“We leave without expecting to return” – meeting the firefighters of Gaza

15th April 2014 | Paramedics in Gaza | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

Yesterday I visited the Civil Defence Directorate, which provides the fire and rescue service in Gaza, as well as some emergency ambulances and marine rescue. These guys have a reputation as being fearless, as well as being the most vulnerable to attack during times of war. In the 2008-9 war, 13 Civil Defence workers were killed in the line of duty, with 31 injured. This includes medics killed in their ambulances by snipers and firefighters injured by secondary drone attacks while rescuing victims of the initial strikes. These risks are additional to jobs which are considered dangerous even in peaceful countries like the UK and USA.

(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

I found out plenty about the Civil Defence’s ambulance service, including interviewing staff and looking around the ambulances and equipment stores, but I’m going to save that for a later post and just write about the firefighters. In the UK, the ambulance service and fire service are separate so please forgive any ignorance about the equipment and vehicles I saw. I knew they were fire engines because they were big and red, and I knew it was a fire station because there were some weights in the corner and a ping pong table. Beyond that, it was all new to find out. Let’s start with a familiar theme in Gazan emergency services: shortages. After meeting with the Red Crescent and Department of Health, looking around a few dozen ambulances, an Emergency Department and interviewing a variety of health care workers, I’ve seen the same issues occurring endlessly. No equipment, limited or no drugs, no electricity, expensive fuel, training problems and unacceptable risk in times of conflict. The impact of each issue varies according to the service (for example, the electricity cuts are a huge problem for Al-Shifa hospital, whereas the fuel crisis has more of an impact on the emergency services) but the end result is the same – hamstrung services and an impossible situation for managers and workers.

Fire engine cab with gear (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
Fire engine cab with gear (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

I met with Yousef Khaled Zahar, the general manager of the Civil Defence, who broke down the issues facing his service while we drank sugary coffee. Firstly, the fire service vehicles are old and outdated – ‘every day the vehicles age’ as Zahar said. They are mostly from 1988/89, meaning their safety features are wildly outdated. Half of their fleet were destroyed during Cast Lead, with little chance of replacements reaching Gaza. Since then they have done some pretty unreal mechanical work to keep vehicles on the road despite the lack of spare parts. They have also converted some old Kamaz trucks into fire service vehicles – they have welded water tanks including internal baffles from scratch then installed them on the back, plus the water pumping mechanisms and other necessary machinery. Then it’s all been painted red.

The converted Kamaz truck (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
The converted Kamaz truck (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

It was astonishing to see the creativity and technical skills behind these vehicles, and the solutions that they’ve found with such limited resources. They’re far from ideal compared to a purpose-designed vehicle – the centre of gravity is dangerously high because of the position of the water tank – but they help to keep the ambulance service functioning. They were previously only used to resupply fire engines, but after some water pumps were found that could run off a spare drive shaft, they are now used as fire engines themselves. Additionally, the fire service had issues getting a steady supply of expensive foam for fighting fuel fires, so they designed their own foam that can be made locally for 10% of the cost. The workers in the fire service workshops and garages must be some of the most resourceful and creative engineers in the profession, and they seem deeply valued by their managers and the firefighters themselves. As I mentioned earlier, fuel is a huge issue for the emergency services and especially the Civil Defence. The fire engines are amongst the biggest vehicles in Gaza, so restricted fuel supplies have a magnified impact. In the past, much of their fuel came through the tunnels from Egypt along with firefighting equipment, protective clothing, vehicle parts, medicines and medical disposables. Since they were destroyed last year, none of these things can get through. Fuel costs are now the largest part of their budget – a massive issues considering that their staffing levels are at 40% of what is needed due to lack of money for wages. They’re looking into alternative fuels at present, but the current situation is dire.

eek! (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
eek! (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

