Author: admin

Why Does This Happen to Me and My Family? 

22 March 2024

A story from Gaza

Hossam tells another man’s story

I am 41 years old, born in Gaza, where I have lived all my life. I have always minded my own business, concentrating on building a career. I was never involved in any political activity, not even political talks, or chats. I spent my life denouncing violence. I worked hard until I built my own home. I got married and had 3 daughters, the oldest is 14 and the youngest is 4 ½. My wife is also well-educated and works in a bank.

 

This genocide started and I stayed at home in the Remal area in Gaza. I have no relatives in Gaza City, nor does my wife.

 

Last night there was heavy shooting and shelling around my home. I took my wife and daughters to the kitchen, away from windows. We lay down. Bullets struck the windows and the walls; my children and wife were screaming. I tried to calm them down. I was not any less afraid, I wanted also to scream! The shooting started at dawn, continued until 9 am the next day, when it became less intensive. Suddenly a knock at the door! Who is it? How could there be knocking at our door? Not opening is not a choice, opening is also a risk. The knocking continued while I was still reluctant.

 

I went to the door, and from inside I asked, “Who is it?” A weeping voice said, “Open please!” It was man crying, a broken voice from a broken human, the voice was carrying pain and agony. I asked again, “Who is it?” He said, “Please open, the Israeli army sent me to you, I have a message!”

 

I panicked! If I don’t open, they could come, and God knows what they would do! At least this is the sound of a man from Gaza. I opened the door. There was this man of around 50 years old, almost naked, in only his underwear, with his hands cuffed behind his back, trembling from fear and cold.

 

He said, “You and all males over 16 years old must come down and go towards the armoured tank on the left side of the street, and all women and children under 16 years old must come down and go to the right side of the street. You must come down to the street naked but for your underwear, otherwise they will treat you as a threat and shoot you on the spot!”

 

For few seconds I froze; frozen from shock, frozen from fear, frozen by a million thoughts and ideas passing through my mind, none of which I could keep in my head! The man was crying: “Please speed up, they gave me only 5 minutes to finish this mission! We must come down together!”

 

Like a robot, I went in, told my wife what was happening and what we should do. I was very neutral. My children were crying from fear, as they had already been doing all night, and I could not do anything to calm them down. I calmly told them the message and went to the door. I looked back at my family wondering if this would be the last look, the last time I would see them? I don’t know what is happening to me, suddenly I feel nothing, and I am telling myself, go hug them, go kiss them! I hear myself, inside my head while my body moves mechanically towards and out the door. As I went out of sight of my wife and children, I took off my clothes and went down with the naked and handcuffed man.

 

Down we went to the left side, where there were several tanks and armoured vehicles, not just one. The street was full of soldiers with guns. There was lots of rubble, I did not realise how many homes had been destroyed, it was like stepping into hell! A fluent Arabic-speaking soldier asked us to stop. I stopped. He told me to lay down with my face on the ground. I did. He told me to put my hands behind my back. I did. All of this while countless guns were pointed at me and my other naked neighbours, who had arrived before me. Suddenly a soldier approached me, pulled my arms brutally, tied them together behind my back, and blindfolded me with a piece of cloth. He told me to stand. It was not easy from my position; the soldier helped me by kicking me in my thigh! It helped; the pain obliged me to jump! They took me a few meters away, put me on my knees facing a wall, and started to ask me about myself, my family, about the activities of armed men in the area, about tunnels. With every answer of “I don’t know,” I was beaten. What could I do? I didn’t know!

 

After 20 minutes, they turned me to face a small drone which was flying near my face, scanning it, and then flew away. Then they put me back on my knees facing the wall. Little stones scratched my knees. A small stone was almost entering my skin under my knee. When I tried to move a bit to avoid it, it didn’t help, I felt more pain! It was not the only pain, they had cuffed my hands with plastic strips, very tight, so that I felt no blood reaching my hands. It felt very cold and painful in my back. Suddenly the pain began to move to every single part of my body, and I felt very cold everywhere. A light rain started, I felt the drops of water on my head and my back first, then my whole body became wet. I could not move, it was very cold, I started to feel freezing. I really don’t know, in fact I can’t remember if I cried during those hours facing the wall, I am trying to remember what I was thinking of during this time, but honestly, I don’t remember.

