In the past, I had seen many news reports about innocent people forced to evacuate their homes because of internal conflicts or wars, but I never thought I would be one of them.
I was wrong.
One day during Israel's deadly military invasion of Gaza in the summer of 2014, the sky over my house seemed to burst into flames, houses shook, bombs fell everywhere and our hearts beat fast. There was tension in the air as we wondered, “Is it safer to stay in our home or leave?”
My three sisters and two brothers gathered in my room. Some were biting their nails, and others were crying. They were afraid of the tanks, the shells and shrapnel, that could harm us and destroy our house. How would our parents, who had left for a prayer visit to Mecca before the attack, handle the situation? Everyone in the neighborhood was asking if there had been any news of a ceasefire, and unfortunately the answer was no. Apparently, Israeli soldiers were not yet satisfied with the number of people killed. The numbers of dead had climbed to 1,300 so far, mostly innocent civilians.
Where to run?
My sister suggested we move to my Uncle Aref’s house immediately. I thought, “What if they shoot us while we’re heading there? But I couldn’t verbalize what was in my mind because I didn't want to frighten my sisters even more. Our decision was finally made: We would go to Uncle Aref’s house. My brother called his friend to take us in his car; he knew no taxis would be available and only a friend would do us this favor.
The car arrived and I could finally take a deep breath. It had been a very long night. I looked at my older brother and was shocked by the fear and tension I saw in his expression. I wondered, "is this the same brother who, during the last attack in 2012, when I asked him in a hushed voice to move to a safer place, laughed and said, ‘Go to sleep and everything will be just fine?'”
This wasn’t the first time we had suffered through an Israeli attack. What had changed? Was he aware of an imminent danger that was not apparent to us? And if so, how could I be so oblivious of my surroundings? I kept thinking and thinking and realized that much of the fear knocking in my heart originated from looking at my brother.
Bags packed, a car waiting to take us to a new challenge, outcome unknown—that summed up our situation. "Thank God, we finally reached a safe place!” I said upon arrival. My uncle’s family was very generous and welcoming, and amazingly, they helped us feel more at ease about leaving our home; indeed, we almost didn't notice the time passing as we talked and played cards together. But our hearts stopped each time the phone rang, because it could have been bad news about someone close to us killed or injured. Or the call could have been an order from the Israeli occupation forces to evacuate quickly.
Then it happened. A call came from a neighbor, telling my uncle to leave quickly because the people in the Red Crescent building directly opposite his house had received a bomb warning from the Israelis. Should we evacuate again? Where? We left quickly and headed to my other uncle's house in the same area. Uncle Azzam’s home was a little further away and is a first-floor apartment, while Uncle Aref’s was a fourth-floor flat. It’s much more dangerous to stay in a multistory building. After waiting for an hour at Uncle Azzam’s, we went back to Uncle Aref’s apartment when his neighbor called and said the threat to the Red Crescent was just a rumor.
Gone in an instant
During the last night we spent at Uncle Aref’s house, the Bader family, who lived just a short street away, was hit. We saw with our own eyes the glare of the explosion, and we could hear men and women shouting and screaming, calling for help. More than four ambulances rushed to the scene and took away dozens of dead and seriously injured people. In addition, many other houses were hit and we felt like someone was pulling our hearts out with each deafening explosion.
After three days at my uncle’s house, we made up our minds to go back to our own home. My uncle’s family had been welcoming, but we didn’t want to be a burden. We returned home safe and sound. We had missed our home a lot.
My family is a typical Gazan family, and our everyday experiences during the Israeli attack were like everybody else's. We all felt there was no such thing as a "safe place" in Gaza. What did we, ordinary Gazans, do to deserve being attacked with such cruelty and barbarism?
And then there is the eight-year blockade that has prevented most of us from getting even a basic job. Israel has a fierce military capability and is equipped with technologically modern weapons, some of which are internationally forbidden. Yet the international community does not hold Israel responsible for this collective punishment. As I write, Palestinian youth are rising up in the West Bank and Gaza in rage and frustration, and Israel is imprisoning hundreds. Only Allah knows how this will end.
Mentor: Zeina Azzam
Posted December 2, 2015
