Volunteers with the International Solidarity Movement are encouraged to write personal reflections about the work they engage in with Palestinian communities, the events they experience, and the people they meet. These journals offer the human context often missing in traditional reports or journalism. These articles represent the author’s thoughts and feelings and not necessarily those of the International Solidarity Movement.
After visiting the family of Yusuf Abumariya we headed to the house of another family. We were served tea and fresh fruit and before we were able to fully get the gentleman’s name and story, Ahmed, one of our local contacts got a call that Musa’s house had been teargassed and that his brother was in a car accident. We gave our shukrans and immediately ran out the door.
We found Musa’s sister and others frantically cleaning the house with soap and water, eyes tearing and gas hanging heavily in the air. Apparently the family was sitting in their garden on the side of the house when Jeish rolled by and shot two canisters of teargas at the house. One of the volunteers who was staying in the house went after them.
We thought about splitting up, half staying behind and the others going up to the main road to document any military activities, but our feet did the voting and we all ended up on the main road. What unfolded before our eyes is still inexplicably absurd. The main street of Beit Ummar was under seige by a Hummer, two smaller jeeps, and a platoon of young soldiers. It looked like a scene out of a war movie.
It was’t clear what was going on. Soldiers were letting some cars through and turning others away. Old women held grandchildren’s hands a little tighter as they walked through the street. One thing was for sure, the soldiers were in town and their presence was making people very uneasy.
One of the Humvees crashed into a taxi causing 1000 shekels worth of damage. The cab belonged to Ahmed’s brother and he was staying with some more of our folks trying to get some answers. We managed to fight fear and walk by the Jeish and through them to assess the situation.
Up ahead Jeish were rolling deeper into town and taunting shebab into wargames. Young soldiers took their positions, tucked safely behind the armor of their jeeps. They rolled passed old ladies who sat on their stoops gazing at this mini-invasion through tired eyes.
This carried on for about two hours. Jeish changed positions, held positions, talked into their walkie talkies and stood by buildings and in little alleys. In packs of four or at times in pairs. They reminded me of me and my friends playing G.I.Joe as kids in Riverside Park.
Their opponent, mighty as mice, were shebab. Those teenagers who defied their parents orders to go inside and stay out of trouble. Los que buscan problemas. Those who find dignity in never backing down to an enemy with far more superior equipment and orders to shoot. For two hours the Jeish deliberated and comiserated about how many times they would shoot rubber bullets at kids who scurried back and forth, drawn into the wargames, proving an uncertain sense of manhood in the face of hate.
Eventually, the Jeish retreated. They may have received orders to, or maybe they realized the absurdity of their existance -shooting rubber-coated metal bullets at kids who threw stones and slung them with makeshift slinghsots. But more realistically they were ordered to retreat, because men so entrenched in the work of occupation rarely realize the absurdity of it. My audible comments about how pathetic it was for a bunch of young men to position themselves and shoot at children was rejected with a perfect American-english “Could you please shut the fuck up.” I have heard young Zionist Americans make sure to serve their compulsory military service in Israel in order to ensure their citizenship and glory.
In the end the shebab won the Battle of Beit Ummar. Every time the children face off against the military, and cast stones, and suffer no casualties, they win. The occupation grows a little weaker, perhaps not in a material sense, but certainly in the spiritual. The young shebab regain a little bit of dignity -a dignity that is at stake under the heels of occupation. Let’s be clear, stone throwing is not encouraged by the majority of the adults. Many scuffles break out between paternal adults and rebellious youth, but boys will be boys. And if Jeish will be Jeish, Shebab will be Shebab.
In the meantime, Jeish detained the taxi driver, we rushed to the D.C.O [detention center] to await his release, and returned to the village with him for another cup of tea.
Friday, July 14: Things are bad in Gaza. Very bad. Not to mention of course in Lebanon, where Yassine’s, my husband’s, family lives, in the Wavel refugee camp in Baalbeck, Hezbollah stronghold.
They, of course, along with all of Lebanon, are blockaded by air and sea, so Yassine has sort of become a double-refugee now: he can go back neither to Palestine, nor Lebanon. It brings back very bad memories for him, having grown up during the civil war there, and narrowly escaping mass slaughter at the hands of Syrian-backed, Israeli-advised, Phalangists in the Tel Zaatar camp, where his family originally lived, and where his uncle went missing.
Of course, what’s happening in Lebanon provides some uncertain relief for Gaza residents, where 82 Palestinians have been killed in the past 12 days, 22 of them children.
