Our humanity is one with different parts.
The bread baker is the foundation, he and his wife or child are always there, in the bakery, they sit with half open door when times are blacker that usual. The gas station attendant might be found, but the other shops would be closed on a black black day.
The land shows up in everything, dusting the streets and buildings and sidewalks. Relatives far and near always comforting, days across black, villages removed, grow quiet.
The farmer might be in his field, he might be resting inside. The markets are inactive when they're not bustling.
The trees are dusty olive green, the plumber was in the taxi returning from deir debwan when the 80-year old lady was hit with a bullet,
and died.
The surgeon is never seen, but his patients are talked about night and day, years ago you were invited to lunch at his house.
The school children are oblivious, so you'd think, with their clamoring, and singing, choir of voices, walking in pairs and huddling in groups, showing off their school bags and clothes.
Down at the refugee camp school, one screamed to his buddy across the street,
"Ali Abdalla Allaham, you come over here right now, or I'll make an "'amlieh istishadieh bi quds al gharbieh!"
The butcher is popular, always has customers in the capital, the wine seller has his stock of fine french, italians, and more.
The school principal has a calm and wise demeanor of a listener.
A couple of girls came down from Nablus, with their grandmother.
The Gazan taxi driver is working in the factory dying dresses for a Tel Aviv wholesaler, and at 6 o'clock after work, he comes on duty, dressed sharply, groomed impeccably, wearing a tie.
He is a handsome young man, well-mannered, his family, not so far away, an hour by car,
he hasn't seen them for six years.
“Illegal” is his presence here.
The ballet and dance teachers and dj's and musicians and hotels, all give relief to a few whose assets exceed their income, and a few, whose income exceeds their assets.
The Lima of Palestine.
Personalities and histories are magic lights that speckle and shine, giving this city its greatest glory.
Monadeleen, any which way you slice it. Kufar, some or many, but fewer than in days of old, even communists have converted.
Imprisoned, at some point in their lives, many many men, some women, suffering torture, tied to a chair, watching their friends being beaten into pulped berries, extracting confessions, exacting the multitudes, creating calloused exteriors, enduring, soft interiors.
Young men, who, returning home, stayed in the service of their aging parents, affording them all the respect and care that inspires awe. This young man didn't leave like his brothers to South Africa, London, or Chicago.
The garage owner, greasy, gummed up, oil black shoes and hands, pants, shirt, face, studied in Czechoslovakia. He reads the dailies, observes a regular routine of salon-like exchange in his brother's coffee shop with his cousin the barber who brings the stories of the day.
They discuss like philosophers, reflecting on their opinions, they re-read and revise, they taking turn taking sides on difficult issues of historical importance, political maneuvering, and suicide.
The translator is finding regular employment. University teachers, like every one with a job, receive half pay. Government workers, unpaid, seek temporary positions in NGOs, or alternate shifts in the family supermarket, or drive a car in the family taxi business.
The construction companies kept on employing, architects found their work decaying, engineers managed. Construction families are large, sources of capital that branch out into the leaves of braches off branches off the trunk of a tree into less stellar incomes of brother's cousins.
Doctors and nurses work on, many with part time pay. Part-time clinic operator/owners outside the nucleus of stardom stand-by as electric fans spin in their chalk-dry offices.
The roads are decaying, but the trash is picked up. The dry-cleaner has a little brother who is looking for an American bride--an escape from the late night deliveries, from his brother's shadow.
People with American passports are disappearing. They're no longer allowed into the country. Palestinian American citizens reside without residency – prohibited.
Apartments are emptying . Their owners alienated. Coercion and desertion, forced exile, away from their families, their livelihoods and incomes, their businesses and homes.
The ballet teacher, the school teacher, the artist, the engineer, the printer, all turned around at the border by Israeli political office executioners.
The university students travel in mini-busses from their families, from their offices, across checkpoints fast or slow. Jobs await the lucky few. They eek out a living.
They are the future assets of their mothers' and fathers' families. They make ends meet, feeding their children, paying their bills.
Young professionals make payments on their apartments, and wait for better days in the offices of ministers and councilmen, lawyers and businessmen.
The teaching elite struggles. The academic experts toil and rest, think and write, and serve to remind, as lights of society, of its backbone, alerting to failures, warnings, hopes, assets, risks, the future, and discuss the past.
The ice cream vendor vends, standing outside schools and alongside busy roads. He walks the quieter streets of wealthy neighborhoods and stands beside lines of moving cars downtown.
The divorced wife cries in her estrangement and seeks solace in her girlfriends. She counts the pennies of her paycheck, the shekels of her bills, and the dollars of her house payments. She
endures a road of hope to freedom, but not liberty.
The generals have died, leaving their legacy behind, the annals of struggles and resistance, the stories of their observational roles backstage with their leaders, and on the battlefield.
The massacres they've witnessed, the trickery, the bribery and cooptation, changing specters of militias and mafias.
Stories from the villages and stories of the city itself. Stories and more stories. Car accidents and murder, conspirators and traitors, embezzlers and heroes.
A young child martyr, not even holding a stone, shot by a gunner in a tank, was on his way to buy rice or cigarettes for this mother of father or brother, twelve years old.
Military police raids, house searches, and kitchen bombs, threatening and terrifying and bullying with their weapon-clad uniform drab sparkling young blue eyes, golden hair, black hair, cocky young and fair-skinned, someone else's heroes, someone else's degenerates, someone else's family failures.
But not ours, not ours, not ours.
We are their "others", their niggers, their aliens, prisoners, slaves, prostitutes, and executioners,
We are their push-arounds, whatever they imagine, we are for them, we are theirs, their playthings. We are the long short-haired hot dog, that the 14-year old deranged bully throws against the wall, as he teaches bad habits to the six, eight and ten-year olds bullied innocents around him, subjected to his domineering domain.
Children are flying kites that tower and prevail far above every end of the city, in its central arteries, back roads and empty lots.
Researchers look for jobs, cater to national causes within the confines of political circles, academic programs, or donor mandates.
At prayer time, some go to pray, green marching bands celebrate.
The fruit and vegetable seller, with his spread, buys imported fruit from the wholesalers, legumes like artichoki and sparagus, and watermelon from the settlers who have built farms on theirs and their neighbors lands with subsidized modern, moted farms, where security stalls, high gates, and enclosing brush, are surround by emptied buffer zones, and lay dispersed where villages’ olive groves and wells once stood.
Hills and hills, with barb-wired, lookout posts where unseen soldiers' helmets are exposed, and blue and white flags adorn.
Checkpoint charlies with their sunken eyes and smiling captains, who turn around and at once expose their open mouths, revealing their real teeth beneath their glamour-boy exteriors.
U.N. cars are careening on the highway, slipping through VIP sideways, circumscribing crouching grandmothers, kneeling and handcuffed men, hidden behind the ramparts.
Burning torches light the darkened military entrance/exit of Ramallah. Soldiers smoke cigarettes and stand-by.
The night hills are empty and the olive trees mark the close and beginning of centuries. The olive trees count course hands catching at their leaves lifting the darkened fruits of the dry rubbled surface above thousands of years of rock, layering into the center of the earth.
Break the Siege of Gaza
The siege is a genocide and don't say you didn't know
Monday, December 4, 2006
“Mummy, do you know how much I love you?”
"Mummy, do you know how much I love you? As big as America !" This is what Luai told me as soon as I met him in Nablus. I said to myself that even my four year old child knows the power of the United States.
This happened last Wednesday. I was informed at noon that I had a one-day permit to go to the West Bank and that another permit would be issued to me the next day to return to Gaza. I decided to take a risk and leave in order to meet my family and bring Luai back with me to Gaza.
I arrived at the Erez crossing point at 2.15 P.M. and was in Ramallah at 5.15 P.M. I left Ramallah for Nablus with my husband at 6.15 P.M. Before the Intifada this trip took only 45 minutes. (Before the Intifada the entire trip took only 45 minutes.)
On the way to Nablus, near the Shilo settlement, we were stopped by "flying checkpoints", the expression used for moveable, non-fixed checkpoints. We stayed there for only 40 minutes. Yes, it was a short delay. There had been a car accident near this checkpoint and injured Israelis in the cars as a result. This road is used by both Palestinians and Israelis. When an Israeli car approaches a checkpoint it usually has priority to pass. The road was a narrow, two-way road and the Israeli cars approached the checkpoint, leaving us and closing the other side of the road. It meant that the Israeli citizens were now in danger because they were side by side with the Palestinian cars. An ambulance also came to the checkpoint so the soldiers had to let the crowds of Palestinian cars pass quickly in order to allow the Israeli cars to pass quickly, too. Their time is valuable, of course, and their security is also important! This is why we spent only 40 minutes at this checkpoint.
We arrived at Hawara checkpoint at 7.45 P.M., which is the southern entrance to the city of Nablus. Of course, we had to get out of the car and walk for about 800 metres from where the cars stop to the car station on the other side of the checkpoint. Entering was easy. There was no personal search or checking of IDs. When we arrived on the other side of the checkpoint we found that there were hundreds of people waiting for their turn to leave Nablus. When we asked them when they had arrived at the checkpoint they told us they had come at 12 noon. "The checkpoint is closed for the people leaving Nablus" a man answered. "It seems that it's a rehearsal for the days of Ramadan.” he added.
I was happy that I could arrive in Nablus and meet my family, especially my son and my husband.
The next day I was told that my permit was issued and that I should proceed to Ramallah to collect it and return to Gaza. I arrived at the Hawara checkpoint at 12 noon with my son and my husband. We had to take a car because of the luggage, which was very heavy. We could not carry it when we were walking through the checkpoint because of the narrowness of the pedestrian section. There were 12 cars waiting before us. Every half an hour a car left the checkpoint. The excuse of the Israeli soldiers was that the X-ray machine to examine luggage was not working and they had to search all of the cars manually. In the pedestrian section hundreds of people were waiting to get out of Nablus and the movement was very slow, as well. Of course, men and women are separated – one queue for women and another for men.
