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It is good if people die on the spot after being bombed or shot, because if they are injured, they must either be lucky or left there to bleed to death. Three people died. We could see their bodies, carried by about ten people who walked quickly and buried them in the camp cemetery. Usually when people get killed in similar circumstances, their bodies are accompanied by hundreds of people to their final rest. Today few people
participated because were afraid that the soldiers on top of the mountain overlooking the camp would take advantage of the situation and shoot at the crowds.
At about 4:00, the sounds of the tanks were getting closer and closer, and the soldiers began to shoot insanely. The tanks arrived on our street; there seemed to be two. We got scared and didn’t know where to go
or what to do. They were moving slowly and the shooting shattered the silence of our quiet neighborhood. We ran about the house dashing from room to room. When the shooting intensified we lay on the floor, but when the bullets were right above our house we dashed to the bathroom. I was carrying my little daughter who was crying while the other children surrounded us and clutched at us tightly. I didn’t know why we chose the bathroom. Perhaps due to its smaller size it
seemed the safest place in the house. We stayed in the passage outside the bathroom for about fifteen to twenty minutes. The tanks moved away only to be replaced by a bulldozer noisily gutting our street. Only when they left and their sound faded in the distance, did we dare come out to investigate what had happened. There was a huge pile of sand and mud, and the tar of the street was churned up. What had happened -- and why? We had no answer. Saturday April 6, 2002 After breakfast, we decided to carry the water from our house downstairs since their water was running out. Everybody took part, and we used containers and buckets to carry the water. Now our house had little water left. My mother-in-law and I hand-washed underwear only and made
the children wear the same clothes: a washing machine is useless with no water or electricity. We found we were cut completely when we discovered that all telephones in the city were out of service. Even my sister-in-law, who lives in the other end of the city and was our window on what was happening there (since they have electricity and could watch TV) was without
a phone. We were isolated from the rest of the world, too. We couldn’t even use our cellular phones because they could not be charged. At about lunchtime, we could hear another countdown for two or three families to leave their houses with their hands up. Then we saw dust and smoke in three areas in the camp, which meant that three houses were destroyed. My son asked
me: “Why did they ask the people to leave with their hands up? I thought that once people evacuated their houses with their hands up, their houses would not be destroyed. I don’t understand that”. I had no answer and we soon learned that the same things were happening in other places in the city, especially the old part. In the evening, the tanks came once more to our
street. This time we didn’t go to the bathroom; instead, we stayed in one of the rooms next to the walls. The tanks did the same heavy shooting with stun grenades, blasting the silence with deafening noise. We heard glass breaking and things being hit. From the window, we could see two huge tanks moving slowly along the street and disappearing behind a neighbor’s house. Above us, an unmanned plane
circled, turning our night, which had been somewhat quieter than the previous into another horrible, odd nightmare Sunday April 7, 2002 This morning, we all had an unusual bath. We wet a towel and washed and rubbed our bodies, and consumed only a bucket of water. We had breakfast and listened to the news from the radio: the old city was being attacked heavily. About 30 people had been killed, and many injured were
still lying on the streets. Ambulances again could not evacuate the injured. The bulldozers were destroying houses in Jenin camp, and people had been buried under the ruins of their homes. My children, who have never seen war, didn’t realize or refused to understand that what was happening was dangerous. They wanted to go out of the house to the street or visit their
maternal grandmother, to go to school, to visit their friends and play with them, to look through the windows, to do things in a normal free way. Nammor was full of questions and ideas, bragging to his sisters that if only he had a gun he would go and shoot at the tanks. His older sister laughed, “What do you think your gun could do to a tank or a helicopter? It
wouldn’t scratch a thing”. He listened with amazement about the power and strength of the Israeli military, and then asked her, “How come they have everything and we have nothing and they're attacking us in our houses?” “Well, I think they hate us”, she answered. Around noon, another huge building was destroyed -- seven stories with 14 apartments and huge shops and stores for cars and furniture. This time, people in nearby houses were asked to stay away from windows and everyone was warned of a huge explosion in the southern part of the camp. There was the usual countdown and then a huge explosion destroyed the building, gigantic clouds of
mixed white and very dark smoke filled the sky, and small pieces of stones and sand fell on the houses in our neighborhood. The cloud took a long time to disappear. The building had been visible from our house. Now it was gone, replaced by a huge pile of burning materials. Two helicopters were flying low and shelling the old city. Our ears were deaf with sounds of
explosions and shooting and shelling. The houses were shaking; the windows, the doors, everything was moving. The children ran here and there when they heard the explosions. They screamed when they found themselves alone in one room. In my mind's eye, I kept seeing a very strange bullfight. I could clearly see us as a weak, helpless group of people running away from a
herd of wild bulls, huge, fierce, disoriented and stampeding in all directions. The bulls were trampling us with their heavy legs and goring us with their sharp horns. Some of the viewers in the international arena were watching silently, while the majority seemed amused by the scene and shouted, "Kill them! Crush them!" It seemed for them, this was a chance to end
the never-ending story: the Israeli-Palestinian cause. Whenever I thought about it, I felt angry. What else do you feel when you are abandoned? The world no longer seemed a small village. I felt that Palestine was a very isolated and remote place. It was true that we were not allowed to contact the outside world, but that did not mean that those people could not try and extend help to us, or at least shed some light on our dark streets and houses. It was agonizing