I was finally able to reach my Aunt…they had not gotten electricity in 24 hours when I spoke to her; people have been standing in long lines to purchase candles.
And of course, Rafah is still closed; 8 people have died waiting to get home. Egypt, following Israeli orders, is refusing to open the gates.
The nights are turning into days, and days into nights, as the sonic booming shocks them awake, shattering windows and terrorizing the population. The stress is taking its toll, but to quote my Aunt, though they are not living with ease, they are living with resolve.
Medicines are also running dangerously low. And to add to the misery, Israeli tanks have blockaded northern Gaza, where my Aunt lives, and where our house is, from southern Gaza, where my 84 year old grandmother lives on her own.
I think of them every day. I still cringe when I see news helicopters; or fireworks; or thunder; Today we had a thunderstorm, and the thunder was so loud it scared Yousuf, who thought it was gunfire and shelling, as I tried to assure him he was safe. But I wondered, inside of myself, does safe have an address?
Outside the Faisal Hostel opposite Damascus Gate/Bab’al-‘Amoud, there appeared to be about one cop for every two Palestinians. There were regular police, along with the dreaded and despised Special Units and Border Police, who are well-known for “breaking” pesky troublemakers. They looked like they were prepared for war.
There is a small square where Palestinian men who can’t get into Al-Aqsa often pray on Fridays. It had been taken over by some police on horseback who were forcing anyone standing around to move. The horses were defecating all over the square, making it impossible to pray and it seemed to be almost a deliberate tactic by the authorities to add insult to injury by not letting the Palestinians pray even outside the walls of the Old City. Horseshit was everywhere and people were complaining. Sunbula and I began taking pictures of the mounted special forces strutting around. I walked up to one of the police on horseback and calmly asked him, “Hey, people pray here, are you going to clean up this shit?”
Of course I didn’t expected to get trampled for mouthing off to a cop, but he grabbed the reins and jerked the horses head so that it hit my head and the horse barged straight into me causing me to fall over backwards and under the horse, which stepped on my foot.
Somehow I wasn’t seriously hurt. Sunbula began screaming at the cops and about four of them jumped on him and started pushing and hitting him even as he tried to photograph them misbehaving. We were both screaming at them to leave us alone and fortunately some guy showed up snapping pictures which I think caused them to stop being violent. We left as soon as we could get away.
We were really shaken and stopped on a grassy area under the wall of the old city to rest and make a few phone calls and decide what to do from there. There were men gathered there to pray with a volunteer imam and volunteer muezzin so it was a small consolation at least for us. After crying for a little while together and for this stupid, messed-up war, all the people who have died, and the inhumanity of Zionism as it convinces the whole world that it is the victim, we decided to continue our errands.
We went to the post office and noticed about 50 cops surrounding some men praying in the street from all sides. It may have been a demonstration or maybe it was because they couldn’t go to the mosque to pray. The street was cordoned off by barriers and every male going in and out was having and ID check and being searched – a most ridiculous sight…
The post office in East Jerusalem was closed so we decided to go to the one in West Jerusalem. The surreality of the contrast between Arab East Jerusalem and Jewish West Jerusalem was even more astonishing than it usually is. There was hardly a cop in sight in this upscale neighborhood filled with American tourists sporting Israeli Defence Force tshirts. We passed one girl wearing a tshirt which read “Everybody Loves Jewish Girls,” and “Don’t worry, Be Jewish.” A bunch of teenagers were playing the guitar and blowing bubbles in Zion Square while people half a kilometer away down the hill were living under apartheid. The post office in West Jerusalem was closed too, as was the camera shop.
Sunbula wanted ice cream, fresh homemade ice cream and there was none to be found anywhere. It seemed as if nothing we wanted today was going to be granted to us. Ok, we give up now. enough, ok ?
Well, not yet…
We ended up at the American consulate where I decided to file a complaint against the police in Jerusalem as well as against the police in Hebron for failing to do anything about the settler assaults on us (the US citizens working in Tel Rumeida). The people there were pretty nice, one of the security guards was a Palestinian originally from Hebron and he sympathized with the situation there. I did end up feeling a bit silly for making a fuss about this when people in Israel, Palestine and Lebanon are being arrested, assassinated, kidnapped, murdered and bombed.
An employee at the consulate asked me, “Where are you staying in Israel?”
“Hebron,” I replied.
“You know there is a State Department travel advisory against Americans traveling to the West Bank ?”
“Yes, but I live there.”