My child had been trying to sleep for three hours and he could not because like all children he sleeps only when the car is in motion. I read three stories for Luai while we were waiting, Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Nevertheless, he could not sleep and was nagging constantly, asking me, “Why aren’t we moving? Why does the Israeli army hate us?” I could not give him a satisfactory answer.
At 3 P.M. the women’s queue was very short so Adi told me that it would be quicker for me to walk with Luai and take a service taxi from the other side. This is what we did and Adi stayed, waiting with the car. For the first time in my life I felt so happy that we have such customs and that the Israelis respect them. (Usually, when I enter any public place in Gaza and see the separate queues, I use the men’s queue because I disagree with the principle. But this time I didn’t even argue with Adi. I obeyed him, went to the women’s queue and in 10 minutes I was out.)
I proceeded to the car stop station and took a service taxi with some others, leaving at 3.15 P.M. Two minutes later we arrived at a "flying checkpoint". I felt like crying. I left my husband at the Hawara checkpoint in order to arrive in Ramallah earlier and not to have Luai suffer a lot. Now we would have to wait another few hours. This is a crazy life!
But lucky us! The driver decided not to go through this checkpoint and he drove via an agricultural road nearby. The Israelis could easily see us. They knew that some cars were going that way but they did nothing to stop them. So what is the reason for this checkpoint? It's not for security but for inhuman, humiliating purposes.
At this time I also learned that my permit to Gaza had not been issued and that I would have to apply for another and this would be issued the next day.
I arrived in Ramallah at 5 P.M. and Adi at 6.30 P.M. We were all exhausted and went to rest early, knowing that my permit had been issued and that I could go tomorrow to Beit El (an Israeli military base near Ramallah) to pick it up at 10 a.m.
The next morning I went to collect my permit and was told that it had been announced that there would be a closure in the territories because of the Jewish New Year. So I went back home, prepared for a long closure, thinking that I would be obliged to take leave from my work because of this, and I began to plan the next few days in Ramallah. At 11 a.m. I was informed that my permit had been issued and that I should go to Beit El to collect it. This time it was ready and I could take it with me. The validity was for only one day, ending at 7 P.M.
I left Ramallah at 12 noon with a friend's family. It was Friday so the city was empty and we arrived at Kalandia checkpoint at 12.15. Here, we also had to leave our car and walk through the checkpoint. When we arrived, there was only one man waiting for the soldiers to let him in. The checkpoint was empty because a closure had been announced the night before. After we passed through the rotating doors (the Arabic name for this word is “Hallabat” – milking doors – used for the farm cows to be milked one by one) the soldier behind the window told us that there was a closure and that we were not allowed to go through. We tried to explain to him that my permit had been issued half an hour before, during the closure, and that my friends had a Gazan ID card, which allowed them to return HOME. He didn't even want to listen or look at the permit. He was allowing only people with Jerusalem IDs to pass through.
Kalandia checkpoint is almost like an international border, with X-ray machines and soldiers behind bulletproof windows. People are allowed through one by one.
We decided to call the information number that I had on my permit and told them the whole story. The soldier on the other side of the line told me to wait a little bit until he told the soldiers on the checkpoint to let me in. We learned that the man we found waiting in front of us had not been allowed to enter and was waiting for the officer responsible for the checkpoint to discuss the issue with him. The man's family, wife and children passed the checkpoint by car and they were waiting for him outside. They have Jerusalem IDs. The father has a family reunification permit for one year, which allows him to stay in Jerusalem with his family until his ID is issued. Still the soldier behind the window did not want to allow him in.
While we were waiting another woman came with three children, one girl around three, and two boys, 11 and 12 years of age. The soldier allowed the mother and the girl in but he told her that the boys should return home. The woman was very strong. She started shouting and screaming at the soldier, telling him that she has a Jerusalem ID and that the three are her children and she showed him their birth certificates through the bulletproof window, stating that he was obliged to let them through. No way! He was so stubborn that he sent her back. At this point I was told by mobile that I could go in and the soldier behind the window told me to go through the rotating door. When I passed it with Luai, the soldier changed his mind and started to shout again, “Gaza no. Go back!” He was talking on the phone in his office and then shouted again "Wait, put your ID and permit on the window," and he checked it and allowed me to go through. When I started telling him about my friends he said "Gaza no, it's closure"
So after a thirty-minute wait, I went outside the checkpoint to the car and waited for my friends. They also called the number on their permit and discovered that they needed co-ordination from the Erez crossing point to the Beit El office, which would call the soldier at Kalandia to allow them to leave. This took us another hour of waiting. During this Luai was describing everything to the driver while we were waiting in the car. After one hour my friends joined us, we went to Erez and then into Gaza.
I learned from my friend that the woman with the three children waited until the shift of the stupid and stubborn soldier finished and the new ones allowed her in. The other man was still waiting for the officer to come and study his case.
So, going to the West Bank and moving from city to another means that there is no time for anything but to cross the checkpoints. I didn't even feel the joy of meeting Luai and Adi. The time that I didn't spend on the checkpoint I spent making calls to guarantee my permit to go back home. Still, I am very lucky to be able to obtain a permit in spite of all the difficulties.
I thought that the suffering in Gaza was the worst but after this trip to the West Bank I think everywhere in Palestine there is suffering and that it is very hard to describe.
I really don't know how we are able to produce anything in our lives when there is no value given to the time needed to do anything. We are losing land, it's true, but this might be returned one day. At least, we still believe so and are struggling to achieve that.
But how can we retrieve all the time that we have lost in our lives because of the occupiers who do not consider us human beings?
Lama Hourani, Gaza City
2006-09-24
This happened last Wednesday. I was informed at noon that I had a one-day permit to go to the West Bank and that another permit would be issued to me the next day to return to Gaza. I decided to take a risk and leave in order to meet my family and bring Luai back with me to Gaza.
I arrived at the Erez crossing point at 2.15 P.M. and was in Ramallah at 5.15 P.M. I left Ramallah for Nablus with my husband at 6.15 P.M. Before the Intifada this trip took only 45 minutes. (Before the Intifada the entire trip took only 45 minutes.)
On the way to Nablus, near the Shilo settlement, we were stopped by "flying checkpoints", the expression used for moveable, non-fixed checkpoints. We stayed there for only 40 minutes. Yes, it was a short delay. There had been a car accident near this checkpoint and injured Israelis in the cars as a result. This road is used by both Palestinians and Israelis. When an Israeli car approaches a checkpoint it usually has priority to pass. The road was a narrow, two-way road and the Israeli cars approached the checkpoint, leaving us and closing the other side of the road. It meant that the Israeli citizens were now in danger because they were side by side with the Palestinian cars. An ambulance also came to the checkpoint so the soldiers had to let the crowds of Palestinian cars pass quickly in order to allow the Israeli cars to pass quickly, too. Their time is valuable, of course, and their security is also important! This is why we spent only 40 minutes at this checkpoint.
We arrived at Hawara checkpoint at 7.45 P.M., which is the southern entrance to the city of Nablus. Of course, we had to get out of the car and walk for about 800 metres from where the cars stop to the car station on the other side of the checkpoint. Entering was easy. There was no personal search or checking of IDs. When we arrived on the other side of the checkpoint we found that there were hundreds of people waiting for their turn to leave Nablus. When we asked them when they had arrived at the checkpoint they told us they had come at 12 noon. "The checkpoint is closed for the people leaving Nablus" a man answered. "It seems that it's a rehearsal for the days of Ramadan.” he added.
I was happy that I could arrive in Nablus and meet my family, especially my son and my husband.
The next day I was told that my permit was issued and that I should proceed to Ramallah to collect it and return to Gaza. I arrived at the Hawara checkpoint at 12 noon with my son and my husband. We had to take a car because of the luggage, which was very heavy. We could not carry it when we were walking through the checkpoint because of the narrowness of the pedestrian section. There were 12 cars waiting before us. Every half an hour a car left the checkpoint. The excuse of the Israeli soldiers was that the X-ray machine to examine luggage was not working and they had to search all of the cars manually. In the pedestrian section hundreds of people were waiting to get out of Nablus and the movement was very slow, as well. Of course, men and women are separated – one queue for women and another for men.
My child had been trying to sleep for three hours and he could not because like all children he sleeps only when the car is in motion. I read three stories for Luai while we were waiting, Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Nevertheless, he could not sleep and was nagging constantly, asking me, “Why aren’t we moving? Why does the Israeli army hate us?” I could not give him a satisfactory answer.
At 3 P.M. the women’s queue was very short so Adi told me that it would be quicker for me to walk with Luai and take a service taxi from the other side. This is what we did and Adi stayed, waiting with the car. For the first time in my life I felt so happy that we have such customs and that the Israelis respect them. (Usually, when I enter any public place in Gaza and see the separate queues, I use the men’s queue because I disagree with the principle. But this time I didn’t even argue with Adi. I obeyed him, went to the women’s queue and in 10 minutes I was out.)
I proceeded to the car stop station and took a service taxi with some others, leaving at 3.15 P.M. Two minutes later we arrived at a "flying checkpoint". I felt like crying. I left my husband at the Hawara checkpoint in order to arrive in Ramallah earlier and not to have Luai suffer a lot. Now we would have to wait another few hours. This is a crazy life!
But lucky us! The driver decided not to go through this checkpoint and he drove via an agricultural road nearby. The Israelis could easily see us. They knew that some cars were going that way but they did nothing to stop them. So what is the reason for this checkpoint? It's not for security but for inhuman, humiliating purposes.
At this time I also learned that my permit to Gaza had not been issued and that I would have to apply for another and this would be issued the next day.
