes in his caption what he was doing and where he was
at the time of the event, despite his not being in the photograph, or even in the
vicinity of the location in which it was shot. While it is possible to read Wāṣif’s
description as inscribing the natives into the historical narrative, in my view it
is more about placing himself individually within the historical context.
Sometimes, Jawharriyya is actually present in the image; a few photo-
graphs show Wāṣif among a crowd – sometimes with his father or the mayor
of Jerusalem – and in such cases he made sure to draw an arrow pointing to
himself or, as in one case, to the location of his house in a panoramic view
of Jerusalem.
The great figures that appeared in his albums always looked their best in
portraits which gave them the aura of authority rather than in images that
showed them behaving ruthlessly. Despite stating in his notebook that he
acquired pictures from certain notables, in the album Wāṣif does not provide
information about the sources of each photograph or about its photographer.
This stands in contrast to the careful documentation that accompanied his
memoirs that were recently published, decades after his death.
1.2 Julia Luci

Julia Luci’s album, in contrast to Jawharriyya’s focus on the public sphere, con-
stitutes a private archive of personal and familial life. The photos in the album
are a combination of studio portraits of her and of her family and friends.
But the album also includes snapshots of family events. Gisèle Freund pointed
out that the emergence of photographic portraits corresponded historically
‘with the rise of middle class and their increased social, political and economic
9 In her book Our Jerusalem, Bertha Spafford Vester claimed that the white flag came from
the American Colony hospital. See Bertha Spafford Vester, Our Jerusalem (Garden City, N.Y.,
1950), 255.

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168 Nassar
power.10 The portrait enabled the members of the middle class to visually
affirm their social status. A Jerusalem-raised woman from rather humble ori-
gins, married to a Bethlehemite of similar background, Julia and her husband
Jaryas migrated to Haiti early in their marriage, where they opened up a busi-
ness venture that expanded in the late 1920s and the 1930s. After accumulating
enough wealth in Haiti, the couple returned to Palestine and decided to set-
tle in the upscale neighbourhood of Jerusalem, al-Baqa‌ʾa, where they built a
house and opened various new business ventures. Among the different enter-
prises that they engaged in was a building of several storeys on Ben Yehuda
street in the new part of the city.
The album visually reflects and affirms the new status of the couple as part
of the social and economic elite, not unlike Jawharriyya’s albums, albeit dif-
ferent in scope due to it belonging to the private sphere of the home. The first
few pages of the album were devoted to portraits of the couple, individually
and together, along with portraits of relatives – mostly on Julia’s side. This can
be an indication that the album was a project of Julia alone without much,
or perhaps any, input from her husband. Still, it might also be an indication
of who the potential viewers of the album would be. While the Bethlehemite
husband’s relatives remained living in their houses in one of the old quar-
ters of Bethlehem, Julia’s were moving into the new suburbs of Jerusalem
and expanding their business ventures significantly. She was known for her
Tuesday gatherings for women friends known as istiqbāl, or reception, when
her friends from the neighbourhood would come and spend the entire after-
noon visiting, and perhaps looking at the album which would have been placed
on the coffee table in the middle of the guest room, as was the habit on mid-
dle class homes at the time. Her new social status was continuously asserted
not only through the delicacies she offered her guests, but also through the
images that appeared in the album. In her study of the construction of journals
by Russian women, Gitta Hammarberg made the observation that a ‘woman
(and occasionally a man) was the owner, main reader, and addressee of an
album; she determined who inscribed and read it, and her social context both
produced it and was reproduced in it; she ‘edited’ it by erasure or commen-
tary’.11 Julia’s album illustrates Hammarberg’s point clearly, as it was fashioned
by her not only as its main ‘reader’, but as the addressee of the album as a
10 Gisèle Freund, ‘Precursors of the photographic portrait’, in The Nineteenth-Century Visual

Cultural Reader, eds. Vanessa Schwartz and Jeannene Przyblyski (New York: Routledge
Publication, 2004), 79.
11 Gitta Hammarberg, “The First Russian Women’s Journals and the Construction of the
Reader,” in Women in Russian Culture and Society, 1700–1825, eds. Wendy Rosslyn and
Alessandra Tosi (New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2007), 84.

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woman of certain social class which is affirmed through each and every picture
inside it as well as through its entirety as a journal of sort.
The social class that Julia belonged to was that of the new and aspiring
bourgeoisie in Palestine of the period, not the old landed aristocracy. The
new bourgeoisie class saw itself as part of the world of wealth and leisure
based on accumulation not only of capital, but of material goods and the lat-
est innovations coming from abroad. They distinguished themselves through
their embrace of, and affinity with, the bourgeois European lifestyle and lat-
est trends in consumption and leisureliness as well as their embrace of the
new ideas that the Nahda, or Arab renaissance, thinkers were preaching.12
Producing a family album was perhaps a sign of belonging to the new class, as
peasant women certainly did not produce such artifacts.
Among the studio portraits that appear in the album, we find several
in which Julia, or one of her female friends, appear in traditional village
dresses. The photograph below is perhaps the best among them technically.
Although the photograph is signed by ‘Paramount Photo, J. Solomon’, we have
no information on this particular photographer, though the name might suggest
that the photographer was Jewish, not Arab. In it, Julia appears with her sister
in-law, both dressed in embroidered thawb that recall those of the Ramallah
peasantry, and perhaps of Bedouins from southern Palestine. Considering
that Julia hailed from an urban Jerusalem family, and her sister in-law from a
Bethlehemite one, the outfits reflect neither how they normally dressed, nor
the traditional dresses of their hometowns. Such an image is in line with a
tradition that existed in early local photography of Palestine, where studios
had ‘exotic’ attire readily available for the benefit of the European tourists who
wanted to appear in oriental dress, as the advertisement by Ḥannā Tūmāyān,
below, clearly illustrates. Members of the upper classes in Palestine started to
imitate the European visitors and sometimes had their pictures taken in the
studio in traditional dresses, adopting, perhaps, the orientalist tradition as a
sign of their difference from the rural or Bedouin population of Palestine.13
Taking a portrait in peasant dresses was perhaps their way of showing affinity
with the western tradition and a statement that ‘proved’ their special social
12 Sherene Seikaly wrote an excellent study on the rise of the new bourgeois class in
Palestinian society. See Sherene Seikaly, Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate
Palestine (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016).
13 Perhaps the various self-portraits of the English photographer Francis Frith (1822–1898)
dated 1857 provide good examples of such early European practice. Many of such images
are available online. See: https://sites.hampshire.edu/reorient/works/frontispiece
-portrait-of-turkish-summer-costume/ and https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:
FrancisFrith.png.

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170 Nassar
Figure 5.6 Julia and sister in-law. Julia Luci’s album

Image courtesy of the Luci family
status in society. Still, we cannot fully dismiss the possibility that the picture
of Julia and her sister in-law were also celebrating and showing pride in their
Palestinian heritage as they both had enough distance from the peasantry that
they see them and their attire as part of their own past.
The album also included studio photographs of child relatives seated on
sheepskin rugs, sometimes in the nude – another trope popular at the time,
especially among the nouveaux riches. Such images are interesting not only in
showing the status to which the family of the child aspired, but also because
they could relate to what Lacan called the mirror stage through which the
child recognises him or herself as an independent person from the mother.14
An example of such images is that of her nephew, Sami, in a studio portrait on
his first birthday sitting on a lambskin.
Among the photographs in the album, we also see pictures of the vacations
Julia and her husband took to places in Lebanon and elsewhere. Pictures of
the new houses built by her siblings in the same neighbourhood were also
present, as well as photographs of the younger relatives taken to mark certain
special occasions.
14 Jane Gallop, “Observation of a Mother,” in The Familial Gaze, ed. Marianne Hirsch
(Dartmouth: University Press of New England, 1999), 79.

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Figure 5.7 Julia’s nephew Solieman Salti. Julia Luci’s album


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172 Nassar
Figure 5.8 Julia and husband on vacation in Lebanon. Julia Luci’s album

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Luci’s album largely represents the private life of her family, emphasis-
ing the highlights in her own life, including the trips she and her husband
took, or the new house they built. However, what stands out is the very last
picture of the album, in which the building her husband owned on Ben Yehuda
street in Jerusalem is shown after its destruction as a result of a bomb placed
by Palestinian fighters. The bombing was due to the fact that in the building
there were offices of a Zionist organisation – not known to this author – and
the street was the hub of Jewish economic activities.15
The fact that this was the last picture in the album is an indication, per-
haps, of the burden of the trauma of loss, both financially as well as in social
status, which must have weighed heavily on Julia Luci. Following her exile
from Jerusalem, she and her husband lost their property and with it their
social standing. Her husband passed away shortly after the Nakba while he was
standing on a hill south of Jerusalem, trying to look at the part of the city where
he once lived. Julia never added any pictures from the last three decades of
her life after the destruction of Palestine in 1948. Sadly enough, the album in
retrospect shows us now not where she once was, but who she once was. For us
today, it evokes collective memories that might not be about what appears in
it, but the life that was lost with the Nakba.
1.3 George Mushabek

The third album that this paper tackles is of a journey taken by five young
friends from Jerusalem to attend the 1936 Olympics in Germany. The album
belongs to George Mushabek, who also lived in the part of the city that fell
to Zionist control in 1948. It documents the trip the five friends took from
Jerusalem to Berlin by sea. Along with Mushabek, the other four; Ghabī and
Raymūnd Dīb, Attāla Kidās and Frītz Marrūm, were also Jerusalemite, Christian
member of the YMCA.16 The album itself is an item of memorabilia from the
15 The information about the Luci’s ownership came from various oral interviews conducted
with relatives on different dates. The bombing that occurred on February 22, 1948 is well
documented and according to the Palestine Post of February 23, 1948, it took place in front
of the Atlantic Hotel building, owned by an [unnamed] Christian Arab, possibly Luci. The
hotel, according to a report by a British Palestine police source, housed the headquar-
ters of the elite Palmach troops. See http://britishpalestinepolice.org.uk/polhist50.html
(accessed on October 20, 2020).
16 Special thanks to Mona Halaby for her help in identifying the individuals. It might be
worth mentioning that Attallah Alexander “Ted” Kidess (1910–1999), was a leading figure
in the Jerusalem YMCA as he served as its physical director. See San Charles Haddad, “Rise
of the Reich in Mandate Palestine: The NSDAP, Jerusalem YMCA, and ‘Participation’ of
Attallah Kidess in the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games,” Journal of Olympic History 28, no. 2,
2020: 20–33.

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Figure 5.9 Bombing on BenYehuda St, 1948. Julia Luci’s album


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Figure 5.10 Cover of the album. Olympic Album, George Mushabek

Image courtesy of the Mushabek family
Figure 5.11 The inside cover of the album. Olympic Album, George Mushabek

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176 Nassar
Olympics with the logo of the games on the cover and imprinted images within
from the preparations for the games. The imprinted photographs include an
aerial photograph of a stadium, a map of a stadium, views from Berlin, where
the games were held, and a photograph of Adolf Hitler talking with members
of the German team. On the inside cover of the album, Mushabek placed the
faces of the five friends within the five circles of the Olympic logo, although
two of the photographs have been lost.
The photographs in the album were taken using a handheld camera and
could be classified as amateur snapshots, rather than professional photo-
graphs, and thus are more spontaneous and freer of the constrictions of the
studio portraits seen in the previous two albums. The album is organised
chronologically, detailing the journey of the five friends, their departure from
Jerusalem through to their attendance at certain games during the Olympics.
In this sense, the album is a visual travelogue of the trip. The return journey to
Palestine was not included in the photographs. In this sense, it does resemble
an inversion of European tour albums most famous since the end of the nine-
teenth century where Western tourists and pilgrim took one of Thomas Cook’s
excursions to the Orient including Greece, Palestine and Egypt.
Tourists also fashioned their albums in chronological order and included
snapshots of themselves in front of the monuments and sites they visited.
But unlike such albums, Mushabek’s does not have captions, though at times
a short description is inscribed directly on some photographs, giving a date
and location. Unlike the European tourists, who often included a reference
to some Biblical verse or another in their captions, no references to historical
texts appear in our album. The five friends were on a fun trip, not on a pilgrim-
age. This fact becomes clear when we notice a complete lack of interest in the
politics of the places they visited.
There is also no indication that the group had any interest in the politics
of this particular Olympics, which came to be known as Hitler’s Olympics by
historians and politicians later on. Aside from the embedded picture of Hitler
with the team that came with the album, there are no signs of Nazi influence
of paraphernalia anywhere in the album – though the Nazi flag appears in
some of the pictures of the streets of Berlin included in the album. In any case,
although Zionist propaganda often made the Palestinians appear to be on the
side of Hitler and the Nazis due to the visit of Palestine’s Grand Mufti Hājj
Amīn al- Ḥusaynī to Berlin and his meeting with Hitler in November 1941, the
general mood in Palestine at the time was wary of the rise of Hitler and what it
might mean for the country as attested to in the various articles that appeared
in the Arab newspapers at the time. Anticipating how Hitler’s policy towards
to the Jews would affect Palestine, the Jerusalem based al-Jamāʿa al-Islāmīyya
newspaper warned as early as March 1933 that:

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Figure 5.12 Page from album that has an imprint of Hitler with the German team and
Mushabek at a game, 1936. Olympic Album, George Mushabek
Hitler’s victory is a dangerous development for the Arabs in Palestine;

his plans regarding the Jews are well known. He will not hesitate to real-
ize these plans and we will witness waves of refugees to [Palestine]. The
German Jews are rich industrials and they will be the first, who will take
the land from our hands.17
The same sentiment was echoed by al-Difaʿ, another Palestinian newspaper

in 1936, the same year in which the as the Olympics were held, by stating
that ‘there will be no peace in Europe until the spirit of the Swastika, ruling
Germany today, will be overcome’.18 It is, therefore, rather doubtful that the five
visitors to Berlin were sympathetic to Nazism.
The visual travelogue, which is the album, starts with the departure of
the friends from Jerusalem by train. They were local athletes, hailing from the
17 al-Jamāʿa al-Islāmīyya, March 8, 1933, cited by René Wildangel’s chapter entitled “More
than the Mufti: Other Arab-Palestinian Voices on Nazi Germany, 1933–1945, and Their
Postwar Narrations,” in Arab Responses to Fascism and Nazism: Attraction and Repulsion,
ed. Israel Gershoni (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2014), 108.
18 Cited in ibid., 108.

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178 Nassar
Christian community of Palestine, at the Jerusalem YMCA, located on King

George Street in the new section of the city. It was established in 1924 and
the building was dedicated in 1933, a few years after the British High commis-
sioner, Lord Plumer, laid the foundation stone in 1928. The five athletes won a
grant to travel and attend the Olympics.
The first leg of the train trip was to Lydda (al-Lid) close to Jaffa, then another
train took them to Haifa, from where they boarded a Greek ship towards Athens.
At each stage, a snapshot was included in the album. It is possible that the pho-
tographs were placed in the album following its purchase in Berlin, as most
images would be of the return journey, rather than its start, though the pic-
tures are not organised starting from Berlin backwards. Several pictures were
taken on board, including one with the ship’s Greek captain and others with
some of the passengers they befriended. Although, in one of the photographs,
we see the friends wearing kūfiyya, or the Arab headdress, we cannot be sure
that this reflects a nationalist sentiment, though certainly it is an indication
of identity. At the same time, the playfulness of some photographs in which
the friends appear wearing not only the kūfiyya, but even the tarbush, or the
Ottoman fās, could be seen as markers of class identity or acts of masquerade.
Upon arrival in Athens, the group visited its archaeological sites and took a
number of snapshots before sailing to the Croatian port of Dubrovnik where
they enjoyed a swim and the scenic port. They eventually arrived, one would
imagine by train, to Berlin where they attended a number of games including
handball, fuzzball and hockey. The tickets for the games were also included in
the album.
Looking at this album from the standpoint of today, one cannot ignore the
fact that it was simply an album of fun and leisure, something that nowadays
never seems to emerge in all the studies about Palestine before 1948, includ-
ing the increasingly popular nostalgia among Palestinians about the ‘beautiful
past’. This is an instance in which nothing can be found that indicates that
the Palestinians were fighting colonialism or making fabulous achievements.
Perhaps this is what makes this album so powerful if seen in the context of the
politics of the loss of the homeland, for it is an album that illustrates that life
in Palestine was rather normal, and the Palestinians were no different than any
other people in the world.
2 Conclusion
The question that will no doubt surface following such a quick description of
the albums relates to what is it that we can conclude from looking at these

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Figure 5.13 The friends at train station in Lydda during their

return trip, 1936. Olympic Album,
George Mushabek
albums together. To answer this, we need to return to the three observations

with which the essay started, namely, the observations about Palestine and the
Palestinians; about vernacular photography; and about photographic albums.
Concluding with these questions, I would suggest a few reflections that could
be a starting point for answers that I will need to further contemplate for
future studies.
Starting with the theme of albums, this chapter attempts to make it clear
that albums are rarely just collections of random pictures put together without
serious consideration for their order. Rather they constitute both intentional
visual narratives that recount an already envisioned narrative fashioned
by their compilers, and archives in which photographs that were deemed

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180 Nassar
Figures 5.14–16 The friends onboard the Greek ship and visiting monuments in
Greece. Olympic Album, George Mushabek
significant by the collector were preserved. The three albums under study
illustrate these two points. For Jawharriyya, Luci, and Mushabek, their albums
tell stories that are, in general, of private interest, and document the lives, or
portions of them, of the individuals who assembled them. As such, they reflect
both the single events depicted in each photograph, as well as visions that were

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intentionally offered to the viewer. This reflects not only certain issues about
their authors and their aspirations, but about the society and the historical
period in which they were produced as albums.
Similarly, vernacular photographs are significant in the study of the history
of everyday life, as they capture people in settings less formal than the care-
fully planned professional studio portraits. They show people in moments of
leisure that constitute part of their regular life, enabling social historians to
unearth information about how life was at the time at which the photographs
were captured.
As the photographs at hand are of Palestinian life, they provide us with
immense amounts of information about ordinary middle-class life in Palestine
before its destruction. They enable us to excavate lives that were marginalised
by the dominant Palestinian national discourses of peasant hood and the land.
Instead, they depict the life of the urban middle class. The very practice of col-
lecting photographs in albums and the narratives those albums convey, affirm
to us as viewers that life was, after all, normal in Palestine in many respects.
People had ‘normal’ hopes and desires, conducting their lives not anticipating
that their world was about to collapse. They provide us with the potential of a
counter narrative that does not focus on violence but on normalcy, and opens
up the possibility of exploring the variety of possible narratives about the his-
tory of Palestine, rather than just a single national discourse. At the same time,
the albums and the photographs attest beyond doubt that, in the words of
Maḥmūd Darwīsh, Palestinians were once ‘there, and they remember’.19
Bibliography
Edwards, Elizabeth. Raw Histories: Photographs, Anthropology and Museums. Oxford:

Berg., 2001.
Gallop, Jane. “Observation of a Mother.” In The Family Gaze, edited by Marianne Hirsch,
67–84. Dartmouth: University Press of New England, 1999.
Hammarberg, Gitta. “The First Russian Women’s Journals and the Construction of
the Reader.” In Women in Russian Culture and Society, 1700–1825, edited by Wendy
Rosslyn and Alessandra Tosi, 83–104. New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2007.
19 The poem by Darwish is entitled “I am There,” and the reference is to the verse in the
poem that says: I come from there and remember. The translation of the poem is avail-
able at: https://www.asmalldoseoftoxicology.org/voices-through-walls/2018/3/6/poem-i
-am-there-by-mahmoud-darwish (accessed on December 31, 2019).

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182 Nassar
Hirsch, Marianne. Family Frames: Photography, Narrative, and Postmemory. Cambridge:

Harvard University Press, 1997.
Jawharriyyeh, Wasif. The Storyteller of Jerusalem: The Life and Times of Wasif
Jawharriyyeh, edited by Salim Tamari and Issam Nassar. Northampton, MA:
Interlink Publishing Group, 2014.
Musleh-Motut, Nawal. “From Palestine to the Canadian Diaspora: The Multiple Social
Biographies of the Musleh Family’s Photographic Archive.” Middle East Journal of
Culture and Communication 8 (2015): 307–326.
Nassar, Issam. “The Wasif Jawharriyyeh Collection: Illustrating Jerusalem during the
First Half of the 20th Century”. In Ordinary Jerusalem, 1840–1940: Opening New
Archives, Revisiting a Global City, edited by Angelos Dalachanis and Vincent Lemire,
385–398. Leiden: Brill, 2018.
Rose, Gillian. Doing Family Photography: The Domestic, The Public and The Politics of
Sentiment. Rematerialising Cultural Geography. Kent, UK: Ashgate, 2010.
Seikaly, Sherene. Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate Palestine. Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 2016.
Toxipedia. “Poem “I Am There” by Mahmoud Darwish.” Accessed December 31,
2019. https://www.asmalldoseoftoxicology.org/voices-through-walls/2018/3/6/poem
-i-am-there-by-mahmoud-darwish.
Wildangel, René. “More than the Mufti: Other Arab-Palestinian Voices on Nazi
Germany, 1933–1945, and Their Postwar Narrations.” In Arab Responses to Fascism
and Nazism: Attraction and Repulsion, edited by Israel Gershoni, 101–126. Austin:
University of Texas Press, 2014.

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Part 2
Points of Perspective: Photographers and Their Lens

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Chapter 6
Resilient Resistance: Colonial Biblical,

Archaeological and Ethnographical Imaginaries
in the Work of Chalil Raad (Khalīl Raʿd), 1891–1948
Rona Sela
Chalil Raad1 was one of the most important Arab photographers in the Middle
East, beginning in the late nineteenth century, and one of the first – if not
the first – active in Palestine (Fig. 6.1). Though born in Lebanon, Raad lived
in Palestine for seven decades, was professionally active, mainly in it, for
six, and created a significant and impressive oeuvre. He photographed the
everyday life of the locals, mainly indigenous Palestinian urban and rural
landscapes, social/family scenes, and portraits in the studio or in the public
sphere, in a staged, semi-staged or documentary manner, for commercial and
1 I write Raad’s personal name with a C (Chalil), although the correct transliteration is Khalīl,
and his family name Raad, although the correct transliteration is Raʾd. I believe the name
should be rendered according to the person’s choice, and this is usually my policy with all
languages Figs 6.1, 6.3, 6.5, 6.6, 6.8–10, 6.18. The information on Chalil Raad comes from the
following sources: Yeshayahu Nir, Beyerushlayim Ubeerets-Israel Be’kvot Tslamim Rishonim
(Tel Aviv: IDF Publishing House, 1986); Dan Kyram, “Hatslamim Harishonim Ṿeavodatam,”
Ariel 66–67 (1990): 153–4; Ellie Shiler, “Nofei Erets-Israel Be’inei Hatsalamim Harishonim,”
Ariel 66–67 (1989): 17–23; Ellie Shiler and Menahem Levin, “Albomaṿ Hayedu’im Shel Khalil
Ra’ad,” Ariel 68–70 (1990): 216–9; a biographical list ‘obtained by Fouad C. Debbas from Raad’s
daughter (Ruth-R.S.). I received from Fouad in December 1988 in Paris’ (National Library,
Warman Collection, Raad File. All quotes by Ruth are from this letter); the author’s talks with
Debbas during 1999; Rona Sela, Tsilum Befalastin/Erets-Israel Bishnot Hashloshim Vea’arba’im
(Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House and Herzliya Museum, 2000), 163–176,
https://www.academia.edu/36679969/In_the_Eyes_of_the_Beholder-_Aspects_of_Early
_Palestinian_Photography; Badr Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer,” Jerusalem
Quarterly 11–12 (2001): 34–9; Issam Nassar, Laqatat Mughayira: al-Taswir al-Futugrafi
al-Mubakir fi Filastin (Beirut and Ramallah: Kutub and Qattan Foundation, 2005); Rona
Sela, Chalil Raad – Tatslumim, 1891–1948 (Tel Aviv: Helena, 2010); a long correspondence
with George Raad from 2005–2010; Salim Tamari, “The War Photography of Khalil Raad,”
in Palestine Before 1948, Not Just Memory, Khalil Raad (1854–1957), ed. Vera Tamari (Beirut:
Institute for Palestine Studies, 2013), 17–25; Vera Tamari, “Khalil Raad (1854–1957) – Palestine’s
Pioneer Photographer,” in Palestine Before 1948, Not Just Memory, Khalil Raad (1854–1957), ed.
Vera Tamari (Beirut: Institute for Palestine Studies, 2013), 7–11; Institute for Palestine Studies
(IPS), “Palestinian Photographers before 1948: Documenting Life in a Time of Change,”
Palestinian Journeys, accessed September 8, 2019.
© Rona Sela, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_007

of the Sanchez
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186 Sela
Figure 6.1 The store of Raad in Jaffa St Jerusalem, 1930s.

Photographer unknown
other purposes. He was also active in military and ethnographic photography

and was apparently the first Arab and local archaeological photographer in
Palestine.2 Simultaneously, he travelled around the Middle East, giving expres-
sion to Arab life in a period of reorganisation and reform, the Tanzimat (the
massive restructuring of the Ottoman Empire) and al-Nahda (awakening or
renaissance), reflecting ‘the afterimage of modernity.’3
By the turn of the century, other Arab photographers had also become
active in major Palestinian cities, including figures such as photographers
from the Bāsil and Buwarshī families4 and Zakariyyā Abū Fahīla (1885–1951)5 in
2 American Colony photographers also documented excavations in Palestine (Edna

Barromi-Perlman, “Archaeology, Zionism, and Photography in Palestine. Analysis of the
Use of Dimensions of People in Photographs,” Journal of Landscape Ecology 10, no. 3 (2017):
49), though these were foreigners who had moved to Jerusalem and started to photograph
archaeology long after Raad.
3 Stephen Sheehi, “The Nahḍa After-Image,” Third Text 26, no. 4 (2012): 409.
4 Mitri Al-Raheb, “Karimeh Abbud: Almrah Khlf Al’dsa,” in Karimeh Abbud, eds. Mitri Al-Raheb,
Ahmad Marwat and Issam Nassar (Bethlehem: Diyar, 2011), 49.
5 Institute for Palestine Studies, “Palestinian Photographers before 1948.”

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Resilient Resistance 187
Bethlehem, Nāṣir Sābā6 in Nazareth and Dāwūd Sabūnjī and ʿIsā Sawabīnī
in Jaffa.7 European and American photographers also began operating in
Palestine and the wider region during the second half of the nineteenth cen-
tury, linked to colonial interests and significantly shaping the way the land
and its populations were presented and represented.8 Armenians were also
among the first photographers to work in Palestine, influencing the local scene
through the unique contributions of, for instance, Patriarch Issay Garabedian,
who established a workshop at St James Monastery in the 1850s, and his stu-
dents Kevork,9 Garabed Krikorian, J.H. Halladjian (in Jerusalem and Haifa),
H. Mardikian and Josef Toumayan.10
In 2000, Raad’s work was exhibited for the first time as part of a group show
dedicated to the history of Palestinian photography,11 followed by a 2010 solo
exhibition accompanied by a monograph.12 Chalil Raad had marketed his
work extensively and left a comprehensive, well-catalogued archive.13 These
6 He opened a photography store in 1897; Susan Slyomovics, “Edward Said’s Nazareth,”
Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media 50, nos. 1/2 (2009): 42.
7 Sabounji, a Christian, had been active in Beirut since 1863, moved to Jaffa in 1892 and
was the first Arab photographer to operate there; Nir, Beyerushlayim Ubeerets-Israel, 99,
225. He was the brother of the photographers Louis and Jurji Sabounji; the latter had
a studio in Beirut and was the ‘first ‘Arab’ studio owner’, see Stephen Sheehi, The Arab
Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography, 1860–1910 (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 2016), 29. Issa Sawabini was active in Jaffa around 1912 and opened a studio in Ajami
neighbourhood; The Palestine Directory 1920, 193.
8 Nir, Beyerushlayim Ubeerets-Israel; Nissan Perez, Focus East, Early Photography in the Near
East 1839–1885 (New York: Harry H. Abrams, Inc. Publishers, 1988); Kyram, “Hatslamim
HarishonimṾeavodatam”; Shiller, “NofeiErets-Israel Be’inei Hatsalamim Harishonim,” 17–23;
Kathleen Stewart Howe, Revealing the Holy Land: The Photographic Exploration of Palestine
(Santa Barbara: Santa Barbara Museum of Art, 1997); Issam Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the
Service of Colonialism. Jerusalem in Nineteenth‐century Photography,” Third Text (2007):
317–326; Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 19–23; Sela, Khalil Raad, 19–34; Andrea Merli, “A New Art
in an Ancient Land: Palestine through the lens of early European Photographers,”
Jerusalem Quarterly 50 (2012): 23–36.
9 First name is unknown.
10 ‘J. Toumayan, Bab-el-Jjeddid [New Gate-R.S.] … Artistic Photographer, Best Finished
Photos of All Sizes and Styles, taken in Native Costumes’; The Palestine Directory 1920, 193.
He had a store in Suliman Street in Jerusalem; Sefer Hareshimot Lemishar Ṿet’asiyah, Sefer
Haktovot, 1936, 33.
The Greek photographer Miltiades Savvidès, started working in Jerusalem at the end
of the nineteenth century and later also in Ajami (Jaffa); Palestine Directory 1920, 193.
11 Sela, Tsilum Befalastin.
12 Sela, Khalil Raad.
13 Chalil Raad and John Krikorian, 1930 Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views made by C. Raad
& J. Krikorian of Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies, Costumes, etc. of Palestine & Syria Identical with
Bible History, C. Raad & J. Krikorian Photographers. Jerusalem, Palestine (Jerusalem: The

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188 Sela
have enabled me to deepen study of various aspects of his work, including the
subjects on which he focused, how he catalogued and captioned his images,
how he promoted his work and, in particular, to shed light on the complex-
ity faced by indigenous photographers during this vibrant period. This article
aims to augment discussion around the dilemmas that Raad himself likely
faced from the outset of his professional career, in view of his central role in
the Palestinian community, the winds of modernity (al-Nahda), the Western
colonialist tendencies in the region and subsequently the Zionist settlement
and British occupation of Palestine.14 Particular attention is paid here to exam-
ining Raad’s response as a local Arab photographer to Biblical, Holy Land and
archaeological/ethnographical ‘imaginative geographies of Orientalism’15
imposed by foreign and Zionist visual mediators.
From the nineteenth century onwards, the Palestinian presence in the
region was concealed or misrepresented by colonialist representations and
‘seizure of narratives’,16 a process of elimination from Westerner’s and Zionist’s
consciousness. Furthermore, since 1930s, and especially since the Nakba
(1948), Palestinian archives and material were seized or looted by Jewish and
Israeli forces and individuals and deleted from the public sphere by the Israeli
colonial regime of knowledge by additional means.17 Other resources were
lost or damaged and subsequent wars between Israel and Arab states and the
Palestinians. While Palestinians are still fighting to regain their missing archives
Commercial Press, 1930; Fig. 6.8); Chalil Raad, 1933 Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views
made by C. Raad Photographer of Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies, Costumes, Etc. Etc., of Palestine
& Syria Identical with Bible. History (Jerusalem: Beyt-Ul-Makdes Press, 1933; Figs 6.9 and
6.10).
14 Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 163–176; Rona Sela, “Historiya Metsulemet Shel Falastine,” Teoriya
Ubikoret 31 (2007): 302–10; Sela, Khalil Raad, 19–47.
15 Derek Gregory, “Emperors of the Gaze: Photographic Practices and Productions of Space
in Egypt, 1839–1914,” in Picturing Place: Photography and the Geographical Imagination,
eds. Joan Schwartz and James Ryan (London: I.B. Tauris, 2003), 224.
16 Borrowed from Fekri Hassan, “Imperialist Appropriations of Egyptian Obelisks,” in
Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern
Appropriations, ed. David Jeffreys (London: Cavendish, 2003), 19–68.
17 Walid Khalidi, Before Their Diaspora, A Photographic History of the Palestinians 1876–1948
(Washington D.C.: Institute for Palestine Studies, 1991); Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 24–37;
Rona Sela. Le’iyun Hatsibur – Tslumeu Falastinim Ba’rchiyonim Hatsva’yim Beisrael (Tel
Aviv: Helena and Minshar Gallery, 2009); Rona Sela, “Genealogy of Colonial Plunder
and Erasure – Israel’s Control over Palestinian Archives,” Social Semiotics 28, no. 2 (2018):
201–29; Rona Sela, Limu’ayanh al-Jamhur-al-falasṭịniwn fy al-A’rshifat al-‘skariyyah
al-I’sra’iliyyah (Ramallah: Madar Center, 2018); Rona Sela, “‘Imprisoned Photographs’:
The Looted Archive of Photo Rissas (Rassas) – Ibrahim and Chalil (Khalil) Rissas,”
INTERMÉDIAL 32 (2018).

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Figure 6.2
Chalil Raad and Annie
Muller in their Wedding
Day, 1919.
Photographer
unknown
and collect fragments from their past, fighting against ‘archival absence’ (evi-
dence or materials)18 and write their ‘history without documents’,19 Raad’s
archive reveals the very destructiveness of colonialism. At the same time, it
enables us to shed light on ‘archival imaginaries … archives both shadow and
real, and conditions both intellectual and material’.20
18 Ali Behdad, Camera Orientalis: Reflections on Photography of the Middle East (Chicago:
Chicago University Press, 2016).
19 Omnia El-Shakry, “‘History without Documents’: The Vexed Archives of Decolonization in
the Middle East,” American Historical Review 120, no. 3 (2015): 920–934.
20 Ibid., 934.

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190 Sela
1 Biography
Chalil Raad was born in Lebanon in 1869.21 After the death of his father, Anīs,
Raad was sent to study in Jerusalem at a school managed by Bishop Gobat.
There, he learnt the art of photography from the local Armenian photogra-
pher Garabed Krikorian, travelling in 1890 to study in Basel (following his
high school teacher from Basel who came to Jerusalem to study Arabic for his
doctoral dissertation) where he met his future wife, Annie Muller. Due to the
difficulties of WWI, Muller moved to Jerusalem only in 1919, and the two mar-
ried (Fig. 6.2). At first, the family lived in the upscale Talbiyya neighbourhood
and became deeply involved in local community life; in 1941 (Fig. 6.3) they
moved to the Greek Colony.
Raad began working independently in 1891, opening his own studio by
1895 (Fig. 6.4).22 In 1899, he ran an advertisement in the Hebrew newspa-
per Hahavatselet to market his work also to the Jewish community: ‘Let it
now be known and announced that whoever seeks photographic pictures
of all kinds, at the finest quality and for an affordable price, is welcome to
contact me […] ! Chalil Raad. My workshop is located outside the [old] city
[of Jerusalem], near Hotel Howard,23 at the bookbinder Rabbi Leib Kahana
of Safed (Fig. 6.5).”24 In the early 1910s, Raad was appointed Prussian Court
Photographer, a post which gave him diplomatic immunity and most likely
21 In determining Raad’s year of birth, I relied on Ruth Raad’s records, according to which
her father married in 1919 at age fifty, information that is consistent with George Raad’s
estimation that his father was born between 1865 and 1870 (emails from George to
the author, November 10, 2005; November 17, 2008). Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem
Photographer”; Tamari, “Khalil Raad (1854–1957),” 7–13; and Akram Zaatari (correspond-
ence from September 1, 2017 and December 4, 2017) claim that Raad was born in 1854 and
that his father died in 1860. However, according to Ruth, it is probable that his father was
poisoned (the year is not indicated) and that his grandfather died in 1860.
22 ‘Raad, P. [probably photographer], Established 1895’ (Sefer Hareshimott, 1936, 34). The stu-
dio was also listed in the 1920 Palestine Directory (no editor, 193).
23 Opened in 1891, the hotel later changed its name to ‘Du Park’, and in 1907 to ‘Fast’ (David
Kroyanker, Rehḥov Yafo Beyerushalyim (Jerusalem: Jerusalem Institute for Israeli Research
and Keter Publishing House, 2005, 30, 158, 359).
24 No editor, Hahavatselet, July 24, 1899, 320 (translated from Hebrew). Raad placed an
additional advertisement in another Hebrew newspaper, Hashkafa: ‘I hereby present my
workshop to the distinguished public, which does not offer the cheapest, but certainly
does offer the best quality […]. This I can guarantee, because the pictures will remain
intact for a long time […] Note well the name C. Raad. Every day I receive thank-you let-
ters for work well done, particularly from people of European descent’ (Translated from
Hebrew, no editor, June 8, 1906, 7). I have not found yet advertisements by Raad in Arabic
newspapers in Palestine.

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Figure 6.3 Raad Family, 1932. From left to right: Chalil, George, Ruth and Annie
Unknown Photographer
Figure 6.4
Raad, P. [probably photographer],
Established 1895’ (Sefer
Hareshimott, 1936, 34)

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192 Sela
enabled him to travel freely (Fig. 6.6).25 The fact that he spoke Arabic,
English, German and Turkish was instrumental in this regard. Raad also
acted as an official Ottoman photographer, producing portraits of military
officers preparing for battle26 and other local facets of the war. Raad’s part-
nership with the Jewish bookbinder probably ended sometimes in the early
twentieth century.27
Raad’s studio was located next to that of the Greek photographer Militad
Savvidès, and in front of Krikorian’s studio (Fig. 6.7), in what can be identi-
fied as the first Palestinian visual centre. Until WWI, Raad was in professional
competition with Garabed Krikorian, a contest that transformed into col-
laboration in 1917 after Garabed’s son, John, returned to Jerusalem from his
studies (1913 or 1914) and married Raad’s niece, Najla.28 John Krikorian pri-
marily photographed portraits in the studio, while Raad toured the region
and documented landscapes, people and events.29 Raad and Krikorian pub-
lished a textual catalogue of their work in 1930,30 most likely to garner interest
from buyers worldwide (Fig. 6.8). The partnership appears to have ended by
1933, when Raad published a similar textual catalogue bearing only his name,
(Figs 6.9 and 6.10),31 which he used to sell images from the 1287 photographs
of his Holy Land collection.32 Raad was also active in the local community,
including in philanthropy. On 12th December 1939, for example, he hosted
in his studio a display of embroidered dresses sown by the Women’s Club
25 His 1914 stationary carries the logo ‘C. Raad, Kgl. [Royal] Preusischer Photograph’ (Central
Zionist Archive, KKL3/29, July 13, 1914).
26 These images are mentioned in Raad, 1933 Catalogue, 35–6 and Sela, Khalil Raad, 244–
35, and located in the Middle East Centre Archive in Oxford: https://brill.com/fileasset/
downloads_products/31858_Guide.pdf (correspondence, January-March 2010).
27 In 1920 and 1921, he publicised his studio, at the same location without mentioning the
rabbi’s name: Kol Yerushalayim Lishnat TRPA (1921, a Hebrew almanac); Sefer Shimushi,
Sefer Yediʾot, Sefer Adresa‌ʾot (Jerusalem: Levy, 1921); The Palestine Directory 1920, 193.
28 Who moved to Jerusalem from Lebanon with her mother Sarah and grandmother Saada.
29 Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer,” 37–8. Ruth Raad wrote that her
father also liked drawing, though hitherto, none of his drawings have been discov-
ered. It is possible that he drew the logo stitched on the back of his photographs (Sela,
Khalil Raad, 256).
30 Raad and Krikorian, 1930 Catalogue. Perhaps earlier catalogues were also published.
31 Raad, 1933 Catalogue. Comparison between the catalogue of 1930 (when Krikorian
and Raad worked together) and the Catalogue of Raad from 1933, suggests that the images
Krikorian photographed during their partnership (mainly portraits?) remained in Raad’s
possession and were distributed as Raad’s images.
32 Al-Hajj mentions 1,230 photographs (Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer”). In
the visual albums, the highest number is 1151. The photographs in the albums and textual
lists are organised thematically. Raad did not date his images. Therefore, it is impossible
to analyse his work chronologically.

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Figure 6.5 ‘Let it now be known and announced that whoever seeks
photographic pictures of all kinds, at the finest quality
and for an affordable price, is welcome to contact me […] !
Chalil Raad. My workshop is located outside the [old] city
[of Jerusalem], near Hotel Howard at the bookbinder Rabbi
Leib Kahana of Safed’. Hahavatselet, 24th July, 1899, 320
(translated from Hebrew)
Figure 6.6 An envelope ( for film negative) with stamp of Prussian Court Photographer.
Courtesy of National Library, Jerusalem

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194 Sela
Figure 6.7 Jaffa Street, Jerusalem, 1898–1914. On the right side Raad’s and Savides’ stores. On
the left side, Krikorians’ store, American Colony Photography Department
Image courtesy of the Library of Congress
of Ramallah, using the proceeds to buy clothes for schoolchildren and the
blind. He also directed a photography club at the Young Men’s Christian
Association (YMCA).33
1.1 Chalil Raad’s Archive

In April 1948, around one month before the end of the British Mandate in
Palestine, Raad and his wife fled to Jericho. After being prevented from return-
ing to their home (an ethnic cleansing strategy of the conquering forces),
the couple were forced into exile in Lebanon. It was there that Raad died
33 The Palestine Post, December 12, 1939, 2; December 27, 1939 and December 19, 1936, 6. For
information on the Photography Club, see The Palestine Post, October 5, 1938, 4.

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Figure 6.8
Chalil Raad and John Krikorian, 1930.
Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views
made by C. Raad & J. Krikorian of
Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies, Costumes,
etc. of Palestine & Syria Identical
with Bible History, C. Raad &
J. Krikorian Photographers. Jerusalem,
Palestine (Jerusalem: The Commercial
Press, 1930)
sometime between 1955 and 1957.34 His studio was destroyed in the battles
of 1948, with some of its contents looted by soldiers and civilians, others lost
and some rescued by the family. In a partly destroyed area – ‘abandoned’ in
Zionist-colonialist terminology that erases, camouflages or reinterprets evi-
dence which contradicts the Israeli narrative – Zionist soldiers ‘found’ albums
scattered on the floor of Chalil Raad’s studio. ‘Only the albums remained,
because nobody took any interest in them, apart from a young company
commander … who was interested in the country’s history. This is how this
invaluable asset was saved.’35 Another group of looted photographs by Raad,
34 George Raad dates his father’s death to 1955, whereas both Ruth and Vera Tamari indicate
that it was in 1957.
35 Shiler, “‘Albomaṿ Hayedu’im,” 217–19; Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 166; Sela, Khalil Raad, 16.
Being an Israeli, I was able to see the albums, like other seized/looted images stored in

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196 Sela
Figures 6.9 and 6.10 Chalil Raad, 1933 Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views made by
C. Raad Photographer of Sites, Scenes, Ceremonies, Costumes, Etc. Etc., of Palestine
& Syria Identical with Bible History (Jerusalem: Beyt-Ul-Makdes Press, 1933)
together with photographs by the Rissās (Rassās) Studio and American Colony
Photographers, have lately been ‘revealed’ according to the Israeli newspaper
Haaretz.36 They were ‘rescued’ from a burning photography store in Jerusalem
during the 1947–1949 War of ‘Independence’ by an Israeli commander named
Moshe Carmel. The looting is described in euphemistic terms as a ‘rescue’ from
Israeli archives, if they were open, or if I succeeded after a fight to open them, while
Palestinians face obstacles.
36 Nir Hasson, “Hundreds of Photos Found from When Israel’s War of Independence Raged,”
Haaretz, December 9, 2018, https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/premium.MAGAZINE
-hundreds-of-photos-found-from-when-the-1948-war-raged-1.6725444.

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the flames, though in reality the photographs were stolen after the fire. The
article in Haaretz declines to discuss why the photographs were not returned
to their original owners and were instead ‘donated’ to an Israeli-Zionist insti-
tution, and why the archive of the institution catalogued the looters as the
owners.37
The wartime pillage of Palestinian property by individuals was prohib-
ited under international law,38 but whether the pillaged items were given
as gifts, sold to third parties or exchanged hands by other means, they were
consistently used to glorify the looters in their social milieu, serving as ‘tro-
phies’ or ‘souvenirs’ from the battlefield.39 If they were sold or transferred to
official state archives, they were managed, catalogued and interpreted accord-
ing to a Zionist terminology, usually censored for many years, reflecting the
newly established power hierarchy between looter and original owner, but
most strongly the destruction of Palestinian culture.40 When they remained
in private hands – as have many archives pillaged by individuals for private
gain – they were usually treated in a patronising or biased way, and their mean-
ing is cleansed. Usually they are also closed to researchers, and thus erased
from the public sphere. Raad’s albums have not been subject to alteration by
their Israeli owners and are preserved as Raad originally constructed them,
organised according to subject. Among their contents, which also can be
viewed in the textual catalogues,41 is documentation of rural and urban areas
in Palestine (landscapes, their inhabitants, familial scenes and documentation
of everyday life with a focus on ethnographic aspects), Jerusalem and its sur-
roundings as seen from various angles and aspects (religious, touristic, etc.), as
well as archaeological excavations, maps and plans. A small portion of Raad’s
work is dedicated to Ottoman aspects of the First World War, Arab resistance
to colonisation, cities and locations in the Middle East (such as Petra, Amman,
Damascus and Sinai), and Jewish (pre-or Zionist) communities. Like the textual
37 Sela, “‘Imprisoned Photographs’.”

38 Ibid. I discuss separate seizure by state bodies (Sela, Leʾiyun Hatsibur; Sela, “Genealogy of
Colonial Plunder and Erasure”; Sela, Limuʾayanh al-Jamhur-al-falasṭịniwn) and looting by
individuals, Sela, “‘Imprisoned Photographs’.”
39 Sela, “‘Imprisoned Photographs’.”
40 Sela, “Genealogy of Colonial Plunder and Erasure.”
41 Raad’s albums, which I found (and viewed) after long research and many obstacles, are
identical with the textual catalogues and with the way Raad’s negatives are numbered.
Since the albums are not open (yet), I published the entire 1933 textual catalogue of Raad
for the benefit of future research in Sela, Khalil Raad, 227–255 (I first published the cata-
logue’s cover and main contents in Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 167). Raad’s negatives (3000 in
number) are open for research at the IPS.

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198 Sela
catalogues, the albums served as a visual index of the photographer’s work and
appear to have been displayed in the store for potential clients. Each is com-
posed of a large number of black cardboard pages onto which four to six of
Raad’s original photographs relating to a specific subject matter are glued. The
images are accompanied by text (hand-written or machine typed) inscribed by
Raad himself (Fig. 6.11).
Raad’s negative archive, stored in the darkroom of a different building
on Jaffa Street, was saved from looting. The building was located in an area
between Jordan and Israel that was considered a no-man’s land from the
years after the 1948 war up until 1967. Ruth Raad and her husband Robert
asked for the assistance of an Italian friend of Raad’s, who worked in the
bookstore of Būlus Saʿid inside Jaffa Gate. Despite the difficulties, he man-
aged to enter the no-man’s land after the armistice.42 Ruth Raad donated
the collection of around 3,000 negatives to the Institute for Palestine
Studies (IPS).43
2 The Holy Land in Nineteenth Century Colonialist Photography
Chalil Raad began his photographic work during the last decade of the
nineteenth century in an environment shaped by modern Arab44 and Euro-
American forces. The new medium of photography, which emerged in 1839,
was ‘exported’ to the Middle East by many foreign photographers, developing
a colonialist photographic language. Expeditions that included government
and military officials, academic researchers and scientists, writers, religious
institutions, and commercial bodies were sent to explore the region, with par-
ticipating photographers and illustrators translating imperialist aspirations
and Western interests in the Near East into visual language. The French gov-
ernment, for example, equipped various institutions of information gathering
and knowledge production with the new photographic technology ‘to further
the project of academic Orientalism,’45 as exemplified by the work of Frédéric
Goupil-Fesquet in Egypt. John Cramb, the Scottish official photographer to
42 Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer.”

43 Correspondence with the IPS, February 13, 2010.
44 Zeynep Çelik, “Photographing Mundane Modernity,” in Camera Ottomana: Photography
and Modernity in the Ottoman Empire, 1840–1914, eds. Zeynep Çelik and Edhem Eldem
(Istanbul: Koç University Press, 2015), 154–200. See also Sheehi, The Arab Imago, xxv–xxix.
45 Ali Behdad, ‘Mediated Visions: Early Photography of the Middle East and Orientalist
Network,’ History of Photography 41, no.4 (2017), 365.

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the Queen, was also commissioned by Glasgow publisher William Collins

to make a series of views of Biblical sites in Jerusalem, while Maxime Du Camp
and Auguste Salzmann were sponsored on a mission by the French Ministry
of Public Education.46 The new art form remained consistent with Orientalist-
iconographic tastes, encompassing a variety of imagery and representation,
including panoramic landscapes and monuments, exotic scenes and arche-
types, staged studio portraits, archaeological sites, close-ups of archaeological
remains, and Biblical and deserted landscapes.
Multiple studies have examined the work of foreign photographers in the
Middle East, including their contributions to European and American colo-
nial projects in the region, through the prism of Said’s theory of Orientalism.
Where some emphasise the ‘imperialist lens’47 through which ‘the camera
captures and ultimately re-presents the monuments of the Orient … [and
the] effacement of the native population’,48 others foreground ‘imperialist
appropriation’,49 with the images treated as ‘mirrored photographs’ of the
‘imaginary or mental mould existing in the Westerner’s mind’.50 Similarly,
Europeans have been described in related scholarship as ‘emperors of the
gaze’ managing a ‘scopic regime’,51 whereby photography was presented as a
tool in the quest for knowledge. It framed the imperialistic perspective and
served as ‘a way to dominate the Orient’,52 while creating and assimilating
the colonial gaze. In a period of rapid colonial expansion, early photography
asserted human absence, depicting vast parts of the world as deserted, ‘vacant
spaces, empty cities and villages’ or needing a mission civilisatrice.53 The cam-
era imbued Orientalism with scientific credibility and thereby functioned as a
central pillar in the Orientalist framework. Mediating Western desires and fan-
tasies, it gave photographers a set of conventions through which to structure
Middle Eastern cultures for consumption by Western audiences.54
46 Ibid., 366, 374.

47 Keri Berg, “The Imperialist Lens: Du Camp, Salzmann and Early French Photography,”
Early Popular Visual Culture 6, no. 1 (April 2008).
48 Ibid., 11.
49 Fekri Hassan, “Imperialist Appropriations of Egyptian Obelisks.”.
50 Perez, Focus East, 50.
51 Gregory, “Emperors of the Gaze,” 224–25.
52 Berg, “The Imperialist Lens,” 4.
53 Abigail Solomon-Godeau, “A Photographer in Jerusalem, 1855: Auguste Salzmann and his
Times,” in Photography at the Dock, ed. Abigail Solomon-Godeau (Minnesota: University
of Minnesota Press, 1991), 159.
54 Behdad, Camera Orientalis. Behdad shows that Linda Nochlin was among the firsts to
relate to the interpretation of Said’s Orientalism in art, at the same time, discusses various
researchers (mainly art-historians), criticised the use of Said’s theory to apply equally to

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200 Sela
Figure 6.11 and figure 6.12 Pages from Raad’s Albums

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202 Sela
Furthermore, and while focusing on the Holy Land through colonial lenses,
the imagination was ‘double framed’; the Westerner was framed as having
‘the ability to draw the people he sees as he wishes’ while casting locals ‘as
subjects that could teach him the truth about the lives of Bible characters’.55
As many studies show, this resulted in a ‘bibliolatry’,56 or biblical ideology. The
(American) ‘visual culture surrounding the Holy Land’,57 for instance, depicted
the ‘authentic’ experience grounded in a national identification with the con-
cepts of a chosen people and a promised land,58 while (British) ‘Crusading
mania’59 reflected a longstanding religious-biblical impulse toward the Holy
Land.60 Rooted in the Bible’s ‘symbolic and spiritual significance’,61 such work
documented Biblical sites, holy places and Oriental landscapes, foreground-
ing purportedly abandoned and empty locations while wilfully ignoring local
inhabitants.62 Through focusing on subjects associated with events in the
Old and New Testaments (landscapes, ruins, ancient places, Biblical names,
sites with religious-historical significance), it provided visual ‘proof’ that the
Biblical world was preserved or frozen in time, and that the reality of the Holy
Land was one of an underdeveloped and exploitable world.
visual representation. Behdad, “Mediated Visions,” 364–366. See also Michelle Woodward,
“Between Orientalist Clichés and Images of Modernization,” History of Photography 27,
no. 4 (2003), 363; Zeynep Çelik, “Colonialism, Orientalism and the Canon,” Art Bulletin
78 (1996): 202–205 and “vernacular Orientalism” as an opposition to Orientalism: Eitan
Bar-Yosef, The Holy Land in English Culture 1799–1917: Palestine and the Question of
Orientalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 88.
55 Daniel Martin Varisco, “Orientalism and Bibliolatry. Framing the Holy Land in Nineteenth
Century Protestant Bible Customs Texts,” in Orientalism Revisited: Art, Land and Voyage,
ed. Ian Richard Netton (London: Routledge, 2013), 190.
56 Ibid.
57 John Davis, The Landscape of Belief: Encountering the Holy Land in Nineteenth-Century
American Art and Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 27. On the influ-
ence of the biblical paradigm on the US since eighteenth century, see also Mark Finney,
‘Christian Zionism, the US and the Middle East: A Sketch and Brief Analysis,’ in The Bible,
Zionism and Palestine: The Bible’s Role in Conflict and Liberation in Israel-Palestine, ed.
Michael Sandford (Dunedin, New Zealand: Relegere Academic Press, 2016), 21–23.
58 Davis, The Landscape of Belie, 27–72.
59 Bar-Yosef, The Holy Land in English Culture, 246.
60 Ibid. Bar-Yosef and John Davis relate to visual/popular means.
61 Paolo Maggiolini, “Studies and Souvenirs of Palestine and Transjordan: the Revival of
the Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem and the Rediscovery of the Holy Land during the
Nineteenth Century,” in Orientalism, Revisited Art, Land and Voyage, ed. Ian Richard
Netton (London: Routledge, 2013), 165–175.
62 Solomon-Godeau, “A Photographer in Jerusalem,” 159.

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Research confirms that only a small number of local people had in fact been
photographed since the beginning of photography in Palestine.63 Among the
few examples are images by the French Bonfils family, who opened a studio in
Beirut (active, 1867–1918).64 The minority of local inhabitants who were photo-
graphed were often presented as undeveloped or as Biblical characters.65 Images
from the (same) Bonfils studio, for example, depict a Palestinian boy and girl in
a wheat field described as ‘Boaz Field, Biblical Scene’.66 Configurations such as
this were repeated across photobooks and illustrations. Similarly, photographs
of individuals and sites were often ‘adorned’ by Biblical verses or references
to Biblical events. With such images in high demand, this approach was also
employed by foreign photographers living in Palestine, including American
Colony photographers. The local Palestinian population was thus designated
the function of preserving ancient Biblical life; they were not seen, but served
as mere figments of a colonialist imagination.67 In turn, the activities of the
imperialist came to reflect ‘layer upon layer of interests, official learning, insti-
tutional pressure that covered the Orient as a subject matter and as a territory
during the late half of the nineteenth century’.68
Early twentieth century Zionist propaganda made similar use of the Biblical
imagery developed by Orientalism in order to justify the return of a people to
‘their ancient land’.69 The visual infrastructure founded by Western photogra-
phers thereby fulfilled an important function in strengthening such Biblical
imagery. Accordingly, Palestinians were instrumentalised in photography to
preserve the Biblical era, presented as emblems of an ancient Jewish life,70
with the resulting images legitimating a Zionist expulsion and erasure (from
both land and imagination) of the Palestinian presence. For example, Ephraim
63 Ibid; Nir, Beyerushlayim Ubeerets-Israel,118; Nassar, Photographing Jerusalem, 36.

64 Woodward, “Between Orientalist Clichés,” 363.
65 Yeshayahu Nir, “Reshit Hatsilum Berets-Israel,” Ariel 66–67 (1989): 9–16.
66 Sometimes entitled as “Ruth and Boaz”.
67 Dani Rabinowitz, A’ntropologiya Ṿehafalasṭinim (Ra’anana: Hamerkaz Leḥeker Hatarbut
Ha’aravit, 1998).
68 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), 192.
69 Ilan Pappé, “The Bible in the Service of Zionism, ‘We do not Believe in God, but He
Nonetheless Promised us Palestine’,” in The Bible, Zionism and Palestine: The Bible’s Role in
Conflict and Liberation in Israel-Palestine, ed. Michael Sandford (Dunedin, New Zealand:
Relegere Academic Press, 2007), 7; Finney, “Christian Zionism,” 21; Nur Masalha, The Bible
and Zionism: Invented Traditions, Archaeology and Post-Colonialism in Palestine (London
& New York: Zed Books, 2007). Avi Rubin gives three examples – from Egypt, India and
the Zionist movement – to the way Orientalism was inherent by Eastern elites, to con-
struct nationalism: Avi Rubin, “Hamizrah Davar Ehad Vehama’rav Davar Aher”, Jama‌ʾa 7
(2001): 72–4.
70 Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 19–23; Rabinowitz, A’ntropologiya Ṿehafalasṭinim, 35–36.

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204 Sela
Moses Lilien, a Jewish illustrator and member of the Zionist movement who
co-founded the Bezalel Art School together with artist Boris Schatz, photo-
graphed local Palestinians, Samaritans and members of Jewish communities
for a Biblical illustrations series.71 Lilien visited Palestine several times for
the project between 1906 and 1918, while also publishing a number of pho-
tographs in the press. One such image of a Palestinian man, ‘Young Man in
a White Keffiyeh’ (1906), was used to illustrate the figure of Joshua (1908),72
while the photograph ‘Arab Riding a Donkey’ was used to depict Balaam
(1906).73 Similarly effective was the trend at the time of staging ‘exotic’ stu-
dio portraits of Westerners or local Jews, dressed up in Palestinian clothing
with Oriental-looking objects in the background; scenes which catered
to Eurocentric fantasies of an enchanted Orient.74 As Zionist writers and
visual-creators looked to Palestine and its inhabitants through a prism crystal-
ised in European Orientalist culture, ‘Zionist art came to the Orient equipped
with acquired blindness … and continued in this direction also after the
authentic contact with him’.75
3 Photography in the Shadow of Conflict
3.1 ‘Customs, Characters’

Against this Western mode of imagination and knowledge production around
the East and its attitude towards the local population, Raad devoted a con-
siderable portion of his work to depicting the vibrant and productive lives of
both rural and urban Palestinians (Figs 6.11, 6.12). His work captured sites and
views around the country from a Palestinian perspective reflecting moderni-
ty’s new social order while introducing ‘a new style of representation’.76 As an
ethnographic photographer, he also devoted a major section of his work to
71 Micha Bar-Am, Painting with Light: Photographic Aspects of the Work of Ephraim Mose
Lilien (Israel: Tel Aviv Museum of Art, 1991).
72 Ibid., 62–3. The image alluded also to figure of Theodor Herzl.
73 Ibid., 164–65. Lilien had contacts with Raad and may have been influenced by the lat-
ter. In a letter Lilien wrote to his wife (June 27, 1914) he told her that he was touring the
country on a horse with a local guide and taking photographs to produce biblical illus-
trations. He then added that he would usually develop the plates after dinner with Raad,
and by the time he washed them it was 11.00 p.m. and he would go to bed (Ruti Ofek,
E.M. Lilien Ha’man Hatsiyoni Harishon (Tefen: The Open Museum, 1997), 160.
74 See, e.g. photos by Soskin in Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 21–23.
75 Ariel Hirschfeld, “Qadima,” in To the East? To the East: Orientalism in the Arts in Israel, eds.
Yigal Zalmona and Tamar Manor-Fridman (Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1998), 14.
76 Woodward, “Between Orientalist Cliches,” 373.

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‘Customs, Characters’,77 in which he dealt with a breadth of subjects, including

education, professions, everyday family and communal life, culture, heritage
and clothing (Figs 6.13 and 6.14).
Unlike the Orientalist ‘figure studies’ and ‘types’ that were staged by pho-
tographers to capture some ‘hidden essence’ of cultural mystique,78 and
colonialism’s institutionalised ‘scientific’ classification of locals for purposes of
domination,79 Raad as an indigenous photographer established an autono-
mous gaze for his community (Figs 6.15 and 6.16).80 Moreover, by contrast with
his Palestinian colleagues who avoided photographing Zionist settlements,
Raad sought to purposefully document and counter the Zionist colonisation
process. Among his subjects were members of the Old Yishuv and the accel-
erating Zionist settlement of cities and rural locations.81 When in 1914 Arthur
Ruppin, director of the Palestine Office of the Zionist Organization, asked to
buy hand-painted photographs for Zionist propaganda purposes, Raad avoided
selling him such images.82 Sections of his work were meanwhile devoted to
documenting ‘The Arab Struggle against Balfour Declaration Day’,83 the Nabī
Mūsā procession (Fig. 6.17), the Palestinian demonstrations of 1928–9 and
1936–39 and Palestinian leaders such as Mufti Hājj Amīn al-Ḥusaynī.84
Researchers have thus asserted that ‘Raad’s work defies the obfuscating view of
his Western counterparts, whose work, consciously or not, served the cause of
77 Raad, 1933 Catalogue, 25; Sela, Khalil Raad, 239.