After talking, Zahar took me around the Civil Defence centre, which is their administrative centre as well as an ambulance and fire station. We looked in on the medical clinic and dentist  who provide cheap care for employees and their families. They offered me a dental check up while I was there – admitting to a load of tough firefighters that I was scared of dentists wasn’t my proudest moment. To finish my visit I interviewed a Mohammed, a firefighter pushed forward by his colleagues as the one who liked to talk the most. Happily, the rest of his watch also came and sat with us and added alot to the conversation. Their hard-won camaraderie was strong and humbling to be around. Mohammed has been a professional firefighter for four years, after previously working as a volunteer. He wanted to be a firefighter since he was a kid, a vocation fortified by growing up amid the volatility of Gaza. His favourite part of the job is when they reach a scene, enter and are able to rescue people. He described the feeling of rescuing children, and his family’s pride in his work. We talked about the relationships between firefighters, who work in a watch system similar to the UK. At this point others joined the conversation, describing each other as brothers and friends. They talk about how they enter a scene together and stay together in the risk, knowing that they can rescue each other and be rescued themselves. They have families who worry about the risks of their job but know they can’t prevent them from doing this work – but they also have a second family at work, and a second home on station.

Some of the firefighters I met yesterday (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
Some of the firefighters I met yesterday (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

Nearly every one of the ten or so people I talked with had been injured while working, including the general manager Yousef Khaled Zahar. Mohammed was seriously injured when he and other firefighters entered a family home after a drone attack to rescue the family. A secondary attack hit the house and the firefighters were caught in the explosion. He was left unconscious, and while he has recovered, his chest injuries mean that he is still missing ribs. He and other injured colleagues says the decision to return to work was not a difficult one – they knew the risk when they joined, and know they can die at any time. Firefighters who are not physically able to return to work are given desk jobs in the Ministry of the Interior.

Bullet holes in the front door of the fire station (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
Bullet holes in the front door of the fire station (Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

The targeting of the emergency services in Gaza has been systematic and brutal. During Cast Lead, Civil Defence buildings were specifically targeted in airstrikes that caused $2.5m of damage. The station that I visited was occupied by tanks, forcing fire crews to continue responding from the street. Rows of bullet holes remain across the front of the station. Gazan infrastructure is repeatedly considered a valid target in Israeli airstrikes, including the emergency services. This is an intolerable situation, putting the lives of firefighters, rescuers and medics at risk while they work to preserve life. I asked the firefighters I met yesterday if there was anything they’d like to add to our interview. Firstly one of them said ‘If we die here in our service, we will die in peace. This does not stop us working’. They then spoke together to ask that international emergency workers try to defend and protect them in the case of another war. They know that international law should protect them, but they also know from direct experience that in reality it does not. Yet they continue to work in what must be one of the most dangerous jobs in the world, motivated by the desire to rescue and protect their community. They need better vehicles, more staff, safer working conditions and better protective equipment to do their jobs. But most of all they need the protection they are entitled to as rescue workers, and they need our solidarity.

(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)
(Photo by Paramedics in Gaza)

Many thanks to the management and staff of the Civil Defence for their time and hospitality.  As ever, most conversations were had via a translator, creating some margin of error. Big thanks to Fady for translation and coordination, and to this article by Joe Catron for additional statistics and information.

Five Years After the Cast Lead Operation: ‘Gaza Writes Back’

28th December 2013 | Arabic Literature (in English), M. Lynx Qualey | Cairo, Egypt

It was five years ago that Cast Lead began. Now a book of short stories, Gaza Writes Backmarks the anniversary. The book’s editor, Refaat Alareer, answers questions about the collection: 

Five Years After the Cast Lead Operation: 'Gaza Writes Back'ArabLit: How did the idea for this collection come about? How did you put out the call for submissions? Did you tell the writers it was to commemorate Cast Lead?

Refaat Alareer: I’ve been teaching World Literature and Creative Writing at the Islamic University-Gaza (IUG), and at other Gaza training centres, ever since I finished my MA in Comparative Literature from UCL, UK in 2007. And I always had the idea of collecting the best pieces written by my students in a book. Going global became a necessity after the hateful Israeli Offensive of 2008-09. I met Helena Cobban in Gaza and threw the idea of a book of young talents into her lap, and later, thanks to Annie Robbins of Mondoweiss.net, Helena saw the potential in the project. In October 2012, Helena and I discussed a number of possible book projects and later decided a book of short fiction is the best place to start.

Since many of the writers are my own students (and friends), I contacted them and informed them of the idea of a book to mark the fifth anniversary of Cast Lead. We had a couple of fruitful workshops, and I took many of their suggestions into consideration. Later, I announced the project through Facebook, Twitter, local universities in Gaza, and personal contacts.

