Dear Family and Friends,
I had hoped to have a morning to get caught up on my e-mail, as we learned last night that the Israelis were lifting the curfew from 7:00am to 7:00pm tonight. How kind of them! But no, it was too good to be true. We just learned here at the internet center that, after allowing businesses to open and people to buy food, the Israelis have re-imposed the curfew. It's a game for them. Imagine not being able to go to your office or open your shop for days, weeks, on end, then being told you have the chance to open for a few hours. Imagine going to work, starting business - which means having money to feed your family - and then hearing from the soldiers safely inside armored Jeeps screaming via loudspeaker, "Palestinians! To your homes!"
Echoes of the Nazis screaming "Juden! Raus! [Jews! Come out!]"
The impact of these brutal curfews are not only crippling the economy, damaging morale, and causing massive problems in terms of health care, education, sanitation, commerce, and psychological well-being. Truly, the Israelis think themselves to be masters of psychological warfare. US support for Israeli occupation is breeding more and more hatred towards the US and is giving extremist ideologies the fuel they need to increase membership.
We are losing the hearts and minds of a great people in order to support an undemocratic theocracy - Israel. We say Israel is a democracy, but it lacks a constitution and bill of rights. It routinely deprives citizens' basic human rights on the basis of their religion and ethnicity. And then, of course, there is the illegal military occupation of Palestinian land.
The other human cost to this illegal and inhuman occupation, of course, is the price paid by children.
Here's just one example.
For an American tourist to go the 3 kilometers from Bethlehem to Jerusalem to visit the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, it takes 20 minutes by air-conditioned taxi, at a cost of about 3.5 shekels. And there is no need to worry about wearing the right shoes to climb mountains in between roadblocks.
For a Palestinian mother to go from Bethlehem to Jerusalem in order to get her sick child medical treatment at Makassed Hospital - the only modern hospital that will routinely and without harassment or discrimination treat Palestinians - it is a much different journey. Of course, most days, such a journey is not even allowed by the Israelis. The curfew in Bethlehem and the surrounding Palestinian villages is lifted only from 10am-2pm when it is lifted at all. For a Palestinian to get to Makassed Hospital, the trip just TO the hospital can take 4 hours, and requires a circuitous 15-20 kilometer trek, much of it by foot over the sandy mountains and destroyed roads that surround Bethlehem. It's "normal" to go by foot for 3-4 kilometers in between roadblocks. When the roads would allow, and when one can be found, people go by "taxi" - that is, an overcrowd vans with no shock absorption or air-conditioning. Compared to the 3.5 shekels it would normally cost to go from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, it costs a Palestinian mother over 15 shekels, just for herself.
Getting back to Bethlehem before curfew is impossible. I know because I've been there.
Two days ago, Nashida and I accompanied Dima and her mother to Makassed Hospital in Jerusalem. Dima has a seriously deformed back, which causes her great discomfort and requires surgery that is available to her only outside of the country. Sadly, Dima's back troubles are only part of her plight.
Dima's story:
Dima Samia Abdeh is a 14-year old Palestinian girl who lived with her parents, Sami and Huha Abdeh, along with her 12-year old brother Mohammed and her 10-year old sister Dua'a in Bethlehem. The children's bedroom was on the second floor of a three story stone and concrete building on Fawagra just blocks from the Church of the Nativity. Her family owns a small grocery on the first floor, which was also the home of her 64-year old grandmother, Somaia Abdeh. Dima's uncle, Khalid Yacoub Abdeh, 38, also lived in the house, together with her cousins Issa Ibrahim (11) Isra Ibrahim (9) and Mohammed Ibrahim (6).
On the morning of April 4, 2002, just a few days after the Israeli invasion of the West Bank during Holy Week, Dima's home came under fire from Israeli Defense Forces. Dima recalls the morning of April 4th vividly, although she is reluctant to relate the details. During our visit (July 28, 2002) at the home of her aunt, where her family is currently residing, Dima presented as extremely anxious and agitated. She initially recoiled from the request from PCRF fieldworker, Nashida Jubran, to talk about the horrific course of events that began that morning. She was unable to remain on the veranda, going in and out of the house and appearing quite nervous. She finally agreed to try to recount the terror she experienced between Tuesday April 2 and Friday April 5.
