Gaza Sunflower

Baby doll permit

2007-12-06T12:17:00.000-08:00

"Mummy, do you think that the baby boy doll needs a permit at Hawara checkpoint?"

This question was thrown into my face by Luai at the beginning of August this year. We were planning for his fifth birthday. We were going to make the party in Nablus where he had been staying in his grandmother’s house while I was looking for a flat and a job in Ramallah. Luai asked for a baby boy doll that cries, snores, breathes, etc. I promised that I would look for it in Ramallah. But he found it in Nablus. And since he knew that I was looking for a flat in Ramallah, he anticipated that we would have to buy it in Ramallah if it needed a permit like he does at the Hawara checkpoint.

This question has become a daily question since we left Gaza and came to the West Bank. Every time Luai wants to ask about going from one area to another he raises the questions: Do we need a permit? Are we allowed to go to this area? Will we face the Israeli soldiers and how many checkpoints will we have to cross?

Luai has 8 cousins from two uncles living in Nablus. Staying there for about one month and a half gave him the opportunity to get more acquainted with his cousins, uncles and grandmother.

Luai now knows the checkpoints very well between Ramallah and Nablus. "When we leave Nablus we first go to Hawara checkpoint, right? We are searched by the soldiers there and then we go by a service taxi to Ramallah, right, Mummy? But after a few minutes we face the Yetzhar checkpoint, isn't that its name, Mummy? We are again checked by the soldiers. Then before entering Ramallah we stop at Atara checkpoint. This one takes a long time, Mummy." On the road to Ramallah he keeps asking when we will arrive at the next checkpoint, making sure that he is pronouncing the name correctly. He raises these questions instead of asking me about the landscape, which is totally different than the one in Gaza. Of course he also shows his knowledge by telling me about the sequence of these checkpoints between Ramallah and Nablus: first Atara, then Yetzhar and at the end there is Hawara. But we might face a "flying checkpoint" on the way between these also. And it's true, because we might find ourselves in front of a portable checkpoint of the Israeli occupation army. So the trip that used to take only a 45 minute drive in the beautiful mountains of the West Bank in the not too distant past might now take hours. I sometimes envy Luai that he does not know those times. When we used to ride in the same car from Ramallah to Nablus.

Since we have moved to Ramallah, his daily inquiries concern our movements and the movements of our belongings. Are we allowed to go to Hebron without a permit from the Israeli army? Do we need a permit to go to Jericho? What about Gaza, when are we going to see Dad, are we still allowed to go there?

I had been worried when I was in Gaza whether Luai and I would be able to leave the Strip after the Hamas coup. Then, when I finally could leave, I became worried about my future in Ramallah, about the flat, the job, Luai's school and mainly worried about Adi, my husband, who was still in Gaza and whom we were trying to get out.

My father asked me once: "Why are you worried? You are used to be obliged to move from one country to another; you are used to changing homes, furniture, schools, and jobs." My immediate reaction was “Yes, I'm used to all that, but this is the first time I have to do it by myself. Every time, my parents were responsible about housing, schools and jobs. This time I'm responsible for my son and my husband. Believe me, this is not easy, especially when you have a child like mine who's watching everything going around him very carefully and trying to understand why he has to hate an army which he sees as the strongest and that's why he should like and not hate.

Now Adi is finally here in Ramallah. We have rented a flat. Luai goes to school and is trying to integrate in the new community; actually, we all are trying. Still, Luai is always asking about the permits for him, for his things and his cousins. He's still asking about the possibility of going to Gaza and meeting his friends and neighbours again. But now I think he's asking just to make sure that he knows the right answer: we need a permit from the Israelis to go there.

One of the land marks of Khan Younis.

2007-12-05T00:30:00.000-08:00

I was lucky to meet her during a training course in Gaza in 1995.

She was full of energy, enthusiasm, streetwise and funny. She approached me, asking me to apply for a job in the organization she works for. I was curious to know her better. I wondered whether she was a returnee or had been born in the Gaza Strip. Surprisingly, I found out that she was born and spent her entire life in Khan Younis, a town in the center of the Gaza Strip. She didn't like my surprise at the beginning, she considered it insulting. But with my little experience at that time with the people in Gaza, I found it amazing to find an open-minded young woman, without a head scarf, knowing how to deal normally with men and women in Gaza at that time. The next day I applied for the job she mentioned and then started to work with her.

Her name is Majda, she became one of my very close friends, and in a very short time. I don’t know when and how I started describing her as a landmark of Khan Younis.

Majda is from a big family; she has two brothers and five sisters. Two brothers and two sisters are married. She and her other three sisters are not.

When I used to visit her in her family’s house I always felt as if I were with my own family. Her mother is kind and tender with everybody, but especially so with Majda's friends. She reminded me of an old aunt who lives in Syria, and whom I had not seen for a long time in those days. Her father always met me with great respect and tenderness, which was unusual for an old man from a conservative community, especially when we take into consideration that I'm a smoker and do not cover my head.

Majda's father died recently when I was in Ramallah. I was so sad because I wanted to be with my best friend in such conditions, but of course I could not. I admired her father a lot; he was relatively open minded. We used to sit with him in the garden of their house, which he took care of, and we always discussed politics with him. He was a discrete person, who took care of and helped many needy families in the city secretly. He believed in his talented daughter and never opposed any of her activities in the community, even when they were occasionally against the traditions. Such an old man is very rare to find in a conservative community. Many young women envied Majda for having such a father.

During this Intifada Majda became the only woman who did not wear her hair covered in the southern part of the Gaza Strip. In spite of the difficulties that her father might face in the community he never asked her to cover her hair.

Majda works mainly with young people. She is in her thirties but understands and communicates very well with children and teenagers. They love to work and take part in activities with her and she does, too.

It was very difficult to give my condolences to her and to her family by phone only. I wanted to be with them, to embrace her and her mum and cry on their shoulders. But the separation inside our occupied country didn't allow us to indulge in even such a small human need.

Now I talk to Majda almost every day and sometimes several times a day. When I hear her voice, when I listen to her news about the Gaza Strip I feel so touched and so connected to her, to the place and to the people. Her humour and sarcasm is unique; she could always make us laugh in the darkest of times. One of these times is the current one. Whenever I call her she tells me a joke about the situation in Gaza and the suffering that she and the others are going through. I call her, having in mind to try to cheer her up but she always ends by cheering me up instead.

I know that she feels so lonely, so trapped in the Strip, which she cannot leave because of the continuous denial of the Israeli army to give her a permit to leave from Eretz. Still, she can always create and produce new things in her work.
Majda was always used to having Palestinian friends and foreigners in her house; she knows a lot about the Gaza Strip and used to guide everyone who visited from outside around the Strip and always took us to places we never knew about. She knows almost everyone and every corner of the Strip. And she is very well known, as well. Most people are advised to meet her whenever they come to Gaza. Now and because of the closure it's very difficult to enter Gaza, even for foreigners.