I arrived in Ramallah at 5 P.M. and Adi at 6.30 P.M. We were all exhausted and went to rest early, knowing that my permit had been issued and that I could go tomorrow to Beit El (an Israeli military base near Ramallah) to pick it up at 10 a.m.
The next morning I went to collect my permit and was told that it had been announced that there would be a closure in the territories because of the Jewish New Year. So I went back home, prepared for a long closure, thinking that I would be obliged to take leave from my work because of this, and I began to plan the next few days in Ramallah. At 11 a.m. I was informed that my permit had been issued and that I should go to Beit El to collect it. This time it was ready and I could take it with me. The validity was for only one day, ending at 7 P.M.
I left Ramallah at 12 noon with a friend's family. It was Friday so the city was empty and we arrived at Kalandia checkpoint at 12.15. Here, we also had to leave our car and walk through the checkpoint. When we arrived, there was only one man waiting for the soldiers to let him in. The checkpoint was empty because a closure had been announced the night before. After we passed through the rotating doors (the Arabic name for this word is “Hallabat” – milking doors – used for the farm cows to be milked one by one) the soldier behind the window told us that there was a closure and that we were not allowed to go through. We tried to explain to him that my permit had been issued half an hour before, during the closure, and that my friends had a Gazan ID card, which allowed them to return HOME. He didn't even want to listen or look at the permit. He was allowing only people with Jerusalem IDs to pass through.
Kalandia checkpoint is almost like an international border, with X-ray machines and soldiers behind bulletproof windows. People are allowed through one by one.
We decided to call the information number that I had on my permit and told them the whole story. The soldier on the other side of the line told me to wait a little bit until he told the soldiers on the checkpoint to let me in. We learned that the man we found waiting in front of us had not been allowed to enter and was waiting for the officer responsible for the checkpoint to discuss the issue with him. The man's family, wife and children passed the checkpoint by car and they were waiting for him outside. They have Jerusalem IDs. The father has a family reunification permit for one year, which allows him to stay in Jerusalem with his family until his ID is issued. Still the soldier behind the window did not want to allow him in.
While we were waiting another woman came with three children, one girl around three, and two boys, 11 and 12 years of age. The soldier allowed the mother and the girl in but he told her that the boys should return home. The woman was very strong. She started shouting and screaming at the soldier, telling him that she has a Jerusalem ID and that the three are her children and she showed him their birth certificates through the bulletproof window, stating that he was obliged to let them through. No way! He was so stubborn that he sent her back. At this point I was told by mobile that I could go in and the soldier behind the window told me to go through the rotating door. When I passed it with Luai, the soldier changed his mind and started to shout again, “Gaza no. Go back!” He was talking on the phone in his office and then shouted again "Wait, put your ID and permit on the window," and he checked it and allowed me to go through. When I started telling him about my friends he said "Gaza no, it's closure"
So after a thirty-minute wait, I went outside the checkpoint to the car and waited for my friends. They also called the number on their permit and discovered that they needed co-ordination from the Erez crossing point to the Beit El office, which would call the soldier at Kalandia to allow them to leave. This took us another hour of waiting. During this Luai was describing everything to the driver while we were waiting in the car. After one hour my friends joined us, we went to Erez and then into Gaza.
I learned from my friend that the woman with the three children waited until the shift of the stupid and stubborn soldier finished and the new ones allowed her in. The other man was still waiting for the officer to come and study his case.
So, going to the West Bank and moving from city to another means that there is no time for anything but to cross the checkpoints. I didn't even feel the joy of meeting Luai and Adi. The time that I didn't spend on the checkpoint I spent making calls to guarantee my permit to go back home. Still, I am very lucky to be able to obtain a permit in spite of all the difficulties.
I thought that the suffering in Gaza was the worst but after this trip to the West Bank I think everywhere in Palestine there is suffering and that it is very hard to describe.
I really don't know how we are able to produce anything in our lives when there is no value given to the time needed to do anything. We are losing land, it's true, but this might be returned one day. At least, we still believe so and are struggling to achieve that.
But how can we retrieve all the time that we have lost in our lives because of the occupiers who do not consider us human beings?
Lama Hourani, Gaza City
2006-09-24
As soon as I get a permit I will come back to you
"As soon as I get a permit I will come back to you, next time I'll let dad travel alone, and I will stay with you" Luai tells me this every time I talk to him on the phone. He is anxiously waiting for the permit to come back home. He's been traveling between Nablus, Amman, Damascus and again Amman. Next week he will be going to Nablus again to wait for the permit to return to Gaza.
If others hear that a four years old child is traveling within three countries in one summer, they would envy him thinking: what a lucky child with rich parents?. I would too, but they wouldn't had they known that this is the only way that allows him to meet his grandparents, uncles, cousins and aunts. And that it is so because they are not allowed to meet in their homeland, or in any other country near, by all in one place, because they are Palestinian refugees.
My husband and his family are refugees from Jafa, who have lived in Nablus city since 1948. Of course my husband "Adi" is not that old, he was born in Nablus 1963.
Adi has three brothers and two sisters, he is the youngest. The two sisters are married and live with their families in Amman. The oldest sister, Faten still has her Nabulsi Identity Card and is keen on issuing her children's Nabulsi Identity Cards too; as soon as they reach 15 years old, in spite of the fact that they live in Amman. All her children were born in Kuwait where she was living till the first Gulf War in 1990. The other sister, Abeer lost the right to her Nabulsi Identity Cards years ago when she got married to a relative in Jordan. Abeer has three kids, but like their mother, they are not allowed into the West Bank, because they don’t have Identity Cards and have not issued neither permits nor visas from the Israeli embassy in Amman for more than six years now. Two of Abeer's children were born in Baghdad, which she left to Amman in 1989, where the third child was born.
Adi's brother, Riyad has also three kids, two were born in the States and one was born in Saudi Arabia. Riyad lost his Identity Card in the mid 70s, when he was active with the PLO, left Nablus and moved between several countries: Egypt, Jordan, USA and finally Suadi Arabia. He has an American passport, which allows him to visit his homeland but no without difficulties.
Mousa, Adi's second brother, never left Nablus, he has four kids, all born in Nablus and live there. He owns a laundry shop, but because of the bad economic situation since the first Intifada, it is not bringing any income to the family. Adi's mother lives in Nablus with Mousa and his family in the same house. She has preserved her Identity Card.
Ahmed the last brother, lost his Identity Card when he was active in the PLO in the 80s, got married to his cousin in Amman and had four kids. He decided to risk it in 1997 and come to Nablus as a visitor with his family to apply for an Identity Card, which neither he nor his family has till now. So they can move no where outside the country, he and the mother cannot even move oustside Nablus city because of the checkpoints on the city boarders.
Adi, still has his Identity Card because he has been keen all the time while he was studying abroad to renew it and renew his traveling permits by the occupation authorities.
Now let me tell you about my family: my parents are both Palestinian refugees who had lived in Syria, and like most of the refugees, never had the chance to visit Palestine since 1948. Me and my two sisters were born in Syria. The whole family always had Syrian Travel Document for Palestinian Refugees and refugees Identity Cards. My youngest sister Laila, lives in Damascus and is married to a Syrian, so she has a Syrian passport now, which allows her to move more easily inside the Arab world; unlike my mom, who also lives in Syria, but still has a refugee document so she is not allowed to visit most of the Arab countries.
Lina, my other sister, is married to an American and has two kids, they all have American passports. This is how she and her husband could come to Ramallah to live and work in 2002. They stayed their till it became difficult for them to obtain the three months tourist visa issued by the Israelis to foreigners staying in Israel and the occupied territories. This is a new procedure implemented by the occupation authority to forbid foreigners from Palestinian origin to come to Palestine.
My father lives in Vienna, for so many reasons, none of which is to do with him being rich or fond of the quiet life in Vienna. He is married to an American. Since 1996 he has a Palestinian Authority Travel Document Identity Card. He has been allowed to visit the occupied territories since 1996. But he has not been allowed to visit Israel, so whenever he comes to Gaza (Asia) and wants to visit the West Bank, he has to go back to Egypt (Africa), travel by plane to Amman (Asia), and go to the West Bank (Asia) through the Ellenby Bridge.
I am, the only daughter married to a Palestinian, because of that I could obtain a family reunification approval from the occupation authorities which allowed me to come and live in Palestine with my husband in 1994 (? Years after having applied for it!). I now live with Adi and Luai in Gaza.
People would say: "wow, what a rich life these families have, the children have the chance to visit so many countries and to be introduced to so many cultures" this would have been true, were the families not Palestinians-not allowed to move and meet freely. They can never meet all members of the families in one place, let's say the grandparents house even once in a life time. Because if one is allowed in one country, the other is not.
That's why, Luai has to travel three areas to meat his closest family members. He is lucky that his grandfather could till this year come to Gaza from Vienna, at least once a year. But this year, it seems that he won't be able to do so, Luai will have to travel to Vienna to see his grandfather and his wife.
I know you still say we are lucky, well when you know that we are not rich, that most of the times one of us is out of work, and that we always have to save money not for the future, but to afford the costs of such trips at least once every two years. Then you will no longer say we are lucky.
Are we the only case? Of course not, I mentioned a sample of a typical Palestinian family. I talked only about our small extended family, I didn't mention Adi's uncles and aunts (some of them are still living in Israel but we couldn't see them for years now), or his cousins. I didn't talk about my aunts and uncles and their children. So it is a typical Palestinian family. I can take any other Palestinian family and find the same situation.
It is easy when we talk about the difficulties of seeing my sister in the USA or my brother-in-law in Saudi Arabia, but not to be able to see my mother-in-law, who lives in Nablus-two hours away from Gaza, it's just too much!
Well, thanks to the technology now, I can see my mother and sisters through the internet. I'm doing that every time I have electricity at home. My son, husband and family in Damascus even celebrated my birthday this way, they prepared the cakes and candles and my son sang happy birthday for me while I was watching him and listening to him through internet linked camera and microphone.