You should know that maybe only four stories were written in order to be submitted to the book. Many had already been written a year, two, or even three before I asked for submissions. But all pieces were written after the Cast Lead Operation.

I received tens of submissions (around 70!), and with the help of Sarah Ali, Sameeha Elwan, and Diana Ghazzawi, we managed, with difficulty, to narrow them down to 23 stories by 15 writers. Choosing the 23 stories was one of the toughest things I have ever done, because there were many more stories with strong potential.

AL: You say, in the introduction, that you wanted this collection to be “without the mediation or influences of translation or of non-Palestinian voices.” Why without translation? Are there particular effects of translation (on literature) that you’ve seen that you were trying to avoid?

RA: As much as I believe in the importance of translation, when it comes to literature I strongly believe many things get lost in translation, no matter how accurate. Therefore, our efforts were directed at improving the English creative writing skills. So that the writers think in English and express themselves in English. Also, the book comes to encourage and give a nudge to those who write in English, as that will enable them to write more and be in touch and in dialogue with the whole world. Maybe in the future we can work on a book of stories originally written in Arabic.

AL: Why young writers?

RA: Because they have a lot to say. Because they are doing most of the work these days. Because they are leading all the campaigns to make the world aware of the ills and pains Israeli occupation is bringing on Palestinians. Because young people have their worldviews and visions that are worthy of being heard. Because there are many more young Palestinians who write in English than old ones. And because the young have largely been marginalised from mainstream discussions.

AL: It’s interesting that so many of the young writers are women. Do you think this is particular to those who write in English?

RA: This is particular to those who write in English and in Arabic as well. In Palestine, we have more women joining universities than men, more women journalists than men, more women activists than men. Women are in many ways taking the lead, in writing, in activism, and in struggle.

AL: You quoted Sameeha Elwan, in the introduction, in saying that the Internet has changed the storytelling process among Palestinians (who have been fragmented since ’48). Will this collection somehow make use of the Internet? Will any of the stories appear online?

RA: Much of the support for the young writers came through the internet. They first started by posting their creative pieces in forums, and personal blogs, and Facebook, and then Mondoweiss, the Electronic Intifada, the Palestine Chronicle and other websites. The encouragement the writers received from people in Palestine and all over the world was a catalyst for more writing. That means without the internet, many of the pieces could have been forgotten or not written in the first place. Social media platforms have been the major battlefields in the recent years. Facebook pages, YouTube Videos, and Twitterstorms have brought awareness about the Israeli occupation and human rights violation and about the suffering of Palestinians in Jerusalem, Gaza, areas occupied in 1948 and the West Bank. Currently, we are very much depending on social media to promote the book and raise awareness about Palestine.

I think with permission from the publisher, certain extracts from the stories can appear online (some already did).

But other than that, we hope that some of the pieces can be made into films or short videos.

AL: One of the PalFest authors, who has taught workshops in both Gaza (by video link) and the West Bank, has said that — because of life, and life-and-death issues — it’s generally been difficult for talented young authors to follow through on writing projects. Do you find that’s true of young authors in Gaza?

RA: To some extent, when it comes to online courses or tutoring, it’s true. Imagine yourself not having electricity for most of the day! However, in the many courses I held in Gaza, there were a lot who joined and benefited from the creative writing sessions such as short story writing, poetry writing, and general creative-writing skills.

Israel is making it very difficult for Palestinians to live a decent life. Israel has caused every possible hindrance to prevent Palestinians from being. Still, that very same thing was the very cause that led many to write back. For many of us, writing is an act of resistance, but it is also an act of life, meaning writing happens no matter who we are and where we are. We write, therefore we exist.

AL: Most of the selections are very short. Some of them are powerful snapshots — the pain and embarrassment in Sameeha Elwan’s “Toothache in Gaza” and Muhammad Suliman’s “Bundles” — but they’re more like “flash fiction” than short stories. Did you ask for very-short pieces, or is this how the writers turned in their work?

RA: When the book was announced, I asked for “short stories/short fiction stories.” No word limit was imposed. The micro-stories, in my opinion, suit the atmosphere they came to life in and reflect many aspects of Palestinian life. The stories, by zooming so closely into a very precise moment, show how brief life, hope, and dreams under occupation can be. Even the abruptness that characterises some of the pieces tells of a promising story suddenly coming to an end because the main character is killed. Because of Israel. Because there is occupation. It is true many of the stories begin in medias res, but at the end no resolution is made, as the suffering, the pain, and the deprivation continue to linger, haunting readers for a long time after reading the story. In other words, the story still ends in medias res.