78 Gregory, “Emperors of the Gaze,” 225.
79 Susan Slyomovics, “Visual Ethnography, Stereotypes and Photographing Algeria,” in
Orientalism Revisited: Art, Land and Voyage, ed. Ian Richard Netto (London: Routledge,
2013), 132–134.
80 These photographs were also published in Gustaf Dalman, Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina
(Germany: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1964). He also presented Palestinian herit-
age exhibitions in his store, showing traditional Palestinian dresses, as discussed above,
and documented the Samaritans.
81 Documenting various Zionist settlements, he accompanied George Davis, who describes
how the ‘famous Jerusalemite photographer’ went with him, at his expense, in order to
‘take photos that both he and we would like to save from this trip’ (George Davis, Rebuilding
Palestine According to Prophecy [USA: The Million Testaments Campaigns,1935], 19).
82 July 13, 1914; Central Zionist Archive, KKL3/29.
83 Raad, 1933 Catalogue, 39; printed in Sela, Khalil Raad, 246.
84 He also documented the British occupation and Turkish surrender in WWI (1917). These
images are important as, until recently, it was believed that only the American Colony
photographers had documented the event (Ellie Shiler, “75 Shanim Lekibush Yerushalim
Bidei Habritim (1917–1992),” Ariel 88 (1992): 63–4). I am grateful to Rachel Lev, American
Colony’s archivist, who shared with me the information about the documentation of
the surrender.

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206 Sela
Figure 6.13 Native children of Banias, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 745 in Raad’s albums/
textual catalogue
colonialism and led to the fall of Palestine in 1948’.85 Moreover, his production
can be characterised as an individual and oppositional response to the com-
plex realities of a time in which Western ideas, as well as the modern Al-Nahda
knowledge production, were reified.
3.2 The Holy Land

Analysis of Raad’s work reveals a continuous, resilient dialogue (both visual
and textual) with the way the land was presented in the west. Raad’s stationery
from 1914, for example, bears the description ‘Photographer of historical places
in black, colour and sepia’ and ‘characters from the Land of the Bible’.86 In 1920,
he likewise marketed his work by stressing the country’s Biblical history, with
captions such as: ‘A large Collection of Lantern photographs of Biblical and
85 Al-Hajj, “Khalil Raad – Jerusalem Photographer,” 39. See also: Khalidi, Before Their
Diaspora; Elias Sanbar, Les Palestiniens, la photographie d’une terre et de son people de 1839
à nos jours (Paris: Hazan, 2004); Tamari, “Khalil Raad (1854–1957),” 7–13; Tamari, “The War
Photography of Khalil Raad.”
86 Central Zionist archive, KKL3/29.

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Figure 6.14 Women of Ramallah embroidering, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 285 in Raad’s
albums/textual catalogue

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208 Sela
Figure 6.15 Boy selling oranges, undated. Chalil Raad. No. a269 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue

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Figure 6.16 Untitled, undated (uncatalogued). Chalil Raad

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210 Sela
Figure 6.17 The Mufti leaving with the procession to Nabī Mūsā, date unknown. Chalil Raad.
No. a230 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue
Historical Places in Palestine and Syria’ (Fig. 6.18). In doing so, Raad estab-
lished ‘stylistic and expressive patterns that were different from those brought
by the European photographers but mimicked their familiar and institutional
versions […] similar to photography in other ‘colonial countries’.87
Raad photographed sites mentioned in the New Testament, including the
House of Simon the Tanner in Jaffa and the Inn of the Good Samaritan, as
well as places symbolically associated with Christianity, such as a carpentry
workshop in Nazareth, and girls from Bethlehem and Nazareth carrying babies
(see Fig. 6.12). Other locations of Christian religious-historical significance
regularly photographed by Raad included the Hall of the Last Supper and the
Via Dolorosa with its stations of the cross, all of which were common icons in
Western photography of the Holy Land. Moreover, Raad embellished some of
his photos with texts from the New Testament, situating his images in a given
religious-biblical context. For example, one photograph of a young Palestinian
shepherd is entitled, ‘Bringing back the Lost Sheep’, alluding to: ‘rejoice with
87 Translated from Hebrew. Nir, “Beyerushlayim Ubeerets-Israel,” 100.

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Figure 6.18 The Palestine Directory, 1920.
me; I have found my lost sheep’ (Luke 15:6).88 Another image is named ‘Camel
Looking through the Eye of a Needle’ (see Fig. 6.11 above), invoking the lines,
‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to
enter into the kingdom of God’ (Matthew 19: 24; KJV). Raad also photographed
locations referred to in the Old Testament, including sites where Biblical fig-
ures lived or major events took place, such as a photograph of a Palestinian
boy seated against the background of Zorah, with the caption ‘Zorah, Samson’s
Home’; a Palestinian girl in a wheat field entitled ‘Ruth the Gleaner’ (Fig. 6.19);
a photograph of Palestinian boys on the edge of a pit called, ‘Joseph’s Well,
Dothan,’ and ‘Ahab’s Well Near Jezreel’. The admiration garnered by such
images was noted by Raad himself, as he claimed in a 1906 advertisement:
‘Every day I receive thank-you letters […] particularly from people of European
descent’.
3.3 Biblical Archaeology

Research has repeatedly shown how archaeologists were among the first to
rally to the colonialist cause as the discipline developed in direct relation
to imperialism and colonialism.89 Derek Gregory highlights how ruins in
88 See also Sela, Tsilum Befalastin, 167–68.

89 Berg, “The Imperialist Lens,” 10. See also Barromi-Perlman, “Archaeology, Zionism,
and Photography in Palestine”; Jane Lydon and Uzma Rizvi, Handbook of Postcolonial
Archaeology (Walnut Creek, CA: Routledge, 2010); Paul Lane, “Possibilities for a postcolo-
nial archaeology in sub-Saharan Africa: indigenous and usable past,” World Archaeology
43, no. 1 (2011): 7–25; Albert Glock, “Archaeology as Cultural Survival: The Future of the
Palestinian Past,” Journal of Palestine Studies 23, no. 3 (1994): 70–84.

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212 Sela
Figure 6.19 Ruth the gleaner, undated. Chalil Raad. No. 656 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue
Egypt were stripped of the culture of the village and ‘ordered as geometries,
systematic arrangements of planes and surfaces that exposed the endur-
ing structure of an ancient civilization’.90 Archaeology remains strongly
Eurocentric and thus, on a global scale, it privileges Western perspectives.91 As
such, the archaeology of Palestine has been dominated by a so-called ‘Biblical
archaeology’.92 The monumental and archaeological imaginary focused mainly
on ancient places, virtually empty of human inhabitation, a vacant space. So
too, as research has underscored, archaeology was used as a cultural-nationalist
practice in the struggle to construct a Zionist identity that associated ancient
objects with national causes.93 In fact, the science of archaeology in Palestine
functioned (and in many ways continues to function) as a domain in which
90 Gregory, “Emperors of the Gaze,” 224.

91 Lane, “Possibilities for a postcolonial archaeology,” 8.
92 Glock, “Archaeology as Cultural Survival,” 71.
93 Nadia Abu El-Haj, “Producing (Arti) Facts: Archaeology and Power during the British
Mandate of Palestine,” Israel Studies 7, no. 2 (2002): 33; Glock, “Archaeology as Cultural
Survival,” 71.

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a colonial-cultural imagination is given form.94 Historically, it enjoyed the

status of a scientific practice, with the camera perceived as a positivist
tool that created accurate, objective depictions of the world, ‘serving as epis-
temic markers’.95
Raad accompanied many Western archaeological excavations, sometimes
as an official employee and sometimes documenting them out of his own per-
sonal interest in archaeology and Biblical sites, and probably was influenced
by these Western scholars.96 As early as June 1902, Raad accompanied Peters
and Thiersch in their exploration of the painted tombs in Maresha (in the
Beit Guvrin area), photographing the Hellenistic frescoes. ‘Under many diffi-
culties, [he] obtained such excellent results’,97 despite the fact that there was
not enough air inside the caves to ventilate the smoke created by the mag-
nesium flashlight, making the air too dense to breathe after a shot or two.98
David Jacobson argues that the importance of Raad’s work in documenting the
paintings from the third century BC lay in the fact that they were executed on
soft limestone walls and were in danger of deterioration.99 Furthermore, hav-
ing joined the Badè Expedition at Tall Al- Naṣaba in 1927100 and the Haverford
expedition in the spring of 1928, his participation in Eliyahu Grant’s expedition
reflected his motivation to explore important Biblical sites, such as the ancient
Beth Shemesh (Figs 6.20, 6.21).101 Grant emphasised the British Mandate gov-
ernment’s support for scientists and explorers eager to ‘[discover] the ancient
94 El-Haj, “Reflections on Archaeology and Israeli Settler-Nationhood,” Radical History

Review 86: 149–163.
95 Nadia Abu El-Haj, Facts on the Ground: Archaeological Practice and Territorial Self-
Fashioning in Israeli Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 2.
96 The textual catalogue indicates which excavation he accompanied.
97 John Peters and Hermann Thiersch, Painted Tombs in the Necropolis of Marissa (Marêshah)
(London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1905), xvii.
98 Ibid, 3.
99 David Jacobson, The Hellenistic Paintings of Marisa, Palestine Exploration Fund (London:
Maney, 2007).
100 Raad also joined the Badè expedition excavating in Mispah (1926–35). He was not the
official photographer of the excavations in Tell Al-Nasbeh (Chester Charlton McCown,
Tell En-Nasbeh Excavated under the Direction of The Late William Frederic Badè. Volume
I, Archaeological and Historical Results (Berkeley: Palestine Institute of Pacific School of
Religion and the American Schools of Oriental Research, 1947), xi).
101 Raad indicated that the excavations were led by Grant (1928–1933); Raad, 1933 Catalogue,
21; Sela, Khalil Raad, 237). See also, Elihu Grant, Beth-Shemesh (Palestine). Progress of
the Haverford Archaeological Expedition (Haverford, PA: Biblical and Kindred Studies,
1929), 9. British archaeologist Duncan Mackenzie excavated there earlier (1911–12) for the
Palestine Exploration Fund (PEF).

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214 Sela
Figure 6.20 Old Canaanite wall at Beith-Shems and women carrying baskets of debris,
c. 1928–1933. Chalil Raad. Excavation conducted by Dr. Grant, 1928–1933,
No. a148 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue
Figure 6.21 Washing and cleaning potshards c. 1928–1933. Chalil Raad. Excavation
conducted by Dr. Grant, 1928–1933, No. a144 in Raad’s albums/textual
catalogue)
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Canaan’.102 In this spirit, he also documented the remains of ancient Jewish

settlements, such as the ‘Excavations at Bethel of Jewish Period’; ‘Excavations
of Samaria at Jewish Period’; ‘Tomb of Absalom’; and ‘Rachel’s Tomb’.103 Glock
argues that although Albright succeeded at Bayt Mirsim in developing new
typological frameworks, the biblical connections remained, ‘illuminating’ the
general historical background.104 Raad also joined archaeological excavation
expeditions to Mispah, Ashkelon, Jerusalem, al-Khalīl (Hebron, directed by Dr
Madre), Tall Balāta and Nāblus (conducted in 1913–14 or 1926–27 by the Sellin
expedition), Bayt-Mirsim (1926–32);105 Beit She’an;106 Megiddo (Majīdū);107
Samaria (Harvard University, Fig. 6.22);108 Bethel (1934); Mispah; and Ashkelon,
as well as expeditions elsewhere in the Middle East. The names of the archae-
ological sites in Raad’s catalogues are often written in Hebrew transliteration.
The heritage and memory of the colonised land were expropriated from the
indigenous population to be replaced with ‘true heritage’ and simulated into
102 Grant, Beth Shemesh (Palestine), 13.

103 All quotes referring to Raad’s work are from Raad, 1933 Catalogue, 3–55; Sela, Khalil Raad,
227–254. Particularly interesting is Photograph 326c, called ‘Jewish Settlement at the Foot
of Mount Gilboa Overlooking Gideon’s Spring’, connecting the Jewish past and present.
The settlement is Kibbutz Ein Harod. Established in 1921, Raad probably photographed
it not long afterwards, since it used to be located next to the spring, right below Mount
Gilboa, as suggested in Raad’s caption and seen in the photograph. A few years later, it
moved to a nearby hill.
104 Glock, “Archaeology as Cultural Survival,” 73.
105 William Albright, The Excavation of Tell Beit Mirsim, Vol. II. The Bronze Age (New Haven,
CT: American Schools of Oriental Research, 1938).
106 Apparently by an expedition of the Pennsylvania Museum (1921–33) headed by Clarence
Fisher, Alan Rowe and Gerald Fitzgerald. Although multiple photos are included in the
book, it is not noted whether they have been taken by Raad. Gerald Fitzgerald, Beth-Shean
Excavations 1921–1923 (Philadelphia: The University Press, 1931).
107 Raad does not indicate in the visual albums which archaeological expedition he accom-
panied (by Gottlieb Schumacher in 1903–5, or by the Oriental Institute of the University
of Chicago in 1925), as opposed to other cases where this information is provided. The
albums do not include enough photos from these excavations to identify the expedition.
108 Raad, 1933 Catalogue, 54; Sela, Khalil Raad, 254. Samaria was also excavated by two expe-
ditions: the Harvard expedition (1908–10) and the Crowfoot expedition (1931–35). The
findings of the first were published in a two-volume book that included detailed notes,
photos, documents, illustrations, logs and information about the photographs, their
development, cataloguing, etc. George Andrew Reisner, Stanley Clarence Fisher, and
David Gordon Lyon, Harvard Excavation at Samaria 1908–1910, 1st volume (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 1924), 45. Despite this richness of detail, the photogra-
pher/s is/are not mentioned by name.

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216 Sela
Western culture.109 This practice is reminiscent of the activities of French

archaeologists in Tunisia for example, who portrayed themselves not only as
‘protectors’, but also excavators of heritage and history – that is, as creators of
memory, fulfilling a fantasy of a lost world.110
While recording these excavations, their discoveries and the work of foreign
archaeologists in order to expand the visual database about sites, Raad also
documented vast numbers of Palestinian labourers (both men and women)
at work, digging (see Fig. 6.20 above) or cleaning articles (see Fig. 6.21 above).
Glock demonstrates how during the Mandate, ‘Palestinian employees greatly
outnumbered the others … by and large they served as guardians at sites
around the country, museum guards and attendants, messengers, and cleaners.
Only a fraction of the seventy-three Palestinians employed by the department
held higher positions’,111 yet none of them was documented by Raad. Often, in
fact, workers were occasionally used to model relations of height or size with
artifacts that were central in the image,112 with formal aspects employed in
the service of constructing colonialist knowledge. For instance, Raad’s images
of the remains of the crusader church in Samaria with figures standing along-
side (see Fig. 6.22 below) recalls the photographs and photographic strategies
of the Bonfils in Samaria. Like his Western colleagues, Raad adopted some
iconographic and thematic aspects in depicting archaeological and architec-
tonic sites, ornaments and remains (such as the house of Martha and Mary
and Capernaum) and photographed close-ups of structures with ornamental
elements, indicating his dialogue with their work.
109 Yehoshua Ben-Arieh, “Hamosadot Hazarim Learchiologya Ṿelehakirat Erets-Israel

Bitkufat Hamandat: Helek B,” Cathedra: For the History of Eretz Israel and Its Yishuv 93
(1999): 136.
110 Annie E. Coombes, Reinventing Africa: Museums, Material Culture and Popular Imagi-
nation in Late Victorian and Edwardian England (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press,
1995), 193.
111 Glock, “Archaeology as Cultural Survival,” 75. Although most of them were connected to
the western/British production of knowledge in their education or occupation before and
during the Mandate, many focused on Palestinian cultural traditions (folklore, architec-
ture and the social context of the village house). Ibid., 72–79.
Sarah Irving discusses the role of Yusif Khazin and Yusif Kanaan in PEF excavations
that were employed in managing professional scientific work before and in the early
British Mandate (Sarah Irving, “A Tale of Two Yusifs: Recovering Arab Agency in PEF
Excavations 1890–1924,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 149, no. 3 (2017): 223–236.
112 Barromi-Perlman, “Archaeology, Zionism, and Photography in Palestine,” 49–51.

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Figure 6.22 Ruins of an old crusader in Samaria. Chalil Raad. Excavation conducted by
Prof. Sellin, 1913–1914 or 1926–1927, No. 317 in Raad’s albums/textual catalogue

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218 Sela
4 Resilient Resistance
Research has illuminated how indigenous photography constituted an opposi-

tional locus or resistant iconography, characterised by the invention of a local
practice which produced its own hybrid vocabulary. The Istanbul-based Sébah
commercial photography studio, for instance, adapted several conventional
European clichés, such as photographs of occupational types, to suit their
‘self-visions’ as ‘modernising’, while at the same time (especially with regard
to community portraits), emphasising order and modernity within indigenous
historical structures. This practice indicated a perspective that did not fit com-
fortably into the Orientalist mode.113 In parallel, the construction of a modern
middle-class subjectivity resulted in Iranian photography of the time being
characterised by representation of lower class ‘types’ – in essence, a domestic
Orientalist practice which mapped aspects of Western civilisational discourse
onto Iranian social structures.114 Stephen Sheehi, who discusses early Arab
and especially Lebanese imago, shows too that the adoption of foreign prac-
tices and technologies was not a passive act but ‘an ideological act by which
non-Western subjects claimed ownership of modernity’.115 In this regard, Avi
Rubin shows that Orientalism was inherent in Ottoman discourse generated by
the local population as a vehicle for inner criticism and change mobilisation.116
Louise Bethlehem advocates reading beyond the narrow dialectics of ‘oppres-
sion versus liberation’117 as ‘incomplete forms of resistance’ or ‘limited forms
of emulation’.118 Through developing a flexible, dual approach that sheds light
on new sites of identity formation and protest,119 hybridity may in this case
be recast as subversion120 or a mode of camouflage.121 In other words, it can
be argued that deceptive, multifaceted and sometimes contradictory features
113 Woodward, “Between Orientalist Clichés,” 371–373. See also: Çelik, “Photographing
Mundane Modernity”
114 Behdad, Camera Orientalis, 126.
115 Stephen Sheehi, “A Social History of Early Arab Photography or a Prolegomenon to an
Archaeology of the Lebanese Imago of the Lebanese Imago,” International Journal of
Middle East Studies. 39 (2007): 178.
116 Rubin, “Hamizrah Davar Ehad Vehama’rav Davar Aher”, 78.
117 Louise Bethlehem, “Likra’t hibridiyut aheret,” Teoriya Ubiḳoret 29 (2016): 193–204.
118 Ibid., 202.
119 Lila Abu-Lughod, “The Romance of Resistance: Tracing Transformations of Power through
Bedouin Women,” American Anthropologist 17, no. 1 (1990): 41–55.
120 David Jefferess, Postcolonial Resistance: Culture, Liberation and Transformation (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, Scholarly Publishing Division, 2008).
121 Homi K. Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse,”
October 28, Discipleship: A Special Issue on Psychoanalysis (1984): 125–133.

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form part of an obfuscation mechanism, a mask designed to wrap resistance.

Accordingly, Raad’s assimilation of one language into another may be read as
a form of ‘symbolic opposition’.122 Rather than a binary, unidirectional process
of liberation from Western patterns in favour of developing an independent
indigenous culture, what unfolds is an alternative interactive process ‘in order
to improve the model’s fit to the local country and ‘culture”. In other words, the
process is not static, but dynamic, multi-layered and replete with contradic-
tions that stem from a colonial context.
This article evolves from and elaborates on extensive research into the
power mechanisms of visual colonialism that contribute to an erasure of
indigenous cultures. Most specifically, it examines how the work of Palestinian
photographer Chalil Raad responds to and counters the destructiveness of
colonialism.123 As with other photographers and creators in the region, Raad’s
resistance was shaped in relation to the fictional Orientalist lens, while at
the same time developing a unique autonomous gaze. On a reductive ‘pur-
ist’ or ‘binary’ level, it becomes clear that the language of Western colonialist
photography has been internalised, ‘inherent’ and normalised in the local
photographer’s work. At the same time, Raad enabled the return of the voices
of those who were silenced by colonialism. This article, however, proposes
refocusing attention away from the indigenous practitioner’s subjugation to
colonial discourse toward the various strategies of resilient resistance that he
or she may employ – among them appropriation, deconstruction, disruption,
cross-referencing and reassembly. It thereby seeks to reformulate these prac-
tices through a wider lens that does not coalesce into mere oppositionality
but highlights such a problematisation and seeks to address the complex rela-
tions at play. In a world of dualism and dialogue, this research shifts (together
with Raad) between poles of representation and meaning. Raad’s work may
be difficult to wholly comprehend without discussing how Palestine’s visual
history has been (and is) written over more than a century of national conflict
and in the service of conflicting political causes, be they Western, Zionist or
Palestinian. This text articulates the struggle – which is still raging – for the
image of the conflict, that is powerfully bound with its historical roots and
against the colonial erasure of Palestinian historiography.
122 James Scott, The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion and Subsistence in Southeast Asia
(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1976), 84.
123 See also Sheehi, “A Social History of Early Arab Photography,” 179.

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220 Sela
In doing so, it considers (among other concerns) whether Raad in fact

photographed archaeology as an anti-colonial or indigenous practice,124 and
how his work was ‘shaped by indigenous knowledges’125 that structured the
decolonisation processes. Did he seek to challenge colonialist archaeology
through a multi-faceted approach in order to construct an alternate concep-
tion of the past to that forged by Western archaeology?126 It may be that Raad’s
work teaches us about other decolonised or different options of representa-
tion, interpretation and resistance that should be rethought. In the shadow
of ongoing colonialism and oppression in Israel/Palestine, in the midst of an
intractable conflict, and in view of the continued struggle against erasure, and
for its visual aspects, its overt and covert layers and its competing political and
ideological justifications and rationalisations, such questions remain open.
Acknowledgments
This research and article could not have been completed without the generous
assistance of George Raad, Chalil Raad’s son (R.I.P.) and his family. I am also
grateful for their permission to publish his father’s photographs and their fam-
ily photographs.
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Just Memory, Khalil Raad (1854–1957) (Filastin qabl 1948: laysat mujarrad dhakira:
Khalil Ra’d (1854–1957)), edited by Vera Tamari, 17–25. Beirut: Institute for Palestine
Studies, 2013.
Tamari, Vera. “Khalil Raad (1854–1957) – Palestine’s Pioneer Photographer.” In Palestine
Before 1948, Not Just Memory, Khalil Raad (1854–1957) (Filastin qabl 1948: laysat mujar-
rad dhakira: Khalil Ra’d (1854–1957)), edited by Vera Tamari, 7–11. Beirut: Institute for
Palestine Studies, 2013.
The Palestine Post. December 19, 1936, October 5, 1938; December 12, 1939; December 27,
1939.
Trigger, Bruce. “The History of African Archaeology in World Perspective.” In A History
of African Archaeology, edited by Peter Robertshaw and Bruce Trigger, 309–319.
London: James Currey, 1990.
Varisco, Daniel Martin. “Orientalism and Bibliolatry. Framing the Holy Land in
Nineteenth Century Protestant Bible Customs Texts.” In Orientalism Revisited: Art,
Land and Voyage, edited by Ian Richard Netton, 187–204. London: Routledge, 2013.
Woodward, Michelle. “Between Orientalist Clichés and Images of Modernization.”
History of Photography 27, no. 4 (2003): 363–374.

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Chapter 7
Open Roads: John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos,

1934–1939
Rachel Lev
Over centuries, Western artists and media have created a potent

visual archive of the Middle East that is largely made up of clichés of
violence, chaos, and Orientalist tropes of exoticism. Contemporary
photographers and cultural workers are crafting new mechanisms
for memorialising history through photography as they and their
fellow citizens experience it, effectively creating an archive where
they belong.1
∵
Set in 1930s Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt and Turkey, John D. Whiting’s
Diary in Photos series (1934–1939) offers a rare example of a visual genre inter-
twined with major events, daily life, family relations and personal emotive
observations, sketching a rich ethnographic portrait of private and public
life in Mandate Palestine and neighbouring cultures during the 1930s. In its
entirety, this corpus offers the reader a rare cultural panorama of the region in
the period before 1948.
The underlying assumption of this work is the existence of a reciprocal rela-
tionship between the photographer and the photographic subject and between
the photographer and the landscape. By looking at the corpus in its entirety,
rather than extracting sections dealing with discrete narratives, we encounter
a cartographic rendering of people, places and events Whiting encountered
during his trips and exploration of the Middle East and his life as a member of
the American Colony in Jerusalem. We can begin to understand the complex
position that Whiting held, despite the sometimes critical interpretations that
contemporary readings bring to the archive.
1 Michelle L. Woodward, “Creating Memory and History,” Photographies 2, no. 1 (2009): 21-35.1
0.1080/17540760802696930.
© Rachel Lev, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_008

of the Sanchez
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228 Lev
Figure 7.1 John D. Whiting [left], Ḥusayn Salīm Afandī al-Ḥusaynī (Hussein Selim Effendi
al-Husseini) [Mayor of Jerusalem] and Ismāʿīl Bay al-Ḥusaynī (Ismail Bey
al-Husseini) [Director of Education], c. 1908. From Members and Activities
of the American Colony, c. 1890–1906. Photograph album. Photographer Unknown.
Visual Materials from the papers of John D. Whiting
Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress,
Washington, D.C.

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Open Roads: John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, 1934–1939 229
Can we relate to the Diary in Photos as an autonomous corpus, in which the

creator documented the Middle East in a manner that reflects the multiple
identities of the subjects depicted against a constantly changing backdrop?
Did his ethnographic knowledge, personality, biography and status within the
American Colony in Jerusalem influence his attitude toward the various indi-
viduals, communities and places with which he interacted? Is this influence
expressed across the body of the work or in specific series? Are we, as inter-
preters, able to read the Diary in Photos in its entirety?
John D. Whiting (1882–1951) a man of broad talents and interests, was
a Jerusalem-born and a member of the American Colony in Jerusalem, an
American Christian community established in Jerusalem in 1881 by small
group of Americans from Chicago, Ill. Whiting worked as a personal tour
guide, curator, collector, ethnographer, geographer, writer, photographer, ama-
teur botanist and Deputy Consul of United States of America in Jerusalem.
While creating the Diary in Photos, Whiting crossed Palestine and the Middle
East hundreds of times, met with dozens of people, dined with kings, guided
archaeological expeditions and slept in Bedouin tents. He toured capital cit-
ies and isolated settlements, teeming markets and sacred sites. He researched
local cultures and published articles on natural science and ethnography in
National Geographic.2 He also served as a consultant for British Mandate offi-
cials in Palestine since 1917 and participated in the British Mandate’s social and
political processes, as a professional, with his family and the American Colony
collective.
The Diary in Photos series consists of five parchment-bound volumes 24 cm
in height and 15 cm in width, each with between 100 and 250 photographs, in
9 × 9 cm sepia tone prints. The photographs are mounted on cardboard, with
two photographs arranged vertically on each page and four photographs per
double spread. In all, the diaries consist of over 900 photographs that Whiting
had selected out of some 2,800 images taken with his personal Rolleiflex cam-
era from 1934 to 1939.
This period is particularly poignant, coinciding with both ‘The Great Revolt’
(by Palestinians against the British, in protest against continued Zionist immi-
gration, 1936–39) and the Fifth Aliyah (the fifth wave of Zionist immigration
from Europe, 1929–1939).
Exploration of the Holy Land as an aspect of faith was etched into the iden-
tity of the American Colony in Jerusalem from its founding by Horatio and
Anna Spafford in 1881. Travel and studies of the Holy Land continued to mark
2 John D. Whiting’s articles were published in National Geographic between 1913 and 1940. See
the full list at the end of the bibliography.

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230 Lev
Figure 7.2 Studio Portrait of John D. Whiting, c. 1905–1910. From Portraits of the Vester
and Whiting Families and the American Colony, 1905–1913. Photograph album.
Photographer unknown. Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting
Washington, D.C.
the congregation’s identity as younger members adopted exploration-related

professions, which included archaeology, land surveying, tour guiding, pho-
tography, botany, ethnography, and hosting. The latter – hosting – exposed
them to like-minded explorers and artists who would often stay for pro-
longed periods as their guests. Similarly, the work of the American Colony
Photo Department (ACPD), a collective of fifteen known photographers of
Palestinian, American, Indian and Swedish origins, involved extensive travels
to remote places in well-planned photographic expeditions.3
The late nineteenth century saw the establishment of state-sponsored reli-
gious research institutes in Jerusalem, whose new inhabitants’ knowledge and
aspirations complemented those of the Colony. To name just a few, the French
3 Rachel Lev, “Photography and Genius Loci: Hol Lars (Lewis) Larson’s photograph ‘Kaiserin
Augusta Victoria Stiftung on Olivet’ (1910–1914).” In Tracing the Jerusalem Code, Volume III,
ed. Ragnhild J. Zorgati, Anna Bohlin, 2021.

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Figure 7.3 Typical Diary in Photos album page.

Above: Trip to Trans-Jordan with four Anglo-Catholic Sisters, 1937.
Sketching in Kasr Kharani
Below: Trip to Trans-Jordan with four Anglo-Catholic Sisters, 1937.
Sketching in Kasr Kharani
Note: In most cases, the Diary in Photos image captions presented
here are quotations of captions written by Whiting as a supplement
to his Diary.
From Diary in Photos, Volume II, 1936–1937.
Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting
Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress,
Washington, D.C.
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232 Lev
École Biblique et Archéologique Française, founded in 1890, followed by the

American School of Oriental Research (today the W.F. Albright Institute of
Archaeological Research), founded in 1900, and the Deutsches Evangelisches
Institut für Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen Lands, founded in 1902. The
new inhabitants of these institutions established close ties with members
of the American Colony that harboured similar interests. These encounters
proved formative and led guests and hosts into fruitful exchanges and com-
mon ventures. For Whiting, and other younger generations of the Colony, it
was a further schooling. Lars E. Lind recalls in his memoir:
Archaeology seemed to spur on the study of theology. A majority of the

annual students from the colleges of Europe were theological gradu-
ates; Palestine Archaeology was in fact inseparable from Bible research.
The Colony was a host to the great majority of American students
and the young men of the Colony, thanks to their intimate knowledge of
Figure 7.4 Group portrait of the Vester and Whiting Families at the American Colony, 1924.
With John D. Whiting (third from left up, wearing dark suit). ACPD photographers.
Glass Negative. From American Colony Members and Associates, 1880s–1930s.
Glass Negative Collection
American Colony Archive Jerusalem

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the land and the Arabic language, became the guides and interpreters
of the annual excursions.4
The Diary in Photos is a personal account maintained over a span of six years
with a range of contrasting, seemingly unrelated themes: historical events, as
well as journeys with unusual personalities; wild nature alongside the rich cul-
ture of Bedouin tribes; historical sites and royal wedding ceremonies; a turtle
laying eggs in the American Colony gardens and stormy demonstrations in the
streets of Jerusalem following the publication of the 1939 White Paper, as well
as intimate family gatherings and official encounters. As in real life, Whiting’s
photographic diaries intertwine major events, daily life, family relations, and
personal emotive observations.
The progression of photographs follows a chronicle of written diaries that
span the years 1905 to 19415 but do not cover the entire period. Possibly, some
of the diaries were lost. Whiting was a diligent, concise writer. In an abbrevi-
ated style, not unlike today’s Twitter, he documents his daily schedules and
lists his trips on the diary’s first pages.
Drove to Laila’s house and then to pigeon cave via Ras Beirut.
In Dog river and saw the inscriptions. Sunday, October 27 [1907]6
He writes in order to record dates, locations, weather, people with whom he

travels or interacts, historical sites, and major interests. At times, he expands
his abbreviated descriptions and uses the data later in carefully written eth-
nographic and geographic articles. One example is his description of the
Samaritan Passover ceremony on Mt. Gerizim (Jarizīm) near Shechem
(Nablus) on April 1, 1916, which Whiting published as a limited edition album
in Sweden7 in 1917 and as an article in National Geographic in January 1920,8
4 Lind, “Jerusalem Before Zionism and the American (Swedish) Colony,” 209.
5 John D. Whiting, Diaries, John D. Whiting Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress,
Washington D.C., Box 1, 1905–1918; Box 2, 1934–1935; Box 3, 1938–1941. See also: Finding Aid to
John D. Whiting Papers: https://hdl.loc.gov/loc.mss/eadmss.ms008123.
6 Ibid., Box 1, 1905–1918.
7 John D. Whiting and Lewis Larsson, Samaritanernas päskfest I ord och bild (Passover
Celebrations of the Samaritans in Words and Pictures), Limited edition, no. 159 of 300, intro.
Sven Anders Hedin and Selma Lagerlöf (Stockholm: Albert Bonniers Forlag, 1917); Rare Books
Collection, American Colony Archive, Jerusalem.
8 See Yazan Kopty’s discussion of John D. Whiting’s article, “The Last Israelitish [Israelite]
Blood Sacrifice” in this volume.

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234 Lev
a b c d
Figure 7.5 Typical Diary in Photos album pages (from left to right)
a. Tortoise laying eggs / Jewish Protest to White Paper, 1939.
b. Jewish Protest to White Paper, 1939.
c. Iris Trip to Syria. Kasr el Banat / Bedouin woman and boy digging Kimme, 1939.
d. Iris Trip to Syria, Camel calf just born, 1939.
Diary in Photos, Volume V, 1939. Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting
Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
both with Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson’s photographic rendering of the event.9
In the ethnographic articles Whiting published in National Geographic from
1913 to 1940, he links description and interpretation of the present cultures and
the biblical ethos. One article, ‘Bedouins in the Bible Lands’,10 documents a
disappearing culture that was replete with charm and depth. Most of his arti-
cles are illustrated with the work of the ACPD photographers taken during well
planned photographic expeditions.
Between 1934 and 1939, his written diaries follow his visual diaries closely
and serve to complement them. While adding the captions to the photographs
in the diaries, Whiting often refers to the written diaries.
Whiting served two terms as Deputy Consul of the United States of America
from 1908 to 1915, specialising in agriculture and geography. During this period,
he published numerous consular reports on issues of commerce and labour,
9 John D. Whiting, “The Last Israelitish [Israelite] Blood Sacrifice: How the Vanishing
Samaritans Celebrate the Passover on Sacred Mount Gerizim,” National Geographic
Magazine XXXVII (January 1920): 1–46, https://archive.org/details/lastisraelitishb00whit/
page/42/mode/2up.
10 John D. Whiting, “Bedouin Life in Bible Lands. The Nomads of the ‘House of Hair’
Offer Unstinted Hospitality to an American,” National Geographic Magazine, LXXI
(January 1937): 58–83.

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Figure 7.6 To Syria with the Bowens, 10th–20th December. Lebanon

reforesters at work, 1937. From John D. Whiting’s Diary in Photos,
Volume II, 1936–1937. Photograph album. Visual Materials from
the Papers of John D. Whiting
Washington, D.C.
archaeology and, presciently, animal welfare.11 His 19th July, 1909 report is
titled ‘Railroads in Far East, Description of the Damascus Mecca Line’.12 During
the First World War, he joined the Red Crescent emergency medical service.
Along with other Colony members, he initiated several projects for the welfare
of Jerusalem residents, including a day centre for women and children, a soup
kitchen and military hospitals in Jerusalem. In 1918,13 he began working for
the British Secret Intelligence Service, updating geopolitical maps and serving
11 John D. Whiting. Consular and Trade Reports, 1909–1915. John D. Whiting Papers,
Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington D.C., Box 16, 1909–1915.
12 Ibid.
13 See Karène Sanchez Summerer Norig Neveu chapter in this volume related to Jaussen’s
information-gathering for the French during the same period.

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236 Lev
Figure 7.7 Staff of the American Consulate, Jerusalem, 1910–1914. With William Coffin,
Consul General of United States of America, John D. Whiting (second from
left, leaning against the wall), Deputy Consul, the qawās (consular guards) and
others. Photographer unknown. From Early Photographs of the American Colony,
1870–1925, Photograph album.
American Colony Archive Jerusalem
as an interpreter in Arabic.14 At the same time, Whiting collaborated with

architect Charles Robert Ashbee (1862–1942), the civic advisor of the City of
Jerusalem,15 and the Pro-Jerusalem Council, a multicultural decision-making
body, founded by Sir Ronald Storrs to prepare restoration plans for Jerusalem
and its surrounding neighbourhoods. Whiting and the other American Colony
members developed close relationships with the British Mandate’s govern-
ment’s leaders who would often dine and stay the American Colony.
14 John D. Whiting, handwritten note describing his work for the British Secret Intelligence
Service in 1918. American Colony Archive, Jerusalem. The note compares John D. Whiting’s
role in the map division of the British Secret Intelligence Service to that of Aaron
Aaronsohn (1876–1919), who did similar work in northern Palestine. The note appears to
be a personal statement of John D. Whiting, but it is not signed.
15 Jerusalem, 1920–1922, Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council During the First Two
Years of the Civil Administration, by Ashbee, C.R. (Charles Robert Ashbee, 1863–1942),
https://archive.org/details/jerusalem192019200ashbuoft.

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The scope of the corpus precludes extensive analysis within the confined
context of a chapter, but there are several interlinking themes that help to
frame it. First, it gives us some insights into the cultural complexity of identity
in the British Mandate period to which Whiting’s albums correspond. Second,
the albums reveal how Whiting’s position facilitated international exchanges.
Third, it shows how Whiting’s genre of photographic diaries affects our reading
of them.
1 Identity and the Complexity of Belonging
Whiting was part of the American Colony Photo Department from its founding
in 1896 until its dispersal in 1934. Yet, these diaries express his own personal
viewpoint, not that of the collective. His statement is as an individual pho-
tographer and is simultaneously investigative, documentary, and particular. It
reflects his own life, the reality of the Middle East, its permanent and tempo-
rary residents, the political transformations of his time and the region’s natural
and cultural landscapes.
Whiting was born in Jerusalem in 1882, one year after his parents John and
Mary Whiting and his sister Ruth immigrated to Palestine from Chicago, along
with the founders of the American Colony community, Horatio Gates Spafford
and Anna T. Spafford. The original community of seventeen Americans and
two British aspired to witness a spiritual awakening and hoped to witness the
lost glory of Jerusalem restored. They settled on a high hill inside the Muslim
Quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City, between Herod’s Gate and Damascus Gate.
Members lived an ascetic lifestyle and purified themselves in anticipation of
the messianic event by doing good works for others.
In 1896, when Whiting was fourteen, the American Colony expanded and
absorbed a new group of some 120 men, women, and children, seventy-seven
of whom were Swedes with a similar messianic, millenarian identity.
Unexpectedly, several of the younger generation expanded the boundaries
of the sect from religious messianism to a secular ethic that sanctified the
everyday acts, and became active participants in Jerusalem’s commercial and
cultural life as well as in the dramatic changes that affected the region. Others
awakened from their idealistic dream only to be shattered by the harsh reality
of communal life in Jerusalem, which led them to abandon the collective.
Whiting came of age at a time when Jerusalem was inundated with
Americans and Europeans making pilgrimage, research or leisure tours to the
Holy Land. Many stayed at the American Colony guest house and participated

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238 Lev
in the commune’s internal social dynamic. Leading Christian archaeological

research institutions were established near the Colony in the Sheikh Jarrah
neighbourhood. Some became close collaborators with the Colony and were
assisted by Whiting’s extensive knowledge of the Land and its archaeology.
Like other members of the Colony, Whiting spoke fluent Arabic. While still
a young adult he travelled extensively in the Jerusalem environs and beyond.
The people he met during these journeys became friends for life, were they
locals or foreigners who temporarily resided in the Holy Land. He had great
admiration for the leaders of the Bedouin tribes and their customs, making
repeated visits to their tents, attending their ceremonies and exploring their
culture. He visited them alone as well as with his family and community or
with guests whom he escorted on guided tours. A few of his Arab friends who
studied in the first integrated school in Jerusalem established by the Colony
became leaders in Jerusalem and Mandate Palestine.16
2 To Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne, 1935
A good example of the complex space which the American Colony in

Jerusalem,17 and indeed Whiting himself, occupied was in April 1935, when
Whiting accompanied Sir Edgar Horne, politician and chairman of British
Prudential Insurance Company, on a fourteen-day tour of the entire Middle
East. Whiting orchestrated the trip for Horne and his entourage, including
flights and meetings with Haj Amin Husseini (1897–1974), the Grand Mufti
of Jerusalem. The journey began in Cairo and passed through Jerusalem. The
group continued to the newly built (1932) water-activated power station at
Nahārayīm, which was partially sponsored by the Prudential Company on land
purchased from Amīr ʿAbdallāh. There, the group met with Zionist engineer
Pinchas Rutenberg, who had envisioned the project and brought it to comple-
tion. From Nahārayīm, the delegation went on to visit Tiberias and Beirut.18
16 Lars E. Lind, “Jerusalem Before Zionism and the ‘American’ (Swedish) Colony,”
Lars E. Lind Papers (1979), Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington D.C.,
Box 2, 244.
17 ‘American Colony in Jerusalem’ relates to the historical name of the community active in
Jerusalem between 1881 and 1948. The American Colony Hotel, established early in the
1950s is owned today by descendants of the historical community.
18 John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos Vol. I, part 2, 1935. “To Petra with Sir Edgar Horne;
Edgar Horne in Syria; Visual materials from the papers of John D. Whiting, Prints and
Photographs Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C., https://www.loc.gov/
resource/ppmsca.17161/?sp=2&st=gallery (Images 51–63 in the full-page digital album
version).

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The photographed series of the journey with Horne consists of 26 pho-

tographic prints and begins on a page that displays the final image from
Whiting’s previous tour, a flock of storks against a cloudy sky. Under this
photograph, Whiting placed a snapshot taken from the interior of Sir Edgar
Horne’s room in the Shepherd Hotel in Cairo. The lens looked out onto the hotel
garden surrounded by trees, fountains, gazebos and seating areas. In contrast
to the schema of thematic albums, Whiting juxtaposes subtle visual transitions
when shifting narratives, with the landscape often becoming the binding element
between the stories. The series ends with Sir Edgar in silhouette in Nāqūra, lean-
ing on a rock, gazing towards the Mediterranean, holding a branch in one hand
and a cup of tea in the other. Whiting’s photographs rarely include close-ups. In
the thumbnail compilation of photographs, the landscape is a dominant feature.
For the most part of this series, the individual subject, sometimes uniden-
tifiable, is seen in miniature against an open landscape, whether natural,
archaeological or urban. Whiting amalgamates his subjects within the land-
scapes of the Levant as a contextual element. This he applies to photographs
of Sir Edgar and his entourage as well as to photographs of a Domari girl and
her brother as she dances before guests on the road to Jerash.
On 8th April, Whiting photographed Horne and a member of the entourage,
Mr Lever, at the airport with an Imperial Airways airplane seen at background.
They took off and flew over the Gulf of Suez, while Whiting photographed
from the air the mountainous landscape of the Gulf, the city of Suez (Suwās)
and Fort Tawfīq port. In his diary on that day, Whiting wrote:
We reached Abuassi airport, where a three-engine Imperial Airways

airplane awaiting us. Took seats after being weighted etc. Started at 8.11
and left around 8.13. […] At 8:30 flying at 4500 ft. 10:15 bumpy 5000 ft.
up. 10:15 Gulf of Arabia sight. […] 10.55 over Petra Valley, 6500 ft. up. […]
11:40 landed on Fjord (?). [The flight] was bumpy all the time after first
recorded. Sir Edgar [Horne] slept and read a lot, said he was scared […]
Reached Cook camp by 3:30 p.m. Beer and tea and then took Mr. Lever
to the Crusader castle and down Wad [valley] Syngh [near Petra].[…]
Captain Loraine piloted plane helped by Mr. Coster.19
On 13th April, Horne picked up Whiting at the American Colony store at Jaffa
Gate. They visited Bethesda pool in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City of
19 John D. Whiting, Diaries, John D. Whiting Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of

Congress, Washington D.C., Box 2, 1934–1935.

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240 Lev
a c
b d
Figure 7.8 Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935
Note: The four photograph compilations illustrating the highlighted series is a
partial selection from the complete album series. Please follow the footnotes links
to see the full album pages series.
a. Sir Edgar and Mr Lever. Tomb of the Urn, Petra, 1935.
b. Sir Edgar at El Khazna, Petra, 1935.
c. Mr Lever on top of the Crusader Castle, Petra, 1935.
d. Sir Edgar [Horne] in the siq, Petra, 1935.
From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume I, Part II, 1935. Photograph album.
Washington, D.C.

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Jerusalem and the Temple Mount area. On the morning of April 17th, Whiting
with Horne met with the Grand Mufti for a long interview. Earlier that week,
Whiting accompanied Mr Lever and Mr Muelford to a meeting with the Grand
Mufti, who asked the Prudential officials for a loan of 100,000 pounds for the
purchase of land and the construction of a building in Jaffa.20 In the after-
noon, Whiting escorted Horne to Bethlehem and Solomon’s Pools. They ended
their day over tea at the King David Hotel, a central meeting point for the
British Mandate officials. On 19th April, Horne and Whiting travelled through
Transjordan to Syria. They visited the Temple of Artemis in Jerash and the
Nahārayīm power station, where Rutenberg explained the workings of the sta-
tion to Sir Edgar. In his diary on that day, Whiting wrote:
First thing in the morning found Mr. Joshua Gordon in Hotel trying to
telephone us. […] Mr. Asherwood and Mr. Lever saw him almost at once
and made arrangements for visits to Zionist activities […]. I had a long
time alone with Mr. Joshua [Yehoshua] Gordon [Zionist, coordinator
between Zionists and British authorities] […] and was able to tell him
about Col. Layton and then brought up questions if I would be wanted
in the party. He wanted me to go along. I drove to the German settle-
ments and then to Rutenberg [Nahārayīm power station]. Found both
brothers and wife of [Avraham]. After lunch together looked over words
and departed. It seems Prudential lent Rutenberg lot of money but it was
quickly repaid to Mr. Lever’s consternation. We drove through Tiberias on
to Nazareth. […]21
The interior shot of the Nahārayīm power station resembles a dra-

matic scene from Fritz Lang’s 1927 futuristic film ‘Metropolis’, with engineer
Pinchas Rutenberg explaining the power station workings to Sir Edgar Horne.
Rutenberg’s brother Avraham stands beside them with his wife, looking
towards the camera, while Pinchas Rutenberg and Horne focus on the explana-
tions. The exterior shot, taken against the massive concrete dam in Nahārayīm,
shows the British gentlemen involved in a dialogue at the front, Rutenberg and
his brother talking to each other on the right side, while Whiting, who had
handed the camera to someone else, is seen standing behind them all, in con-
templation, his hands behind his back. These two images manifest the evolving
20 A perusal of his 1935 diaries reveals that Whiting visits the Mufti several times both with
guests and in private. He also calls the Mufti to discuss the loan request with him.

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242 Lev
tensions between the British powers and the Zionists as well as between the
Zionists and the American Colony. The diminished scale of the human figure
against the dominance of the context, a distinct feature of Whiting photogra-
phy, is evident here too.
Photographs of the journey show the entourage visiting sites and historical
monuments. At times, Bedouins or Domaris penetrate the photograph’s frame.
The group is seen sitting together in Jerash, conducting a lively intimate con-
versation against the monumental archaeological landscape. At other times,
Horne appears alone against a vast natural backdrop, as in Nāqūra, northern
Palestine. Even when Whiting photographs the group in Jerusalem against
the Prudential offices in the background, his subjects seem distant and dis-
connected. This is a group of wealthy tourists with a clear economic interest,
which lays an anchor in Palestine during Mandate rule. In the local conscious-
ness, Whiting is considered a well-informed tour guide, and thus his services
are procured to escort the respected delegation. He escorts them on their visits
to the Mufti and apparently also serves as their translator.
Whiting hesitated visiting the Zionist project. The tension between him and
Rutenberg is an indirect manifestation of the rising strains between British
Figure 7.9 and Figure 7.10 Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935. Left: Mr
Rutenberg (younger) explains to Sir Edgar the workings, 1935.
Trip to Petra and Syria with Sir Edgar Horne and Mr Lever, 1935. Right: The
party outside the electrical station, 1935. From John D. Whiting, Diary in
Photos, Volume I, Part II, 1935. Photograph album. Visual Materials from the
Papers of John D. Whiting
Washington, D.C.

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authorities, Palestinians and Zionists.22 Whiting was known for his work with
the British Secret Intelligence Service and was a close ally of Palestinians
and the Mandate officials, and thus, Rutenberg might have considered him as
persona non grata. Yehoshua Gordon, the coordinator between the Zionists
and the British Mandate authorities, convinced Whiting to join the tour despite
his hesitations.
In 1935, Whiting’s political position was located at the juncture between the
Palestinians, represented by his close ties with the Mufti Hājj Amīn al- Ḥusaynī,
and the British authorities. The identity of the American Colony as a neutral
entity throughout the Ottoman rule and in the early twentieth century enabled
its members to develop close ties with Palestinians, who frequented the Colony
premises and institutions and developed friendly relationships with its mem-
bers. The violent struggles however, between Palestinians and Zionist changed
the political map and skewed the location of the American Colony’s identity in
relationship to British. Aside from the encounter at Nahārayīm and Whiting’s
long conversation with Yehoshua Gordon, this series documents the visit of
the Prudential president and delegation as a potential business-oriented tour.
Mary Roberts and Jocelyn Hackforth-Jones23 attempt to contrast the term
‘stereotypical stasis’ with cultural processes when iconographic conventions
cross borders between East and West. They claim that multiple cultural iden-
tities have mutual influence, and their implications must be studied. The
Orientalist practice modifies its central position in defining the exotic ‘other’ to
transpositions of ideas from one disciplinary field to another.24 These research-
ers cite Fred Bohar, who examines the term ‘period value’. This term asserts
that photographic content is accessible to the viewer long after it is created,
in a manner different than the accessibility of conventional academic textual
knowledge. We must study, claim Robert and Hackforth-Jones, what is defined
as ‘the connected world of empires’ to discover intercultural connections that
were ignored when the focus is concentrated solely on the parameters of impe-
rialist European cultures.25
The movement between Orientalist tropes and the connected histories
that ‘period value’ yields, shows the complexities of relating to indigenous
cultures that cannot be ignored. Entirely compressing such complex bodies
of work into Orientalist paradigms forces the reader to adopt this viewpoint
22 Ibid.
23 Jocelyn Hackforth-Jones and Mary Roberts, “Introduction: Visualizing Culture across
the Edges of Empires,” in Edges of Empire: Orientalism and Visual Culture, eds. Jocelyn
Hackforth-Jones and Mary Robert (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 2.
24 Ibid., 15.
25 Ibid., 17.

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244 Lev
as the dominant history while ignoring the ‘period value’ encoded in the
photographs. Multi-faceted narratives are the only accounts capable of con-
tradicting erroneous stereotypes and collective interpretations. This act
of ‘writing and interpretation becomes a true mission, capable of recharging
the collective memory with components that were deleted from it because
they were read incorrectly’.26
By contrast, should academic research choose to examine photographs
from an aesthetic or exotic viewpoint alone, the photographs lose parts of their
historical narrative. At its heart, they encode the identities of individuals and
groups and the complex relationships among these identities. Micklewright
asserts that in the past thirty years, the term ‘Orientalist’ has been used broadly,
without critical reflection. The individuals who collect, preserve, display and
print such collections must adopt the interpretive potential contained in this
fluid diversity of identities, instead of compressing it into the grey category of
Orientalism.27
3 Wedding of Emir Talal (Amīr Ṭalāl), 1934
Volume I of the Diary in Photos includes six photographs from the grandiose
wedding of Amīr Ṭalāl in Amman.28 A complementary set of fifteen photo-
graphs of the wedding ceremony taken by Whiting on the same day constitutes
part of Whiting’s thematic photographic series titled ‘Bedouins in Jordan and
Other Locations’. Here, Whiting focuses on the Bedouins depicted during the
wedding festivity customs.29
Sorenson, David [Whiting], Jock [Vester], and myself rode in the car to
Amman. We arrived in the afternoon and discovered that the wedding
procession had already begun. This was the wedding of Emir Talal, the
son of Emir Abdullah. The procession began at the Parliament building
26 Woodward, “Creating Memory and History,” 27.

27 Nancy Micklewright, “Orientalism and Photography,” in The Poetics and Politics of Place:
Ottoman Istanbul and British Orientalism, eds. Zeynep Inankur, Reina Lewis, and Mary
Roberts (Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2011), 106.
28 John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Vol. I, 1934–1935, “Wedding of Emir Talal,” 26–27 Nov.
1945. Visual materials from the papers of John D. Whiting. Library of Congress,
Washington, D.C., https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.17161/?sp=1&st=gallery (Pages
35–38 in the full-page digital album version).
29 John D. Whiting, Bedouins in Jordan and Other Locations, 1934–1935, https://www.loc.gov/
pictures/item/2007682814/ (Pages 29–37 in the full-page digital album version).

via free access
and continued to the palace. Bedouins on horses, with swords. The mah-
mal [bridal tent] from Damascus was mounted on a large camel and
escorted by two Circassian [guards], each bearing an Arab flag. Several
Bedouins wore armour on their backs. Sorenson and I ran after the group
to the palace and took good photographs.30
One of these photographs (Fig. 7.11), shows Amīr ʿAbdallāh standing on the
palace entrance steps, with Bedouin and Circassian representatives on his left
and a group of British Mandate representatives in uniforms on his right, all
gazing at the camera. The current group of photographs includes a scene of
the procession accompanying the bride who rides in the traditional mahmal
tent mounted on a camel. They lead the bride towards the palace, her escorts
alongside. Next, we see a parade of Bedouin knights on horseback, wearing
plated armour, with round metal shields hung across their backs and swords
in hand. Another photograph shows preparation of the feast for the ‘tribes’
outside the palace. The high commissioner is hosted at the king’s table at noon
and Palestinian dignitaries attend the evening reception. A close-up of the
king’s noble horse is excluded by Whiting when editing the Diary in Photos,
but appears as part of the same event in the thematic album Bedouins in Jordan
and Other Locations.31
The relationship between Whiting and King ʿAbdallāh of Transjordan is
evident in ACPD photographs beginning in 1921, when Whiting met Abdullah
and other dignitaries at a ceremony held at Augusta Victoria, then the British
Civil Administration headquarters. At the ceremony, Abdullah accepted the
offer of Winston Churchill, Herbert Samuel, and T.E. Lawrence to rule Eastern
Transjordan under British Mandate authority. This event was photographed
in detail by the ACPD photographers as depicted in the World War I and the
British Mandate in Palestine, 1917–1926, photograph album. A second encoun-
ter between Mandate leaders and Abdullah took place in April of that year
near Amman, and was documented by Colony photographer Lewis (Hol Lars)
Larsson. Whiting participated in the event and hobnobbed with Emir ʿAb-
dallāh, T.E. Lawrence, and other Mandate dignitaries.32

31 John D. Whiting, Bedouins in Jordan and Other Locations, 1934–1935. Photograph Album.
Visual Materials from the Papers of John. D. Whiting, Prints and Photographs Division,
Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
32 Hol Lars (Lewis) Larsson, ACPD photographers, Meetings of British, Arab, and Bedouin
Officials in Amman, Jordan, April 1921, photograph album, https://www.loc.gov/item/
2007675257/.

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246 Lev
a c
b d
Figure 7.11
Wedding of Emir Talal (Amīr Ṭalāl), Amman, November 26 & 27, 1934.
a. Emir Abdullah (with Shaykh Mutgal el Fiez) watching the procession
passing palace, 1934.
b. Bedouin Warriors in medieval armour, 1934.
c. Returning from the Palace. ‘The mahmal ’, 1934.
d. Emir Abdulla’s Horse, 1934.
From John D. Whiting, Bedouins in Jordan and Other Locations, 1934–1935.
Photograph album. Visual Materials of the Papers of John D. Whiting
Washington, D.C.

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Figure 7.12 Bedouin and Circassian Leaders, Amman, April 17, 1921. With T.E. Lawrence
(third from right in grey suit and hat) and John D. Whiting (sixth from right),
posing with an airplane and pilot at Amman Jordan. From Meetings of British,
Arab and Bedouin officials, Amman, Jordan, 1921. Photograph album. Hol Lars
(Lewis) Larsson, ACPD. Visual Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting
Washington, D.C.
4 Bedu Camp at Deir El-Belah (Dayr Al-Balaḥ), 1934
Given Whiting’s tenure as Deputy Consul and his position in British Mandate
society, one of the series in the 1934 volume of the photographic diaries that
has particular resonance represents an event that took place in September
when Whiting escorted Ely E. Palmer (1887–1977), the newly appointed
Consul General of the United States of America in Jerusalem and his wife on
a three-day trip to southern Palestine, at the invitation of ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif. They
were joined by Whiting’s wife Grace, their son Wilson, Anna Grace Vester Lind
(daughter of Bertha Vester, Grace’s sister) as well as Mrs. Rolston and Whiting’s
dog Barak. Whiting and his party stayed at ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif’s Bedouin camp and
watched camel and horseraces in Gaza. ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif prepared a Bedouin tent
for the men and a new British tent for the women. He sent a cook and a waiter

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248 Lev
to provide his guests with the city-style dishes to which they were accustomed.
Riding on camels and horses, they travelled back and forth from Gaza to the
camp in Dayr al-Balah.33
ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif (1892–1973) was a Palestinian journalist, politician, writer, and
historian who studied in Istanbul and worked as a journalist and translator
for the Foreign Office. During the First World War, he served as an officer
of the Ottoman Empire, was captured on the Caucasus front, and sent to a
prison camp in Siberia. While in prison, he edited a handwritten newspaper
and translated the writings of Ernst Heinrich Haeckel (1834–1919; German
zoologist, naturalist, philosopher, physician, and artist) into Turkish. After
the Russian Revolution, ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif returned to Palestine, where he became a
political activist and editor of the Syrian newspaper Sūriyya al-Janūbiyya, the
first Arabic nationalist newspaper published in Jerusalem.34
ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif took part in the Nabi Musa festival of 1920, which led to mass
riots during which he was arrested. After he was released, he fled to Syria with
Hājj Amīn al- Ḥusaynī (1895–1974), the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. Later he
advised the Palestinians against violence, and encouraged them to adopt ‘the
quiet, courage and discipline of their opponents’.35 In Damascus, he became
Consul of the Syrian Congress, founded the Palestinian Arab Society and
became its general secretary. After the French invaded Syria in 1920, he fled to
Transjordan, returned to Jerusalem, and became district officer of Beersheba
and later of Gaza. After 1948, he became Ramallah’s district officer and director
of the Palestine Archaeological Museum, now the Rockefeller Museum.
The photographic series of this journey depicts the small group of guests
and hosts in a quiet, relaxed atmosphere at the Gaza seashore.36 Whiting’s
selective compilation of eight photographs depicts the narrative elements
carefully. He first presents the party watching the Gaza races, without showing
us the races, and on the same page exposes the setting of the camp, with a
tree and camels kneeling at front. The locals are presented next, with one of
33 John D. Whiting, Diaries in Photos Vol. I, 1934–1935, “Bedu [Bedouin] Camp at Deir
el-Belah [Dier al-Balah,]” (29 Sept.–1 Oct. 1934), in Visual Materials from the Papers of John.
D. Whiting, 29–32, Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.17161/?st=gallery (follow images 25–28 in the
full-page digital version).
34 Bernard Wasserstein, “‘Clipping the Claws of Colonisers’: Arab Officials in the Government
of Palestine, 1917–1948,” Middle Eastern Studies 13, no. 2 (1977): 171–194.
35 Ibid.
36 John D. Whiting, Diaries in Photos, Vol. I, 1934–1935, “Bedu [Bedouin] Camp at Deir
el-Belah [Dier al-Balah.]” (29 Sept.–1 Oct. 1935 https://www.loc.gov/item/2007675295/
(follow images 25–28 in the full-page digital version).

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a c
b d
Figure 7.13
Bedu Camp at Dayr al-Balaḥ. Invitation of ʿĀrif Bay, Sept. 29–Oct.1, 1934
a. Watching the Gaza races.
b. The camp near Deir el Belah, 1934.
c. Lunch in Bedouin tent. Grace [Whiting], Mr. Palmer, Mrs. Palmer, ʿĀrif Bay
and the Sheikh
d. The party on the sands
Washington, D.C.