 

Did I think about death? Did I think that they were going to arrest me or to execute me!? Did I think about my wife and my girls? Did I think about my home, my friends, my job, my past life, or my future? I don’t know. Maybe I thought about all of this and more, I don’t remember….

 

At 4 pm they told me to stand, and God only knows what effort and pain it took for me to stand! I first threw my body to the side, then struggled to be on my back, then I realised this was not helping, so I turned again to face the ground, putting one leg forward and pushing against the ground with all that remained of my strength, until finally I stood, with many new scratches all over my back my chest, my bottom, my legs and my hands. A soldier took the blindfold off my eyes from behind. For few seconds, it was not easy to face the light of day. There was another soldier in front of me, pointing his gun at my face. He said sharply, “Go towards Al Rashid Street, the sea road! Walk towards the middle area! Walk and don’t stop, walk, and don’t look behind you, not a single time! Walk until you reach Nuseirat Camp. Go!

 

It was obvious that there was no possibility to argue or even to ask about anything, not my family, not my home, not my clothes, not even about the plastic cuffs around my hands.

 

It is 13 km from my home to Nuseirat Camp. I started walking. I walked and walked, with nothing around me but destruction, bombed buildings, smashed homes, uprooted roads, water and sewage leakage everywhere, dogs and cats, from time to time, dead human bodies in the streets, some with dogs on them.

 

I walked and walked, naked, cold, the rain was heavy for 15 minutes, then light, then it stopped. I wanted to wipe the water from my eyes and my face, but I could not with my hands cuffed behind me. I walked and walked, from time to time passing by armoured vehicles and tanks. Night fell, it was dark, I could barely see where to put my feet, but I walked, I had no other choice. I started to think, “I am alive, they won’t shoot me, they would have done it already if they wanted me dead, right? Where is my family? My wife and my children? Are they still in Gaza? Were they allowed to go back home? Were they forced to walk like me to Nuseirat? If yes, where would they go? We, they, don’t know anyone outside of Gaza City!”

 

It was 9 pm when I saw on the horizon the shape of a man coming toward me. I had already passed the Gaza Valley, I was near Nuseirat, maybe 1 km only. The man approached me, and I fell into his arms. Another 2 men reached us, they uncuffed me, one of them had a coat and put it on me. I wanted to cry, I looked for tears to cry, I tried to hear myself crying, but no sound came out of my mouth. l think I was crying inside me, my tears were dropping inside my eyes instead of outside. It burned, I felt it burn like hell! They had a small car, they put me in the front seat. We drove for 5 minutes, and reached a school, a shelter, where they provided me with some clothes. They brought me some food, but I could not eat. They insisted, but really, I could not. I asked about my family, my wife, and children. They did not recognise the names. Maybe my family is back home, how can I know? I asked for a mobile to ring my wife. Trying once and again, and again and again, it didn’t work! I did not know what to do! They brought me to a place, a tent in the middle of the school’s front yard. There were 4 men inside the tent, they welcomed me, and they pointed to a mattress that I could use to sleep. I lay down, I slept.

 

Here I am for the 5th day in the school, in the tent, trying to find my family, trying to call. I went to all the schools in Nuseirat, in Deir Al Balah, in Zawaida, in Sawarha, looking for my children and my wife, and I can’t find them! I went to the UNRWA Operation Centre, I went to several NGO’s, I called the ICRC, and yet still can’t find my family! I don’t know if they are alive or dead. Tomorrow I will go to Rafah, to look for my family amongst the 1.3 million people there. Please pray for me that I will find them! Please pray for their safety! Please….

 

Birds in paradise

When we were young and a child in the family or in the neighbourhood died, adults would tell us that this child is in heaven, he will be transformed into a beautiful bird in paradise. 

We liked the idea, yet we had doubts. If it is something so good, why are mothers and fathers weeping, mourning, crying?  Why do mothers keep wearing black dresses for months, why do they not smile anymore? Why is no-one laughing, and if any of us laugh they tell us to be quiet? 

UNICEF and the Ministry of Health has said that 13,000 children were killed in Gaza by the Israeli army during the last 5 months. 

This is too many birds; I think paradise is full of birds now. 

Isn’t it enough?