When Majda knew that I was writing again she took the initiative and decided to work on my blog. She changed it to look like what you see now. I like what she did and I know that she will keep on changing it all the time. So whenever you see an improvement or change in my blog it's because of Majda.

I wish I could see her face to face and not only speak on the phone.

Gaza, Ramallah: Torn apart in the same country

2007-11-26T03:52:00.000-08:00

“Mummy, what’s that? But we are in Ramallah, not Gaza!!” This was Luai’s reaction to the sound of thunder a few days ago. It was so strong that for seconds we thought that it was a sonic bomb.

Yes, we have been in Ramallah since 30 June. I was given permission to leave Gaza on that day with no permission to return. I left Gaza with Luai, but my husband, Adi stayed on, hoping at that time that the conditions would improve. But they didn’t get better. Adi had to sell everything we had, the car, the almost four year old flat and furniture and he waited for a permit to come to us in Ramallah. He was able to come only on 15 October.

We were alone for four and a half months, in a strange city surrounded mostly by strangers. We speak the same language but have nothing else in common except for the Israeli occupation but here it is a different experience.

It is a very strange feeling to leave Gaza and come to Ramallah. It is as if one were emigrating. For a while we forget that we are talking about the same country, Palestine, and are the same people, Palestinians. Well, usually under normal conditions, in normal countries, when people decide to move from one city to another in the same country it’s not that difficult or that strange. If someone decides to move from Vienna to Strasbourg he/she can continue to meet friends and relatives from time to time or at least on vacations and weekends. They are able to move their own belongings in one truck from the old place to the new one. They can drive from Vienna to Strasburg in their own car. They can move together on the same day and the same hour with no checkpoints and searching on the road.

But we were apart from each other for four and a half months, because of the closure imposed by the Israeli army on the Gaza Strip. Each one of us suffered alone and differently. We have no hope of meeting our friends ever again unless a miracle happens. We have not been able to bring any of our belongings except for the very personal ones. We were not allowed to bring even books because of the closure imposed on the Gaza Strip. We were allowed only a 12 hour permit that allowed us to come to the West Bank without returning back. We had to cut all the bridges with the city that we chose to live in 13 years ago.

Gaza, the big jail, the city of love and hatred, of the sea and the desert, the city of poverty and wealth, the city of heroes and cowards, the city of fighters and gangsters, but above all the city of people who love to live and know how to survive with the minimum. I love this city, I love its people, I love its sea, its noisy and crowded streets full of cars, animals and people. I really miss the city and my friends there.

Living in Ramallah seems easier, but for me it’s still difficult. I have decided not to take a position on it, not yet. Till now my experience here has been so difficult, and that’s what I will try to write about in the future.

I’m glad that I can write again, I will try to reflect on all the new experiences and as usual, by Luai’s reactions. He is missing Gaza too, but he’s showing it the child’s way. By writing at least I will keep in touch with my friends in Gaza, whom I won’t be seeing for a long time.

But I still have the hope that I will be able to go to Gaza again.

Ramallah
26/11/2007

We are not super people

2007-06-22T23:19:00.000-07:00

I’m looking at Luai’s eyes and my own are full of tears. I can hardly keep from crying in front of him. I’ve been trying to take him out of the flat for two days and he refuses, saying “I don’t want to go anywhere, mummy, I love to stay at home”. It seems that he is afraid to go out now because of all the stories he has heard from his friends during the past week about the killings and shootings.

Yesterday I went to Al Deereh Hotel, one of the nice places by the seaside in Gaza, to meet a journalist. I found that many people are on the beach, swimming and enjoying the calm sea. I felt so relieved that the people of Gaza are back to their normal life.

Many people have asked me why I am not writing. I stopped writing in December when I visited my mother in Syria. It was the first time that my mother, my two sisters and our children and I have met in Damascus at the same time since 1983. The joy was interrupted by the events in Gaza at that time, the assassination of three children as a result of the armed dialogue between Hamas and Fateh. I returned in January only to find out that I was unemployed. And the series of a lot of fighting rounds between Fateh and Hamas has taken place from January until now.

I became so desperate, like most of the Palestinians, but this time, it was not because of the collective punishment imposed on us by the international community, not because of the Israeli siege imposed on Gaza Strip, the big prison. But because of the fighting between the Palestinians themselves. I thought to myself, “What should I write to the people outside, that we are killing each other, that we are destroying our dream by our own hands?” Thus, I was unable to write.

The last round of fighting was the attack against the Palestinian Authority security forces last week all over the Gaza Strip, by Hamas and its Al Qassam militant group, which resulted in the control of Hamas and Al Qassam over the entire Gaza Strip.
This time we had to stay at home from Monday till Friday night. I was so afraid - the bombing and the shooting I heard from my flat, which was in the middle of three fighting areas, was terrible. The result of the attacks was shocking to all Gaza residents. At first, we thought, “It is another round like those before it but it turned out to be a round that changed the lives of each one of us. Hamas controls Gaza. Politically, this has great implications for the Palestinian issue but I won’t deal with this now.

What has made me decide to write is the fact that I feel so down today, so desperate, that I’ve been crying the whole day. I’m not afraid about my life, or my husband’s or even my son’s. I feel bad because I have discovered that we are not the “Super People” I thought we are. I discovered that we are normal human beings. I know that most of the people all over the world, especially the freedom lovers and fighters look at us as idols, as a people who cannot be defeated, as freedom fighters who are trying to achieve their liberty and live in dignity.

Now I have discovered that we are like any other nation, savage, brutal and looters.
The looting scenes from inside the governmental buildings, the private houses and flats, reminded me of Baghdad after the American occupation and the collapse of Saddam’s regime. We thought that we could never be like that. I know we did it after the settlers went out of their colonial settlements in the Gaza Strip, but these people were our enemy, those who had stolen our land, not Palestinians.
The news about the different acts of violations of human rights against each other is shocking. It reminds me of the practices of the Israeli occupation forces in Gaza and the West Bank.

What are we doing to ourselves? Why are we trying to destroy our dream of a democratic, independent state for all Palestinians.

So, I think and I wonder, “Are we really like this? Are we really savages? Aren’t we supposed to overcome our differences by peaceful means? Who is to blame for this happening to us? Isn’t it the international community who denied us our legitimate right to have a state of our own? Isn’t it the international community who denied us our right for democratic choice in our election and decided to punish us for that? Isn’t it the international community, which has starved us and made us depend again, after 59 years. on humanitarian aid?”

Now I know we are not superhuman or super heroes or super people. We are normal people who will become savages when you put them in a cage with the minimum needed to survive.