It's still very hard, although he is enjoying the experience: he visited the cinema, theater and circus for the first time in his life; he is sleeping without hearing the sounds of the F16s and helicopters. But at the same time he is still waiting for the permit from the Israeli Army to let him come back to his mum. Today when I spoke to him, he said: "do you know which of the houses I've been to is the most beautiful?," "which?" I asked expecting to him to mention one of his aunts houses, "our house in Gaza," he replied
If others hear that a four years old child is traveling within three countries in one summer, they would envy him thinking: what a lucky child with rich parents?. I would too, but they wouldn't had they known that this is the only way that allows him to meet his grandparents, uncles, cousins and aunts. And that it is so because they are not allowed to meet in their homeland, or in any other country near, by all in one place, because they are Palestinian refugees.
My husband and his family are refugees from Jafa, who have lived in Nablus city since 1948. Of course my husband "Adi" is not that old, he was born in Nablus 1963.
Adi has three brothers and two sisters, he is the youngest. The two sisters are married and live with their families in Amman. The oldest sister, Faten still has her Nabulsi Identity Card and is keen on issuing her children's Nabulsi Identity Cards too; as soon as they reach 15 years old, in spite of the fact that they live in Amman. All her children were born in Kuwait where she was living till the first Gulf War in 1990. The other sister, Abeer lost the right to her Nabulsi Identity Cards years ago when she got married to a relative in Jordan. Abeer has three kids, but like their mother, they are not allowed into the West Bank, because they don’t have Identity Cards and have not issued neither permits nor visas from the Israeli embassy in Amman for more than six years now. Two of Abeer's children were born in Baghdad, which she left to Amman in 1989, where the third child was born.
Adi's brother, Riyad has also three kids, two were born in the States and one was born in Saudi Arabia. Riyad lost his Identity Card in the mid 70s, when he was active with the PLO, left Nablus and moved between several countries: Egypt, Jordan, USA and finally Suadi Arabia. He has an American passport, which allows him to visit his homeland but no without difficulties.
Mousa, Adi's second brother, never left Nablus, he has four kids, all born in Nablus and live there. He owns a laundry shop, but because of the bad economic situation since the first Intifada, it is not bringing any income to the family. Adi's mother lives in Nablus with Mousa and his family in the same house. She has preserved her Identity Card.
Ahmed the last brother, lost his Identity Card when he was active in the PLO in the 80s, got married to his cousin in Amman and had four kids. He decided to risk it in 1997 and come to Nablus as a visitor with his family to apply for an Identity Card, which neither he nor his family has till now. So they can move no where outside the country, he and the mother cannot even move oustside Nablus city because of the checkpoints on the city boarders.
Adi, still has his Identity Card because he has been keen all the time while he was studying abroad to renew it and renew his traveling permits by the occupation authorities.
Now let me tell you about my family: my parents are both Palestinian refugees who had lived in Syria, and like most of the refugees, never had the chance to visit Palestine since 1948. Me and my two sisters were born in Syria. The whole family always had Syrian Travel Document for Palestinian Refugees and refugees Identity Cards. My youngest sister Laila, lives in Damascus and is married to a Syrian, so she has a Syrian passport now, which allows her to move more easily inside the Arab world; unlike my mom, who also lives in Syria, but still has a refugee document so she is not allowed to visit most of the Arab countries.
Lina, my other sister, is married to an American and has two kids, they all have American passports. This is how she and her husband could come to Ramallah to live and work in 2002. They stayed their till it became difficult for them to obtain the three months tourist visa issued by the Israelis to foreigners staying in Israel and the occupied territories. This is a new procedure implemented by the occupation authority to forbid foreigners from Palestinian origin to come to Palestine.
My father lives in Vienna, for so many reasons, none of which is to do with him being rich or fond of the quiet life in Vienna. He is married to an American. Since 1996 he has a Palestinian Authority Travel Document Identity Card. He has been allowed to visit the occupied territories since 1996. But he has not been allowed to visit Israel, so whenever he comes to Gaza (Asia) and wants to visit the West Bank, he has to go back to Egypt (Africa), travel by plane to Amman (Asia), and go to the West Bank (Asia) through the Ellenby Bridge.
I am, the only daughter married to a Palestinian, because of that I could obtain a family reunification approval from the occupation authorities which allowed me to come and live in Palestine with my husband in 1994 (? Years after having applied for it!). I now live with Adi and Luai in Gaza.
People would say: "wow, what a rich life these families have, the children have the chance to visit so many countries and to be introduced to so many cultures" this would have been true, were the families not Palestinians-not allowed to move and meet freely. They can never meet all members of the families in one place, let's say the grandparents house even once in a life time. Because if one is allowed in one country, the other is not.
That's why, Luai has to travel three areas to meat his closest family members. He is lucky that his grandfather could till this year come to Gaza from Vienna, at least once a year. But this year, it seems that he won't be able to do so, Luai will have to travel to Vienna to see his grandfather and his wife.
I know you still say we are lucky, well when you know that we are not rich, that most of the times one of us is out of work, and that we always have to save money not for the future, but to afford the costs of such trips at least once every two years. Then you will no longer say we are lucky.
Are we the only case? Of course not, I mentioned a sample of a typical Palestinian family. I talked only about our small extended family, I didn't mention Adi's uncles and aunts (some of them are still living in Israel but we couldn't see them for years now), or his cousins. I didn't talk about my aunts and uncles and their children. So it is a typical Palestinian family. I can take any other Palestinian family and find the same situation.
It is easy when we talk about the difficulties of seeing my sister in the USA or my brother-in-law in Saudi Arabia, but not to be able to see my mother-in-law, who lives in Nablus-two hours away from Gaza, it's just too much!
Well, thanks to the technology now, I can see my mother and sisters through the internet. I'm doing that every time I have electricity at home. My son, husband and family in Damascus even celebrated my birthday this way, they prepared the cakes and candles and my son sang happy birthday for me while I was watching him and listening to him through internet linked camera and microphone.
It's still very hard, although he is enjoying the experience: he visited the cinema, theater and circus for the first time in his life; he is sleeping without hearing the sounds of the F16s and helicopters. But at the same time he is still waiting for the permit from the Israeli Army to let him come back to his mum. Today when I spoke to him, he said: "do you know which of the houses I've been to is the most beautiful?," "which?" I asked expecting to him to mention one of his aunts houses, "our house in Gaza," he replied
Meanwhile .....from Lama in Gaza
"Mommy, they don't like the trees," said Rana (10). Her sister, Unoud (8) replied. "They don't like anything green."This conversation took place a few days ago, very early in the morning, when the two girls with 11 other children and 10 adults were stuck in the grandmother's house, watching the Caterpillar bulldozers dig up the land surrounding it, uprooting the trees. The house is a three-story one, built in the middle of a very nice, green city in the northern part of the Gaza Strip, Beit Hanoun. The family is not a refugee family. The house belongs to the mother, Um Qassem, the divorced daughter, Azza, and the eldest son, Qassem (who is nowwith his family in Egypt).
Azza is a very beautiful, strong woman who was active in the first Intifada. After the Palestinian Authority was founded she became primarily a women's rights activist. She decided to separate from her husband and after a few years she could obtain the custody of her children (two girls and two boys) and, from her savings and with the help of her brothers, she could build a floor in her mother's house. That night, Azza and the wives of her brothers and cousins decided to separate, the women and children staying in Azza's house, and the men in the uncle's house nearby. At 6 o'clock in the morning everyone awakened to the sounds of the bulldozers and the guns.
All of the women and children were frightened, seeing that the soldiers had surrounded the uncle's house, thinking that the men had been killed. They began to scream. Azza felt suddenly that she was responsible for all of these women and children. She ordered them firmly to go to the back room and locked them inside. Suddenly, she found herself standing in front of the bulldozer, which had almost entered the basement of the house. She started shouting, "We are only women and children," holding up her hands.
The bulldozer stopped and the soldiers entered the house and began to search her. Then they asked her to open the other room and to ask each person to come out alone and they were also searched. The women were still worried that the men in the other house had been killed so Azza told them, lying, of course, that the soldiers had told her that the men were all right and alive.
"Please, God, give me a magic wand like a fairy. I will use it to either kill the Jews (Israelis) or make them withdraw." "God, I am a child, don't you like children?" Onoud was talking to herself during the search. Susan, the mother, asked her to pray to God. "I am asking him but it seems he is not listening," Onoud answered. Azza did not know how she could pull herself together enough to stand in front of the soldiers. They used her as a human shield to search the other parts of the house, room by room.
She started negotiating with the soldiers to let her and the others out. They decided to keep as human shields her two sons, Qussai (17) and Hazem (14), and another cousin, Khaled (22), and would let all of the others leave .At first, Azza refused to leave her children alone with the soldiers but when she looked at the other women and children, who were screaming and telling her that they would not leave without her she decided to go. The decision was taken but how to implement it? All these events were taking place with a continuous battle outside between the Palestinian resistance and the occupying army. Bombing, shelling and bullets were flying everywhere. The soldiers said that they could co-ordinate with their troops to stop shooting but they could not guarantee the "Arabs".
During this debate, the children were so frightened that one of the soldiers decided to offer them chocolate. The kids refused to even touch it, leaving it on the floor. Then the soldier found a lot of sweets, chocolates and baklawa. The day before the attack the results of the state high school exams had been announced and Azza's daughter had succeeded with very high marks (92.9%) so all the friends and relatives came the night before to congratulate her. That was why the house was full of sweets. The soldier offered the sweets, saying "You can eat it, it's yours."
Meanwhile, Azza decided to risk it and allowed everyone to leave the house. This was an adventure in itself. They had to leave by crawling on the sand around the house to reach the neighbour's place, one by one. Azza was the only one accompanying each. "I really did not know who reached the other house safely and who did not. None of the women was able to count the children and I had to go inside our house to check that I had left no one behind. Of course, the boys and counsin were held as hostages."