18 March 2024

I Lived

I consider myself to be a lucky Palestinian, a lucky resident of Gaza. I am 56 years old, and I can consider myself lucky because I have had many opportunities which the majority of Gazans under the age of 35 never had.

Examples:

I have traveled to more than 12 countries, while most Gazans have never seen any place beyond Gaza.

From the age of 17, I have always had work, and was never unemployed. 72% of Gazans under 35 are jobless and unemployed.

I got my own home when I was 40 years old. Most Gazans under 35 years of age do not have their own homes and are still living within their extended families.

I have my own car. 75% of Gazans under 35 have no cars.

I am married and have the most beautiful daughter in the world! The majority of Gazans under 35 can’t afford marriage expenses and can’t raise a family.

I have wonderful, loyal friends in Gaza and in many other countries, including those on this list to whom I send these journals, who think about me, and who support me with what they can. Most Gazans under 35 do have friends for sure, but they are limited to Gaza.

It is no wonder Gazans under 35 are not as lucky as I am, we are under occupation!

We are under fire, under bombardment, under shelling, exposed to famine, starvation, and genocide. We have no means to treat the daily hundreds of injured, and every day we bury hundreds of our children and women and men. We have no way out. We are trapped in Gaza.

So, why should we not sing? Gazans under 35 must sing: “The sky is blue, the grass is green… and I say to myself, what a wonderful world!” 

What a wonderful world…

15 March 2024

Talking about Me

My name is Hossam, I will be 56 years old this coming July. I am married to Abeer, my beloved wife and we have one lovely girl, Salma, 23 years old.

I was born as a Palestinian in Gaza; I did not choose that. I grew up in a large poor family, I did not choose that, either.  My father is a bit educated; my mother is not. I did not choose them, I simply accepted all of that.

I grew up realising that we are under occupation with strange soldiers speaking a strange language in our streets. Stopping people in the streets, searching them, humiliating them, arresting them. My father used to warn us not to get close to the soldiers. Why? I don’t know.  And as a child, I did not understand why and what was happening. I thought that this is life, and that this is how it is all over the world. At that time, as a young boy, to me the whole world was Gaza City. In fact, all that I knew were some streets in Gaza City. So, I had no opinion.

At the age of 16, I wanted to go to Israel, many people did. So, I took a taxi to Tel Aviv. It was that simple in the early 1980s. Tel Aviv, what a city! It is so big, so beautiful, so clean. High buildings, shiny stores, sparkling beaches, new cars, traffic lights, painted pavements! Why wasn’t Gaza like Tel Aviv? I did not know. In Tel Aviv there are people, normal people, yes speaking a strange language but normal people. Why can’t we live there? Why don’t they live among us in Gaza and the West Bank? Why must we get permits to enter Tel Aviv? Why can’t we live together?

They look human like us, we look human like them. 

I grew up more and realised that a military occupation means slavery and no rights for the occupied people.

Then, when I worked in Israel for 5 years from 1985 to 1990, I realised that we are welcomed there, as long as we are obedient under the occupation. We are good, as long as we accept being cheap labourers without rights. We are then well treated like a good slave or a nice pet.

We could not accept this. In 1987 the first Intifada took place, a public uprising against the occupation. It took several forms; throwing stones at soldiers, writing anti-occupation graffiti on the walls, setting fire to car tyres in the middle of the streets to block army vehicles from passing, and calling for a boycott of Israeli products.

This movement was met with severe violence; shooting, killing and arresting thousands of young men.

I was one of these young men, and I was arrested in 1992 for 9 months, accused of protesting against the Occupation and throwing stones at soldiers.

(In 2012, | went to the USA. On arriving at the Washington DC airport, I was stopped by the visa controller and asked if I had ever been arrested, even though I had put the answer in the visa application, so he knew. | said yes, and he asked, why? I said, because I threw stones at Israeli soldiers in 1992. He asked if it was wise to throw stones against a machine gun, and I said, it seemed very wise at that time. He laughed and allowed me in.)

In 1993, I became involved in theatre, and humanitarian work. It changed my life, I decided to continue resisting the occupation as an individual with my own words, by my acting on the stage, by my efforts to help people in need, and by trying to bring awareness of our cause to Europe and any other place I could get to. For all my life since then, I have denounced violence. I can’t see it as a solution to any conflict or disagreement. Yet, for all of our lives we have been exposed to severe violence by the Occupation, all types of violence, killing, injuring, arresting, starvation, depriving us from basic human needs or human rights, treating us as nothing, less than people, less that human beings.