I know everyone is waiting from me to tell personal stories about the events that took place. But I am sorry, I can’t. It’s too difficult to tell stories about what we’ve done to each other. I only ask the people to be objective when they look at the news and ask themselves why is it happening to the Palestinians?

As for me, now I’m planning to take my son to the Al Deereh Hotel and let him see the world again, whether he likes it or not.

I hope tomorrow I will be in a better mood. Maybe I can write some more details.

Gaza City
22 June 2007

Questions

2006-12-04T23:55:00.000-08:00

“Mummy, why did you go to Beit Hanoun? Don’t you know that half of the people were killed there?” I replied, “No, half of the people did not die there”. “Do you mean that all the people die there? Don’t you know that you could’ve been killed when you went there?”

This was my conversation with Luai when he knew that I went to Beit Hanoun.

I don’t know why but since the last invasion of Beit Hanoun I have been deeply depressed or, one might say, even lost. I don’t know why it took so long to make me feel like this, why my despair was postponed. It should have happened long ago.

I have not wanted to write but I have been witnessing so many events that I think I should write about.

The invasion of Beit Hanoun was as horrible and savage as the Israeli invasions usually are, but this time it was bigger, longer and with many more victims, including women and children. Going to Beit Hanoun was so difficult, meeting the families who lost their beloved ones while holding them in their arms. A mother described for me how the bomb separated her child from her hand when she was trying to escape the bombing. Her son was pushed to the wall and when she reached him his belly was open and she tried to put everything back in its place. He died and then she had to go to others, his cousins, uncles, grandmother, everyone who was lying, injured or dead, in the small alley. His 11 year old cousin died while he was looking for his glasses. He fell while he was running, lost his glasses and a bomb killed him.

His other cousin was awakened in the early morning by the sound of the bombs hitting their house. While he was trying to call somebody with his mobile for help he was hit by a bomb, amputating the hand which was holding the mobile. He had his mobile with him and while he was trying to call an ambulance for help he was hit by a bomb and his hand was amputated and never reached his ear.
The question beats in my head, ”For how long?”

A few days later we learned that Maha, a colleague in the office who lives in Beit Lahia, was being held hostage in her own house, with her husband, four children and her mother in law. The Israeli army occupied her house in the middle of the night and nobody could contact them. For several days we were in great worry about them until the army left and we saw Maha and heard the entire story.
Again, we asked ourselves the same question, “For how long?”

Every day we wake up to hear the number of people killed and the number injured. We constantly hear the shelling, bombing, shooting, the F16s, the apaches and the surveillance planes. This goes on day and night. It is annoying, it is affecting my nerves. I cannot stand it any more.
Again and again the same question, “For how long?”

Then, suddenly, a grandmother commits a suicide bomb attack against the soldiers. I read the comments in the internet and feel so sorry for her. She must have been so desperate and have suffered so much before she took such a decision but it is still very alarming to see how violent our society has become. The culture of killing, blood and violence is leading us to accept that a grandmother who, under normal circumstances, would be telling stories to her grandchildren, not only classic fairy tales, but also the story of Palestine, has preferred to kill herself in an attempt to kill soldiers who are the age of her grandsons.

Another question comes “Where are we heading? What is happening to us? Who is to blame?”

Yes, these are big questions that need to be answered. Many of us think that they have the answer. It is the natural development from the cycle of violence we are living in. Of course, the paramount violence is that of the Israeli occupation, resulting in the Islamic fundamentalism which is now in control of our society; these factors are to be blamed for the trend in our community. Is it really that easy to analyze and to know the answer? Another question hammers in my head.

Then, a wedding of a dear friend who had to make it simple and limit the guests to her family and her closest friends, which is unusual in our community, because two relatives of the groom were killed and the third is in the Intensive Care Unit. The wedding took place the same day that seven people were killed. Still the bride was beaming, we enjoyed ourselves, we danced and sang. We needed to be reminded that we are still alive and life goes on, no matter what .

Another question: Am I really happy? Isn’t something broken inside?

The last straw. Close friends are leaving for good. The dearest friends who, like we did, chose to live in Gaza, who gave a lot to Gaza and took a lot, too, friends whose home was one of the oases in Gaza where we could meet all types of people, artists, writers, journalists, doctors, engineers, NGO professionals, Palestinians and foreigners from all over the world. Their home was a place where I could feel at home and be myself, I could dance, play, be happy and also be sad and cry. Maria and Rasheed chose to come to Gaza over all of the places that they were able to live in and now they are obliged and forced to leave. The questions: Is Gaza pushing us away? Is Gaza not able to have people like us any more? Will I be obliged to leave, too?

Do I have answers for all these questions? No, and that’s why I feel lost, disoriented. I don’t know what to do, desperate and depressed. Maybe one of the things that cheers me up sometimes and gives me hope is hearing about the solidarity activities that take place in different places in the world.
Gaza
4-12-2006

Should we really blame ourselves?

2006-12-04T23:10:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday night two weeks ago we heard the news that the Rafah border might be opened for Gazans to leave the following day. That night, thousands of people went to Rafah and spent the night on the crossing point to guarantee that they could leave as soon as it would open. (This has happened many times but often turned out to be a false alarm.)

On Thursday morning the crossing point was opened and some could leave.

Eitimad, a friend of mine, is a widow with two children, her daughter, Nida’, who is 19 years old and is studying in a university in the United Kingdom, and her son, Majd, who is 16 and will finish high school this year. Eitimad is also completing her P.H.D. in the U.K. but she is currently in Gaza for research purposes. Khaled, her late husband, who died in 2004, spent 18 years of his short life in Israeli prisons. The first sentence was for 13 years and after his release he married. When his daughter was one year old he was rearrested for one year. The third arrest was when his son was two months old and the sentence was for four years. Eitimad is a development expert who has been working for different NGOs in Gaza and she is now the Director of the Institute for Developmental Studies.

Like most of the people in Gaza, Eitimad had plans for this summer. She was hoping to let Majd go to Egypt with his aunt’s family and Nida’ would come from the U.K. to join him there, both spending part of the summer holiday in Egypt and then join their mother in Gaza. They were able to enjoy the first part of the holiday but it was impossible to come to Gaza. How could they? The crossing point has been closed since 25 June. Eitimad was suffering because she was not allowed to leave nor were her children allowed to enter. They all have limited time because Nida’ must be at the university on time and Majd must return to Gaza on time for school. After many calls with the children in Egypt and discussions with friends, Eitimad decided to make a very difficult decision. She would allow the children to go to the U.K. alone. Nida’ is used to this but Majd is still young and he is at a critical point in his life. He must finish high school this year. He is not happy in the U.K. He tried after his father’s death to spend a year with his mother and sister, who were both studying, and could not cope with the different culture and missing Gaza. Still, they decided that this would be the best solution and that they could control their emotions. Eitimad would try to see them as much as possible as soon as the crossing point was open.

