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.
Tilling the land in Gaza is one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. The Zionist Occupation Forces fire on the peasants and their families while they sow or harvest their own land near the infamous Zionist fence which surrounds Gaza. They also burn their fields and routinely ravage their crops with bulldozers, leaving hundreds of families ruined and preventing the Gaza Strip from developing it’s already devastated economy or achieving a minimum of food sovereignty.
Last Sunday a group of peasants from Khuza’a, a village located in the South of the Gaza Strip, called us to ask for our presence as deterrent witnesses during their journey to sow their fields. The days before they had been harassed by Israeli soldiers, who fired their rifles and shot tear gas grenades from where they crouched inside their tanks and military turrets towards the peasants who were just trying to work their land under a hail of Zionist bullets.
Azzam taking a rest after a morning of hard work.
Azzam, a humble 40 years old farmer, spoke to us of the tragedy of his life: “During the last attack Israel bombed my home and destroyed it completely; now I’m living with my family in a plastic tent.” He also explained us the shameful differences between a Palestinian farmer and farmer from the Israeli occupation. “They kill us, they shoot the few old tractors that we have, they burn our crops and bomb our homes, while their farmers work escorted by a whole army, one of the most powerful armies in the world.”
We finish our task and have a coffee sitting on the ground whose furrows house the seeds sown at the risk of Palestinian farmers’ lives: seeds of wheat, watermelon, peanut, seeds that may not even have the chance to germinate. Sitting now quietly on the scorched land, on the occupied land, land irrigated with Palestinian blood – too much blood – Azzam fixes his eyes beyond that disgraceful fence. He looks beyond the military vehicles, beyond the armed towers, armed with guns that can fire at the a push of a button from Tel Aviv; there we can see the stolen green fields of Palestine, a land deprived of it’s real name and owner, that place that is now known by the infamous name of Israel.
26th December | Ally Cohen – originally posted on Mondoweiss | Hebron, Occupied Palestine
Hebron, Palestine, December 24th. As we made our way to ‘checkpoint watch’ we were discussing what it would be like that morning, would there be tear gas? Stun grenades? Child arrests? Every day children are forced to walk through military checkpoints, manned with armed border police officers, in order to reach their schools.
I have seen the Israeli military firing tear gas canisters, throwing stun grenades, and detaining and arresting schoolchildren and their teachers. Sometimes the children throw stones towards the checkpoint, sometimes not. Either way the military violence the children of Hebron face is as unbelievable as it is disgraceful.
A child trying to escape tear gas fired by the Israeli military close to several schools on October 13th in the Salaymeh neighbourhood of Hebron.
To reach the Salaymeh checkpoint, the neighborhood that International Solidarity Movement (ISM) activists monitor each school day morning and afternoon, my ISM colleague and I walked down Shuhada Street. Shuhada Street has been completely closed to Palestinians since the year 2000. It used to be the heart of Hebron, with bustling shops and lively homes, now it is often christened, ‘Apartheid Road,’ or ‘Ghost Town.’
I did not see the broken bit of road that I tripped on, so as I fell my first cry was mostly shock. The pain swiftly kicked in, I felt my ankle twist, and I knew I was in trouble. My friend tried to steady me and help me sit down. However we were standing just outside the illegal Beit Hadessah settlement, and I really wanted to move.
Three settlers were standing close by, they started to call to me, “sit down, sit down!”
I tried to reply, “No, I’m, I’m okay, I don’t want to. I’m fine.”
By this point, tears were running down my face and I suppose it was clear that I was not fine. They yelled at me again.
“Sit down, sit down!” And then one of the men added, “sit down, you sharmuta!” Sharmuta is the Arabic word for whore.
Eventually the pain, and my inability to walk, overcame my desire to leave the area. I staggered to the pavement and sat, still crying, trying to work out how I was going to move.
Just as I thought the situation could not get any worse- I was in pain, in tears, outside a settlement, and late for checkpoint watch- a car pulled up next to me.