I have used her words as translated by Nashida Jubran whenever possible.
On that Tuesday morning, Dima reports, "I was asleep, just waking up, and my brother was playing. I heard gunfire outside, and my mother came in and made me get out of bed. I hear guns all the time. I didn't know why I had to get up. And then the tanks began to bomb our house."
Photographs of the house taken by Dima's father shortly after the Israeli attack reveal a blast to the second floor bedroom where the children were sleeping or playing. The tank hit the building dead center on the corner between the children's bedroom windows. On a visit to that building yesterday, we observed a construction crew continuing the repairs to the children's corner and the rest of the home and adjacent grocery.
To escape the tank blasts, Dima's mother got the children to the grandmother's grocery on the lower level and instructed them to stay by the relative safety of the grandmother's small street-level one room apartment, approximately 8' x 20', away from the doors and windows. Dima recalls being in between her grandmother and her uncle
Dima and her sister Duaa both report hearing shouts from soldiers in Hebrew coming from outside in between gunshots and the roar of tanks. "Then," Dima states, "after about 10 minutes, we hear pounding on the door." The door was made of metal and the pounding, she said, was very loud. "We also heard tanks smashing cars and soldiers screaming in Hebrew. We didn't know what they were saying. We do not speak Hebrew. My grandmother said she was going to open the door and made sure we were all in the corner by the bathroom. My grandmother was old and didn't move fast enough. Then there was an explosion at the door. The soldiers began to shoot inside of the house. I saw red marks on the wall and they shot my uncle's head. We were screaming for help. I thought my mother had been shot, but then she pushed us all into the bathroom." Dima was in between her dead grandmother and uncle when her mother pulled her into the bathroom.
The bathroom is small and cramped, about 6'x 4'. All six children were put in the bathroom by Dima's mother and then she called an ambulance. "The bathroom was the only place that was safe. We started crying and screaming, 'Are you ok? Are you ok?' and my mother told us to be quiet. She was in the other room. We heard soldiers shouting in Hebrew. We were still in our pajamas and it was very cold. My brother, Hammed, was calling for my mother, but she was in the shop."
Outside of the bathroom, Dima's grandmother and uncle lay dead. A certified doctor's testimony by Peter Qumri, MD, states that they "were exposed while they were at home, to an Israeli explosive missile at 9:45 a.m. on Tuesday, 02/04/2002 during the Israeli invasion of Bethlehem city… By examination of the bodies at our morgue, the following were demonstrated: Mrs. Abdeh: (a) penetrated with an entrance at the back [emphasis added] and an exit at the abdomen; (b) complete loss of the right cheek including bones with laceration of the area. Mr. Abdeh: (a) complete loss of the left cheek including bones with laceration of the area."
The six children remained in the bathroom from approximately 9:45am until 10:00pm Tuesday. Damage done by Israeli shelling caused water to leak into the bathroom. It was a cold wintry day and the small bathroom began to fill with water, the children dressed only in their pajamas. Dima's mother spent the day desperately trying to get an ambulance to come for her own mother- and brother-in-law. Finally, at approximately 10:00, she ushered the children out of the bathroom upstairs where they spent a sleepless night in unspeakable terror. "No one could sleep," Dima recalls. "And we were all crying. We didn't know what had happened. We didn't know why the soldiers attacked us." She still doesn't, and no explanation has been given to the family by the Israeli government.
The bodies of Dima's grandmother and uncle remained in the downstairs' apartment until Friday, April 5, 2002, because of the Israeli siege. The whole of the Palestinian population of this sacred town, home to both Christian and Muslim Arabs for centuries, were placed under curfew by the occupying Israeli military. Ambulances were forbidden from going anywhere, even to rescue the critically wounded and to recover the dead.
As I said above, Dima suffers from a medical condition characterized by a malformed shoulder and back. Her condition requires surgery, but it is very expensive, not available to her in Israel or Palestine, and she is reluctant to undergo corrective treatment.
Since the terrifying experience she was forced to endure, and given the on-going trauma of Israeli occupation of her city, Dima's academic, social, and emotional functioning has deteriorated significantly. She suffers from recurrent nightmares and initially lost all interest in food or pleasurable activities.