Terror! What is terror if it is not the Occupation?! What is terror if it is not blocking people at checkpoints, depriving them of their identity?!

The first time I ever travelled abroad was to Spain in 1995. We did not yet have the Palestinian passport. Instead, we had something called a ‘Laissez Passer’ issued by the Israeli authorities: Name, ID number, photo, birth date, and the nationality: Unidentified.

This is exactly what they wrote in front of the nationality identification: Unidentified.

It was a shock, it hurt, it was humiliating, it was and still is not fair.

I came to understand more as I witnessed the arrival of the Palestinian Authority; the corrupt one. Are we free? Are soldiers out of Gaza? No! They are there at Nitzareem Junction, south of Gaza City, with their tanks and guns and checkpoints. They are there at Abu Holy in the middle of Gaza Strip, with their tanks and guns and checkpoints and armed observation towers. They are there at Rafah crossing, and they still have full authority to allow or prevent anyone from crossing in or out.

Again, everything is in their hands. Our export, import, travel, movement, taxes, water, electricity, communications, all are controlled by the Israeli occupation.

Realising that this was the result of the Oslo Agreements makes me feel even more humiliated.

In 2000, the second Intifada, again, a public uprising against the Occupation began. This time, some Palestinians had guns, and they used them. Hamas started its terror attacks and suicide bombings. And, as if the Israelis were waiting for this to happen, their retaliation had no limits; bombing, killing, closing whole neighbourhoods, blockades, arresting thousands of people.

Why do they think that any nation will accept to be enslaved forever? Why don’t they realise that the only solution is to set people free so that they can decide and determine their lives and their future for themselves?

And now I have come to see Hamas taking over Gaza, with the same practices of corruption, even worse than with the Palestinian Authority. Moreover, they treat people with clear discrimination, if you are not Hamas, you are a stranger. Speech censorship. How many times have young people protested for unity between Gaza and the West Bank, between Hamas and the Palestine Authority, only to be met with the iron hand of Hamas?

I have come to realise that the main cause of Hamas’ creation is the Occupation itself. Israeli policy for the last 17 years has been to keep Gaza and the West Bank separated so as to undermine any possibility of unity and the development of a Palestinian state. For years they allowed Qatar to fund Hamas. They wanted Hamas there to claim that they can’t negotiate peace while a terror organisation is in control.

I am now witnessing the complete destruction of my city, witnessing the assassination of more than 30,000 of my people, the injuring of more than 70,000 of my people, the destruction of 60% of my town’s houses. Living the fear, the terror, the starvation, the famine and the slow death of 2.3 million people.

The last few days I don’t feel well at all. The least effort I make makes me feel tired, exhausted. Today I found someone with some scales in the market, with a piece of paper on which was written: weigh yourself for 1 Shekel. I did, I am 69 KG. The last time I weighed myself, before the war, it was 85 KG. This is a severe drop, unhealthy, I know, because of the type of food we have; with no meat, no chicken, no fish, no fruit, no nuts, and unsafe water. Yes, I am sick.

15 March 2024

White Page

Opening my laptop, opening a Word document, trying to write something about our frozen life, a life that is limited to looking for a food parcel or waiting for some news about a ceasefire.

The thoughts in my head are scattered, I am unable to concentrate on one idea or one subject. My dog lays his head in my lap, making the writing difficult. Poor dog, for two days, he has not been feeling good. He has a stomach pain, it is stomach pollution, the doctor said. The food we eat is not healthy. What alternatives do we have? None. I took my medication and tried to sleep. My mother, in the other room, does not stop whining in pain too. She gets worse and her health is deteriorating fast. Nothing can be done. Helplessness is killing!

All talk is about invading Rafah, making the subject the most talked-about by everybody. They are terrified. Where to go? How to survive under the continuous bombing? Every day there is a targeted bombing or a random bombing, people are killed and injured without a stop.