Anat Cohen stepped out.
Anat is a settler living in Beit Hadessah. She is known to be extremely violent and volatile. I have had several problems with her in the past, where she has kicked, pushed and spat violent words at me. Whenever I see her I think about my Jewish grandparents, who like so many Zionists defend the settlers and their colonial thievery. I wonder what they would say if they knew that a settler woman verbally abused their youngest Jewish granddaughter?
I wish I could remember exactly what Anat said to me, and I wish even more I had been able to record her words; instead I can only offer the ‘highlights’ of our exchange.
“Leave here! Go! Go to Mohammed!”
“I can’t, I’ve hurt my foot, I can’t move.”
“Leave, Nazi! Go to Auschwitz, go to Gaza, go to Syria!”
This continued for some time, her face filled with hate as she leered over me while I clutched my ankle.
Eventually, Anat called the Israeli police. They arrived and walked towards us. I tried to stop crying, and fleetingly wondered if I could be arrested for spraining my ankle. After listening to Anat rage at them in Hebrew they stared down at me and told me I had to move.
It was roughly ten meters from where I was sat, to the part of Shuhada Street where Palestinians are ‘allowed’ to walk.
It looked like a mile.
I bargained with them, in hindsight perhaps I could have asked why I was not allowed to sit on the pavement nursing my foot? At the time I was too bewildered, and in too much pain, to think clearly. I asked for five minutes to gather myself before I tried to move. They agreed, and while I strategically planned how to stand, Anat continued to yell in Hebrew and throw insults towards me.
With the help of my friend, I managed to stand and hobble away. Anat left, clearly satisfied with her achievement. The only other noteworthy moment of the experience was the Israeli police officer that quietly apologized to me after Anat was out of earshot.
“I’m sorry, they’re crazy [the settlers] there’s nothing we can do, and she’s the craziest.”
I didn’t reply.
I’ve tried to think about what would happen to a Palestinian in this situation, but of course that’s pointless as Palestinians are banned from Shuhada Street.
I suppose what has struck me the most about this incident, is that a crazed, racist, extremist settler, can order the Israeli police to do her bidding.
And they will.
In Hebron, I am exceptionally privileged; I have white skin and a European passport. I’m also Jewish, but due to a previous experience where border police officers banned me from entering the Palestinian market due to my religion, I try to keep that quiet. All that privilege and I am still not allowed to sit down and quietly cry about a sprained ankle, if a settler woman says no.
9th November | Rina Andolini | Khuza’a, Occupied Palestine
The farmers are rarely talked about. They blend into the background of the lands beyond the destroyed buildings of the towns. The reality is though, they are facing a battle themselves.
Khuza’a Buffer Zone in December 2012 (photo by ISM).
Many farmers have had their homes, and farmland attacked. Farm land attacked I repeat, I mean, who would ever have thought that land could be an enemy that needed to be struck by a missile?
Well, the attacks from the air have stopped, for now, although the buzz of the drones rarely hum a tune of silence, sometimes accompanied by the whooshing high speed winds that the F-16s bring with them.
The farmers situation is clear cut and simple; they have land and are in fear of tending to it. What is to fear when all you want to do is plough, and sow seeds, and nurture your land to provide food, shelter, and clothing to your family? How is it okay for a person to work in fear of being shot at, for doing nothing other than farm on their land?
The fence in the buffer zone is the cutoff point, so we should be able to go right up to it without fear of being shot at, or even worse, shelled, as the Israeli army rolls around in their tanks pretty much, round the clock.
Yesterday, the 8th of November, the farmers went to their land to start ploughing away at the soil to get it ready for sowing. They use a tractor. What happened when they went? The Israeli military shot in their direction. Luckily, nobody was hurt, but a tire was shot at and destroyed. These farmers struggle to even pay for contingencies such as these; work hazards caused by Israeli attacks, and why should they even have to? But they do.