It is therefore understandable that Eitimad was among the first to go to Rafah when she heard that Israel agreed to open the crossing point. Because she is alone she did not sleep there but when she arrived she already found thousands of people, old, young, women, men, children from all levels of society, educated people, workers, police, the poor. All levels of society were there. But at Rafah they were all equal. Everyone was waiting for the opening of the borders. There was no order at all, only chaos. No one knew where to go, whom to ask, what the procedures were, how they could get to the buses.

Eitimad tried to describe to me how she felt but I cannot even find suitable words for it. The most difficult thing for her was the memory of Rafah. It was almost the same time of the year, in August 2004, when Khaled died. At that time she and Nida’ were in the U.K. It was the first year of her studies for the P.H.D. The border was open at that time for a few days after a long closure. Eitimad and her daughter had to sleep on the Egyptian side for two nights before being allowed into Gaza. So she missed seeing his dead body and attending his funeral as well. She could never forget this experience and her feelings. “For Nida’ it was even more difficult and defined her relationship with the borders,” she told me.

This time it is worse on our side of the border. No one can help anyone. It depends on your physical power to push and fight for a place as near as possible to the gate, closed by the Palestinian security. It is a very narrow area in which at least 3,000 people gathered (the lucky ones who could reach the gate). “Men, women and children were crowded very close to each other, so much so that the parents had to hold their children up in the air so that they could breath.”

The policemen tried to organize people in a queue but many were angry and could not stand any more. “I will bring a Kalashnikov. I won’t only shoot at the walls but also at the people,” one angry young man suddenly shouted. He had been waiting for hours, trusting the policemen, but they said “We can do nothing, we cannot help, it is not our decision.” So people started to rant and rave, forgetting everything about order and civilization. “Each of us had a good reason to leave, schools, universities, work, residence outside, illness, etc.”

Eitimad went late that day, arriving at the border at 1.00 P.M. and hoping that the crowd might have dwindled and that she would have better conditions. She stayed until 4.30 P.M. when someone announced via the microphone that the border had been closed. That day, many people discovered that their families were divided, some of them able to cross and others not. “Some people decided to stay and sleep on the floor because they did not want to lose their precious places. I could not. I know that I am not strong enough for such a situation so I decided to go to Marwa, my friend’s parents’ house in Abasan Village, which is near to the border, instead of returning home to Gaza.” When Eitimad knew that the border would be open the next day she decided to try again and promised herself to cross this time.

The next day she went earlier, arriving at 8.30 a.m., but the place was already full of people. This time Marwa took her by car and tried to help. She forgot all about Marwa and followed a young man of 17. “I felt that he might help me. It seemed that he knew all the ways that could let me enter. I even paid him to help me.” He carried her bag and took it to the hall. It was more organized that day. Women were sitting on the right side and men on the left. It was very hot and humid. “The young man left me after giving me my bag and then, after two hours, we discovered that it

was the wrong place. People started to leave the hall. I asked some where to go, no one answered so I simply followed them, carrying my bag and pushing everyone in front of me. Suddenly I found myself very near to the gate. This is an achievement, I told myself. It means that I will pass through today with a little pushing and patience. I was so happy with myself and I thought that I could even stand there for seven hours.”

“All the social reservations disappeared. It was all right if the head scarves of the women accidentally came off, revealing their hair, because there was no possibility to put them on again, no space to move. Everyone was pushing and shoving. It was all right to touch the other sex accidentally, without any reservations, because there was no space. We forgot all about customs and traditions in this moment. The only focus was to reach the gate and to leave. It could happen that your shirt was open but no one would look at you. You might touch a man in a sensitive place but no one felt that. No one looked at me in a weird way, as they usually do.” (Eitimad does not cover her hair and there were very few women like her in this crowd.) She continued, “It was very hot. Well, it is August, after all. Everyone was pushing. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I felt thirsty and this frightened me. I looked for water but could not find 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 intervened, brutally. They first shot a few bullets in the air to separate the crowd but no one moved. “How could we move? We were very near to the gate and we might succeed in going to the other side,” Eitimad said, so the police started to push the crowd, using bamboo sticks. Still people refused to move. “Frankly, I was afraid. I found a spot by the wall and it was relatively quiet. I stayed there, waiting for another hour and a half. We were all wondering whether the border had opened or not. We were hoping for some confirmation either way.”

This inhuman situation continued. “I do not know. There is something beyond dignity and normal thinking. A mother took a towel from her bag and made a
small tent 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, you stupid child”. Another mother started to shout at her daughter in front of everyone. The daughter started to cry. It seemed that she was not used to such behaviour from her mother.”

During the entire, humiliating time Eitimad asked herself “Should I stay or should I leave? Can I bear this humiliation? Will I lose my children if I return now? Is it possible that I do not have the will 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 everyone there. No one saw me but even if they did, I did not want to see anyone.” (It is not usual for women to smoke in public in Gaza. We do not smoke in public places nor in the street.)

“I finished my cigarette and waited for another half an hour. After that, I made up my mind and at l.00 P.M. I decided to return. Everyone was surprised at my decision when they saw me holding my bag and leaving my precious place. I left but I did not

want to go home. I felt so lonely and decided to go to Marwa’s parents’ house. As soon as Marwa opened the door I started to cry and continued to cry even when I saw her old parents. I could not help it. I was feeling guilty. Why am I not physically strong enough to jump over the fence like the young men? But what could I do? I thought I would die. This was my limit!”

Eitimad’s children called her. They were waiting on the other side of the border. They were very angry, blaming her for 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?” Naturally this made her feel guiltier and she could not reply so she hung up and continued to cry. She could not eat anything and stayed like this until 9.00 P.M.. All that time she was thinking, “I might not be able to see my children for a long time, maybe even for a year. Or perhaps I will be lucky and see them in a few months.” I called them later and explained the situation to 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 the children for a while. Some of her friends managed to let her see them through the video conference facility, which is very expensive (approximately 60$ per hour) and she was very happy to have such an opportunity. She felt that her children, particularly Majd, have become independent at an early age but she can rely on them. Majd has promised his mother that he will be good at school and that they will keep in touch with her.

Now, thanks to technology she can see her children via internet. Of course, when Israel allows her to have some electricity.

I wonder if it is Eitimad’s fault that she could not see her children. Is it the Palestinian Authority’s fault? Or is it the fault of the occupation?

Isn't it obvious who is to blame for the chaos on the border? Is it not the controlling power, Israel, which can open and close the border, which can control the life of each and every Palestinian living under its occupation?

Lama Hourani
Gaza City
24 August 2006

“Rain Man”

2006-12-04T23:09:00.000-08:00

Everyone is asking me why I haven't been writing lately.