Writing longer pieces is something I started working on with a couple of the writers. Although this might require a lot of time, effort, and training, some told me that the idea of writing longer stories, even novels, is lurking in their minds. Hopefully, the attention of this anthology will receive will encourage them to write more and write longer pieces.

AL: What comes after Gaza Writes Back?

RA: I am hoping the stories will get the attention of film producers. I know at least a couple of the stories can be made into great movies, or at least short movies.

Helena Cobban and I have several plans for other book projects to follow. The focus will also be to bring young voices to forefront. At the same time we will work on translating the book into Arabic, French, Spanish, Malay, among other languages.

17 January 2009 – The Al Ashqar family

17 January 2012 | Palestinian Centre for Human Rights

Madleen refuses to sleep by herself; she will only sleep in her parent’s room” says Nujoud, “she’s afraid to be by herself at all. The other day we were in the garden and I asked her to go to the bedroom to bring something. She refused to go without me.”

Sabri with his mother Nujoud Al Ashqar (Photo: Palestinian Centre for Human Rights)

On 17 January 2009, at approximately 05:30, the area surrounding the UNRWA school in Beit Lahiya came under attack from Israeli forces. The area was bombarded using both high explosive, and white phosphorous artillery; white phosphorous is an incendiary chemical which ignites on contact with oxygen, its use in civilian populated areas violates the principle of distinction, and the prohibition of indiscriminate attacks. Nujoud Al Ashqar, along with approximately 1,600 others, was taking shelter in the school at the time of the attack. Nujoud sustained severe head injuries as a result of the bombing, and also losing her right hand. Two of her sons Bilal, 6, and Muhammed, 4, were killed in the attack.

When PCHR first spoke to Nujoud in the aftermath of the attack three years ago, her life had become extremely difficult, particularly her relationship with her husband, Mohammed. “At first my husband blamed me for the death of the boys. He used to threaten me every day that he would re-marry” says Nujoud, “but things have got better between us since the birth of our daughter Haneen. He loves her deeply and she loves him.”

Nujoud’s daughter Haneen, 1, was both a blessing and a severe challenge for Nujoud, who, despite being thankful she was able to give birth to another child after the loss of Muhammed and Bilal, is faced with extreme difficulties caring for herself, the household and her children given the loss of her arm and other medical difficulties following the attack. “I get most frustrated when trying to care for Haneen” says Nujoud, “I need help form my daughter Madleen all the time to care for her. I always feel sad for her because she sacrifices so much of her education to care for the house and her sister. But I need her to do it” says Nujoud. “Her grades in school have suffered as a result. It’s made worse by the fact I find myself with no patience to help her with her school work anymore since the attack.”

Madleen was herself in the UNRWA school at the time of the attack and faces difficulties with both the memory of that day and the loss of Bilal and Muhammed. “Madleen refuses to sleep by herself; she will only sleep in her parent’s room,” says Nujoud, “she’s afraid to be by herself at all. The other day we were in the garden and I asked her to go to the bedroom to bring something. She refused to go without me.”

Nujoud shares Madleen’s fear of the past and apprehension of the future. “Sometimes when there are rumours of a new war or Israeli incursions Madleen will start asking me about it and speaking of the incident. But I can’t bear to talk with her about what happened and I just ask her not to talk about it.”. The memory of the attack remains so moving for Nujoud that she does not speak with it to anybody. “Sometimes visitors will come over and ask to hear about that night. I don’t talk to them about it though. If I do I will spend the rest of the day and the whole night going over it in my head.”

Apart from the loss of one hand Nujoud has been left with severe pain in her head. When PCHR spoke to her three years ago she would wear her head scarf everywhere, including inside the house, as she had lost all her hair due to severe burns. “Now most of my hair has grown back” says Nujoud, “except for small patches due to injuries, but still when Madleen combs my hair I’m in agony.”