She was kind enough to give me a printed copy of the travel advisory, a paragraph of which is quoted below:
“In recent months, citizens of Western nations, including Americans, involved in pro-Palestinian volunteer efforts were assaulted and injured in the Occupied Territories by Israeli settlers and harassed by the IDF. Those taking part in demonstrations, non-violent resistance, and “direct action,” are advised to cease such activity for their own safety.”
Of the three security guards hanging around, two were Palestinian and one was Israeli. Oddly enough, they were laughing and joking with each other and slapping each other on the back. I asked them how they found the situation in Jerusalem today. They said with confidence that they felt very safe in Jerusalem, no one was going to bomb it because it was the holy city for the three religions. This statement seemed in such contrast to the tension just a few blocks away. I for one certainly don’t feel very safe there. But then again, I thought to myself, I don’t have a cushy job in the confines of the American consulate.
We were both exhausted and angry and decided to go back to Hebron. On the bus back, a Palestinian guy saw Sunbula reading Nizar Qabbani and started talking to us as most Palestinians have here, wanting to know the low down on who we are and what we do. He kept teasing us by asking “Don’t you like the Jews?” and “aren’t the settlers in Hebron wonderful? I think the Arabs are lying about them!” Neither of us had the energy to get into this discussion not really due to our part Jewish origins, but due to exhaustion. Sunbula being the better Arabic speaker had to keep him entertained and field other interesting questions such as “do all of the foreigners sleep together in the same room in your apartment?”
After arriving back in Tel Rumeida, we heard some really loud fireworks across the street that sounded more scary than the sound bombs in Bil’in. Someone was apparently very happy about their exam results, but the settlers and army didn’t want to partake in the happiness. Instead they came skulking down to Tel Rumeida street to “investigate” what was going on by barging into a family’s house opposite our apartment and going onto the roof. We had the privilege of witnessing the appearance of Mrs. Baruch Marzel herself who called us “dirty nazis” and said we doing Hitler’s work here. She’s apparently forgotten that he committed suicide in 1945. We followed the soldiers into the terrified family’s house and stayed there as they hung out on the roof for a few minutes. Not finding any terrorists up there, they left fairly quickly.
It’s now approximately 10pm at night but our story is not quite over yet. As if enough already hadn’t happened in one day, we got an urgent call from the Abu Haykal family near the olive groves – soldiers had come into their house and made everyone go outside, confiscated their cell phones, in order to “look for photos” (?) What photos? That is a “military matter”. The family wanted us to come over so we did and began filming and questioning the soldiers about what they were doing there. One of the soldiers in a slow frat boy drawl told us to go back to America to our homes and said we wanted to help the people who kidnapped Israeli soldiers at the Lebanese border. We told them that we are invited here whereas they aren’t and that this isnt their land. They apparently didn’t find what they want and left after about 20 minutes, threatening they would be back. Three of our volunteers stayed the night in their house in case of any late night mischief.
My Kung Fu teacher taught me an Arabic proverb saying something like the most miserable things in life are the funniest ones. This day was both miserable and hilarious for us, a small microcosm of how absurd life can be sometimes in occupied Palestine.
Two successive big explosions wakened me up, Sondos jumped quickly to my bed , frightened, shivering and covered her head, with the blanket. It was two big explosions ,but not sonic booming, I am an expert now. The power has been off, it was a great blessing last night we had it for 5 hours. I switched on the local radio, the Islamic university building was hit, as well as the Foreign Ministry building, 200 meters from my place. I decided to write in the morning, my daughter was too frightened, and I felt strong enough to stay by her side.
Yesterday the Palestinian Ministry of health officially declared that 82 people had been martyred and 271 injured from 30 – 6 – 2006 to 12 – 7 – 2006. Among the martyrs are 22 children. The number is expected to increase because there are still casualties in the intensive care units
My visit to Attar Family 11.7.2006
I feel emotionally strained after visiting the Attar family, in Beit Lahia village North of Gaza. It was my second visit, I went there with 2 of my colleagues with some little presents for the kids. 50 kids received little parcels donated from MECA for peace (USA people).
The Israeli army reoccupied the village for continuous 3 days as part of its military operation in Gaza, and during these three days the army made great damage into this family 3 storey building, before occupying it, to use the roof as a base for snipers. 40 members of this extended family were kept in one room, unable to go out for 3 continuous days, with no water and no electricity. I was told that the whole family were forced to get out of their house, and made to stay in the very hot afternoon sun for 4 hours at least, standing in front of their house, Then they were put into the one room for three days. I met 40 children, 5 at least are infants, and feeding those babies was a big problem.