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250 Lev
the hosts, and a ‘Gypsy’ (Domari37) belly dancer entertains the guests, while a
musician plays for her. Interior tents scenes follow with the amusing image of
Consul Palmer on his knees shaving in front of a hand mirror and, in another
tent, the party sitting together after lunch enjoying conversation with ʿĀrif
al-ʿĀrif. The next image takes us outside again to show ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif’s ‘ladies’
tent, and the series concludes in a magnificent scene of Bedouin hosts with
guests in swimming costumes, posing for Whiting’s camera behind a row of
kneeling camels, against the sea of Gaza.
Whiting’s lens is as light as his pen. In his scenes, not one personality
appears more important than any other. ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif plays the gracious host.
He enables the guests to set aside their usual formal diplomatic manners and
indulge in each other’s company, enjoying the atmosphere, sea, sand dunes,
races, music and local dancing. This scene is a climactic encounter between
ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif, Ely E. Palmer, John D. Whiting and his family, Bedouins, and the
sheikh of Dayr al-Balah. Whiting knew each of the personalities, and he made
the connections between Palmer and his wife and ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif, thus offering an
informal setting for diplomatic relationships.
The setting seems to enable the guests to free themselves from the social
conventions that characterised European and American diplomacy. Likely,
the encounter supported the development of emotive and intellectual sharing
between the guests and their hosts, under Whiting’s and ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif orches-
tration. Based on this series and other series in the Diary in Photos corpus,
Whiting and ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif apparently had a close friendship nourished by their
common interests.
Palmer arrived in Palestine on 11th March, 1934, on board the steamer
Excalibur. The Tel Aviv municipality held a formal reception in his honour at
Beit Ha’am (a cultural meeting place). Before commencing the voyage, Palmer
had met with representatives of the Jewish community at the Pennsylvania
Hotel in New York. Community leaders expressed the hope that he would
enjoy his new position and contribute to transforming Palestine into a joyful,
fruitful (Zionist) land. On his part, Ely Palmer declared diplomatically that he
took a broad view of his appointment in Jerusalem and that he was interested
not only in ‘friends’, but also in foreigners. In contrast, it seems that Whiting
37 The Doms are a people related to the Romani of Europe. Sometimes they are referred to as
‘Gypsies’ or ‘Middle Eastern Gypsies’ in English, and ‘Nawar’ in Arabic. In Palestine, they
specialised in two particular trades, metalwork and entertainment. See Yaron Matras,
“Two Domari Legends About the Origins of the Doms,” Romani Studies, 5th series (10,
2000): 53–79.

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organised the meeting in Dayr el-Belah in order to promote diplomatic rela-

tions between Palmer and ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif.
5 To Palmyra with Cromwell Party, 15th–19th April, 1938
Perhaps one of the more curious themes of Whiting’s visual diaries is the
series of 24 photographs documenting the visit of tobacco heiress Doris Duke
Cromwell (1912–1993) in Damascus and Palmyra. After her wedding in 1935 to
James Cromwell, the couple began a well-planned honeymoon trip around the
world. During the trip, Doris gained an appreciation of the rich Islamic artistic
and architectural tradition and began to collect Persian and Middle Eastern
and Islamic art for her home in Florida. While the couple were in Hawaii, Doris
decided to use these artifacts to decorate her planned mansion in Honolulu
instead. Arthur Upham Pope (1881–1969), was an American expert on Persian
art and culture and a professor of philosophy and aesthetics who aided the
Cromwells in organising the excursion. In March 1938, Doris travelled to Iran
and the Middle East for six weeks to purchase Islamic art works for her home in
Hawaii, which she named Shangri La. The journey began in Alexandria and the
Cromwells visited also Cairo, Luxor, Lydda (Lod), Damascus, Palmyra, Aleppo,
Baalbek, Haran, Baghdad, Tehran, Mashad, Isfahan and Istanbul.38 Upham
Pope booked the Cromwells and their party a private KLM plane for the jour-
ney and introduced them to merchants and consultants who appraised their
selected items. The Cromwell visited Damascus twice, once in March and sec-
ond in April and in both events Whiting was present. His written diaries recall
both meetings but his visual diaries recall only the April Meeting with the
Cromwells in Damascus and Palmyra.
The first meeting with the Cromwells and their party took place in Damascus
between 15th and 17th March, 1938 and the second between April 14 and 19
1938. Whiting is called by Georges Asfār of the prominent Damascus-based
antiquities firm of Asfār & Sārkīs (Georges ‘Geo’ Asfār and Jean Sārkīs) with
whom Vester & Co., the American Colony Store in Jerusalem, had commercial
relations, to bring over a rare rug for Cromwells and to consult Asfār and Sārkīs
in managing the purchase process. The Cromwells arrived in Damascus on 16th
March and Whiting guided them on their first tour of the area. The Cromwell
party continued to visit bazaars and markets and Whiting writes that ‘it was
38 John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Vol. III, 1938. To Palmyra with Cromwell party,
April 15–19, 1938.Visual materials from the papers of John D. Whiting Library of Congress,
Washington D.C., https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.17413/?sp=2&st=gallery (Follow
full-page digital album version, image 42–52).

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252 Lev
hard to keep track of them’. On 17th March, Whiting meets the Cromwells and
joins them with Asfār and Sārkīs in search for additional artifacts.39
A month later, On 15th April, 1938, 4:30 a.m. Whiting left the American
Colony for Damascus to continue to advise the Cromwells on their purchases
of artifacts and as their interpreter of the events in Palmyra. On his way to
Damascus, he took a few photos which he titled ‘Pipe-line near Afūla [North
East Palestine] on fire at dawn’ and displayed these as the opening images of
this series, to memorialise events in Palestine in contrast to Damascus. With
Whiting as consultant, Doris purchased dozens of items worth hundreds of
thousands of dollars.40 Following their visit in Damascus, the Cromwells trav-
elled to Palmyra on their private KLM plane, escorted by Whiting. At Palmyra,
they were received by Asfar and Sarkis as well as local dignitaries including
Emir Fawas, leaders of Bedouin and Domari tribes and of the French regime
and were hosted by the mayor of Palmyra for lunch. They then attended an
impressive, staged performance of camel, horse, and donkey races, and a
‘Gypsy’ (Domari) wedding. Residents of Palmyra, local Bedouins, and French
officers of the Desert Patrol were also present and captured in Whiting’s
camera.

Congress, Washington D.C., Box 3, 1938–1941. Whiting’s 1938 diary consists of detailed
descriptions of the Cromwells artifacts purchase process. Whiting writes in his diary:
March 17 Thursday – Damascus; Cromwell. Ran out to see the reed flute maker and then
to glass works and settled acts and chose few pieces and designed some Jordan water
bottles in Ammonite shape. Met Geo [Asfar] and party [the Cromwells] at Asfar store
at 10. We took them out in search of upholstering Persian shawl designs. It early became
evident that they wanted to go alone. We left them and after a time they (Mr. and Mrs.
Cromwell and Ruth) returned to Asfar and asked to see pearl inlaid furniture. We took
them to the old bazaars and found what they were trying to buy from them. He had asked
them fabulous prices. We had asked them to dinner but they refused, but now he turned
to Geo and said they would like to have dinner. We at once sent Sammy to start the dinner.
It was a hectic afternoon but finally we gained their confidence. Toward evening I bought
two bureaus for them for 5.30 pounds and they were delighted. They bought a little statue,
door knockers, ivory cat etc. We had a sumptuous dinner lasting from 10 to about 12 mid-
night sitting on ground around tray.
40 One of Duke’s stunning purchases in 1938 was a traditional Damascus painted wood-
paneled room that she later modified for one of the rooms in Shangri La. This is the famous
traditional 1830 Damascus wood-paneled room. https://www.hisour.com/damascus
-room-shangri-la-museum-of-islamic-art-culture-design-49582/. Duke maintained com-
mercial relations with Asfar and Sarkis in the years following her 1938 visit. Doris Duke
Papers, Doris Duke Charitable Foundation Historical Archives, David M. Rubenstein Rare
Book & Manuscript Library, Duke University.

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a c
b d
Figure 7.14
To Palmyra with Cromwell Party, April 15–19, 1938
a. Reception party at Palmyra aerodrome, 1938.
b. Desert Patrol riding standing atop camels, 1938.
c. The camel chariot race driven by black riders in gazell[e]-skin suits, 1938.
d. A Bedouin wedding staged by Gypsies. Accompanying the bride on the
mahmal, 1938.
From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume III, 1938. Photograph album.
Prints and Photographs Division Library of Congress,
Washington, D.C.

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254 Lev
At 11:30 a.m. we were in the air. We flew over Damascus and the mosque,
and then through the desert to Palmyra. […] The gardens of Damascus
a mosaic, saw the lake for the first time, then the endless, rolling desert.
[… We flew] parallel to it, and then to south of Tombs valley. Circled Arab
castle and landed at 12:30. Emir Fawaz met us with three negro slaves
dressed in purple. We drove to the mayor’s home for lunch […] After
lunch – donkey, camel and chariot races. The women could not leave the
tents and were sent to the hotel. After supper of roast lamb in open, went
to Captain’s attractive home, Gypsy dance.41 April 18, 1938.
The photographs of the impressive Desert Patrol who ride camels while stand-
ing, dressed in long white robes and ʿabāya, displays the power of the Palmyra
Bedouin community. The photograph of women and children of the city of
Palmyra who watched the special demonstration is no less impressive.42
A month earlier, Whiting noted in his dairy that while in Damascus to meet
the Cromwells, Amīr Fahāmī called and informed him ‘that there was to be a
big festivity in the desert of Palmyra on the 16, 17, 18 [of April.] We are expect-
ing the Cromwells back on the 15th [of April, writes Whiting] so that will just
fit in with our desire to give them a special good time’.43
Throughout her lifetime, Doris Duke Cromwell collected over 4,500 items
of Islamic art, and eventually established an institution for the preservation of
Islamic art that is still active today.44 Her home in Hawaii today is the Shangri
La Museum for Islamic Art, Design & Culture.
Asfār and Sārkīs are not identified in the photographic series, but based
on the detailed descriptions in Whiting’s written diaries, and on photographs
taken by Duke, we can imagine their Damascus shop and the elite group of
expert dealers that marketed art and antiquities as well as their marketing
strategies. Asfār’s business acumen and the commercial relations between him
and Whiting, on behalf of the American Colony Stores, is apparent but also
unexpected. While Whiting waited for Asfār in vain in his store to join in the

42 John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Vol. III, 1938, “To Palmyra with Cromwell party,”
15–19 April 1938; “City women watching the races,” LC-DIG-ppmsca-17414-00088 (Digital file
from original on page 48, no. 1769). https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.17414/?sp=88.
44 The Shangri La Museum for Islamic Art and Design website displays Islamic Art that
was purchased by Doris Duke in Damascus in 1938, as well as the invoices of purchases.
https://collection.shangrilahawaii.org/collections/32672/artwork-on-view/objects.

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Figure 7.15 City Women [and Children] Watching the Races. To Palmyra
with Cromwell Party, April 15–19, 1938. From John D. Whiting,
Diary in Photos, Volume III, 1938. Photograph album. Visual
Materials from the Papers of John D. Whiting
Prints and Photographs Division, Library of
Congress, Washington, D.C.
sale of a rug he brought over from Jerusalem, Asfār visited Mrs. Cromwell in her
hotel room and sold her the rug for $39,000.
In his written diary, Whiting describes the fascinating negotiations dur-
ing which Mrs Cromwell purchased the artifacts from Asfār and Sārkīs and
other Damascene merchants and bazaars. The purchase processes included
generous hosting in the home of Asfār’s partner, Sārkīs, who prepared a feast
for lunch: baklawa with meat, stuffed chicken and pastries filled with cream
and pistachios. An evening dinner was ‘sumptuous’, with both hosts and their
guests sitting for hours around a tray.45
45 The Diary in Photos series constitutes a selection of approximately 900 photographs from
approximately 2,800 photographs taken by Whiting from 1934 and 1949. It is unfortunate
that the rejected images are not available for research online.

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256 Lev
From the moment the group boarded the plane in Palmyra, Whiting doc-
umented the series of outdoor events.46 In his lens, he captured city women
and children watching the races, and the camel chariot race driven by a black
man wearing gazelle-skin costumes. He documented the Bedouin camel riders
waiting for the signal to mount their saddles and the Desert Patrol in their
white uniforms, riding on camels while standing and holding the reigns. The
ostentatious display continued with Palmyra ‘Gypsies’ staging a wedding.
First, the bride was raised onto her mahmal tent on camelback accompanied
by dancing. The bride was then ‘kidnapped’ in a staged raid. The ‘kidnappers’
were caught and the bride was returned to the tent by the Desert Patrol, to
the accompaniment of drums and revelry. At the end of the demonstration, a
French general awarded prizes to the participants. The particularities of such
staged ‘kidnapping’ on the one hand plays into Orientalist tropes, but in read-
ing the performativity of such an event, and Whiting’s diary notes taken in
Palmyra, as well as viewing a short home movie taken by the Cromwells47 we
begin to understand the cultural meaning that underlines the ceremony.
Whiting writes that the event was ‘a mock GHAZU,’ (a staged ghazū,)48 a
performative raid that developed from pre-Islamic tribal traditions where
tribesmen raided caravans, looted, kidnapped and engaged in slave trade,
except during two months of the year that were known as the ‘Forbidden
Months’ or the ‘Holy Months.’ During these months, the tribes could not
launch raids ‘for safety of the travellers and trade and survival of the Arab
desert’s economy.’49

47 Follow link to the rare footage titled ‘Travels in the Middle East 1938’ at the Doris
Duke Charitable Foundation Historical Archives, David M. Rubenstein Rare Book and
Manuscript Library, Duke University. (Minute 17.06 to minute 18.15). https://exhibits.
library.duke.edu/exhibits/show/dorisduke/movie.
Diary notes were taken during ‘a mock GHAZU,’ e.g., staged launched (GHAZU) raids.
The staged GHAZU continued all night with constructing the bridal tent [mahmal,] danc-
ing ‘Gypsies’ accompanying the bride and depositing her on the tent:
[…] During the joyful event, ‘regular bedu’ came rushing on their camels firing their
rifles and stole the bride, loading her on a camel behind an Arab. The tent [mahmal] was
pulled down and dust thrown in the air. The camel corps now arrived from a distance and
rescued the bride and brought her back, with the raiders handcuffed.
49 Frederic P. Issace. 2003. “Indigenous People Under the Rule of Islam. Part II: The Rise
and Spread of the Message (Ghazu) raid”. http://members.oktiv.net/fpi/IPUROI/
16PART2Ghazzu%20Raid.html.

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Figure 7.16 To Palmyra with Cromwell party, April 15–19, 1938. A traditional
‘mock (ghazū)’ raid. The bride alights from the camel, 1938.
From John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, Volume III, 1938.
Photograph album. Visual Materials from the Papers of
John D. Whiting
Prints and Photographs Division, Library of
Congress, Washington, D.C.
The performativity of the Bedouins and ‘Gypsies’, entertainment being one

of the predominant industries of the Domari, in the presence of local and
international dignitaries shows that the ceremony was likely practised with
regularity to memorialise the importance of safe desert commerce, an event
that gestures toward a local understanding of cultural diplomacy with the
extension of an invitation to the Cromwells during their purchasing expedition.
The setting shows once again the complex space which Whiting inhabited.
Given his expert role, facilitating the purchase of artifacts for the Cromwell
collection, and his initiative to invite the Cromwells to watch the perfor-
mance, shows that Whiting understood the Western market for the Orient,
in both cultural and mercantile terms. He was also in a position to facilitate

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258 Lev
this within local social networks including the Damascene merchants, the
‘regular’ Bedouins of Palmyra, the ‘Gypsies’, the Camel Corps Bedouins and the
French regime.
With this in mind, we must place Whiting as a conduit within a broader
nexus of modern relations. He was involved in both international and regional
networks of art and antiquities sales as well as diplomatic relations. He was also
active in regional and local networks of cultural exploration, while facilitating
the meeting of meaning-making between cultural consumers and producers,
outlined in the introduction to this volume, within a global context. The meet-
ing of the local, the regional and the global as exemplified by the Cromwell’s
visit shows a complex confluence of actors that range from Amīr Fahāmī, the
urban firm of Asfār & Sārkīs, The American Colony Stores, Whiting himself
included; to scholarly international networks, such as Upham Pope; and the
Bedouin and Domari performers, whose indigenous knowledge and traditions
highlight at least some agency with the proffering of performative cultural
production; and, of course, to the Cromwells, whose consumption of culture
was shaped by local and global forces. Notwithstanding the power dynamics
Whiting shows us – the Bedouin and Domari performers, for instance, are not
named in his diary, unlike Western and urban Middle Eastern actors – implicit
in this complicated network of actors is the underscoring of local and regional
urban-rural divides. This also highlights the importance of contextualising
period value as outlined in the previous section.
We might also view the articles Whiting published abroad, both for National
Geographic in the US, his consular reports and publications in Sweden, as
well as his commercial relations with international clientele as a co-manager
of Vester & Co., American Colony Stores as continuities of his specific under-
standing of the market for Palestine abroad and the facilitations of local
relationships with the west.
The presence of the British Mandate government and increasing tensions
between Zionists and Palestinians permeate the photographic diaries, and we
may easily apply imperialistic paradigms to the selected examples. Yet analysis
of the series shows at the same time an unusual panorama of local cultural
and natural phenomenon that is permeated by extensive regional systems of
mutual cultural influences. For example, Doris Duke Cromwell’s search for
Islamic art in the region unfolds patterns of commercial relationships that
stretch beyond the Syrian merchants to regional and international networks
of dealers and consultants, while local communities joined forces to secure
the deal.
Doris Duke Cromwell’s fascinating story of her early Islamic art purchas-
ing tour is inspiring, but at the same time it challenges the ethics involved in

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transferring art objects from their places of origin to Western countries, using
an extensive local and international commercial network to support the deals
and acquisition of cultural artifacts. The UNESCO Convention Concerning
the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage50 aims to preserve
cultural treasures in their places of origin. With the perspective of time, specifi-
cally in the light of today’s destruction of cultural heritage treasures in Palmyra
and Syria, Doris Duke Cromwell’s shopping trip for local Islamic art and Duke’s
efforts to preserve Islamic culture may be judged differently.51
6 Conclusion: ‘Meta-Archives’ as Alternative Histories
By recording his trips, and through a careful editorial process, Whiting man-
aged to create an inter-related personal, cultural, and spatial matrix in time.
Studying a visual diary is very different experience to examining topical pho-
tograph albums which, according to Nancy Micklewright,52 involves viewing a
collection of photographs ‘that was mediated by some kind of a selection pro-
cess’. Thus, examining a compilation from the point of view of its assembly is a
crucial aspect of working with a photographic series. The visual diary presents
us with additional challenges. It appears to be a compilation that was arranged
chronologically, yet it preserves encoded data that can only be traced through
visually migrating back and forth from the detail to the entire corpus.
Modern commentators face additional moral questions. Many historical
remnants were lost, including those of the members of the photography collec-
tive who left the Colony in the early 1930s and settled elsewhere in Jerusalem.
The large collection of photographs and negatives belonging to Lewis (Hol
Lars) Larsson, the chief photographer of the ACPD, disappeared in 1947 from
his home on Jerusalem’s Nablus Road after it was bombed. A collection of
seven thousand negatives belonging to brothers Jamāl and Najīb Albīnā, who
joined the ACPD after World War I and pursued their own work later on, also
disappeared from storage in the corner of Julian’s Way and Mamilla Road in
50 The Unesco Convention for Preservation of Cultural Heritage https://whc.unesco.org/en/

conventiontext/ displays the full convention in several languages.
51 Doris Duke Papers, Doris Duke Charitable Foundation Historical Archives, David M.
Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Duke University.
52 Nancy Micklewright, “Alternative Histories of Photography in the Ottoman Middle East,”
in Photography’s Orientalism: New Essays in Colonial Representation, eds. Ali Behdad and
Luke Gartlan (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2013), 75–92.

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260 Lev
Jerusalem after they were forced to leave.53 Significant section of photographic

collections created by the renowned Palestinian photographer Khalīl Raʿad as
well as the work of Ḥannā Ṣāfiyya were also lost.
Local researchers Mustafa Kabha and Guy Raz,54 Rona Sela,55 and Gish
Amit56 expose parallel creative processes that have served the ideological pol-
icies of nascent Zionism. In expression of that policy, access to photographic
remains that were confiscated or appropriated has been blocked for many
years, due to the fear that the data they contained would be used to contradict
the dominant ideology.
In contrast, pre-1948 Christian research institutions in Palestine preserve
large bodies of unprocessed photographic oeuvre as can be seen in the work
of Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig Neveu in this volume. The slow expo-
sure of these materials presents us with additional challenge. While political
conflicts present a physical threat to photography, an ideological threat is
rooted in the interpretability of photographic remnants that were preserved
and are accessible to us, such as Whiting’s Diaries in Photos or the photograph
collection of the École Biblique, in a manner that will enable us to extract the
‘parallel alternative histories’ trapped within the genres.57
Travel and exploration reflect continuous relationships between the pho-
tographer and the subject, and the photographer and the landscape. Through
exploration of these relationships a complex visual historiographic record
is written. In the manner that it is edited, a thematic photographic album
often erases parts of history and reorganises other parts. According to David
Bate, this editing process represents an ideological apparatus through which
the editor reprograms existing memory, not in the way it was, but in the way
he wishes others to remember it.58 In essence, Bate claims, this is an icono-
clastic argument, because the range of images in an album differ from those
recorded in the human memory. Similarly, Bate also asserts that the growth of
museums and cultural institutions envelops within it the trend of redesigning
53 Iris Albina, “Souvenir from Gethsemane: Portrait of the Albina Brothers,” Jerusalem
Quarterly 60 (2014): 59.
54 Mustafa Kahba and Guy Raz, Memory of Place: A Photographic History of Wadi Ara, 1903–
2008 (Jerusalem: The Umm El-Fahem Art Gallery, 2008).
55 Rona Sela, For Public Review: Photographs of Palestinians in Military Archives in Israel (Tel
Aviv: Helena Publishing, 2009).
56 Amit Gish, Ex Libris: The History of Appropriation, Preservation, and Theft in the National
Library of Jerusalem (Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute, 2014).
57 See Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig Neveu’s chapter in this volume, “The
Dominicans Photographic Collection in Jerusalem.”
58 David Bate, “The Memory of Photography,” Photographies 3, no. 2 (September 2010): 250.

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human memory by erasing elements that were rejected from the cultural
sphere by institutions of the dominant regime. Bate59 refers also to Foucault’s
iconoclastic argument in ‘Film and Popular Memory’60 and compares a photo-
graphic corpus to ‘image banks’ that can potentially suppress personal memory
and often replaces it.
Exploring the Diary in Photos reveals an unfamiliar reality that escaped
the editing process – a Middle East that is unfettered by borders and pop-
ulated by permanent and changing, mutually influential heterogeneous
groups, as well as dominating foreign political forces. The historical memory
of the Zionist-Palestinian conflict is present in Whiting’s work, but it does
not become dominant, due to the swift transitions which are the inherent
nature of the genre. Examining Whiting work solely through the Orientalist
paradigms ignores the richness of its cultural diversity and the memory of an
open-borders Middle East.
The Diary in Photos series maintains a rather fluid ‘meta-form’ that absorbed
complex visual memories through the day-by-day visual documentation. It
resembles therefore a motion picture: its singular frames cannot exist without
relating them to the sequence. Modern interpretation must therefore decipher
it and release the broad range of ‘parallel alternative histories’ trapped in its
entirety. An index of Whiting’s 1934 and 1935 trips emphasises the cultural
jigsaw captured in the entire work.61 The genre’s perspective fits well within
the photographic work created by other Christian explorers in Jerusalem, but
remained unexplored for generations. It was created as Whiting’s personal
memory apparatus, but at the same time it maintains a matrix of popular cul-
tural memory ‘which existed but had no way for expressing itself’.62
We must aim to develop reflective, critical visual tools that will enable us
release the ‘meta forms’ that are trapped in confined bodies of work, rather
than extracting components in an attempt to justify dominant ideologies or
Orientalist paradigms. This will enable a new reading, and even if such read-
ings are only partial, they have the power to gradually create a ‘meta-archive’
that can potentially inspire a sense of belonging and identity of younger gen-
erations in the region.
59 Ibid., 251.
60 Michel Foucault, “Film and Popular Memory,” Reprinted in Foucault Live (New York:
Semiotexte, 1989).
61 Rachel Lev, Index of photographic series presented in Diary in Photos vol. I, 1934–1935,
Parts I and II. (September 2020) https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/19IYnTPU-6F1h
KtJfwpo8Kgh5CfM7qKzU?usp=sharing.
62 Bate, “The Memory of Photography,” 250–251.

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262 Lev
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of John D. Whiting. Library of Congress, Washington D.C. https://www.loc.gov/
item/2007675295/.
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John D. Whiting. Library of Congress, Washington D.C. https://www.loc.gov/
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D John D. Whiting, National Geographic Articles, 1913–1940

Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. LC Call number: G1.N27.
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John D. Whiting Papers along with correspondence related to the articles.
Whiting, John D. “From Jerusalem to Aleppo.” National Geographic Magazine XXIV
(January 1913): 71–113.
Whiting, John D. “Jerusalem’s Locust Plague.” National Geographic Magazine XXVIII
(December 1915): 511–550.
Whiting, John D. “The Last Israelitish [Israelite] Blood Sacrifice: How the Vanishing
Samaritans Celebrate the Passover on Sacred Mount Gerizim.” National Geographic

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Magazine XXXVII (January 1920): 1–46. https://archive.org/details/lastisraelitish

b00whit/page/42/mode/2up.
Whiting, John D. “Among the Bethlehem Shepherds: A Visit to the Valley Which David
Probably Recalled When He Wrote the Twenty -third Psalm.” National Geographic
Magazine L (December 1926): 729–753.
Whiting, John D. “Bethlehem and the Christmas Story.” National Geographic Magazine
LVI (December 1929): 699–736.
Whiting, John D. “Petra, Ancient Caravan Stronghold.” National Geographic Magazine
LXVII (February 1935): 129–165.
Whiting, John D. “Bedouin Life in Bible Lands. the Nomads of the ‘House of Hair’
Offer Unstinted Hospitality to an American.” National Geographic Magazine LXXI
(January 1937): 58–83.
Whiting, John D. “Where Early Christians Lived in Cones of Rock: A Journey in
Cappadocia in Turkey.” National Geographic Magazine LXXVI, no. 6 (December 1939):
763–802.
Whiting, John D. “Canoeing down the River Jordan.” National Geographic Magazine
LXXVIII (December 1940): 781–808.
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641–657.
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Bate, David. “The Memory of Photography.” Photographies 3, no. 2 (2010): 243–257.
El-Hajj, Badr. “Khalil Raad, Jerusalem Photographer.” Journal of Palestine Studies 11–12
(2001): 34–39.
Foucault, Michel. “Film and Popular Memory.” Reprinted in Foucault Live. New York:
Semiotext(e), 1989.
Freud, Sigmund. “The ‘Mystic Writing-pad’.” Reprinted in On Metapsychology: The
Theory of Psychoanalysis: Beyond the Pleasure Principle, Ego and the Id and Other
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Gish, Amit. Eḳs libris: hisṭoryah shel gezel, shimur ṿe-nikus ba-Sifriyah ha-le’umit
bi-Yerushalayim (Ex Libris: The History of Appropriation, Preservation, and Theft in
the National Library of Jerusalem). Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute, 2014.
Hackforth-Jones, Jocelyn and Mary Roberts. “Introduction: Visualising Culture across
the Edges of Empires.” In Edges of Empire: Orientalism and Visual Culture, edited
by Jocelyn Hackforth-Jones and Mary Roberts, 1–19. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing,
2005.
Kabha, Mustafa and Guy Raz. Memory of Place: A Photographic History of Wadi Ara,
1903–2008. Jerusalem: The Umm el-Fahem Art Gallery, 2008.

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Kracauer, Siegfried. History: The Last Things before the Last. Translated by Paul Oskar
Kristellar. Princeton: Wiener, 1994.
Le Goff, Jacques. History and Memory. Translated by Steven Rendall and Elizabeth
Claman. New York: Columbia University Press, 1992.
Lind, E. Lars. “Jerusalem Before Zionism and the American (Swedish) Colony.”
Lars E. Lind Papers. Box 2. Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington D.C.
(1979).
Micklewright, Nancy. “Alternative Histories of Photography in the Ottoman Middle
East.” In Photography’s Orientalism: New Essays in Colonial Representation, edited
by Ali Behdad and Luke Gartlan, 75–92. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2013.
Mickelwright, Nancy. “Orientalism and Photography.” In The Poetics and Politics of
Place: Ottoman Istanbul and British Orientalism, edited by Zeynep Inankur, Reina
Lewis and Mary Roberts, 99–110. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2011.
Micklewright, Nancy. “Personal, Public, and Political (Re) Constructions: Photographs
and Consumption.” In Consumption Studies and the History of the Ottoman Empire,
edited by Donald Quataert, 261–86. Binghamton: SUNY Press, 2000.
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Studies 11–12 (2001): 39–43.
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1839–1899. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986.
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Manchester Polytechnic, 1980.
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in Palestine,” (In Hebrew) Haaretz, September 27, 2006. http://www.haaretz.co.il/
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Translated from the Hebrew under the title Photography in Palestine/The Land of
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Hertzlia: Hakibbutz Hameu’had and Herzliya Museum of Art, 2000. http://www
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21–35.

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Chapter 8
Documenting the Social: Frank Scholten

Taxonomising Identity in British Mandate Palestine
Sary Zananiri
Frank Scholten, a Dutchman and photographer, travelled to Palestine in 1921,

staying a little over two years. The wealth of photographs he produced provides
us with a particular insight into the vast changes the country was experiencing
in the aftermath of World War I and the fall of the Ottoman Empire. His docu-
mentary style of photography, and his project to produce an illustrated Bible,
demonstrates a complicated confluence of religious narrative and modern
scientific methodologies, as well as post-Ottoman and European approaches
to social organisation. Both the Scholten Collection1 and the man himself are
significantly understudied. In attempting to understand Scholten’s unique
approach to photography, attention must be paid to his background as well
as the social and political context of early British Mandate Palestine to fully
grasp the taxonomies he employed.
Scholten, much like the complicated body of photographs he left behind,
defies typical categorisations given the ways he approached the imaging of
Palestine. Scholten’s lens gives us a rare insight into Palestine society from
elites to villagers. He captures ethno-confessional diversity as well as the sig-
nificant shifts taking place in the early 1920s. The many contradictions that he
and his work embody, makes for a very particular lens through which to view
the social histories of the establishment of the British Mandate in Palestine,
showing a collision of more typical readings dealing with the Biblical past
against the modern life which such imaging typically effaces.
In attempting to map Scholten’s photographic outputs and methodology,
we need to take into account the complexity of the milieu with which he was
associated in Europe, the cultural contexts into which he was born and lived
1 The Frank Scholten Collection was closed to the public for many years. It is currently
in the process of being digitised, catalogued and made publicly available for the first time.
Given the collection’s transitional period, where references are made to boxes, they are from
the older pre-catalogue system that will soon be defunct. Image references are from the new
incoming system.
© Sary Zananiri, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_009

of the Sanchez
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Documenting the Social 267
as well as the complicated set of materials he both collected and produced in

his study of Palestine.
This complexity beckons several questions. How did Scholten’s back-
ground as a member of the Dutch elite, a Catholic convert and a homosexual
colour his approach to understanding the diversity of Palestine from an ethno-
confessional and class perspective? What role did contemporary networks
of scholarship play in shaping his complex approach to Palestine? And, most
importantly, what can the collision of modern2 scholarly approaches and
Biblical narrative in his photographs tell us about the effects of the enormous
social changes on the many communities in Palestine?
This chapter will first discuss Scholten’s background before considering the
scholarly methodologies and contexts with which he was engaged and impli-
cated. It will then consider and compare the social context in both Palestine
and Europe, leading to an examination of selected works from the Scholten
Collection.
1 Frank Scholten
Frank Scholten, who was born in 1881 and died in 1942, lived through a period
of transition that bridged two worlds. His class background and education
cemented his elite status within Dutch society, but we can suppose, from his
familial rifts,3 his homosexuality and its related legal transgressions,4 he was
also an outsider.
Coming from a well-to-do family with links to the Dutch aristocracy,5 the
commercial necessities of photographic practice can be seen as playing little
part in guiding Scholten’s lens, making him free of the commercial demands
2 Modern here is defined as the product of industrialisation, in cultural terms and in line with
the sociological definition proffered by Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity
(Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991): 1–21.
3 For instance, he left home shortly after his father’s death and, later, a series of exchanges
between Scholten and his step-mother in the wake of the stock market crash in 1929 show
the turbulence of familial relations, see Teresa Lidia Kwiecień, “Frank Scholten”, Depth of
Field 40 (December 2008). https://depthoffield.universiteitleiden.nl/2540f05en/. Accessed
February 22, 2020.
4 Theo van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957): Een biografie van homosek-
sualiteit (Amsterdam: Schorer Boeken, 2007), 159–63.
5 His father, grandfather and great-grandfather had been among the top officials of the Dutch
investment bank Nachenius Tjeenk and his mother was a ‘jonkvrouw’, an honorific title
denoting nobility. See van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957), 162 and
Kwiecień, “Frank Scholten.”

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268 Zananiri
of the photographic market that most professional photographers dealt with.

Estimates of the Scholten Collection that is currently being catalogued sit
around twelve thousand printed photographs and fourteen thousand negatives
alongside a significant body of images, ephemera and books that he collected
as well as his postcard correspondence, mostly with his friend Geertje Pooyar.
The photographs taken by Scholten appear to start from the late World War I
period in The Netherlands, to images of his travels through Germany, Italy and
Greece in 1920 to the more than two years he spent in Palestine from 1921 to
23,6 which comprise the bulk of the collection. There are also smaller collec-
tions of images from France, the UK and other parts of Europe, presumably
taken when he later returned to Europe.
When Scholten died in 1942 from later complications related to a car acci-
dent, he left this array of material to the Netherlands Institute for the Near
East (NINO). Alongside this was his library, a collection of ‘found images’
including photographs, postcards, prints and images clipped from books, and
other assorted ephemera. These found images were annotated and generally
pasted to boards in line with contemporary practices of archiving photographs
of art historical subjects. He also left notes towards a 16-volume set of photo
books titled ‘Palestine Illustrated’7 only two of which were published (though
in four language editions), and a sum of money to continue the production of
his unpublished work, for which he left behind some notes and arrangements
of images.
As a photographer, Scholten took a documentary approach, and one that
was, at least in Palestine, high in output. The photographic collections he left
behind show a diverse array of local subjects and geographies including cities,
towns, villages, the countryside and the desert. In his time in Palestine, he trav-
elled the country extensively, as well as trips to Lebanon, Syria and Jordan. He
6 Kwiecień, “Frank Scholten”.

7 For details of Scholten’s various editions see: François Scholten, La Palestine Illustrée: Tableau
Complet de la Terre Sainte par la Photographie, Évoquant les Souvenirs de la Bible, du Talmud et
du Coran, et se rapportant au passé comme au présent, Vol I La porte d’entrée – Jaffa Vol II. Jaffa
la Belle (Paris: Jean Budry & Co., 1929). German: Frank Scholten, Palästina – Bibel, Talmud,
Koran. Eine vollständige Darstellung aller Textstellen in eigenen künstlerischen Aufnahmen aus
Gegenwart und Vergangenheit des Heiligen Landes. Bd. I: DIE EINGANGSPFORTE. JAFFA.
Mit 449 Abbildungen in Kupfertiefdruck, Bd. II: JAFFA, DIE SCHÖNE. Mit 371 Abbildungen in
Kupfertiefdruck (Stuttgart: Hoffmann, 1930). English: Frank Scholten and G. Robinson Lees,
eds., Palestine Illustrated including References to Passages Illustrated in the Bible, the Talmud
and the Koran, Vol.1 Gate of Entrance, Vol.2 Jaffa the Beautiful (London: Green Longmans, 1931)
and Dutch: Frank Scholten, Palestina: Bijbel, Talmud, Koran. Een volledige illustratie van alle
teksten door middel van eigen artistieke foto’s uit het heden en verleden van het Heilige Land De
toegangspoort Jaffa (Leiden: Sijthoff, 1935).

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Figure 8.1 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Jaffa Port. Digitised negative. Frank Scholten.
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Jaffa_06_0048, Frank Scholten Collection
Image courtesy of NINO and UBL
photographed people, archaeology, sites of religious significance, urban street-

scapes and rural villages, domestic interiors, social and religious events, the
new colonial networks that the incoming British Mandate brought with it, and
the early days of Tel Aviv, still in its infancy in the early 1920s.
Scholten’s background was in many ways fundamental to the lens through
which he viewed Palestine. Born to a wealthy Protestant family, Scholten
converted to Catholicism before travelling to Palestine,8 though evidence of
exactly when the conversion took place has yet to be found.
In the Netherlands, the social system of pillarisation9 broke society into
confessional and political spheres having wide ranging consequences from the
provision of health and educational structures to which media outlets com-
munities engaged with. Scholten’s conversion perhaps points the particular
8 In a postcard to his friend Geertje dated 16th January, 1920 Scholten talks of attending
confession and taking communion at St Peters in Rome. I would like to thank Lara van der
Hammen for her translation of some of the postcards. Frank Scholten Collection, Box E2.
9 Harry Post, Pillarization: An analysis of Dutch and Belgian society (Aldershot [etc.]:
Avebury, 1989).

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270 Zananiri
sensitivity towards similar structures of Ottoman Millet system, which had

been reshaped significantly during the Empire’s nineteenth century Tanzimat
Reforms, that were still very much in place, though beginning to morph, at the
beginning of the British Mandate.
After growing up in Amsterdam, he received a liberal education in Berlin
around the turn of the twentieth century.10 In this time spent between his
native Netherlands and Berlin’s bohemian milieu, Scholten was brought into
contact with the social and political world of the early homosexual emancipa-
tion movement. He is known to have stayed in Berlin with the famous German
sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld.11 Berlin had become a place known for its sex-
ual openness.12 Scholten also frequented the working-class area of De Pijp in
Amsterdam, the setting for Jacob Israël de Haan’s openly gay novel Pijpelijntjes
(1904),13 which was similarly colourful.
In 1920, he left The Netherlands amidst legal charges related to his activi-
ties that involved soliciting young military men on trains and at Amsterdam’s
Central station (Fig. 8.14). He was subsequently charged with two years jail in
absentia.14 In its first year, his travels took him to Italy, Greece, Germany and
Switzerland. Within his collected images we see works of art from antiquity,
the Renaissance and modern works, which reflect his wide art historical inter-
ests and support the idea of an anachronistic Grand Tour of sorts. A number
of smaller photo albums from this period underscore his documentary style,
showing a mixture of street scenes with portraits of people he encountered.15
The second part of his journey, continuing onwards to Palestine, might be
seen as more in line with ideas of a pilgrimage, perhaps with a redemptive
tone given his legal predicaments at home. He had a significant library of six

11 Van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957), 215.
12 Robert Deam Tobin quotes an aristocratic client of British sexologist Havelock Ellis who
had travelled extensively suggesting that Berlin was “more extensive, freer and easier than
anywhere else in the Orient or Occident”, which makes an interesting point of compari-
son to someone like Scholten. R. Deam Tobin, Peripheral Desires: The German Discovery of
Sex (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), 1.
13 J. Haan and W. Simons, Pijpelijntjes (Amsterdam: Van Cleef, 1904).
14 Jos van Waterschoot, Bert Sliggers, and Marita Mathijsen, Onder De Toonbank: Pornografie
En Erotica in De Nederlanden (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij van Oorschot, 2018), 172–173.
15 Of the 12 boxes of photographs, photographic albums and negatives produced by Scholten,
only two in the UBL collection deals with European images, although another two have
recently been found in the NINO (The Netherlands Institute for Near East) stores which
contain mixture of photographs Scholten took in Europe and postcards he collected.
These will be amalgamated with the broader collection at UBL.

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thousand books with him in Palestine,16 from which we can suppose that he
had planned his photographic project in advance.
Both Scholten as a figure and the material he left behind, raise important
questions about his singular view of Palestine. Given his employment of com-
plicated taxonomies, how did he approach the imaging of Palestine? How did
his identity and his milieu, scholarly or otherwise, influence these taxono-
mies? By what means did he relate Biblical narrative to the modern life he
encountered and imaged in Palestine?
2 Modern Scholarship and Scholten’s Taxonomies
One might be tempted to ascribe the term amateur to Scholten’s photographic

practice, given his lack of commercial investment more typical of ‘Holy Land’
genres of photography. Despite this, it is perhaps more fitting to see him as hark-
ing back to earlier modes of being, such as the aristocratic scholar-gentleman
of the Enlightenment or the devotee of classical antiquity, given his time in
Italy and Greece and some of the materials he had collected. In this regard, the
scholarly overtones of the collection make for an interesting foil to those of
the École biblique discussed by Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig Neveu
in their chapter on the Dominican photo library.17
In this light, we might look to art historical methodologies of the day to
contextualise Scholten’s practice. Much of found images – those images he
collected – are pasted to cardboard, reference their source and a Biblical quo-
tation relevant to the image, place or event depicted, and were left in various
states of preparation.
Though the collection is currently being catalogued by the photography
department in special collection at Leiden University Library (UBL), the meth-
odology is typical of art historical approaches of the late nineteenth century
and early twentieth century, in which source images were pasted to board,
carefully labelled, taxonomised and organised into folders.
Through the current cataloguing project, it has become evident that much
of the collected images were in a process of being sorted. Several catego-
ries emerge. The first are those images that have been pasted to card, with a

17 Several postcards from Scholten to his friend Geertje Pooyar in Volendam mention social
and professional interactions with the Dominicans during his time in Palestine. While
it is hard to gauge the extent of relations from a series of postcards, it would seem that
Scholten’s pedagogical approach may have reflected the Dominicans’ approach to pre-
senting photography as a kind of evidence. Frank Scholten Collection, Box E2.

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272 Zananiri
reference to their source be it a book or an individual and a Biblical quote

(which is sometimes also appended with a particular translation of the Bible).
The second category is unpasted, and just a clipping, with either a Bible quo-
tation, a reference to its source or both. The third category is other images that
have been clipped from various locations that are not appended at all. This
third category of material typically consists of smaller images that are of a less
interesting quality. It would seem that as Scholten was collecting and process-
ing these found images he either never completed the process or disregarded
the third category as rejects.
A good point of comparison, both culturally and chronologically, might be
the German Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz (KHI) established in 1897,
which consists of a photographic archive of Italian artworks that range from
antiquity to the modern era, taxonomised by material, era and location. The
KHI Collection both parallels the period which Scholten was producing his own
archive, as well as providing an insight into Northern European approaches
to the Mediterranean. The KHI Collection comprises of photographs of art-
works that were pasted onto card, which were then appended with the title of
the artwork depicted in the photograph, the date the photograph was taken, the
name of the photographer as well as other relevant information about the art-
work. These ‘plates’ were then taxonomised by geography and period of the
artwork depicted, then stored in boxes, forming the core of the KHI archive.
In a postcard dated 3rd May, 1922, written from Jerusalem to his friend
Geertje in the Netherlands, Scholten wrote ‘These days I’m preparing to leave
again; gluing pics, writing letters and making visits’.18 It is unclear whether this
postcard is in reference to the found images he was collecting or the photo-
graphs he was producing, that exist as loose photographs, photographs pasted
to card and photographs pasted into albums. Another postcard to Geertje sent
5th May, 1922 states ‘I am very busy these days with gifts for my family.
Photographs (24 pieces each) for my grandmother in Amsterdam, for my
mother, for my three aunts, for my uncle and for my two sisters. So much fam-
ily!’ This would perhaps indicate working on his own photographs, rather than
found images, and may explain some of the more eclectic albums in the col-
lection, such as the series he titled Choses Intéressante (‘Interesting Things’).
Within Scholten’s photographic corpus, there is a numbering system that
occurs within sections of his loose photographs pasted to card and the albums
(though not seemingly the unpasted loose images). Punctuating the loose
images pasted to card are other cards without photographs that have num-
bers applied to them with some sort of letter transfer technique (Fig. 8.2). This
18 Postcard to Geertje, Frank Scholten Legacy collection, Frank Scholten Collection, Box A2.

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Figure 8.2 Cardboard divider with letter transfers. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_

Doos_07_0285. Frank Scholten Collection
would hint that at some stage there an order to the collection that appears to
correlate to several ledgers, but sadly with the multiple moves of the collection,
this order appears to have been lost and would constitute a very significant
project to reinstate.
Among the textual references he made on the found images and cards to
which they were pasted, and indeed in the books he published, were refer-
ences to different translations of the Bible from the Vulgate by Glaire and
Vigouroux in French to Martini’s La Sacra Bibbia in Italian to the Greiner Bibel
in German. This textual approach to the Bible also shows scholarly engage-
ment with the theological, particularly textual criticism and ‘the quest for the
historical Jesus’,19 which had been a growing field in the late nineteenth and
early twentieth century.
Alongside these references were many more references to interpretive texts
dealing with the Bible, Biblical history and the history of Palestine. Many of
19 Albert Schweitzer’s book of the same name, published in German in 1910, capitalised on
this interest and attempted to study the various historical approaches to the life of Jesus.
See Albert Schweitzer, trans. W. Montgomery, The Quest for the Historical Jesus: A Critical
Study of its Progress from Reimarus to Wrede (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1911): 21.

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274 Zananiri
these were also illustrated, giving him a good knowledge of the visual vocabu-
laries used to depict Palestine and the ‘Holy Land in Western authored photos’.
Scholten’s methodology of taxonomisation was likely developed during
time spent in Berlin, both during his studies and afterwards. Such methodolo-
gies show a nuanced understanding of scholarly, art historical methodologies
and at least a working, if not broader, knowledge of theological debate, par-
ticularly around textual criticism and Biblical history.
Within the German context, Scholten spent with Magnus Hirschfeld, the
German physician, sexologist and founder of the Humanitarian Scientific
Committee, an organisation dedicated to advocating for the rights of sexual
minorities. In 1910, Scholten was staying with Hirschfeld, likely through intro-
duction by the early gay rights activist Jacob Schorer, who founded of the Dutch
chapter of the Humanitarian Scientific Committee.20 At that time, Hirschfeld
had just published Die Transvestiten,21 one of the early studies on transvestites
and cross-dressing. Contemporary critiques of the work notwithstanding, it was
a significant landmark that for the first time attempted to taxonomise gender
and sexuality in the emergent science of sexology.22 The milieu which Scholten
inhabited in Europe, points towards an engagement with the cutting-edge aca-
demic research methodologies of the day, that focused on the categorisation
and taxonomisation of identity. It is possible that Scholten derived the ethno-
graphic taxonomies that he employed in his published volumes partially from
Hirschfeld’s own explorations of sexual and gender taxonomy.
We see the complexities of confessional, ethnic, class and cultural demarca-
tions that show the early Mandate as a period in which the cosmopolitanism
of Ottoman legacies was overlayed with an incoming European milieu, both
Jewish and Christian (Fig 8.3). Through the course of the Mandate period,
nationalist narratives would come to solidify nationalist projects culturally,
politically and physically, and indeed cement the newly created national bor-
ders, as it did elsewhere in the former empire,23 effectively undermining the
complexity of ethnic, national, confessional and class dimensions that had
20 Van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957), 171–176.
21 Magnus Hirschfeld, The Transvestites, trans. M.A. Lombardi cited in text; Magnus
Hirschfeld, “Die intersexuelle Konstitution Zwischenstufen”: 23 cited in: Darryl B. Hill,
“Sexuality and Gender in Hirschfeld’s Die Transvestiten: A Case of the “Elusive Evidence
of the Ordinary”, Journal of the History of Sexuality 14, no. 3 (2005): 316–332; https://www
.jstor.org/stable/3704656, accessed February 22, 2020.
22 Hill, “Sexuality and Gender in Hirschfeld’s Die Transvestiten”, 316.
23 Prescient examples in the north of the former Ottoman Empire are the Armenian geno-
cide or the so-called ‘population exchanges’ between Greece and Turkey in considering
the broader context and effects of rising nationalism, both of which were roughly con-
temporaneous to Scholten’s period of travel.

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Figure 8.3 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A ship arriving in the Port of Jaffa. Digitised
negative. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Jaffa_16_0008, Frank Scholten Collection
developed through the late Ottoman period and into the opening years of the
British Mandate.
The amorphous political and cultural possibilities posed for Palestinians by
the ailing Ottoman Empire in the early twentieth century and during World
War I gave rise to significant political debates within indigenous communi-
ties.24 Firstly, in whether to support the Ottomans or the Allies during the war
and secondly, with respect to Zionist immigration and the British support for
it. Alongside, and linked to such political debate, was the context of the Nahda
(the ‘awakening’ or ‘Arab Renaissance’), the cultural renewal that underpinned
Arab nationalism and occurred slightly later in Palestine’s smaller cities than
larger centres like Beirut or Cairo. With the beginning of the British Mandate
there were new certainties in terms of peace and post war redevelopment,
but also new uncertainties with regards to Zionism and its support by the
British that coloured the period. While Palestinian nationalism had certainly
24 For a good summary of some of these debates, see Ihsan Salih Turjman and Salim Tamari,
Year of the locust: A Soldier’s Diary and the Erasure of Palestine’s Ottoman Past (Berkley:
University of California Press, 2015).

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276 Zananiri
pre-dated the British Mandate,25 as had Zionism,26 the cultural structures the
British Mandate created would exacerbate and cement difference, particularly
through language policy,27 strongly honing identity formation processes into
categories of ‘Arab’ and ‘Jew’ and effectively erasing the complex and intri-
cate cultural identifications (and their legislated support structure) of the
Ottoman era.
Given the political and cultural context of the 1910s and 20s, we see much of
this tumult playing out in the Scholten collection, particularly in the inventory
of ethno-confessional taxonomies Scholten employed.
A brief inventory of the taxonomies Scholten employed in the captioning
of his photographs includes Greek-Orthodox, Catholic, Melkite, Protestant,
Muslim and Jewish Palestinians; German, Russian, Spanish, Hungarian,
Romanian, Moroccan, Iranian, Bukharan and other Arab Jewish communi-
ties; British, French, German, Greek, Russian and Italian Europeans, as well as
Americans, and also Egyptians, Sudanese, Indians and Nepalese reflective of
the incoming colonial administration and its networks. Scholten also attends
to class divides within many of these cultural and confessional taxonomic des-
ignations that, within the rubric of Ottoman social structures, also indicates an
understanding of urban-rural divides.
3 Modern Forces: Taxonomy and Transnational Social Contexts
3.1 From Pillar to Millet

While we can deduce, from the scholarly networks he inhabited, how Scholten
was engaged and influenced by a number of disciplines and the methodologies
which they produced, another way of framing his work and practice is through
the ways he connected the social contexts within which he functioned on a
macro level. These social frameworks demonstrate transnational connections,
whether through systems of social formation, contexts surrounding issues of
language or the vocabularies of visual culture. These macro level social systems
25 See, for instance, the hostility towards Zionism in the Arabic press before the First World
War. Emanuel Beška, From Ambivalence to Hostility: The Arabic Newspaper Filasṭīn And
Zionism, 1911–1914 (Slovak Academic Press: Bratislava, 2016).
26 The First Zionist Congress was held in August 1897 which established what would become
the World Zionist Organization.
27 This can be seen in the support of Hebrew as part of British language policy in
Palestine despite its initial marginality during the period of revival. See for instance
Andrea L. Stanton, “‘This Is Jerusalem Calling’: State Radio in Mandate Palestine”, Journal
of Palestine Studies 47, no 2 (2018): 13–14.

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can be seen as operating in tandem with scholarly discourses in his output,

but separating them in framing Scholten’s output gives us an insight into the
broader social and historical forces that were formative in shaping his world
view.
The context of Verzuiling, literally ‘compartmentalisation’ in Dutch, but
known as pillarisation in English, was a key concept for understanding the
social formations of Dutch society from the late nineteenth century until
the 1960s.28 Dutch pillarisation created four primary socio-political groupings:
a Catholic, Protestant, liberal and socialist pillars.29
For Scholten, growing up in the last decades of the nineteenth century, he
would have witnessed the establishment and growing influence of Abraham
Kuyper’s Anti-Revolutionary Party (ARP), a neo-Calvinist organisation that
would eventually see Kuyper as Prime Minister from 1901–05.30 Kuyper was
instrumental in the formalisation of pillarisation.
There are several scholarly interpretations behind the rise of the pillarisa-
tion. Firstly, pillarisation as a means of ‘emancipation’ within the context of
class politics in socialist pillar, the ‘kleyne luden’ (small people) of the middle-
and working-class Protestant pillar, and the subordination of Catholics by the
Protestant kingdom, each of which sat against the liberal pillar, drawn primar-
ily from the upper classes. Secondly, as a confessional safeguarding around the
processes of secularisation with the rise of modern forces in the nineteenth
century. Thirdly, as a means of cementing the status of elites internally within
each pillar. And finally, given emergence of pillars from the mid nineteenth
century set against the backdrop of industrialisation and technological inno-
vation, there is an argument that the apparatus of modernity enabled the
opportunity, for the first time, to organise larger scale networks of supra-local
organisations.31 Without delving into the debates beyond the scope of this
paper, it is clear that modernity had a significant role in codifying pillarisation
in the Netherlands, and with it, the population itself.
While it is important to stress that agreement on the universal totality of
pillarisation in compartmentalising Dutch communities is divided on how
intensely its effects were felt and experienced, suffice it to say the system
certainly mediated much of historical social life from media like newspapers
and magazines to social and leisure associations, education including
28 James D. Bratt, Abraham Kuyper: Modern Calvinist, Christian Democrat. 2nd Impression
(Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans Library of Religious Biography, 2013): 343.
29 Staf Hellemans, “Pillarization (‘Verzuiling’). On Organized ‘Self-Contained Worlds’ in the
Modern World”, The American Sociologist, 51 (2020): 125.
30 James D. Bratt, Abraham Kuyper, xxiii–xxviii.
31 Hellemans, Pillarization, 130.

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278 Zananiri
universities, welfare and philanthropic endeavours, and even unions and other
professional associations.
In this regard, Scholten’s conversion to Catholicism probably also negoti-
ated a distinct social shift personally. Certainly the correspondence between
him and his friend Geertje who lived in Volendam gives a significant sense of
the extensive Catholic networks through which Scholten operated in Palestine,
from social contact with the Dominicans of École biblique to patronising insti-
tutions like Notre Dame to his links indigenous Catholic communities across
class boundaries.
One of the more significant considerations that elements of Scholten’s
background, his arrival in Palestine and the social shifts his conversion may
have engendered, is comparison to the complexities of Ottoman communal-
ism. The Millet system that had been in place since the Ottoman conquest of
Constantinople in 1453, but had undergone significant reforms in the second
half of the nineteenth century,32 paralleling the emergence of pillarisation in
the The Netherlands.
In 1856, Sulṭān ʿAbd al-Majīd I affirmed the equal status of Muslim and non-
Muslim Ottoman subjects alike. This constituted a significant shift in policy
from the protected, but subordinate status of dhimmi with the jizya, extra taxes
payed by members of such millets.33 Alongside this, a number of new millets,
or pillars as they might have been identified by the Dutch Scholten, were added
through the course of the nineteenth century, mainly in reference to specific
denominations of Christianity. Nonetheless, the shift in status from dhimmi
to citizen had a broader political utility in the administration of the Empire,
particularly in addressing the developing political affinities that derived from
the intervention and protection of smaller non-Muslim communities by the
European powers.34
The nature of the broader context of shifting political regimes in early
Mandate Palestine would create ‘minorities’ (within a Western nation state
framework) from communities that had historically been millets within the
Ottoman Imperial framework,35 adding yet more complexity to ways we must
32 Karen Barkey and George Gavrilis, “The Ottoman Millet System: Non-Territorial Autonomy
and its Contemporary Legacy”, Ethnopolitics 15, no. 1 (2016): 24–42.
33 Heather Sharkey, “History Rhymes? Late Ottoman Millets and Post-Ottoman Minorities in
the Middle East”, International Journal of Middle East Studies 50, no. 4 (2018): 760–761.
34 For more information on such cultural diplomacy and its effects on Christian communi-
ties, see Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri, eds., European Cultural Diplomacy
and Arab Christians in Palestine, 1918–1948. Between Contention and Connection (London:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2021).
35 Sharkey, History Rhymes?, 760–764.

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understand early 1920s Palestine. This however underscores the emerging

shifts of identity formation processes in the period.
There is no direct evidence of how Scholten understood either the Millet
system or pillarisation. However, as the various taxonomies outlined at the end
of the previous section of this chapter attest, Scholten was very attentive to the
complicated social context of post-Ottoman Palestine in his various designa-
tions. This demonstrates at least a perception of communitarian difference.
The context of pillarisation and, in Scholten’s case, its transgression, may par-
tially explain, in combination with his scholarly engagements, his complex
use of taxonomies within the complex communal nature of recently post-
Ottoman Palestine.
3.2 Transnational and Transcommunal Concerns

The significant collection of found images that Scholten collected, shows
an interest in Biblical narrative, the classical world, Renaissance art and
architecture, religious art, Orientalist imaging as well as the works of photogra-
phers, illustrators and printmakers vested in the depiction of Palestine and
the Biblical. In piecing together the relationship of these found images and the
photographs Scholten took during his years in Palestine, we can see an attempt
to frame the complex social life he found in Palestine. The materials he col-
lected range in production date from the 1850s to the late 1930s and deal with
significantly longer chronology in the artworks they depict, from the ancient
to the modern. While the range of images largely deal with Palestine, the Bible
or Biblical history, sometimes in oblique ways, certain themes can be detected
that link seemingly disparate areas of Scholten’s interests. One such theme is
repeated collections of the Biblical figure of David, from image reproductions
of Michelangelo’s masterpiece36 to Arnold Zadikow’s37 modernist rendition
to clippings from religious books and illustrated bibles, including several that
show David’s relationship to Jonathan (Fig. 8.17).38
This Biblical material and images of Palestine sits alongside other, much
smaller, categories such as satirical cartoons commenting on Dutch politics of
the day, socialist posters and other assorted political materials. Such material
may have been of personal political interest, but also reflect interest in other
36 Along with many other artists of the Renaissance, Michelangelo’s married classical
Greco-Roman sculptural aesthetics with Christian narrative.
37 Arnold Zadikow was a German-Jewish modernist sculpturer. Incidentally, he is also known
to have produced Magnus Hirschfeld’s headstone.
38 The ambiguities of the relationship between David and Jonathan, the son of Saul, were
often used to justify homosexual relations theologically. Interestingly, Oscar Wilde quoted
this as part of his defence during his infamous trial for homosexuality. See https://www
.famous-trials.com/wilde/327-home, accessed February 22, 2020.

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280 Zananiri
pillars within the Dutch social system. However, when read in combination
Scholten’s proximity to the Humanitarian Scientific Committee and his ‘queer-
ing’ of religious imagery – point to at least some consideration of questions
of social justice, both temporal and spiritual. A complex picture of Scholten’s
perspective begins to emerge around the rubrics of religion, sexuality and art
history, particularly when intersected with broader social context. Borrowing
from various scholarly disciplines, the taxonomical principles he applies to his
photography in Palestine attempts to synthesise something that approaches an
anthropological study from images of a diversity of people to religious events,
like Nabī Mūsā, which was itself undergoing rapid changes from a religious to
a nationalist festival in this period (Figs. 8.4 and 8.5).39
After his return to Europe, Scholten held his only exhibition, Palestine
in Transition in London’s Brook Street Gallery from 25th to 29th February,
1924. It was organised under the auspices of the Anglo-Palestinian Club,40
a Zionist organisation that had been founded two years earlier.41 It would
seem that Scholten viewed his exhibition more as an opportunity for pro-
gressing his career or Catholic interests, rather than a position of political
partisanship given attitudes relayed in his postcards to Geertje. On the
25th July, 1922, in the aftermath of the British White Paper42 Scholten wrote
‘Arrived in Jerusalem yesterday evening, to avoid that Jewish Feast in Tel Aviv.
I did not want to toast (champagne) to the health of the Jews, and on their
possession of the H. Land. That is why I dodged it’.43
Confessional concerns seem to be at the core of Scholten’s aims for the exhi-
bition: ‘They object to those Catholic texts, but I am not moved to put them in
a Protestant way. I’d prefer not exhibit’.44 What it does underscore, however, is
the development of a Zionist cultural diplomacy, particularly in the UK
where it served to capitalise on Zionist-Protestant affinities and the political
gains made with the Balfour Declaration, just seven years earlier. The exhibi-
tion comprised of around 2,000 photographs. Sadly, either no catalogue was
39 Awad Halaby, “Islamic Ritual and Palestinian Nationalism: al-Hajj Amin and the Prophet
Moses Festival in Jerusalem, 1921 to 1936,” in Jerusalem Interrupted: Modernity and Colonial
Transformation 1917-Present, ed. Lena Jayyusi (Northampton, MA: Interlink Publishing:
2013), 139–152.
40 The British Journal of Photography, February 29, 1924, 130.
41 William Rubinstein and Michael Jolles, The Palgrave Dictionary of Anglo-Jewish History
(London: Palgrave MacMillan UK, 2011), 69.
42 The White Paper was written by the then Secretary of the State for the Colonies, Winston
Churchill and released on 3rd June, 1922.
43 Postcard to Geertje, 25th July, 1922, Frank Scholten Collection, Box E2.
44 Postcard to Geertje 16th February, 1924, Frank Scholten Collection, Box E2.

