Photo: Dr. Al-Nabari as a graduate student, in his chemistry lab at the Hebrew University.
By Dr. Muhammad Al-Nabari
I am a Bedouin. I grew up herding goats. My parents are illiterate and I’m one of fifteen children. This may sound like the distant past, but it is not. The fact that I am writing these lines today – writing! – attests to the amazing transformations that I’ve experienced over the last thirty years, made possible entirely by education.
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I am a Bedouin and I hold a doctorate in chemistry. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’d always been a good student. When I was fourteen, my life changed dramatically. My eldest brother, who never had the opportunity to earn a higher education, decided to support me and send me to a top-notch high school. There was nothing in the Negev. Anyone serious about pursuing an education had to travel north. I was sent to Jatt, which was considered one of the best schools.
The first day of school, the English teacher asked me, “Tell me about your village.” I was silent. I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t have a village, only an encampment. He mistook my silence for ignorance and shouted, “What are you even doing here? Did you come all the way from the south to sit silently?” His words were sharp, they hurt. I was determined to prove myself.
I worked hard, fully dedicating myself to my studies. I shared an apartment with classmates. It was like living in the dorms, but we were teenagers. At that age, you either grow up fast or wander. I matured a lot; it was a wonderful period in my life. I visited my family once a month. Friday was our day off, but I couldn’t make the round trip in a single day. I’d skip class on Thursday and spend the day traveling by bus. I’d have a few precious hours and spend the night. By early Friday morning I’d be back on the road, heading back north.
I was set on attending university. In eleventh grade I took the psychometric exam and scored well. But I needed money. After graduating high school with top marks, I spent a year working in agriculture. Eleven, twelve hours of backbreaking work in the sun. I learned Hebrew in the field, and attended English classes at night.
After a year, I had saved enough money and was accepted to Hebrew University to study chemistry.
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I arrived on the Givat Ram campus in the summer of 1989 for an intensive English summer program. I lived in the HaElef dorms, nothing like the dorms you’d find at the University today, shacks really. Tiny rooms with shared bathrooms and sinks – and, as it turned out, leaky roofs. Mid-winter I moved to better dorms.
Chemistry requires a lot of math and physics. I was always good at math, but physics had never been my strong suit. There were about twenty-five Arab students, we became friends and would study together. Later, working in the lab, I had a more diverse group of friends.
I’d go home once a month. The night before, I’d stay up studying until dawn. At 6:30am I’d be outside the University gate to catch the direct bus to Beersheva. The driver knew me, he’d let me off along the highway. The same happened on Sundays; the Jerusalem-bound driver knew to look for me at the side of the road and would pick me up.
Initially, tuition took up half of my father’s income. In my second semester, Hebrew University gave me a scholarship that covered most of my expenses. This alleviated the burden on my family and enabled me to study without working. I needed to earn high enough grades to continue to graduate studies.
I completed my master’s degree in Prof. Yehuda Knobler’s lab, synthesizing peptides using unconventional methods. I could spend entire days in the lab, immersed in my work. But the days I had to teach – I would be wiped out. I knew I’d never teach. My future would be in industry and research.
By that time, I had more flexibility and owned a car. I traveled south more often, maintaining and fostering my ties in the Negev and in Hura. I was involved in founding the first Association of Bedouin Academics. For a decade, I volunteered to head a local non-profit organization that promoted academic education for Bedouins and opened the first six daycare centers in Hura. We dreamt of establishing a school for excellence.
I spent five wonderful years at Hebrew University, thriving in its academic eco-system. I grew as a person, I developed as a scientist, and was already becoming a role model in my community. Those were not easy years – Jerusalem and the country were undergoing turmoil. But I found serenity on campus, in the lab. Working together, side by side, is the best way to break down barriers.
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I opted for doctoral studies closer to home, at Ben-Gurion University. It was more like a job. I’d spend the day in the lab, then go home to my wife and children. After completing my doctorate, I joined ChemAgis (today Perrigo) as head of the R&D division. I’d been working on a particular task for six months to no avail. My predecessor had been stumped for four years. I called a colleague from Prof. Knobler’s lab to talk about the problem, and he suggested a different approach, using benzyl chloroformate. As luck had it, he had some in the lab. I drove like a madman – we met mid-way. I raced back to try it out. Eureka! It worked and we beat our Japanese competitors to market. I left industry after only three and a half years, with six patents to my name, and six joint patents.
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Moving back to the Negev was moving home. By then there was a sizable community of Hura residents studying and working. Many were academics. We would get together, talk about ways to improve Hura. It was decided that I should run for head of the local council. It sounded preposterous, but I did – and won! I went on to win three more elections, remaining in office for 14 years.
I was an outsider, with no experience in the public sector. That ended up being to my advantage. I suddenly had access to resources and was in a position to foster partnerships. By then, Hura was a small municipality. It was one of the poorest towns in Israel, with a small municipal budget, rampant crime, and almost no municipal services. Over the course of my terms, I increased municipal tax collection, installed security cameras, opened a municipal hotline, and grew Hura’s budget fourfold. Residents became proud of Hura. But improving the present wasn’t enough – I had to create a better future. Employment and education were key.
I re-established the Association of Bedouin Academics and opened an R&D center for Bedouins. I founded, along with partners, a catering service that employs local women to cook for schools, built a sewage purification plant, and opened a nationwide, Arabic language telephone support center. But the true shift wasn’t merely creating employment opportunities – it was an innovative approach: helping the weakest members of society by developing solutions, rather than merely describing the problem. I transformed Hura into a beta site for testing government programs. We were able to develop and implement programs that demonstrated myriad ways for improving people’s lives.
Most importantly, I was finally able to open the school for scientific excellence that we had dreamt of a decade earlier – the first serving Bedouin students. Thirty years ago, who would have believed that we’d have such a school in the Negev, in Hura? In 2013 students from this school won the gold and silver medals in the First Step to Nobel Prize in Physics competition. Imagine that – students who live in tents without electricity! By the end of my time in office, over 50% of the Bedouin STEM students at Ben-Gurion University were Hura graduates.
I strongly believe that the Bedouins will be, must be, the engine behind the Negev’s development and economic growth. There is huge potential: 80% of the Bedouin population is under the age of 30 and the median age is 17 years old. We are witnessing radical transitions: from tribal belonging to spatial, urban affinity. From sheikh rule to democratic rule. Rather than evolving, we’re accelerating. As any scientist knows, acceleration can lead to instability. But the Bedouin community is brimming with potential. With good education, anything is possible.
I decided against running for a fourth term and am focusing my energy on the national level. I founded two initiatives: Yanabia (Springs), which models five areas of life critical for economic growth, and Desert Stars, which is training the future generation of Bedouin leaders – shifting their thinking to encompass the entire Bedouin community, rather than along tribal lines.
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I am a Bedouin and I am proud. Proud of my heritage and my values – the same values that my father, and my grandfather before him, were raised with. I aspire to pass these values onto my own children, a valuable gift passing through the generations.
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I am a Bedouin and I am a leader – leading my community into the 21st century. I’m proud of my accomplishments thus far, and am excited for the challenges that lie ahead. I will strive, struggle, and succeed. I know I can do it – after all, I am a Hebrew University alumnus!
Photo: Dr. Al-Nabari (left) celebrating an international sustainable development project with the former Minister of Agriculture, Mr. Yair Shamir and prof. Michael Ben-Eli (2nd and 3rd from left).