The Story of Caesarea Through Time
Words by Ghayad Khatib
Caesarea is not just a city on the shores of the Mediterranean; it is an epic whose chapters are told by the waves of the sea, mimicking the silence of the ruins, and the cry of the wind that sweeps through the cracks in the stones. It is a story that transcends temporal boundaries, where tales of resilience and tragedy intertwine, and testimonies of the civilizations that passed through, leaving their deep marks on this land, are written.
The name of Caesarea is engraved in the books of history as the city born from the womb of the sea and trade, a city that stands as a witness to a glory that does not fade and wounds that do not heal, as if it calls out to every visitor:
“Come closer and hear my stories, for I am an indelible memory.”
Within this scene, a spirit resides, whispering through the silence of the waves: "I am Caesarea, a mirror of history. Between me and the sea, there is a silent pact; I tell the stories, and it hides the secrets." This land, which has witnessed the succession of Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, and Muslims, stands today as a living record of glory and destruction, of revival and defeat, and of a Palestinian dream that continues to pulse despite all that has passed through it.
The story began with the Tower of Straton, the trading colony established by Straton, the Phoenician ruler of Sidon, in the late 4th century BCE. It was a crossing point between the waves of the sea and the civilizations of the land, until Herod the Great arrived between 22 and 10 BCE to reshape it and turn it into a Roman masterpiece named Caesarea, in honor of Emperor Augustus. During Herod's reign, the port of Caesarea became an engineering marvel, as modern excavations revealed its submerged remnants, evidence of the Romans' brilliance in marine construction. This port was the lifeblood of the city, which became an important economic and cultural hub during the Roman and Byzantine periods.
Caesarea witnessed pivotal transformations in its history. In the 3rd century CE, it became a scientific and religious center for Christianity, thanks to figures like Origen and his famous library, as well as the production of the first list of Palestinian cities, "Onomasticon" by Eusebius of Caesarea. The city also had the honor of being a witness to the conversion of the first non-Jewish man to Christianity, as recorded in the "Acts of the Apostles."
With the arrival of 640 CE, Caesarea entered a new era under Islamic rule. It was the last Palestinian city to be captured by the Arab armies, and soon became part of the fabric of Islamic civilization. However, this glory was not to last uninterrupted; in 1101 CE, the city was invaded by the Crusaders, who turned it into a military base. Then, in 1265 CE, Sultan Baybars of the Mamluks recaptured it, destroying its fortifications to prevent its use as a base for future invaders.
During the Ottoman era, Caesarea regained some of its vitality when Bosnian refugees settled there in 1878 after fleeing the Austrian occupation. According to historical accounts, these refugees built twenty stone houses within five months, breathing life back into the place.
By the mid-20th century, Caesarea had become a small Palestinian village, with its residents relying on agriculture, with fields of grains, bananas, and citrus fruits stretching across its land. In the 1945 census, its population stood at 960, most of them Muslims. Despite its small size, the village carried with it a rich history and an uncertain future.
In 1940, just one kilometer from Caesarea, the Zionist colonial project began to take tangible form with the establishment of a new Jewish settlement, Kibbutz Sdot Yam, which served as a base for transferring settler forces into Palestinian lands. With the outbreak of the civil war in Palestine on November 30, 1947, Caesarea stood on the brink of dramatic events that would forever change its face. That year, a village elder, Tawfiq Kadkoda, tried in vain to negotiate a non-fighting agreement with the local Jews, but the attempt was futile as tensions and the ongoing conflict between Arabs and Jews intensified.
In December 1947, the attacks escalated, culminating in the most severe one on January 31, 1948, when a Palestinian group targeted a bus leaving Caesarea, killing two people and injuring six others. This attack proved to be the last straw, hastening the forced displacement of most of the village’s population, who fled to the nearby town of Tantura. However, the Palestinian presence in Caesarea was facing an inevitable fate.
On February 19, 1948, with the occupation of the village by the Haganah, the systematic expulsion of the residents began, as the Zionist forces claimed the land was owned by the Jewish Colonial Association of Palestine, and they feared being forced to leave by the British. In a meticulously planned operation, the homes were destroyed, and properties were looted, completing the Nakba scene by February 20, when 24 homes were destroyed, leaving only 6 homes standing due to a shortage of ammunition. As historian Benny Morris writes in his book The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, the expulsion of Caesarea’s residents was more closely tied to the illegal Jewish immigration than to the civil war itself.
“Caesarea was the first coastal village to have its people expelled according to a pre-planned and organized scheme in 1948.”
This expulsion was part of a systematic operation aimed at eradicating the Palestinian presence in the coastal areas, starting with the mass expulsion in Caesarea, one of many similar operations carried out during the 1948 war. Despite the continuous attempts to cling to the land, the Palestinians faced unbearable cruelty.
As events accelerated, the destruction of Caesarea was part of a broader policy to erase Palestinian identity, where the goal was not only to seize the land but also to obliterate the memory of its people and their cultures. Oral narratives collected by historians from survivors describe these moments as a tragic turning point, where families found themselves displaced, homeless, and landless. Even the Sssafi and Sidawn Bedouin tribes, who lived in the sand dunes between Caesarea and Pardes, left the area that same month, adding to the list of displaced people.
The cruelty extended beyond physical destruction to an attempt to erase everything related to Palestinian identity in Caesarea. As Yoram Kaniuk describes in his book The 1948 War: "We saw the Bosnians fleeing, dragging their belongings across the sand, their heads held high after we expelled them." These words mirrored a bitter truth, where Palestinians were forced to leave their land, and the expulsion became part of the memory of a nation, echoing through generations.
Under these harsh circumstances, the economic significance of Caesarea declined after the British began expanding the railroads in Palestine, weakening its status as an economic hub. By the mid-1940s, the population of Caesarea had significantly decreased, estimated at around 960 people in 1945, with 930 Muslims and 30 Christians. Despite this, there was still something to be remembered of the village's identity, as it spanned 18 dunams used for citrus and banana cultivation, while 1,202 dunams were dedicated to grain farming.
Through this organized destruction and forced expulsion, Caesarea became part of the unforgettable Palestinian history, a symbol of displacement that was not merely the loss of land, but the erasure of memory, the beginning of a story that has not yet ended. Today, the ruins of Caesarea stand as a silent witness to the Nakba of its Palestinian inhabitants. The ancient port, the Roman theater, and parts of the wall have all transformed into a modern tourist destination, but beneath them lies the pain of the past. The only mosque in the village did not escape this erasure; the occupation turned it into a bar and a place for drinking alcohol, prohibiting prayers within or near it.
In the material fabric of the city, stories hide that cannot be seen with the naked eye, but they breathe in every corner, in every stone, and in every breath of Caesarea’s air. I could feel those buried memories within the folds of time when I visited the city, for history was not simply present as it was, but woven into the details of the place, pulsing between the walls and the ruins. Caesarea was not merely an archaeological site, but rather a continuing narrative, telling of an unyielding hope and a history that beats with life despite attempts to erase it. This land was never empty, but a host to the momentum of successive civilizations, each stone, each passage, carrying the fragrance of those never-ending tales. Caesarea reminds us every day that history does not merely get told, but tells itself, never ceasing to speak despite all the efforts to erase it. Every corner whispers with the power of the past, pulsating with a life that cannot be folded, forever remaining a testament to generations that came before, each one leaving its mark on this place, which still reminds us of their impact, as if the city itself were telling us:
“I was here, and I still am, and I will remain.”