The two little girls living with us (the daughters of Abeer’s sister) are much quieter than usual, they look very sad, most of time sitting doing nothing. What children of 14 and 8 can stay still doing nothing for hours? There is no playing, no going out, no school, no friends, no relatives visiting, no walking in the market, no going to the beach. Just staying at home doing nothing. Nothingness is a slow killer; it kills the spirit and the soul first. What can I do? I brought them some toys, some paper, and colours. Then what?

I received a call from a colleague in one of the shelters, about another unaccompanied child, a 14-year-old girl. She said that she escaped from Gaza, she was 3 days in the street. She is afraid and knows nothing about her family. She wanted to go back to Deir El Balah, where she has relatives, but she could not name them. I called the Ministry of Social Development and SoS. I don’t want to go, it is only heartbreaking, and I can provide nothing. Helplessness is killing!

A mother is carrying a little child, a few months old, holding another child of 3 with her hand. Behind her is another child of 6, begging, asking for food. She is very dirty, and her children too. They look very poor, very skinny, what will a few Shekels do for them? I give her 5, which means almost zero. Helplessness killing!

This page is not white anymore, there are many words in black. I hate black, next time I will use another colour, maybe it will help me feel better.

Good night

13 March 2024

2 Million Meals

Two million meals will arrive for the Gazan people in 60 days, after the installation of the temporary floating seaport.

Ok people of Gaza, you are superior, everyone knows that! You can wait without food for 60 days, that’s easy!

And yes, 2 million meals should be enough for 2.3 million people.

And yes, one meal per day should be enough, you can survive with it.

And yes, you should be grateful for 2 million meals every day.

We know that we did not mention the water, we believe you can live without it. Palestinians are superior!

No sanitation as well! We believe you can manage.

No health treatment? You have already been without this luxury for 6 months, who needs it? Only soft people in the West. You can live without it.

We did not mention education? Really? Never mind. How has education helped your people before? Most Palestinians are well educated and yet they can’t find jobs, so there is no need to waste time on education.

Yes, shelter. For sure we know you will manage to live in the rubble and in tents. You  have already proved that you can for the last 5 months.

Palestinians of Gaza, enough complaining! We expect your thanks and gratitude for the 2 million meals that you will receive in 60 days.

Stop killing you, your children, and your women? In fact, we can’t guarantee anything.

11 March 2024

We Used to Have Ramadan

The month of Ramadan for Muslims is a very special and important month. Muslims around the world celebrate it in many ways, and all Muslims fast from dawn to sunset. Who doesn’t know that?

In Gaza too, we used to have a month of Ramadan, and we would begin preparing for it several days in advance. 

We used to buy special decorations and hang them in the streets and inside our homes.

We used to buy special lamps made in Ramadan especially for children.

We used to make Qatayef (very sweet pastry stuffed with nuts and honey) or buy it in Ramadan.

We used to make special meals and invite sisters and brothers and friends to eat and celebrate the month of Ramadan together.

We used to go out and have our sunset meal at the beach if Ramadan fell in the summer or go to restaurants if it was winter.

We used to spend more money in Ramadan because the sunset meal is made up of many different dishes, more than at any other time of the year.

After the sunset meal, children would go out into the streets with their Ramadan lamps celebrating, playing, and arguing over who had the nicest lamp.

Two hours before sunset, we used to take our children to the market to buy the evening’s needs, but mostly to spend and waste the time until sunset.

At Ramadan, families visit each other and exchange gifts between relatives and friends more than at any other time of the year.

At Ramadan people feel more like giving, so poor people receive more charity.

Children love Ramadan and wait for it, especially since it is followed by the festival of Eid, one of the two main feasts for Muslims.

We used to have Ramadan and after the sunset meal, all the families would be stuck in front of their TVs watching soap operas made especially for Ramadan.

Today is the first day of Ramadan.

People do not have any Ramadan decorations.

Children have no Ramadan lamps.

Families do no not have enough food.

There are no markets to purchase things, or to spend time at before sunset.

There are no visits for families or friends.

No gifts are given out.

Poor people do not find any one to give them charity, all people are in need of charity.

Today is the first day of Ramadan and there are no restaurants to have a meal inside, no beach to have a meal outside at sunset.

Ramadan came and there is no electricity, so no TVs and no soap operas to watch.

We used to have Ramadan, but there is no Ramadan this year.

They stole Ramadan from us. They stole the leisure and fun from our children. They stole our lives.