Everyone stayed with the neighbours without knowing what had happened to the men in the other house or to the children who had been kept with the soldiers. There was a fierce battle going on, during which the Israelis surrounded the nearby health centre; they did not let the ambulances in or out. One man, driving his car past their new refuge, shouted, "Help, help somebody, help me!" The car stopped suddenly in front of them. The man's son had been shot dead and he was trying to take him to the health centre. The car had broken down and he could not carry him. The women decided to risk the shooting and help the man to carry his son to the centre, returning afterwards to the refuge, crawling under fire. Finally, the Israelis withdrew and allowed the ambulances to come and take everyone out.
This took place about five days ago. I have been trying to write about it but could not succeed. All the news, horror and killing around us, in Beit Hanoun, in Gaza City, in the Maghazi Refugee Camp, in Rafah, everywhere, and now in Lebanon. All of it the same, civilians are being killed, Israelis are attacking and destroying and the world watches, blaming us, accusing us of being the terrorists.
Am I really supposed to believe in a peaceful future for my son with such an aggressive state as a neighbor?
I really don't know.
23-7-2006
Azza is a very beautiful, strong woman who was active in the first Intifada. After the Palestinian Authority was founded she became primarily a women's rights activist. She decided to separate from her husband and after a few years she could obtain the custody of her children (two girls and two boys) and, from her savings and with the help of her brothers, she could build a floor in her mother's house. That night, Azza and the wives of her brothers and cousins decided to separate, the women and children staying in Azza's house, and the men in the uncle's house nearby. At 6 o'clock in the morning everyone awakened to the sounds of the bulldozers and the guns.
All of the women and children were frightened, seeing that the soldiers had surrounded the uncle's house, thinking that the men had been killed. They began to scream. Azza felt suddenly that she was responsible for all of these women and children. She ordered them firmly to go to the back room and locked them inside. Suddenly, she found herself standing in front of the bulldozer, which had almost entered the basement of the house. She started shouting, "We are only women and children," holding up her hands.
The bulldozer stopped and the soldiers entered the house and began to search her. Then they asked her to open the other room and to ask each person to come out alone and they were also searched. The women were still worried that the men in the other house had been killed so Azza told them, lying, of course, that the soldiers had told her that the men were all right and alive.
"Please, God, give me a magic wand like a fairy. I will use it to either kill the Jews (Israelis) or make them withdraw." "God, I am a child, don't you like children?" Onoud was talking to herself during the search. Susan, the mother, asked her to pray to God. "I am asking him but it seems he is not listening," Onoud answered. Azza did not know how she could pull herself together enough to stand in front of the soldiers. They used her as a human shield to search the other parts of the house, room by room.
She started negotiating with the soldiers to let her and the others out. They decided to keep as human shields her two sons, Qussai (17) and Hazem (14), and another cousin, Khaled (22), and would let all of the others leave .At first, Azza refused to leave her children alone with the soldiers but when she looked at the other women and children, who were screaming and telling her that they would not leave without her she decided to go. The decision was taken but how to implement it? All these events were taking place with a continuous battle outside between the Palestinian resistance and the occupying army. Bombing, shelling and bullets were flying everywhere. The soldiers said that they could co-ordinate with their troops to stop shooting but they could not guarantee the "Arabs".
During this debate, the children were so frightened that one of the soldiers decided to offer them chocolate. The kids refused to even touch it, leaving it on the floor. Then the soldier found a lot of sweets, chocolates and baklawa. The day before the attack the results of the state high school exams had been announced and Azza's daughter had succeeded with very high marks (92.9%) so all the friends and relatives came the night before to congratulate her. That was why the house was full of sweets. The soldier offered the sweets, saying "You can eat it, it's yours."
Meanwhile, Azza decided to risk it and allowed everyone to leave the house. This was an adventure in itself. They had to leave by crawling on the sand around the house to reach the neighbour's place, one by one. Azza was the only one accompanying each. "I really did not know who reached the other house safely and who did not. None of the women was able to count the children and I had to go inside our house to check that I had left no one behind. Of course, the boys and counsin were held as hostages."
Everyone stayed with the neighbours without knowing what had happened to the men in the other house or to the children who had been kept with the soldiers. There was a fierce battle going on, during which the Israelis surrounded the nearby health centre; they did not let the ambulances in or out. One man, driving his car past their new refuge, shouted, "Help, help somebody, help me!" The car stopped suddenly in front of them. The man's son had been shot dead and he was trying to take him to the health centre. The car had broken down and he could not carry him. The women decided to risk the shooting and help the man to carry his son to the centre, returning afterwards to the refuge, crawling under fire. Finally, the Israelis withdrew and allowed the ambulances to come and take everyone out.
This took place about five days ago. I have been trying to write about it but could not succeed. All the news, horror and killing around us, in Beit Hanoun, in Gaza City, in the Maghazi Refugee Camp, in Rafah, everywhere, and now in Lebanon. All of it the same, civilians are being killed, Israelis are attacking and destroying and the world watches, blaming us, accusing us of being the terrorists.
Am I really supposed to believe in a peaceful future for my son with such an aggressive state as a neighbor?
I really don't know.
23-7-2006
22-8-2006
Wednesday night, two weeks ago, the news talked abut opening the Rafah border for the Gazan's to leave the next day. That night, thousands of people went to Rafah and spend the night on the borders to make sure that they will leave as soon as it opens. This happened several times before but the borders were not opened.
On Thursday morning the borders were opened and some people could leave.
Eitimad, a friend of mine, she is a widow, with two children, the daughter Nida' who is 19 years old and studying in the University in UK, the son Majd who's 16 years old and will finish high school this year. Eitimad is doing her PHD in UK too, but she's in Gaza now for the research. Khaled, the late husband who died on 2004 spent 18 years of his short life in the Israeli prisons. The first time for 13 years, after which he got married and when his daughter was one year old he was rearrested for a year. The third arrest was when his son was two months old and it was for four years this time.
Eitimad is a development expert who has been working for different NGOs in Gaza, and now she is the Director of Institute for Developmental Studies.
Eitimad, like most of the people in Gaza had her own plans for this summer. She was planning to let Majd go to Egypt with his aunt's family and Nida' would join him their coming from the UK, and both spend part of the summer holiday there and then join their mother in Gaza. The first part of the plan was fulfilled but coming to Gaza could not be achieved. How could it be? The borders are closed since June 25th.
Eitimad was suffering because she is not allowed to leave, her children are not allowed in. They are all squeezed by time, because Nida' has to go back to her university on time, and Majd has to come back to Gaza on time too for the school.
Eitimad, finally after a lot of phone calls with the children in Egypt and discussion among friends decided to take a very difficult decision. She will let both her children go to UK alone. Well Nida' is used to it but Majd is still young, and he is in a very critical time of his life, he has to finish his high school this year. He does not like UK at all, he tried before when he went after his dad's death to spend a year with his mum and sister who were both studying, and could not cope with the different culture, and the missing of Gaza. Still they all decided that this would be the best solution and that they can control their emotions. Eitimad would try to see them as much as she can and of course as soon as the borders open.
So, it's understandable that Eitimad was among the first people to go to Rafah when she heard about its opening. Cause she's alone she didn't sleep their, but when she arrived she already found thousands of people old, young, women, men and children from all social groups, educated, high society , workers, soldiers, poor. All society representatives were there. But here they were all equal. Everybody is waiting for the opening of the borders. There was no order at all. Nobody knew where to go to? whom to ask? What are the procedures? How can they get to the buses?
She tried hard to describe to me how she felt. I cannot even find the suitable worlds.
But the most difficult thing for Eitimad was the memories from Rafah. Almost in the same season but 2004 when Khaled died. At that time she and Nida' were in UK, during the first year of her PHD study. The borders were open at that time for a couple of days after a long closure as I recall. Eitimad and her daughter had to sleep on the Egyptian side for two nights before being allowed into Gaza. So she missed seeing her husband and his funeral. She could never forget this bad experience and her feelings. "But for Nida' it was more difficult and it defined her relationship to the borders".
This time it's worse on our side of the borders. No body could help anybody. It depended on your physical power to push and fight for a place as near as possible to the gate, which was closed by the Palestinian security. It's a very narrow area in which at least 3000 people gathered (this is only the lucky part of the crowds that could reach the gate). "Men, women and children were very close to each others, that the parents had to hold their kids up in the air in order to breath.
The police men tried heard to organize people in a queue but people were angry and could not stand anymore. "I will bring a kalashinkoff. I won't only shoot at the walls but also at the people" one angry young man suddenly started to shout. Well he had been waiting for hours trying to trust the policemen, but these finally said "We can do nothing, we cannot help in anything, it's not our decision" so naturally people will explode and forget everything about order and civilizations. "Each one of us had a good reason to leave, the schools, the university, the work, the residencies outside, the illness..etc"
Eitimad went late that day; she arrived at the border at 13.00 hoping that the crowd would finish and that she will have better conditions to leave. Well, she stayed in this situation till 16.30 when somebody announced by the microphone that the border is closed. That day many people discovered that some families were split, part of them could cross and the other part could not.
"Some people decided to stay and sleep their on the floor, because they don't want to lose their precious place, I couldn't, I know my self I'm not strong enough for such circumstances. I decided to go to Marwa my friend's parents' house in Abasan village, which is nearer to the borders instead of going back home to Gaza."
When she finally at midnight knew that the border will be open the next day, she decided to try again and she promised herself to cross this time.