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Figures 8.4 and 8.5 Jour Nabī Mūsā and Untitled (also Nabī Mūsā), 1921–23. Frank
Scholten, UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_02_0071
and UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_02_0072. Frank
Scholten Collection
Images courtesy of NINO and UBL

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282 Zananiri
produced or it has been lost.45 The exhibition, however, received positive

reviews from the British press, both Jewish and non-Jewish, for showing the
nature of modernity in the ancient ‘Holy Land’.46
3.3 Towards the Biblical Moderne

By the time Scholten had arrived in Palestine a Western scholarly culture had
developed. A number of permanent institutes had been established such as
École Biblique et Archéologique Française de Jérusalem (1890), the American
School of Oriental Study (1900) and British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem
(1919). These archaeological institutions by their very nature were, of course,
more vested in the ancient past – often in Biblical terms – rather than the
present moment, but each were attempting to employ new scholarly meth-
odologies, including the use of photography, in dealing with archaeology in
Palestine.
The institutionalisation and reassessment of biblification, both in Scholten’s
corpus and elsewhere, and the attempt to reconcile Biblical interest with
that of modern, scientific methodology, is what we might term the Biblical
Moderne.47 The Biblical Moderne represents a rupture in biblified representa-
tion that either consciously or unconsciously attempted to build on, correct
and legitimise previous generations of imaging by reconciling them with mod-
ern scholarly approaches, a concept that looms large in the methodological
approaches that Scholten employed in his work.
On the one hand, Scholten is clearly cognisant of his Christian, and spe-
cifically Catholic, positioning given the majority of the titles he referenced.48
His attempts to mediate a position denotes a somewhat liberal and inclusive
subject position that we can presume was drawn from the formative cultural
context he had inhabited in Europe. On the other hand, he also adopts a prob-
lematic assumption of scholarly objectivity under the auspices of the scientific,
which can be seen in the centring of Christianity in the quotation of Christian,
45 I tried to trace a catalogue at the British Library and National Arts Library. While I found
numerous catalogues from the Brook Street Gallery in the same period, it appears that
one was not published for what was only a one-week exhibition.
46 There were a number of reviews of the exhibition, these include The British Journal of
Photography, February 29, 1924; “Life in Palestine”; Times (London, England) 26 Feb. 1924,
5; The Times Digital Archive. Web. 28 Sept. 2018; The Universe The Catholic Newspaper,
February 29th, 1924.
47 I would like to thank Stephen Sheehi for suggesting this useful term in feedback on this
chapter during the conference that led to this publication.
48 A full inventory has yet to be made, but the titles he references and the sources of found
images indicate that he had a significant library on the topics of Palestine, biblical history
and theology.

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Muslim and Jewish scriptures in his two published volumes, the notation of his
found images and the notes towards the other 14 volumes.
Published in four different language editions49 (French, German, English
and only the first volume of two in Dutch), the images maintain uniformity
across each imprint, but the emphasis on quotations shift slightly in each lan-
guage. It is worth noting that the differences between the various language
editions often paralleled the relationships of those language speakers to the
communities he was photographing in Palestine. This could show a nuanced
understanding of colonial geo-politics in each of the language markets he
addressed or may simply be marketing machinery to different groups of
European-language speakers. In either case, the catering to a particular lan-
guage market with slightly more sources from their respective tongues belies
the colonial relations and cultural affinities that had developed in the Ottoman
era and into the British Mandate.
Though it has to be said they are only very slight differences, the French
edition (1929), for example, has extra quotations for Catholic, Armenian and
Sephardic communities; the German (1930) emphasis on German Templars,
Protestants and Ashkenazis; the English (1931) a similar focus to the German,
but with a few more evangelical references. The Dutch edition, of which only
one volume was published, is slightly harder to compare, but does reference a
number of Dutch works on Christianity that the others do not.50
The fact that the images remain uniform across all four language editions,51
hints that either he regarded the image as having a universal value or that he
regarded the images – as informal and intimate as they often are – as a form
of ethnographic data collection for his project for which text was regarded
as secondary evidence. If this is the case, it would constitute an interesting
inversion of biblified imaging practices, in which the primacy of Biblical text
was typically used to read the ‘Holy Land’. Instead, we could position Scholten
as prioritising the primacy of the image over the quotations to which he had
ascribed them. This again hints at a certain focus on modern scientific meth-
odologies influenced by the taxonomies above, but also at the same time
reinforces the sanctity of the land, still positioning it within some rubric of
biblification. The reconciliation of the Biblical and scientific is perhaps where
we might place Scholten’s work within the trope of the Biblical Moderne.
49 It seems a Spanish edition was also proposed, but never produced, see postcard to Geertje
13th May, 1931, Frank Scholten Collection, Box E2.
50 Sary Zananiri, “Frank Scholten: Landschap in het Brits Mandaat Palestina”, Fotografisch
Geheugen 96 (December 2018).
51 There is however a printing error in one edition, where the pages are out of sequence,
however the images were clearly marked with the same numbers as the other editions.

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284 Zananiri
4 Modernity, Orientalism and Biblification: Applying Taxonomies

to Scholten in Palestine
The process of remediating Palestine and Palestinians in photography for

western circulation networks, as many chapters of this volume attest, was pri-
marily focused on the use of the Biblical to interpret what might otherwise
have been seen as a ‘foreign’ world. The familiarity of the Biblical, both as a
textual narrative and, by the early 1920s, as a familiar imaging trope, relied on
bridging a gap between the western consumer of such images and the other-
ness of the so-called ‘Orient’ through the construction of a Western Biblical
imaginary. Biblification, as Issam Nassar terms it, actively highlighted the
Biblical narrative, remediating modern Palestine to an ancient past in a process
that excised (Palestinian) modernity.52 In many ways, this is a stark contrast
to Scholten’s approach, which, as the title of his 1924 exhibition Palestine in
Transition implied, depicted a place undergoing rapid changes brought about
by modernity.
4.1 Class and Urban-Rural Divides

Western photographers producing work for a Western audience had predom-
inantly concerned themselves with the Biblical, while local photographers
focused on a mixture of production for local consumption, be it through the
commissioning of studio portraits, carte de visite,53 documenting events for the
state, religious authorities, the media and academia, as well as similar bibli-
fied production as their western counterparts for a similar western market.54
Scholten is a rarity in terms of visiting photographers, in that he photographed
52 For a more detailed discussion and definition of biblification see: Issam Nassar,
“‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth-century
Photography”, Third Text 20, no. 374 (2006): 317–326; Issam Nassar, “Colonization by
Imagination”, in City of Collision, eds. P. Misselwitz, T. Rieniets, Z. Efrat, R. Khamaisi and
R. Nasrallah (Basel: Birkhäuser, 2006); Issam Nassar, European Portrayals of Jerusalem:
Religious Fascinations and Colonialist Imaginations (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press,
2006).
53 A useful chapter that frames the social and ideological implications of studio portraiture
and specifically the phenomenon of the carte de visite in the Arab World until 1910 is
Stephen Sheehi’s chapter, “The Carte de Visite: The Sociability of New Men and Women”,
in his book The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography 1860–1910 (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2016), 53–74.
54 For instance, see the photographic outputs of Khalīl Raʿad from his photographs of World
War I commissioned by the Ottomans, Salim Tamari, “The War Photography of Khalil
Raad: Ottoman Modernity and the Biblical Gaze”, Jerusalem Quarterly 52 (2013): 25–37, to
works that specifically focus on the biblical see images from his catalogue in chapter 6 of
this volume.

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portraits of local people, both elites as well as those from more humble back-
grounds, making the collection of specific importance to garnering an overview
of the rapid shifts taking place in the early 1920s.
To contextualise the importance of Scholten’s corpus, we might turn our
attention to the British Mandate’s various urban planning policies, as Nadi
Abusaada has written in his chapter. Jerusalem, as many other cities, was chang-
ing rapidly, even with the early urban planning schemes developed by William
McLean and Charles Ashbee, which progressively removed the nineteenth and
early twentieth century urban growth abutting the Old City Walls in Jerusalem
to quite physically separate the Old City, with its all its religious connotations,
from its suburban surroundings.55 This demonstrates a very physical iteration
biblification of the Old City and its environs, prosecuted within romanticism
of the British Arts and Crafts movement of which Ashbee was an adherent. On
the other hand, the taxonomies employed by British planners paid little atten-
tion to Palestinian villages on the urban peripheries that grew into some of the
most well-built sections of the new city. As Rana Barakat points out, they were
regarded as rural and hence outside of British taxonomies of either ancient or
modern,56 but were also disregarded within demographic studies of the city,57
showing the erasure of semi-rural Palestinian communities on the urban
periphery, even on a bureaucratic level by ignoring the category altogether.
Based on looking at Scholten’s corpus broadly, it would be fair to say that the
majority of photographs he took were documentary in nature. They are gener-
ally not staged when in public space. Although he certainly made portraits of
people, even in these posed contexts they tend towards the casual snapshot,
rather than the more formal language and conventions of studio photography.
It is important to conceive of Scholten’s photographic practice as one which
purveys a relative naturalism, if not one which frames a particularised per-
spective, but there are indeed still limitations to how we might contextualise
Scholten’s interactions.
In an article in the Dutch press dated April, 1934, Scholten described how
he managed relations, particularly with rural communities. This ranged from
pleasantries and platitudes, to an incident where Scholten worked with his
chauffeur to get a photograph of a shepherd. His chauffeur suggested that if a
shepherd didn’t have his photograph taken, a war with Mussolini in Italy might
55 Roberto Mazza, Jerusalem from the Ottomans to the British (London: I.B. Tauris, 2009).
56 Rana Barakat, “Urban planning, colonialism and the Pro-Jerusalem Society,” Jerusalem
Quarterly 65 (Spring 2017): 32.
57 Rana Barakat, “The Jerusalem Fellah: Popular Politics in Mandate-Era Palestine,” Journal
of Palestine Studies vol. 46, no. 1 (Autumn 2016): 9.

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286 Zananiri
Figure 8.6 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A shepherd playing the flute. UBL_NINO_F
_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_0821, Frank Scholten Collection
Image courtesy of NINO
break out.58 While it is easy to admire the breadth and depth of Scholten’s
corpus, it would be a romanticisation to assume his class background created
equal footings between himself and many of his photographic subjects.
Scholten’s village landscapes, particularly Yazūr, on Jaffa’s periphery, give us
a case study in some of the tensions between the Biblical and the modern.
In Figs. 8.7 and 8.8, women and children are gathered in rural costume in the
village of Yazūr, just 6 km east of central Jaffa and near the site of today’s Ben
Gurion Airport. A rustic prickly pear hedge, trees and a crowd of women and
children conjure up the image’s biblified settings of its photographic forebears.
Were it a film of the 1920s, it would not be difficult to imagine Jesus’ imminent
arrival. Indeed, reading it as filmic speaks to its fundamentally modern quality.
58 [Author unknown] “Een Nederlander in Nieuw-Palestina” van Houten’s Eigen Tijdschrift

(April 1934) cut from a magazine and pasted into a notebook of press clippings collected
by Scholten on his projects, Scholten collection. With thanks to Maartje Alders for bring-
ing this article to my attention. Frank Scholten Collection, Box marked ‘Jan van Duren’.

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Figures 8.7 and 8.8 Yazur, 1921–23. Frank Scholten, UBL_NINO_F_Scholten

_Fotos_Doos_04_0403 and UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_
Doos_04_0025. Frank Scholten Collection

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288 Zananiri
It seems composed, yet a blurred figure walks through the scene, indicating a
spontaneous shot.
Fig. 8.8 speaks to personal dynamics. The three women at the front, despite
modesty in front of the camera, look directly into the lens, the one in the front
clearly smiling, despite the shadow across her face. There is a sense of famil-
iarity, even friendship. This naturalistic, documentary approach makes us
reassess Fig. 8.7. What could have been a staged biblified cliché is indeed a
spontaneous documentation of the rural scene, albeit the same subject matter
that more biblified photography would privilege.59 And yet, within biblifica-
tion as an imaging convention, such a reading seems difficult to avoid given the
weight of previous photographic production.
To help contextualise the social dimensions of such a scene, we might turn
our attention to some of the scholarly endeavours of the period. One particular
scholar of note was Tawfīq Kanaʿān (Canaan,) a medical doctor and anthro-
pologist. While serving in his medical capacity, Kanaʿān conducted much of
his field research into Palestinian folklore and also developed a collection
of folk amulets, now housed at the Birzeit Museum. Kanaʿān published widely,
particularly in the Journal of Palestinian Oriental Society. In the early 1920s,
he published a number of scholarly studies that dealt with folk beliefs, for
instance Haunted Springs and Water Demons in Palestine (1920)60 and Folklore
of the Seasons in Palestine (1923),61 but continued his writing well into the 1930s.
The work of Kanaʿān makes an interesting foil for considering class relations
in early Mandate Palestine, particularly in the division between middle classes
and rural working communities. As a member of the professional class, he
was one of a circle of intellectuals who were very much engaged increasingly
in modern transnational scholarly practices. His research interests, however,
were very much in rural communities and folklore, a culture that was increas-
ingly affected by processes of urbanisation as Stephen Sheehi shows in his
chapter. Kanaʿān’s ethnographic work was actively documenting the vanishing
rural folklore and practice for posterity, underscoring the vastly different lived
experience of modernity that class delineated in Palestine.
59 It is also a typology that came to be reproduced constantly in cinema in the next few years
as the first Hollywood biblical epics gained currency through the 1920s. See Sary Zananiri,
“From Still to Moving Image: Shifting Representation of Jerusalem and Palestinians in the
Western Biblical Imaginary”, Jerusalem Quarterly 67 (2016): 64–81.
60 Tawfiq Canaan, “Haunted Springs and Water Demons in Palestine”, Journal of Palestinian
Oriental Society, vol. I (1920–21): 153–170.
61 Tawfiq Canaan, “Folklore of the Seasons in Palestine”, Journal of Palestinian Oriental
Society, vol. X (1923).

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Figure 8.9 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. A village house decorated with patterns similar
to cross stitch. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_0820. Frank Scholten
Collection
The role of photography, and biblified photographic production, has been

extensively explored as a by-product of colonial relations and the Western
Biblical imaginary,62 but the formative moment of the early years of the British
Mandate saw a significant shift in demography. The incoming European com-
munities (both Jewish and otherwise) and the urban expansion of cities like
Jerusalem63 and Jaffa to encompass what were historically Palestinian vil-
lages on the urban peripheries into their suburban sprawl, breached, in the
physicality of architectural form, the historical distance between urban and
rural communities.
This tension between the Biblical and the modern (and perhaps implicitly
between the rural and the urban) took on new dimensions in the making of
colonial claims. As outlined in the introduction to this volume, Orientalism,
like biblification, eschewed the modern, but through a different operation.
62 Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism”; Nassar, “Colonization by

Imagination,”; Nassar, “European Portrayals of Jerusalem”.
63 Barakat, “The Jerusalem Fellah,” 9–12.

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290 Zananiri
Figure 8.10
Tel Aviv, 1921–23. Frank Scholten, UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_
Doos_17_0186, Frank Scholten Collection
Where biblification relies on the interpretation of the image through a pro-

cess of familiarisation (that is to say, making the image legible through Biblical
narrative), Orientalism is a system that relies on demarcating otherness by
the positioning of the ‘Orient’ and inhabitants against modernity. In very
similar ways to biblification, the production, consumption and circulation
of Orientalist photographs overlapped with similar demographics to bibli-
fied cultural materials: the Western photographic market. But here again, the
context of class in both the production and consumption of photography, is
important to note.
4.2 Oriental Bodies

A photo of a Jewish couple, marked by Scholten as having been taken in Tel
Aviv, elaborates on the ways in which Ottoman communalism was morphing
(Fig. 8.10). The woman on the left appears in numerous Scholten photographs
ranging from her work as nurse in Jewish quarantine stations through to social-
ising with a predominantly male Zionist social circle. Annotations from other
photographs of the couple in the same outfits suggests they had just become
engaged. From her head wear and the date of the photograph (1921–23),

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it would seem a safe presumption that she was a Third Aliyah migrant. The
context of anti-Jewish pogroms in Eastern Europe as World War I ended, in
combination with the restriction of Jewish migration to the US and Western
Europe64 led a new generation of Jewish migrants to Palestine in the years after
the First World War. This photo is particularly telling in terms of the porous
social attitudes. She is wearing a thawb, a traditional cross-stitched Palestinian
dress, combined with an Eastern European headscarf.
Indigenous photographers in Palestine also took part in similar activities,
some offering traditional clothing as ‘dress ups’ for studio portraits to both
tourists and the local population. While the motivations that led Palestinians
and foreigners alike to be photographed in such costume may have differences
and overlaps as Issam Nassar writes in his chapter of this volume (Figs. 5.6 and
5.7), assumptions can be made of both groupings in laying claim to indigeneity.
Implicitly, a particular relationship between class and modernity emerges, that
gives us a sense of the transnational entanglements constructed by a perfor-
mance of class.
Very significant questions of cultural appropriation aside, Fig. 8.10 of the
woman wearing a thawb is not simply an Ashkenazi testing of whether they
want to embody some sort of Palestinian Oriental positioning. It is, in a
sense, embodying two completely different subject positions within the same
Jewish body, asking whether that body fits within rubrics of ‘Palestinian-ness’
within identity formation processes so endemic to the period. The thawb itself
appears to be made from a mixture of patterns not related to a particular
locality or region, though the v-shaped design does on some level reference a
typology based in Ramallah designs.65 While the thawb points on one level to
an assimilationist attitude, it also denotes the popularisation of the thawb as
a marker of identity, and perhaps a marker of ‘authenticity’, as we look to the
thawb from Bethlehem worn by the girl discussed in Kopty’s chapter at the
American Colony (Fig. 9.5).
In this regard, as an image, this underscores amorphous identities that
would become actively formalised in the years after this photo was made. The
‘honeymoon’ context of a new relationship aside, the act of donning the thawb
may appear to be a simple gesture of trying new clothing, which certainly has
antecedents in Palestinian studio photography, but it belies the complex posi-
tioning of Jewish identity within a framework that is at one and the same time
part of Europe and also removed from it. This duality is one that had significant
64 Immigration Restriction Act of 1921 in USA and the Alien Act of 1905 in Britain both had
significant impacts on Jewish possibilities for emigration from Eastern Europe.
65 I would like to thank Wafa Ghnaim from Tatreez and Tea for this useful information.

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292 Zananiri
impacts for Jews in Europe. As Grossmann points out, the uneasy positioning
of a spectrum of Jewishness in Europe, from ancient and Oriental to modern
and European, was not without its consequences in ways the Ashkenazi com-
munities were remediated in photography from Palestine to the West. She
notes that Theodor Harburger criticised Karl Gröber’s photo book of Palestine
in a review, saying that only images of religious Oriental Jews at the Wailing
Wall were published in it rather than those images of the Zionist ‘new Jew’.66
In looking more broadly at the growing rubrics of orientalisation, the ques-
tion of class becomes key if we consider Palestine as being the central node
in which a series of transnational networks converge. For the Jewish middle
classes of Central Europe, the renewal of Jewish culture during the Weimar
Republic termed by Michael Brenner as a renaissance saw a particular shift in
German perceptions of Jewishness in the rising context of Zionism.67
Jewish communities in 1920s Germany were increasingly seen as part of
pluralist vision of cosmopolitan culture68 and, within the rubric of Zionism, a
vanguard of German culture in the so-called ‘Holy Land’, a trope which would
have been familiar to someone like Frank Scholten who had been educated
in Berlin.
On the other hand, the development of Jewish identity in the Yishuv and
the rise of National Socialism in the 1930s required a certain orientalisation of
Jewishness to accommodate Zionist ideology.69 Zionism required this orien-
talisation as a means of recouping an ‘ancient Jewish past’ which would come
to be embodied in Jewish Arabs such as Yemenite metal workers, deployed as
Zionist cultural diplomacy,70 but at the same moment Zionism also embodied
that which was fundamentally modern, particularly the narrative of bringing
of technology and progress to Palestine.71
The mercantile Palestinian middle classes would also be photographed by
Scholten both directly, like the portrait of ʿĪsā al-ʿĪsā with his child72 (Fig. 8.11)
66 Rebekka Grossmann, “Negotiating Presences: Palestine and the Weimar German Gaze”,
Jewish Social Studies 23, no. 2 (2018): 145.
67 Michael Brenner, The Renaissance of Jewish Culture in Weimar Germany (New Haven, CT:
Yale University Press 1998).
68 Grossmann, “Negotiating Presences: Palestine and the Weimar German Gaze”, 138.
69 Ibid., 160–161.
70 Nisa Ari, “Competition in the Cultural Sector: Handicrafts and the Rise of the Trade Fair
in British Mandate Palestine”, in European Cultural Diplomacy and Arab Christians in
Palestine, 1918–1948. Between Contention and Connection, eds. Karène Sanchez Summerer
and Sary Zananiri (London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2021), 231.
71 Grossmann, “Negotiating Presences: Palestine and the Weimar German Gaze”, 150.
72 Scholten, Palestine Illustrated, vol. 1, 67, image 128.

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Figure 8.11 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Portrait of ʿĪsā al-ʿĪsā and son
Raja. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_07_0407, Frank Scholten
Collection
or young men enjoying their fast cars (Fig. 8.12) or indirectly, like the lavish
interior of a Christian, upper middle-class Palestinian home in Jaffa.73
Images of these middle classes differ greatly from the rural and working-class
Palestinians who were so often portrayed as embodying the spirit of the Biblical
vestige of ancient times. The embodied experience of modernity necessitates
consideration of the class connotations of what it meant to live a ‘modern’
lifestyle. Images such as these point to an Eastern Mediterranean vernacular
of modernity, one which was still denoted by the wearing of a tarbush or the
use of pointed arches in architecture, despite essentially containing the same
furniture and accoutrements an equivalent household in the West might.74
73 Scholten, Palestine Illustrated, vol. 2, 67, image 141.

74 Seikaly, Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate Palestine (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 2016): 36–41; Keith David Watenpaugh, Being Modern in the Middle East:

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294 Zananiri
Figure 8.12 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_

Doos_17_0215, Frank Scholten Collection
Taken in conjunction with the series of images about Palestinian industry,

particularly the lumber, soap and orange exports that Scholten imaged,75 we
see a world which is connected through commerce and, within a few years of
Scholten’s time in Palestine, would establish important multinational financial
institutions like the Arab Bank (founded 1930) and later Intra Bank (founded
1951, but with antecedents in the Mandate period) by Yusif Baydas, son of the
Nahda literary figure Khalīl Baydas. This ‘orientalised’ iteration of modernity
at once shows the results of participation in international trade and com-
merce, but also the cultural fractures between urban and rural life, the growing
middle class and, implicitly, the continuities of the pre-war legacies of the
Tanzimat Reforms.
As Keith Watenpaugh outlines in the first chapter of his book Being Modern
in the Middle East, the ethnically and confessionally diverse middle classes
of the late Ottoman period was small, but disproportionately influential. Its
Revolution, Nationalism, Colonialism, and the Arab Middle Class (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2012), chapter 1.
75 Scholten, Palestine Illustrated, vol. 2, images 118–129 and 231–259.

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relationships to technology, liquid financial assets and its privileged rela-

tionship to education76 had come about through confessionally-specific
affiliations that tethered communities to various European states through
various modes of cultural diplomacy, for example in the arena of education.
This shows yet another layer to the multiplicity of networks embedded in early
Mandate Palestine.
The fact that Scholten referred slightly differently to each of the ethnic
and confessionally diverse communities of Palestine in the different language
versions of the first volume of his books once again underscores these colo-
nial relationships. But it also points to his nuanced understanding of broader
geo-political relationships enabled by European cultural diplomacy, in which
those communities are related back to his Western readership through
such affiliations.
4.3 Taxonomising a Colonial Landscape

Scholten’s photographic collection shows us a world in which British colonial
rule brought new populations into the already diverse post-Ottoman land-
scape. He shows us British soldiers, from Tommies to Gurkhas, but also French
and American troops. The upsurge in Eastern European anti-Semitism in the
early 1920s would bring new and significantly larger migrations of European
Jews as part of the Third Aliyah. By the early 1920s, several generations of
modern, mercantile, middle class and globally connected Palestinians77 had
engaged with the world well beyond the former Ottoman empire’s borders,
taking part in international discussions about nationalist aspirations with
former compatriots who were now neighbours in Syria, Lebanon and Egypt
and very much engaged with the European powers who had established and
cemented their presences in nineteenth century Palestine.
This deft conjuring of landscapes further afield is perhaps most visible in
images of the incoming South Asian communities Scholten photographed.
Gurkha regiments had been part of the British army since the early nine-
teenth century. By World War I, they comprised eleven regiments, each
greatly expanded with extra battalions, numbering a total of 200,000 men.78
The Gurkhas were involved in General Allenby’s campaign in Palestine and
76 Watenpaugh, Being Modern in the Middle East, 26–27.

77 For instance, in the mother of pearl trade, which saw Palestinian trading communi-
ties developed in Paris, Manchester, Kiev, Port-au-Prince and Manila see Jacob Norris,
“Exporting the Holy Land: Artisans and Merchant Migrants in Ottoman-Era Bethlehem”,
Mashriq & Mahjar 1, no. 2 (2013).
78 Alan Axelrod and Michael Dubowe, Mercenaries: A Guide to Private Armies and Private
Military Companies (Thousand Oaks, CA: CQ Press, 2014), 70.

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296 Zananiri
Figure 8.13 Untitled, 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Gurkhas in Jerusalem leaving for Nabī Mūsā.
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_02_0074, Frank Scholten Collection
W.T. Massey describes the loss of South Asian lives euphemistically in terms
of ‘sacrifice’ in the British capture of Jerusalem.79 The proliferation of images
showing South Asian participations in the Nabi Musa festival give us a sense
of other complex encounters, which require considerable further research at
a later stage.
The changing nature of Nabī Mūsā from a religious festival to a nationalist
expression exemplified by the riots of 1920 raises quite a series of questions:
how did South Asian troops participating in Nabī Mūsā relate to shifts in local
politics in Palestine? Did they view the growth of Palestinian nationalism
through the lens of Indian politics, particularly the Lucknow Pact between the
Indian National Congress and the Muslim League in 1916 and the civil unrest of
the early 1920s? Did this create transnational anti-colonial solidarities or were
the Gurkhas simply regarded by Palestinians as just another arm of the British
79 See William Thomas Massey, How Jerusalem Was Won Being the Record of Allenby’s
Campaign in Palestine (1919), Ebook available via https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/
epub/10098/pg10098.html, accessed October 18, 2019.

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Figure 8.14 Zweedsche matrozen, 1918–19. Frank Scholten. ‘Swedish sailors’ at Amsterdam
Centraal Station. Part of his album ‘Amsterdam’. UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_
Netherlands_Amsterdam_010, Frank Scholten Collection
occupation of Palestine? Sadly, these questions of colonial mobility and their

impacts must be left for further research.
4.4 A Queer Lens?

What the images of the Gurkhas and other troops show is how the appara-
tus of the Great War, and its aftermath, facilitated colonial mobility. Scant
evidence exists of Scholten’s relationships in Palestine beyond photographic
records and brief notations in postcards. However, inferring from legal records
in the Netherlands, which document his sexual encounters with military men
at Amsterdam Centraal Station,80 we might propose that the proliferation
of various populations of troops in Palestine also provided opportunities for
80 Van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957), 159.

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298 Zananiri
homosocial interactions, which cut across class divides. This thesis is certainly
supported by the amount of images of military men and homosocial spaces in
his Palestinian photographs. The images of Nissan Huts at the British military
base in Sarafand, one of the most significant bases in Palestine, certainly seem
to be anomalous within more typical readings of Palestine amongst Western
photographers, even amongst the plethora of soldiers’ albums from World War I
and the years afterwards.
The time that Scholten spent in Palestine, therefore, can be seen as a period
of post-Ottoman entrenchment of the British, very much a world that was
undergoing radical shifts and changes in relation to demography, administra-
tion and culture, but also one in which Ottoman imperial mobility across the
Eastern Mediterranean was changing to a globalised framework of British colo-
nial mobility and newly formed borders framed new cultural identifications.
We can infer from repeated images of people in the photographic collec-
tion, that Scholten had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances in Palestine.
Certainly, from his published works, we can also gather his nuanced under-
standing of post-Ottoman communal structures. Apart from a biographical
article by Teresa Kwiecień81 and another short study by me,82 there are but a
few secondary sources on Scholten, generally in studies of other personalities
such Jacob Israël de Haan,83 Jacob Schorer84 or more general studies of Dutch
histories of sexuality that deal with the years in Europe preceding his time
in Palestine. Consideration of these studies paints a strong queer subtext to
the collection.
Homosexual relations had been decriminalised across the Ottoman Empire
in 1858 as part of the Tanzimat Reforms, although they would be recriminalised
by the British first with anti-Sodomy legislation in 1927 and then the banning
homosexual relations in 1936.85 Analysis of court records from the 1930s and
40s, during the period in which homosexuality had been recriminalised, cer-
tainly point to cross-communal homosexual relations as not uncommon.86

82 Zananiri‚ “Frank Scholten: landschap in het Brits Mandaat Palestina”.
83 Ludy Giebels, produced a number of works on De Haan, which have mentions of Scholten,
including a photo he had taken of De Haan in Jericho. Likewise, Scholten is mentioned in
J. Fontijn, Onrust: Het leven van Jacob Israël de Haan, 1881–1924 (Amsterdam: De Bezige Bij,
2015).
84 Van der Meer, Jonkheer mr. Jacob Anton Schorer (1866–1957).
85 Orna Alyagon Darr, “Narratives of ‘Sodomy’ and ‘Unnatural Offences’ in the Courts of
Mandate Palestine (1918–1948),” published online by Cambridge University Press (2017):
241–242.
86 Orna Alyagon Darr, Plausible Crime Stories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2019): 31–32.

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Figure 8.15 and 8.16 Untitled [marked Sarafand], 1921–23. Frank Scholten. Nissan huts
used as soldiers’ barracks at the British Military Base in Sarafand.
UBL_NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_1005 and UBL_NINO_F
_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_16_1009, Frank Scholten Collection

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300 Zananiri
Given the gaps in legal records for the early 1920s, we can but infer the social
situation from later prosecutions and hope that further research on the topic
through other documents like memoirs will be undertaken in the future.
In the arena of sexual diversity during the early 1920s two points stand out.
Firstly, that legal (and, at least to some degree, social) attitudes to homosexu-
ality were subjected to similarly changing forces and codification as the other
arenas of society. Secondly, that the queer networks within the complicated
ethno-confessional context of the period, at least to some degree cut across
communal divides, as the relationship between de Haan and his partner ʿAdīl
Aweidah attest.
The queer subtext to much of the Scholten collection taken at a surface
level, may appear to contradict the history of Orientalist and biblified imag-
ing. However, the repeated images of David in Scholten’s found images, for
instance, cut across different eras, art styles, mediums and artists in a compar-
ative mode. While this underscores a scholarly comparison on an art historical
level, it also speaks to modes of transnational and transcultural comparison
that attempt to come to grips with the differing treatment of the Biblical figure
through a queer lens across time, culture and geography, effectively threading
across otherwise disparate categories.
In many ways, however, these queer subtexts uphold Scholten’s gestures
towards modernity. This, taken with intellectual milieu in which Scholten
mixed, the influence of scholarly methodologies and the new theories
of sexuality he was exposed to, we can begin to understand the complexity of
Scholten’s project in Palestine.
Taken in conjunction with his conversion to Catholicism and the art histor-
ical materials present in his collected images, we might infer an engagement
with André Rafflovich’s Uranism et Unisexualité of 1896. A liberal Catholic,
Rafflovich argued that same-sex desire had given rise to much of Western
high culture, making inverts (a historical British term of the period for homo-
sexuals) the ideal priest. Invoking Platonic ideals, he argued that occasional
homosexual lapses were sins, but not grievous errors.87
While biblification and orientalisation, both in Europe and the Arab World,
were used to delineate the limitations of civility, the authority of classicism,
with its implications of rationality would, as per Rafflovich, buttress colo-
nial notions of ‘Western Civilisation’ and hence colonial power dynamics.
In the Scholten collection, their conflation with biblification and its latent
87 For more information see Frederick S. Roden, “Queer Christian: The Catholic Homosexual
Apologia and Gay/Lesbian Practice”, International Journal of Sexuality and Gender Studies
6, no. 4 (2001): 252.

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Figure 8.17 David and Jonathan, 1891. George Heywood Sumner, published in
‘The Studio’, 1891. From the ‘found images’ collection, Frank Scholten
Collection, Box A8
Image courtesy of NINO
Figure 8.18 Untitled [French soldiers in Jerusalem], 1921–23. Frank Scholten. UBL_
NINO_F_Scholten_Fotos_Doos_17_0216, Frank Scholten Collection

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302 Zananiri
homoeroticism undermines this. Instead, we might see him as implicitly

attempting to reconcile or create a complicated confluence between classi-
cism, biblification, Orientalism and modernity.
Scholten’s lens and what might be termed a ‘pilgrimage of redemption’ to
Palestine after his legal troubles in the Netherlands, gives us a unique insight
into the nuances of post-Ottoman communalism from the very particular lens
of Dutch pillarisation. This sensitive understanding of the social mechanics
of communal spheres in combination with a queer lens gives us a sense of
cultural porosities that the early Mandate engendered, but also a sense of a
modern sexological approach that underpins his attitude.
5 Conclusion
The Frank Scholten Collection, through its complex study of communities in

Palestine and its attempts to apply modern academic methodologies of the
day, stands testament to a period of significant cultural and social reorgani-
sation, both in Palestine and Europe. What Scholten’s methodology and the
collection he left behind show is a world in which modernity was fundamental
to creating descriptive taxonomies, a process of ordering the world through
scholarly engagement.
While the lack of detailed textual information beyond postcard correspond-
ence and image annotations hinders a complete picture of Scholten’s corpus,
the picture that does emerges from the Scholten collection is a complex one.
From the photographic and found image annotations, we can see he drew on
a diversity of scholarly fields from early medicalised and theological theories
of sexuality, Western art historical methodologies, Palestinian and Biblical
history, and theological enquiries into text. On a photographic level, we see evi-
dence that he was acutely aware of the different ethno-confessional affiliations
in local communities and within his publications we see an understanding
of how those communities had affinities with the Western powers active in
the region. However, on a personal level we can but make inferences from the
Scholten collection on the ways he might have drawn, perceived or experi-
enced parallels between different social systems of organisation, like Dutch
pillarisation and the Ottoman Millet system, both products of their respective
nineteenth century modern social policies.
This complicated matrix of taxonomies generated by Scholten engages care-
fully with histories of biblified and Orientalist imaging of the ‘Holy Land’. His
lens illustrates how biblification and Orientalism were produced by moder-
nity, but also how the three interacted, producing an intimate portrait of the

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establishment of the British Mandate and early Mandate society. This interac-
tion gives us a useful framework for analysing the shifting ethnic, confessional
and class diversity of Palestine during the establishment of the British
Mandate period in demarcating communities. But more importantly, it serves
our understanding of the shifting contexts of modernity that demonstrates
the production of the framework of the Biblical Moderne in the portrayal of
local communities.
This is further complicated by the queerness of Scholten’s lens. Liberal
Catholic thought around homosexuality may have been an attractive factor
in his conversion, but the social dynamics around sexuality, and implicitly
class, is evident in the repeated images of handsome men, particularly in the
military, as well as homosocial spaces like male dorm rooms and workplaces.
These images hint at the ways Scholten may have operated socially in terms
of liaisons with other men, but also the ways in which his homosexuality may
also have transgressed communal boundaries and contributed to his under-
standing of the different ‘compartments’ in social systems like pillarisation or
the Ottoman millet.
Scholten shows us a version of Palestinian society that connects to the
world through many networks, but also a context of complexity that gave rise
to significantly less nuanced identities as the nationalist aspirations of the
period progressed, most embodied by the disastrous consequences of British
colonial rule.
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Part 3
After Effects: Methodologies, Approaches
and Reconceptualising Photography

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Chapter 9
Edward Keith-Roach’s Favourite Things:

Indigenising National Geographic’s Images
of Mandatory Palestine
Yazan Kopty
My research on National Geographic Magazine’s 110-year coverage of Palestine

began with an article in the January 1920 issue titled ‘The Last Israelitish
Blood Sacrifice: How the Vanishing Samaritans Celebrate Passover on Sacred
Mount Gerizim’ by John D. Whiting.1 I came across the article while looking
for photographs of Nablus and its environs to supplement the trove of family
photographs that I had found at my grandparents’ house that were taken in
the first half of the twentieth century. I had dozens of images of private spaces,
of family members posing, of celebrations and visits, and wanted to situate
those domestic and familial scenes within the larger geographic, cultural and
socio-political contexts. The first photograph in Whiting’s article is of a stretch
of road on the lower slopes of Mount Gerizim (Jarizīm), perched just above the
southwestern corner of Nablus with Mount Ebal (ʿAybāl) rising in the distance.
Even though I had never been there or seen any photographs of that particular
spot, I knew exactly where it was within the imagined geography that I had
constructed from my family’s stories and photographs.
While the main text of Whiting’s article meandered through the history
of the Nablus region and of the Samaritan community in particular, the
accompanying photographs sped ahead to the Passover rituals that would be
described later in the text. In the backgrounds of these photographs, I scanned
the faces of the non-Samaritan onlookers – Muslim and Christian visitors from
Nablus and the surrounding villages, including my family’s ancestral village of
Rafīdiyyā – for anyone who resembled the ancestors I knew from our family
photographs. I had heard that as neighbours and friends of the small Samaritan
community, my family attended the festival every year, and even though I did
not find any definitive matches in the photographs, I imagined them into those
moments nonetheless.
1 The article is advertised on the cover of the issue as “The Last Blood Sacrifice, a Samaritan
Rite in Palestine”.
© Yazan Kopty, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_010

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310 Kopty
Whiting and the editors’ objective with the article was to weave together geo-
graphic descriptions, historical narratives, Biblical references and first-person
travelogue to transport, inform and entertain their readers in 1920, while mine
was to insert my family memories and stories into it decades later and to
extract from it images, descriptions, and the lived knowledge that I was miss-
ing. I continued this work by identifying and collecting every article published
in National Geographic Magazine about historic Palestine and began excavat-
ing them in a similar way.
Through this process, I began to notice recurring tones and tropes in the
magazine’s coverage of Palestine and Palestinians that made me wonder who
were the writers, photographers and editors that represented Palestine to the
magazine’s readership, and what perspectives, prejudices, knowledge and
opinions they brought to that work? These questions led me to the National
Geographic Society archives where I began searching the feature files associ-
ated with each published work including background research, editorial notes
and correspondences. During the course of my research, I was given access to
the photographic archives of the Society which contain both the images pub-
lished in the magazine and a much larger collection of images that were never
published. It was my encounters with and between these two sets of images that
shifted my project and its questions away from the makers of the magazine
to those represented in its pages. My project Imagining the Holy became my
attempt at creating a methodology to reframe National Geographic’s images
of Palestine from the perspective of the photographs’ subjects, and to activate
them as sites of indigenous knowledge, memory and power.
1 The Magazine
By the time that National Geographic Magazine began its coverage of Palestine
in 1909, the publication had already begun to shift from its initial incarnation
as a scholarly journal of the National Geographic Society towards the popular
scientific-educational publication that it has been ever since. The Society was
founded in January 1888 as a scientific institution modelled after geographical
societies in Europe and the Americas, such as the Royal Geographic Society
in London and the American Geographical Society in New York. As Tamar
Rothenberg notes in her study of the first six decades of National Geographic
Magazine, these geographical societies ‘existed as centres of geographical
information, broadly construed to include commercial, botanical, geologi-
cal and anthropological angles, among others, with emphasis on knowledge

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Edward Keith-Roach ’ s Favourite Things 311
about and derived from exploration’.2 In October 1888, the Society published
the first issue of its magazine with an announcement asserting its mission ‘to
increase and diffuse geographic knowledge’, and explaining the raison d’être of
its magazine as ‘one of the means of accomplishing these purposes’.3 During its
first decade, the Society’s focus on professional and academic geography was
evident in the makeup of its membership and the magazine’s list of featured
writers, both of which included a core of scientifically trained geographers. By
the turn of the century though, the magazine had evolved into a more acces-
sible, friendly and visual publication, and with it, the Society’s membership
began to boom.
In their seminal work on the magazine’s influence on American culture,
Catherine Lutz and Jane Collins examine the surge in the magazine’s popu-
larity within the wider context of mass circulation magazines at the turn of
the century and the ways that it successfully positioned itself on the border
between science and pleasure.4 The membership numbers alone testify to this
success: from 1,300 members in 1898 to 2,300 in 1903; from 3,400 to 11,000 in
1905 alone; and by 1912, over 100,000 due-paying members.5 Internally, the rise
in the magazine’s prominence and popularity coincided with the beginning of
the half-century-long tenure of its most formative editor, Gilbert H. Grosvenor
(1899 to 1954);6 externally, it was driven by the Spanish-American War of 1898
and national interest in the American takeover of Spain’s colonial possessions
of Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Philippines, and annexation of the islands of
Hawaii. As John Hyde, the magazine’s first editor, remarked in the June 1899
issue, ‘It is doubtful if the study of any branch of human knowledge ever before
received so sudden and powerful a stimulus as the events of the past year have
given to the study of geography’.7 National Geographic Magazine was eager and
perfectly poised to meet this demand.
While many of the places the magazine covered were new to American
readers – including the United States’ new colonial possessions – Palestine was
both familiar to and cherished by its mostly white and Protestant readership, at
2 Tamar Y. Rothenberg, Presenting America’s World: Strategies of Innocence in National

Geographic Magazine, 1888–1945 (Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2007), 26.
3 “Announcement,” National Geographic Magazine 1, no. 1 (October 1888): i.
4 Catherine A. Lutz and Jane L. Collins, Reading National Geographic (Chicago: The University
of Chicago Press, 1993).
5 Julie A. Tuason, “The Ideology of Empire in National Geographic Magazine’s Coverage of the
Philippines, 1898–1908,” Geographical Review 89, no. 1 (Jan 1999): 38.
6 Lutz, Reading National Geographic, 20–24.
7 John Hyde, “The National Geographic Society,” National Geographic Magazine 10, no. 6
(June 1899): 222.

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312 Kopty
least in its Biblified form, imagined and represented in literature, art, Passion
Plays and nativity scenes well before the invention of photography. This inher-
ited Biblical lens through which the magazine’s writers, photographers, editors
and readers viewed Palestine created a foundational tension between what
was in contemporary Palestine and what they were hoping to find there.
2 The Present-Day Inhabitants of the Land
The first mention of Palestine in the pages of National Geographic Magazine

is in a December 1909 feature by Franklin E. Hoskins titled ‘The Route Over
Which Moses Led The Children of Israel Out of Egypt’. In his introduction,
he recounts:
A few years ago a young woman about to visit the Holy Land called
on an old lady friend who loved her Bible and read it frequently from
beginning to end, and told her that she soon hoped to see Jerusalem,
Bethlehem, Galilee and all the places associated with the life of Christ.
The old lady put down her work, removed her silver-rimmed spectacles,
and exclaimed: “Well now! I knew that all those places were in the Bible,
but I never thought of their being on the earth!”8
Hoskins, a Presbyterian missionary based in Beirut, quickly assures his readers

that indeed ‘the Desert of the Exodus has an actual existence upon the face of
the earth, and that the route of the Exodus is being mapped and studied and
photographed by enthusiastic scholars and travellers’.9 In Hoskins’ account
of his forty-day journey across Sinai to ‘earthly Jerusalem’, the mandate of the
Society vis-a-vis geographic knowledge and the stories from his Bible are pre-
sented as inseparable and mutually reinforcing. Indeed, the purpose of his
account is to prove the veracity of the Book of Exodus through his geographi-
cal observations of ‘the almost changeless Peninsula of Sinai’.10 In the decades
that followed, several other magazine contributors wrote features that echoed
the goal of Hoskins’ 1909 piece: to use the contemporary people and places of
Palestine to illustrate and prove the Bible.
8 Franklin E. Hoskins, “The Route Over Which Moses Led the Children of Israel Out of
Egypt,” National Geographic Magazine 20, no. 12 (December 1909): 1011.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid., 1038.

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This approach to Palestine places National Geographic Magazine’s early cov-

erage within the vast and abundant genre of ‘Holy Land’ travelogues written
by Europeans and North Americans from the mid-nineteenth and early twen-
tieth centuries. Alexander Schölch describes this literary landscape as part
of a religious-cultural ‘opening up’ of Palestine that accompanied European
economic and political penetration of the region beginning around 1831.
Schölch discusses not only the records written by ‘missionaries, pilgrims, and
‘Palestine explorers”, but also writings by national associations with religious
and Biblical-archaeological interests in Palestine that had ‘confessional, scien-
tific, and political orientations and which had their own publications’.11 While
National Geographic Magazine was not one of these pilgrim-tourist travelogues
or Holy Land-focused journals, its coverage of Palestine overlapped with both
while reaching a much larger and broader audience than either in the United
States. Like these works, the first decade of Palestine coverage portrayed con-
temporary Palestine primarily as a land of Biblical ruins and residues, and
viewed everything in sight through a religious lens in an effort to marry a
Euro-American Protestant imaginary to actual places and populations.12
Issam Nassar explains this ‘biblification’ of Palestine in his discussion
of nineteenth century photography of Jerusalem and draws links between
the photographic practices that were part of this genre of Holy Land explo-
ration and European colonial expansion.13 He argues that these practices
which included emptying landscapes of people, a focus on sites featured in
the Bible, the mislabelling and misrepresenting of people and places, and the
posing of native people as Bible characters, as contributing ‘to the shaping in
the European mind of an image of Palestine as a dream land … ‘waiting to be
reclaimed both spiritually and physically”.14 British and Zionist colonisation of
Palestine and the ongoing erasure and subjugation of Palestinians as necessi-
ties of those projects cannot be understood without examining this genre of
literature and photography which helped inspire and fuel both projects.
11 Alexander Schölch, Palestine in Transformation, 1856–1882, trans. M.C. Gerrity and

W.C. Young (Washington, D.C.: Institute for Palestine Studies, 1993), 60.
12 Sometimes quite literally as evidenced by the titles of two features written by John D.
Whiting in March 1914 “Village Life in the Holy Land: A description of the life of the
present-day inhabitants of Palestine, showing how, in many cases, their customs are
the same as in Bible times” and in December 1915 “Jerusalem’s Locust Plague: Being a
Description of the Recent Locust Influx into Palestine, and Comparing Same with Ancient
Locust Invasions as Narrated in the Old World’s History Book, the Bible.”
13 Issam Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth-century
Photography,” Third Text 20, nos. 3/4 (2006): 317–326.
14 Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism,” 326.

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314 Kopty
In the case of National Geographic Magazine’s coverage, the impulse to ‘bib-

lify’ Palestine was at times at odds with the magazine’s ethnographic interests.
An early example of this tension can be seen in the March 1914 issue in an
article by John D. Whiting titled ‘Village Life in the Holy Land: A description
of the life of the present-day inhabitants of Palestine, showing how, in many
cases, their customs are the same as in Bible times’.15 Here, instead of erasing
or minimising the native people of Palestine, they are brought to the forefront
of Whiting’s storytelling, but with the intention of using them as Biblical reen-
actors rather than protagonists in their own right. In a section titled ‘The Land,
Not the People, Conserves the Old Customs’, Whiting asserts that ‘One cannot
become even tolerably acquainted with Palestine without perceiving that it is
the land that has preserved the ancient customs. Its present-day-inhabitants,
who have nothing in common with the modern Jews who crowd Jerusalem, are
still perpetuating the life of Abraham and the customs and ways of the people
who lived here at the time of Christ’.16 In order to explain how these mostly
Arab and mostly Muslim people fit into the static Biblical framework that he
and his readers have in mind, Whiting offers this theory which at once fetish-
ises villagers as symbols of Biblical continuity while disinheriting Palestinians
at the same time: they look and live like the people of the Bible, but they are
not the descendants of those people.
In a companion piece published in the January 1937 issue titled ‘Bedouin Life
in Bible Lands: The Nomads of the ‘Houses of Hair’ Offer Unstinted Hospitality
to an American’,17 Whiting similarly punctuates his account of Bedouin life in
Palestine with Biblical references in an effort to dress his descriptions of their
contemporary cultures as illustrations of the Bible. Unlike the way he frames
the fallāḥīn (villagers) in his first story, here Whiting calls back to Bible-era
Bedouins as direct ancestors of his subjects and even uses examples of con-
temporary social and material culture to explain Biblical episodes and details.
In both cases, Whiting’s commentary proffers many of the ambiguities
relating to the portrayal of Palestinian indigeneity in the Western Biblical
imaginary during interwar years.18 In the middle of the two decades that sep-
arated his village and Bedouin stories, Whiting wrote to Dr. Franklin L. Fisher,
the magazine’s Chief of the Illustrations Division, in 1928: ‘I have planned to
15 John D. Whiting, “Village Life in the Holy Land,” National Geographic Magazine 25, no. 3
(March 1914): 249–314.
16 Whiting, “Village Life in the Holy Land,” 251–253.
17 John D. Whiting, “Bedouin Life in Bible Lands,” National Geographic Magazine 71, no. 1
(January 1937): 58–83.
18 Sary Zananiri “From Still to Moving Images: Shifting Representation of Jerusalem and
Palestinians in the Western Biblical Imaginary,” Jerusalem Quarterly 67 (2016): 73–74.

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write ‘Bedouin Life in the Holy Land’ as a sort of mate to ‘Village Life’ that
you long ago used. Other stories such as ‘City Life’, ‘The Fishermen of Galilee’,
‘The Talisman’ etc. have suggested themselves’.19 It is unclear why an urban life
story never materialised, but it would have offered an interesting case study in
regard to biblification, the way it ascribes/undermines Palestinian indigeneity,
and the class dimensions that both entail.
The question of Palestinian indigeneity would remain unresolved in the
magazine for many decades to come, informed and complicated by its depend-
ence on Biblical archetypes to drive its Palestine storytelling. As recently as
June 1992, in an aptly named article titled ‘Who are the Palestinians?’, Tad
Szulc asserts that, ‘The ancestors of today’s Palestinians appeared along the
south-eastern Mediterranean coast more than five millennia ago and settled
down to a life of fishing, farming, and herding. But they also endured wars
with Israelites; domination from Assyrians, Chaldeans, Persians, and Romans;
and eventually 400 years of rule by the Ottoman Turks’.20 On the same page as
this statement is a caption for a photograph from inside the Ibrahimi Mosque
that explains, ‘Jews and Arabs share a common ancestor at Hebron’s Tomb
of the Patriarchs (right), where Judaism’s first families – Abraham and son
Isaac, their wives Sara and Rebecca – are said to be buried. Abraham fathered
another son, Ishmael, from whom Arabs claim descent. Nearly all Palestinians
are Arab, and most are Muslim’. A few pages later, Szulc mentions King David
and his battles with the Philistines, who he says are ‘among the forefathers
of the Palestinians’.21 These assertions are made matter-of-factly without an
indication of complexity or controversy, or any attempt to reconcile them. The
only consistent logic between the three origin stories is that they are anchored
in Biblical hagiography, rather than historiography. The inability of the article
to coherently answer the question it poses in its title is both the result, and
another example, of the magazine’s century of biblified coverage and the lim-
itations of this framework.
Even today, contemporary Palestine is rarely mentioned in the magazine
or any of National Geographic’s content without at least a nod to its Biblical
past, often in juxtaposition to the political realities of modern-day Palestine/
Israel, as though the mythologised history recounted in the Bible is essential to
understanding its contemporary condition.22
19 J.D.W. to F.LF., 3 July 1928, NGS Library and Archives.

20 Tad Szulc, “Who are the Palestinians?” National Geographic Magazine 181, no. 6 (June
1992): 92.
21 Ibid., 102.
22 Interestingly, while Palestine cannot be mentioned without evoking the Bible, sites and
events of Biblical interest can be mentioned without Palestine, such as the 2017–2019

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316 Kopty
3 The Reconquest of the Holy Land
National Geographic Magazine’s second decade of coverage of Palestine coin-

cided with the beginning of the British Mandate, adding an explicit promotion
of colonialism to its Bible-tethered storytelling. In Charles W. Whitehair’s
October 1918 article ‘An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting: An Eyewitness’s
Account of the Reconquest of the Holy Land by Twentieth Century Crusaders’,23
readers are given a front-row seat to the British military conquest and occu-
pation of Ottoman Palestine. Whitehair, who apparently travelled to Palestine
at the invitation of General Allenby,24 plays the role of embedded war cor-
respondent while using his account to justify and celebrate the beginning of
British colonial rule in the ‘Holy Land’. It is clear in the article that he is not only
an eye-witness to this acceleration of the British colonial project in Palestine,
but an active agent in its propaganda. He praises the British generals, dispar-
ages the Turks and Germans, claims that the local population has been freed
from tyranny, and that the land has been rescued from misuse and is promised
to the Jewish people. Whitehair ends by stating that ‘Palestine today is begin-
ning a new chapter of her history, which is entirely due to the courageous and
wise administration of her British liberators’.25 This statement exemplifies how
National Geographic Magazine would go on to portray the next two decades of
British colonialism as a force of modernisation, economic progress and reli-
gious redemption. Over the course of the Mandate period, Zionist colonisation
would come to share credit for this trifecta of progress in the magazine’s cov-
erage until the end of British rule when the mantle is passed to the State of
Israel as the embattled, pioneer nation making the dessert bloom. Unlike the
biblified lens applied uniquely to Palestine, the magazine’s support for British
colonialism was not a unique instance of pro-imperialist coverage.
The Spanish-American War was a watershed moment in the history of the
magazine, both in terms of rapidly expanding its readership and in marking
the beginning of several decades of pro-imperial coverage. As Julie A. Tuason
Tomb of Christ exhibition at the National Geographic Museum in Washington D.C. which
did not mention Palestine/Palestinians (or Israel/Israelis) in any of the text-based or
audio-visual information about Jerusalem and the renovation of the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, including explanations about the indigenous sabt en-nour (Saturday of Fire)
ceremony celebrated by Palestinian Christians.
23 Charles Whitehair, “An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting: An Eyewitness’s Account of the
Reconquest of the Holy Land by Twentieth Century Crusaders,” National Geographic
Magazine 34, no. 4 (October 1918): 325–344.
24 “The Red Cross in Palestine,” The Red Cross Magazine 14 (1919): 60.
25 Whitehair, “An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting: An Eyewitness’s Account of the Reconquest
of the Holy Land by Twentieth Century Crusaders,” 344.

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explains in her examination of the magazine’s coverage of the Philippines

between 1898 and 1908, National Geographic Magazine’s status as a reputable
scientific publication allowed it to ‘effectively proffer an essentially imperial-
ist agenda under the guise of scientific progress’.26 Whether it was American
imperialism in the Philippines or British colonialism in Palestine, the maga-
zine’s outlook on Anglo-American colonial projects was the same.
In the context of the unfolding colonial project that would result in the ethnic
cleansing of Palestine,27 Whiting’s reference to Palestinians as ‘the present-
day inhabitants of the land’ takes on an even more sinister tone. The disloca-
tion of Palestinians from their history by National Geographic Magazine and
others in order to satisfy the logic of Palestine as Bible Land should be under-
stood as foundational – not exceptional or incidental – to the success of British
and Zionist subjugation and displacement of Palestinians.
Most often, the magazine’s support for the British colonial project in
Palestine manifested itself in the tone and scope of its coverage rather than
praise for specific policies or actions. Yet a closer look reveals a symbiotic
relationship between the magazine and the British colonial administration.
This relationship is most evident in two features that were written by Major
Edward Keith-Roach while he served in the colonial administration, the first in
December 1927 when he was the Deputy District Commissioner of Jerusalem
and the second in April 1934 when he was the District Commissioner of
Northern Palestine. The 1927 article titled ‘The Pageant of Jerusalem: The
Capital of the Land of Three Great Faiths Is Still the Holy City for Christian,
Moslem, and Jew’,28 is of particular interest as it was written by Keith-Roach
and illustrated mostly with photographs taken by the magazine’s most famous
staff photographer at the time, Maynard Owen Williams.
In her chapter about Williams and his 30 years as National Geographic
Magazine’s chief foreign correspondent, Rothenberg notes that if ‘someone
were looking for a representative figure to embody the physiognomic and
cultural essence of ‘National Geographic land’ in the early-to-mid twentieth
century, Maynard Owen Williams would be a prime candidate’.29 She describes
him precisely: ‘White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, big and athletic, well-educated
26 Tuason, “The Ideology of Empire,” 50.

27 See Ilan Pappe, The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (London: Oneworld Publications, 2006)
and Nur Masalha, The Palestine Nakba: Decolonising History, Narrating the Subaltern,
Reclaiming Memory (London and New York: Zed Books, 2012).
28 Edward Keith-Roach, “The Pageant of Jerusalem: The Capital of the Land of Three Great
Faiths Is Still the Holy City for Christian, Moslem, and Jew,” National Geographic Magazine
52, no. 6 (1927): 635–681.
29 Rothenberg, Presenting America’s World, 99.

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318 Kopty
and bespectacled, friendly and affable’. Before joining the magazine as one of
its first staff correspondents, Williams worked as a missionary teacher in Beirut
and Hangchow and as a foreign correspondent for the Christian Herald. His
most famous assignment for National Geographic Magazine was his coverage
of the Citroën-Haardt Trans-Asiatic Expedition from Beirut to Beijing in 1931.
With some proficiency in Arabic and years of experience in the Levant, he con-
tributed text and photographs to ten of the 26 features that included coverage
of Palestine between 1919 and 1952. Despite frequent disagreements with the
editorial staff of the magazine, Williams believed in the potential of National
Geographic Magazine to foster international brotherhood, and his role as a
mediator between the magazine’s readers and the beauty of the world and its
peoples. In this way, Rothenberg notes, Williams’ work not only supported,
but also embodied ‘the Geographic’s apolitical pretensions and humanist pro-
nouncements’30 even as the magazine was implicitly and explicitly supporting
imperialism, capitalist penetration and Euro-American supremacy at home
and abroad.
In her review of Edward Keith-Roach’s memoirs Pasha of Jerusalem:
Memoirs of a District Commissioner under the British Mandate, Jane Power
describes Keith-Roach as ‘an almost stereotypical British district administra-
tor: decent and conscientious; concerned for the natives and interested in their
customs and surroundings, but liable to misinterpret them; secure in western
cultural superiority; willing to improvise a solution to any problem’.31 One of
twelve children of a Gloucester vicar, Keith-Roach went to India as a young
man and started his career at the Mercantile Bank at the height of the British
Raj. While serving in the British-officered Egyptian Army during World War I,
Keith-Roach was stationed in Sudan where he learned Arabic and served as
District Commissioner of Eastern Darfur. In 1919, he joined the colonial mil-
itary administration in Palestine where he remained until 1943 as part of the
Mandate civil administration, earning him the nickname ‘Pasha of Jerusalem’
by Reuters for what they saw as his even-handed dealings with both Jews and
Arabs in Palestine. The fact that this nickname was given by Reuters and not by
the indigenous or immigrant communities in Palestine is important to note, as
is the fact that he styled himself as such in the title of his memoir. Keith-Roach’s
confidence in his intimate and authoritative knowledge of Palestine is not
only apparent in the two Palestine features he wrote for National Geographic
30 Ibid., 103.
31 Jane Power, Review of Pasha of Jerusalem: Memoirs of a District Commissioner Under the
British Mandate, by Edward Keith-Roach and Paul Eedle, Middle East Studies Association
Bulletin 32, no. 2 (1998), 270–271.