It is very difficult to write these days. I feel that we are trapped from outside and inside. Because of the events which have taken place here over the last few weeks I did not even have the chance to enjoy my family reunion. But I will try to describe how we are living these days. There are different issues but they are all connected to the Israelis and their unjust attacks on us.

I often feel that we are living in a concentration camp during the Second World War. We are living in a camp with two gates controlled by the Israelis, Erez and Rafah. We have our own leaders in this camp who are trying to keep some order despite the policies of the commanders outside. Certain amounts of basic needs are permitted to be brought into the camp.

We are attacked regularly and systematically by the commanders outside. We are hunted, killed, arrested, our homes are demolished, our livelihoods as well, our infrastructure, even the trees are destroyed. All that is missing is the famous striped suit which was given to the inmates of the camps during the Second World War.

"Rain Man" immediately comes to mind - the famous film of 1988 with Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise. Hoffman received an Oscar for his performance in this role. No, I am not talking about the film which I loved so much and viewed more than ten times in cinemas or when I could see it on television. I am talking about the name of one of the operations of the Israeli army in the south of the Gaza Strip which took place last week. The result was more than ten martyrs and around 100 wounded people. Children were included in both categories.

I wonder whether Dustin Hoffman, whom I respect very much, as do many people around the world, knows about this military operation. I would be curious to know his reaction. What would he say? How would he react? Would he sue the Israeli army for stealing the film's name and connecting it with the inhuman, unjust, brutal, barbaric actions against civilians, infrastructure, trees, animals, against almost everything?

Internal fights between Fateh and Hamas in the streets of Gaza Strip was another scene last week in Gaza. It is terrible, yes. No Palestinian agrees with this conflict. But what do we expect from 1.5 million people imprisoned in a big jail with no financial resources, no direct contact with the outside world and attacked day and night by the Israelis? Any other people living under circumstances similar to ours for such a long time would be worse. It is the logical outcome of this policy – that we will turn against each other.

Luai, now has new dictionary: he knows the difference between a pistol and a machine gun, a tank and a truck, he knows the difference between Israeli soldiers and Palestinian police. He knows that the Israeli army is attacking us, bombing and killing even children. "Mummy, do the Palestinian soldiers feel afraid when there is bombing? Do they run away?" He asked me a couple of days ago when he was having breakfast before going to his kindergarten. There was a sound like bombing; it turned out to be the thunder because it rained after that. So now he knows the difference between bombing and thunder.

Ramadan is about to finish. Usually, Ramadan is the month where the most is consumed in the Islamic countries. This year was the worst for the Palestinians. Our economy has been almost completely destroyed. Employees in the public sector have not received their salaries for months now. One can see hardly any shoppers in the markets of Gaza now. The last days of Ramadan were usually full of people purchasing goods for the Feast (Eid) following Ramadan. These days are usually full of joy, mainly among children who usually are able to buy new clothes and receive presents and money at this time. This year it is very sad. The markets are empty of buyers; many young men are touring the markets but only looking and unable to buy anything. The shops are almost empty of any new goods because of the continuous closure imposed on the Strip by the Israelis. The insecurity, internal and external, felt in the streets of Gaza does not allow people to go out as usual.

The electricity problem is getting worse and influences the behavior of people. Everyone is tense and can get into a fight with anyone, anywhere, at home, at work or in the streets. Life’s routine has changed. Sleeping hours, eating hours, bathing hours, reading hours, all this has changed and it is more difficult when you don’t have a schedule to follow. So electricity is still one of the first things we talk about in the morning at the office. Each one tells us how many hours of electricity she had the day before at home and what she was able to do with it. One colleague said that she heats candles now. "I used to light candles when I had a romantic dinner with my husband, but now I light them and I haven’t felt like having romantic evenings any more for ages.”

There is a rumor in the Strip that the electricity problem will be solved this week before the Feast (Eid). Everyone is talking about this and daydreaming about the things we would do when we go back to normal life. Not forgetting, of course, that this normal life will still include the daily incursions and killings by the Israelis, the almost daily clashes between the two main political Palestinian groups and the absence of financial resources for most families.

Still, from time to time one receives good news to brighten life -- very infrequent these days. For me, personally, it was the return of my husband to Gaza after many attempts and negotiations with the Israeli authorities to allow him to enter. But the Feast (Eid) is coming. It is at least a week long holiday, the borders are closed, and there is no way for the people to leave the Gaza Strip (those who can afford it) but even inside Gaza there are not many entertaining places for grownups or children and no place is secure.

I hope I didn't transfer my depression and desperation to you but I wanted to describe some scenes in Gaza over the last few weeks. We are still hoping that an improvement will come soon but it is not likely.

Maybe if a celebrity like Dustin Hoffman or Tom Cruise were to hear about the "Rain Man" military
operation and what it has done would get as angry as I am, perhaps this would cheer me up for a while.

Lama Hourani
Gaza City
17/10/2006

Ramallah

2006-12-04T23:08:00.000-08:00

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.

“Mummy, do you know how much I love you?”

2006-12-04T23:07:00.001-08:00

"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

As soon as I get a permit I will come back to you

2006-12-04T23:05:00.000-08:00

"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

Meanwhile .....from Lama in Gaza

2006-12-04T23:01:00.000-08:00

"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

22-8-2006

2006-12-04T23:00:00.001-08:00

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

A return to “normality” in Gaza

2006-12-04T22:58:00.002-08:00

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

Have the Israeli soldiers overslept in their tanks?”

2006-12-04T22:58:00.001-08:00

"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

30-7-2006

2006-12-04T22:49:00.000-08:00

Since my birth I have witnessed such terrible things that I thought I had no more tears to cry.

I am a Palestinian refugee and was born in Syria in 1965. So many terrible events have taken place since my birth.

The 1967 war. Although I was only two the reaction of my parents formed something in my own personality.

Black September 1970 in Jordan. I was five years old but still remember my parents’ worried faces.

October 1973. The war between Syria, Egypt and Israel. I remember to this day almost all of the details of the war, the Israeli air raids, my school, which we used as a bomb shelter despite the fact that it was full of windows. The happiness in the reactions of some of the grown-ups to the liberation of some areas in Syria and Egypt and my fear of the continuous air bombing.

The Civil War in Lebanon, from the middle of the 1970s, with everything connected with it.

The invasion by Israel of southern Lebonon in 1978.

Living in Beirut in 1980 and 1981, with the daily stress of the civil war and the Israeli attacks and flights which broke through the sound barrier at least three times a day.

The 1981 air raid against Al Fakhani in Beirut and the many car bombs that year.

1982. The horrible Israeli War against Lebanon and the siege of Beirut. I was living under the siege, a volunteer in the civil defense forces. I remember everything I witnessed, from the air raids to canon bombs to bombs from the sea to the attacks by Apaches on the ambulances in which I used to go to take care of the wounded.
The people who had been killed, injured people under the rubble with no means to rescue them, the refugees, the lack of food, water, electricity, fuel and medical supplies, etc.