The next day she went earlier, she arrived at 8.30 of course the place was full of people. This time Marwa took her by her car and tried to help her. She forgot all about Marwa and followed a young man 17 years old "I felt that he might help me, it seems he knows all the ways that could let me in, I even paid him to help me". He carried her bag and took to the hall, today it's more organized, women were sitting on the right side and men on the left. It was too hot, too humid. "He left me after giving me my bag, then after two hours waiting we discovered that it's the wrong place. People started to leave the hall, I asked some where to go, nobody answered so I just followed them, carrying my bag and pushing everybody in front of me. Suddenly I found my self very near to the gate, it's an achievement I told myself, it means I will pass through today with a little of pushing and patience. I was so happy with myself and I thought. I could stand here even for seven hours."
"All the social reservations disappeared; it was ok for the covered women to lose their vales. It was ok to touch the other sex without any reservation, well actually there is no space, and we forgot all abut the customs and traditions in this moment; the only focus is to reach the gate and to leave. It could happen that your shirt is opened but nobody will look at you, you might touch a man in a sensitive place but nobody feels that. Nobody even looked at me weirdly as usual" she does not cover he hair and they were very few women like her in this crowd. She continued "It was too hot, well it's August after all, everybody was pushing. I suddenly, and for the first time in my life, felt thirsty, and this made me feel afraid. I looked for water but could not have any."
At this minute I saw an old man fainting and falling, another father was holding his little daughter and threw her to the other side over the fence in spite of the fact that she might get there alone and be lost without her family."
After a while the police had to intervene brutally, they first shot in the air few bullets to separate the crowd, but nobody moved, "how could we move? We are very near to the gate, we might go to the other side" Eitimad said, so the police started pushing the crowd using the bamboo sticks, still people didn't move. "Frankly, I was afraid. I found a spot by a wall and it was a quite place, relatively. I stayed there waiting for another hour and a half. We were all wondering, we didn't know weather the border is opened or not, we were hoping to here some confirmation either ways."
The situation continued to be bad, inhuman. "I don't know, there is something beyond the dignity and the normal thinking, a mother took out from the bag the towels and made a small tent of them to protect her children from the sun. But this same mother is the one who shouted at her young daughter who was eating the sand: you idiot, you animal, and you stupid. Another mother started shouting at her daughter in front of everybody, the daughter started to cry, it seems that she was not used to such a behavior from her mother."
During all this humiliating time Eitimad's brain didn't stop from wondering and thinking "should I stay or leave? Can I stand this humiliation? Will I lose my children if I go back now? Is it possible that I don't have the well to bear more of this suffering for the sake of my children? I decided to stay, and I smoked, can you imagine? I lit a cigarette in front of everybody there. Nobody is seeing me, but even if anybody does I don't want to see anybody." In Gaza it's not usual for women to smoke, we don't smoke in the public places and mainly in the streets.
"I finished my cigarette and waited for another half an hour, after that I made up my mind and at one o'clock I decided to go back. Everybody was surprised from my decision when they saw me holding my back and leaving my precious place. Yes I left, but I didn't want to go home, I felt so lonely and I decided to go back to Marwa's parents' house. As soon as Marwa, opened the door, I started crying and continued crying even when I saw her old parents, I could not help it. I was feeling guilty. Why I'm not physically strong enough to jump over the fence like the other young men? But what could I do, I think I would die. I can't anymore this is my limit"
Her children called her; they were waiting on the other side of the borders. They became very angry, blaming her of being unable to do anything, "We saw people coming out, why couldn't you just try and push harder to come out too? We miss you, we need you here. Can't you overcome your weakness and come through the crowd?" of course this made her feel guiltier and she could not reply so hanged off the phone and continued crying. She could not eat anything and she stayed like this till 9.00 pm. All that time she was thinking "I might not be able to see them for a long time, maybe even for a year. Or maybe I will be lucky and see them in few months" I called them late and explained the situation for them and told them that I could not do anything.
I saw Eitimad several days after these events took place; it seems that she is coping with the fact that she has to live without any of the children for a while. Some of her friends managed even to let her see them through video conference facility, which is usually very expensive (at least 60$ per hour) and she was very happy to have such an opportunity. She felt that her children mainly Majd have grown up to be independent so early but she can rely on them. Majd promised his mum that he will be good at school and they will keep in touch with her.
Now, thanks to the technology she can see her children via internet, of course when she has electricity.
Lama Hourani
22/8/2006
Gaza
On Thursday morning the borders were opened and some people could leave.
Eitimad, a friend of mine, she is a widow, with two children, the daughter Nida' who is 19 years old and studying in the University in UK, the son Majd who's 16 years old and will finish high school this year. Eitimad is doing her PHD in UK too, but she's in Gaza now for the research. Khaled, the late husband who died on 2004 spent 18 years of his short life in the Israeli prisons. The first time for 13 years, after which he got married and when his daughter was one year old he was rearrested for a year. The third arrest was when his son was two months old and it was for four years this time.
Eitimad is a development expert who has been working for different NGOs in Gaza, and now she is the Director of Institute for Developmental Studies.
Eitimad, like most of the people in Gaza had her own plans for this summer. She was planning to let Majd go to Egypt with his aunt's family and Nida' would join him their coming from the UK, and both spend part of the summer holiday there and then join their mother in Gaza. The first part of the plan was fulfilled but coming to Gaza could not be achieved. How could it be? The borders are closed since June 25th.
Eitimad was suffering because she is not allowed to leave, her children are not allowed in. They are all squeezed by time, because Nida' has to go back to her university on time, and Majd has to come back to Gaza on time too for the school.
Eitimad, finally after a lot of phone calls with the children in Egypt and discussion among friends decided to take a very difficult decision. She will let both her children go to UK alone. Well Nida' is used to it but Majd is still young, and he is in a very critical time of his life, he has to finish his high school this year. He does not like UK at all, he tried before when he went after his dad's death to spend a year with his mum and sister who were both studying, and could not cope with the different culture, and the missing of Gaza. Still they all decided that this would be the best solution and that they can control their emotions. Eitimad would try to see them as much as she can and of course as soon as the borders open.
So, it's understandable that Eitimad was among the first people to go to Rafah when she heard about its opening. Cause she's alone she didn't sleep their, but when she arrived she already found thousands of people old, young, women, men and children from all social groups, educated, high society , workers, soldiers, poor. All society representatives were there. But here they were all equal. Everybody is waiting for the opening of the borders. There was no order at all. Nobody knew where to go to? whom to ask? What are the procedures? How can they get to the buses?
She tried hard to describe to me how she felt. I cannot even find the suitable worlds.
But the most difficult thing for Eitimad was the memories from Rafah. Almost in the same season but 2004 when Khaled died. At that time she and Nida' were in UK, during the first year of her PHD study. The borders were open at that time for a couple of days after a long closure as I recall. Eitimad and her daughter had to sleep on the Egyptian side for two nights before being allowed into Gaza. So she missed seeing her husband and his funeral. She could never forget this bad experience and her feelings. "But for Nida' it was more difficult and it defined her relationship to the borders".
This time it's worse on our side of the borders. No body could help anybody. It depended on your physical power to push and fight for a place as near as possible to the gate, which was closed by the Palestinian security. It's a very narrow area in which at least 3000 people gathered (this is only the lucky part of the crowds that could reach the gate). "Men, women and children were very close to each others, that the parents had to hold their kids up in the air in order to breath.
The police men tried heard to organize people in a queue but people were angry and could not stand anymore. "I will bring a kalashinkoff. I won't only shoot at the walls but also at the people" one angry young man suddenly started to shout. Well he had been waiting for hours trying to trust the policemen, but these finally said "We can do nothing, we cannot help in anything, it's not our decision" so naturally people will explode and forget everything about order and civilizations. "Each one of us had a good reason to leave, the schools, the university, the work, the residencies outside, the illness..etc"
Eitimad went late that day; she arrived at the border at 13.00 hoping that the crowd would finish and that she will have better conditions to leave. Well, she stayed in this situation till 16.30 when somebody announced by the microphone that the border is closed. That day many people discovered that some families were split, part of them could cross and the other part could not.
"Some people decided to stay and sleep their on the floor, because they don't want to lose their precious place, I couldn't, I know my self I'm not strong enough for such circumstances. I decided to go to Marwa my friend's parents' house in Abasan village, which is nearer to the borders instead of going back home to Gaza."
When she finally at midnight knew that the border will be open the next day, she decided to try again and she promised herself to cross this time.
The next day she went earlier, she arrived at 8.30 of course the place was full of people. This time Marwa took her by her car and tried to help her. She forgot all about Marwa and followed a young man 17 years old "I felt that he might help me, it seems he knows all the ways that could let me in, I even paid him to help me". He carried her bag and took to the hall, today it's more organized, women were sitting on the right side and men on the left. It was too hot, too humid. "He left me after giving me my bag, then after two hours waiting we discovered that it's the wrong place. People started to leave the hall, I asked some where to go, nobody answered so I just followed them, carrying my bag and pushing everybody in front of me. Suddenly I found my self very near to the gate, it's an achievement I told myself, it means I will pass through today with a little of pushing and patience. I was so happy with myself and I thought. I could stand here even for seven hours."
"All the social reservations disappeared; it was ok for the covered women to lose their vales. It was ok to touch the other sex without any reservation, well actually there is no space, and we forgot all abut the customs and traditions in this moment; the only focus is to reach the gate and to leave. It could happen that your shirt is opened but nobody will look at you, you might touch a man in a sensitive place but nobody feels that. Nobody even looked at me weirdly as usual" she does not cover he hair and they were very few women like her in this crowd. She continued "It was too hot, well it's August after all, everybody was pushing. I suddenly, and for the first time in my life, felt thirsty, and this made me feel afraid. I looked for water but could not have any."
At this minute I saw an old man fainting and falling, another father was holding his little daughter and threw her to the other side over the fence in spite of the fact that she might get there alone and be lost without her family."