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Magazine,32 but also the two travel handbooks he edited with Harry Luke, The
Handbook of Palestine (1922)33 and The Handbook of Palestine and Trans-Jordan
(1930).34 In all of these texts, Keith-Roach displays no qualms in speaking for
and about Palestine and its people, like a benevolent pasha describing the sub-
jects and territory under his rule.
Keith-Roach’s relationship with National Geographic began in the early
1920s when he met Gilbert Grosvenor at a luncheon in Washington D.C.
Grosvenor, a high-society figure and known Anglophile, was fascinated by
Keith-Roach’s stories from his postings and would later publish the first
of Keith-Roach’s contributions to the magazine in January 1924 about his time
in Darfur titled ‘Adventures Among the ‘Lost Tribes of Islam’ in Eastern Darfur:
A Personal Narrative of Exploring, Mapping, and Setting Up a Government in
the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan Borderland’. In addition to his seemingly friendly
relationship with Grosvenor, it is clear from his letters to and from Williams
that the men shared a close professional relationship while working on the
December 1927 issue and that Keith-Roach had a significant influence over
Williams’ experience in Palestine and the subsequent coverage that came
out of it.
Firstly, Keith-Roach facilitated Williams’ shooting trips around Palestine by
supplying assistants and most probably transportation and introductions.35
This offers some insight into the access that Williams had, how he might have
been received by the subjects of his photographs, and the circumstances
and power dynamics of his interactions with them. Secondly, it is also clear
that Keith-Roach was very sensitive to his official position as Deputy District
Commissioner and saw his article as both a potential liability and an opportu-
nity to increase his influence. In a correction to one of the captions written by
Williams, he says, ‘The great thing in describing a man of importance in no cir-
cumstances, should you draw attention to either his bigotry, his conservatism
or anything which may detract from the dignity of his own religious thought.
For example, Rabbi Kuk only shows half his decoration, as he does not like to
32 His second feature on Palestine titled “Changing Palestine” was published in April 1934
when he was District Commissioner of Northern Palestine.
33 Harry Charles Luke and Edward Keith-Roach, The Handbook of Palestine (London:
MacMillan, 1922).
34 Harry Charles Luke and Edward Keith-Roach, The Handbook of Palestine and Trans-Jordan
(London: MacMillan, 1930). Salim Tamari notes that the 1922 handbook was written pri-
marily as a military manual, but that it also targeted civilian visitors to Palestine. See
Salim Tamari, “Shifting Ottoman Conceptions of Palestine, Part 1: Filistin Risalesi and the
two Jamals,” Jerusalem Quarterly 47 (2011): 33.
35 M.O.W. to E.K.-R., 12 September 1927, NGS Library and Archives.

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320 Kopty
be seen wearing the cross. Rabbi Meier does not. There is however, no neces-
sity or need to draw the public’s attention to this idiosyncrasy.’36 While on the
one hand, he worried about offending individuals of high rank, he also saw
the opportunity to use his article to boost his own reputation and promote it
as a form of soft diplomacy between his office and those same individuals and
important institutions in Palestine.
After the completion of the article, Keith-Roach requested that 27 cop-
ies of the December 1927 issue be shipped to him in order to be gifted to
high-ranking members of Jerusalem’s social, political, and religious elites.37
In another letter the following month, Keith-Roach even suggested that
the Society prepare bound copies that could be presented to the President
of the United States, His Majesty the King, the Secretary of State for the
Colonies and the High Commissioner.38 Keith-Roach’s eagerness to promote
his feature among the most important and powerful and the Society’s eager-
ness to do the same indicate both a proximity to power and an aspiration for
greater prestige and influence. Besides this elite list of recipients, the greater
influence that Keith-Roach and Williams had was on National Geographic
Magazine’s readership which reached over a million members by the end
of 1927.
The final article is structured as a grand walking tour of Jerusalem begin-
ning outside the walls of the Old City near the citadel where women from the
surrounding villages were selling their agricultural produce in the morning
and ending at the Damascus Gate where the ‘Last Post’ can be heard being
played from the police camp on Mount Scopus as night falls. Little effort is
spent to explain or justify British rule or the author’s position vis-a-vis the
places and people he describes. Instead, the benevolence of the colonial
regime is suggested in the fanfare of multi-ethnic, multi-religious coexistence
and the seamless mingling of ancient and modern. Jerusalem, ‘where eras jos-
tle one another as races do’.39 This vision of and for Jerusalem echoes that of
the Pro-Jerusalem Society in its paternalistic and charitable tone towards the
improvement of public works while simultaneously fetishising and codifying
the supposedly authentic and ancient. Keith-Roach’s approach is less didac-
tic though as he revels in the exciting sensory experience of walking through
Jerusalem, sharing his detailed knowledge of each trade, place, dress, and
36 E.K.-R. to M.O.W., 12 August 1927, NGS Library and Archives.

37 E.K.-R. to M.O.W., 20 August 1927, NGS Library and Archives.
38 E.K.-R. to M.O.W., September 1927, NGS Library and Archives.
39 Keith-Roach, “The Pageant of Jerusalem: The Capital of the Land of Three Great Faiths Is
Still the Holy City for Christian, Moslem, and Jew,” 641.

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scene. Interspersed between Keith-Roach’s beautiful and energetic descrip-

tions are photographs mostly by the American Colony Photographers, Khalīl
Raʿad and, of course, Williams.
As a reminder of the intimate relationship between photography and colo-
nialism, the story opens with an aerial photograph of Jerusalem taken by the
British Air Ministry; a grid system is noted along the top and left margins
with corresponding coordinates in the caption that mark Jerusalem’s most
important sites. The American Colony and Raʿad photographs come from
each studio’s respective commercial catalogues of Holy Land photographs,
including semi-posed, naturalistic scenes and vistas of daily life. Williams pho-
tographs, on the other hand, are mostly posed portraits, the type of character
studies that he was most known for and which marked both his and National
Geographic Magazine’s style. Exactly as Keith-Roach emphasises Jerusalem’s
diversity in his text, Williams’ portraits include a representative sample of
every religion, ethnicity and rank of Jerusalem’s inhabitants.
While Keith-Roach notes in the article that all roads in Palestine lead to
Jerusalem, his descriptions detach it from the rest of the country save the list
of specialised agricultural produce brought from different parts of Palestine
to be sold in Jerusalem: ‘luscious oranges from Jaffa, grapes from Hebron,
apricots from Bethlehem and Beit Jala, nectarines and peaches from near-by
villages, bananas from Jericho, and enormous watermelons from the coast
near Caesarea’.40 And, while the ethnic and religious makeup of Jerusalem was
indeed unique to Palestine at that time, there is no indication of what the rest
of the country looked like or how Jerusalem was linked to it, either geograph-
ically, economically, culturally or politically. In Keith-Roach’s telling, Britain’s
colonial power (and all the violence and subjugation that it entailed) gets sub-
sumed by the city’s internationalism as if the British are just one of the many
groups of people who roam the narrow and ancient alleyways of the Holy City
rather than being the ones who forcibly rule it. As Keith-Roach writes in his
last letter to Gilbert H. Grosvenor about his 1927 piece: ‘Jerusalem, belong-
ing as it were not only to Palestine but to the whole world, one cannot but
be sincerely grateful for the manner in which you have been able to put these
photographic records before your readers, and I hope that my article may not
prove unworthy of its distinguished place’.41 Keith-Roach rightly emphasised
the importance of the magazine’s photographs in driving its popular appeal
and storytelling power, in this instance working in tandem with his text to
40 Ibid., 637.
41 E.K.-R. to G.G., November 1927, NGS Library and Archives.

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322 Kopty
de-emphasise Jerusalem’s Arab Palestinian character and popularise its image

as a timeless, global and ownable place.
In this feature, in particular, the published images closely reflect the per-
spective and narrative of Keith-Roach’s text; this was not always the case in
National Geographic Magazine, and even when it was, images could be (and
often were) viewed on their own. Examining the magazine’s published pho-
tographs this way becomes even more interesting when encountering them
within National Geographic’s larger photographic archive which includes not
only the photographs that were printed in the magazine, but the millions that
were not.
4 Edward Keith-Roach’s Favourite Things
There are over 12 million objects in the photographic archive of the National
Geographic Society. The archive itself began as the editorial archive of
National Geographic Magazine and the majority of the photographs it con-
tains are images that were collected or commissioned by the magazine. Most
were never published. Today, the archive remains among the foremost records
of natural and human history, containing images from every corner, terrain,
depth and altitude of the world, as well as many from beyond our planet. The
archive holds a vast collection of images from Mandatory Palestine, including
3,000 black-and-white prints and almost 200 autochrome plates. The majority
of these images were taken by magazine staff or commissioned photographers,
but the collection also includes many photographs taken by amateur and pro-
fessional photographers who gifted, sent samples, or sold their photographs to
National Geographic. The largest share of the collection are images made by
Maynard Owen Williams.
The black-and-white photographs are gelatine silver prints, dry-mounted on
linen boards, with a typed caption pasted on the back, and at least two stamped
dates indicating when the photograph was received by the archive and when it
was indexed. In the case of Williams’ photographs, the majority were received
in 1927 with detailed captions that include a mixture of personal anecdotal
narratives, explanations of local customs and details, and general information
about locations, events and subjects. In very few cases, and only with individu-
als of religious, political or social importance, subjects are identified by name.
Although thousands of people are represented in the images which cover a
wide range of subjects, themes and geographies, only one perspective is seen
and heard: that of Williams through his camera and his captions.

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Figure 9.1 ‘Zerin, formally Jezreel, city of Ahab and Jezebel, looks off past Little Hermon to
Nazareth and its well, here seen, is not far from the road, but it is seldom visited
by travelers. The costume of the women is unusually colorful but I could not get
them to pose for color plates. In the background are the Galilean hills west of
Nazareth. Palestine.’ Unpublished photograph and caption by Maynard Owen
Williams, 1927
Image courtesy of National Geographic Society Library
and Archives
As I began exploring the collection through Williams’ eyes and eavesdropping

on his one-sided conversations with the magazine editors and staff who were
the primary audience for his captions, I found it difficult to engage with the
photographs beyond the frames and frameworks that he had set. This was par-
tially due to the sheer number and high aesthetic quality of the images, and
the detailed and immersive captions that accompanied them. There was so
much to engage with that was authored by Williams, that I felt trapped in a
Palestine that could only be viewed through his eyes. Within that space, the
most I could do was critique what he chose to photograph and write (in par-
ticular, the biblification of people and places, as well as frequent examples
of misogynistic, racist and racialised language); mine his images and texts
for details that I wanted to explore further; and corroborate or challenge the
information that he presented. Unexpectedly, it was the presence of Edward

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324 Kopty
Figure 9.2 ‘Photograph of Abdel Kader Shihabi, Official Calligrapher to the Government of
Palestine, and the finest calligrapher in this part of the world. Among Moslems,
calligraphy is the highest form of art and the best work commands prices for
which very fair painters would gladly do a portrait or a landscape. In this view
are shown some famous samples of calligraphy, some of them very old and many
of them very valuable. ($200 to $700). Jerusalem.’ Unpublished photograph and
caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. A portrait of Shihabi posing alone in
his studio was published with Keith-Roach’s December 1927 article
and Archives
Keith-Roach in a few of Williams’ unpublished photographs that helped

me traverse his frames and frameworks and encounter the images in a differ-
ent way.
Edward Keith-Roach is present in five sets of images taken by Williams. He
appears first as a subject in two sets of photographs, one with his Arabian pony
and another with his wife in their ‘Bean Twelve’ car. He is present again in
relation to another photographed subject, Keith-Roach’s personal qawās (body
guard/ceremonial armed guard) who posed for portraits on the grounds of
Government House in a military-style uniform and outside of the American
Colony in local dress. And in two other instances where Keith-Roach’s desires
and opinions are recorded in Williams’ captions: the first, a pair of images
of a traffic policeman outside the Jaffa Gate in which Williams notes that

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Figure 9.3 ‘Governor Keith-Roach’s personal qawās wearing a head scarf and camel hair
crown, outside the American Colony at Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927
and Archives

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326 Kopty
Keith-Roach is ‘very desirous’ of a photograph of him and that he would like a

photograph included with his story, and second, in series of portraits of a young
woman taken at the American Colony as Williams notes: ‘A young Christian
Arab girl, whom Governor Keith-Roach thinks the prettiest girl in Palestine,
wearing the Bethlehem costume’.
These series of photographs were mixed between the hundreds of other
photographs taken by Williams in Palestine between 1926–1927, disconnected
from Keith-Roach’s published article. Indeed, before I read the captions that
mentioned Keith-Roach, I had not connected the creation of this larger body of
photographs to Williams’ travels through Palestine for that particular feature –
the same series of trips that Keith-Roach helped facilitate and influence. Even
without Keith-Roach’s assistance or direction, Williams’ travels across Palestine
would involve vastly unequal interactions between the American photogra-
pher and his local subjects. Connecting Keith-Roach to the rest of Williams’
photographs further emphasises and exemplifies the intense concentra-
tion of power that is both documented and maintained in the National
Geographic archives.
Understanding these connections also transformed my encounter with the
photographs that were published in the 1927 issue. Whereas in the magazine,
the photographs of Jerusalem had helped isolate and detach it from the rest of
Palestine (geographically, culturally, politically, etc.), in the archive they were
easily placed back into the larger collection that they were pulled from and
re-encountered within the whole. Prompted by Keith-Roach’s spectre, I could
see more clearly how images could be reimagined through their placement,
presentation and reception, regardless of their geneses.
In Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography Ariella Azoulay
offers a useful framework that distinguishes between ‘the photographed
event’ and the ‘event of photography’.42 The photographed event – the police-
man directing traffic in the road, the qawās posing for his portrait, the young
woman posing in Bethlehem dress – is distinct from the event of photography,
encounter(s) with the photograph itself. Azoulay argues that even the knowl-
edge that a photograph exists, extends the event of photography around it as
the viewer or potential viewer encounters it in person or in their imagination.
Furthermore, while the political circumstances and power relations that led to
the photographed event are fixed and frozen (and documented in the image),
42 Ariella Azoulay, Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography, trans. L. Bethlehem

(London: Verso, 2012).

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the political circumstances and power relations around the photograph and
encounters with it are not.
In the case of Williams’ photographs taken in Mandate Palestine in col-
laboration with Keith-Roach, the photographed events were determined by a
complicated power landscape that included technological, economic, cultural
and political dimensions. This is true of all of Williams’ photographs, but for
those images that were eventually published as part of the feature authored
by Keith-Roach, they were also used to fortify and expand that same power
landscape by extending the event of photography into every living room
in which the December 1927 issue was read. For the majority of Williams’
images which were not published, the event of photography remained dormant
while access to the photographs and the knowledge of their very existence
was suspended to all but a few people, until I had my own encounters with
the images.
Take for example the photographs of the Jaffa Gate policeman. It is clear from
Williams’ unpublished captions that he took the photograph at Keith-Roach’s
request. The published caption says: ‘THE TRAFFIC POLICEMAN OUTSIDE
THE JAFFA GATE: Common sense rather than mere regulations is needed
for the complex task of directing the movements of animals, people, and
machines in the throbbing life of Jerusalem’.43 Encountering the same image
in the archive offers a slightly different interpretation, one focused on why
the image was captured (at Keith-Roach’s behest), rather than what it might
illustrate. In the archive, the viewer can only guess why Keith-Roach was inter-
ested in this image and might arrive at a different reading, perhaps one about
Palestinian modernity that is separate from an ancient-modern dichotomy or
a suggestion of colonial improvement.
The portraits of the young woman in Bethlehem dress is another example.
The published caption that accompanies her black-and-white photograph in
Keith-Roach’s article says, ‘A CHRISTIAN GIRL OF JERUSALEM IN BETHLEHEM
COSTUME: The coin-spangled, high tarboosh, which denotes the married
woman, usually is hidden under the spotless veil’.44 A few pages later in
Williams’ photo-essay which follows the Keith-Roach article, the autochrome
of the same young woman is captioned as, ‘MANY AMERICAN VISITORS TO
JERUSALEM WILL RECOGNIZE THIS GIRL: A young Christian student in a
handicrafts class at the American Colony is here wearing the Bethlehem
43 Keith-Roach, “Pageant of Jerusalem,” 649.

44 Keith-Roach, “Pageant of Jerusalem,” 643.

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328 Kopty
Figure 9.4 ‘Major Keith-Roach is very desirous of a picture of the Jaffa Gate traffic cop.
I show him here amid such traffic as passes. The view is north up Jaffa Road from
near the walls of the Citadel. Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished photograph and
caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. A closer view of this policeman
taken from a different angle was published with Keith-Roach’s December 1927
article
and Archives
costume’.45 From these published images and captions, the magazine’s readers
would have no idea about Keith-Roach’s desiring gaze, which also may have
influenced Williams’ decision to take the photograph in the first place.
The portraits of this young woman match a series of unpublished por-
traits of another young woman at the American Colony wearing an identical
outfit. In the captions of the second woman’s images, there is no mention
of Keith-Roach, but she is referred to as a servant working at the American
Colony. From close analysis of both series of photographs, it appears that the
two young women are wearing the same exact dress and headdress, suggest-
ing that this was a costume that both chose, or were asked, to pose in. Widad
Kawar, the world’s foremost expert in Palestinian textiles and dress, has identi-
fied the outfit as a low-quality Bethlehem-style dress and headpiece that would
45 Maynard Owen Williams, “Color Records from the Changing Life of the Holy Land,”
National Geographic Magazine 52, no. 6 (1927): 696.

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Figure 9.5 ‘A young Christian Arab girl, whom Governor Keith-Roach thinks the prettiest
girl in Palestine, wearing the Bethlehem costume. Jerusalem.’ Unpublished
photograph and caption by Maynard Owen Williams, 1927 A similar portrait
of this young woman was published in black-and-white with Keith-Roach’s
December 1927 article and another in colour in Williams’ companion
photo-essay of autochromes from Jerusalem in the same issue
and Archives

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330 Kopty
have been produced for the tourist market46 rather than worn by Palestinian
women as their personal attire.47
This analysis widens the gap even further between what these images
actually capture and what was presented by the magazine and perceived
by its readers. For example, the shaṭwa which the published caption calls a
‘high ṭarbush’ is correctly explained as a headdress worn by married women
from the Bethlehem region, yet if this outfit was a costume worn only for the
photograph, the marital status of these women may be different than what is
suggested. Similarly, the published caption mentions that American visitors
to Jerusalem would recognise the young woman, indicating that she was a
fixture at the American Colony; could she also have been a servant like the
other woman who was photographed in the same outfit, and not, or not only,
a handicraft student as is indicated in the magazine? Would identifying her
as a servant instead of a student take away from the photograph’s charm or
perceived authenticity to the magazine’s readers? Were the power relations
between this young woman and the Americans (the residents of the Colony
and Williams) sanitised for the sake of cheerfulness? How did these possible
misrepresentations affect the way that the images were viewed by readers of
the magazine?
From the captions describing the photographs that include Keith-Roach’s
wife and car, we also learn that the couple lived at the American Colony during
that period while they awaited the completion of their residence. Keith-Roach
would have therefore been in close proximity to this young woman on a daily
basis. What did the everyday interactions between a female Palestinian stu-
dent/servant and a desiring male British colonial administrator of high rank
look like? The possibilities become more sinister with one of the photographs
from the series where the young woman is photographed without her head-
dress or embroidered outfit in what appears to be a kind of t-shirt. Whether
her outfit and uncovered head is representative of what the young woman
normally wore or whether she was asked to pose with her head uncovered in
a type of undergarment, is difficult to tell, but it raises many more questions
about the encounter between photographer and subject that is captured in
this series of photographs.
Without encountering the same images in multiple locations, in multi-
ple ways, and with a range of associated information, I would not have been
able to increase and complicate my understanding of the photographed
46 It is noteworthy that the American Colony ran their own Holy Land souvenir shops in
Jerusalem and abroad.
47 Interviews with Widad Kawar during the course of Imagining the Holy project 2018–2020.

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event, or separate it from the events of photography and the possibilities that
each encounter with the image offered/offers. In my initial encounters with
Williams’ published photographs, it was difficult for me to recognise and exer-
cise the agency I had in viewing those images. They were presented as fully
and authoritatively explained with the full weight of National Geographic
and colonial narratives about Palestine behind them. The only option I could
see was to react to how they were presented: to counter-argue, debunk, and
qualify. While these types of critiques are important, they felt bounded and
insufficient.
Unlike the published images that were codified in the magazine, the
unpublished images felt more open to new interpretations and purposes. If
the captions were just conversations between Williams and magazine staff,
I could eavesdrop, but also ignore them if I wanted to, or complicate them
with other information that I could piece together. Even the composition of
the photographs – something that seemed fixed by Williams for all eternity –
appeared more fluid as I pieced together images taken in series, a few disparate
moments stitched back together into a longer encounter with new angles,
new interruptions and new possibilities. Among those unpublished images,
I finally understood the full agency I had as Azoulay’s event of photography was
extended to include my encounters with each photograph.
In the end, what I wanted to hear and amplify was the perspective of the sub-
ject. Already during both the photographed event and the event of photography,
the photographer and his perspective dominated, especially when the event of
photography occurred in the pages of National Geographic Magazine with an
entire text written with the perceived legitimacy of someone like Keith-Roach.
Without any accompanying record of the subject’s perspective or experience –
and with very little information about them to help reconstruct it – it seemed
like an impossible task at best and a project of fiction-making at worst.
5 Indigenising the Images: A Methodology
In 2018, I began a collaboration with the National Geographic Society Library

and Archives to activate my research with the Society’s collection of Palestine
photographs and develop a methodology to re-examine images from the per-
spectives of the subjects represented. The project, named Imagining the Holy,
was designed as a community-based project meant to connect the images in
the archive with the descendants of the people, places and moments captured
in them, while also creating new spaces for critical discussion of how Palestine
and Palestinians are imagined and represented.

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332 Kopty
My primary goals as Lead Researcher were twofold: first to facilitate access

to these images which have not circulated before and which presently can only
be viewed in person in Washington D.C.; and second, to create a process by
which new layers of indigenous knowledge and narratives from Palestinians
are attached to the images, opening them up to new and future meanings.
Many questions arose in the process of designing and launching the project.
These can be divided into three primary sets of questions. Those that pertain
to ideas of decolonisation and theoretical questions around how the project
was conceived; those that consider the transformation of power and agency;
and those that relate to the practical aspects of such a project and the possibil-
ities and limitations that they create.
In a theoretical sense, and fundamentally, can we conceive of this as a pro-
ject of decolonisation? Afterall, my central critique of National Geographic
Magazine’s coverage of Palestine is that it directly and indirectly supported
colonial projects that disenfranchised the same Palestinians whose images it
was taking and selling. Yet, after returning to my understanding of a photo-
graph as a document of an encounter between a photographer and a subject,
and after examining the conditions and regimes that the images are held under
and were being made accessible to me, the term ‘decolonisation’ fell short.
The images of Mandate Palestine in the National Geographic collection
were taken during and within that period of colonialism. This is marked per-
manently in the construction of the images and in the relations that shaped
the encounter between photographer and subject which the photographs
document. They are images of colonialism, in addition to being images that
were colonised and/or used to further colonial projects. Furthermore, trying
to decolonise an image that captures a colonial moment felt like we would be
limiting our work to the frame set by the photographer and the coloniality of
that moment. Instead, I wanted to repurpose these fixed frames as a border
to imagine beyond them, rather than be restricted inside them. As Elizabeth
Edwards explains, the ‘Frame, in the way it contains and constrains, heightens
and produces a fracture which makes us intensely aware of what lies beyond.
Thus there is a dialectic between boundary and endlessness; framed, con-
strained, edged yet uncontainable. It is the tension between the boundary of
the photograph and the openness of its contexts which is at the root of its
historical uncontainability in terms of meaning’.48
Another set of questions followed: how can images of Palestine and
of Palestinians be decolonised when the colonisation of Palestine and of
48 Elizabeth Edwards, “Photography and the Performance of History,” Kronos no. 27

(2001): 17.

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Palestinians is ongoing? Even if the colonial potential of these images is less

potent today than it was when they were made and circulated, the effects that
they had are still evident and accumulating. As Stephen Sheehi notes in this
very volume, ‘Decolonisation of photography then is not magical undoing. It
is not an ahistorical process or a reading through nationalist frameworks that
sees indigenous photography as ‘speaking back’ to power’.49
My answer to these questions was to position the project as work of indi-
genisation rather than decolonisation. To indigenise images means to make
connections to and take ownership of the people and places from which we
come. It means working to connect each body and each place to itself and its
descendants, image by image, rather than trying to symbolically remove the
colonial from what is – at least in part – permanently colonial. It also means
shifting our focus from the photographers to their subjects. The information
provided by Widad Kawar about the woman in the Bethlehem dress is one
such example.
With this shift in focus, a shift of power followed. This renegotiation
demanded an additive process rather than a subtractive one. As such, our
method to indigenise evolved to include three parts. Firstly, to recall and
emphasise the subjectivity of the photographer as it manifests in image
and text. The unpublished captions were the key to this process, revealing
thoughts, actions, and agendas that shaped the making of the photographs,
but reside silently or subtly within them.
Secondly, to create space within and around the photograph dedicated to
holding the subjectivity of the photograph’s subject. This began as a theoretical
space by simply asking what the subject of the photograph might include in
their own captions; it became materialised over the course of the project as
it transformed into an active site for research and conversation, and eventu-
ally into a proposed metadata field assigned to collect possible answers. Even
when this space remains unfilled, the act of holding space is essential to the
redistribution of power.
Thirdly, to fill this space with the voices and spirits of the photographs’
subjects, if not by themselves, then with the knowledge and experiences that
those connected to them have inherited. With this final part of the process,
the subject was no longer only represented in image alone, but with a similar
presence and potential to speak as the photographer.
In this way, the project to indigenise these images not only illuminates the
colonial power dynamics frozen in them, it fortifies the images against being
49 See Stephen Sheehi’s chapter in this volume, “Decolonising the Photography of Palestine:
Searching for a Method in a Plate of Hummus”.

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334 Kopty
used to further ongoing colonisation by drowning out their colonial potential

rather than trying to remove what is colonial but intrinsic to them.
The last set of questions we had to address involved the more practical
elements of the project, but also questions that had to do with its fundamen-
tal purpose and spirit. Mostly importantly: who specifically would speak on
behalf of the subjects since, as is the case for most of the photographs from
the Mandate period, they could not speak for themselves? This led to another
question: was a single new description enough to represent the perspective
and experiences of the subject? A hierarchy of ideal participants emerged: the
descendants of and/or those who knew the subjects first hand; community
elders from the same places and communities who were familiar with the con-
texts and details around the subjects’ lives and time period; academics and
cultural heritage experts with specialised knowledge about the various tangi-
ble and intangible parts of the subjects’ lives and experiences captured in the
photographs; field researchers based in Palestine/Israel and around the world
in the Diaspora who could help extend our research into communities of
Palestinians all over the world. Once this list was established, the answer to the
second question became clear: we needed as many new layers of description
from as many ideal participants to even begin to approximate the voices and
lived experiences of the subjects. In this way, we aimed to create a community
of witnesses to speak near them, rather than for them.
In order to connect the thousands of images from the archive with these
participants, we built an online digital research platform to host research cop-
ies of each image along with the photographer’s captions and any archival
metadata mentioned on the back of the photographs. Through this platform,
participants anywhere in the world could view the collection, add new descrip-
tions to the images, and read the descriptions added by other participants.
The platform was built in consultation with the archive team at the National
Geographic Society to ensure that the data collected through the platform
could be migrated to the archive and its content management system in order
to link each new description with its corresponding photograph.
In addition to the digital research platform, an Instagram account, https://
@imaginingtheholy, was created for the project in order to share previously
uncirculated images and to solicit new leads for our research. The popularity
and ease of accessibility of this platform allowed us to introduce the project to
a larger, younger and more diverse audience including recreational viewers and
more active contributors who have used their own personal and professional
networks to help us connect pieces and find new threads to follow. This plat-
form has become indispensable for one of the most important contributions
we are making through the project: giving names to the nameless subjects in
the photographs. These leads have helped us connect to many descendants of

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Figure 9.6 Hilweh Abu Tayr, born in the village of Umm Tuba in the Jerusalem District
and raised in Bethlehem, identified by her grandson, Rauf Malki. ‘Moslem
woman wearing the fine costume seen on the day of the Nabī Mūsā
procession, Jerusalem, Palestine.’ Unpublished photograph and caption by
Maynard Owen Williams, 1927. Another portrait of Abu Tayr was published
with Keith-Roach’s December 1927 article and three other images in colour
of her and her mother were published in Williams’ companion photo-essay
of autochromes from Jerusalem in the same issue
and Archives

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336 Kopty
subjects and to add the most important information to the photographs in our
quest to listen for and amplify the voices and spirits of the subjects. It has been
the clearest and most effective way to transform the power-dynamics in and
around the image: placing the name of the subject directly beside the name of
the photographer and transforming his subject from an anonymous model or
Biblical stand-in to a person with a body, a name and a story. Maynard Owen
Williams’ photograph of a Moslem woman in Jerusalem becomes a photo-
graph of Hilweh Abu Tayr taken in Jerusalem by Maynard Owen Williams. The
photograph is transformed from being a work authored by the photographer
to a document of an encounter between a photographer and a subject that
resulted in the making of a photograph.
6 Conclusion
My encounters with the photographs in the National Geographic Society’s

archives transformed my understanding and relationship with the stories that
National Geographic Magazine has published about Palestine and Palestinians
over the past century. My initial interest in the writers, photographers and edi-
tors was driven by an inability to imagine the images in the magazine separate
from the voices and narratives that asserted sole authority over them. My pro-
ject Imagining the Holy became an attempt to reimagine the images from the
position and perspective of their subjects. In the course of piloting a method-
ology that would allow me to do this, a few things became apparent.
Firstly, the indigenisation of photographs, which involves both a shift in
focus and in power, also involves a shift in temporal boundaries. Whereby
the voices and narratives ascribed to them by the writers, photographer and
editors locked the images near the time of their making, our methodology cre-
ated a way for voices and narratives to be newly and continually introduced.
Indeed, Imagining the Holy ended up being an opening and a beginning, rather
than a project that can or should be completed. As such, the project is ongoing
and has transformed National Geographic’s Palestine collection into a site of
active conversation, reflection and negotiation.
Secondly, in a similar vein, our methodology to indigenise photographs
could also be applied to photographs of Palestine and Palestinians held in other
collections, as well as to photographs of other regions and peoples in National
Geographic’s collection. While colonial circumstances differ across geography
and history, the process of elevating and centring indigenous subjectivities
where they are missing, silenced or erased, can and should be replicated. This
process does not aim to excise the non-indigenous from images (which as

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I argue above, is not possible), but rather, it aims to complicate and redistrib-
ute power in order to reduce the colonial potential of the images and activate
them as sites for indigenous knowledge, memory and power.
Thirdly, in the process of designing and implementing the project, it
became clear that we were not only connecting Palestinians to images of
ourselves and our homeland – and vice versa – but that by organising and
participating in a community-based method, we were also connecting to each
other. As Sheehi notes, ‘The photograph is a social space, a collective process, a
cultural and geographic articulation and a social object. As such, all are avail-
able for re-appropriation by the colonised in order to emancipate the subjects
of the photograph, the verum factum and truth value of their experience, and
the visibility of facts that are disavowed, permitting us as liberated subjects to
create the opportunity for new social relations’.50
In the face of the ruptures and separation caused and exasperated by our
colonial history, we could use photographs as a site of reconnection. As Edward
Said wrote, ‘All of us speak of awdah, ‘return,’ but do we mean that literally, or
do we mean ‘we must restore ourselves to ourselves’?… But is there any place
that fits us, together with our accumulated memories and experiences?’51
Imagining the Holy asks whether photographs of our ancestors, of ourselves,
and of our homeland can be such a place.
Bibliography
Correspondence and Editorial Files Sources

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Azoulay, Ariella. Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography. Translated by
Louise Bethlehem. London: Verso, 2012.
Edwards, Elizabeth. “Photography and the Performance of History.” Kronos no. 27
(November 2001): 15–29.
Hartman, Saidiya. “Venus in Two Acts.” Small Axe 26, 12, no. 2 (June 2008): 1–14.
Hoskins, Franklin E. “The Route Over Which Moses Led The Children of Israel Out of
Egypt.” National Geographic Magazine 20, no. 12 (December 1909): 1011–1038.
50 See Stephen Sheehi’s chapter in this volume.

51 Edward Said, After the Last Sky: Palestinian Lives (New York: Pantheon Books, 1986): 33.

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century Photography.” Third Text 20, nos. 3/4 (2006): 317–326.
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Accessed December 3, 2019.
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Schölch, Alexander. Palestine in Transformation, 1856–1882. Translated by M.C. Gerrity
and W.C. Young. Washington, D.C.: Institute for Palestine Studies, 1993.
Sheehi, Stephen. “Decolonising the Photography of Palestine: Searching for a Method
in a Plate of Hummus”, 346–365. In: Sanchez Summerer, Karène and Sary Zananiri,
Imaging and Imagining Palestine: Photography, Modernity and the Biblical Lens.
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Whitehair, Charles. “An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting: An Eyewitness’s Account of the
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Chapter 10
Decolonising the Photography of Palestine:

Searching for a Method in a Plate of Hummus
Stephen Sheehi
Kafr Qasim1
No commemoration, no flowers, no remembrance
No poetic verse humanizing the murdered. Not one line.
No shred from the shirt soaked in blood
Remains from our innocent brothers.
No one thing except shame.
Their ghosts continue to circle
Unearthing the graves in the ruins of Kafr Qasim.
Samih Qasim
∵
I begin this chapter with Samih Qasim’s poem to Kafr Qasim, a village where
the Israeli military massacred 48 Palestinians (23 of whom were children).
In teaching us ‘how to read a massacre’, Rana Barakat forces us to remember
that the structural and intentional violence of settler colonialism, in this case
Zionism, must never decentre those narratives, presence and material reali-
ties of the indigenous population – the very selves targeted for elimination.2
Let us keep this axiom, then, in mind when we consider militant methodolo-
gies to re-centre, witness and validate indigenous presence in settler-colonial
photography. To start this exploration, I would like to start this inquiry then
1 Samih Qassim, “Kafr Qassim” (poem in Arabic) in Abdelwahab Elmessiri, The Palestinian
Wedding: A Bilingual Anthology of Contemporary Palestinian Poetry (Washington, D.C.:
Three Continents Press, 1982); my translation. Kafr Qasim was a village where Israeli Border
Police, massacred 48 Palestinian-Israeli civilians (over half children under 17 and a pregnant
women) on the eve of Israel’s invasion of the Sinai in 1956. All victims were Israeli-Palestinian
citizens.
2 Rana Barakat, “How to Read a Massacre in Palestine: Indigenous History as a Methodology of
Liberation” (unpublished draft copy, 2019).
© Stephen Sheehi, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_011

of the Sanchez
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Decolonising the Photography of Palestine 341
Figure 10.1 ‘Turkish Official Teases Starving Armenian Children’, 1915. (Featured in
Donald Bloxham)
with the familiar, to some, yet scandalous photograph. Indeed, a photograph

from the time of the British Mandate of Palestine. In some ways, it is not unre-
lated. It is likely that those familiar with the ongoing saga to recognise the
Armenian Genocide know this now infamous image, putatively of a ‘Turkish
Official Taunting Armenians with Bread’, also known as ‘Famished Armenian
Children’. The image is found in Armin Wegnar’s well-known photographs doc-
umenting the genocide, many of which he and fellow German officers took
while deployed in Ottoman Syria during World War I. Subsequently, the photo-
graph was the cover-image of Donald Bloxham’s 2010 Great Game of Genocide.3
The image is, however, not of starving and taunted Armenians but it is, in fact,
a staged French image used for funding raising to alleviate the Great Famine
in Lebanon during the same period. Rather than being identified as a schol-
arly error or a misidentified image, the photograph was deemed a ‘forgery’ by
3 Donald Bloxham, The Great Game of Genocide: Imperialism, Nationalism, and the Destruction
of the Ottoman Armenians (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).

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342 Sheehi
Genocide-deniers. As such, it was used as one more piece of evidence that

Armenians continue to be the liars and forgers, truly the ‘seditious millet’.4
This controversy returns us to the perennial, if not banal, questions of
photography’s documentary ‘validity’, its constructedness, and its artifice in
contrast to its ‘truth-value’. Lacan reminds, however, that:
Méconnaissance is not ignorance. [It] represents a certain organization

of affirmations and negations, to which the subject is attached. Hence
it cannot be conceived without correlate knowledge (connaissance)…
[Therefore], behind one’s misrecognition, there must surely be a kind of
knowledge of what there is to misrecognize.5
But these questions seem to me to be a deflection from another issue that

underscores the compulsion to forgery or the méconnaissance of the weak.
This photographic méconnaissance of the colonised, of the genocided, hap-
pens when the photograph represents so fully and cogently one’s own selfhood
and material reality that are otherwise been denied by hegemonic power and
its ability to control knowledge and image production.
Therefore, the question of forgery (locked in orbit with méconnaissance)
raises not only the question of validity or truth of the photograph. More
importantly, forgery raises the question of right to truth, the right to the social
relations and material realities photography represents: the right to the sur-
plus truth-value of the photograph (as value accumulated through the political
economy of representation and image-circulation).
Let us move to an equally controversial image. An image that is ‘real’ but
contested, indeed, legally contested. On 30th September 2000, two days after
Ariel Sharon’s provocative visit to the Ḥarām al-Sharīf, Muhammad Durrah, a
12-year-old boy, was shot dead in the arms of his father in Gaza by the Israeli
army. He was shot in front of Talal Abu Rahma’s camera, filming video footage
for France 2 news. Captured in less than minute of video, Durrah’s death was
reduced to a series of photographic stills that circulated throughout Palestine,
the Arab world and the globe. The image has become iconic. Despite the power
of this image, or perhaps because of the power of this image, Israel retracted
its initial admission of guilt to later deny the validity of the claims that Durrah
4 Vahakn Dadrian, “The Armenian Question and the Wartime Fate of the Armenians as
Documented by the Officials of the Ottoman Empire’s World War I Allies: Germany and
Austria-Hungary,” International Journal of Middle East Studies vol. 34, no. 1 (2002): 59–85.
5 Jacques Lacan, The Seminar Book I: Freud’s Papers on Technique 1953–54, trans. John Forrester
(New York: Norton, 1988), 167 (my translation tweak).

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Figure 10.2 Mohammed al-Durrah Mural. Santa Fe, NM, by artist Remy.
Image courtesy of Alex De Vose
was killed by Israeli forces and contest the validity of the images. Charles
Enderline, France 2’s Israel Bureau chief, became embroiled in several legal
battles around defamation of his character and the validity of his reporting of
the incident.
Rather than serve as evidence for the violence that afflicts Palestinian civil-
ians under occupation, the iconic image emerged as a point of contention,
transformed in the international arena (and French courts) from an indict-
ment of Israeli occupation to proof, or at least innuendo, of the deceitfulness
of Palestinians. The alchemy of politics and power converted the photographic
evidence of a murdered 12-year-old into a document that allegedly demon-
strates artifice, deflection, manipulation and the sedition of the victim.
Melanie Phillips, a British commentator, has made a career off the ‘con-
troversy’ that she played a large part in creating.6 But even more so, Phillips
mobilised the virility and ubiquity of the visual evidence of the Israeli murder
of Durrah to allege that the image itself resulted in the true loss of many lives
(meaning Jewish and Israeli-Jewish lives). Phillips’ activism around the death
image of Durrah makes us think of who has the right to determine the veracity
of an image, the force and currency of an image. Nick Mirzeoff speaks of ‘right
6 Melanie Phillips, “Faking a Killing,” Standpoint, June 27, 2008, found at https://standpoint
mag.co.uk/faking-a-killing-july/?page=0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2C0%2
C0%2C2.

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344 Sheehi
to look’ as a constituent tension within the history of modern visuality that

comes into being through the claims and counterclaims between the coloniser
and colonised.7
I recalibrate Nick Mirzeoff’s formulation ‘right to look’ to a formulation of
the right to the ‘surplus truth value’ of photography. Let me be clear that I am
not talking about the right to representation. Indeed, a current trend in pho-
tography studies is to move away from focusing exclusively on the photographs
of Orientalist photographers to try to locate indigenous histories of photogra-
phy and/or the hidden role of indigenous assistants (often women as readily as
men) of Western expatriate photographers. I am not referring to local histories
and personal accounts, often very important accounts in themselves, being
told through autogenerated photographs.8
Let us understand that the practice of photography is an extractive pro-
cess, especially when it is in the hands of the coloniser, the imperialist or the
Zionist settler. Even if the photographer seeks to ‘humanise’ the indigenous
subject, this gesture of magnanimity originates from an economy of images,
representations, commodity exchange, subjectivities, epistemology. Therefore,
such knowledge-production is structured to extract all forms of wealth and
value (whether subjective, aesthetic, historical or material) from the colonised
and transfer it to the coloniser along with its title (that it creates from this pro-
cess). Therefore, I am stating that the photograph-forged through this colonial
subjective, political and epistemological economy must understood as prop-
erty. This does not only include the photographic object, the processes and
labour around its production and dissemination. The photographic index itself
is property, whose surplus-value the coloniser has usurped as part of the col-
onising enterprise. When this right to the surplus truth-value of photography
is managed in such a way that it excludes, when it is used to further disavowal,
and when it perpetuates the interests of power, violence and denial, forgery
rightfully becomes ‘a weapon of the weak’, who themselves seize the right to all
surplus-value extracted from colonial people and lands in an on-going struggle
with coloniality.
I am not arguing to assert the right to claim a forgery or a falsehood as real.
Rather, I am arguing the right to claim the representation of violence is real and
7 Nicholas Mirzoeff, The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality (Durham, NC: Duke
University Press, 2011).
8 See, for example, Naseeb Shaheen, A Pictorial History of Ramallah (Beirut: Arab Institute for
Research and Publishing, 1992); Walid Khalidi, Before Their Diaspora: A Photographic History
of the Palestinians 1876–1948 (Washington D.C.: Institute for Palestine Studies, 1984); and
Badr el-Hage, Shweir and Its Hills: A Photographic Record, trans. Sabah Ghandour (Beirut:
Kutub, 2013).

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that social conditions that make that representation are true. I am arguing
the right to claim the photograph because it is founded on a visual economy that
is extractive. Indeed, in thinking about our positionality and relationality to
photography, this recalibration of the surplus value of photography should
force researchers as well to consider the possible extractive nature of their
research especially when handling, dominating, hording or claiming own-
ership over photographs that are given value because their content emerges
from some social relationship with the colonised; in this case, Palestine and
the Palestinians.9
Ariella Azoulay reminds us that, for a Palestinian, ‘going to Israeli archives
is not an option, because under the imperial regime of the archive he was
deprived of the archives that existed in Palestine’.10 Indeed, the Israeli archive
‘houses’ – or perhaps, better, confines under its naturalised policy of indefinite
administration detention – not only purloined documents, images and arti-
facts, but suppressed facts and narratives that evince their historical claims,
their narratives and stories of Zionist violence and dispossession.11 Yet, still,
the Israel archive is a contrived space predicated precisely on the control, man-
agement and erasure of Palestinians, collectively and individually. The Israeli
archive is a place of dispossession and prohibition for the Palestinian, but also
detainment and suppression. Coming up with strategies to resist and think
through the histories delimited and demarcated by the settler society becomes
even more complicated when we also remember that photography itself is
deeply imbricated with colonialism and coloniality. That is, ‘[p]hotography
was imperial from the very beginning’, as Azoulay reminds us. The ‘negation of
people’s right to actively participate in (let alone give consent to) being pho-
tographed is not part of the ontology of photography, but is the outcome of
the extractive principle on which photography was first institutionalized’.12
When one reconsiders the place of the archive and the ‘nature of photography’
then we understand the importance of why Rana Barakat asks us to centre
and amplify Palestinian stories, narratives, and objects of knowledge – not
9 For another example of the decolonial method that allows us to seize the image and relo-
cate it within centered Palestinian-Arab existence, material realities, and histories, see
“The Palestinian Spectator and Emancipating History” in Issam Nassar, Stephen Sheehi,
and Salim Tamari, Camera Palestina: Photography and Displaced Histories of Palestine
(Berkeley: University of California Press, forthcoming).
10 Ariella Azoulay, Potential History: Unlearning Imperialism (New York: Verso, 2019), 163.
11 I am referring to the research of Israel’s New Historians, who could enter the state archives
to access documents pertaining to the 1948 Nakba when they were declassified. The most
noteworthy of these works is the Ilan Pappé, The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (London
and New York: Oneworld, 2006).
12 Azoulay, Potential History, 143.

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346 Sheehi
settler-colonial places, spaces, and narratives – as elemental to ‘writing/

righting’ the history of Palestine.13
When we think about photography in the context of colonialism, in particu-
lar, we realise how the social relations that mediate the relationships around
photography are further convoluted by the relationship of colonised peoples
to visual regimes, social configurations and political formations that them-
selves are embroiled with the introduction of racial capitalism, colonialism,
and modernity.14 Photography then is always contaminated and a site of con-
tention for the colonised to make claims. Photography is not only a locus of
the production of meaning, but a locus for the production of knowledge for the
colonised as much as the coloniser.
To be clear, when the right of photography, or the right to the truth-value
of photography, is denied, when the right of the victim is denied by the vic-
timiser, the weak have a right to emancipate the image, to tactically excavate
‘truth-value’. The manifest of the image may, in fact, obfuscate this ‘truth-value’.
Therefore, the colonised may seek a method and practice to conjure indige-
nous knowledge through associations with other facts in order to represent the
truth of the material conditions the image represents. This is the beginning of
the decolonisation of photography. Methodologies of decolonisation do not dis-
miss the facticity of the photograph in a gesture towards radical relativism. In
no way, do decolonial methodologies invent ‘alternative facts’, frequent among
right-wing, ethno-nationalist, and fascist movements. Rather, they exorcise,
in Alloula’s words, the hegemony of colonial epistemology. They validate and
centre the experiences, stories, knowledge and realities of indigenous people.
They centre history and analysis on facts that have been displaced, shattered,
buried (sometimes literally) and dismissed. Decolonial method understands
that if truth is suppressed or pushed to the margins, it is because truth-value is
mediated by power, force and conscription. Decolonial methodology, as Linda
Tuhiwai Smith methodically shows us, truth is produced; truth is constructed
through the production of knowledge, but also on the elevation of experience
and affect; facts are discursive, collective and social products, while still being
empirical.15 Facts are empirical and relational, standing tension, complimen-
tary and in relation to other facts. It is not coincidental that Edward Said in
13 Rana Barakat, “Writing/Righting Palestine Studies: Settler Colonialism, Indigenous

Sovereignty and Resisting the Ghost(s) of History,” Settler Colonial Studies 8, no. 3 (2018):
349–363.
14 See Stephen Sheehi, “The Nahda After-Image, or All Photography Expresses Social
Relations,” Third Text 26, no. 4 (2012): 401–414.
15 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (New
York: Zed Books, 2013).

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Orientalism frequently looks to Giambattista Vico to unravel how discourses

are produced through the constitution and arrangement of facts.16 Facts are
related to empirical and material realities, realities that we create through
social forces and power structures; realities constructed through the dialec-
tics of the powerful and social formations, those who they attempt to control,
co-opt, and/or resist-through a number ideological and material means –
knowledge production.
In this regard, I have argued elsewhere that photography is an example of
Vico’s verum factum.17 The means of knowledge production is in the hands of
the powerful. In the form of the photograph, it can constitute a visual archive
that determines the parameters by which we define all that is seen.18 Therefore,
understanding the photograph as being a verum factum is not to say that just
because we say something is true, it is true. But it is for us to wrestle control
of the means of knowledge production by conjuring the latent and manifest
content of photography, by connecting it to other facts, to material realities,
in order to emancipate its meaning. Indeed, Katherine McKittrick entices us
to believe the ‘truthful lies’ put forth by the archive that tell us of the violence
until black people are born free. This impulse to ‘trust the lies’ is not to agree
to their truth, but to produce a form of knowledge that serves to evince what
black people know to be the facts; namely they are free despite all the social lies
that perpetuates and naturalises violence against them.19
The correlation between the black experience in the United States and that
of Palestinians in Palestine under Zionist hegemony should not be lost on us,
despite the profound differences. Indeed, Saidiyah Hartman illustrates what
I am alluding to when we think of seizing images, ‘trusting the lie’ in order
to give witness to the facts. Hartman’s handling of a number of photographs
of anonymous black girls from the decades around the turn of the twentieth
century tease out both the racial violence encoded in the images, but also
lived experiences and social formations, indeed evidence of revolutionary and
rebellious black lives, that escape the confines of a white supremist syntax of
photographic representation.20
16 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Knopf, 1978).

17 For a theoretical development and demonstration of my theory of the verum factum of
the photograph, see Chapter Four: “Writing Photography”, in Sheehi, Arab Imago.
18 For a critique of the archive and photography’s imperial and imperious relationship to it,
see Azoulay, Potential History.
19 Katherine McKittrick, “Mathematics Black Life,” The Black Scholar 44, no. 2 (2014): 21 and
20, respectively.
20 Saidiya Hartman, Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments: Intimate Histories of Social
Upheaval (New York: Norton, 2019).

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348 Sheehi
Speaking more to the images at hand, we are confident that, while the
Armenian photograph is a ‘fake’, the facts it communicates are true: the
Armenians were exterminated by the Ottoman government through depriva-
tion. Even if the murder of Muhammad Durrah was staged as the most heinous
and cynical critics suggest, the image stands as absolute and unequivocal evi-
dence for the cruel realities of an illegal and brutal occupation and its effects
on Palestinian children and their families.
1 What Is the Decolonisation of Photography
The decolonisation of photography is not magical undoing. It is not an ahistor-

ical process or a reading through nationalist frameworks that sees indigenous
photography as ‘speaking back’ to power. In the Middle East, at least, decolo-
nisation of photography should not seek an ‘epistemic reconstruction’, in the
words of South American thinker Anibal Quijano.21 Conjuring pre-Oedipal
fragments of selfhood or awaking dormant histories are not the same as hop-
ing to resurrect arcane or dead practices, fetishising them as authentic culture.
The process of decolonisation should not be confused with a recovery of a
lost, destroyed or displaced self. It is the acknowledgement of lost selfhoods
that are only knowable through their displacements and uncanny fragments,
which themselves come to us through the filter of selfhood that is our own,
but also doubled subjectivity as W.E.B. De Bois, Frantz Fanon, Abdelkebir
al-Khatibi have observed. But, this is not its sole end. Decolonisation is the
fleshing out, remembering, conjuring and an accounting of the ways in which
extraction took place, but also continues to unfold, often with the complicity
and conscription of indigenous bourgeoisie, politicians, oligarchs, and social
formations. It is this process of decolonisation, along subjective, gender and
class lines that authenticates, produces and centres indigenous, but not paro-
chial, knowledge and conscientiousness.
If colonial modernity is a system of knowledge-production not simply
empirical reality, as Santiago Castro-Gomez suggests, it is unlinkable from
a colonial/modern/capitalist matrix of Middle Eastern subjectivities, prac-
tices, (and their subaltern negatives) through which the necropolitics of the
colony and postcolony are naturalised.22 Decolonisation therefore entails
21 Aníbal Quijano, “Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality,” Cultural Studies 21, nos. 2–3
(2007): 176.
22 Santiago Castro-Gómez, “The Missing Chapter of Empire: Postmodern Re-organization of
Coloniality and Post-Fordist Capitalism,” Cultural Studies 21, nos. 2–3 (2007): 428–48.

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then a seizure of means of knowledge production, among them photography,

and thereby the seizure of the rights to photography and photographic rep-
resentation. The seizure does not involve an adoption of an archive that lends
credibility to a dominant, indigenous elite history of the Middle East; that is,
using the photographic archive as evidence for the Middle East’s belle épo-
que, how women were liberated, how men were literate, went to the beach and
drank whisky and loved democracy. The work of Fouad Debbas, Badr el-Hage,
Michel Fani, for example, are a claim to nostalgia and absence, not a claim to
the rights of looking or the claim to the rights of photography’s truth value.23
For all their talk about discovering the ‘lost heritage’ of Middle East pho-
tography, the photograph, for them, is used to shore up nationalist and class
nostalgia and displace the violence that operates within the latent content of
the image. This nostalgic approach to photography creates the ‘alt-history’ or
‘alt-heritage’ and only instrumentalises photography as a means of justifying
and naturalising one particular class world view and ideological hegemony.
I use the language of ‘seizing’ or appropriation because it allows us to be
empowered, agile and militant with our methodology. In seizing photogra-
phy, we seize ‘expatriate, Orientalist, and state imagery’ as readily as reaching
to indigenous or ‘vernacular’ photography. Native photography itself is not
understood as a resistance to imperialism or Orientalism, but is indicted in
forms of power, class assertion and social formations. Therefore, it constitutes
an object, indeed a site of contention, that itself needs to be seized, rehabili-
tated and repurposed. Decolonisation therefore entails a seizure of means of
knowledge production, among them photography, and thereby the seizure
of the rights to photography and photographic representation. The photograph
is a social space, a collective process, a cultural and geographic articulation
and a social object. As such, all are available for re-appropriation by the colo-
nised in order to emancipate the subjects of the photograph, the verum factum
and truth value of their experience, and the visibility of facts that are disa-
vowed, permitting us as liberated subjects to create the opportunity for new
social relations.
23 Fouad Debbas, Beirut: Our Memory; A Guided Tour Illustrated with Picture Postcards, 2nd
ed. (Beirut: Naufal, 1986); Michel Fani, Liban 1848–1914: L’atelier photographique de Ghazir
(Paris: Éditions de l’Escalier, 1995); Khalidi, Before the Diaspora; and Badr el-Hage, Saudi
Arabia: Caught in Time 1861–1939 (London: Garnet, 1997).

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350 Sheehi
2 Search for a Method
Seizing the rights to photography demands a decolonial method that contains

a number of different techniques of radical appropriation. It is an under-
standing of photography as a multivalent practice, that involves a number of
indexical, empirical, ideological and representational fields that can be weap-
onised, converted into a plane of contention in order to seize the means of
ideological, economic or knowledge production.
What I hope to offer is not a grand and new method, but an organising
method. In many ways, this method dovetails with recent scholars in North
America such as Ali Behdad, Jennifer Bajorek and Hanna Feldman to ‘unmoor’
or ‘unfix’ the image from the Orientalist lens, without necessarily under-
standing the collusion between Orientalist, colonialist and indigenous social
formations.24 Likewise, Yazan Kopty, in this very volume, offers and practices
a method by which images are repatriated and re-indigenised despite their
extractive and exploitative origins with National Geographic. Furthermore, a
broad naming, corralling and rerouting of techniques that reappropriate and
reposition the colonial subject’s relationality to the image has been practiced
by scholars, photographers and artists in the postcolony for decades. Malek
Alloula, for example, started this project when he announced a desire to ‘force
the postcard to reveal what it holds back (the ideology of colonialism) and to
expose what is repressed in it (the sexual phantasm)’25 His ground-breaking
book is explicitly referred to as an ‘exorcism’.26 Approaching the photograph
as an image-screen, as verum factum, is one such technique. Transfiguring the
photograph into a space to emancipate the colonised spectator within us (to riff
on Rancière), who has been denied the rights of visibility, who has been denied
to right to the truth value of photography.27 How then is decolonising pho-
tography to be done? Since the surface of the photograph as an image-screen
is a locus of mediation of social relations (of power and resistance), Freud
and his approach to dream-work provide us with one technique for this
24 See Jennifer Bajorek, Unfixed: Photography and Decolonial Imagination in West Africa
(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2020); Ali Behdad, Camera Orientalis: Reflections on
Photography of the Middle East (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016); and Hanna
Feldman, From a Nation Torn: Decolonizing Art and Representation in France, 1945–1962
(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2014).
25 Malek Alloula, The Colonial Harem (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), 4.
26 Alloula, 5.
27 Jacques Rancière, Politics of Aesthetics: Distribution of the Sensible, translated by Gabriel
Rockhill (London: Continuum, 2004).

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decolonising methodology, allowing us to seize the image-screen as a composite

of manifest and the latent content of positive, negative and displaced images.
In the manifest, we explore the indexical, the representational, the com-
positional, the aesthetic qualities of the photograph, all which communicate
particular meanings within a dominant discourse. The manifest is read through
the dominant ideology (and reproduces it) within particular social and politi-
cal contexts. We may extend Marx’s formulations of the essential components
of economic formations to photography, found in ‘Introduction to a Critique of
Political Economy’, where visual, like economic formations, are based on a
series: production, distribution, exchange and consumption, where ‘every
form of production creates its own legal relations, forms of government, etc’.28
The latent is, however, all that makes the manifest legible and that which
the manifest may displace. It is the alterity of the image, the denied, the dis-
placed and the repressed. One searches for the latent in a number of ways,
and the latent is multitude, but that does not mean everything goes. Like
Freud’s method, one maps the manifest through its narration and its index,
and the latent through a process of association, historical inquiry, representa-
tional genealogy, deep space of discourses that make manifest intelligible and
exploring the image’s effect and affect.29 To illustrate the method, I reach to an
image that lays at the junction between the Genocide and the Occupation of
Palestine, two issues bound by the denial of suffering and violence.
3 Palestine in a Plate of Hummus
Elia Kahvedjian (1910–1999) was born in Urfa and, by age five, was a refugee of
the Armenian genocide. He lost five brothers, three sisters, mother, father, all
uncles, aunts and grandparents, all save a sister who he found 18 years later.
During the death march, his mother sold him to Kurds, where he was renamed
ʿAbdū and worked as a blacksmith’s apprentice. When blacksmith’s new wife
didn’t want him, Elia was ‘thrown into the streets’ and became a beggar, where,
allegedly, he was almost kidnapped and murdered by cannibals in a tale right
out of 1001 nights (given food, he was taken to cave, where he slipped and fell
upon human skulls, as he escaped, the kidnapper threw a sword and injured
28 Karl Marx, “Introduction to a Critique of Political Economy,” in The German Ideology

(Amherst, NY: Prometheus, 1988), 5.
29 Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams. The Standard Edition of the Complete
Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, IV and V (1900); James Strachey, trans. and ed.
(London: Hogarth Press, 1953).

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352 Sheehi
his leg where he carried a scar). By age 11, the American Near East Relief
Foundation saved him along with thousands of Armenian orphans and relo-
cated him to an orphanage in Nazareth, where he learned photography. He
moved to Jerusalem and started to work for Hanania Brothers studio, eventu-
ally buying and renaming it ‘Elia Photo Service’.30
Elia Photo Service was successful, partially due his relationship with the
Jerusalem Order of Freemasons and its tight connections with British authori-
ties, what his son, the current owner, referred to as ‘help from above’. Elsewhere,
his son states that Elia worked with the British Army and Air Force, developing
and printing their pictures.31 This is likely considering the existence of a small
number of Kahvedjian’s aerial photographs. The common rumour that I found
in my own conversations with Jerusalemites was that Kahvedjian was British
‘spy’. Perhaps coincidentally, his son relates that in 1948, a British officer told
Kahvedjian to gather his things on the eve of the Nakba and leave his store on
Jaffa Street.32
Kahvedjian’s photographs differ from that of the American Colony and
Khalīl Raʿad. The former portrays Palestine as unaffected by British occupation
and Zionist settlement. They idealise or exoticise Palestinians, largely natural-
ise British presence, and, to a lesser extent, document Zionist life in Palestine:
images are, for example, of the wheat harvest, veiled women, fortune tellers,
Domaris, coffee sellers, porters with blurred ‘modern’ men in background and
sign which seems to be in Hebrew and Arabic; there are architectural photo-
graphs such as that of Damascus gate that diminish the presence of military
offices whose blurry figures blend in with ‘natives’ in Arab garb. Images such as
that of a shabby Jewish sous seller (clearly a member of the non-Ashkenazi Old
Yishuv), the legendary Hurva Synagogue in Jewish Quarter, Dizengoff Square in
Tel Aviv, a Purim parade, the entrance to Rosh Hanikra kibbutz, the Kapulsky
coffee wagon (which would become an Israeli chain) and the Zeppelin over
Jerusalem all are popular images among Israelis.33
30 This information was relayed first hand to me by Kevork Kahvedjian at Elia Photo in
Jerusalem. Some of the biographical information can also be found in Kevork Kahvedjian,
Jerusalem Through My Father’s Eyes (Jerusalem: Elia Photo Service, 1998).
31 For an example, see “Aerial View of Jerusalem 1936,” Kahvedjian, Jerusalem Through My
Father’s Eyes, 59.
32 Allen Williams, “Dom Photographs in the Collection of Elia Kahvedjian,” in Kuri: Journal
of the Dom Research Center vol. 1, no. 10 (2004), found at http://www.domresearch
center.com/journal/110/elia110.html, last accessed Feb. 2, 2020; and Nir Hasson, “The
Finest Photographs of Early 20th Century Palestine, Shuttered in Controversy,” Haaretz,
Feb. 5, 2012, http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/features/the-finest-photographs-of
-early-20th-century-palestine-shuttered-in-controversy-1.411086, last accessed Feb. 2, 2020.
33 Many of these images can be found in Kahvedjian, Jerusalem Through My Father’s Eyes.