During the first Intifada I was outside Palestine. I was demonstrating in the streets of Europe to ask for protection for the Palestinians and implementation of the United Nations resolutions to end the occupation and free Palestine.

The second Intifada,which I experienced in Palestine. Every conceivable weapon was used by the Israelis against the civilian Palestinian population.

The military invasion by Israel in the West Bank in 2002. My sister and her family were under siege with my father. She had come to Ramallah only a few days before the invasion began and my father had come to stay there for some weeks with her.

The constant war crimes which have been committed by the Israelis in Gaza and the West Bank since 1994, when I went to Palestine.

I thought I had witnessed everything and that nothing could shock me or make me cry because I had already seen the worst.

That is, until this morning, when we were preparing for a sit in in front of the UNSCO building in Gaza City in solidarity with the Lebanese people. We saw live coverage of the massacre in Qana. Actually, this was the second massacre deliberately committed by Israel against innocent civilians, mainly children, women and elderly people. (April 1996 was the first when Shimon Peres was Prime Minister. At that time 100 Lebanese refugees were killed by an Israeli air strike on the UNIFIL building.)

I feel antipathy and anger, not only towards Israel but also towards the international community. We Palestinians have been witnessing Israel’s crimes against humanity since its foundation in 1948. We believe in international legitimacy, international law, United Nations resolutions. Nevertheless, we are the victims of a terrorist State which does nothing but attack innocent civilians continuously and systematically in the name of self-defense.

Does self defense play a role when babies, children and people with special needs are being killed daily in both Lebanon and the Palestinian Occupied Territories?

Why are the United Nations, the European Union silent? These are supposed to be the protectors of democracy and human rights. I know why the Israeli and U. S. Governments and the majority of the Israelis are silent. They are the aggressors. They have never looked at us or at our children as human beings. But what about the others, who claim to be civilized and want to teach us to be democratic, "accepting of the other" and civilized.

If this is your civilization and your democracy I want no part of it, nor does my people want to be “democratic and civilized”. I prefer to be a “savage” rather than a democratic and civilized killer of children and babies.

I, the savage, care about innocent people, no matter what religion or nationality they have.

I, the savage, am more democratic than others in the world, who are watching what is happening and doing nothing. On the contrary, excuses and time are given by them to Israel to kill more innocent people and destroy an entire country.

It may sound egoistic but I believe I have the right to be so because I am the savage, who has lived all of the horrors I have mentioned, who did not collapse and did not lose her humanity. I still weep when I see a child, any child, crying because of the mistakes of its leaders, whether it is an Israeli, Palestinian or Lebanese child.

But, believe me, these children are definitely not equal and I won’t accept that the suffering is made to sound as if it is. We are not the ones who are attacking, who are asking our children to write special gift messages on the bombs meant for the children of Lebanon.

I am the savage but still raise my four year old son by the principle of loving others and respecting their needs in spite of his fear of the rockets, F16s and bombings that he is subjected to daily. In spite of the fact that I am not certain he will be alive to celebrate his fourth birthday on 21 August.

Yes, I am proud to be a Palestinian mother, who can feel the suffering of her people and that of others.

I still believe in humanity and in a future for my child, my husband, my people, myself, and the other peoples around me, including our “civilized” neighbours, the Israelis.

Yes, I have discovered that I still have tears and that I still have the power to cry and scream….Stop the madness of Israel and the United States! They are bringing this region to its destruction.

Lama Hourani, Gaza City
30-7-2006

12-7-2006

2006-12-04T22:48:00.001-08:00

Sunday evening.

Returning home from the restaurant where we watched the final game between Italy and France. My son, Luai, asked me: “Mommy, where are Marwan and Isam (his friends). I miss them.” I said, “Marwan is in France and Isam is in Amman.” "How did they get there when the borders are closed?" "Well they left before they were closed and they are now stuck outside Gaza." Luai answered, "You know, I will get a real gun and go to Rafah and shoot and kill the Israeli army there so that Isam and Marwan and Jiddo (grandpa) Fayssal can come here. Then I will go to Damascus to Teta (grandma) Rawda and celebrate my birthday there.- Don’t worry, they won’t kill me, I will kill them."

I didn't know what to tell him. He is not even four and talks this way. I don't let him watch the news but he still feels the occupation.

This morning we woke up with the electricity working. Luai went to the refrigerator and opened it widely, saying very happily: "Mommy, there is electricity, you see, I can open the refrigerator as wide and as long as I want to. He opened it and stood in front of it for minutes without taking anything from it. Then he went to the television set and turned on to watch "Tom & Jerry". He was so happy. He hasn't watched it for a long time now. But this lasted only for 10 minutes and then the electricity was cut off.

I'm glad that Luai does not wake up in the middle of the night during the bombing and the shelling. He sleeps deeply. He is experiencing a lot of new things now: Seeing the helicopters very low and hearing their loud noise from the yard of our building. Watching them even while they are shooting and bombing. Getting stuck in the elevator with other kids because the electricity is cut suddenly and not crying. Changing his entire routine (sleeping time, visiting times, not swimming in the sea, having dinner by candlelight, not having a daily bath, not reading a bedtime story but reading it in the afternoons. Getting to know a new game "Jews and Arabs" with the kids in the building. Getting to learn new words like death, bomb, and kill….etc.
Knowing the difference between the Jews, Israelis and the Israeli Army is what occupies his mind now.

The new problem with him is that he's afraid to sleep alone in his bedroom when the electricity is off. He's sleeping in our bedroom now. Since he was four months old I put him in a separate room.
Having these personal problems in my mind always, I still share the worries of everybody here, how long will this situation stay like this, actually how long will we, the people living in Gaza and theWest Bank be the hostages of the terrorist, racist Government of Israel.

We still go to work, follow as much as we can our programmes and activities with the different groups of women.

We are also concerned about Hanan and her family. They are all right physically. The Israeli soldiers left their house on Saturday morning. Amira Hass wrote in detail in the Ha’aretz about the family's suffering during the occupation of their house. It is obvious that Hanan is not like before. She's more tense, less comic about the issues and always worried about her husband and children. The children themselves are traumatized and still in shock.
I went to visit her in the house with other colleagues from work. When we approached the house and saw the garden I felt like crying. I was happy to see all of them alive and healthy. But the destruction we saw in the garden is unbelievable. I cannot even find words to describe it.

Life continues with the same problems. We have less and less electricity every day. Now we have only a few hours during the day, and about 4-6 hours during the night while we are sleeping and we can't do anything at home.
It has its advantages though, we sleep earlier, have more time for socializing with the neighbors, and we have the privilege not to watch the brutality of the Israeli attacks on us directly on television.