9 March 2024

A Memory

In 1989, l was 19 years old, and I left school for work in Israel. For Palestinians, working in Israel means only manual labor, as farmers, carpenters, mechanics, collies, cleaners, construction workers, washing dishes in restaurants, (no shame at all), and of course we are not registered in the Israeli workers unions. We have no rights other than the agreed salary, no health insurance, not any type of compensation for the end of service or for work injuries. Of course, jobs in engineering, teaching, the medical professions, and so on, are not allowed for Palestinians from Gaza and the West bank.

I had been working in a blacksmith’s. The owner was a very kind and friendly Israeli man, who originally came from Poland as a young man in 1951 with his family. He participated in the 1956 and 1973 wars as well as the invasion of Lebanon in 1982.

Once he told me in a very friendly way, “Hossam, I like you, you are a good young man, you don’t make trouble. But you know, your people are not like you. They make trouble for our army in Gaza and the West Bank. You know that if your people were clever enough and united with us, we could control the world. Your people with their good manual skills and we with our brains, we really could control the world. Just accept the fact that we are cleverer and let us make the strategic decisions.”

The following week I was in Gaza, writing graffiti against the Israeli occupation on the walls of Gaza City, and for that I was arrested for 9 months by the Israeli government.

8 March 2024

What to Answer When You Have No Answer

All parents in all cultures struggle with the questions raised by their children at different ages, questions like: where do we come from? What is God? Will we go to hell if we lie?

Some are clever or educated enough to provide some answers, but many get stuck and give no answers or at least provide stupid answers. We parents know that, and even so, we fall into this trap.

In Rafah, although it is still the least destroyed city in the Gaza Strip, you can’t walk 100 meters without passing a destroyed home or a bombed building.

I was walking with my brother-in-law and his 8-year-old daughter towards the market, trying to find some sugar at whatever price to make something sweet for the children on the weekend, when we passed by a huge, destroyed building. Saba, the 8-year-old asked, “How did they bring people out from under this rubble?” Her father was confused, he lied, and said there were no people when the Israelis bombed this building.

“What about that one?” she asked, pointing at another destroyed building. Her father again, said that it was empty, too.

The 8-year-old girl said, “Hmmm… but then, when were all those children killed?!!”

Her father and I were astonished, we had no answer.

Saba said, “I’m 8, but I’m not stupid!”

By the way, we did not find any sugar in the market, and we went back with nothing.

8 mars 2024

Que répondre quand on n’a pas de réponse ?

Tous les parents, dans toutes les cultures, se débattent avec les questions soulevées par leurs enfants à différents âges, des questions telles que : d’où venons-nous ? Qu’est-ce que Dieu ? Ira-t-on en enfer si l’on ment ?

Certains sont suffisamment intelligents ou éduqués pour apporter des réponses, mais beaucoup restent bloqués et ne donnent aucune réponse, ou du moins donnent des réponses stupides. Nous, les parents, le savons, et pourtant, nous tombons dans ce piège.

À Rafah, bien que ce soit la ville la moins détruite de la bande de Gaza, on ne peut pas marcher 100 mètres sans passer devant une maison détruite ou un bâtiment bombardé.

Je marchais avec mon beau-frère et sa fille de 8 ans vers le marché en essayant de trouver du sucre à n’importe quel prix, pour faire quelque chose de sucré pour les enfants pendant le week-end, lorsque nous sommes passés devant un énorme bâtiment détruit. Saba, la fillette de 8 ans, a demandé : « Comment ont-ils fait pour sortir les gens de sous les décombres ? ». Son père était confus, il a menti et a dit qu’il n’y avait personne lorsque les Israéliens avaient bombardé ce bâtiment.

« Et celui-là ? » demande-t-elle en montrant un autre bâtiment détruit. Son père lui répond à nouveau qu’il était vide lui aussi.

La fillette de 8 ans a répondu : « Hmmm… mais alors, quand tous ces enfants ont-ils été tués ?! »

Son père et moi étions étonnés, nous n’avions pas de réponse.

Saba a dit : « J’ai 8 ans, mais je ne suis pas stupide ! »

D’ailleurs, nous n’avons pas trouvé de sucre au marché, et nous sommes repartis sans rien.