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There are, however, among this collection a small handful of quotidian

images, with movement and a documentary quality. One of the most popular
photographs sold in Elia Photo Services is the image of men ‘eating hummus’
(1935). The image depicts workers in the winter in Jerusalem’s Old City, eating
hummus at an outdoor hummus kiosk. Indeed, the image can be read a num-
ber of ways. It is contemporary and even pushes back on many of the character
types and idealised images of Kahvedjian’s commercial practice.
On the one hand, what we can call the manifest level, the photograph can
easily be romanticised, representing a space where the tribulations of Zionist
colonisation and British rule in Palestine are absent. It can be seen as a sort of
free-space of pure enjoyment, comradery and social interaction, which has yet
to become saturated by the colonisation process or the vagaries of British rule.
The comments and analysis of the image, more often, concentrate on the
centrality of hummus as a universal identification with these men, not as
Palestinians, but as guys, like you, me and Israelis, who just cannot help but
love hummus.
The impulse to displace the Palestinian experience, and indeed presence,
in photography is captured in an interview precisely about this image by an
Australian filmmaker, Trevor Graham. Graham started a blog, titled ‘Make
Hummus Not War’. In 2011 published an interview on his blog with Elia’s
son, Kevork Kahvedjian, who subsequently has passed away. Graham’s pro-
ject tracing Palestinian, Lebanese and Israeli competing claims to hummus
eventually became a film by the same name.34 Graham asks Elia’s son what
he thinks about the ‘hummus controversy’ where Israelis claim the dish as
their own. The studio owner replies, hummus ‘is so delicious, that every-
body tries to claim it for themselves. It’s okay. As long as it’s delicious, I don’t
care. I don’t mind’.35 Kahvedjian clarifies his priorities, saying ‘the situation
here is hard for everyone, although I can tell you that the Armenians are
positively neutral people. We are a family of photographers, and that’s what
interests us’.36
Kahvedjian’s answer and the interviewer’s questions – and certainly the
commercial popularity of the trope of substituting hummus for contention –
employs a critical psychological defensive mechanism; that of disavowal.
34 Trevor Graham, Make Hummus Not War (Australia, 2012), 1:17 mins.
35 Trevor Graham’s 2011 interview with Kevork Kahvedjian is reproduced on his blog, Make
Hummus Not War, found at http://www.makehummusnotwar.com/characters_14.html,
last accessed Feb. 2, 2020.
36 “Elia Photo Service in Jerusalem,” ClaudiaExpat, June 2012, found at https://www
.expatclic.com/elia-photo-service-in-jerusalem/?lang=en, last accessed Feb. 3, 2020.

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354 Sheehi
Figure 10.3 Eating Hummus, 1935. Elia Kahvedjian. Elia Studio Jerusalem
Disavowal (for Freud, or ‘foreclosure’ for Lacan – Verwerfung-forclusion-

repudiation)37 allows one to ‘repudiate’ discordant reality that threatens
the self-image and ego-coherence. Disavowal splits off the part of reality
from the self that causes dissonance and discomfort invoked by reality.
The obsession with hummus serves as a culinary universal that assumedly
connects people and temporalities, but also it repudiates historical and social
realities. Kahvedjian’s disavowal of the historical and contemporary realities
of Palestine protects the assumed ‘neutrality’ of the Armenian community
within the Palestine-Israel conflict. It contains an annihilation anxiety passed
down through the transgenerational transmission of the trauma of genocide
and insisting the ‘neutrality’ of the Palestinian-Armenian community: let’s
ignore – that is, disavow – history. Let’s repudiate the asymmetries of present
realities. It’s hard for everyone. Hummus is so delicious and photography is
apolitical and what really ‘interests us’.
But on a larger scale, the fixation of this indexical surface invokes a nostal-
gic identification with the act of simple eating, eating hummus en pleine air,
on rustic tables, tin plates, with simple bread while the compactness of the
image and the overflowing figures highlight the apolitical act of the universal
37 Jacques Lacan, The Seminar. Book III. The Psychoses, 1955–56, trans. Russell Grigg (New
York: Norton, 1993).

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sociability of eating. Everybody loves hummus. It defends the coherence of

liberal narratives that assert ‘make hummus not war’, which is the name of the
blogger’s site.
The reading of ‘eating hummus’ and the rapture of hummus deflects from
and denies the political and historical realities and imperatives of 1930s
Palestine. Indeed, we do not have to ‘care’ about the claim that hummus can
be ‘Israeli’ without being Palestinian because it is ‘so delicious’. The retreat into
the shared commonalities of our humanity, coupled still with the anonym-
ity of the photograph’s subjects, converts the image into a validation of the
hummus-loving spectator not the Palestinian as a national, political and class
subject. The official title, in fact, is ‘Eating Hummus’: a title with no subject.
To arrive at the latent, we start at this manifest, the all-male space broken by
the variety of ages, the smile of the boy in the background acknowledging the
photographic event while, at the same time, the three men are lost in the ecstasy
of extending their bread into their dishes and the central figure is almost per-
formative in his hummus rapture. There is no sense of ‘traditional men’ doing
‘traditional’ work, both terms that can only be ambiguous and clarified with
stereotyped answers and images. The photograph is, however, unambiguously
an image of men who work; modern workers. It is an infrequent image of ‘real’
Palestinian labourers, very likely carbing up in the morning for their long day’s
work in a cold, damp Jerusalem winter.
This reading is the beginning of latent analysis, which should not be con-
fused with speculation. The analysis of the latent allows us to identify and
root analysis in material and historical realities (in and out of the frame)
that saturates an image and burst through the orientalised, commodifying
lens. This liberation of an image allows it to be read as document and/or
enunciation of the quotidian life of modern Palestinian labour. But what is
outside this image of workers and kept at bay by the fetishised delights of
hummus? The labour in this image is likely an effect of the historical moment,
labour that was essential to the economic transformations and jostling of the
1930s. The origins of urban labour lay in the dispossession of Palestinian peas-
antry during the 1920s and 1930s, who were removed from lands after they
were sold by absentee landlords to the Jewish National Fund. Others were
subject to increased rents and ravaged by two decades of over-taxation. Yet
more were adversely affected by the transformation of the Palestinian econ-
omy with the opening of Palestine’s market to cheaper imported goods by
the British.
The disenfranchisement and increased landlessness of the Palestinian peas-
antry led to the migration of rural Palestinian communities to urban areas, at
the same time that the British declared a minimum wage for Palestinians less

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356 Sheehi
than that minimum wage required for Jewish labour.38 As a result, the con-
struction boom sparked by large scale Zionist construction projects and the
Mandate government – a boom that contrasted the agricultural downturn – was
often facilitated by cheap Palestinian labour until the Great Revolt of 1936.39 To
look at these labourers in 1935, we understand their origins and their material
conditions. Moreover, we understand the history, the present and the direction
of this image, not frozen in hummus rapture, but within their contemporary
social relations that will make for a revolt.
These workers became the fighters of that popular uprising against Zionist
colonisation and British rule. The Great Revolt of 1936–1939, in fact, started
with a widespread and comprehensive national strike. The strike was largely
organised and initiated by Palestinian labour, whose up-swell of pressure
forced the Palestinian elite to sign on (and later usurp). Therefore, perhaps the
more accurate title of this photograph should not be ‘Eating Hummus, 1935’
but ‘Palestinians on the Eve of the Great Revolt’.
Bibliography
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38 Zachary Lockman clearly shows that the British worked to suppress the wages of
Palestinian workers and peasantry and keep them always subordinate to and below man-
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Chapter 11
Urban Encounters: Imaging the City

in Mandate Palestine
Nadi Abusaada
In the first half of the twentieth century, Palestine witnessed significant trans-
formations in its urban built environment. These changes, while originating
in the late Ottoman era, intensified under the British Mandate with the intro-
duction of new inter-urban infrastructures and regional and urban planning
policies that controlled urban expansion and the construction of new urban
and rural settlements.1 The new urban planning development procedures,
however, were not merely a technical exercise – they supplemented British
imperial aspirations and their endorsement of Jewish settlement in Palestine.
In the interwar period, urban affairs turned into a primary field of political
confrontation and contestation between the local Arab population, Zionist
settlers and the British administration.
This period of urban change in Palestine paralleled the rise of photographic
production as a principal method for documenting and representing the
built environment. Until the late nineteenth century, the dominant depic-
tions of Palestine’s urban and rural landscapes were the works of Orientalists
and Biblical scholars interested in excavating and documenting sites of holy
relevance for European audiences. By the start of the Mandate period, pho-
tography had already become a common practice by foreign groups and locals
alike. Arabs, Zionists, the British administration, and other interest groups (e.g.
foreign missionaries) all grew increasingly aware of the power of photographic
representations of the urban built environment, albeit utilising this power to
serve ideologically distinctive, even oppositional, visions and projects.2
This chapter examines the historical intersection between photographic
practice and urban change in the colonial context of interwar Palestine. More
specifically, it aims to trace the different ways in which photographs were
1 J. Fruchtman, “Statutory Planning as a Form of Social Control: The Evolution of Town Planning
Law in Mandatory Palestine and Israel 1917–1980’s” (PhD diss., University of London, 1986),
http://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/1317972/.
2 See in this volume chapters by Karène Sanchez Summerer and Norig Neveu, Sary Zananiri,
and Yazan Kopty.
© Nadi Abusaada, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_012

of the Sanchez
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360 Abusaada
utilised to represent the cities of Palestine, mainly from British and Arab
perspectives.3 With this in mind, the following sections will shed light on a
variety of photographic perspectives in representing Palestine’s urban built
environment in the interwar era. To highlight the links between these differ-
ent perspectives and the varying visions among and between British and Arab
actors in Palestine, however, the chapter focuses not on the original photo-
graphs or photographers themselves, but on the deliberate reproduction of
photographs and photographic collections by groups or individuals interested
in expressing a particular vision, colonial or otherwise, of the urban built
environment.
To this end, the following sections will shed light on three interrelated
attitudes of photographic representation of Palestine’s urban fabrics in the
interwar period. First, the city as a target for military operations, focusing on the
advent of aerial photography in the Great War, its development in the Mandate
period, and its relationship to British imperial visions in Palestine. Second, the
utilisation of vues d’ensemble (‘holistic views’) of urban fabrics in the docu-
mentation and intervention in urban analysis and planning, through the use of
both aerial photographic and ground panoramas of urban spaces. Countering
these two attitudes, which were mainly a product of foreign and imperial activ-
ities, the third section addresses the rising interest among Palestine’s local
Arab population in the photographic imaging of their cities as a reflection of
their new societal ideals of progress, modernity and development, particularly
in Arabic-language press. These three distinctive yet interrelated attitudes
towards urban photography offer an understanding of photography not only as
an end in itself, but as a means to an end, linked to colonial and native desires
not only to represent but also reshape urban spaces.
The materials in which these three different approaches to representing
the urban built environment appear have been collected from a wide range
of sources. The archival sources include the Bavarian State Archives, the
Australian War Museum, the National Library of Israel, and the Qatar Digital
Library. In addition, a collection of original publications including books,
reports and magazines from the 1920s–30s in English, Arabic and German
are also consulted and examined. Hence, if the focus in this article is mostly
on the immediate after-lives of photographs – that is, on the ways original
3 While it is realised that the Zionists, too, had a vested interest in the photographic rep-
resentation of the urban built environment and urban development in Palestine during
this period, a thorough analysis of Zionist imaging of the cities is beyond the scope of this
study. Nonetheless, given that many aspects of British and Arab representations of cities in
Palestine were ultimately shaped or influenced by their interactions with the Zionist move-
ment, some elements of such encounters are addressed.

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Urban Encounters: Imaging the City in Mandate Palestine 361
photographs were re-produced in different formats within a few years of their

production – then the stories of how these different reproductions ended up
where they did adds additional layers and raise further questions regarding the
complex and multifaceted nature of these photographs’ afterlives.
1 Aerial Imagery and Military Strategy
In 1915, following Ottoman-German advancement into the British-controlled

Sinai Peninsula and their attempt to invade the Suez Canal, several battles were
fought in southern Palestine. As the war commenced, and as German-Ottoman
armies retreated, these battles shifted north until British armies gained full
control of Palestine. The visually abundant nature of these battles was unlike
anything the country had witnessed in its long history of foreign invasions.
This was not only because of the nature of the Great War as an event covered
by media outlets globally, but also in the then-new advancements in photogra-
phy and aerial warfare technology – producing the first ever aerial photographs
of landscapes. In the Great War, the ability to see cities from above became
intractably tied to gaining military advantage over enemy troops. In their con-
frontations, both German and British armies used airplanes to drop bombs on
enemy territory. They also utilised aeroplanes for aerial reconnaissance and
the production of war maps.
By the time British troops reached northern Palestine, British-Australian
and Bavarian squadrons had captured several thousand aerial photographs
covering wide expanses of Palestine as well as Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan
(Fig. 11.1). These photographs were used to detect the abilities of enemy
troops and predict their movements, and both the British and the Germans
devised military handbooks to assist in their analysis. Comparing British
and German handbooks on the tactical use of photographs from the war,
Benjamin Kedar points to the higher level of sophistication presented by the
Germans. Kedar notes that whereas the British booklets only present a ‘series of
rudimentarily interpreted photographs’, the German booklets include a ‘table
of the various types of British tents, the purposes they serve, their surface in
square meters, and the number of men they can accommodate’ in addition to
methodically grouped photographs that provide clues to the size of the enemy
in question.4
4 Benjamin Z. Kedar, The Changing Land: Between the Jordan and the Sea: Aerial Photographs
from 1917 to the Present (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999), 28.

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362 Abusaada
The culmination of these photographic advancements with the war effort

produced an entirely new understanding not only of warfare strategies but
also of landscapes. In the Bavarian and Australian aerial photographs alike,
the urban landscape below was abstracted into a series of quantifiable fea-
tures that marked the extent to which the territory depicted in the photograph
poses a threat. On many of the aerial photographs that survive in the Bavarian
State Archives and the Australian War Memorial, hand-drawn lines around tar-
geted areas appear, marking the locations of enemy targets. These targets were
often troop camps, located outside the towns, but in close proximity to them
to ensure their connection to the main transport infrastructures and access to
essential utilities (particularly water and health facilities). In most cases, the
defeat of these suburban camps entailed the capture of the towns that they
encircled. Overall, it can be said that although the cities’ surroundings were
clear military targets for the Germans and the British during the war, their
inner built fabrics remained, for the most part, relatively unharmed by the war
effort.
While for the Germans, the Great War marked the end of their imperial
interests and aerial navigations in the ‘East’, this was far from being the case for
the British. After the war, the British devised new strategies of ‘air control’ over
its new mandated territories, based on their desire to safeguard their imperial
interests and contain attempts of rebellion. Among the earliest applications
of this new scheme of ‘air control’ by the British Royal Air Force (RAF) was
used in 1919 in Iraq in an effort to tame the Iraqi revolt against British colonial
rule. In this new scheme, Priya Satia explains, ‘the RAF collapsed the mission
of regenerating Babylonia into the more urgent task of patrolling the coun-
try from a network of bases and coordinating information from agents on the
ground to bombard subversive villages and tribes’.5 Although airpower was
also used elsewhere at the time, Satia shows that ‘it was in Iraq that the British
would rigorously practice, if never perfect, the technology of bombardment
as a permanent method of colonial administration and surveillance and there
that they would fully theorise the value of airpower as an independent arm of
the military’.6
In Palestine, the most systematic use of airpower by the British took place
nearly two decades later, in the context of the Arab-led Great Revolt against
the British administration. The revolt, which was mainly directed against the
British administration, demanded Arab independence, an end to the British
5 Priya Satia, Spies in Arabia: The Great War and the Cultural Foundations of Britain’s Covert
Empire in the Middle East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 240.
6 Ibid., 240.

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Figure 11.1 Map of Bavarian aerial photographs in Palestine during the Great War, 1916–18.
Map by author
Data sources: Bavarian State Archives, Google earth
endorsement of a ‘Jewish National Home’ in Palestine, and to cease its facilita-

tion of Zionist immigration and land settlement. As Jacob Norris illustrates, the
revolt initially manifested as an elitist and urban-led campaign of civil disobe-
dience and later developed into a far more violent and peasant-led resistance
movement.7 While the eventual decline of the revolt in 1939 has often been
attributed to internal weaknesses and divisions among the Arab population,
Norris aptly shows that British counterinsurgency played a considerable role
in the revolt’s demise.8 Nonetheless, unlike in 1919 Iraq, British counterinsur-
gency activity in 1936 Palestine took place in the context of an established civil
administration and policy and, as a result, had to balance between its civil and
military forces. Hence, while it departed from the ‘air control’ schemes devel-
oped in Iraq, it still utilised what the British termed a strategy of ‘combined
7 Jacob Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion: Britain’s Response to the Arab Revolt in Palestine of
1936–39’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 36, no. 1 (2008): 25–45; Weldon
Matthews, Confronting an Empire, Constructing a Nation: Arab Nationalists and Popular
Politics in Mandate Palestine (London: I.B.Tauris, 2006).
8 Ibid., 27.

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364 Abusaada
action’ based on full cooperation between ground and air forces to overcome
the restrictions of British civil policy, particularly on the ‘employment of land
forces on offensive duties’.9
In 1938, the British published a report titled ‘Military Lessons of the Arab
Rebellion in Palestine 1936’ which, as its title suggests, was based on their
various operations during the period of the revolt. The sections in the report
include a short history of the rebellion, conditions affecting operations,
commanders and staffs, intelligence, intercommunications, administration,
transport, weapons and equipment, the employment of the various arms, the
employment of aircraft, defensive action, protection of communications and
offensive action. The report also includes several photographs of the different
military operations, assessments, and documentation of the different vehi-
cles and equipment used in the duration of the revolt.10 But the most striking
among these are the series of aerial photographs of the Palestinian port city
of Jaffa, in which one of the most destructive operations during the revolt was
carried out: the demolition of a significant proportion of the Old City.
Between 30th May and 30th June 1936, the British undertook a series of
operations that radically altered the future of the revolt and of the city of Jaffa.
They realised the significance of conducting these operations in Jaffa, as one
of the most principal centres for Arab economic and political urban life in
Palestine. For them, however, it was Jaffa’s Old City in particular that posed
the most serious threat to their ability to maintain control over the city and
tame Arab rebellious activity, despite the fact that by the 1930s it was merely a
quarter within the much larger municipal area of Jaffa. ‘The Old City of Jaffa’,
the 1938 British report states, ‘had long been a hotbed of lawlessness and revolt,
and such had usually set the example for rebellious activities all over the coun-
try’.11 The concentration of British counterinsurgency on the Old City, and its
distinction from the so-called New City, was not incidental. It was based on a
culmination of British negative assumptions and attitudes regarding both the
Old City’s population, constituting one of the poorest quarters of the city, and
its urban layout and built fabric.
9 ‘Military Lessons of the Arab Rebellion in Palestine 1936’, 1938, IOR/L/MIL/17/16/16,

British Library: India Office Records and Private Papers; For more on the British strategy
of “combined action” in Palestine during the Great Revolt, see Nadi Abusaada, “Combined
Action: Aerial Imagery and the Urban Landscape in Interwar Palestine,” Jerusalem
Quarterly 81 (2020): 20–36.
10 For more on the report, see Abusaada, ‘Combined Action: Aerial Imagery and the Urban
Landscape in Interwar Palestine, 1918–40’.
11 ‘Military Lessons of the Arab Rebellion in Palestine 1936,’ 156.

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The 1938 report explicitly links the targeting of the Old City to the socio-
economic status of its inhabitants, which it describes as ‘the toughest of all
Arab elements, consisting mostly of boatmen of Greek descent who earned
their living handling lighters in the Port of Jaffa, a difficult and dangerous occu-
pation’.12 It was this population in particular that suffered from the increased
rivalry between Jaffa and its nearby new Jewish settlement of Tel Aviv. After the
start of the British Mandate, Tel Aviv benefited immensely from the relaxed
British policies towards Jewish immigration and development – all at the
expense of Jaffa. In the early 1930s, schemes were made public for the con-
struction of a new port in Tel Aviv, just north of Jaffa’s historic Arab port.13
Hence, while the report describes the Old City’s inhabitants’ ‘natural dislike
for authority,’ it also admits the role of the ‘shadow of a harbourage scheme for
Tel Aviv, which appeared likely to strike directly at the livelihood of the Jaffa
boatmen’ in instigating their rebellion against the British administration.14
The targeting of the Old City was influenced not only by British attitudes
towards the Old City’s inhabitants but also towards its architecture. Unlike the
broad avenues, detached buildings, open public squares and grid-like layout
that characterised Jaffa’s modern neighbourhoods, or the New City, the Old
City was ordered according to a considerably different spatial logic. As with
many historic cities of the Eastern Mediterranean whose main fabrics were
built before the nineteenth century, the Old City of Jaffa is more densely built,
and its roads are not straight and often end in cul-de-sacs. For the British, the
fabric of the Old City provided an ‘ample opportunity’15 for its inhabitants’
ability to conduct rebellion activities:
Built upon a low hill flanked on one side by the sea, it completely domi-
nated the Port and such buildings as the police station and barracks and
the District Commissioner’s offices, which lay in the New City. Moreover
its houses formed a veritable rabbit warren through which dark and
narrow streets turned and twisted into a maze in which the level of one
street would often be the roof of the houses in the one below and where
few passages were so wide that they could not be spanned by the reach
of a man’s arms. It represented in fact an exceedingly complicated trench
12 Ibid., 156.
13 Ibid.; for more on the historical relationship between the two cities of Jaffa and Tel Aviv,
see Mark LeVine, Overthrowing Geography: Jaffa, Tel Aviv, and the Struggle for Palestine,
1880–1948 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Sharon Rotbard, White City,
Black City: Architecture and War in Tel Aviv and Jaffa (London: Pluto Press, 2015).
15 Ibid., 157.

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366 Abusaada
system with vertical slides some thirty to forty feet high, which could
readily be converted into a regular citadel.16
While aspects of this description are specific to Jaffa’s urban fabric, particularly
the proximity of the Old City to the port and its topographical advantage over
British administrative buildings in the New City, the negative attitude towards
the Old City’s ‘dark and narrow streets’ and ‘maze’-like layout are not uncom-
mon to British discourses surrounding poor urban quarters in the 1930s, an era
that witnessed an upsurge in ‘urban renewal’ projects and ‘slum clearances’ in
England.17 In fact, before the start of the operation, British aeroplanes dropped
down leaflets that described the demolitions as being ‘for the improvement
of the Old City’18 echoing these new discourses. Needless to say, however, the
nature and motivations of the operations at Jaffa, carried by a military force
and intended to serve imperial aspirations, were markedly distinct from slum
clearances in England that were carried on the basis of Housing and Town
Planning acts, despite their similar outcomes.
The British divided their operations in Jaffa into four different phases: first,
a retaliatory offensive attack against houses from which fire had been directed;
second, the clearing of the approaches and cleaning up of the town at the edge
of the Old City; third, the driving of a road through the Old City from East to
West by means of demolition; and fourth, the driving of a similar road to run
North and South in a crescent shape.19 Significantly, these operations relied
heavily on a series of aerial photographs taken by a Royal Air Force Squadron.
These photographs, included in the British report on the operation, were used
to study the Old City of Jaffa from above – and to identify the exact areas where
the demolition activities in the operation’s third and fourth phases were to
take place (Fig. 11.2). Points labelled ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ and ‘D’ were marked on the aerial
photographs, and lines were drawn connecting them indicating the buildings
to be demolished. Additional aerial photographs were taken following the
operation, showing the newly-opened arteries or, as the British called them,
‘good wide roads’ that aggressively ran through the heart of the Old City.20 It
was this operation, the British write in their report, that ‘mark[ed] the end of
organised resistance in the towns’ during the period of the revolt, before the
main rebel activities were transferred to the hills and the countryside.21
16 Ibid., 157.
17 Arthur Peter Becker, “Housing in England and Wales during the Business Depression of
the 1930’s,” The Economic History Review 3, no. 3 (1951): 321–41.
19 ‘Military Lessons of the Arab Rebellion in Palestine 1936,’ 157–8.
20 Ibid., 159.
21 Ibid., 159.

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Figure 11.2 ‘Jaffa Old City – The dotted line A-B marks the approximate line of the first
Demolitions’
Source: ‘Military Lessons of the Arab Rebellion in Palestine,’
1936, 1938 IOR/L/MIL/17/16/16, British Library: India Office Records
and Private Papers
Looking at the 1936 aerial photographs of Jaffa against British aerial photo-
graphs from the Great War reveals the shifting official British attitude towards
the cities of Palestine, from one that deliberately avoided urban destruction
to the taking of drastic measures against an urban population and their city.
Aerial photography, a practice that paralleled the developments in warfare
technologies during the Great War, has enabled a different view of cities that
changed the relationship between photography and the city. Seeing the city
from above, while not sufficient for targeting cities, has played a considera-
ble role in enabling such targeting where the necessary power for it became
available. Hovering over territories and capturing them from above enabled
the representation of places that are inaccessible at ground-level. Clearly,
aerial power was not limited to photography (e.g. direct bombardment), and
photography that enabled the targeting of cities was not limited to aerial
photography (e.g. ground photographic surveillance). Nonetheless, it was the
culmination of aerial power and photography that produced the most effec-
tive results in targeting urban spaces. With these representations, operations
on the ground became more informed, and hence more prone to success –
qualities that proved especially useful for the Germans and the British in the
context of the Great War and the British taming of the Great Revolt in Palestine.

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368 Abusaada
2 Holistic Views and Colonial Planning
The militaristic targeting of urban spaces during the Great War and in the
interwar period presented what is arguably the most direct, and violently
destructive, form of imperial and colonial confrontation with Palestine’s urban
landscape in the interwar period. Nonetheless, it was not the only, or even most
significant, shift in representations of and interventions in Palestine’s urban
landscape that paralleled interwar photographic developments. In this period,
photography, and especially views from above that provided a vue d’ensemble –
a comprehensive picture of the landscape – proved to be an instrumental tool
for the development of what Jeanne Haffner identifies as a new ‘science of
social space’22 which, though critical for militaristic and warfare operations,
was also crucial for the work of professionals interested in the scientific study
and intervention in the urban landscape, including archaeologists, planners,
engineers and architects. These ‘scientific’ approaches to photography and
the urban landscape were particularly significant in the context of Palestine,
whose urban landscape had been primarily approached by European
Orientalists in the nineteenth century as the Biblical Holy Land.23
In Palestine, aerial photography proved instrumental not only for the emer-
gence of new methods of urban representation, but also interpretation, that
departed from typical Biblical frameworks. The first extensive publication
to scientifically interpret the aerial photographs and the vue d’ensemble of
Palestine’s urban landscape for non-militaristic purposes after the Great War
was Gustaf Dalman’s 1925 book, Hundert deutsche Fliegerbilder aus Palästina.24
Dalman, a German Lutheran theologian and archaeologist, had a long
22 Jeanne Haffner, The View from Above: The Science of Social Space (Cambridge: MIT Press,
2013).
23 See in this volume chapters by Yazan Kopty, Sary Zananiri, and Karène Sanchez
Summerer and Norig Neveu; Beshara Doumani, “Rediscovering Ottoman Palestine:
Writing Palestinians into History,” Journal of Palestine Studies 21, no. 2 (1 January 1992):
5–28.
24 Archaeological efforts were a key element of Ottoman-German interest during the war.
Under the instructions of the German archaeologist Theodor Wiegand (1864–1936), who
served as a captain of the Ottoman-German militia artillery in the Asia Corps, Bavarian
aeroplanes captured photographs of some of the main archaeological sites in the region.
In 1918, based on a direct order from Djemal Pasha, Wiegand published Alte Denkmäler
aus Syrien, Palästina und Westarabien, a bilingual Ottoman-Turkish and German book.
The book included two sections: an introduction by Djemal Pasha in which he states
some administrative measures he took to improve the preservation of historical monu-
ments and to ‘protect them’ from the Allies, and a commentary essay by Wiegand, based
on a series of one hundred illustrations (mainly photographs) of major archaeological
sites and textual descriptions. See Theodor Wiegand and Ahmed Djemal Pascha, Alte

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experience working in Palestine before the war where he worked as the first
director of the Jerusalem-based German Protestant Institute for the Study of
Archaeology in the Holy Land (DIEAHL), founded in 1900.25 During his time
in Palestine, Dalman led several excavations at archaeological sites around
the country, took hundreds photographs and glass slides, and published
numerous academic writings including the annual volumes of DIEAHL’s
Palestine Yearbook.
In the book, Dalman explicitly expresses his criticism of mainstream pro-
ductions and photobooks of Biblical sites in Palestine produced by other
Orientalists. Crucially, Dalman celebrates the role of nineteenth century
photographic imagery of Palestine including, for example, the work of the
Beirut-based Bonfils photographic studio, in replacing the ‘fantasy images’
and ‘romantic depictions’ of Biblical sites and landscapes.26 For Dalman,
these early photographs hold a ‘special value’ because they depict cities and
their surroundings before they became ‘heavily disfigured by the effects of
Europeanization’.27 Describing urban change in Nazareth, he writes, ‘today’s
Nazareth is almost in the style of an Italian town, entirely unlike the image
of Nazareth around 1870, which is in two large photographs before me, and
so uncharacteristic that I found it difficult to recognise the details, though
I visited Nazareth twice in 1899’.28
Despite his appreciation for these early photographs, Dalman does not
shy away from expressing his reservations about the works of professional
photographers in Palestine. He is critical of the tendency in photographic pub-
lications to exclude descriptions of what is being represented, the direction in
which the photograph is taken or the exact time of recording the landscape.29
In addition, he also problematises the one-sidedness of their attitudes toward
holy places and historical sites and the lack of reliable, unbiased, information
about their general situation or the nature of the land with which their history
is connected.30 ‘The professional photographers in Palestine,’ Dalman argues,
‘are too dependent on what geographically and historically uninformed
Denkmäler aus Syrien, Palästina und Westarabien: 100 Tafeln mit beschreibendem Text
(Berlin: G. Reimer, 1918).
25 “Foundation and First Aims (1900–1914),” German Protestant Institute of Archeology (blog),
20 July 2019, https://www.deiahl.de/ueber-das-dei/geschichte/1900-1914/.
26 Gustaf Dalman, Hundert Deutsche Fliegerbilder Aus Palästina (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann,
1925), 3.
27 Ibid., 3.
28 Ibid., 3.
29 Ibid., 3.
30 Ibid., 3.

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370 Abusaada
tourists want to buy as souvenirs’, thereby producing piecemeal images of

‘antiquities’ without sufficiently addressing the history and geography of the
represented landscape.31
Dalman compiles a series of one hundred aerial photographs of Palestine’s
landscape, which to him presented an opportunity ‘not only to see landscapes
from above but to understand them’.32 For each photograph, Dalman added a
textual description of what is being represented, along with brief geographical
and historical information on each specific site and its surroundings. These
texts are not simply complementary, rather, they set the specific frame in
which the spectator would gaze towards the photographs and interpret them.
Dalman’s descriptions are mainly spatial: he outlined, for each photograph,
geographical features (topography and land and water features), the main
neighbourhoods shown, the main public buildings and architectural monu-
ments (hospitals, cemeteries, holy places, etc.) and the main routes leading in
and out of urban centres (Fig. 11.3). It situated the depicted area within its wider
regional context, including both the cities and the routes to their hinterlands
or nearby suburbs, including the German Colonies in Jerusalem and Haifa.
The fact that his main emphasis was on the vue d’ensemble of the geography
and topography of the urban landscape, rather than isolated historical notes
on these monuments, distinguished his book from the typical Biblical frame-
works in which Palestine and its landscape had been understood throughout
the nineteenth century.
As Dalman was preparing his study of Palestine’s landscape in Germany, in
Palestine, the British were devising new planning frameworks and policies for
their intervention in urban built fabrics. The British concentrated their new
planning policies on the city of Jerusalem, the religious and political capital
of Mandate Palestine. In 1917, Colonel Ronald Storrs was appointed as the first
military governor of Jerusalem. Storrs was heavily invested in the historical
preservation of Jerusalem’s built fabric.33 Already in the first weeks of the mili-
tary occupation, he announced a public notice intended to maintain the city’s
status quo in terms of construction activity. This was clear in the public notice
he announced in the first weeks of the occupation:
No Person shall demolish, erect, alter, or repair the structure of any build-
ing in the city of Jerusalem or its environs within a radius of 2,500 metres
31 Ibid., 3.
32 Ibid., 4.
33 Sir Ronald Storrs, Orientations (London: I. Nicholson & Watson, 1939).

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Figure 11.3 Example of two pages from Gustaf Dalman’s 1925 book, including descriptive texts for two
aerial photographs of Jerusalem
Source: Gustaf Dalman, Hundert Deutsche Fliegerbilder Aus Palästina
(Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1925), 12–13
from the Damascus Gate (Bab al Amud) until he has obtained a written
permit from the Military Governor.34
The notice was only intended as a temporary measure until matters of town
planning and building policies in Jerusalem were sorted. In 1918, Storrs
established the Pro-Jerusalem Society (1918–1926) which was aimed at: ‘the
preservation and advancement of the interests of Jerusalem, its district and
inhabitants’ and avoiding potential conflict between the different ethnic
groups in Jerusalem.35 Storrs also appointed Charles Ashbee, a British architect
34 Charles Robert Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem, 1918–1920: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem
Council During the Period of the British Military Administration (London: J. Murray, for the
Council of the Pro-Jerusalem Society, 1921), v.
35 Ibid., vii.

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372 Abusaada
and planner, as the society’s Civic Advisor and Secretary. These two decisions,
it would later turn out, were incredibly significant for the future development
of the city and would have a lasting effect on its inhabitants in the decades
that followed.
At the time of his appointment, Ashbee, a friend and disciple of William
Morris, was already known for his skill and enthusiasm for the Arts and Crafts
movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In Britain, he
was also a member of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings and
the National Trust. Though his stay in Jerusalem for a few years was short com-
pared to the three decades of British rule over Palestine, his visions for the
future of the city and its inhabitants, inspired by the Arts and Crafts movement,
albeit accommodated for the context of Palestine, remain highly relevant for
understanding the terms in which the British approached the city and its phys-
ical fabric in the years of military occupation and in the early stages of the
civil administration.36
Crucially, Ashbee paid considerable attention to photographic materials
and utilised them extensively in documenting, studying, and planning urban
developments in the city of Jerusalem. This is evident in his Palestine notebook
and two published reports he edited of the work of the Pro-Jerusalem Society,
documenting their work in Jerusalem during the initial period of British mili-
tary occupation (1918–20) and the first two years of the Mandate (1920–22).37
The two reports include long sections on urban planning activities written by
Ashbee, in addition to a number of short essays written by other European
practitioners and scholars of archaeology and architecture in Palestine. In
the sections written by Ashbee, he included several sub-sections reporting
on the works undertaken under his supervisions reflecting, for the most part,
his assessment of these works and visions for the future of the city. These were
accompanied by sketches he drew and photographs that were mostly captured
by American Colony photographers.
A key aspect of Ashbee’s vision for Jerusalem is his clear distinction
between the ‘Old City’ and the ‘New City’. Ashbee’s attitude towards the Old
City, however, was not like the British attitude towards Jaffa in the 1930s. It
rather stemmed, for the most part, from his architectural and archaeological
36 Wendy Pullan and Lefkos Kyriacou, “The Work of Charles Ashbee: Ideological Urban
Visions with Everyday City Spaces,” Jerusalem Quarterly 39 (2009): 51–61.
37 Charles Robert Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, 1918–1923 [1st ed.] (New York: Garden City,
1923); Ashbee, Jerusalem, 1918–1920; Charles Robert Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem, 1920–1922:
Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council During the First Two Years of the Civil
Administration (London: J. Murray, for the Council of the Pro-Jerusalem Society, 1924).

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interest in the city’s historic centre and his desire to preserve it from potential
destruction: ‘the disaster of the Great War has forced upon all men and women
the necessity of preserving all that is possible of the beauty and the purpose,
in actual form, of the civilisations that have passed before.’ To him, however,
this was not a ‘mere matter of archaeology or the protection of ancient build-
ings’. As an active member of the Arts and Crafts movement, he also believed
in preserving urban ideals from the ‘blind mechanical order’ which, to him,
threatened the destruction of everything associated with ‘beauty’, that is, the
‘landscape, the unities of streets and sites, the embodied vision of men that set
the great whole together, [and] the sense of colour which in any Oriental city
is still a living sense’.38
What is noteworthy about Ashbee’s work in Jerusalem is not only what
he envisioned for the city, but also the tools he used to articulate his visions.
Photography was arguably one of the most important tools for him. Unlike
Dalman, Ashbee’s vue d’ensemble of Jerusalem’s relied not on aerial photo-
graphs, but ground panoramic photographs taken from elevated positions by
his staff and by American Colony photographers. For Ashbee, these panora-
mas were an essential medium to establish a visual hierarchy of what ought to
be seen and what was deemed a visual nuisance. Since Ashbee treated the Old
City as a ‘unity in itself’ that had to be protected from the encroachments of the
New City, many of his plans were concentrated on the contact zone between
the Old and New quarters.39 In addition to his suggestions for the creation of a
green buffer belt around the Old City’s historical walls, Ashbee paid consider-
able attention to the opening-up of the panoramic views towards the Old City
when it is approached from the New City. Two of his photograph-sketch com-
positions published in the 1921 report of the Pro-Jerusalem Society illustrate
the primacy of the visual relationship between the Old City and the New City
in his urban visions.
The first composition depicts a view of Jerusalem approached from
south-west, on the Jaffa road (Fig. 11.4). The panoramic photograph depicts the
view in its present state, overlooking the citadel, the Ottoman clocktower, the
Old City – all at a higher elevation than the valley from which the photograph
is captured. Some buildings also appear outside of the Old City, blocking parts
of the view of the historic walls. Next to the photograph, Ashbee includes a
photo caption: ‘the Jaffa Gate reconstruction as at present, looking towards the
city’, omitting the Ottoman clocktower, which Ashbee had been mobilising
for its destruction. Below the photograph, he sketched his own vision of the
38 Ashbee, Jerusalem, 1918–1920, 4.

39 Ashbee, Jerusalem, 1920–1922, 1.

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374 Abusaada
panorama captioned: ‘as suggested when the unsightly obstruction that hides
the walls are cleaned away’. In the sketch, the ‘obstructive’ buildings of the New
City do not appear, and the citadel and the city’s historic walls appear enlarged
and more visible.
The second composition similarly depicts the approaches to the Old City
overlooking the road to Bethlehem, but in the opposite direction (Fig. 11.5). The
photograph, captured from an elevated viewpoint outside the historical walls,
shows Jaffa gate, the citadel, an informal Arab market, and Bethlehem in the dis-
tance. Ashbee notes: ‘the Jaffa gate reconstruction at present, looking towards
Bethlehem’. Below, Ashbee adds his own diagram of the view of the road he had
in mind. He explains: ‘the same, as suggested after the removal of the market to
the other side of the road’ reflecting, not only the desire for their destruction, as
the case with the first composition, but also their relocation into a more formal
market arrangement. In the report, Ashbee even includes several architectural
schemes for new formal markets both in the Old and New cities to replace such
informal arrangements with formal market schemes with ‘definite boundaries’
to conceal them away from the approaches to the Old and New cities.40
In a sense, Ashbee’s vision for the city of Jerusalem, despite its more critical
stance regarding architecture and its basis on rigourous study, did not radically
depart from its representation by European visitors in the late nineteenth cen-
tury as an ‘open-air biblical museum.’41 Like these visitors, who would often
climb the Mount of Olives to admire the panoramic view over the ‘city of Jesus’,
Ashbee’s plans and sketches for Jerusalem reflect more interest in distant views
of the city than in the conditions of its local inhabitants. The two panoramic
photographs captured from the perspective of an outsider entering the city
attest to this. As with Dalman’s ‘scientific’ analysis of aerial photographs, this
physical distance raises an important question regarding the manifestations
of relations of power in representations of the urban landscape. Both Ashbee
and Dalman dismiss the role or fate of the local inhabitants in their representa-
tions of the urban landscape. While in Dalman’s distant photographs the Arab
population makes no appearance and their architectural contribution is not
mentioned, in Ashbee’s compositions, they are either depicted as ghostly sil-
houette figures in the landscape, or as a population whose building activity
poses an obstruction to romanticised and sanitised colonial visions of the
Holy City.
40 Ibid., 26.
41 Vincent Lemire, Jerusalem 1900: The Holy City in the Age of Possibilities (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 2017), 55.

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Figure 11.4 Above: ‘The Jaffa Gate reconstruction as at present, looking towards the city.’
Below: ‘The same, as suggested when the unsightly obstruction that hides the
walls are cleaned away’
Source: Charles Robert Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem, 1918–1920: Being
the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council During the Period of
the British Military Administration (London: J. Murray, for the
Council of the Pro-Jerusalem Society, 1921)
3 The City in Print and Arab Self-Image
Photographs of urban spaces and landscapes, particularly distant aerial and

panoramic views, proved instrumental for reifying imperial and colonial rep-
resentations of the urban landscape and the carrying out of colonial urban
counterinsurgency activities and planning projects. It would be false, however,
to assume that photography and photographic representations of urban land-
scapes in interwar Palestine were a product of and served colonial interests
alone. Palestine’s native Arab population, particularly urbanites, also utilised
the power of photographic imagery in this period to articulate their own con-
ceptions and visions for Arab nationhood, modernity and progress in the
interwar period. These new national conceptions and visions were undoubt-
edly shaped by the native populations’ desire to respond to colonialism and

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376 Abusaada
Figure 11.5 Above: ‘The Jaffa gate reconstruction at present, looking towards Bethlehem.’
Below: ‘The same, as suggested after the removal of the market to the other
side of the road’
Source: Charles Robert Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem, 1918–1920: Being
the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council During the Period of
the British Military Administration (London: J. Murray, for the
Council of the Pro-Jerusalem Society, 1921)
colonial imagery. However, they were also the product of internal social and
class shifts and ruptures among urban populations, particularly the rise of a
new urban middle class of effendiyya with new forms of social and cultural
values, systems of identification and forms of expression.42
Most works that address the rise of ‘vernacular’ photographic imagery in late
nineteenth and early twentieth century Palestine focus on family portraits.43
This is not surprising given that, with only a few exceptions like the works
of Khalīl Raʿad and Ḥannā Ṣāfiyya,44 Arab photographers in Palestine and
the region were much less interested in the photography of cities and urban
42 On the expressions of these socioeconomic shifts in the realm of portrait photography,

see Stephen Sheehi, The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography, 1860–1910
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), xxiv.
43 Issam Nassar, “Familial Snapshots: Representing Palestine in the Work of the First Local
Photographers,” History & Memory 18, no. 2 (2006): 139–155.
44 See the chapters of Rona Sela and Issam Nassar in this volume.

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landscapes than they were in the production of studio portraits and the pho-
tography of weddings and social events.45 Nonetheless, in the 1930s and 40s,
an era marked by an increased confrontation with the Zionists and the British,
and a growing interest by the local Arab population in taking part in urban
affairs and projects, the reproduction of photographic materials that depict
urban events and built forms played an instrumental role in Arab expressions
for their desire for the building of their national consciousness and institutions,
and countering their depiction as ‘unprogressive’ and ‘backward’ in British and
Zionist imagery of Palestine.46 Hence, from the 1930s onwards, numerous Arab
publications surfaced that included photographs of urban events and spaces
as a form of documentation and evidence of both colonial repression of urban
populations and progressive Arab-led urban-based national activities and pro-
jects, targeted at audiences both within and beyond Palestine.
Among the Arab-led urban activities that received extensive coverage across
Arab print media in Palestine were the organisation and inauguration of the
1933 and 1934 National Arab Exhibitions in Jerusalem. Held at a critical period
between the 1929 Buraq Revolt and the 1936 Great Revolt, the two exhibitions
‘were intended to demonstrate that Arab countries were witnessing remarkable
innovations in the industrial and agricultural sectors despite, and not because
of, European colonisation’.47 The British administration, which had previously
partnered with the Zionists on several exhibitions in Palestine and abroad,
refused to endorse the exhibition and even placed several hurdles in the way of
its execution.48 Hence, the exhibitions were entirely financed, organised and
executed by Palestine’s new group of Arab urban middle class elites who were
leading Palestine’s Arab national and economic Nahda (‘renaissance’).49
With the two exhibitions, the organisers intended to boost economic devel-
opment, with political end goals, at both the national and urban levels. On
the one hand, the exhibitions were executed with the aim of forging new
economic bonds between the Arab countries that had been fragmented and
disconnected in the Great War. At the same time, the organisers were aware of
45 Issam Nassar, “A Jerusalem Photographer: The Life and Work of Hanna Safieh,” Jerusalem
Quarterly 7 (2000): 26.
46 Mark LeVine, “The Discourses of Development in Mandate Palestine,” Arab Studies
Quarterly (1995): 95–124.
47 Nadi Abusaada, “Self-Portrait of a Nation: The Arab Exhibition in Mandate Jerusalem,
1931–1934,” Jerusalem Quarterly 77 (2019): 122.
48 There were many hurdles. Besides refusing some of the plans for the exhibition by the
Town Planning Commission, the British administration also rejected the allocation of
municipal funds for the exhibitions. Ibid., 128.
49 Ibid., 128.; Sherene Seikaly, Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy in Mandate Palestine
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2015).

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378 Abusaada
the specific threats taking place in Palestine, and the significance of organising
an event of this sort in one of the country’s main urban centres. The relation-
ship between the exhibitions and the city was a key issue since the former’s
earliest articulations. While the initial intent was to host the exhibition in Jaffa,
in close proximity to the Zionist Levant Fair in Tel Aviv, after several debates
and conflicts, the final decision was made to host the exhibitions at the Palace
Hotel in Jerusalem, a building owned and run by the Supreme Muslim Council
(SMC) – the primary representative body for Palestine’s Arab population at the
time.50 Taking place only a few years after the Buraq revolt, and in the context
of the turbulences of 1933, hosting the Arab exhibition in Jerusalem was a clear
statement regarding the Arab claim over the city and its public sphere.
A photograph of the opening of the second exhibition in 1934 from the
private collection of Saʿid Ḥusaynī illustrates the urban nature of the event
(Fig. 11.6). In the photograph, a large crowd of men appear to have gathered
outside the Palace Hotel building, the venue where the two exhibitions were
held, to celebrate the second exhibition’s inauguration. The building is deco-
rated with flags and two banners that read ‘the second Arab exhibition’ and
‘loving the nation is an act of faith’. A vertical distance appears between the
crowds outside the gate and the fewer individuals who occupied the build-
ing’s front balcony. Numerous Arabic newspaper articles covered details of the
opening ceremony, which included a speech by ʿAjāj Nuwayhiḍ, a member of
the exhibition’s board of directors, on the board’s behalf. In his speech, fully
transcribed by the Jerusalemite al-ʿArab newspaper, Nuwayhid emphasised
the ‘Arab-ness’ of the city and the event, thanked its supporters, welcomed
its visitors from across the country, and explained the motivations behind the
exhibition as ‘developing Arab capital, rejuvenating national projects, sup-
porting Arab labourers by strengthening Arab factories, supporting artists and
innovators to make use of their talents, and consolidating economic bonds
between Arab sectors to achieve Arab economic independence’.51
The numerous Arabic newspaper articles that covered the opening of
the first and second exhibitions included multiple photographs, predomi-
nantly focused on the Palace Hotel’s exterior and interior spaces. Built by the
Supreme Muslim Council and registered as a Waqf property, the Palace Hotel
was distinguished in its architectural style and location. It was designed by two
well-known Turkish architects, Ahmet Kemaleddin and his disciple Mehmed
Nihad, who had initially arrived in Jerusalem to lead the renovations in Haram
50 Abusaada, “Self-Portrait of a Nation: The Arab Exhibition in Mandate Jerusalem, 1931–

1934,” 128–129.
51 al-’Arab, ‘khitab al-iftitah’, 14 April 1934.

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Figure 11.6 ‘A black-and-white photograph of a crowd gathered in front of al-Awqaf,

Ma‌ʾman Allah St during the opening of the Second Arab Industrial Exhibition,
in 1934, in Palace Hotel, in response to the Zionist Exhibition which had
opened in Tel Aviv’
Source: Said al-Husseini Collection, Palestinian Museum
Digital Archive. Image courtesy of the PALESTINIAN Museum
al-Sharif.52 It was the largest and most grandiose Arab building in Palestine
constructed in the era of the British Mandate. The hotel’s location on Mamilla
Street in what Charles Ashbee has defined as the New City outside the his-
torical walls of Jerusalem, in the vicinity of new Jewish neighbourhoods and
colonial construction projects, was a clear statement about the Arab claim
over the New City and participation in Jerusalem’s extra-muros modern devel-
opments and tourism industry. The building was also of regional significance.
In 1931, the Islamic Congress bringing leaders from all over the Muslim world
was held at the Palace Hotel. With this in mind, it is not surprising that the
hotel figured extensively in the exhibitions’ photographic and textual rep-
resentations, both in the Arabic press and in the official manuals prepared for
the two exhibitions, and was described as an emblem for Arab national pro-
gress and cultural renaissance.53
52 Yıldırım Yavuz, “The Influence of Late Ottoman Architecture in the Arab Provinces: The
Case of the Palace Hotel in Jerusalem,” Proceedings of the International Congress of Turkish
Arts 1 (2003): 1–22.
53 On 15th July 1933, an article appeared in al-Arab that included a series of three photographs
of the Palace Hotel at the time of the first exhibition, with the following accompany-
ing captions: ‘the view of the Waqf Hotel, where the exhibition is held. The building is

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380 Abusaada
The press coverage and photographic representations of the Arab exhibi-

tions in the early 1930s were mainly directed towards an Arabic readership
within Palestine. Nonetheless, this audience was not the only target that Arab
urbanites wanted to reach in this period. The British support for the Zionist
movement was a growing concern among Arab intellectuals and politi-
cians, both those who resided in Palestine and abroad. By the 1930s and 40s,
Palestinians had realised the extent of Zionist propaganda outside of Palestine.
Its representations at multiple World Fairs around the world at that time was
one of many indicators of the power of the Biblical image of Palestine that they
had presented to the world, as a deserted land that required Zionist colonial
settlement and modernisation. Hence, by the mid 1930s and early 40s, there
was an increased desire by key Arab figures to counter the image of British
Mandatory rule and Zionist settler colonialism as ‘civilised’ and ‘modern’
regimes not only in Palestine, but also abroad, particularly in Europe and the
United States.
In October 1933, only three months after the inauguration of the first Arab
exhibition in Jerusalem, major Arab demonstrations took place in Jerusalem
and Jaffa, initiated by the Arab Executive Committee’s call for a national
strike to protest British policy regarding Zionist settlement in Palestine. By
November, the demonstrations escalated and spread to other principal urban
centres including Haifa and Nablus and were met by extreme use of force
by the British Police Force in Palestine. Like the Arab exhibitions, the events
received considerable attention in local Arabic newspapers, detailing both
protest activities and British acts of repression. Unlike the coverage for the two
Arab exhibitions, however, reporting on the 1933 demonstrations was predom-
inantly textual, and lacked photographic materials. Realising this gap, by the
end of 1933, Theodore Sarrouf, an Arab nationalist and the founder of the Press
and Publication Office in Jaffa, one of the first Arab advertising agencies of its
kind in the country, began collecting photographs of the October-November
demonstrations with the purpose of their publication.
On 12th January 1934, Sarrouf published a 43-page photographic album of
the 1933 demonstrations.54 The album’s pages included tens of photographs
constructed in the glamorous Arab-style, consists of four stories, and it costed no less
than 70,000 Palestinian pounds and rented annually for about 8,000 pounds’; ‘a view
of the large lobby on the ground floor before the exhibition was held’; and ‘upon entering
the building, the visitor is faced with a spectacular elevated dome, scraping the clouds,
and this is its photograph.’ ‘al ma‌ʾrad al-ʾarabi al-awwal (‘the first Arab exhibition’)’,
al-Arab, 15 July 1933: 21–30, 22, 26.
54 Theodore Sarrouf, Photographs of the Demonstrations Which Took Place in Palestine 1933
(Jaffa: Press and Publication Office, 1934).

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of demonstrations (including women’s demonstrations), police repression,

funerals, relief work and portraits of detainees and families of martyrs in the
principal Arab cities of Jerusalem, Jaffa, Haifa and Nablus, separated by pages
of private advertisement similar to those published in local newspapers. For
each photograph, Sarrouf included a caption describing the event photo-
graphed and its date and location. Significantly, Sarrouf decided to write these
captions in both Arabic and English. In a short preface titled ‘Explanation of
the Publisher,’ he elucidates the motivation behind his collection:
While contributing news material to certain papers about the recent

disturbances and demonstrations which resulted in considerable loss of
life in most towns of Palestine, I realised how anxious the reading public
was to get hold of as many pictures as possible so that it may possess
a pictorial souvenir of these important events. Losing neither time nor
opportunity, I set myself earnestly in collecting almost every picture
taken by local and foreign photographers both professional and amateur
of the demonstrations […] My sole aim in furnishing the English reading
people with such a collection, is the hope that they will form to them-
selves a clear and correct impression of the demonstrations held by the
suppressed Arabs as a cry for justice in Palestine, this unfortunate part of
the Arab World.55
Hence, although Sarrouf describes the photographs as ‘pictorial souvenirs,’ he

is aware of the importance of photography not only as a documentary tool
of Arab dissatisfaction and British police repression, but also as a powerful
universal language in which he is able to communicate the political injustices
taking place in Palestine to a global audience. With this photographic collec-
tion, Sarrouf writes in the Arabic version of the preface, he intended to ‘provide
Eastern and Western audiences with a living memory of what happened in this
holy place at the height of the age of civilisation’.56
In the photographs Sarrouf included, an important aspect of the demon-
strations in the major Arab cities is brought to light, namely the effort by
Arab protestors in occupying the central public spaces in the cities, particu-
larly those surrounded by buildings of British official institutions, and their
obstruction from reaching their destinations by British police forces. In Jaffa,
the main confrontations took place in the city’s main public square adjacent
to the Mahmudiyyah Mosque, the Ottoman clocktower and the government
55 Ibid.
56 Ibid.

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382 Abusaada
headquarters. In one of the photographs Sarrouf includes, he shows that the

police used barbed wires on the main intersections to block demonstrations
from reaching the main square which he refers to as ‘Martyrs’ Square’ in refer-
ence to the Arab victims of police repression (Fig. 11.7). Sarrouf’s photographs
depict similar confrontations between Arab demonstrators and British police
in Jerusalem, including the police attack on the protestors at the New Gate, at
the boundary of the Old and New cities, and against an Arab women’s demon-
stration (Fig. 11.8). Unlike the perceptions of Jaffa and Jerusalem in RAF aerial
imagery and Ashbee’s panoramic photographs, the cities in these photographs
appear not as distant and sanitised objects, but as animated sites of direct con-
frontation between natives and colonial forces.
Until the mid 1940s, Arab efforts to counter British and Zionist colonial
imagery of Palestine remained uninstitutionalised and were primarily based
on individual efforts like Sarrouf’s. This gap was filled in 1944, when the
Institute of Arab American Affairs (IAAA) was established in New York, aiming
to represent ‘thousands of loyal American citizens of Arabic-speaking stock’
and ‘promote understanding and encourage friendly relations between the
United States and the Arabic-speaking peoples’.57 The institute also had a clear
anti-Zionist political stance towards the question of Palestine, which was artic-
ulated in a manifesto it published in 1945, and submitted to the delegates of
the United Nations Conference on International Organization, opposing the
establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine. That same year, Khalīl Totah, a
renowned Palestinian educator, had been appointed as the institute’s execu-
tive director, replacing Phillip Hitti who had served an interim period while he
was on temporary leave from Princeton University. ‘Though forced to disband
in 1950 due to a lack of funds’, Denise Laszewski Jenison explains, ‘the insti-
tute was quite active during its tenure, publishing pamphlets and newsletters,
sending members to give speeches and testify in various hearings about the
Palestine question, and writing to politicians at all levels in an effort to draw
attention of the Arab side of the story’.58
In 1946, the IAAA published a report on ‘Arab Progress in Palestine’.59 The
report, authored by Totah, intended to offer an otherwise dismissed
57 ‘Manifesto of the Institute of Arab American Affairs on Palestine’ (New York: Institute of
Arab American Affairs, 1945).
58 Denise Laszewski Jenison, ‘“American Citizens of Arabic-Speaking Stock”: The Institute
of Arab American Affairs and Questions of Identity in the Debate over Palestine,’ in New
Horizons of Muslim Diaspora in North America and Europe, ed. Moha Ennaji (New York:
Palgrave Macmillan US, 2016), 36.
59 Khalil Totah, “Arab Progress in Palestine” (New York: Institute of Arab American Affairs,
1946).

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Figure 11.7 A page including photographs in Jaffa from Theodore Sarrouf’s album.
The captions read: ‘The mounted Police disperse the demonstrators at the
martyr-ground square Jaffa’; and ‘Demonstrators in front of the entrance
of the great Mosque of Jaffa, Policemen obstructing the way leading to the
Governorate’
Source: Theodore Sarrouf, Photographs of the Demonstrations
Which Took Place in Palestine 1933 ( Jaffa: Press and Publication
Office, 1934)
perspective on Palestine to the American public. It is divided into sections on

economic progress, weaving and textiles, the building trade, cement, insur-
ance, airways, motor transport, shipbuilding, cigarette factories, the Summer
Resort Company, cinemas, salt, mother-of-pearl, olive wood, banking, the
Arab National Bank, chambers of commerce, telephones and education. What
these all have in common is that they are all led by Arab actors. Names of Arab
corporations, organisations and individuals proliferate throughout the entire
report, painting an impression of the nature of ‘Arab progress’ in Palestine.
This impression, however, is not only textual but visual. The report includes
six enlarged photographs depicting Arab economic, industrial and cultural
advancements in Palestine. Of these, five are located in main urban centres
and depict urban-based activities.
Two of the photographs depict features of progress in Jaffa. The first pho-
tograph is of al-Hamrā’ cinema and the second is of a machine shop. The
report stresses the Arab identity of these two establishments. The caption of

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384 Abusaada
Figure 11.8 A page including photographs in Jerusalem from Theodore Sarrouf’s

album. The captions read: ‘Constables & Police Officers are attacking the
demonstrators at the New Gate & striking them with their batons. Some
are thrown as illustrated’; and ‘the mounted Police are rushing upon the
demonstrating ladies’
Source: Theodore Sarrouf, Photographs of the Demonstrations
Which Took Place in Palestine 1933 ( Jaffa: Press and Publication
Office, 1934)
al-Hamrā’s photograph reads: ‘an Arab cinema in Jaffa designed by an Arab

architect and built by an Arab company’.60 The caption of the workshop’s
photograph similarly reads: ‘an Arab machine shop’.61 Two other photographs
present urban street views of Palestine’s Arab cities (Fig. 11.9–10). The first pho-
tograph captioned ‘modern Arab houses in Jerusalem’ depicts Bauhaus-style
private dwellings in one of Jerusalem’s Arab neighbourhoods – a rather unique
image of Arab Jerusalem which is often represented through religious archi-
tecture or symbolism attached to the Dome of the Rock and the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre. The second photograph is captioned ‘municipal park at
Gaza. Gaza is a purely Arab town’ – displaying a long promenade lined by palm
trees, ordered green spaces, and fountains.62 Together, these images present
60 Ibid.
61 Ibid.
62 Ibid.