Still, we can hear the news on the radio. We still live under the continuous sound of the no-pilot planes that are over our heads twenty four hours a day. They have a very loud and disturbing sound like a constant buzzing. Added to that the sound of the F16s and the Apaches. Also the canon shelling all the time at different areas around us.

The sonic bombs have stopped since the Israeli soldiers entered the north. It seems that they don't want to disturb their people with them. I would like to believe that there was international pressure on the Israelis to stop these bombs but somehow, I really don't think so.

Lama Hourani
12-7-2006
Gaza

4-7-2006

2006-12-04T22:46:00.000-08:00

An hour ago I was listening to the radio and the moderator was reading Tawfiq Zayyad’s* (Palestinian poet) famous poem "Like Twenty Impossible". I felt like crying! We are really impossible. I don't know how we can really still live, laugh, love, and heat, eat, sleep…etc. under the circumstances we live in.

Normal people think and plan their future but we cannot. I wake up in the morning and the first thing in my mind is “Do we have electricity? Is the water still running? Is the fridge still working? Is the TV still working? Can I have a shower before going to work? Can I dry my hair after the shower? Will I be able to buy yogurt and cheese in the supermarket today? Will I find fuel for the car today? Will we have electricity to watch the semifinal match in the Mondial today?” So many questions the minute you open your eyes in the morning. It sounds silly but since last week we all awaken with the same questions every morning.

Then Luai wakes up. He will be four years old on the 21st of August. He still says “Good morning” but immediately asks: “Do we have electricity? Can I take a shower, Mommy?” Today he added: “When will we go to the sea, I haven't been there for a long time, Mommy. I want to swim, I miss the sea.” “We won’t go to the sea these days” I answer. “But why, Mommy? I saw yesterday from the car it's still there. Well it's not safe to go to the sea, I will fill in the bath for you and you can swim in it.” “But Mommy, you said that we can't do that because we don't have electricity and it means we don't have water, you told me that I must only have quick showers these days.” I remembered that I told him that he has to take care when he opens the water and explained to him the problem of water and electricity earlier. I could not answer him, I don't want him to know that the seashore might be bombed by the Israelis the way they bombed the electric power station (he doesn't know anything about what happened to the Ghalia family a couple of weeks ago). I just try to run away to work as quickly as I can to escape from his questions.

At work, we are lucky we have electricity because we have an electric generator. I even brought my hair dryer to work so that we can fix our hair. Well we are still human, females, and we still want to look nice in spite of the circumstances. Still, the only subjects are: how many hours of electricity each one had the day before in her area? How many shellings did they count? Did you wake up because of the Apaches over our building? Did you hear the bombing of the Islamic University? …etc.
I read Samia's peace "June 1982, Beirut, June 2006 Gaza". I was in Beirut, too. So many similarities. But I was 16 ½ years of age. I had no responsibilities, no worries, Dad was the one who worried about me and my sisters. And Mama was in Damascus. I knew that I had to do something so I volunteered in the civil defense and the hospitals for the whole period of the war. Now I'm 41 years old, I have a child and no other members of the family with me, all of them are outside distributed in three countries: Syria, Austria and the United States.

In Beirut I didn't know what fear is. Now! Oh, my God! I know what my parents felt at that time. I'm always afraid, mainly to lose my only child, either by being directly killed by the Israelis or because he becomes ill and I have no medication for him.
It is the most difficult responsibility in our world.

Write, write, write…..!
Everybody is asking me to write about our life in Gaza under the current situation, so this is what I thought I would write today.

I hope I didn't make you desperate, because I'm not. Believe me, today I reserved a table in a fancy restaurant so that I can watch the semifinal between Germany and Italy and I'm for Italy.

Lama
Gaza 4-7-2006

13-7-2006

2006-12-04T22:45:00.001-08:00

When Faten hugged Marwan (4 years old, coming back from the hospital) as soon as he entered her flat, Nour (two years old) started crying loudly. Everybody thought that Nour is jealous, so Faten went to hug him, but he left her and went to his cousin Marwan and started hugging him and saying for the first time in his life HABIBI (Darling) repeatedly.
Marwan and Nour live with their parents in Suadi Arabia, where their dad works. They came this summer to visit the family in Gaza with their mother Ghada. Because of the current situation they decided to stay at their uncle and aunt's house near the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
On another part of the world, mainly in Saudi Arabia, the dad was watching the news at 1.30am. Suddenly he saw his sister and her kids in the ambulances and then in the hospital. He kept looking for his family, wife and kids but didn't see them on the screen. He saw shaking Marwan in the hospital bed with his mother and sister all treated by the hospital staff, but no sign for his kids. Of course he thought that they are dead under the rubbles.
After a few calls and awaking all the members of the family in Gaza he realized that all are safe in another brother's house.
Laila, an employee in our organization Faten's sister was telling us this story next morning, while we were watching the news on TV and saw the same pictures the father was watching last night. We all had tears in our eyes. After that the news and the scenes from Lebanon. The destruction of the infrastructure, the destruction of houses full of families, the same scenes every where, in Gaza, in Ramallha, in Nablusm, in the villages of Southern Lebanon, in Beirut, in Saida, in Sour..etc.
The same aggressor everywhere also, Israel. The sameF16s, the same apaches, the same canons, the same soldiers and the same excuse always.
Today s 16-7-2006, I started writing this message three days ago, but because of the electricity and the flood of the different news I could not continue.
Now we are almost 24 hours following the news, by TV rarely, but mainly by radio. The Israeli aggression is continuing and at the same time the Israeli complain is continuing too.
Israel starts hitting the infrastructure of it's neighbors targeting civilians, who have to return back and defend themselves. Israel, the owner of the fourth strongest army in the world, the owner of atomic bombs, the occupier of the lands of Lebanon, Syria and Palestine, the holder of thousands of Palestinian and Arab prisoners in its jails, the holder of the Palestinian civilians in the occupied territory as hostages, is the one who needs to defend itself????
It is really a strange world, all the governments of the so called democratic world are strongly protesting against the kidnapping of a regular army SOLDIERs, but non of these democratic states stands firmly against the brutality and aggression of the Israeli state terrorism against the civilians surrounding them.
The Un resolutions guarantee the rights of the Palestinians, Lebanese and Syrians to have their occupied lands back and the Palestinian right for forming their state in the land occupied in 1967, but Israel does not obey on the contrary there are building an apartheid wall in the West Bank that destroys the future state of Palestine and puts the basis for the final illegal borders of Israel. Still the democratic world is accusing us the victims of being terrorists and asking us to recognize the right of Israel to kill each one of us as a self-defense.
The news are still coming, in Beit Hanoon, northern town in the Gaza Strip. The Israeli forces are surrounding four families (each family counts at least 15 members) living in four houses and asking them to leave their houses because they want to destruct the houses. The families refused to leave their houses. The army is giving the families a half an hour chance to leave the houses or they will destroy them over their heads.
The occupation army, still in the same town, is destroying the fences around the governmental schools.
The occupation army is occupying a five story building which includes a kindergarten, a library, a women's center and the administration of the trade union of the female workers in the kindergartens.
The news is still coming while I'm writing this. I've been asked by a friend to write our suffering in Gaza and that an Israeli woman and a Lebanese will write too and it will be published in France. I wonder what to write? I know that the suffering of civilians anywhere in such circumstances is the same. I know that mothers, regardless of the nationality of religion suffer the same if she loses a child. I know that the look of a child subjected to war is the same. Please give us a chance as women, as mothers as human beings to raise our children in peace and loving atmosphere instead of fear and hatred.
The people living in the "first democratic world" can hardly feel what are we in the region going through, especially now, when it's their summer vacation times. Still we are asking their support to put pressure on their governments to ask to stop this madness of the Israelis that wants to destroy the whole region.
I believe in the peaceful solution for the conflict in the region, based on the international law and the UN resolutions. But where is the UN, it's only defending the aggressor now, isn't it?
I have nothing to add, I have a big anger inside me, like everybody living in the region. It’s a scream for all people in the world, believers in god, or different gods, or non believers, but definitely we all believe in the human being and in his right to live in dignity and safe, it's a scream to move and protest against the Israeli brutality and stop their madness here.