After a while the police had to intervene brutally, they first shot in the air few bullets to separate the crowd, but nobody moved, "how could we move? We are very near to the gate, we might go to the other side" Eitimad said, so the police started pushing the crowd using the bamboo sticks, still people didn't move. "Frankly, I was afraid. I found a spot by a wall and it was a quite place, relatively. I stayed there waiting for another hour and a half. We were all wondering, we didn't know weather the border is opened or not, we were hoping to here some confirmation either ways."
The situation continued to be bad, inhuman. "I don't know, there is something beyond the dignity and the normal thinking, a mother took out from the bag the towels and made a small tent of them to protect her children from the sun. But this same mother is the one who shouted at her young daughter who was eating the sand: you idiot, you animal, and you stupid. Another mother started shouting at her daughter in front of everybody, the daughter started to cry, it seems that she was not used to such a behavior from her mother."
During all this humiliating time Eitimad's brain didn't stop from wondering and thinking "should I stay or leave? Can I stand this humiliation? Will I lose my children if I go back now? Is it possible that I don't have the well to bear more of this suffering for the sake of my children? I decided to stay, and I smoked, can you imagine? I lit a cigarette in front of everybody there. Nobody is seeing me, but even if anybody does I don't want to see anybody." In Gaza it's not usual for women to smoke, we don't smoke in the public places and mainly in the streets.
"I finished my cigarette and waited for another half an hour, after that I made up my mind and at one o'clock I decided to go back. Everybody was surprised from my decision when they saw me holding my back and leaving my precious place. Yes I left, but I didn't want to go home, I felt so lonely and I decided to go back to Marwa's parents' house. As soon as Marwa, opened the door, I started crying and continued crying even when I saw her old parents, I could not help it. I was feeling guilty. Why I'm not physically strong enough to jump over the fence like the other young men? But what could I do, I think I would die. I can't anymore this is my limit"
Her children called her; they were waiting on the other side of the borders. They became very angry, blaming her of being unable to do anything, "We saw people coming out, why couldn't you just try and push harder to come out too? We miss you, we need you here. Can't you overcome your weakness and come through the crowd?" of course this made her feel guiltier and she could not reply so hanged off the phone and continued crying. She could not eat anything and she stayed like this till 9.00 pm. All that time she was thinking "I might not be able to see them for a long time, maybe even for a year. Or maybe I will be lucky and see them in few months" I called them late and explained the situation for them and told them that I could not do anything.
I saw Eitimad several days after these events took place; it seems that she is coping with the fact that she has to live without any of the children for a while. Some of her friends managed even to let her see them through video conference facility, which is usually very expensive (at least 60$ per hour) and she was very happy to have such an opportunity. She felt that her children mainly Majd have grown up to be independent so early but she can rely on them. Majd promised his mum that he will be good at school and they will keep in touch with her.
Now, thanks to the technology she can see her children via internet, of course when she has electricity.
Lama Hourani
22/8/2006
Gaza
A return to “normality” in Gaza
Two things occurred today to make me feel that life has returned to its normal routine.
I awakened in the morning, alone as usual these days, and heard a very familiar sound, one which had been missing for a while. It was the sound of shelling in the northern parts of the Gaza Strip. I smiled to myself. We have not heard this noise for about two weeks. We even thought that the Israelis had moved all of their military equipment to Lebanon (as if they did not have enough to be used in Lebanon and the Gaza Strip).
The other thing which made my day improve was the arrival of the newspapers. We have not had them in Gaza since 25 June. The three Palestinian newspapers are printed in the West Bank and are brought to Gaza via the Erez crossing point. It was very nice to again have the feeling of holding a newspaper in my hands, which became dirty with the ink. Of course, having newspapers in Gaza means that Erez has been opened. It is open for everything but certainly not for the Palestinians.
Yes, at the beginning of the day I felt good that some routine returned to my life, especially when I am alone and missing domestic routine. In the evening I was speaking to my father, who lives in Vienna, and suddenly I heard another familiar noise. It was the F16s and the surveillance planes and the constant shelling.
I started to laugh and my father wondered about the reason. I told him that I feel better when I hear these sounds. I know that life has returned to its normal rhythm.
Before that the situation was relatively calm, to use the language of the media. The new style that the Israeli army is using is that it calls the mobiles of targeted houses and flats and asks the people to leave within a certain time in order to bomb them. Some time ago they allowed people around two hours to vacate but now they give them only 15 minutes to evacuate their homes.
Two houses near my flat are under threat, one to the north and one to the south of our building. They have been threatened for a few days but until now they have not been bombed. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of these buildings do not live there any more. Every time we hear the sounds of the Israeli planes in the air we think that they might be about to bomb these houses.
Another thing the Israelis do is to call the land phones in the Gaza Strip with recorded messages, asking the people not to support the “terrorists” who are fighting against the Israelis and are shelling mortar rockets on the southern Israeli towns. Sometimes the children answer the phones and listen to these messages and understand it as a threat to leave their house. Families start to gather whatever they can, at least their documents and some clothing. Then they discover that it is a false alarm and return to their homes.
People are waiting for salary payments. There are rumours that the Authority will pay a whole month’s salary. Everyone is waiting for the money. Especially so as the schools are due to open soon and preparations have to be made. However, until now, nothing has developed from this rumour. Civil servants have not received their salaries since the appointment of the Hamas Government in March. They received only once a part of their salaries and once half a salary. This affects about 160,000 employees!
Another rumour is the opening of the borders. Those who have employment outside Gaza in different countries, university students who were visiting their relatives before 25 June and who study abroad, new students who finished high school this year and want to begin their university studies, and all Palestinians who want to leave for reasons of work, business, health or even recreation are waiting anxiously for the opening of the border.
Relatively speaking we do not feel the Israeli presence as before but all of our worries and expectations are connected to them and wait for their approval. And the world is still talking about the liberated Gaza Strip and the approaching first anniversary of the Israeli “withdrawal”!
I have to be satisfied with talking to my family once a day and hearing my four year old son telling me that he will come back to me as soon as he gets a permit.
Lama Hourani
Gaza City
16 August 2006
I awakened in the morning, alone as usual these days, and heard a very familiar sound, one which had been missing for a while. It was the sound of shelling in the northern parts of the Gaza Strip. I smiled to myself. We have not heard this noise for about two weeks. We even thought that the Israelis had moved all of their military equipment to Lebanon (as if they did not have enough to be used in Lebanon and the Gaza Strip).
The other thing which made my day improve was the arrival of the newspapers. We have not had them in Gaza since 25 June. The three Palestinian newspapers are printed in the West Bank and are brought to Gaza via the Erez crossing point. It was very nice to again have the feeling of holding a newspaper in my hands, which became dirty with the ink. Of course, having newspapers in Gaza means that Erez has been opened. It is open for everything but certainly not for the Palestinians.
Yes, at the beginning of the day I felt good that some routine returned to my life, especially when I am alone and missing domestic routine. In the evening I was speaking to my father, who lives in Vienna, and suddenly I heard another familiar noise. It was the F16s and the surveillance planes and the constant shelling.
I started to laugh and my father wondered about the reason. I told him that I feel better when I hear these sounds. I know that life has returned to its normal rhythm.
Before that the situation was relatively calm, to use the language of the media. The new style that the Israeli army is using is that it calls the mobiles of targeted houses and flats and asks the people to leave within a certain time in order to bomb them. Some time ago they allowed people around two hours to vacate but now they give them only 15 minutes to evacuate their homes.
Two houses near my flat are under threat, one to the north and one to the south of our building. They have been threatened for a few days but until now they have not been bombed. Nevertheless, the inhabitants of these buildings do not live there any more. Every time we hear the sounds of the Israeli planes in the air we think that they might be about to bomb these houses.
Another thing the Israelis do is to call the land phones in the Gaza Strip with recorded messages, asking the people not to support the “terrorists” who are fighting against the Israelis and are shelling mortar rockets on the southern Israeli towns. Sometimes the children answer the phones and listen to these messages and understand it as a threat to leave their house. Families start to gather whatever they can, at least their documents and some clothing. Then they discover that it is a false alarm and return to their homes.
People are waiting for salary payments. There are rumours that the Authority will pay a whole month’s salary. Everyone is waiting for the money. Especially so as the schools are due to open soon and preparations have to be made. However, until now, nothing has developed from this rumour. Civil servants have not received their salaries since the appointment of the Hamas Government in March. They received only once a part of their salaries and once half a salary. This affects about 160,000 employees!
Another rumour is the opening of the borders. Those who have employment outside Gaza in different countries, university students who were visiting their relatives before 25 June and who study abroad, new students who finished high school this year and want to begin their university studies, and all Palestinians who want to leave for reasons of work, business, health or even recreation are waiting anxiously for the opening of the border.
Relatively speaking we do not feel the Israeli presence as before but all of our worries and expectations are connected to them and wait for their approval. And the world is still talking about the liberated Gaza Strip and the approaching first anniversary of the Israeli “withdrawal”!
I have to be satisfied with talking to my family once a day and hearing my four year old son telling me that he will come back to me as soon as he gets a permit.
Lama Hourani
Gaza City
16 August 2006
Have the Israeli soldiers overslept in their tanks?”
"I don't want to fly by airplane. Airplanes destroy houses over the heads of children." This was Luai's, my four year old son’s, response to the idea that he could leave for Jordan with his father for the holidays.
Usually Luai does not watch the news, but that day he happened to be left unattended and he had seen the scenes of the massacre at Qana, which were broadcast live on all of the Arab television satellite channels. He had heard the announcer who was covering Qana mention planes. Adi, his father, tried to explain to him the difference between a war plane and a normal one by imitating the sounds and shape of the plane. It took a lot of imitating of different plane sounds to convince him. He's been sleeping with the sounds of Apaches and F16s in his ears for months.