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Figures 11.9 and 11.10 Two pages from ‘Arab Progress in Palestine’ report by Khalil Totah
Source: Totah, “Arab Progress in Palestine,” 1946

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386 Abusaada
Palestine as it had never been known to a Western, not to mention American,

audience before. That is, not only as the ‘land of promise’ but as a ‘land of pro-
gress’ where ‘progress’ is not only defined by the actions of the British and the
Zionists but also by the country’s native Arab population.63
4 Conclusion
In examining a range of photographic representations of the urban built envi-

ronment in Mandate Palestine, it is evident that these representations varied
considerably based not only on who produced them, but also how and for
whom they were produced. Considering these factors brings to light a series
of three photographic approaches to the photographic representation of the
cities of Palestine: the city as target, the city as a vue d’ensemble and the city
as self-image. With each of these approaches, a different attitude towards the
cities and their inhabitants is expressed. The first, usually based on distant
representations of the urban landscape, is mostly concerned with its domi-
nation. The second, meanwhile, sees the city through a romantic lens, and is
equally concerned with the preservation of a certain idea of the city as with
the destruction of this idea’s outcasts. The third, on the other hand, is an image
of the modern city where its representation is equated with an entire social
formation and cultural identity.
These different attitudes appeared, for the most part, not only in the pho-
tographs themselves and the intentions of the photographers but in the ways
in which the photographs have been re-packaged to satisfy different, even
oppositional, visions and representations of urban space and its inhabitants.
For instance, Dalman’s reproduction of Bavarian aerial photographs with the
intention of the scientific study of the history and geography of Palestine’s
landscape departed significantly from the initial intentions of the Bavarian
air squadrons who took these aerial photographs as part of their military
reconnaissance against British troops. Other aspects regarding the specifics
of reproduction, including the medium (e.g. magazine, newspaper, report,
sketch book), their accompanying text (e.g. captions, essays, titles) and its lan-
guage and audience also played an important role in serving the reproducers’
ideological urban visions. These aspects in particular distinguished in Arab
photographic reproductions from their colonial counterparts. Whereas the
63 On the shifting conception of Palestine from ‘land of promise’ a ‘land of progress’ in the
late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see Jacob Norris, Land of Progress: Palestine
in the Age of Colonial Development, 1905–1948 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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latter were usually published in the form of private and inaccessible reports,
with the exception of Dalman, the former were intentionally reproduced in
Arabic and English public media to ensure their mass dissemination locally
and globally.
The categorical separation of three above-mentioned representational
approaches to urban space, however, must not lead to the assumption that
these approaches were always mutually exclusive. In fact, there are many cases
where the opposite is true, that is, where one of these approaches towards the
city has directly or indirectly triggered, reinforced or enabled the other. For
example, despite the differences in the motifs of Ashbee’s 1920s panoramas
of the Old City of Jerusalem, in which he envisioned ‘improvement plans’ for
the city, and the 1936 British aerial photographs of the Old City Jaffa before
destroying large parts of it also in the name of ‘improvement plans’, and the
different attitudes of each of these representations towards the city, their
connection cannot be dismissed. That is, the colonial objectification and
destruction of the native urban built environment. It can even be argued that it
is the same distorted Orientalist representations of Arab cities, which Ashbee
accepted and contributed to, which informed the British administration’s atti-
tude towards the Old City of Jaffa as a disorderly ‘old labyrinth of alleys’64 that
posed a threat to colonial domination. In a similar fashion, while the Arab pho-
tographic representations of the city as sites of Arab-led progress should not
be reduced to reactions to colonial representations, it is beyond doubt that the
two oppositional Arab national and colonial representational attitudes played
key roles in each other’s formation.
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Chapter 12
Epilogue
Özge Calafato and Aude Aylin de Tapia
From heated debates on access and transparency of archives to large-scale dig-

itisation projects, the field of photography witnesses an opportune moment
with a wealth of new material being made publicly available. Interdisciplinarity
opens up the field, shifting the focus towards the study of photographs as
objects of cultural analysis, beyond their use as mere illustrations. Recent
historiography looks at photographs as new primary sources, rather than
accompaniments to written sources. In the past two decades, the field has seen
a rise in scholarly work that deals with materiality of photographs, practices
of photographic production, and circulation. Particularly vernacular pho-
tography has emerged as a key area of focus that offers new and much more
nuanced readings on socio-economic, cultural and political histories.
In this opportune moment for the study of photographs, Imaging and
Imagining Palestine: Photography, Modernity and the Biblical Lens, 1918–1948
offers a great invitation to rethink the British Mandate period through the
works of professional and amateur photographers from different classes and
communities. Exploring the works of those who photographed Palestine, the
way they understood and imagined it back then, this volume is a much-needed
exercise to trace the visual history before 1948, and examine the making of
Mandatory Palestine within the framework of biblification that reproduced
Palestine as ‘a familiar site of European consciousness’, and Orientalism
that imagined Palestine as the exotic other.1 In its three sections, this vol-
ume focused on specific photographic archives in and outside Palestine, the
perspective of individual photographers, as well as conceptual and methodo-
logical approaches to the study of photography.
Palestine in the British Mandate period, much like the Middle East, wit-
nessed a major shift in political and social mobilities following the collapse
of the perennial Ottoman rule. This shift, leading up to the Nakba and the
foundation of the State of Israel, laid the foundation for a renewed identity
for Palestinian photography outside the centre-periphery dynamics of the
Ottoman Empire. At the same time, the Mandate-era Palestinian photography
1 Issam Nassar, “‘Biblification’ in the Service of Colonialism: Jerusalem in Nineteenth-century

Photography,” Third Text 20, no. 374 (2006): 317–326.
© Özge Calafato and Aude Aylin de Tapia, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_013

of the Sanchez
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Epilogue 391
was marked by increasing social, political and religious tensions due to the
ownership of heritage, modernity and economic renaissance.
Having inherited the modernist agenda of the Ottoman elites, the British
Mandate era corresponds to a period where, with the introduction of new
technologies, studio photography rapidly spread while snapshot photography
increasingly entered upper and middle class households across the region.
Studio and itinerant photographers remained instrumental in the growth of
vernacular portraiture from the 1910s to the late 1940s. Commercial photogra-
phers continued to be involved in the production of biblified material, catering
to the needs of the market in Palestine and abroad, from local inhabitants and
Western travellers in the Holy Land to ‘armchair tourists’ at home in the West.
As Nassar points out, the photographic production of Biblical scenes was
not limited to the nineteenth-century but persisted throughout the Mandate
period as a tradition that many Western and indigenous photographers con-
tinued to follow. Accordingly, this volume has examined the role of the market
of photography and the various taxonomies it catered to within the context of
Mandatory Palestine. It explored the work of Palestine’s indigenous Arab and
Armenian photographers as well as the affinities between British colonial pho-
tography and Zionism while probing the class connotations of photographic
representations and the role of Christianity in the production and dissemina-
tion of photography of the era.
For many decades, the process of interpreting Palestine and Palestinians in
photography among Western networks focused on the use of Biblical themes
to domesticate what was seen as a ‘foreign’ world. The familiarity of the Biblical
as a textual narrative and as a familiar imaging trope served to bridge the gap
between the Western consumer and the otherness of the ‘Orient’ through the
construction of a Western Biblical imaginary as Zananiri has shown in his
study of the Frank Scholten Collection. Ironically, biblified imaging was in
fact enabled by modernity, while actively excluding and erasing Palestinian
modernity. Aiming to reverse this omission and help decolonise photography,
this volume has proposed the concept of ‘speaking back’ or ‘writing back’ in
order to indigenise narratives and counter the marginalisation of Palestinians.
Looking at the archives like the National Geographic Society archive (Kopty)
and the Dominican photographic-library of Jerusalem (Sanchez Summerer
and Neveu), the work of studio photographers such as Khalil Raad and Elia
Kahvedjian (Sela and Sheehi respectively), as well as the collection of the
Dutch traveller Frank Scholten (Zananiri), we have been urged to question the
ways in which photographic production can propose readings that challenge
Orientalist narratives surrounding the biblification of Palestine and holiness of
the ‘Holy Land’, and more specifically of Jerusalem. In this, Kopty’s Imagining

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392 Calafato and de Tapia
the Holy offers a fascinating example of producing new indigenous knowledge

and narrative. By connecting thousands of images of historic Palestine from
the National Geographic Society archive with Palestinian community elders
and scholars, Kopty explores as to how memory can be activated as a form of
resistance. These images and their original captions give new insights into the
processes of image production, selection and circulation, and provide a can-
did view of how photographers and editors participated in and reinforced the
power-relations between the colonised and colonisers.
The study of photographs from the archives of missionaries, such as the
photographs from the American Colony’s Christian Herald Orphanage and
the Swedish School in Jerusalem, analysed by Jacobson and Okkenhaug respec-
tively, gives us a better understanding of how photographs were produced,
and circulated and consumed among humanitarian and other networks in
Palestine and abroad, and the colonial tensions that resulted from such pho-
tographic interactions. Throughout the volume, a number of case studies have
thus examined the ways in which institutions like the National Geographic
Society (Kopty) and the American Colony (Lev, Okkenhaug, Jacobson) adopted
underlying colonial narratives of bringing modernity and humanitarianism to
Palestine and Palestinians through Western intervention.
In the first half of the twentieth century, Palestine witnessed remarkable
transformations in its urban built environment, exacerbated under the British
Mandate with the introduction of new urban infrastructures and statutory
planning policies that controlled urban expansion and the construction of new
settlements. Illustrating the idea of the Biblical Moderne, Abusaada has shown
that the shift in the photographic representation of Palestine from a ‘land of
promise’ to a ‘land of progress’ is discernible in the utilisation of photography by
colonial architects and planners. Through photographic representations, urban
environments were produced and repackaged to create a vision of Palestine
according to distinct political agendas. An indigenous-produced vision was
developed during this process as part of such tensions, which tasked itself
with promoting the Arab-led nature of the remaking of modern urban spaces,
concerned with offsetting and diffusing the discourses of Zionism and British
colonialism. In this context, Abusaada has brought up the question as to what
extent the cities captured in photographs are colonial cities and to what extent
they are Arab, problematising the categories of ‘colonial’ and ‘Oriental’ them-
selves when examining photographic reproductions.
As Zananiri has pointed out, the formative period witnessed the setting
up of a plethora of ethno-confessional taxonomies with different political
inclinations and interests. ‘Arab’ and ‘Jew’, a by-product of a modern colonial
terminology, as Zananiri, Abusaada, and Kopty have analysed, served to wash

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Epilogue 393
away the complexities within indigenous communities and further oriental-

ise the existing social fabric. This volume is thus concerned with addressing
the cultural porosity across indigenous, transnational and transcolonial cat-
egorisations in British Mandate Palestine when exploring the narratives of
conformity and strategies of resistance among a great diversity of ethnic, reli-
gious and cultural taxonomies that came to reside in Palestine. Simultaneously,
it also examines possible internalisations of the Western colonial discourse by
Palestinian actors as we delve deeper into the entanglements and permeabili-
ties across the different communities.
The concern to promote indigenous-led urban progress is closely linked
to the formation and propagation of the Palestinian middle-class identity in
the 1920s and 1930s, whose visual representations were marginalised by the
dominant Zionist, British and more generally Western narratives. The relation-
ship between biblification and modernity is implicitly vested in transnational
questions of class. Photography itself largely remained an activity of middle
and upper-middle classes in the 1920s and 1930s. In this context, Nassar has
asserted that family albums offer a wealth of material in terms of looking at
classed and gendered selves within Palestinian communities. Family albums
function as affective tools through which to build a family’s narrative as much
as they serve as an attempt to affirm a normality for a Europeanised bour-
geois life. Family albums provide intimate stories from within, challenging the
ways in which Palestinians were imaged and imagined by colonisers, Zionists,
Western travellers and journalists over decades. Similarly, Lev, Jacobson and
Okkenhaug have shown that albums and travel books produced for commer-
cial or institutional use offer more carefully constructed narratives than an
individual photograph might be able to offer. Whose stories are told in albums?
Who produced them and for whom? How have photo albums survived? Do
albums transmit a coherent and distinct narrative or do we need to intellec-
tualise the production of the album to construct a narrative? As we attempt
to find answers to some of these questions, the album presents itself as an
archive, a source giving meaning to the photographs it integrates. As Nassar
has highlighted, for the collectors of photographs and albums today, the act of
collecting becomes an act of reclaiming and re-narrating Palestinian history
and collective memory post-1948, which represents a great juncture in the his-
torical narrative of the Palestinians.
This volume has demonstrated that negotiations of colonial tensions
between different groups among the Palestinians and the British, and the resist-
ance to the Mandate and the Zionist agenda, can be observed not only in the
photographic representations (Abusaada, Nassar, Zananiri, Sheehi, Sanchez
Summerer and Neveu), but also in business practices of photographers and

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photo studios as well as the local and foreign consumers they catered to (Sela,
Kopty, Lev, Jacobson), bringing up once again the notions of locality, indi-
geneity and agency. How do we position an American Colony photographer
like Whiting, who, at 14, became a member of the American Colony Photo
Department and soon started to lead archaeological expeditions through
Palestine? How do we negotiate Larsson’s documentation on the pupils of
the Swedish School as Head of the American Colony photo department? How
do we interpret the agency of Khalīl Raʿad whose work was intertwined with
the colonial regime of knowledge and biblified cultural material? The issue of
agency urges us to explore the dynamics of the market, and its intended and
unintended audiences.
The issue of textuality through the captions on photographs, as Kopty,
Sanchez Summerer and Neveu, Nassar and Abusaada have questioned, has
emerged as another central theme across the chapters in this volume. Recent
historiography has looked at photographs as new sources, as alternatives to
written sources, giving historians new objects and new ways to do research
without necessarily using writings. In this regard, captions on photographs
provide multiple layers of metadata for the study of photographs. What do
captions tell us about the production and circulation of images? Several chap-
ters have explored what text does to, for and against a photograph, as well as
how the process of selecting and captioning images transforms and restricts
their meaning. Several authors in this book have investigated how we can
work with textuality to unpack the ideological mechanisms in which captions
were generated, revised, rewritten and disseminated, and the ways in which
to gauge the audience the captions were intended for. Similarly, scholars like
Nassar have asked how captions on family photographs and albums, meant
to be shared primarily among familiar networks, can help decolonise pho-
tography. This volume has thus examined the ways in which to disentangle
the politics behind the production of photographic captions in archives, create
tools for the indigenisation of photography and provide new voices for those
in photographs.
Tackling all of these issues, Imaging and Imagining Palestine: Photography,
Modernity and the Biblical Lens 1918–1948, encourages us to rethink photogra-
phy of and by the Palestinians in a cross-regional approach integrated into the
social and political histories of the broader region. In this, vernacular photogra-
phy emerges as a key area to explore in imagining Palestine in personalised
and intimate ways. Family albums need a particular attention, as this volume
has revealed, where a sense of intimacy takes the centre stage. The dynamics
between photography and gender have also been touched upon across chap-
ters through various case studies and microhistories from Scholten’s sexuality

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Epilogue 395
and its effect on his photography (Zananiri) to the politics of photographing

the sisters in the collection of the French Biblical and Archaeological School in
Jerusalem (Sanchez Summerer and Neveu).
Looking at an intricate network of producers and consumers of photography,
the volume offers a comprehensive overview of photography of the Mandate
period, placed within a broader transnational narrative that highlights the
complexities of Palestine’s social fabric at the time. In the past two decades,
the rapid growth of institutionalised collections and digital resources accessi-
ble to researchers and general public has broadened the study of Palestinian
photography in unprecedented ways. These resources proffer a much broader
perspective on the social histories of the region, encompassing multi-layered
stories of the diverse communities that came to reside in Palestine. Among
the new exciting initiatives, the Armenian Museum, designed by Raymond
Kevorkian and Claude Mutafian, will showcase the Armenian presence in
the ‘Holy Land’ from antiquity to the present day, displaying a large variety
of Armenian objects from fifth- and sixth-century mosaics to medieval man-
uscripts. Instrumental in the growth of indigenous photography of Palestine,
the works of Armenian photographers are expected to take the centre stage in
the museum. The photography section will draw on three major collections,
namely the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem collection (Fig. 12.1 & 12.2),
the Armenian General Benevolent Union (AGBU) collection hosted at the
headquarters of the Union in Heliopolis, Cairo, and the AGBU Nubar Library
collection in Paris (Fig. 12.3). Due to open in 2021, the Armenian museum will
not only examine the role of Armenians in the history of Palestine and the
broader region but also the significance and function of photography in shap-
ing, assembling and evincing the collective memory of a nation.2
Photographic collections, series and albums as ‘objects’ offer different tools
for studying photographs, with the multiple layers of curation that they go
through at different times periods. Despite the recent growth in available digi-
tal resources, the question of access to archives remains a key issue that needs
to be addressed immediately by scholars and policy-makers alike. In the case of
Palestine, the situation includes a political difficulty, due to the fact that a great
number of materials are in Israeli archives that Palestinians have no access
to. A starting point for addressing this issue could be a comprehensive map-
ping project of Palestinian archives and collections, along with the details of
access with regard to each archive, not only within the Eastern Mediterranean
region but more globally to include collections like the Scholten Collection at
Netherlands Institute for the Near East (NINO), the Swedish Jerusalem Society
2 Email interview with Raymond Kevorkian by Karène Sanchez Summerer, October 2020.

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Figure 12.1 Ceremony to lay the foundation stone of the Calouste Gulbenkian
Library, Jerusalem, 1930.
Image courtesy of the Armenian Patriarchate of
Jerusalem collection
Figure 12.2 Untitled, 1920s. Members of the Jerusalem community, with in the
centre a secular priest, probably not belonging to the congregation
of St James, who is also a refugee in the neighbourhood, 1920s
Image courtesy of the Armenian Patriarchate of
Jerusalem collection

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Epilogue 397
Figure 12.3 Departure of the children to Jerusalem

Image courtesy of the AGBU Nubar Library
collection at the Uppsala University Library, the G. Eric and Edith Matson
Photograph Collection at the Library of Congress as well as the collections at
the Harvard Museum of the Ancient Near East (HMANE) and the Palestine
Exploration Fund (PEF). Decolonising photography is only possible through
the decolonisation of archives, making them available with consistent access
and transparency to all researchers, including Palestinians.
We hope that Imaging and Imagining Palestine will pave the way for fur-
ther works, books and exhibitions, focusing on photography and photographic
archives with regard to the histories of Palestine as well as the broader region.

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Abstracts
Chapter 2. ‘Little Orphans of Jerusalem’: The American Colony’s

Christian Herald Orphanage in Photographs and Negatives
Abstract
The American Colony Christian Herald Orphanage was established following World
War I, as part of the American Colony’s aid Association. Hosting around 36 girls,
Christians and Muslims, between the ages 3 and 15, the Orphanage served as a home
for girls whose families were harshly affected from the war crisis. Some lost both par-
ents, some lost their fathers with their mother not being able to support them, and
some were sent to Jerusalem by relatives from Syria and Transjordan in order to rescue
them from ‘going to the wrong’.
This chapter recovers the social history of this institution by using three main
sources. The first is the Photographic Album of the Orphanage, consisting of 36 cap-
tioned prints from the Orphanage life and 46 portraits of girls. The second source is
the original negatives of the photographs, kept at the American Colony Archive in
Jerusalem. The third source is the Record List of all girls who received support from
the Orphanage. Each entry includes a newspaper clipping briefly introducing the girl,
together with handwritten records about the money donated to the Orphanage for
supporting this girl.
The paper will embark on two main missions. The first is to study the institute’s
short history, as part of the ‘politics of relief’ held by the American Colony. Unlike
other institutions of the Colony, the Orphanage was introduced to its Christian donors
as ‘an opportunity to get in personal touch with a Jerusalem child and influence her
entire life’. The second would be to use the photography history that the Album offers
us and compare the photographs in it to the original negatives, in order to investigate
the ways the girls were displayed for different audiences and purposes.
Chapter 3. Swedish Imaginings, Investments and Local

Photography in Jerusalem, 1925–1939
Abstract
This chapter focuses on photographs of the Swedish School in Jerusalem in the

interwar period. The photographs were taken by photographers from the American

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Colony in Jerusalem and the Swedish headmistress Signe Ekblad and were intended
for a Swedish audience of potential donors. This chapter argues that the photo-
graphs, together with printed reports dealing with the Swedish humanitarian efforts
in Palestine, visualised the imagined need for a Swedish presence in ‘The Holy Land’,
but even more so the tangible results the Swedish engagement had in the country.
Moreover, the article shows that while the photographs are visual documents of reli-
gious longing, they do not tend to dwell on ahistorical Biblical motifs. Instead, they
reflect the thriving, intense process of modernity taking place in Palestine at the
time, a process the Swedes wanted to take part in as a way of manifesting their claim
to a national presence in the Holy Land. In addition, the photographs visualise the
extent to which the Swedish enterprise was Palestinian; the staff was mainly Arab
and the school was part of a local Jerusalemite neighbourhood. Even so, the people
in charge were always Swedish. This uneven relationship can be depicted in the pho-
tographs, verifying the colonial aspect of the Swedish humanitarian enterprise in
Mandatory Palestine.
Chapter 4. The Dominicans’ Photographic Collection in Jerusalem:

Beyond a Catholic Perception of the Holy Land?
Abstract
The photographic collection of the French biblical and archaeological school in

Jerusalem is constituted of more than 25,000 glass plates, photographs and slides
of Palestine from the last quarter of the nineteenth century onwards, reflecting the
Catholic institutions presence in the region but also diverse realities of the social his-
tory of Palestine.
The history of this collection is intimately linked to that of the Ecole biblique,
founded in 1890 in Jerusalem and whose programme of studies included annual trips
to research the lands of the Bible, especially Jerusalem and Palestine. With the help
of the Assumptionists, the Dominicans of the Ecole biblique learned photography in
order to reproduce archaeological sites, sites connected with Christian and Moslem
holy places, the history of their own religious house as well as scenes of everyday life
and portraits. These photographs were taken as much like the rubbings, the drawings
and the sketches used during lectures or published in the Revue biblique. The period
of the British Mandate includes more photographs about everyday life scenes than
archaeological sites; they reveal a proximity of the photographers with the local Arab
population. The collection is also constituted by digitised photographs of the other
Catholic institutions in Palestine (Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem, Assumptionists,
White Fathers, Salesians, Rosary Sisters, Sisters of Sion, St Joseph Sisters).

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The chapter analyses the photographer’s points of view on Palestine and its soci-
ety, bringing to light not only the exchanges between these various actors but also
the gendered dimension of their activity. Who photographed the sisters and how? Is
Arabisation of the clergy noticeable from the photographers’ point of view? How did
photographs present their actions of collecting Orientalist knowledge, theatre and
music, education and medicine developing in these Catholic institutions? These col-
lections will thus be decoded as ‘action-sources’ bearers of a discourse on the history of
Palestine at the beginning of the twentieth century, in order to understand the social
imprint they intended to represent.
Chapter 5. Bearers of Memory: Photo Albums as Sources of

Historical Study in Palestine
Abstract
This chapter focuses on three personal and family albums. With the destruction of
Palestinian society Palestinians were left with mostly memories of their lives before
they became refugees. In the chapter, I argue that photographic albums constitute per-
sonal archives that narrates history from a familial perspective as well as preserves
visual evidence of a life lost. The chapter examines three albums whose owners lived
in western suburbs of Jerusalem. The albums are those of musician Wāṣif Jawhariyyah,
Julia Lucy and George Mushabek. The first, Jawharriyeh’s, is a collection of seven
albums that are divided chronologically, starting from the late Ottoman period and
ending shortly before the events of 1948. The second, Luci’s, could be described as a
typical family album that document her family’s life from the 1920s through the late
1940s. The third, Mushabek‘s, is an album that is devoted to the journey he took, with
his four friends in 1936, to the Berlin Olympic.
From today’s standpoint, the discussed albums put together can be described
as records documenting the liminal period separating between Ottoman rule in
Palestine and the creation of the State of Israel. In this sense, they function as an infu-
sion of memories from a period that predates their owners’ departure from Jerusalem
in 1948.
The albums constitute three different types of compilation not merely due to the
differences in ways of collecting, but also in the very fact that they were put together by
very different kinds of individuals with different intentions. A person who saw himself
as the storyteller of Jerusalem and its historian, produced the first collection of albums
over a longer period of time. A playful young athlete documenting a short period of
time and a specific event created the second single album of Mushabek. The third,

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crafted by an upper-class woman, was clearly intended to narrate – whether intention-

ally or not – the highlights in her life and that of her family. I examine the albums as
narrative, because the albums come to us from Palestinians who became refugees they
represent us with a narrative that is mired with nostalgia and future meanings that
were not intended when the albums were created.
Chapter 6. Resilient Resistance: Colonial Biblical, Archaeological

and Ethnographical Imaginaries in the Work of Chalil Raad
(Khalīl Raʿd), 1891–1948
Abstract
Chalil (Khalil) Raad (Raʾd) was born in Lebanon (1869) and is considered the first Arab
photographer to operate in Palestine in the years 1891–1948. He moved to Jerusalem
as a child and learned the art of photography from the local Armenian photographer,
Garabed Krikorian and in Basel.
The core of Raad’s work was dedicated to describing the life of the Palestinian
community – its urban, cultural, economic and political richness. While he docu-
mented the Near East and the local communities of the region, he gave the Palestinians
a presence and visibility rarely seen in foreign photographs of Palestine in the late
nineteenth century or in Jewish Zionist photographs of the early twentieth century,
which concealed and excluded them in a tendentious manner.
The essay will show how Raad’s work was affected by the colonial regime of knowl-
edge in two levels. The first, the way the local inhabitants responded to and experienced
the prevailing western viewpoint forced on the region, and the complexity and duality
of the relationship that was born in the wake of the colonial situation. The second,
Raad’s studio was destroyed in the 1948 war, and parts of it (prints) were looted by
Israeli soldiers and passers-by. I will show how the construction of a decolonial array
may assist in bypassing the complexity of the repressive colonial relationship.
Chapter 7. Open Roads: John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, 1934–1939
Abstract
The photographic album series ‘Diary in Photos’ was created by the American Colony
in Jerusalem member John D. Whiting (1882–1951). It is a poetic, personal visual

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402 abstracts
account of life in Palestine and the Levant during the 1930s. The series consists of five
volumes comprising some 900 photographs featuring Whiting’s travels as a personal
tour-guide in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Turkey, Palestine and Sinai, between 1934 and
1939. Like written diaries, and life itself, where public and private space are intertwined,
Whiting’s visual diaries present in a refined manner the major historical events, people
and sites, from wedding ceremonies of princes to a turtle laying her eggs to Zionist
demonstrations against the White Paper. The diaries constitute an unusual panorama
of life in the Levant seen from a traveller’s perspective during the second decade of the
British Mandate in Palestine.
At the young age of 14, Whiting became a member of the American Colony Photo-
Dept. and by 21 was leading archaeological expeditions through Palestine whose
landscapes and history he had mastered. From 1913 to 1939, Whiting published sev-
eral articles in the National Geographic magazine, illustrated with American Colony
Photo-Dept. photographs, in which he linked the local cultures he explored with the
biblical ethos of the Holy Land. Whiting was also a collector, antiques dealer and cura-
tor of archaeological collections for museums in Europe and America. He was the US
deputy consul in Palestine from 1908 to 1915.
Whiting’s photographic diaries were created in parallel to the escalating political
situation in Palestine. A few of the notables he guided across the Levant were British
diplomats and Palestinian dignitaries, but the space he created around them engen-
dered unusual human encounters with local cultures and guests, and manifested
only indirectly the British influence on Palestine. Traveling with his camera, Whiting
reframed the wealth of unfamiliar alternative histories of the Levant, rarely seen
after 1948.
Chapter 8. Documenting the Social: Frank Scholten Taxonomising

Identity in British Mandate Palestine
Abstract
In 1920 Dutchman and photographer Frank Scholten left the Netherlands amidst legal
troubles. He arrived in Palestine in 1921, spending two years there during a period
of great flux with the establishment of the British Mandate after the collapse of the
Ottoman Empire. A Catholic convert and homosexual, Scholten shows us a vision of
Palestine that differs greatly from other visiting European photographers. His photo-
graphs depict a multi-communal world in the throes of transition in which he clearly
moved through multiple cultural spheres.

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Working with this understudied archive, this chapter considers the complicated
taxonomies that Scholten employed in photographic approach to Palestine. It postu-
lates that his Dutch background – and the consequent context of pillarisation – as well
as the informal scholarly networks within which Scholten moved, informed this sensi-
tivity to ethnographic taxonomy, which is rare among visiting photographers.
Scholten imaged people in the context of their daily lives, both at work and lei-
sure, rather than in studio settings making his work particularly valuable in reassessing
social histories of the British Mandate. His corpus gives us a vision of another world
which undermines and problematises the dominant taxonomies that were cemented
during the British Mandate period and continue to inform the ongoing paradigms of
the region to this day.
Chapter 9. Edward Keith-Roach’s Favourite Things: Indigenising

National Geographic’s Images of Mandatory Palestine
Abstract
Over the past 110 years, National Geographic Magazine’s coverage of Palestine has
spanned more than 80 published features illustrated by over 2,300 photographs. In
October 1918, in a feature titled ‘An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting: An Eyewitness’s
Account of the Reconquest of the Holy Land by Twentieth Century Crusaders’,
the magazine welcomed the beginning of British rule over Palestine and marked the
beginnings of three decades of positive coverage that presented Palestine as a territory
in the midst of exciting change. Coverage during the Mandate period often presented
narratives that ran alongside and overlapped with British colonial and Zionist rep-
resentations; in some cases, they were indistinguishable, as was the case with two
features written by a high-ranking member of the British colonial administration,
Major Edward Keith-Roach.
For every image published in the magazine from the Mandate period, dozens of oth-
ers that were taken, commissioned or collected remained unpublished and are kept in
the editorial archive of the National Geographic Society. These images and their orig-
inal captions give new insights into the processes of image production, selection, and
circulation, and offer a candid view of how photographers and editors participated in
and reinforced the power-relations between the colonised and colonisers. This chapter
begins by examining National Geographic’s coverage of Palestine leading up to and
during the Mandate period, focusing specifically on how the images of Palestine
and Palestinians were used to justify and promote British colonialism. The second part

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404 abstracts
of the chapter, introduces Imagining the Holy as a project that aims to indigenise these
same photographs and transform them into sites of gathering, remembering and col-
lective storytelling for Palestinians at home and across the diaspora.
Chapter 10. Decolonising the Photography of Palestine: Searching

for a Method in a Plate of Hummus
Abstract
It is well known that Palestine and the ‘Holy Land’ played a central role in the early
history of photography through the Mandate period. While the role of photogra-
phy in Orientalism is known, this chapter seeks to explore an alternative method of
decolonising the photography of Palestine. I argue that Orientalist photography is a
form theft of the visual index of photography. This chapter concentrates on two pho-
tographs, ‘Eating Hummus’, 1935 by Elia Kahvedjian and ‘Turkish Official Taunting
Armenians with Bread’, also known as ‘Famished Armenian Children’, 1915. Kahvedjian
worked with the British Army and Air Force, developing and printing their pictures.
‘Famished Armenian Children’ is, however, not of starving and taunted Armenians
but a staged French image used for funding raising to alleviate the Great Famine in
Lebanon. Rather than being identified as a scholarly error or a misidentified image, the
photograph was deemed a ‘forgery’ by Genocide-deniers.
In discussing these photographs, I seek out a methodology of decolonising pho-
tography, which avoids considering representation and their images as ‘false’ or ‘true’.
Rather, I argue the historical contexts of images are predicated on a colonial ‘sensi-
bility’, to borrow from Rancière. In turn, through a small number of examples, I hope
to begin to explore a new method that connects a reclaimed visual archive with the
reclamation of historical narrative itself for the Palestinian inhabitants who populate
these images.
Chapter 11. Urban Encounters: Imaging the City in Mandate

Palestine
Abstract
This chapter examines the historical intersection between photographic practice

and urban change in the colonial context of interwar Palestine. More specifically, it

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aims to trace the different ways in which photographs were utilised to represent the
cities of Palestine, by German, British and native Arab actors. It demonstrates that
these photographic representations did not merely provide new portrayals of cities
and landscapes, but that they were also key instruments for shaping and framing their
material transformations.
The chapter is divided into three thematic sections addressing interrelated modes
of photographic representation of Palestine’s urban landscape. The first section sheds
light on the manifestations of the rise of aerial photography, and the narrow modes
of sight they engender, on German and British depictions of Palestine’s landscapes in
the Great War and on British military operations during the 1936–39 Great Arab Revolt
in Palestine. The second section moves beyond militaristic operations to address how
‘holistic views’ of urban landscapes, in the form of aerial photography and ground pan-
oramas, influenced a new genre for the ‘scientific’ study of urban environments and
proved to be instrumental for British colonial urban planning schemes in Jerusalem.
Moving away from foreign and colonial actors, the third section presents an overview
of the utilisation of Arab Palestinians of urban photography, focusing on its uses in
Arabic and English prints, as a means to advance a self-image of Arab ‘modernity’ and
‘progress’ that are possible despite, not because of, colonial presence in Palestine.
To chart these three entangled trajectories of urban photography in interwar
Palestine, the chapter consults a wide range of visual and textual archival sources.
The archival sources include the Bavarian State Archives, the Australian War Museum,
the National Library of Israel, and the Qatar Digital Library. In addition, a collection
of original publications including books, reports, and magazines from the 1920s–30s
in English, Arabic and German are also examined and cross-studied. Together, these
usages display a different narrative of photography, not merely as a documentation of
urban reality but as essential planforms for intervening in the city and for recrafting
its image.

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Index
Page references marked in bold type indicate a more in-depth treatment of the subject.
Aaronsohn, Aaron 236n14 air control/power, British 362–364, 366

ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Aish, Asma Najla (orphan) 54
r. 1861–1876) 161 Ajami (neighbourhood, Jaffa) 187n7,n10
ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd II (Sultan of the Ottoman Ajloun Mountains (Jordan) 52
Empire, r. 1876–1909) 161, 163 al-Alami, Hajj Abdul-Qader 166ill., 166n8
ʿAbd al-Majīd I (Sultan of the Ottoman Alam, Shahidul 157, 157n1
Empire, r. 1839–1861) 278 Albīnā, Jamāl & Najīb 5, 36, 259
Abdullah family 23ill. Albright, William 215
Abdullah I (Emir of Transjordan, Aleppo 251
r. 1921–1946) 238, 244–245, 246ill. Alexandria 251
Abel, Felix-Marie 98n6, 105 Al-Hajj, Badr 192n32
ʿAbla, Ḥannā (teacher) 66 Aliyah, Fifth (1929–1939) 229
Aboud, Marie (orphan) 31, 32ill. Aliyah, Third (1919–1923) 291, 295
Abraham 314, 315 Allenby, Edmund 107, 164ill., 295, 316
Abuassi airport 239 Alloula, Malek 346, 350
Abūdiyya, Warda (teacher) 68 Alte Denkmäler aus Syrien, Palästina und
ʿAbūd, Karīma 5, 7n25 Westarabien (T. Wiegand) 368n24
Abu Rahma, Talal 342 alumni/alumni associations 144ill., 145,
Abusaada, Nadi 15, 17, 285, 392, 393, 394 146ill.
Abu Tayr, Hilweh 335ill., 336 amateur photography/photographs 8, 14,
Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 106, 175ill., 177ill., 179–180ill., 271, 322,
(Paris) 98, 106 390
ACPD see American Colony Photo see also family portraits/albums;
Department Mushabek, George
̔Adventures Among the Lost Tribes of Islam American Christians see American Colony
in Eastern Darfur’ (E. Keith-Roach, American Colony Archive Collection 31n1,
National Geographic) 319 32ill., 37, 38–39ill., 41ill., 44ill., 46,
aerial photography 15 46–47ill., 49ill., 232ill., 236ill.
for military purposes/strategy 352 American Colony Hotel (Jerusalem)
First World War 360, 361, 362, 363ill., 238n17
367, 386 American Colony (Jerusalem) vii, 46, 47,
Great Revolt (1936–1939)/intervention 232ill., 233, 325ill., 328, 392
in Jaffa 362–367, 367ill. history/background 34–37, 237
Iraqi Revolt (1919) 362, 363 hospitals 36, 74n34
for urban analysis, interpretation and mission and values 54, 58
planning 360, 368–370, 371ill., 374, Palestinians and 243
382 schools 74n34, 238
AGBU see Armenian General Benevolent secularisation of 74
Union Swedish Jerusalem Society/Swedish
agricultural education 139, 142ill. School and 13, 73, 74, 75–76, 78n54
Ahab 323ill. target group 74
Ahab’s Well 211 Zionists vs. 242–243
Ain Karim (Ein Karem, Jerusalem see also Christian Herald; Christian Herald
district) 42, 142ill. Orphanage

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Index 407
American Colony Photo Department (ACPD) Arabic (language)

history/background 36, 230, 237 Arabic skills of photographers 72, 192,
members/photographers 71–72, 75, 87, 236, 238, 318
203, 228ill., 230, 230ill., 232ill., 233, 259, as language of instruction 69, 74n34,
321, 394 146
see also Larsson, Hol Lars (Lewis); as means of better understanding of
Matson, Eric; Whiting, John D. Bible 111
photographic collection 66–67, 70, 83, teaching of 145n84
84, 101, 102, 109, 121, 166ill., 194ill., 196, Arab-Israeli War (1948) 148
205n84, 236ill., 321, 352, 372 Arab National Bank 383
see also American Colony Archive Arab nationalism 150, 275
Collection; Swedish School al-ʿArab (newspaper, Jerusalem) 378
American Colony Stores (Jerusalem) 239, Arab photography/photographers 4, 8, 9,
251, 254, 258 186–187, 359, 376, 391
American Consulate (Jerusalem) 47n24, urban landscape photography
240ill. 376–386, 379ill., 383ill., 384ill.,
American Geographical Society (New 385ill., 387
York) 310 see also indigenous photography/
American Near East Relief Foundation 352 photographers; local photography/
American photography/photographers 187 photographers; Palestinian
see also American Colony Photo photography/photographers; Raad,
Department Chalil
American School of Oriental Research/Study Arab printed media, urban events/landscape
(Jerusalem) 232, 282 photographs in 377–386, 379ill., 383ill.,
̔America’s Moral Empire’ (Tyrrell) 59n53 384ill., 385ill.
Amit, Gish 260 Arab Progress in Palestine (K. Totah)
Amman 197, 244, 245, 246ill., 247ill. 382–384, 385ill.
Amsterdam 270, 272 Arab renaissance (Nahda)/progress 169,
Central Station 270, 297, 297ill. 186, 188, 275, 294, 377, 379, 382–384,
amulets 116, 288 385ill., 387
Anglo-Catholic Sisters 231ill. Arab Revolt (1936–1939) see Great Revolt
Anglo-Palestinian Club 280 Arab schools 79, 79n59
animal photographs 234ill. Arab teachers see Swedish School
Anti-Revolutionary Party (ARP, archaeological expeditions 99, 106, 213–217,
Netherlands) 277 214ill., 215n108, 217ill., 394
antisemitism 3, 291, 295 archaeological photography/
Arab Bank 294 photographers 99, 100, 107, 128, 211–217,
Arab clergy/Arabisation of clergy 100, 137, 214ill., 217ill.
140–141ill. aerial photography for archaeological
Arab community/Arabs purposes 368–369, 368n24
in Biblical framework 314, 315 see also École biblique et archéologique
British/Zionist-Arab/Palestinian française de Jérusalem; Raad, Chalil
conflict 69n11, 258, 261, 359, 377 archaeological sites 98, 99, 106, 128, 131, 215,
representation and evolution of 368n24, 369
Palestinian Arab society 131–148 archaeology 232
Swedish Jerusalem Society/Swedish Archer, Frederick Scott 7
School and 69n11, 77 architectural heritage, reshaping and
see also Palestinians romanticisation of 15
Arab countries, economic bonds 377 architecture, Old vs. New Cities (Jerusalem/
Arab Executive Committee 133, 380 Jaffa) 365–366, 372–374

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408 Index
archives 128–129 Assumptionists of St.

archival awareness 148 Pierre-en-Gallicante 103
censorship/accessibility to Israeli Assyrians 315
archives 195–196n35, 197, 260, 345, Athens 178
395 Atlantic Hotel (Jerusalem) 173n15
of Chalil Raad 189, 194–198 audience/market 8–9, 11, 36, 203, 290, 391,
seizing and looting of Palestinian 394
188–189, 195–197 cultural consumers 16–17
see also American Colony Archive donors 51, 70, 75
Collection; Bavarian State Archives; Eastern audience 283, 381
National Geographic Society tourists/pilgrims 6, 7
ʿĀrif al-ʿĀrif 247–251, 249ill. Western audience 6, 8–9, 283, 284, 381
Armenian Catholics 147ill., 148 Augusta Victoria (British Civil
Armenian community 4, 7, 283, 341ill., 348, Administration headquarters) 245
354 Augusta Victoria Stiftung
Armenian General Benevolent Union (Foundation) 39ill., 40
(AGBU), Nubar library collection 24, Australia 17
395, 397ill. Australian photography/photographers 6,
Armenian Genocide (1915–1917) 4, 274n23, 361, 362
341–342, 341ill., 348, 351, 354 Australian War Memorial vii, 362
Armenian Museum (Jerusalem) 4n11, 24, Australian War Museum 360
395 Awad, Nada 72
Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem 7–8, Ayyoub, George 21ill.
187, 395, 396ill. Azayzāt tribe (Mādabā) 106
Armenian photography/photographers 3, Azoulay, Ariella 326, 331, 345
4, 7–8, 9, 187, 353, 391, 395, 396ill.
see also Kahvedjian, Elia; Krikorian, Baalbek 251
Garabed Bab Hutta (neighbourhood, Old
Arnoldson, Klas Pontus 71 Jerusalem) 144ill., 145
ARP see Anti-Revolutionary Party Bada, Guldusta (orphan) 54
art/artifacts, collection of Islamic 251–252, Badè Expedition (Mispah) 213n100
252n39, 254–255, 257, 258–259 Badè Expedition (Tall Al-Naṣaba) 213
Artas (village near Bethlehem) 73 Baedeker travel guides 71, 76
Arts and Crafts movement (England) 86, Baghdad 251
285, 372, 373 Bajorek, Jennifer 350
Asfār & Sārkīs (antiquities firm, Balaam 204
Damascus) 251–252, 252n39–40, Balfour Declaration (1917) 100, 205, 280
254–255, 258 al-Baqaʾa (neighbourhood, Jerusalem) 168
Asfār, Georges 251–252, 252n39–40, 254–255 Barakat, Rana 285, 340, 345
Ashbee, Charles, urban development/ Barlassina, Luigi (Latin Patriarch of
renewal of Jerusalem 12, 236, 285, Jerusalem) 141n84
371–375, 375ill., 376ill., 379, 382, 387 Baron, Beth 61
Asherwood, Mr. 241 Basel 190
Ashkelon 215 Bāsil family 191
Ashkenazi community 283, 291, 292 Bassan, Tsadok 3
Asia Corps (Ottoman-German militia Bastille Day (14 July) 134
artillery) 368n24 Bastoli, Hanna 21ill.
Assumptionist Fathers of Notre-Dame de Bate, David 260
France 99n10, 108, 278 Bavarian aerial photography 361, 362, 386
photographic collection of 101, 103, 105 Bavarian State Archives vii, 360, 362

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Index 409
Baydas, Khalīl 294 Bethlehem, Louise 218

Baydas, Yusif 294 Beth Shemesh 213, 214ill.
Bayt Jamāl see Beit Jimal Bey, Muhammad Sadiq 8n33
Bayt Mirsim 215 Bezalel Art School 204
Beaumont, Ernest Forrest 35, 45, 47ill. biblical archaeology see archaeological
Beaumont, Hulda Larsson 35, 47ill. photography/photographers
̔Bedouin Life in Bible Lands’ (National ̔Biblical Caravan’ (École biblique
Geographic, January 1937) 234, 314–315 et archéologique française de
Bedouins (Bedu) 12, 110, 127, 169, 229, 234ill. Jérusalem) 106, 107ill.
biblification of Bedouins 11, 111, 314 biblical characters, visualisation of 201ill.,
in Diary in Photos (Whiting) 238, 242 202, 203–204, 211, 212ill., 284, 312, 313,
Bedouin camp (Deir El-Belah) 314–315
247–251, 249ill. biblical/modern divide 289–290
wedding ceremonies 244–246, ̔Biblical Moderne’ 12, 15, 282–283, 303, 392
246ill., 252, 253ill., 256, 256n48, biblical photography/photographers see
257ill. biblification (of photography); Holy Land
Beersheba (Jerusalem) 248 photography; Raad, Chalil; Scholten,
Behdad, Ali 17n44, 148–149, 199n54, 350 Frank
Beijing 318 biblical quotations/verses, as captions 203,
Being Modern in the Middle East (Keith 210–211, 271–272, 273, 282–283
Watenpaugh) 294–295 biblical representation see biblification (of
Beirut 187n7, 203, 233, 238, 275, 312, 318, 369 photography)
Beit Haʾam (cultural meeting place, Tel biblical sites
Aviv) 250 visualisation of 200ill., 201ill., 211, 212ill.
Beith-Shems 214ill. see also archaeological sites
Beit Jala 321 biblification (of photography) vii, 200ill.,
Beit Jala seminary (Latin Patriarchate 279, 289, 300
Jerusalem) 103n18, 143ill. biblical references in captions 203,
Beit Jimal (Bayt Jamāl) 103n18 210–211, 271–272, 273, 282–283
Catholic procession 146, 147ill. class, modernity and 20, 24
estate/Salesian school 139–140, 142ill. ̔deconstructive’ biblification viii
Beit Shʾan 215 for humanitarian donations 24, 44ill.,
Ben-Dov, Yaacov 3 49ill., 60
Ben Gurion Airport 286 market/demand for 8–9, 203, 391
Ben Kaltor, Yaʾacov 3 modernity/modern methodologies and/
Ben Yehuda Street (Jerusalem) 168, 173, 174ill. vs. 6–7, 9–10, 11, 12, 284, 302, 393
Berchem, Max van 110, 110n38 see also B̔ iblical Moderne’
Berlin 173, 176–177, 178, 270, 270n12, 274, 292 Orientalism and/vs. 10–13, 284, 289–290
Beskow, Elsa 82–83, 84ill., 86, 87, 89, 94 of people,
Beskow, Nathaniel 83 contemporary Palestinians/local
Betharram Fathers, photographic inhabitants 11, 111, 127ill., 201ill.,
collection 99n10, 101, 133, 135–136ill. 202–204, 211, 212ill., 284, 312, 313,
Bethel 215 314–315
Bethesda pool (Jerusalem) 239 rural communities and working
Bethlehem 148, 168, 210, 241, 312, 321, 374, class 298
376ill. of (urban) landscape viii, 6–7, 82ill.,
hospital/medical staff 67, 70, 73 368
photographers in 5, 186 Jerusalem 60, 285, 321, 374
traditional dress 291, 326, 327–330, see also Holy Land photography; Raad,
329ill., 333, 335ill. Chalil; Scholten, Frank

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410 Index
bibliolatry/biblical ideology 202 British Police Force 380, 381, 382, 383ill.,

Bibliothèque d’Orient (Bibliothèque 384ill.
Nationale de France) 104n20 British rule see British Mandate
Bibliothèque Nationale de France 104n20 British School of Archaeology
Bilād al-Sham (Greater Syria) 106, 159 (Jerusalem) 282
Bildt, Harald 77 British Secret Intelligence Service 235,
Birkagården (settlement, Stockholm) 73, 236n14, 243
83 Brook Street Gallery (London) 280,
Birzeit University Museum 116, 288 282n45
Bloxham, Donald 341, 341ill. Buraq Revolt (1929) 377, 378
body guards 324, 325ill., 326 Burhan (son of Taher Bey
Bohar, Fred 243 Al-Husseini) 166ill., 166n8
bombings, Jerusalem (1947/1948) 173, Buwarshī family 186
173n15, 174ill., 259–260
Bonfils, Félix/Bonfils family 102n17, 105, 122, Caesarea 321
203, 216, 369 Cairo 110n38, 111, 238, 239, 251, 275, 395
bourgeoisie 122–124, 124ill., 169 calligraphy/calligraphers 324ill.
see also middle-class Calouste Gulbenkian Library
Bowen family 235ill. (Jerusalem) 396ill.
Bowman, Humphrey (Director of Education Camel Corps Bedouins 256n48, 258
for Palestine) 66, 68ill. camel races 247, 249ill., 253ill., 254, 255ill.,
Box Brownie camera 7 256
boys 208ill., 211 Canaanʾ 215
boys’ education 78, 79n59, 139, 142ill. Canaan, Tawfiq see Kanaʿan, Tawfīq
Brassband of Saint Anne 134, 137ill. Capa, Robert 3
Brenner, Michael 292 Capernaum, house of 216
British Air Force see Royal Air Force captions
British Air Ministry 321 biblical references in 203, 210–211,
British army/troops see British military 271–272, 273, 282–283
British colonialism 392 from subjects’ vs. photographers’
support to 316–317, 320–321, 332 perspective 333–334, 335ill., 336
British colonial photography see colonialist reality behind photographs vs. 322, 323,
photography/photographers 330–331, 394
British Mandate 1 see also event of photography
beginning of ix, 3, 7, 107, 270, 275–276, Carmel, Moshe 196
316 cartoons, political 279
end of 100, 148, 194, 316 Castro-Gomez, Santiago 348
naturalisation of British presence in Catalogue of Lantern Slides and Views (Chalil
photographs 328, 352, 353 Raad) 192, 195ill., 196ill.
support to and tensions with Catholicism/Catholics 143, 146, 269, 283
Zionists 241–242, 275, 362–363, 380 Catholic missionaries/missionary
British Mandate Jerusalemites Photo Library institutions 14, 67
(Facebook group, Mona Halaby) 18 Arabisation of clergy 100
British military 166n8, 295, 296ill., 299ill., connection with/perception of Arab
351, 352, 361 community 99, 104
operations in Old City of Jaffa motivations for photography 129–130
(1936) 364–367, 367ill. political situation/events and 132–134,
see also Royal Air Force 135–136ill.

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Index 411
Protestant vs. Catholic missionary group photographs 37, 39ill., 40

photography 130–131n71 individual portraits of orphan
see also Betharram Fathers; Dominicans; girls 38, 49–50, 51
White Fathers of Saint Anne of men in 45–46
Jerusalem negatives 46, 48, 49ill.
Cave of the Patriarchs (Ḥarām al-Ibrahīmī, purpose of 49
Hebron) 107 staged vs. un-staged scenes 40
celebrations and ceremonies 43–45, 44ill., Record Book 32ill., 33, 37, 49–55
46ill., 47, 49ill., 134, 137–139ill., 254, staff 35, 39ill., 40, 41ill.
396ill. see also American Colony
see also wedding ceremonies Christianity, influence on Palestinian
censorship of archives see archives photography 8–9
Central Europe 292 Christian photography/photographers 4
Chaldeans 315 see also Armenian photography/
charities/charitable foundations 13, 56 photographers
Chicago 34, 229, 237 Christmas celebrations 43, 44ill., 46, 49ill.,
child portraits ixill., 22ill., 32ill., 52–53ill., 55, 57, 58, 74
170, 171ill., 206ill., 208–209ill., 329ill. Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Child Protection Movement 54 (Jerusalem) 316n22, 384
China 50, 51, 56 Churchill, Winston 245, 280n42
Christian-Arab photographers 4 cinemas 383–384
see also Raad, Chalil Circassians 245, 247ill.
Christian Herald (newspaper, American cities
Colony) 34–35, 34n6, 45, 50, 51, 52–53ill., photographic representation of 360, 386
56–59, 61, 318 see also urban landscape
Christian Herald Orphanage (American Citroën-Haardt Trans-Asiatic
Colony) 13 Expedition 318
building/premises 37–40, 38–39ill. Civil Imagination (A. Azoulay) 326
class rooms/Kindergarten 40, 41ill. civility 10–11
connection with Christian Herald Clark, David 16, 24
newspaper 56–58 class/class dynamics 15, 20, 24, 277,
fundraising/donors 48, 49–51, 55 292–293, 349
orphan/patron relations/contact 55, biblification, modernity and class
61 formation 20, 24, 294–295
health and hygiene 43, 46 bourgeoisie 122–124, 124ill., 169
history/background 34–37, 58 class divides 11, 276, 288
missionary agenda/values 45, 54–55, transnationalism and class-dynamics 11
58, 61 urban-rural divide and 284–290, 288, 294
Muslim girls 43, 45, 57, 58 working/lower-class 218, 277, 293
orphan girls 37, 38–39ill., 40, 48, 51–54, see also middle-class
52–53ill., 58 classification of photographs see
photo album/collection 33, 34, 37–50, taxonomies/taxonomisation
91, 392 classroom portraits see schools
audience 51 clergy, Arabisation/indigenisation of 100,
celebrations and outdoor 130n71, 137, 140–141ill.
activities 37, 38ill., 43–45, 44ill., clothes distribution 148, 149ill.
46ill., 49ill., 58 Coffin, William (Consul General of the
daily life 37, 40–42, 41ill., 47ill. United States) 236ill.

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412 Index
Collins, Jane 311 Cromwell family

Collins, William 199 Islamic art collection 251–252, 252n39,
colonialism 254–255, 257, 258–259
destructiveness of 189, 195, 219, 313 trip to Palmyra with Whiting 251–259,
entwinement with photography/ 253ill., 255ill., 257ill.
photography serving 15, 20, 188, Cromwell, James 251
198–203, 205–206, 219, 289, 332, Crowfoot expedition 215n108
333–334 Crusader Castle (Petra) 239, 240ill.
̔Nordic colonial thinking’ 68–69 Crusader Church (Samaria) 216, 217ill.
support to/promotion of 316–317, Cuba 311
320–321, 331 cultural consumers of photography 16–17
see also British colonialism; cultural diplomacy 9n34, 257, 278n34, 295
decolonisation of photography; meaning-making in 16–17, 24
Zionist colonisation Swedish 13, 87, 90, 91, 94
colonialist photography/photographers 219, Zionist 280, 292
345, 346, 382, 391 Curtis, Heather D. 59, 60
see also Holy Land photography; Zionist
photography/photographers Daguerre, Louis-Jacques-Mandé 7
colonial mobility 297–298 Dāhbār, Nīcūlās 137, 141ill.
colonial modernity see modernity daily life
colour photographs 24, 87, 89, 89ill., 92ill., depiction of ill., 131, 158, 181, 205, 323ill.,
247ill. 352–355, 354ill.
commerce 294 at Christian Herald Orphanage 37,
communalism 4, 278, 290, 298, 302 40–42, 41ill., 47ill.
see also Millet system; pillarisation by Chalil Raad 185, 200–201ill., 204,
compartmentalisation see pillarisation 206–209ill.
Constantinople, conquest of (1453) 278 Dalman, Gustaf 76, 368–371, 371ill., 373,
Consulate General of France 134 374, 386
controversial images 342–343 Damascus 106, 137, 159, 197, 235, 245, 248,
see also t̔ ruth value’ of photographs 251–252, 254
Convention Concerning the Protection of Damascus Gate (Jerusalem) 237, 320, 352
the World Cultural and Natural Heritage Darfur 318, 319
(UNESCO) 259 Darwīsh, Maḥmūd 181
conversion see proselytisation David 300, 315
Corpus Christi 146, 147ill. Jonathan and 279, 279n38, 301ill.
cosmopolitanism/cosmopolitan culture 9, Davis, George 205n81
274–275, 292 Davis, Mrs J. Edward (patron) 55
Coster, Mr. 239 Dayr Al-Balaḥ see Deir El-Belah
court photographers 190, 193ill. Dead Sea expedition (École biblique
Coutumes des Arabes au pays de Moab et archéologique française de
(Antonin Jaussen) 110, 111, 116, 121 Jérusalem) 106, 108
Coutumes palestiniennes: Naplouse et son Deam Tobin, Robert 270n12
district (Antonin Jaussen) 111, 114ill., Debbas, Fouad 349
118ill., 123ill. De Bois, W.E.B. 348
Cramb, John 198 decolonisation of photography 12, 15, 24,
Cramer, Mrs (patron) 55 220, 332–333, 348–349, 391, 394, 397
Cromwell, Doris Duke 251, 252, 252n40, 254, methodologies 15, 345n9, 346, 350–351
254n44, 258–259 see also Imagining the Holy

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Index 413
Deir El-Belah (Dayr Al-Balaḥ) 247–251, Dome of the Rock (Ḥarām al-Sharīf,

249ill. Jerusalem) 107, 134, 342, 379, 384
demonstrations (Jaffa/Jerusalem) 205, 233, domesticity/domestic life 121, 127, 127ill.
234ill., 380–382, 383ill., 384ill. home economics teaching 42, 42n15,
De Pijp (working-class neighbourhood, 91, 92ill.
Amsterdam) 270 Dominican House of Oriental Studies (IDEO,
Desert Patrol 252, 253ill., 254, 256 Cairo) 111
destruction of Palestine see Nakba Dominicans
Deutsches Evangelisches Institut für photographic collection/photographers
Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen see École biblique et archéologique
Lands (DIEAHL) 232, 369 française de Jérusalem
dhimmi 278 political situation/events and 132
Dhorme, Édouard-Paul 98n6,n8 schools see École biblique et
Diary in Photos (John D. Whiting, archéologique française de
1934–1939) 72, 229, 233 Jérusalem
interpretation of collection 260 donations see fundraising
photographic themes, Don Bosco 139
Bedouins/Bedouin camps 234ill., Dorfzaun, Tova 4
247–251, 249ill. Al-Douiri, Hilwa 21ill.
Palmyra with Cromwell Party dream-work (Freud) 350–351
251–259, 253ill., 255ill., 257ill. Dubrovnik 178
Petra/Syria with Sir Edgar Du Camp, Maxime 199
Horne 238–244, 240ill., 242ill. Durrah, Muhammad 342–343, 343ill., 348
Syria with Bowen family 235ill. Dutch photographers see Scholten, Frank
Syria Iris trip 234ill.
wedding ceremonies 244–246, 246ill., Easter celebrations viii, ix, ixill., 43, 58, 81,
252, 253ill., 256, 256n48, 257ill. 82ill.
travel with Anglo-Catholic sisters 231ill. Eastern Europe, anti-Jewish pogroms/
written diaries and 233–234 antisemitism 291, 295
Dīb, Ghabī & Raymūnd 173 Eastern Mediterranean 239, 272, 293, 298,
DIEAHL see Deutsches Evangelisches Institut 315, 365, 395
für Altertumswissenschaft des Heiligen École biblique et archéologique française de
Lands Jérusalem (EBAF) vii, 14, 98, 232, 271,
al-Difaʿ (Palestinian newspaper) 177 278, 282, 391, 395
digitisation of photographic collections/ building/premises 133ill.
albums 18–20, 102–105, 103n18, 104ill., expeditions 106, 107ill., 108
266n1 history/background 98
Diness, Mendel John 2, 59n49 [La ]Revue Biblique (journal) 98, 99, 101,
disavowal mechanism (denial) 353–354 110, 111
Diskin Orphanage (Jerusalem) 58n49 photographers and their
Dizengoff Square (Tel Aviv) 352 approach 105–109
Djemal Pasha see Jamāl Pāshā see also Jaussen, Antonin; Savignac
Domaris 11, 12, 239, 242, 250, 250n37, 252, Raphaël
352 photographic collection 99, 102, 107ill.,
staged raids 253ill., 256–257, 256n48, 131, 132–133ill., 148–149
257ill. collections of other institutions
wedding ceremonies 252, 253ill., 256, in 101, 103, 103n18, 135–147ill.,
257ill. 149ill.