So, they called several international activists here in Gaza, and said, “Please come with us to our land, we need to go there with the tractor and do our work but they keep shooting at us.”
Of course, we agreed to go and help, and even this morning, they rang two times, to make sure we were coming. They would not start their work without our presence.
This is their situation, they cannot work without fear of being shot at. It is as simple as this. Where in the world do you hear of such crimes against humanity occurring and resulting in no punishment to the aggressor?
It happens here in Gaza, in Palestine, all the time. The Israelis attack, and they continue to get away with it. The world’s silence is killing and destroying these people.
I met with a farmer, his name was Rami Salim Kudeih, he is 33 years of age, with a wife and five children. The youngest child being one month old, and the oldest, nine years of age.
I asked what he wanted to grow on this land and he said, ”wheat and lentils”.
”This is the season for it. The season may leave us and we will not have done any work because we are in constant fear of attacks from Israel. They have killed people here before on this land that is called Um Khamseen.”
”When the Israelis shoot, I feel angry and sad. A woman was killed in a nearby field too, within the last two years. My sister has also been injured whilst working on these fields, she suffered from a head injury but now she is better thanks to God, but sometimes in the cold, the pain comes in her head.”
The saddest thing of all, is that when I asked Rami, what he thought the international world could do; the world outside of the open air prison that is Gaza, his reply was indeed heartbreaking. It showed me that he had lost hope, that he is living with the situation as it is, with no sight for improvement.
‘They [the Israeli military], shoot often, they shoot in our direction, at the land, and alhamdulillah [praise to God] so far no deaths…but we never know what will happen.”
”The only solution is for the internationals to accompany us in the fields so we can do our work.”
I was expecting a response where he would ask the world to raise their voices and put pressure on the world leaders to put a stop to these crimes against humanity, but in fact, he gave a response which showed his resignation to the life that they are subjected to in Gaza. The life of living in constant fear of being attacked by Israel.
This is not how they should live, this is not how anyone should live, but the people of Gaza do. When will we do something to let these people live the life they have a right to and deserve?
During our time this morning out on the field, we were between 100 – 150 metres away from the fence, things were quiet, though we did see two Israeli tanks rolling around close by, and then go into hiding.
The farmers managed to carry out their work in peace and then we left.
The point is though, they should not need to have any internationals present, they should be able to go safely to their land without any worries.
17th September | Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
This is what seems to be the last thing I will write from Gaza. Not that there is nothing more to tell, there lies a new story under every stone, but because I will soon leave this small coastal strip where there is so much to be found.
Photo by Charlie Andreasson
Suffering, deprivation, death, dismemberment, despair, shattered homes, and lives without a future. But also so much love, so much kindness, smiling faces and playing children with catching laughter. And this curiosity and immediate acceptance of me as a stranger, so very distant from my soon-to-be home in Europe.
Photo by Charlie Andreasson
This will be my thanks and goodbye. A sincere thank you for giving me the opportunity to publish my thoughts, reflections, and observations. A humble thanks to all of you who wanted to read them. And a little special thanks to those of you who have contacted me because of my stories and articles; it has sometimes made me slightly embarrassed, but also made me, secretly, of course – proud.
It has driven me to continue to write, and given me this urge to improve, to make the necessary contacts in order to write another story to keep describing Gaza for those who want to read it.
There is so much more to write and report on. There are already many orphans in Gaza, and the recent war has ripped away another 1,500 children their parents. Not all of these children will be placed in an orphanage, most will probably be taken in by relatives. This is just one of hundreds of stories that will remain on my mind, after I have left Gaza.
There is a farming season approaching, but many farmers have had their houses and fields destroyed. Tanks and bulldozers have already penetrated into the Gaza Strip in violation of the ceasefire. Fishermen have been shot at several times, six have been arrested, and a boat has been seized. This also in violation of the ceasefire.
Photo by Charlie Andreasson
There are 100 shelters that have been erected, donated by the United Arab Emirates. This is a good start, but not even ten thousand such barracks would be enough, and soon winter and rain will arrive.