8 mars 2024

Que répondre quand on n’a pas de réponse ?

Tous les parents, dans toutes les cultures, se débattent avec les questions soulevées par leurs enfants à différents âges, des questions telles que : d’où venons-nous ? Qu’est-ce que Dieu ? Ira-t-on en enfer si l’on ment ?

Certains sont suffisamment intelligents ou éduqués pour apporter des réponses, mais beaucoup restent bloqués et ne donnent aucune réponse, ou du moins donnent des réponses stupides. Nous, les parents, le savons, et pourtant, nous tombons dans ce piège.

À Rafah, bien que ce soit la ville la moins détruite de la bande de Gaza, on ne peut pas marcher 100 mètres sans passer devant une maison détruite ou un bâtiment bombardé.

Je marchais avec mon beau-frère et sa fille de 8 ans vers le marché en essayant de trouver du sucre à n’importe quel prix, pour faire quelque chose de sucré pour les enfants pendant le week-end, lorsque nous sommes passés devant un énorme bâtiment détruit. Saba, la fillette de 8 ans, a demandé : « Comment ont-ils fait pour sortir les gens de sous les décombres ? ». Son père était confus, il a menti et a dit qu’il n’y avait personne lorsque les Israéliens avaient bombardé ce bâtiment.

« Et celui-là ? » demande-t-elle en montrant un autre bâtiment détruit. Son père lui répond à nouveau qu’il était vide lui aussi.

La fillette de 8 ans a répondu : « Hmmm… mais alors, quand tous ces enfants ont-ils été tués ?! »

Son père et moi étions étonnés, nous n’avions pas de réponse.

Saba a dit : « J’ai 8 ans, mais je ne suis pas stupide ! »

D’ailleurs, nous n’avons pas trouvé de sucre au marché, et nous sommes repartis sans rien.

6 March 2024

Little Stories

Since the start of the war, I have been writing only what I see, what I feel, what I witness, avoiding writing what I hear. But there are thousands of little stories that can’t be ignored.

A colleague from Khan Younis told me this: 

“I left home at the beginning of the invasion of Khan Younis and came to Rafah with my family. We spent two days on the street before we managed to find a tent. Yesterday we went back to Khan Younis. There is no home; my home, my street, all the buildings on my street were destroyed. In fact, they were smashed, and no one can recognise the street or the locations of the houses.”

A friend from Abasan, east of Khan Younis village:

 

“As soon as we learned that the Israeli army left the village, we went back. My home was not there. People were in the streets collecting bodies, yes, bodies of people who had been dead for days and even weeks. They were left there. Many had been partly eaten by street dogs and cats. A woman recognised her husband from his shirt, there was no face, no skin.”

A man from Gaza told us: 

“There were some people between Gaza City and Nuseirat camp, in the middle area, on the sea road waiting for people leaving from Gaza City and the north to go south. They were waiting with water and bread and some food to give. A woman arrived, so skinny, very exhausted. They welcomed her and gave her some food. She grabbed a piece of bread and was eating it with tears, repeating the word, — ‘Bread, bread, three weeks without bread! No one knows what it means to feed on grass and animal food, except the ones who must do it! Bread, bread!’ — And she kept crying.”

At the Alnajjar hospital, a 65-year-old man was arrested for 3 weeks by the Israeli army. No one could figure out what type of torture he had been exposed to. The man was not speaking, he had scars on his wrists, on his feet, on his nose, and his eyes were wide open looking everywhere as if he was looking for someone or at somebody with fear. 

According to UNICEF, 17,000 children have been orphaned in Gaza since the 7th October 2023. 

A man said:

“My father refused to leave his home in Khan Younis. When we went back home three weeks later, we found our father shot in the head, dead for more than a week. His body smelled.”

A boy said:

 “When we left Khuza (a village of Khan Younis), I could not find my cat, she was hiding somewhere, and we had to leave. We went back yesterday, three weeks later and I found my cat dead in the kitchen.”

Calling my brother in Gaza: 

“How are you?”

 

“Very bad.” 

“Sorry for the stupid question. How are you doing?”

“Dying with my children, silently.” 

“Did you go where the food was air dropped, maybe you could get something?” 

“I’d rather see my children living one day more even hungry than to see them shot or stabbed over some food that we might or might not get.”