The loss of Bilal and Muhammed is especially painful for Nujoud. “I could never forget my children. If I stayed alive for 200,000 years I would not forget them.” Bilal and Muhammed were always a huge pillar of stability and support in Nujoud’s life. “When I used to get angry with my husband I would want to leave the house and go to my family. Bilal and Muhammed would calm me down and get me to stay. Now, when my husband and I argue, I just go to my room and think of them.” For Nujoud’s husband, Muhammed, who is deaf and dumb, the loss of Bilal, who used to help him communicate with others outside the house, was also devastating.

With another child on the way, Nujoud is hopeful for her health and for another baby boy in the future, who she also plans to call Bilal. “Me and my husband had been waiting for Bilal, he was so dear to our hearts, I hope to have a son so I can name him after his brother.”

PCHR submitted a criminal complaint to the Israeli authorities on behalf of the Al Ashqar family on 18 May 2012. PCHR have received an interlocutory response noting receipt of the original complaint. To date, however, and despite repeated requests, no further information has been communicated to PCHR, regarding the status of any investigation, and so on.


The series of narratives:

16 January 2009 – The Shurrab family
15 January 2009: The al-Nadeem family
14 January 2009 – Muhammed Mousa
13 January 2009: Hibba al-Najjar
12 January 2009 – The Ayad family
11 January 2009: The Hamouda family
10 January 2009: Wafa al-Radea
9 January 2009 – The Abu Oda family
8 January 2009: The Al-Rahel family
7 January 2009 – The Mattar family
6 January 2009: Al-Dayah family
5 January 2009: Amal al-Samouni
4 January 2009: The Abdel Dayem family
3 January 2009: Motee’ and Isma’il as-Selawy
2 January 2009: Eyad al-Astal
1 January 2009: The Nasla family
31 December 2008: The Abu Areeda family
30 December 2008: The Hamdan family
29 December 2008: Balousha family
28 December 2008: The Abu Taima family
27 December 2008: The Al Ashi family

16 January 2009 – The Shurrab family

16 January 2012 | Palestinian Centre for Human Rights

“Can I go to a court to restore my sons? No” says Mohammed. “What is the point in bringing the soldiers who killed my sons to justice when there will simply be more and more after them? When others will lose their sons as well? Soldiers commit these crimes because they know they have immunity.”

Mohammed Shurrab (Photo: Palestinian Centre for Human Rights)

On 16 January 2009, Israeli forces positioned in the al Fukhari area, south east of Khan Younis, opened fire on the vehicle of Mohammed Shurrab and his two sons Kassab, 28, and Ibrahim, 18, as they were travelling back to their home during the Israeli-declared ceasefire period. Mohammed was injured and crashed the car,  his two sons were subsequently shot as they left the car. Israeli soldiers refused to allow medical access to the area, and Kassab and Ibrahim bled to death on the scene over a number of hours. There were no military operations in the area at the time.

For Mohammed Shurrab (67), life since the death of his sons has been a contact battle to fight back the memories of the day. “I try to keep busy in every moment. I read 4-5 hours every day. These books you see on my wall have all been read 2-3 times each. The rest of my time I work on my farm, tend to my crops and care for my live stock”, says Mohammed, pointing to the two new born sheep that arrived only two hours beforehand. Despite his best efforts to distract himself, however, Mohammed seems resigned to a life of remembering. “Until I get buried bellow the soil I will continue to suffer, agonising over my sons.”

Mohammed is adamant that he hopes that time will come sooner rather than later, “everyday I hope to join my sons. The only question is how I do so. I am a religious man and believe in God, taking my own life would be against my beliefs, but I believe it’s better for me to join my sons. I am waiting to die.”

His farm, which is on the edge of the Israeli imposed buffer zone along the Gaza – Israeli border, is a hideout from the sights, sounds and issues that bring memories of his sons back to him. “I left my wife and my daughters to come here and live in peace. My wife is very sick. If she is reminded of the incident she will start to scream like she is not human, she cannot breath, she sometimes losses consciousness. I cannot bear to be around her when she is like that.”

Despite his best efforts to escape, however, Mohammed is reminded by the smallest detail. “This time of year is the hardest. Everything reminds me of that day. The crisp air, the crops that grow, the dark; everything about this time of year takes me back to the incident.” Much like the parents of many others who lost their lives during the Israeli onslaught, Mohammed finds it especially painful to be around those who are around the same age as his sons. “I was at the wedding of my young cousin recently. He is the same age as Ibrahim would have been if he was still alive. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the things that he could have done with his life if it wasn’t taken from him; education, marriage, children, now he can do none of this.”