There is so much still to write about.
There are not many days left until I shall try to leave, and I will spend my time finishing projects, not beginning new ones. Al-Mazan, an organization working closely with the UN and HRW, has asked for copies of my photographic evidence of war crimes, my role in the Ark-project is over. After a lot of struggling, we have finally started to move forward on the issue of our presence among the fishermen on a far more regular basis. This is a project I will not see completed before I leave. It came to a temporary stop when the war began, and it has tentatively started to continue once again.
It stings a little in me that I cannot be on that journey, and it is pointless trying to hide that. If I did not have to go home, that project alone would be worth staying another year for. Instead, I will focus on cleaning out my apartment, trying to get an afternoon for myself and Moby Dick at a beach cafe, trying to get out for a last night with the fishermen at the sea, to say goodbye to the friends I have found and to thank them for everything, and complete this text, the last one.
9th September 2014 | International Solidarity Movement, Nablus team | Madama, Occupied Palestine
We arrived in Madama yesterday, 8th September; in the early afternoon after we were told that during the night Israeli army invaded this village, and the nearby villages of Burin and Asira Al Qibliya.
Our contact told us that the main road leading to Nablus was blocked during the night and that a car coming from Asira was prevented from reaching the hospital. Furthermore, a checkpoint was erected at the main entrance of the village; cars and pedestrians were searched until it was removed around 11am.
When we reached Madama, we saw a group of seven soldiers standing on the road beside the Mosque, blocking it with two military jeeps and one personnel carrier. More soldiers were inside the vehicles while those outside positioned themselves facing in different directions and keeping an eye on the surrounding streets, shops and houses.
The school had just finished and groups of children were filling the street and hanging around looking at the unwanted ‘guests’.
We decided to stay and see what was going on and take some pictures. We did this for about 10 minutes, before we attracted soldiers’ attention. Several of them came towards us asking what we were doing in the village, demanding that we hand over our camera. We argued that we had a right to take pictures and that they did not have a right to take our camera, but they insisted that we could not take pictures of individual soldiers and in particular, the close-ups of their faces.
We used this opportunity to pose a question, “If what you are doing is right, why do you hide your faces?”
They refused to answer and instead, they gave us an ultimatum that we delete the pictures or they would take us to the police station to be arrested. They also promised us trouble by the immigration authorities when leaving the country. Eventually we decided to delete some of our photos.
Later we met a group of villagers and spoke about the situation in Madama.
“Every night we have problems with the Israeli army and every family here has been at the receiving end. Only during the attack on Gaza they left us alone, probably because they had less soldiers available here,” one of them said.
He continued to state that the army regularly enters houses in the middle of the night to search them. They do it after throwing the residents out and making them wait for hours, before they can return. In one such raid the soldiers stole 180,000 shekels from a house, claiming they did it because the money was going to Hamas. In fact that was the lifesavings of the man who worked for 20 years and received a payout after finishing his job.
The soldiers usually block Madama by closing the entrance at the main road connecting it to Burin and Asira Al Qibliya, and also closing the settler road located up the hill at the top of the village, connecting illegal settlements of Qedumim and Ytzhar with the main road leading to Nablus and the South.
“When you try to pass through, the soldiers often shout at you, ‘Go away!’ But who should go away? This is my village, my land!’” Said another Madama resident.
When we asked for the reasons why soldiers target the village, he replied, “They usually say that someone had thrown stones at them previously and I don’t really know if that is true. This morning after removing the checkpoint around 11 o’clock, they came inside the village and started taking pictures of the old houses. This makes no sense to us, we have no idea why they are doing this, and we are very worried.”
Israeli soldiers come very often to the village when the school finishes to provoke the children. “Soon this is going to be even a bigger problem. In November maintenance work starts in the boys’ school, and for about three months, boys will attend the girls’ school between 2pm and 7pm, which is very near the settlers’ road. The army is always present, we are really worried for our boys…”