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414 Index
École biblique (cont.) elites

digitisation/classification 102–105, photographs by/of 131, 132ill., 158, 160,
103n18, 104ill. 161ill., 162ill., 163, 164ill., 167–173,
focus of 105, 106, 107 170–172ill., 266, 267
of Nablus/Nablusi women 113–115ill., pillarisation and 277
117–120ill., 123–127ill. El Khazna (Petra) 240ill.
of riots 135–136ill. Ellis, Havelock 270n12
as scientific tool/evidence 101, 105, Elsa Bernadotte (Duchess of Wisborg) 67n5
106, 109, 128 Enderline, Charles 343
photographic equipment/ England, urban renewal 366
techniques 108 The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine
scientific ambitions/specialisations 98, (I. Pappé) 345n11
109, 128 ethnographic/ethno-confessional
École pratique d’études bibliques see École taxonomies 274, 276
biblique et archéologique française de see also Scholten, Frank
Jérusalem ethnographic photography/
editing of photographic photographers 11–12, 117, 186, 188, 204
collections 260–261 see also Jaussen, Antonin; Raad, Chalil
see also decolonisation of photography ethnography 101–102, 110–111
education/educational system 67, ethnology 110
78–79n58, 139–142, 142ill. Europe 6, 109, 266, 267, 268, 274, 278, 280,
boys’ education 78, 79n59, 139, 142ill. 282
girls’ education 78–79, 79n59, 145–146, Europeanisation, of urban landscape 369
145–146ill., 147ill. European photography/photographers 4,
see also Christian Herald Orphanage; 187, 198, 199, 270n15
Swedish School Palestinian vs. 157
Edwards, Elizabeth 159, 332 event of photography, photographed
Egypt 105, 106, 122, 176, 198, 203n69, 312, 361 event vs. 326–327, 331
Egyptian Army 318 excavations vii, 108, 186n2, 197, 213, 214ill.,
Ein Harod Kibbutz 215n103 215–216, 215n108, 217ill., 359
Ein Karem (Ain Karim, Jerusalem excursions see outings
district) 42, 142ill., exhibitions 17–18, 19ill.
Ekblad, Martin 90n88 Arab 377–380, 379ill.
Ekblad, Signe European and Zionist 280, 282, 282n46,
as amateur photographer 70, 75, 80, 81ill. 377, 379ill.
background/career 67, 72–74, 75, 77, Exodus 312
80, 83 exoticism 124, 227, 244, 352
presence in photographs 66, 68–69ill., see also Orientalism
71, 73n26, 80, 84, 85ill., 87, 88ill., 89ill., expeditions see archaeological expeditions
91, 92ill., 93ill., 94
purchase/construction of school 77–81, Facebook groups 18
77n50, 81ill., 87, 90–91 Fahāmī, Amīr 254, 258
El-Hage, Badr 349 Fahīla, Zakariyyā Abū 5, 186
Elia Photo Service (Jerusalem) 352, 353, fallāḥīn (villagers/peasants) 11, 314
354ill. family portraits/albums 21ill., 22ill., 23ill.,
Elias, Fareedy (orphan) 54 122, 131, 133ill., 159–160, 376, 393, 394
Elias, George 54 album of Julia Luci 14, 158, 167–172,
Elias, Marie (orphan) 54 170–172ill.
Elias, Nellie (orphan) 54 digitisation of 18–20

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Index 415
traditional/oriental dress in 169, 170ill., themes,

290ill., 291 military 295–298, 296–297ill., 299ill.,
famine 341, 341ill. 301ill.
Fani, Michel 349 Palestine in transition 280, 284
Fanon, Frantz 348 persons/portraits ixill., 285, 286ill.,
Fawas, Emir 252 290–291, 290ill., 292–293, 294ill.,
Fehrenbach, Heide 61 301ill.
Feldman, Hanna 350 religious events 280, 281ill.
female photographers 5 urban and rural landscapes 269ill.,
see also Ekblad, Signe 275ill., 281ill., 286, 287ill., 289ill.
festivals see celebrations and ceremonies see also Scholten, Frank
Fifth Aliyah (1929–1939) 229 French Archaeological and Biblical School
financial institutions 294 of Jerusalem see École biblique et
First World War 100, 106, 163, 205n84, 235, archéologique française de Jérusalem
268, 275, 291, 341, 373 French Navy 107
aerial photography in 360, 361, 363ill., Freud, Sigmund 350, 351, 353
367, 368 Freund, Gisèle 167
aftermath of 7, 10, 13, 36, 132, 266 Frith, Francis 169n13
Fisher, Clarence 215n106 fundraising 60, 341, 341ill.
Fitzgerald, Gerald 215n106 humanitarian photography for 13, 24,
Fleischmann, Ellen 91 60, 70
Florida 251 orphanages 48, 49–51, 55
folklore schools 70
Orientalist and folklorist representation
of women 123–127, 123–127ill. Galilee 312, 323ill.
traditional dress 169, 170ill., 178, 290ill., Garabedian, Issay (Armenian Patriarch) 4,
291, 323ill., 325ill., 326, 327–330, 329ill., 7–8, 187
333, 335ill. Gaza 54, 148, 149ill., 247, 248, 249ill., 250,
Folklore of the Seasons in Palestine (Tawfīq 342, 384, 385ill.
Kanaʿan) 288 gender
food distribution 71, 148, 149ill. photography and 394
by Swedish School 90–92, 92ill., 93ill. taxonomisation of 274
Fort Tawfīq (port) 239 genocide, Armenian see Armenian
Fourth of July celebrations 45, 46ill. Genocide (1915–1917)
France 2 (news channel) 342–343 German Colonies (Jerusalem/Haifa) 370
France 67, 104, 198, 268 Germans 316
Frank Scholten Collection viii, 14–15, 266, German Templars 77, 283
268, 302, 391, 395 Germany 67, 268, 270
biblical/religious quotations in 271, Ghassan Abdullah Collection 23ill.
273–274, 282–283 Gidal, Tim 3
chronology 279 girls 31–65, 32ill., 38–39ill., 41ill., 44ill.,
digitisation and cataloguing 266n1, 268, 46–47ill., 49ill., 52ill., 66–96, 69ill.,
269ill., 271–272, 275ill. 82ill., 84–85ill., 88ill., 89ill., 92–93ill.,
exhibitions 280, 282, 282n46, 284 144–147ill., 209ill., 326, 327–330, 329ill.
language editions/audience 283 girls’ education 78–79, 79n59, 145–146,
queer subtext to 280, 297–302, 301ill., 145–146ill., 147ill.
303 see also Christian Herald Orphanage;
taxonomic methodology 14–15, 266, Swedish School
271–283, 273ill., 300, 302–303 Glaire, Jean-Baptiste 273

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416 Index
glass plates 99, 101, 101n16, 102–103, 103n18, Hall of the Last Supper 210
106, 108 Hammarberg, Gitta 168
Glock, Albert 215, 216 al-Hamrāʾ cinema (Jaffa) 383–384
Gobat, Samuel (Bishop of Jerusalem) 190 Hanania/Ḥanāniyya Brothers studio
Gordon, Joshua (Yehoshua) 241, 243 (Jerusalem) 5, 352
Goupil-Fesquet, Frédéric 198 The Handbook of Palestine
government schools see state schools (E. Keith-Roach) 319
Graham, Trevor 353 The Handbook of Palestine and Trans-Jordan
Granqvist, Hilma 73 (E. Keith-Roach) 319
Grant, Eliyahu 213, 214ill. hand-coloured photos 87, 89, 89ill., 92ill.,
Great Britain 67, 268 247ill.
see also British Mandate Hangchow/Hangzhou (China) 318
Greater Syria (Bilād al-Sham) 106, 159 Ḥarām al-Ibrahīmī see Cave of the
Great Famine (1915–1918) 341 Patriarchs
Great Game of Genocide (D. Bloxham) 341 Ḥarām al-Sharīf see Dome of the Rock
Great Revolt (Arab Revolt, 1936–1939) 71, Ḥarāmī, Bīdyā 66
90, 229, 356, 363, 377 Haran 251
aerial photography during 362–367, Harburger, Theodor 292
367ill. harem iconography 122, 123ill., 126ill., 127
Great War see First World War Hartman, Saidiyah 347
Greece 51, 176, 180ill., 268, 270, 274n23 Harvard expedition 215n108
Greek-Catholics 147ill., 148 Harvard Museum of the Ancient Near East
Greek Colony (Jerusalem) 190 (HMANE) 397
Greek Orthodox Church 31 Hashkafa (Hebrew newspaper) 190n24
Greek photographers 187n10, 192 Haunted Springs and Water Demons in
Green Hall (soup kitchen, Swedish School, Palestine (Tawfīq Kanaʿan) 288
Jerusalem) 90–92, 92ill., 93ill. Hauran 106
Gregory, Derek 211–212 Haverford expedition 213
Greiner Bibel 273 Hawaii 251, 254, 311
Gröber, Karl 292 headdress 122, 328, 329ill., 330
Grossmann, Rebekka 11n39, 292 see also traditional dress
Grosvenor, Gilbert H. 311, 319, 321 health and hygiene 43, 46, 47ill.
Gulf of Suez 239 Hear these fifteen little pleaders
Gurkhas 295–296, 296ill. (in The Christian Herald, June 14,
Gustav V (King of Sweden, r. 1907–1950) 90 1919) 51
gypsies see Domaris Hebrew 78n57, 276n27
Hebron 42, 51, 107, 215, 315, 321
Haan, Jacob Israël de 270, 298, 298n83, 300 Hedin, Sven 76
Haaretz (Israeli newspaper) 196–197 Heliopolis (suburb, Cairo) 395
Hackforth-Jones, Jocelyn 243 Herod’s Gate (Jerusalem) 237
Haeckel, Ernst Heinrich 248 Ḥijāz 106
Haffner, Jeanne 368 Hirschfeld, Magnus 270, 274, 279n37
Hahavatselet (Hebrew newspaper) 190, Hirsch, Marianne 159
193ill. historical imagery 18
Haifa 178, 187, 370, 380, 381 see also Jawhariyya, Wāṣif
Haiti 168 Hitler, Adolf 176–177, 177ill.
Ḥalabī, N. 66 Hitti, Phillip 382
Halaby, Mona 18 HMANE see Harvard Museum of the Ancient
Halladjian, J.H. 187 Near East

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Index 417
holiday photographs 172ill., 173, 176, Ḥusaynīs 137

179–180ill. Ḥusaynī, Saʿid 378, 379ill.
The Holy City (Hurley) 6 al-Husseini, Jawwad Bey bin Ismail
Holy Land Bey 166ill., 166n8
exploration of 229, 237–238 al-Husseini, Tawfiq Muhammad
imaging/representation see Holy Land Saleh 166ill., 166n8
photography Hyde, John 311
reconquest of (in National
Geographic) 316–322 IAAA see Institute of Arab American Affairs
Holy Land photography/photographers 10, Ibrahimi Mosque (Hebron) 315
92, 99–100, 105, 128, 198–204, 271, 313, identity formation 2, 218, 276, 279, 291
321 see also Millet system; pillarisation
market/demand for 6–7, 207 IDEO see Dominican House of Oriental
response by local Arab photographers Studies
to 188, 204–211, 377, 382 ideological conflicts
see also biblification of photography; threat to photographical
colonialist photography/photographers; collections 260–261
National Geographic Magazine see also archives
homosexuality 267, 270, 274, 279n38, 297, Imaging and Imagining (conference, Leiden
298, 300, 303 University, 2019) 12, 12n40
Honolulu 251 Imagining the Holy (project, Yazan
Horne, Sir Edgar 238–244, 240ill., 242ill. Kopty) 15, 331–337, 391–392
Hoskins, Franklin E. 312 see also decolonisation of photography
hospitals 36, 67, 70, 74n34, 106, 128 Imberger, Hermann 77, 77n50, 80, 87
housekeeping see domesticity/domestic life immigration see Zionist immigration
Howard Hotel (Jerusalem) 190 Imperial Airways 239
Hübschmann, Kurt 3 imperialism/imperialist perspectives
humanitarian aid 198–199, 298, 316–317, 359
proselytisation and 45, 58, 59n49, 61, see also colonialist photography/
67, 74 photographers; Orientalism
Swedish school 90–92, 92ill., 93ill. India 203n69, 318
humanitarianism 59–60, 392 Indian National Congress 296
humanitarian photography 13, 33, 56–59, 60 Indian photographers 230
Humanitarian Scientific Committee 274, 280 indigenisation of photography 15, 333,
Humbert, Jean Baptiste 97n1, 100 336
hummus controversy 353–356, 354ill. see also decolonisation of photography
Hundert deutsche Fliegerbilder aus Palästina The Indigenous Lens? Early Photography
(G. Dalman) 368 in the Near and Middle East (Ritter,
Hurley, Frank 6 Schweiwiller) 2
Hurva Synagogue (Jerusalem) 352 indigenous photography/
al-Ḥusayni, Hājj Amīn (Grand Mufti of photographers 2–5, 6, 11–12, 218, 291,
Palestine) 176, 205, 210ill., 238, 241, 242, 344, 349, 391
243, 248 audience/market 6, 7, 11, 369–370
al-Ḥusaynī, Ḥusayn Hashim (mayor of see also Arab photography/photographers;
Jerusalem, 1909–1917) vii Armenian photography/
al-Ḥusaynī, Ḥusayn Salīm Afandī (mayor of photographers; local photography/
Jerusalem, 1882–1897) 228ill. photographers; Palestinian
al-Ḥusaynī, Ismāʿīl Bay (Director of photography/photographers; Raad,
Education) 228ill. Chalil

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418 Index
indigenous population Jacobson, Abigail 13, 71, 91, 392, 393, 394

photographs of 131 Jacobson, David 213
representation as undeveloped/ Jaffa viii, ixill., 5, 148, 165, 187, 200ill., 210,
biblical characters 201ill., 239, 286, 321, 378
203–204, 206, 211, 212ill., 314 Arab progress in 383–384
see also Arab community; Armenian British interventions in Old City (1936)/
community; Palestinians urban expansion 289, 364–367,
industry 294 367ill., 372, 387
Inn of the Good Samaritan 210 demonstrations 380–382, 383ill.
innovation, Arab 377 Port of 269ill., 275ill., 365
Institute of Arab American Affairs urban fabrics of Old City 364, 365–366
(IAAA) 382–383 Jaffa Gate (Jerusalem) 198, 239, 324, 327,
Institute for Palestine Studies (IPS) 198 373, 375ill., 376ill.
interpretation of photographic Jaffa Road/Jaffa Street (Jerusalem) 186ill.,
collections 17, 260–261, 353, 368, 370 198, 352, 373, 375ill.
see also t̔ ruth-value’ of photographs Jalabert, Cyrille 111
inter-rituality (Catholic communities) al-Jamāʿa al-Islāmiyya (newspaper,
146–148, 147ill. Jerusalem) 176
intervention, by British in urban landscape/ Jamāl Pāshā (‘the blood shedder’, ruler of
fabric 360, 364–367, 367ill., 368, Bilād al-Shām, d. 1922) 159, 163, 166n8,
370–375, 375ill., 376ill. 368n24
Intra Bank 294 Jaussen, Antonin 97, 100, 104n20, 105–106
Introduction to a Critique of Political Economy background/career 105–106, 109–110,
(Karl Marx) 351 111, 132
IPS see Institute for Palestine Studies biblification in work 127, 127ill.
Iran 251 ethnographic approach/method 110–111,
Iranian photography/photographers 218 112, 117
Iraq 363 anthropologic/photographic study on
Iraqi Revolt (1919) 362, 363–364 Nablus/Nablusi women 111–127,
Irving, Sarah 216n111 113ill., 114–115ill., 117–120ill.,
Isaac 315 123–124ill., 126–127ill.
ʿĪsā al-ʿĪsā 292, 293ill. photographic techniques 108
Isfahan 251 on religious practices and beliefs 116–117
Ishmael 315 Jawhariyya, Jaryas 163
Islamic art/artifacts, collection of 251–252, Jawhariyya, Wāṣif, photographic album
252n39, 254–255, 257, 258–259 of vii, viiiill., ix, 14, 158, 159, 160–167,
Islamic Congress 379 161ill., 162ill., 164–166ill., 180
Israel 1, 158, 188, 195, 198, 316, 390 Jenison, Denise Laszewski 382
Israeli military 188, 196, 340, 342 Jerash (Jordan) 239, 241, 242
Israelis 315, 343, 353, 355 Jericho 134, 194, 298n83, 321
Israel’s New Historians 345n11 Jerusalem 5, 9ill., 31, 51, 56, 62, 72, 105, 110,
Istanbul 77n48,n51, 78n52, 218, 248, 251 111, 148, 159, 165, 176, 187, 190, 237–238,
Italy 268, 270, 271, 285 312, 314, 326, 327, 371ill., 391
Izrak, Evelina (orphan) 55 Arab exhibitions in (1933/1934)
377–380, 379ill.
Jabal Nāblus (mountaineous region near Arab neighbourhoods 69, 77, 237, 239,
Nablus) 113 384, 385ill.
Jacobs, Milly (teacher) 35, 40, 41ill. archaeological excavations 215

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biblification of 60, 285, 321, 374 Jordan 100, 198, 227, 244, 245, 247ill., 268, 361
bombings (1947/48) 173, 173n15, 259–260 see also Transjordan
demonstrations and riots 132–133, Jordan (river) 110
133n80, 135–136ill., 233, 234ill., 248, 296, Joseph’s Well 211
380, 382, 384ill. Joshua 204
internationalism of 321 Journal of Palestinian Oriental Society 288
mayors of vii, 161ill., 166, 228ill. Julian’s Way (Jerusalem) 259
New City 168, 285, 372–374, 379
Old City 237, 285, 320, 353, 354ill., Kabha, Mustafa 260
372–374, 387 Kafr Qasim massacre 340
panoramic photographs 9ill., Kahana, Rabbi Leib 190
373–374, 375ill., 376ill., 382, 387 Kahvedjian, Elia 5, 391
̔The Pageant of Jerusalem’ (E. Keith- background/career 351–352
Roach, National Geographic) 317, photographic collection, men eating
319–321, 327, 329ill., 335ill. hummus 353–356, 354ill.
surrender/capture of (1917) vii, viiiill., Kahvedjian, Kevork 352, 352n30, 353
107, 163, 168–170, 169ill., 296 Kanaʿan, Tawfīq (Tawfiq Canaan) 116, 120,
urban planning/expansion/renewal 12, 288
236, 289, 384, 385ill. Kanaan, Yusif 216n111
British intervention 285, 370–375, Kapulsky coffee wagon 352
375–376ill., 387 Kasr el Banat (Syria) 234ill.
Jerusalem Order of Freemasons 352 Kāssīsiyya, Hīlīnā 66
Jerusalem (Selma Lagerlöf) 73n29 Katooha, Naheel (orphan) 55
Jerusalemsverein 67 Kawar, Widad 328, 330, 333
Jewish-Arab photography/photographers 4 Kazak, Ali, photographic exhibition 17–18,
Jewish Arabs 276, 292 19ill.
Jewish culture, renewal of 292 Kedar, Benjamin 361
Jewish Feast (Tel Aviv) 280 Keith-Roach, Major Edward 77
Jewish identity 127, 276, 291, 292 background/career 318–319
Jewish immigration see Zionist immigration ̔The Pageant of Jerusalem’ (in National
Jewish National Council see Vaád Leumi Geographic) 317, 319–321, 327, 329ill.,
Jewish National Fund 355 335ill.
Jewish orphans/orphanages 58, 58n49 portrayals of 323–324, 326
Jewish photography/photographers 1, 3–4 relation with/influence on Maynard
see also Zionist photography/ Owen Williams 317, 319, 320, 321, 324,
photographers 326, 327–328
Jewish protests 234ill. reputation/reception of 319–320
Jewish Quarter (Jerusalem) 352 Kemaleddin, Ahmet 378
Jewish schools 78n57 Kennedy, Denis 59, 60
Jewish settlement see Zionist settlement Kevorkian, Raymond 395
Jews/Jewish community 11n39, 69n11, 132, Kevork (student of Issay Garabedian, first
176–177, 190, 204, 250, 290–292, 290ill., name unknown) 187
314, 315, 343 al-Khalīl (Hebron) 215
Jezebel 323ill. al-Khatibi, Abdelkebir 348
Jezreel (Zerin) 323ill. Khazin, Yusif 216n111
Joint Distribution Committee, Orphanage KHI see Kunsthistorisches Institut
Committee to the Land of Israel 58n49 Kidās, Attāla (Attallah Alexander ̔Ted’
Jonathan, David and 279, 279n38, 301ill. Kidess) 173, 173n16

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420 Index
kidnapping, staged 253ill., 256–257, 256n48, Lebanon 4, 34, 91, 170, 172ill., 185, 190, 194,
257ill. 227, 233, 235ill., 268, 295, 341, 341ill., 361
King David Hotel 241 Leiden viii
Klopsch, Louis 56 Leiden University Library 271
knowledge production 347, 348–349 Levant 56, 239, 318
Kodak camera, portable 60 Lever, Mr. 239, 240ill., 241, 242ill.
Kopty, Yazan 15, 291, 350, 391, 392, 394 Lev, Rachel 14, 36, 72, 392, 393, 394
Krikorian, Garabed 4, 7n25, 187, 190, 192, Library of Congress 31n1, 37, 102, 397
194ill. Lien, Sigrid 79
Krikorian, John 192, 192n31, 195ill. Lilien, Ephraim Moses 203–204, 204n73
Kuk, Rabbi 319 Lind, Anna Grace (Vester) 247, 249ill.
Kunsthistorisches Institute (KHI, Florence), Lind, Lars 36, 232
taxonomy of photographs 272 Lind, Nils 36
Kurds 351 Lind, Olof 36
Kuyper, Abraham 277 Lions’ Gate (Jerusalem) 134
Kwiecień, Teresa 298 Little Hermon 323ill.
̔Little Orphans of Jerusalem’ (in The Christian
labour, cheap 355–356 Herald, January 29, 1921) 50, 51, 52–53ill.
Lacan, Jacques 170, 342, 353 local photography/photographers 1–2, 3,
Lagerlöf, Selma 73n29, 83 74–75, 219, 284, 369–370
Lagrange, Marie-Joseph 98, 98n4,n8, 105, 111 see also Arab photography/
al-Lahham, Hanna 166n8 photographers; Armenian
Laily, Armand 134 photographers/photography;
Landauer, Georg 6 indigenous photography/
landscape photography 80, 87, 235ill., 239, photographers; Palestinian
240ill., 359, 370 photography/photographers
see also aerial photography Lockman, Zachary 356
Lane, Paul 111 Lod see Lydda/Lod
Lang, Fritz 241 London 73, 280
Larsson, Carl 86–87, 89, 94 Loraine, Captain 239
Larsson, Hol Lars (Lewis) vii, 66, 68ill., 394 lower class see working/lower class
background/career 36, 72, 73n26, 75–77, Luci, Jaryas 168, 170, 172ill.
76n46 Luci, Julia, photographic album of vii, 14,
involvement in purchase and 158, 167–172, 170–172ill.
development of Swedish School Lucknow Pact (1916) 296
77–78, 77n48,n50–51, 87 Luke, Harry 319
photographic collection 83, 85ill., 166ill., Lutheran Protestantism 76
167, 234, 245, 259 Lutz, Catherine 311
sources of inspiration 87 Luxor 251
̔The Last Israelitish Blood Sacrifice’ Lydda/Lod 143ill., 178, 179ill., 251
(J.D. Whiting, National Geographic,
January 2020) 309–310 MacKenzie, Duncan 213n101
Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem, McKittrick, Katherine 347
photographic collection 103n18, McLean, William 285
142–143ill., 147ill., 149ill. Mādabā (Jordan) 106, 122, 125ill., 131, 133ill.
Lawrence, T.E. 107, 245, 247ill. Madre, Dr. 215
Layton, Col. 241 Mahmudiyyah Mosque (Jaffa) 381
Lebanese community 353 ̔majority world’ (Shahidul Alam) 157, 157n1

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Index 421
̔Make Hummus Not War’ (blog, Micklewright, Nancy 244, 259

T. Graham) 353 middle-class 11, 14, 181
Maksudyan, Nazan 61 Christian 11, 179–180ill., 277
Malki, Rauf 335ill. Jewish 292
Mamilla Road/Street (Jerusalem) 259, 379, modernity and 6, 218, 293–295, 294ill.
379ill. Palestinian 11, 293, 393
Man, Felix H. 3 photographic portraits and 11, 170
Mardikian, H. 187 portrayal of 292–293, 293ill., 294ill.
Maresha (Beit Guvrin) 213 rural working community vs. 288
market for photographs see audience/market Middle East 185, 186, 197, 198, 199, 215, 227,
Maronites 147ill., 148 229, 237, 238, 243, 251, 261, 348–349, 390
Marrūm, Frītz 173 migration
Martha, house of 216 from rural to urban areas 355–356
Martini, Antonio 273 see also Zionist immigration
Martyrs’ Square (Jaffa) 382, 383ill. Military Lessons of the Arab Rebellion in
Marxism 18 Palestine 1936 364, 366
Marx, Karl 351 military operations/interventions
Mary, house of 216 militaristic targeting of urban
Maryland 55 spaces 360, 368
Mashad 251 see also Jaffa
Mass of 14 July (Bastille Day) 134 military photography/photographers
massacres 340, 342 viii–ix, 186, 192, 295–298, 296–297ill.,
Massey, W.T. 296 299ill.
Mass of Joan of Arc 134 see also aerial photography
Matson, Edith 37 Millet system (Ottoman Empire) 270, 276,
Matson, Eric 36, 72, 74, 75, 87, 90, 92–93ill., 278–279, 302, 303
102 minimum wages 355–356, 356n38
Matson (G. Eric and Edith) Photograph Ministry of Public Education (France) 199
Collection (Library of Congress) 397 Mirzeoff, Nick 343–344
meaning-making Mispah 215
in cultural diplomacy 16–17, 24 missionary activities
technological developments/social media transformation of work by
and 18 photography 102
Mecca 8n33 see also missionary photography;
méconnaissance, photographic 342 proselytisation
Médebielle, Pierre, photographic missionary photography, impact on/as study
collection 101, 103n18, 135–136ill. for social history of Palestine 70, 74,
Medina 8n33 99–100, 109, 128–131, 148, 149
Megiddo (Majīdū) 215 mobility of photographers 4
Meier, Rabbi 320 modernity/modernisation 1, 6
Melkites see Greek-Catholics; Saint Anne for Arab/Palestinian 71, 74, 380, 391, 392,
the Melkites 393ill.
Mercantile Bank 318 see also Arab renaissance
Merrill, Selah 45n24 biblification, class formation and 20, 24,
Mesopotamia 51 294–295
Métral, Jean 116 biblification, Orientalism and/vs. 6–7,
Mexico 56 9–10, 11, 12, 284, 294, 302, 393
Michelangelo 279, 279n36 see also B̔ iblical Moderne’

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422 Index
modernity/modernisation (cont.) Samaritan community 117, 309

colonial 282, 292, 348, 380 shrines and places of worship 116–117,
middle-class and 6, 218, 293–295, 294ill. 118–119ill.
pillarisation and 277 social dynamics 112, 113, 121, 122
Swedish 69, 91, 92 urban landscape/life/identity 112, 113
technological developments 7, 15, 18, 391 women in 121–127, 123–127ill.
Money, Lady 37, 39ill. Nablus Road (Jerusalem) 259
Money, Sir Arthur Wigram (Chief Nachenius Tjeenk (investment bank, The
Administrator of Palestine, Netherlands) 267n5
1918–1919) 37, 39ill., 43, 44ill., 58 Nahārayīm 243
Moorish identity 127 power station 238, 241–242, 242ill.
Morris, William 372 Nahda (Arab renaissance)/Arab
Moses 134 progress 169, 186, 188, 275, 294, 377, 379,
see also Nabī Mūsā 382–384, 385ill., 387
Mosque of Jaffa 383ill. Najla (niece of Chalil Raad) 192
mosques 119ill. Nakba (1948) 1, 158, 173, 188, 345n11, 352, 390
Mount Ebal (ʿAybāl) 309 Nāqūra (northern Palestine) 239, 242
Mount Gerizim (Jarizīm) 233, 309 Nashāshībīs 137
Mount Gilboa 215n103 Nassar, Issam 1–2, 6–7, 14, 33, 74, 284, 291,
Mount of Olives 9ill., 40, 374 313, 391, 393
Mount Scopus 320 Nås (western Dalarna, Sweden) 76, 76n46
Muelford, Mr. 241 National Arab Exhibitions (Jerusalem,
Muller, Annie 189ill., 190, 191ill. 1933/1934) 377, 377–380, 379ill.
murals 343ill. National Geographic Magazine 350
Mushabek, George, photographic album biblification in 312–315, 317
of vii, 14, 158, 160, 173, 175–178, 175ill., contributors 229, 233–234, 258
177ill., 179–180ill., 180 see also Keith-Roach, Major Edward;
Muslim League 296 Whiting, John D.
Muslim orphans 43, 45, 48, 51, 57, 58 history/background 310–312
Muslim Quarter (Jerusalem) 237, 239 photographers/correspondents 317, 322
Muslims, in biblical framework 314, 315 see also Williams, Maynard Owen
Musrara (Arab neighbourhood, readership/audience 311, 318, 320
Jerusalem) 69, 77 support to British colonialism/pro-
Mussolini, Benito 285 imperial coverage 316–317, 318,
Mutafian, Claude 395 320–321, 332
Mutgal el Fiez, Shaykh 246ill. National Geographic Museum
(Washington DC) 316n22
Nabī Mūsā (Prophet Moses Festival) ix, 134, National Geographic Society, library and
138–139ill., 205, 210ill., 248, 280, 281ill., photographic archive vii, 15, 310,
296, 296ill., 335ill. 322–336, 323–325ill., 328ill., 335ill., 391,
Nabī Rūbīn viii 392
Nablus 113ill., 117ill., 215, 233, 309, 380, 381 nationalism/nationalist identification 4–5,
anthropological and photographic study 150, 274–275, 274n23, 296, 302, 349
on 100, 111–127 National Library of Israel 360
earthquake 116, 119ill., 121 National Socialism 292
economic activity/life 115–116, 117–119ill., National Trust 372
118, 120ill., 121 Nazareth 147ill., 187, 210, 241, 323ill., 352,
map 114–115ill. 369

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Nazis/Nazism 133n80, 176–177, 177ill. biblification and/vs. 10–13, 284,

NDP see Assumptionists of Notre-Dame de 289–290, 302
France Orientalist and folklorist representation
Negev 106 of women 123–127, 123–127ill.
The Netherlands 268, 270, 279 Orientalism (E. Said) 199, 199n54, 337,
pillarisation (verzuiling) 269–270, 346–347
276–279, 279–280, 302 Orientalist photography/
Netherlands Institute for the Near East photographers 290, 344, 349, 350, 369
(NINO) 268, 270n15, 395 Oron-Orushkes, Zvi 3
see also Scholten, Frank Orphanage Committee to the Land of
Neveu, Norig 14, 260, 271, 391, 393, 395 Israel 58n49
New City (Jerusalem) 168, 285, 372–374, 379 orphans/orphanages 33, 352
New Gate (Jerusalem) 382 fundraising/donors 48, 49–51, 55, 61
New Testament 14, 202, 210 Muslim orphans 43, 45, 51, 57, 58
New York 382 see also Christian Herald Orphanage
Nihad, Mehmed 378 Oscar II (King of Sweden, r. 1872–1907) 67
NINO see Netherlands Institute for the Near Ottoman clocktower (Jaffa) 381
East Ottoman clocktower (Jerusalem) 373,
Nissan Huts (British military base, 375ill.
Sarafand) 298, 299ill. Ottoman Empire
Nochlin, Linda 199n54 end of Ottoman rule vii, ix, 1, 3, 163,
nomads 110, 111, 314 205n84, 266, 315, 316, 390
non-professional photography/ Tanzimat 186, 270, 294, 299
photographers see amateur photography/ see also Millet system
photographers Ottoman photographers/photography 51,
Norris, Jacob 363 148, 159, 160, 192
North America 6, 66, 350 see also Raad, Chalil
Notre-Dame de France see Assumptionists of Ottoman Turks 341ill.
Notre-Dame de France outings 82ill., 141, 143ill.
Nuwayhiḍ, ʿAjāj 378
̔The Pageant of Jerusalem’ (E. Keith-Roach,
Odessa 2 National Geographic) 317, 319–321, 327,
Okkenhaug, Inger Marie 13, 42, 48, 392, 393 329ill., 335ill.
Old City (Jerusalem) 237, 285, 320, 353, Palace Hotel (Jerusalem) 378–379, 379ill.,
354ill., 372–374, 387 379–380n53
panoramic photographs 9ill., 373–374, Palästine: 300 Bilder (Landauer) 6
375ill., 376ill., 382, 387 Palestine
Old City Walls (Jerusalem) 285, 373–374 biblical image of 380, 382
̔An Old Jewel in the Proper Setting’ see also biblification (of photography)
(C.W. Whitehair, National Geographic, British and Zionist imagery of 377
October 1918) 316 destruction of see Nakba
Old Yishuv 3, 205, 352 first photograph of 1
Olympics (Germany, 1936) 158, 160, 173, occupation/colonisation see British
175–178, 175ill., 177ill. colonialism; British Mandate; Zionist
Oriental Christianity 100 colonisation/colonialism
orientalisation 292, 300 shift in representation of 392
Orientalism 188, 198–204, 218, 227, 243–244, Palestine Archaeological Museum (now
261, 289–290, 346–347 Rockefeller Museum, Jerusalem) 248

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424 Index
Palestine Exploration Fund (PEF) 397 Petra 106, 197, 238, 239, 240ill.

Palestine Museum, digitisation of family philanthropy 192
albums 18–20 American 13, 34, 59, 60
Palestine Office of the Zionist see also humanitarian aid
Organization 205 Philippines 311, 317
Palestine Post (newspaper) 173n15 Philistines 315
Palestine in Transition (exhibition, Frank Phillips, Melanie 343
Scholten) 280, 284 photo albums
Palestine-Zionist conflict 69n11, 258, 261, as sources of historical study 157–160
359, 377 see also family portraits/albums; travel
Palestinian Arab Society 248 photographic albums
representation and evolution of 131–148 photographed events, event of photography
Palestinian indigeneity/identity 314–315 vs. 326–327, 331
Palestinian nationalism 275, 296 photographers
Palestinian photography/photographers 6, mobility of 4
157, 186, 230, 369–370, 390–391 subjectivity of 333
see also Jawhariyya, Wāsīf; Luci, Julia; photographical instability, see also
Mushabek, George; Raad, Chalil interpretation of photographic collections
Palestinians photographic collections
American Colony and 243 accessibility/censorship of 195–196n35,
biblification of 127ill., 201ill., 202–204, 197, 260, 345, 395
211, 212ill., 284, 312, 313, 314–315 disappeared/looted 195–197, 259–260
coverage by National Geographic editing of 260–261
312–315, 317 see also decolonisation of photography
hummus dish and 353, 355 interpretability of 17, 260–261, 353, 368,
shift in self-perception of 18, 360 370
violence against 340, 342–343, 343ill., ̔truth value’ 15, 342, 344, 346–347,
345, 347 349, 350
see also Arab community/Arabs threat of political and ideological
Palestinian society, representation of conflicts to 260–261
evolution of 131–148 photographic equipment/techniques 7,
Palestinska dagar (Swedish travel book) 70, 61, 108
83 photographic instability 17
Palmach troops 173n15 see also t̔ ruth’ value of photographs
Palmer, Ely E. 247, 249ill., 250–251 photographic reproduction 360, 361,
Palmer, George 249ill. 386–387, 392
Palmyra 251–259, 253ill., 255ill., 257ill. photographs, as primary sources for
Palphot (commercial studio) 4 study 390
panoramic photographs 360 photography
Jerusalem 373–374, 375–376ill., 382, 387 accessibility of medium/technique 8,
Pappé, Ilan 345n11 10, 198
Paramount Photo 169 entwinement with/serving
parks 384, 385ill. colonialism 15, 20, 188, 198–203,
Pasha of Jerusalem (J. Power) 318 205–206, 219, 289, 332, 333–334
Passover 233, 309 scientific approaches to 368, 386
Paulus Hospiz 103n18 see also École biblique et
PEF see Palestine Exploration Fund archéologique française de
Pennsylvania Hotel (New York) 250 Jérusalem
Persians 315 Picturesque Palestine (Capt. Charles
Peters, John 213 Wilson) 19ill.

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Index 425
Pijpelijntjes (Jacob Israël de Haan) 270 Protestant missions/missionaries 69, 72

pilgrims/pilgrimage 108, 134, 137, 138–139ill., photographic collections, Catholic vs.
176, 237, 270 Protestant 130–131n71
pillarisation (verzuiling, see also American Colony; Christian
compartmentalisation) 269–270, Herald Orphanage; Swedish Jerusalem
276–279, 279–280, 302 Society; Swedish School
pilots 165ill. Protestants/Protestant community 277, 283
places of worship see shrines/places of protests see demonstrations
worship Prudential Insurance Company 238, 241,
PLO Information Office (Australia) 17 242, 243
Plumer, Lord Herbert (High Commissioner to Prussian Court 190, 193ill.
Palestine) 66, 68ill., 178 Puerto Rico 311
policemen 324, 326, 327, 328ill., 383ill. Purim parade 352
policy-making, photography and 17
political conflicts/turbulence Qasim, Samih 340
threat to photographical collections 17, Qatar Digital Library 360
260–261 qirāb (water bags), preparation of 117, 120ill.
see also archives Quaker missionary education 42n15
political events/situation, missionaries/ Quijano, Anibal 348
missionary photography and 132–134,
135–136ill. Raad, Anīs 190
Pooyar, Geertje 268, 269n8, 271n17, 272, Raad, Chalil (Khalīl Raʿad) vii, 3, 4, 101, 109,
278, 280 185n1, 189ill., 191ill., 394
population movement/exchanges 51, archives of 189, 194–198
274n23 background/career 185–186, 190–194,
Port of Jaffa 269ill., 275ill., 365 192, 193ill.
portrait photography 51, 106, 132ill., 141ill., collaboration with John Krikorian 192,
158, 208ill., 209ill., 270, 285, 286ill., 192n31, 195ill.
290ill., 321 community/philanthropical
middle class 11, 170, 293ill. work 192–193
women 122–127, 123–127ill., 329ill., 335ill. exhibitions 187
see also family portraits/albums; Luci, exile 194–195
Julia looted photographs 195, 260
Port of Tel Aviv 365 marketing 187–188, 190n24, 192,
Power, Jane 318 192n25,n29,n31, 193ill., 195ill., 196ill.,
prayer 119ill. 206, 211, 211ill., 216
Press and Publication Office (Jaffa) 380 photographic collection 192n32, 195ill.,
primary schools see Swedish School 196ill., 197–198, 197n41, 321, 352, 376, 391
Princeton University 382 archaeological photography 14, 186,
private schools 67, 78, 78n57 197, 211–217, 214ill., 217ill, 220
processions ix, 107, 146–147, 147ill., 205, daily life photography 185,
210ill., 244–245, 246ill. 200–201ill., 204, 206–209ill.
professional photography/ ethnographic photography 186,
photographers 161 204–205, 206–209ill.
Pro-Jerusalem Council 236 military photography viii–ix, 186,
Pro-Jerusalem Society 12, 320, 371, 372, 192, 284n54
373 response to biblical/Holy Land/colonialist
propaganda 129, 176, 203, 205, 316, 380 photography 24, 188, 204–211, 219
proselytisation, humanitarian aid and 45, studio/shop 7n25, 186ill., 191ill., 192,
58, 59n49, 61, 67, 74 192n27, 193–194ill., 195, 198

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426 Index
Raad, George 190n21, 191ill., 195n34 Romans 315

Raad, Ruth 190n21, 191ill., 192n29, 195n34, romanticisation of photography see
198 biblification (of photography);
Rachel’s Tomb 215 Orientalism
Rachmann (apprentice) 5 Rosary Sisters 112n48, 145–146
racial violence 347 photographic collection 99n10, 101,
RAF see Royal Air Force 103n18, 145–146ill.
Rafflovich, André 300 Rosh Hanikra Kibbutz 352
Rafflovich, Yeshayahu 3–4 Rothenberg, Tamar 310–311, 317–318
Rafīdiyyā 309 ̔The Route Over Which Moses Led The
raids, staged 253ill., 256–257, 256n48, 257ill. Children of Israel Out of Egypt’
Ramallah 169, 194, 207ill., 248, 291 (F.E. Hoskins, National Geographic) 312
Rancière, Jacques 350 Rowe, Alan 215n106
Raʾuf Pāshā (Governor of Jerusalem) 161, Royal Air Force (RAF) 352, 382
162ill. scheme of air control 362–364, 366
Raz, Guy 260 Royal Geographic Society (London) 310
Rebecca 315 Royal Melbourne Institute for
record keeping see archives Technology 18
Red Crescent 72, 235 Rubin, Avi 203n69, 218
Red Cross 34n6 Ruppin, Arthur 205
refugees rural class, urban-rural divide 24, 258, 276,
Arab Palestinian 148, 149ill., 158 284, 285, 288, 289, 294
Jewish 177 rural communities, migration to urban
religious events areas 355–356
photos of 128, 134–137, 137ill. Russia 56, 67
Christmas 43, 44ill., 46, 49ill. Russian Revolution (1917–1923) 248
Easter viii, ix, ixill., 43, 81, 82ill. Rutenberg, Avraham 241
Nabī Mūsā ix, 134, 138–139ill., 205, Rutenberg, Pinchas 238, 241, 242, 242ill., 243
210ill., 281ill., 296ill., 335ill.
see also celebrations and ceremonies Sābā, Nāṣir 187
reproduction of photographs 360, 360–361, Sabūnjī, Dāwūd 5, 7n25, 187
386–387, 392 La Sacra Bibbia (Antonio Martini) 273
Reuters 318 Safed 190
La Revue Biblique (journal, EBAF) 98, 98n8, Ṣāfiyya, Ḥannā 5, 260, 376
99, 101, 110, 111 Saʿid, Būlus 198
Rhodes, Captain Arthur 9ill. Said, Edward 10, 199, 199n54, 337, 346–347
Riffier, F. Jules 140ill. sailors 297ill., 301ill.
riots (Jerusalem) 132–133, 133n80, Saint Anne for the Melkites 103n18, 134, 137,
135–136ill., 248, 296 139, 140ill., 141ill.
Rissās (Rassās) Studio 196 brassband 134, 137ill.
Ritter, Markus 2 see also White Fathers of Saint Anne of
Roberts, Mary 243 Jerusalem
Rockefeller Foundation 56 St. James Monastery 187
Rockefeller Museum (formerly St. Joseph Sisters 99n10, 112, 121, 127
Palestinian Archaeological Museum, St. Stephen’s priory 98n3, 107, 109, 131, 133ill.
Jerusalem) 248 Salesian Fathers of Beit Jimal, photographic
Rodogno, Davide 61 collection 99n10, 101, 103n18, 139,
Rolston, Mrs. 247, 249ill. 142–143ill., 145, 147ill.

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Salfeetie (orphan) 33 photographic collection see Frank

Salim (Jamāl Pāshā’s driver) 166ill., 166n8 Scholten Collection
al-Salt (Jordan) 54 reconciliation of biblical and
Salzmann, Auguste 98, 199 scientific 282, 283
Samaria 113, 215, 215n108, 216, 217ill. taxonomic methodology 15, 266,
Samaritans/Samaritan community 11, 12, 271–276, 273ill., 302–303
117, 204, 309 transnational social contexts in
Samuel, Herbert 245 14–15, 276–283, 300
Sanchez Summerer, Karène 14, 260, 271, travels 268, 270
391, 393, 395 School of Handicrafts and Dressmaking
as-Saqqa, Maha 21ill. (American Colony) 74n34
Sara 315 schools 67, 70, 78–79, 78n57, 79n59,
Sarafand 398 80
Sārkīs, Jean 251–252, 252n40, 254–255 school photographs 128, 139–140, 142ill.,
Sarrouf, Theodore 380–382, 383ill., 384ill. 145–148, 145–147ill.
Satia, Priya 362 see also education/educational system;
Saturday of Light Easter parade ix Swedish School
Savignac, Raphaël 105–106, 107, 108, 112, Schorer, Jacob 274, 298
122, 131 Schweiwiller, Staci G. 2
photographic work 125ill., 132ill., 133ill. ̔science of social space’ 368
Savvidès, Miltiades 187n10, 192, 194ill. scientific approaches to photography 282,
Sawabīnī, ʿIsā 5, 7n25, 187 283, 368, 386
Schatz, Boris 204 see also École biblique et archéologique
Schéele, Anna Ekman 75 française de Jérusalem
Schéele, Bishop Knut Henning G. scouts 141, 143ill.
von 73n27, 75 Sébah studio (Istanbul) 218
Schiller, Elli 102n17 secularisation 277
Schmidt school, photographic Seikaly, Sherene 169n12
collection 103n18 ̔seizing’ of photography 349–350
scholarly photography 109 Sela, Rona 14, 75, 260, 391, 394
see also École biblique et archéologique Sellin expedition 215
française de Jérusalem Sellin, Prof. 217ill.
Scholten, Frank vii Sephardic community 283
background/career 267–271, 274, Sephardi Orphanage (Jerusalem) 58n49
277–278, 286, 292 servants 328, 330
Catholicism confession/ settlements see Zionist settlement
network 269, 269n8, 278, 280, settler colonialism see Zionist colonisation/
282 colonialism
homosexual orientation and legal settler-colonial photography see Zionist
charges 267, 270, 297, 302, 303 photography/photographers
relation with/understanding of rural sexuality 274, 303, 394
communities 285, 302 sexual minorities 274
biblification in/of work viii, 14–15, 279, see also homosexuality
286–288, 286–287ill., 300 Shakaa, Bassam 22ill.
documentary approach of 268–269 Shamir, Milette 35
exhibitions 280, 282, 282n46, 284 Shamseddine (police man) 166ill., 166n8
illustrated Bible 266 Shangri La Museum for Islamic Art, Design &
modernity and 300 Culture (Hawaii) 251, 252n40, 254

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428 Index
Sharaf, Ahmed (police Spafford, Horatio Gates 34, 229, 237

commissioner) 166ill., 166n8 Spafford Vester, Bertha 34n6, 35, 40, 51, 55,
Sharon, Ariel 342 57–58, 73, 167n9
Shaw, Wendy M.K. 61 Spanish-American War (1898) 311, 316
Shechem (Nablus) 233 staged images 341, 341ill., 348
Sheehi, Stephen 12, 15, 24, 51, 218, 288, 333, staged raids/kidnapping 253ill., 256–257,
337, 391, 393 256n48, 257ill.
Sheikh Bader vii state schools 78, 79n59, 80
Sheikh Jarrah neighbourhood Stavenow-Hidemark, Elisabeth 86
(Jerusalem) 238 Storrs, Ronald 236, 370–371
Shepherd Hotel (Cairo) 239 strikes 134, 356, 380
Shihabi, Abdel Kader 324ill. studio portraits 158, 167, 176, 181, 199, 230ill.,
shrines/places of worship 116–117, 118–119ill. 284, 377
Siberia 248 in traditional dress 169, 170ill., 204,
Simon the Tanner, house of (Jaffa) 210 290ill., 291
Sinai 197, 312, 340n1 subjects of photographs
Sinai Peninsula 361 emancipation of 349
Sisters of Sion/Zion, photographic photographs seen from perspective
collection 99n10, 101, 103n18, 107, 144ill., of 333–334, 335ill., 336
145 rights of 345, 346
Sittuna Maryam (festival) ix Sudan 318
SJS see Swedish Jerusalem Society Suez Canal 361
SMC see Supreme Muslim Council Suez (Suwās) 245
social background see class/class dynamics Summer Resort Company 382
social change 128, 131, 148, 267 Sumner, George Heywood 301ill.
social Christianity 73 Sunhut (shelter of Swedish School,
social dynamics 13, 45, 108 Jerusalem) 87, 89ill.
of Nablus 111–112, 113, 121, 122, 131, 303 Supreme Muslim Council (SMC) 378
social history, (missionary) photography as Sūriyya al-Janūbiyya (Syrian
study for vii, 6, 15, 16–17, 24, 70, 74, 109, newspaper) 248
128–131, 148, 149, 266–267 Svenska Jerusalemsföreningen see Swedish
socialism/socialists 277 Jerusalem Society
social media platforms 18 Sweden 233, 258
social space, science of 368 cultural diplomacy 13, 87, 90, 91, 94
social status see class/class dynamics missions/representation in Palestine 34,
Society for the Protection of Ancient 67, 69, 69n11, 70, 80, 92
Buildings (Great Britain) 372 role of photography in 72, 92
soldiers see military photography/ see also American Colony; Swedish
photographers Jerusalem Society; Swedish School
Solomon, J. 169 Swedish-American relations 71, 75
Solomon’s Pools 241 Swedish modernity 69, 91, 92
Sorenson 244 Swedish-American humanitarianism see
South America 54 American Colony
South Asian troops see Gurkhas Swedish Jerusalem Society (SJS) 66, 67,
souvenirs 4, 10, 36, 370, 381 395, 397
Spafford, Anna T. 34, 35, 229, 237 American Colony and 13, 73, 74, 75–76,
Spafford Children Centre (hospital, 78n54
Jerusalem) 36, 74n34 fundraising/donors 70, 82

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Index 429
hospital (Bethlehem) 67, 70, 73 Tanzimat Reforms (Ottoman Empire) 186,

membership journal 70, 74, 80, 81, 82 270, 294, 299
school see Swedish School Tarragon, Jean-Michel de 100, 101, 102–104,
Swedish photographers 102n17, 104ill.
sources of inspiration 82, 87, 90, 92–93 taxonomies/taxonomisation
see also American Colony Photo ethnographic/ethno-confessional 274,
Department; Larsson, Hol Lars 276
(Lewis); Matson, Eric of Frank Scholten see Scholten, Frank
Swedish School (Jerusalem) 13, 42, 48, gender and sexuality 274
84ill., 392, 394 Kunsthistorisches Institute
building/premises/location 69, 83–84, (Florence) 272
86ill., 88ill. technological developments 7
purchase and renovation 71, 75, impact on Biblical and Orientalist
77–78, 77n50–51, 79–81, 81ill., 83, images 15, 391
85ill. meaning-making and 18
connection with Arab community 69 Tehran 251
fundraising/donors/public funding 67, Tel Aviv 5, 250, 269, 280, 290, 290ill., 352, 365
69–70n11, 70, 83, 91, 94 Templars, German 77, 283
Green Hall (soup kitchen) 90–92, 92ill., Temple of Artemis (Jerash) 241
93ill. Temple Mount see Dome of the Rock
hand-coloured photos 87, 89, 89ill., thawb (traditional Palestinian dress) 290ill.,
92ill. 291, 329ill., 335ill.
Herbert Plumer official visit 66, 68ill. see also traditional dress
history/background 67, 69n11, 75 Thiersch, Hermann 213
home economics teaching 91, 92ill. Third Aliyah (1919–1923) 291, 295
language of instruction 69 Thomas Cook 176
outings 82ill. Tiberias 238, 241
pupils 69, 78, 82ill., 83, 84, 85–86ill., 87, Tomb of Absalom 215
88–89ill., 90, 92ill., 94 Tomb of Christ (exhibition) 316n22
Sunhut 87, 89ill. Tomb of the Patriarchs (Hebron) 315
teachers/staff 66–67, 69, 69ill., 71, 82ill., Tomb of the Urn (Petra) 240ill.
85–86ill., 87, 88ill., 89ill., 92ill., 94 Totah, Khalīl 382, 385ill.
welfare and relief work 71, 90–92, 92ill., Toumayan, Josef 187
93ill. tourists 176, 391
Switzerland 270 portraits in traditional dress 169, 178, 291
Sykes-Picot agreement (1916) 5 see also Mushabek, George
Syria 76, 110n38, 137, 210, 227, 234ill., 235ill., Town Planning Commission
241, 248, 268, 295 (Jerusalem) 377n48
Syrian Catholics 147ill., 148 traditional dress 169, 170ill., 178, 204, 290ill.,
Syrian Congress 248 291, 323ill., 325ill., 326, 327–330, 329ill.,
Szulc, Tad 315 333, 335ill.
̔transformative’ photographs 129
Tahboub, Amin (police man) 166ill., 166n8 Transjordan (Trans-Jordan) 106, 109, 110,
Talal (Emir of Transjordan) 244–246, 246ill. 113, 130, 231ill., 240ill., 241, 242ill., 245,
Talbiyya (neighbourhood, Jerusalem) 190 246ill., 248
Tall Al-Naṣaba 213 transnationalism/transnational
Tall Balāta 219 connections 11, 14–15, 276, 300
Tannous, D. 145 Die Transvestiten (Magnus Hirschfeld) 274

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430 Index
travel photographic albums/travelogues 14, urban fabrics

173, 175–178, 175ill., 177ill., 179–180ill., intervention by British in 360, 364–367,
231ill., 238–244, 240ill., 268, 270, 393 367ill., 368, 370–375, 375–376ill.
tribes/tribal life 110, 111, 113 Old city of Jaffa 364, 365–366
see also Bedouins (Bedu); Domaris urbanisation see urban development
troops 295 (planning/renewal/expansion)
see also military photography/ urban landscape
photographers British intervention in 360, 364–367,
̔truth value’ of photographs 15, 342, 344, 367ill., 368, 370–375, 375–376ill.
346–347, 349, 350 depiction/representation of 359–360
see also subjects of photography aerial and panoramic photography/
Tuason, Julie A. 316–317 vue d’ensemble 360, 368–370,
Tuhiwai Smith, Linda 346 371ill., 373–374, 375–376ill., 382,
Tūmāyān, Ḥannā 169 386, 387
Tunisia 216 biblification/British and European
Turkey 4, 56, 227, 274n23 representation 60, 285, 321,
al-Tuwāl, Ibrāhīm, wife of 122, 125ill. 368–369, 374
Tyrrell, Ian 59, 59n53 by Palestine/Arab photographers/
media 360, 376–386, 379ill.,
Umbehr, Otto 3 383–385ill., 387, 392
Umm Tuba (village, Jerusalem Zionist imaging 360n3
district) 335ill. see also urban development (planning/
UNESCO 259 renewal/expansion)
United Nations Conference on International urban planning see urban development
Organization 382 urban progress 393
United States 14, 45, 56, 59, 311 urban renewal see urban development
Jewish migration to 291 urban-rural divide 24, 258, 276, 284, 285,
missions/representation in Palestine see 288, 289, 294
American Colony; Christian Herald Urfa 351
Orphanage
racial violence 347 Vaád Leumi (Jewish National
Swedish-American relations 72, 75 Council) 78n57
̔unstrangering’ object of Vatican 129
humanitarianism 59–60 Vaux, Roland de 98n8
Upham Pope, Arthur 251, 258 veiling 122
Uppsala 77, 78, 79 vernacular photography 158, 179, 181, 349,
Uppsala University 72 376, 390, 391, 394
Uppsala University Library 70n13, 397 see also indigenous photography/
Uranism et Unisexualité (André photographers
Rafflovich) 300 verum factum (Vico) 337, 347, 349, 350
urban affairs 359, 377 verzuiling see pillarisation
urban change see urban development Vester & Co. (American Colony Store,
urban development (planning/renewal/ Jerusalem) 78n54, 251, 258
expansion) 356, 359–360, 370, 392 Vester, Bertha Spafford 34n6, 35, 40, 51, 55,
England 366 57, 73, 167n9
Jaffa 289, 364–367, 367ill., 372, 387 Vester family 232ill.
Jerusalem 12, 236, 285, 289, 370–375, Vester, Jock 244
375–376ill., 384, 385ill. Vester Lind, Anna Grace 247, 249ill.
urban expansion see urban development Via Dolorosa (Jerusalem) 134, 210

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Index 431
Vico, Giambattista 347 W.F. Albright Institute of Archaeological

Victoria (Queen of the United Kingdom, Research 99n10, 232
r. 1837–1901) 199 see also American School of Oriental
Vigouroux, Fulcran Grégoire 273 Research
village landscapes 286, 287ill. White Fathers of Saint Anne of Jerusalem
̔Village Life in the Holy Land’ photographic collection 101, 103n18,
(J.D. Whiting) 314, 315 137–141ill.
villagers 11, 314 see also Saint Anne for the Melkites
Vincent, Louis-Hugues 98n8, 105 Whitehair, Charles W. 316
violence 344–345 White Paper (1939) 237, 238ill., 287
against Palestinians 340, 342–343, Whiting, David 244
343ill., 345, 347 Whiting family 232ill.
racial 347 Whiting, Grace 247, 249ill.
Visages d’Orient (exhibition) 100 Whiting, John D. vii, 14, 228ill., 230ill.,
visual diaries 259 232ill., 236ill.
see also Diary in Photographs background/career 76n43, 229, 232, 233,
Volendam 271n17, 278 234–238, 243, 247
vue d’ensemble (comprehensive picture of in National Geographic 309–310,
landscape) 360, 368, 370, 373, 386 314–315, 317
see also aerial photography; panoramic photographic collection 229
photographs see also Diary in Photos
travels/expeditions 238–244
Wad Syngh (near Petra) 239 Whiting, Mary 237
Wahabie, Asma (orphan) 54 Whiting, Ruth 35, 40, 43, 44ill., 49ill., 237,
Wallace, Edwin 45n24 252n39
Waqf Hotel (Jerusalem) see Palace Hotel Whiting, Wilson 247, 249ill.
War of Independence (1947–1949) 196 Wiegand, Theodor 368n24
war photography see military photography/ Wilde, Oscar 279n38
photographers Williams, Maynard Owen 317, 319, 320
Warren (Pensylvania) 55 background/career 317–318
Washington 319, 332 photographic collection 321, 322–331,
Watenpaugh, Keith 59, 61, 294–295 323–325ill., 328ill., 335ill.
Waters, Major Theodore 34n6 captions 322, 323, 330
wedding ceremonies 244–246, 246ill., 252, relation with Edward Keith-Roach 317,
253ill., 256, 256n48, 257ill., 377 319, 320, 321, 324, 326, 327–328
Wegnar, Armin 341 Williams, Wilbur 56
Weimar Republic 292 Wilson, Capt. Charles 19ill.
Weingarten Orphanage (Jerusalem) 58n49 women
welfare work see humanitarian aid; photography/study of 336
philanthropy Arab/Palestinian/indigenous 123ill.,
Western Europe, Jewish migration to 291 125ill., 201ill., 207ill.
Western governments, furthering usage of Christian 122, 123ill., 124ill.
photographic technology 198 Nablusi women 121–127, 123–127ill.
Western photography/photographers 20, Orientalist and folklorist
199, 203, 284, 344 representation of 123–127,
see also American Colony Photo 123–127ill., 326, 327–330, 329ill., 333
Department; colonialist photography/ sociability of 121–122, 124
photographers; European Women’s Club (Ramallah) 192, 194
photography/photographers women’s education see girls’ education

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432 Index
working/lower class 270, 277 opposition to see Zionist-Palestinian

depiction of 12, 218, 293, 354ill., conflict
355 pillage of Palestinian property 195–197
working conditions 355–356 support from/tensions with British
World War I see First World War Mandate Government 241–243,
275–276, 362–363, 380
Yabrūd (Syria) 137 Zionist colonisation/colonialism 163, 173,
Yāffā al-Nāṣariyya 146n87 195, 205, 316, 317, 340, 353
girls’ school 146, 147ill. uprising against 356
Yazūr 286, 287ill. see also Great Revolt; Zionist-
Yishuv 1, 3, 205, 292, 353 Palestinian conflict
YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association, Zionist identity 212
Jerusalem) 67n5, 141, 173, 173n16, 178, Zionist immigration 133n80, 229, 275, 291,
194 295, 296, 363, 365
Zionist Levant Fair (Tel Aviv) 378
Zababdeh 145, 145–146ill. Zionist-Palestinian conflict 69n11, 134, 163,
Zadikow, Arnold 279, 279n37 173, 258, 261, 359, 377
Zananiri, Sary 89, 391, 392, 393, 395 Zionist photography/photographers 1, 2,
zeppelins 352 3–4, 74, 188, 203, 203n69, 340, 344, 359,
Zerin (Jezreel) 323ill. 360
Zionism/Zionists/Zionist movement 112, Zionist propaganda 176, 203, 205, 380
132, 188, 241, 292, 392 Zionist settlement 205, 205n81, 352, 356,
American Colony vs. 242–243 359, 363, 380, 392
cultural diplomacy 280, 292 Zorah 211

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Imaging and Imagining Palestine

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Vincent Lemire (Gustave Eiffel University; Centre de

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/opje

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Sanchez-Summerer, Karene, editor. | Zananiri, Sary, editor.

This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

1 Imaging and Imagining Palestine: An Introduction 1

2 ‘Little Orphans of Jerusalem’: The American Colony’s Christian Herald

3 Swedish Imaginings, Investments and Local Photography in Jerusalem,

4 The Dominicans’ Photographic Collection in Jerusalem: Beyond a

5 Bearers of Memory: Photo Albums as Sources of Historical Study

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

6 Resilient Resistance: Colonial Biblical, Archaeological and

7 Open Roads: John D. Whiting, Diary in Photos, 1934–1939 227

8 Documenting the Social: Frank Scholten Taxonomising Identity in

9 Edward Keith-Roach’s Favourite Things: Indigenising National

10 Decolonising the Photography of Palestine: Searching for a Method in a

11 Urban Encounters: Imaging the City in Mandate Palestine 359

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Figure 0.1 The Surrender of Jerusalem, 1917. Lars (Lewis) Larsson

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

0.1 The Surrender of Jerusalem, 1917. Lars (Lewis) Larsson viii

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

8.18 Untitled [French soldiers in Jerusalem], 1921–23. Frank Scholten. UBL_NINO_F_

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Inger Marie Okkenhaug

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Aude Aylin de Tapia

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Karène Sanchez Summerer and Sary Zananiri - 978-90-04-43794-4

Imaging and Imagining Palestine: An Introduction

© Sary Zananiri, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004437944_002

[L]ocal photography would be any photography that represented social

Underscoring Nassar’s argument here is an understanding that analysis of

1 Towards an Understanding of Indigenous Photography in Palestine

The term ‘Indigenous Lens’ was discussed and problematised at length by