Dima finally agreed to go to Makassed Hospital in Jerusalem for a medical examination to determine the most appropriate course of action.
Sadly, but typically, her trip to Makassed Hospital only served to recreate the terror she experienced during those days of siege when Israeli gunmen burst into her house, shooting blind, murdering her grandmother and uncle.
Like I said, for a Palestinian mother with a sick child, the journey to Jerusalem (Al Quds) from Bethlehem is quite different from the same journey made by an American or Israeli. Palestinians who were not born in Jerusalem are not allowed into this city that is sacred to Christians and Muslims as well as Jews. Dima, her mother, Nashida (PCRF caseworker) and Murad (nursing student at Bethlehem University) all have the orange ID, which guarantees the worst of treatment by Israelis. But we were determined to get Dima to the hospital. I say we, but truly, it was Nashida whose tenacity and bravery made the day.
The day: intensely hot and dusty, with winds that blasted sand into our eyes, a shadeless 95 degree inferno. Those who say, "At least its dry heat" have never had to make such a journey with a traumatized, disabled child.
After climbing over the final barricade between Abudese and Jerusalem, we walked up the long hill towards Makassed Hospital.
And then we saw the Israeli soldiers. Dima's terror was palpable although she put up a brave exterior. How many 14-year olds have had to endure what she and thousands of other Palestinian children have been forced to endure?
There, at the checkpoint, was her first physical encounter with an Israeli gunman since the murder of her uncle and grandmother. A boyish, fair-skinned Israeli looked at the IDs of my Palestinian companions and shook his head. He looked at mine and told me I could pass, but I told them we were together. Nashida and I attempted to explain that we are working with an American-based medical relief organization for children, that we were with a nurse volunteering with our organization, and that this was the child and her mother. He could not speak English or Arabic but shook his head and handed them back their IDs. He went to get another gunman, a stocky-bordering-on-fat, dark-skinned, pig-faced brute. He took one look at the orange IDs and sneered, waving both of his hands saying, "Go back! Go back, or I will arrest you! Go! Go!"
Of course, Nashida and I stayed, having Dima and her mother find some respite in a shady spot away from this man's inhumanity. We attempted again to explain our situation, that this was the one day on which there was no curfew in Bethlehem, our one chance to get this child to the hospital for the evaluation needed to coordinate her surgery. "Go!" he repeated, and then he put his hands over his ears and laughed. "You!" he said to me. "You can pass. Palestinians are not allowed in Jerusalem." I asked to speak with his supervisor. I asked how he could keep a child from the hospital. Nashida pleaded with him, telling him he could have one of the 6 soldiers in his squad escort us to the hospital, keep our IDs, and then we would return.
Nothing.
Another armored Jeep arrived and a swarthy man in IDF uniform with non-regulation sunglasses approached us. He told us that the pig-faced guy had radioed that we wanted to go on a trip, on a picnic to Jerusalem. "What's the problem? You cannot come to Jerusalem for a picnic."
As if any Palestinian from the beautiful hills and olive orchards around Bethlehem would subject herself to this sort of brutality and degradation by coming to Jerusalem for a picnic!! Especially a Palestinian mother with a disabled child.
We explained our situation again to him. He spoke better English than the pig-faced guy. We had hope. But he, too, said we had to go back. "You may pass," he said to me. "You, go back" he said to Nashida.
And so, we regrouped, but we did not retreat. Nashida doesn't know the meaning of curfew or retreat. We climbed back over the barricade - watching old women and little boys carrying huge sacks of rice on their backs - come from the other direction. We found a "taxi" on the other side of the barricade that drove us 2 kilometers to the next road block. We then walked through a cluster of olive trees and down a steep embankment, finding ourselves on a commercial street of an Arab neighborhood. A "taxi" driver knew a way to get around the checkpoints, going through unpaved alleys and along steep drops in the road. It took us 3..5 hours after leaving Bethlehem to go what should have been a 20 minute drive to Makassed Hospital. But we made it.
I'll save the journey back for another time.