We were planning to spend the summer vacation this year traveling between Nablus, Amman and Damascus to visit both Adi's and my families. We haven't seen them for two years. My family is not allowed in Palestine as they are Palestinian refugees living in Syria. Adi's family are Palestinians living in the West Bank, some of them having identification cards but no permits to come to Gaza, and some not in possession of identifications cards and not allowed to leave Nablus. The members of Adi's family in Jordan are refugees, too, and are not allowed to come to Palestine. Because of the closures on all borders our plans for a family reunion did not take place.
Last week there had been a rumor that the Rafah border would be open for people to leave from the Gaza Strip. (The crossing point has been closed for more than a month; it was open for a few days only for the people who were stuck at the border to enter Gaza.) Rafah was supposed to be open for people with work residencies outside the country and students studying abroad. My husband and I have identification cards stating that our residence is in Nablus (in the northern part of the West Bank) but we are living in Gaza. We thought that if we had a residence outside the country we might be allowed to leave.
We started the procedure of buying air tickets and preparing our son to depart with his father. I cannot leave because I am very busy at work and, as we have no idea when Israel will allow the borders to open, I cannot risk losing my job. Especially so, as my husband has no employment due to the embargo imposed on the Palestinian people after the democratic elections. Adi is a civil engineer who works for the private sector. He has been out of work since last November and was supposed to start a new project in February. However, it was to be funded by USAID and because of the election results, USAID cancelled all of its projects in the Gaza Strip.
Luai slept after packing his bag. He hadn't slept for a couple of nights because of the nightmares he had been having. He insisted on having his own bag because he wanted to pull it himself. We had to fulfill his wish, not being able to convince him that there would be a huge crowd of people at the Rafah crossing point wanting to leave the country and that it would be difficult for his father to pull/carry two bags.
In the middle of the night we learned that the contacts between the Palestinian Authority, the Egyptians, the European Union and the Israelis did not lead to the opening of the border. For this reason we did not awake Luai early in the morning as we had promised. By the time he awakened, I was already at work He went to wake up his father, saying: “Dad, you overslept and we have to leave. We have to go to Rafah.” Adi told him that Rafah was still closed. “What do you mean? Have the Israeli soldiers overslept in their tanks?”
Both Adi and Luai refused to unpack their luggage, hoping that Rafah would be reopened soon.
We decided to explore the other border, Erez (the border to Israel), which has also been closed almost constantly for the last few years. However, sometimes, for humanitarian reasons or for international organizations, it is possible to obtain a permit from the Israel army. We, as “West Bankers”, might be able to leave from Erez. Thus, with the help of an Israeli humanitarian organization, and for training reasons, Adi obtained a four-day permit to go to the West Bank via the Erez crossing point. We learned this on Sunday morning, the day that the permit began. I went home from work, started to rearrange the luggage for both Adi and Luai, which we had not yet unpacked. That day we had had electricity in the morning so we had washed the laundry. After knowing that Luai and Adi had permission to leave we had to put the wet clothes in the bags.
We checked with the Erez crossing point to inquire whether there were special co-ordination requirements for Luai to leave with his father. The shocking refusal came on the phone. “Why does a man going for training take his child with him?” “Where do you think that he could leave the child in Gaza?” “The other parent is in Gaza. He should leave the child with her.” We did not know what to tell Luai. That his father was allowed to leave and he was not? So we had to lie to him, perhaps for the first time, saying that Erez was closed again. We decided not to allow Luai to go through the trauma again by letting his father leave without him. Luai was already dressed and prepared to leave, saying “Why is father late? I want to go to Nablus to see my grandma and aunt.”
After a few telephone calls with the Palestinian Authority and “experienced" people we were advised to go to Erez and try there with the soldiers. Well, it worked very well. After one hour at Erez, Luai called, telling me, "Mommy, it was easy, not like the last time with you.” At that time we had been kept waiting for four hours. “ I am in the car now, heading for Nablus.” I suddenly heard my four year old son talking like an adult. After two hours he was in his grandmother’s house.
I am very happy that both of them have left. Adi has not left Gaza for approximately two years and he needs to see his family in Nablus and Amman. Luai needs to know his cousins, uncles and aunts and to escape from the stressful life we lead in Gaza. Nablus is not much better but at least they do not have constant shelling, Apaches and F16s.
Everyone asks me when they will return. We don't know. It depends on whether the Rafah crossing point will open. It might take weeks or months….no one knows. I know that Luai and Adi will go to stay in Amman for a while and this makes me feel that they will be safe for the moment.
I'm happy that they were fortunate enough to leave, because it's very difficult to leave Gaza, the big prison. But at the same time I'm frightened that I may never see them again. I'm not sure. I badly wanted them to leave for their safety and happiness. I have really mixed feelings. I miss them and I feel lonely. What if Rafah doesn't open?
Lama Hourani
Gaza City
8 August 2006
Usually Luai does not watch the news, but that day he happened to be left unattended and he had seen the scenes of the massacre at Qana, which were broadcast live on all of the Arab television satellite channels. He had heard the announcer who was covering Qana mention planes. Adi, his father, tried to explain to him the difference between a war plane and a normal one by imitating the sounds and shape of the plane. It took a lot of imitating of different plane sounds to convince him. He's been sleeping with the sounds of Apaches and F16s in his ears for months.
We were planning to spend the summer vacation this year traveling between Nablus, Amman and Damascus to visit both Adi's and my families. We haven't seen them for two years. My family is not allowed in Palestine as they are Palestinian refugees living in Syria. Adi's family are Palestinians living in the West Bank, some of them having identification cards but no permits to come to Gaza, and some not in possession of identifications cards and not allowed to leave Nablus. The members of Adi's family in Jordan are refugees, too, and are not allowed to come to Palestine. Because of the closures on all borders our plans for a family reunion did not take place.
Last week there had been a rumor that the Rafah border would be open for people to leave from the Gaza Strip. (The crossing point has been closed for more than a month; it was open for a few days only for the people who were stuck at the border to enter Gaza.) Rafah was supposed to be open for people with work residencies outside the country and students studying abroad. My husband and I have identification cards stating that our residence is in Nablus (in the northern part of the West Bank) but we are living in Gaza. We thought that if we had a residence outside the country we might be allowed to leave.
We started the procedure of buying air tickets and preparing our son to depart with his father. I cannot leave because I am very busy at work and, as we have no idea when Israel will allow the borders to open, I cannot risk losing my job. Especially so, as my husband has no employment due to the embargo imposed on the Palestinian people after the democratic elections. Adi is a civil engineer who works for the private sector. He has been out of work since last November and was supposed to start a new project in February. However, it was to be funded by USAID and because of the election results, USAID cancelled all of its projects in the Gaza Strip.
Luai slept after packing his bag. He hadn't slept for a couple of nights because of the nightmares he had been having. He insisted on having his own bag because he wanted to pull it himself. We had to fulfill his wish, not being able to convince him that there would be a huge crowd of people at the Rafah crossing point wanting to leave the country and that it would be difficult for his father to pull/carry two bags.
In the middle of the night we learned that the contacts between the Palestinian Authority, the Egyptians, the European Union and the Israelis did not lead to the opening of the border. For this reason we did not awake Luai early in the morning as we had promised. By the time he awakened, I was already at work He went to wake up his father, saying: “Dad, you overslept and we have to leave. We have to go to Rafah.” Adi told him that Rafah was still closed. “What do you mean? Have the Israeli soldiers overslept in their tanks?”
Both Adi and Luai refused to unpack their luggage, hoping that Rafah would be reopened soon.
We decided to explore the other border, Erez (the border to Israel), which has also been closed almost constantly for the last few years. However, sometimes, for humanitarian reasons or for international organizations, it is possible to obtain a permit from the Israel army. We, as “West Bankers”, might be able to leave from Erez. Thus, with the help of an Israeli humanitarian organization, and for training reasons, Adi obtained a four-day permit to go to the West Bank via the Erez crossing point. We learned this on Sunday morning, the day that the permit began. I went home from work, started to rearrange the luggage for both Adi and Luai, which we had not yet unpacked. That day we had had electricity in the morning so we had washed the laundry. After knowing that Luai and Adi had permission to leave we had to put the wet clothes in the bags.
We checked with the Erez crossing point to inquire whether there were special co-ordination requirements for Luai to leave with his father. The shocking refusal came on the phone. “Why does a man going for training take his child with him?” “Where do you think that he could leave the child in Gaza?” “The other parent is in Gaza. He should leave the child with her.” We did not know what to tell Luai. That his father was allowed to leave and he was not? So we had to lie to him, perhaps for the first time, saying that Erez was closed again. We decided not to allow Luai to go through the trauma again by letting his father leave without him. Luai was already dressed and prepared to leave, saying “Why is father late? I want to go to Nablus to see my grandma and aunt.”
After a few telephone calls with the Palestinian Authority and “experienced" people we were advised to go to Erez and try there with the soldiers. Well, it worked very well. After one hour at Erez, Luai called, telling me, "Mommy, it was easy, not like the last time with you.” At that time we had been kept waiting for four hours. “ I am in the car now, heading for Nablus.” I suddenly heard my four year old son talking like an adult. After two hours he was in his grandmother’s house.
I am very happy that both of them have left. Adi has not left Gaza for approximately two years and he needs to see his family in Nablus and Amman. Luai needs to know his cousins, uncles and aunts and to escape from the stressful life we lead in Gaza. Nablus is not much better but at least they do not have constant shelling, Apaches and F16s.
Everyone asks me when they will return. We don't know. It depends on whether the Rafah crossing point will open. It might take weeks or months….no one knows. I know that Luai and Adi will go to stay in Amman for a while and this makes me feel that they will be safe for the moment.
I'm happy that they were fortunate enough to leave, because it's very difficult to leave Gaza, the big prison. But at the same time I'm frightened that I may never see them again. I'm not sure. I badly wanted them to leave for their safety and happiness. I have really mixed feelings. I miss them and I feel lonely. What if Rafah doesn't open?
Lama Hourani
Gaza City
8 August 2006
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