6-7-2006

2006-12-04T22:42:00.000-08:00

I began an hour ago to write something to explain why my previous piece seemed as if everything were normal. Then the news came one by one.

Today you will read about the horror.

Hanan, a field educator in our organization, lives in the northern area of Gaza City. A beautiful, happy, funny lady, who loves to imitate people, which she does very well. A lady, who makes you laugh in the most terrible times. Hanan is a lady with great pride. She is a refugee from Al Khisas, a village in Al Majdal, which is now in the southern part of Israel. Her parents, like many other Palestinians, fled in 1948 to the Gaza Strip. Hanan was born in Gaza in 1967, married Ali in 1985, after his liberation from an Israeli jail, in which he spent 14 years (he was sentenced to life imprisonment but was released in an exchange of prisoners for the bodies of Israelis between a PLO fraction and Israel). They have now four beautiful kids: Maisa: 20, Rima, 18, Muhammed, 16, and Wisam, 12.

Hanan has been working in NGOs since 1999. Ali was working in UNRWA after his release from prison until the foundation of the Palestinian Authority, after which he started working in one of its security forces. They were living in a small house in the Twam area at the north of Gaza City. They could save some funds from their work, added to the pension Ali took from UNRWA when he left it and were able to buy the house. Then, with some savings and loans, they could buy a plot of land more to the north. Later, they decided to sell the house they lived in and build a two story house on the land they had bought. They left half of the land to be planted with different kinds of fruit trees. Figs, grapes, Jummase (a special Palestinian tree) and some vegetables and olive trees. Ali and Hanan had to take loans to build this house and furnish it and they are still paying. During that the children grew up and Maisa is now in the university.

After finishing the building we had two nice parties in their house. We went twice for a barbecue in the garden. It is a very nice garden, which Ali spends most of his time taking care of. Since the international sanctions imposed on the Authority Ali does not get a salary, but Hanan is working and they are trying to manage all the expenses, the loans and the bills with one salary. Ali could receive 300 $ from the Authority last week. Hanan's sister in Amman sent her 300 Jordanian Dinars two days ago. She was very happy yesterday that this month they have enough money made up of three currencies: Israeli Shekels, Jordanian Dinars and US$ to make the kids enjoy the summer holidays. She was making jokes all the day, as usual about the bank she has in her pocket.

When I woke up in this morning I heard that the Israeli tanks were near her house, so I called her and told her not to come to work. She said, “I am getting dressed. Don’t worry, Lama. They are one kilometer from our house. We all O.K. I will come. Besides, Maisa has an examination at the university so she has already left and I don’t want her to be alone in Gaza so I will come and wait for her to finish the exam and take her back home.”

When I came to work half an hour later Hanan called and said, “The Israeli tanks are near my house. I can't come.”

Around 9 ِ’clock Hanan called and said, “The tanks are destroying our garden, all of the trees and everything. We are all sitting in the basement.” We could hear the sound of the tanks and the shooting. She asked us to call Maisa when she finished the exam and tell her to go to her uncle's house. The line was interrupted.
Four days ago, Hanan came with two acinuses of green grapes. She said, “You always ask me about them, Lama. I know you cook them with grape leaves and Raghda (a volunteer in our work) likes to eat them with salt. When she was talking on the phone about their garden I immediately told her: “Don't worry. I still have my acinus. I will give them to you to plant after they leave.”

Now the mobiles of both Hanan and Ali are closed for some reason. Maybe they didn’t have electricity yesterday in order to charge them.

At 11 o’clock Maisa called, crying, “Aunty Lama, what happened to my family? The land phone is not working and the mobiles are closed.” We calmed her down as much as we could and asked her to come to the office. She came and until now she doesn't know that their garden has been ruined.

All of this is going on while the funeral of yesterday's martyrs was passing by our office with all the shooting. The Apaches were shooting from their machine guns with a loud voice, the F16s are flying, and the no pilot planes, too. The electricity was going and coming. Still I had to take care of a volunteer in our office to make sure that she got home safely, in the south of Gaza City. I had to make sure where my husband is, like everybody in the office was making sure about the position of each member of the family. I asked the employees who live in the north to go to their families and stay with them.

I'm worried about Hanan and her family and I'm worried about everybody else living there now. Especially when I hear the news about the ambulances that are not allowed to go into the area, and that they are shooting at them and not allowing them to enter.
I hear also in the radio the people asking the ambulances to come and pick up a girl that was shot by the Israelis while she was filling water for her family. They don't know if she's alive or not. She's 15 years old. Her name is Muna. People are calling the radio stations, saying “What is going on? They have arrested all of the men. They took their mobiles and are shooting at anything moving.”

But still I'm working; I have to draft an appeal to the international community about the situation here. I have to write my quarterly report to my supervisor.
Today is Thursday. Tomorrow our weekend begins and I will plan something to do outside the house with my friends.

Yes, don't be surprised! No matter what they do to us: bomb, destroy, kill, wound, cut electricity or water, whatever. We will not forget that we are still human beings and have the right to live normally under normal conditions. We have the right to love, make love, work, sleep, hate, eat, dance and enjoy our lives. And all of this is proof that we are still here, living.

(Lama wrote after sending me this article that she called Hanan's neighbor, who said that there were two tanks in Hanan's garden and that the soldiers had entered their house and that was why we could not reach them. While Lama wrote this two were shot dead in the area.)

Lama
6-7-2006