Muhammad has suffered both mentally and physically as a result of stress and physical injuries incurred due to the shooting. Shuffling slowly and carefully around his farm house home, his physical symptoms are obvious. “I had severe damage to my neural system as a result of the attack,” says Mohammed, “my balance is now destroyed.” Lifting his top to show the long scar running down his back where he had surgery to repair his injuries Muhammad says his ability to fight infection and illness has deteriorated since the attack. The stress he feels as a result of his experience has left him unable to sleep and he is forced to take sleeping pills to steal a brief 4 to 5 hours of sleep every night before waking very early in the morning.

Soon, Mohammed’s remaining sons and daughters will be fully educated and independent. Mohammed says when that time comes his work is done and there is nothing left keeping him from the afterlife. “The moment my children say we need for nothing, that’s it, I have done everything I am responsible for, I can go,” says Mohammed. “The good times have gone, they will not be back. I hope for nothing”. When asked what his greatest fear for the future is, Mohammed replies; “my fear is a future.”

Regarding the pursuit of justice within Israeli courts Mohammed is scornful. “Absolutely not; the soldier who killed my sons did not act in a vacuum. He had permission from his superiors. What is more their crimes are ongoing. Stories like mine are not isolated incidences.” Any redress in Israeli courts, for Mohammed, were it forthcoming, would be irrelevant in any case. “Can I go to a court to restore my sons? No” says Mohammed. “What is the point in bringing the soldiers who killed my sons to justice when there will simply be more and more after them? When others will lose their sons as well? Soldiers commit these crimes because they know they have immunity.”

PCHR submitted a criminal complaint to the Israeli authorities on behalf of the Shurrab family on 19 August 2009. To-date, no response has been received.


The series of narratives:

15 January 2009: The al-Nadeem family
14 January 2009 – Muhammed Mousa
13 January 2009: Hibba al-Najjar
12 January 2009 – The Ayad family
11 January 2009: The Hamouda family
10 January 2009: Wafa al-Radea
9 January 2009 – The Abu Oda family
8 January 2009: The Al-Rahel family
7 January 2009 – The Mattar family
6 January 2009: Al-Dayah family
5 January 2009: Amal al-Samouni
4 January 2009: The Abdel Dayem family
3 January 2009: Motee’ and Isma’il as-Selawy
2 January 2009: Eyad al-Astal
1 January 2009: The Nasla family
31 December 2008: The Abu Areeda family
30 December 2008: The Hamdan family
29 December 2008: Balousha family
28 December 2008: The Abu Taima family
27 December 2008: The Al Ashi family

15 January 2009: The al-Nadeem family

15 January 2012 | Palestinian Centre for Human Rights

“Naser used to help the children with their school work, especially English and mathematics. Now that is my duty. Nothing can compensate me for the loss of my husband. He was always very tender, understanding and calm.”

Majda al-Nadeem with her sons Mohannad, Firas, and Bashar (Photo: Palestinian Centre for Human Rights)

On 15 January 2009, shortly after 7:00, the Israeli army fired a tank shell and live ammunition at Naser al-Nadeem and his two sons, Bashar (17) and Firas (15), who were fleeing their home in the Tal al-Hawa neighbourhood of Gaza City. The two boys sustained moderate injuries while their father was severely injured. After 9 months of intensive medical treatment in Egypt and Gaza, Naser al-Nadeem eventually succumbed to his wounds. He was 44. Naser’s wife, Majda al-Nadeem (45), is now a single parent of three sons, Mohanned (19), Bashar (17), Firas (15), and two daughters, Dima (14) and Tala (9).

“What keeps me going are my children, my children only. I am originally from Damascus and met their father when he was studying there. We married in 1990 and I moved to Gaza with him. I always think to return to Damascus to go and live with my family, but I know that it is better for my children to be here in Gaza. This is their home. I am doing whatever I can to protect them,” says Majda as she smiles at her sons.

All the responsibilities of the household are now on Majda’s shoulders, both with respect to caring for the children and financially. “Naser used to help the children with their school work, especially English and mathematics. Now that is my duty. Nothing can compensate me for the loss of my husband. He was always very tender, understanding and calm.”