I met seven members of this family, who had visual impairment disability. It broke my heart, when I asked the grandfather of this extended family, why do you think they have chosen your home? He answered me simply, I only have children and people with special needs, I am a soft target. He did not know that his house position is a strategic location for snipers, it lies on a hill that overlooks the whole village, it is just right place for snipers.
One of the small girls hold my hand, and said: look there, we were in the sun for long period, next to the donkey place, it was hot, I was thirsty, my baby brother was crying, and I was terrified, I wet my pants.
What happened with this family is happening every day in Gaza, with different shapes. Those children will suffer from PTSS, and waiting for years ahead to be healed, as an outcome the hatred will grow, inside themselves, with painful memories.
I handed the gifts to the kids, telling them it is from American people who care, and thinking of you, they are not the American government that helps this army to have free hand in our country.
I always think of the safety of the Israeli kids and civilians, and I am totally against hurting civilians, but I do believe that the comparison of suffering is unfair, and not objective. I have an offer for Israel to send 1.5 million Israelis to live in Gaza, under those circumstances! Any way both of us suffer, it is an outcome of injustice and the occupation.
Palestinian women sit in a bedroom in Beit Lahiya, Gaza where Israeli soldiers shot into a home. (AFP/Thomas Coex)
From Mona Elfarra, a Palestinian physician and women’s rights activist living in the Jabalia refuge camp in the Gaza Strip.
Friday, June 30, 2006
The power is still off. It comes on and off irregularly. The electricity company is trying hard to supply power to 1.5 million people who used to get electricity from the power plant that was completely destroyed two nights ago.
Tonight another electrical generator was attacked and destroyed completely. I tried to explain to my daughter the complicated mechanisms of power distribution and how the electrical company is trying hard. But she was so frustrated to learn that we will be receiving patchy power for another three months at least.
They are attacking Gaza City right now, Jabalia and Beit Lahia. The emergency room at Al Awda Hospital received seven casualties. They launched at least 15 missiles, and the noise of the jet fighters and Apache helicopters interrupted my already interrupted sleep. I am fully awake now. I have not gotten good sleep for four days.
Saturday, July 1, 2006
My friend Hoda lives next to the Ministry of Interior building in Gaza, which was hit last night with two rockets. The attack occurred at 2 a.m. yesterday. (Please forgive me about the accuracy – I am starting to lose track of days and nights, and how many times we were attacked). Hoda told me that her whole building was shaking. She went out in her pajamas, and all the residents were out in their nightwear; children’s faces were too pale, some of them were crying hysterically. The fumes filled the place. I live 150 meters [about 164 yards] from Hoda’s place. Nobody is safe, no one is immune.
The power is still off. We had it for three hours yesterday, enough to recharge my laptop and mobile phone and to do some cooking. I am highly concerned about the hospitals; the fuel supply to run the local generators is running down. The medication and medical supplies are running down too. Water is scarce too. We need to ration our water use. We are going through a big humanitarian disaster.
Sonic booming happens when the jet fighters go quickly through the sound barrier. We experience this sort of terrifying raid at least seven times during the day and night. How can I let you know my personal feelings during these raids? If I am sleeping, my bed shakes tremendously; my daughter jumps into my bed, shivering with fear and then both of us end up on the floor. My heart beats very fast. I have to pacify my daughter; now she knows we need to pacify each other. She feels my fear. If I am awake, I flinch and scream loudly; I cannot help myself. OK, I am a doctor and a mature middle-aged woman with a lot of experience, and an activist too, but with this booming I become hysterical – after all we are all humans and each have our own threshold.
Monday, July 3, 2006
We in Gaza face great pressure. For those who need to be reminded, since the start of this intifada (in September 2000), Gaza’s economy has been severely affected by the continuous Israeli atrocities: roadblocks, border closures, destruction of agricultural areas and home demolitions. The current rate of unemployment more than 50%. The vast majority of Palestinian families are living on humanitarian aid, and an increasing number of families live under the poverty line. Gaza is just 360 square kilometers [about 139 square miles] with nearly 1.5 million residents, so we have a very high population density.
After four months of economic sanctions, we in the health field face a collapsing health system. We do not have medications in our stores and have had to prioritize surgical operations due to lack of medical supplies. The last thing we needed is the power cut off.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006 – 1:45 a.m
Big explosion, very big and so loud; I’m fully awake, and so is Sondos, my daughter. We hardly can see anything. It is very dark. The drone hit the Ministry of Interior building again with a missile. That completely destroyed the building, according to the news from the radio.
I contacted Hoda, who lives next to the building, and found her hysterically screaming and shouting in pain, trapped under her broken windows, all the windows of her flat broken, the fumes filling the place. She is waiting for the emergency team to evacuate her.