We were in Jerusalem when the bomb went off in Hebrew University. We heard the explosion from the hospital. Perhaps if the Israelis had accepted full responsibility for the massacre in Gaza, which killed 11 children and 5 other civilians, perhaps if the United States had unconditionally condemned the Gaza massacre as a war crime, perhaps the cycle of violence would stop. But as long as Israelis occupy Palestinian land... as long as Israelis target children with rubber bullets, land mines, F-16s, Apache attack helicopters, and tanks... as long as Palestinians are denied self-determination and the basic rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness... As long as Israel maintains its aggressive and provocative posture, there will be no end to the violence. This is NOT an equal fight. This is the fight of a military power occupying a largely civilian population. When will the world see this?
I am in Bethlehem probably until tomorrow. I hear the Israelis have sent in tanks to Nablus, so I don't know what that will mean for my work there.
I'll try to stay in touch.
Love, Dani
p.s.
I understand that American public support for Palestinians is growing as more Americans become aware of the Palestinians' plight. Rumor here is that the Israelis want to pull the plug on CNN for it's reporting of the news as it happens, as opposed to how the Israelis would like it to be reported.
Do Americans realize that ALL CNN news from the Middle East must go through an Israeli censor in Jerusalem? This should be an outrage to Americans who fought a revolution to guarantee a free press!!!
"In the end, my desire to go to Gaza stemmed neither from adventurism nor from insanity, but from that dread of being a bystander..."
Ramadan Ended! Now What?
Date posted: October 26, 2006
By Dana Shalash for MIFTAH
So today is the third day of Eid Al Fitr that all Muslims worldwide celebrate right after the culmination of the month of Ramadan. Not sure if it’s only me, but Ramadan seems to have lost its glory. Years ago when I was a child, people’s attitudes towards both Ramadan and Eid (festival) were way different than now. Maybe I have grown up to the extent that I see in them nothing but the mere fact that few arrogant relatives come for a visit for a couple of minutes, and everyone just sucks them up.
It has been a gloomy day in deed. Being self-centered often times, I thought that my own family never enjoyed the Ramadan that other people celebrate. But the night prior to the Eid, I went for a drive to Ramallah with my uncle and three sisters, we toured around Al Manara and the mall a bit, and felt the legendary atmosphere. People were happy. That hit me; I am not accustomed to seeing them vividly preoccupied with the preparation for the big “day.”
So I came back home and wrote to all my contacts wishing them a Happy Eid and expressed my astonishment and satisfaction to see promising smiles in the crowded streets of Ramallah. But the sad part was that I knew it was merely fleeting moments and that those smiles would be wiped off soon. Not only have my fears become true, but I was blind. Yes, blind. Or may be I just chose not to see it. May be I wanted to believe that we are actually happy.
Would I miss Ramadan? NO. Not really. It has been made hell this year.
While Ramadan is believed to be the holy month during which people get closer to Allah by fasting from food and drink all day long and focus on their faith instead, I am not pretty sure this was the case with us Palestinians. It was only a drug. Ramadan numbed our pain. We could handle both the Israeli and Palestinian political, economic, and security pressure knowing that the day of salvation was approaching; the Eid. But after the three days elapsed, then what?
Now thousands of Palestinians are waiting for the next phase. It has been seven months now. Seven months, and thousands of the PA employees have not received their salaries. And two months elapsed with millions of students deprived form their right of education. I have three sisters and two brothers who do nothing but stay at home. They have not attended school from the very beginning of this term. It is both sad and frustrating that they have to “do the time” and pay a high price.
Reading the news headlines on the first days of Eid is not healthy at all. It lessens the effect of the drug, and one starts to get sober. Sounds funny in deed, but that was the case.
Few minutes ago, I surfed some of the blogs and came across few Iraqi bloggers writing on both Ramadan and Eid. If the titles did not mention “in Iraq,” I swear I could never tell the difference between Iraq and Palestine. The hunger, misery, constant killing, and lack of security are all Palestinian symptoms.
I am speechless now; I can hardly verbalize the so many conflicting thoughts. Heaven knows how things would be like next Ramadan, but I would not speculate it already. It is not time to worry about it now, other issues are on stake; food, money, and education. Until then, there are a lot of things to sort out.