Majda explains how she struggles to provide for the most basic needs since Naser died. “My husband used to have an engineering company with a partner and we used to have a good life. Now everything has changed. I am always thinking of how I can provide for my children; how will I bring food, pay for school, electricity, water, everything? I have a lot of pressure on me and it affects me psychologically. We received some payments from the Palestinian Engineers Union and charity organizations but it is not enough or infinite. My family in Syria also tries to help us out financially. They sent us money to repair our house after the war. The bathroom, kitchen, and sewerage were destroyed and there were smoke marks everywhere. Over the past three years our financial situation has gotten worse. A few days ago our electricity was cut off because we cannot pay for the bill.”

The children have difficulties in comprehending the changed financial situation. Majda says: “they want to have what the other children have, but I cannot provide it. They also had to leave their [private] school and change to a public school. It has been very difficult for them to adapt to these changes. They are not convinced that I cannot provide them with everything they want.”

The physical injuries Bashar and Firas sustained in the attack still mark their daily lives. Firas’ right knee was shattered by a bullet. His right leg is shorter as a result and does not bend. Majda explains: “last year doctors placed platinum inside his knee. Now Firas has to wait until he is an adult. Then doctors will check what another surgery can do. But they also said it will never become the way it used to be.” Firas says: “I used to play karate with Bashar but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t really run either. Now I play ping pong.”

Bashar had shrapnel wounds in his left leg and right arm, and back. His leg is deformed and sometimes he has pain caused by infections and muscle damage. “Bashar is a very sporting boy. He used to do karate but he changed to gymnastics because of his injuries. Despite his injury, he insists on continuing his sports activities,” says his mother.

Because of their injuries Bashar and Firas were not able to go back to school until the following semester. Majda called the Ministry of Education and told them that they had to provide the boys with home schooling; “teachers came to teach mathematics, Arabic and English at home, and the boys managed to end their school year with success.”

Despite their optimistic and brave outlook on life, Majda and her children carry with them the psychological scars of the offensive. “The war did change my children. It was a very difficult experience, even for us as adults,” she says. “When we hear explosions we feel fear and remember the war and the attack. If I am afraid, then how must my children be feeling? In the year after his father was killed, Firas would wake up at night and scream ‘I want my father’. Now he is older and understands that his father will never come back. The school performances of Bashar and Firas have been affected too. It is getting better, but nothing is as it was before the war. Firas is also held back by his medical treatment.”

“We are in need of psychological support,” says Majda. “But the people working in this field only visited us for their own interests; taking photos and videos, for the benefit of their organization only.” Bashar adds: “once, a psychological worker came to talk with me but I couldn’t stay with her. She was the one who needed help. I told her that and then left the room.” Majda says: “the only organization I really respect is MSF. The day after the children returned home from the hospital they visited us and kept coming to our house for one year, until the wounds of my children were healed.”

When speaking about her outlook on the future, Majda says “I don’t have a clear picture of what it will be like. What I am sure about is that I cannot guarantee a nice future for my children. But I am trying to teach my children that education is very important for their future and convince them to do well in school.”

Majda is uncertain whether the attack on her family will result in justice in an Israeli court. “They targeted my husband and children, civilians. I am not sure if there will be any result in a court. If there will be any results, they will just make financial compensation and not bring my husband back to life,” she says.

PCHR submitted a criminal complaint to the Israeli authorities on behalf of the al-Nadeem family on 23 June 2009. To-date, no response has been received.


The series of narratives:

14 January 2009 – Muhammed Mousa
13 January 2009: Hibba al-Najjar
12 January 2009 – The Ayad family
11 January 2009: The Hamouda family
10 January 2009: Wafa al-Radea
9 January 2009 – The Abu Oda family
8 January 2009: The Al-Rahel family
7 January 2009 – The Mattar family
6 January 2009: Al-Dayah family
5 January 2009: Amal al-Samouni
4 January 2009: The Abdel Dayem family
3 January 2009: Motee’ and Isma’il as-Selawy
2 January 2009: Eyad al-Astal
1 January 2009: The Nasla family
31 December 2008: The Abu Areeda family
30 December 2008: The Hamdan family
29 December 2008: Balousha family
28 December 2008: The Abu Taima family
27 December 2008: The Al Ashi family