I can hear the hysterical sounds of her neighbors over the phone. I feel helpless and don’t know what to do. Five of her neighbors were injured, some of them the terrified kids I mentioned in one of my previous blogs.
When I visited Hoda four hours ago, we both were tense. A third friend asked us to talk about anything but not politics or what is going on in the Palestinian scene. We tried to but couldn’t. I left her, walked home.
I have no analysis. Maybe you can try to help me to know why they would hit an empty building twice. I see it as desperation, eagerness to revenge themselves.
It is not because of the soldier. They dropped thousands of shells on Gaza, killing women, children and old people, even before he was captured. Fatah and Hamas signed a national agreement. There could have been negotiations.
But Israel would have to give up control of our land, our resources. They want to destroy our government. They want to destroy our will to get our rights, to live a normal life in our land.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006 – 3 a.m
It is dark. Sondos is asleep. I cannot go to bed. I have no batteries for my transistor. I do not know where Hoda is. My mobile needs to be recharged. I have no power; I am restless, anxious and helpless. My laptop is gasping too.
Thursday, July 6, 2006 – 8:13 p.m
It seems that the Israeli military operation is escalating. 1:30 p.m. our local time, casualties started to reach the Al Awda hospital (Jabalia refugee camp). The hospital medical team received 13 civilians seriously injured and 2 dead militia men. The hospital’s 3 operating rooms worked with its full capacity, for continuous 5 hours. I was told by Mr. Abusaada, one of our ambulance drivers, that they evacuated the injured under heavy fire. Mr. Abusaada, told that they were working under fire, I always think of him and others and how they work under the most difficult circumstances, the worse, he faced when he evacuated the Galia family from the beach 3 weeks ago.
Today he told me he was not allowed to reach one of the injured who bled on the ground for at least half an hour (when one minute can make a difference for bleeding case ), before passing away. Other hospitals received 15 injured civilians as well, different ages, no children, were hurt in this incident. I hope I will not give news about dead or injured children. 18 Palestinians were killed today in Gaza strip tens were injured, mainly in the north of Gaza.
My main concern now is to find a way to get medications and medical supplies through the borders, into Gaza. The hospital medical resources are exhausted, the borders are completely sealed, some very crucial medications are lacking.
The Rafah borders in the south, was opened today for 3 hours. There are at least 2,000 Palestinians on the Egyptian side, waiting to enter Gaza. They have been waiting since last Sunday. When the “summer rain” operation started, internationals were asked to leave Gaza, via Eretz checkpoint, that was opened for 2 hours only (for us here in Gaza this is alarming sign). Karni checkpoint, the commercial checkpoint, was opened to let in some stuff for 4 hours, maybe to let in more candles, transistors and torches.
It seems that this business is booming in Gaza those days. On my way back from the hospital, I could see people queuing to purchase candles.
Saturday, July 8, 2006 – 1:00 a.m
The Gaza hospitals medical resources is critically decreasing , the number of causalities increases as the operation continues, in 2 days 34 Palestinian were killed, of the many injured 33 were children. The city’s 3 hospitals are working round the hour they urged people to donate blood. I told you earlier on that the civilians are not avoided, it is a battle that lacks the balance of power; with the resistance men and their comparatively limited weapons, and the most powerful army in the region, with the full support of the USA.
I was at Al Awda hospital this morning. The staff enjoys good spirit, but they are exhausted. They complained of their worries regarding the shortage of the fuel that runs the electrical generators. It has to be used for the ambulances too. It was quiet in the morning, casualties started to arrive in the late afternoon. I shall be there tomorrow.
I hate war, it is ugly so is the occupation.
Saturday, July 8, 2006 – 12:40 a.m
I did not tell you before about my mother. She lives in Khan Yunis, 22 km to the south of Gaza City. I was born and brought up there, until I was 16, when I left to university in Egypt. My mother is 84, she is living alone after the death of my father, and she is physically disabled. She is well looked after. I visit her whenever I have time, and this happens twice weekly at least, my elder sister lives next door and since the start of the “summer rain” operation, by the occupying Israeli forces, I couldn’t reach her.
I was overwhelmed with the situation, besides the 2 bridges that connect Gaza in the north and Khan Yunis in the south, were destroyed in the 1st few hours of the military assault, as well as the power plant. I was afraid to use the unreliable side roads. I was not ready to risk by leaving Sondos alone, with all the consequences, air raids, sonic booming, no power, complete road block, and staying away of my daughter and my work.