that the world community and people who claimed to love democracy were helpless and quiet and didn't condemn the Israelis for terrifying children and frightening their parents. Why this silence on the part of the world community? Was it thirst for blood? Wouldn’t it be a better idea, far more civilized, to buy it from a decent blood bank instead? Such questions kept buzzing my head. Things were getting dangerous. At 3 o’clock my father-in-law, 80 years old, got bored sitting inside the house and went out to the street. He had walked about 100 m. when snipers in a nearby house shot at him and he came back running. Neighbors told us that three nights ago the soldiers took over a house and asked the residents to leave. The snipers were shooting at anything that moved, and only one shot meant a person’s life. Therefore, we could neither go outside nor look from a window. Furthermore, the food
was beginning to defrost and water was dripping and leaking from the fridge. In the small garden that surrounds the house, my parents-in-law had planted some trees, roses and other plants. As I was sitting on the front step to the house, talking to Nammor, I noticed that the plants had begun to wither, and some of the flowers had fallen to the ground. I was saddened, and imagined our destiny if this water shortage continued. Nammor wanted to water the garden, but we couldn't allow him since we couldn't afford to waste any water. Not watering the garden, of course, meant that everything
would dry up, and all signs of life around us would disappear. I loved that garden, and my husband and I took pictures under its trees on our wedding day. I also know that it meant a lot to my mother-in-law who enjoyed gardening as a favorite hobby. She used to water her plants every other day with great happiness and generousity. I remembered that she once told me that the plants, specially the roses, love water, just like people. Yes, water is life, and because of
this we were selfish, and were after our survival and ignored nature not because we wanted to, but because those soldiers inside their tanks were destroying the pipes that supply our houses with water. These well-protected soldiers have nothing to lose: we are the losers and our lives are in great danger. Well, and let the plants wither; let spring die out for once, and let autumn prevail for a while: just let us survive. Things were getting dangerous. At 3 o’clock my father-in-law, 80-years old, got bored sitting inside the house and went out to the street. He had walked about 100 meters when snipers in a nearby house shot at him and he came back running. Neighbors told us that three nights ago the soldiers took over a house and asked the residents to leave. The snipers were shooting at anything that moved, and only
one shot meant a person’s life. Therefore, we could neither go outside nor look from a window. Furthermore, the food was beginning to defrost and water was dripping and leaking from the fridge. In the small garden that surrounds the house, my parents-in-law had planted some trees, roses and other plants. As I was sitting on the front step to the house, talking to
Nammor, I noticed that the plants had begun to wither, and some of the flowers had fallen to the ground. I was saddened, and imagined our destiny if this water shortage continued. Nammor wanted to water the garden, but we couldn't allow him since we couldn't afford to waste any water. Not watering the garden, of course, meant that everything would dry up, and all signs of life around us would disappear. I loved that garden, and my husband and I took pictures under its
trees on our wedding day. I also know that it meant a lot to my mother-in-law who enjoyed gardening as a favorite hobby. She used to water her plants every other day with great happiness and generosity. I remembered that she once told me that the plants, specially the roses, love water, just like people. Yes, water is life, and because of this we were selfish, and were after our survival and ignored nature not because we wanted to, but because those soldiers inside
their tanks were destroying the pipes that supply our houses with water. These well-protected soldiers have nothing to lose: we are the losers and our lives are in great danger. Well, and let the plants wither; let spring die out for once, and let autumn prevail for a while: just let us survive. At 10:30 my little daughter wanted to go to the bathroom. I quickly
jumped to put the lights on, but then remembered that there was no power. My husband lit a candle using the lighter that he always kept in his pockets for emergency and lighting cigarettes. As he held Nadeen's hand and walked toward the bathroom, he shouted suddenly, and threw his slippers away from him. I could see something move next to the slippers. It was a big black scorpion. I quickly held Nadeen and moved away. All of a sudden, he snatched the slipper and hit
the scorpion. It jumped and started to move quickly, and there was noise mingled with moving chairs and objects that forced everyone to wake up and share in the hunt that followed. I myself did not take part because I fear such insects and don't dare kill them. I carried a candle and followed all the commotion. My mother-in-law got a broom and handed it to my husband who smashed it against the floor in an attempt to kill the scorpion. Every movement that the scorpion
made was followed by a scream, a shout or a jump on the part of the children. Nammor was standing on a chair encouraging his father to hit hard. The scorpion lost a leg and everybody cheered. Then there were two or three hits and there was silence. The scorpion didn't move. It was dead. We could see its blood and other fluids on the floor. I felt disgusted even to
look at it after its death. Looking at it made my body shiver. I didn't even want to clean the floor. It was rude and selfish of me to let my mother-in-law do it, but I just could not. Nammor was still standing on the chair and felt relieved that the scorpion didn't fly. Thank God. No one knew what might have happened if the scorpion had stung anyone of us. Our first aid contains no antidote for poison. Nammor, who was once stung by a scorpion didn’t want us to put out
the candle and was frightened. I sent Nadeen to sleep with her father and made him sleep next to me in my bed. He was really scared, so hot and sweaty that his underwear was soaked with his perspiration. I calmed him down and told him at least three bedtime stories until he finally fell asleep. Outside, at least, it was a quiet night; the intensity of the shooting had decreased.
It was so dark outside. Oh, how deeply I now hated night and darkness: they were full of secrets and mysteries and made me feel weak and small, alone, isolated, unknowing and vulnerable. The thick darkness was like a huge ghost covering all the objects around me and wrapping my body in its horrible, huge rolling waves. It was so heavy over me that it hindered my movement and blocked my breath and left me immobile and barely alive, a
cold pile of black ice. In the darkness, evil felt so powerful: it could stretch its ugly hands to me secretly, unseen. I felt so alone and at the same time so visible to the huge eyes of darkness and the ugly eyes of hi-tech weapons and military machines that penetrate not only objects, but also bodies, hearts and brains. Darkness collaborates with the enemy, which might be using highly advanced satellites with cameras and microphones to record the beats of my heart,
and take pictures of the thoughts in my brain. The enemy takes advantage of the night by using night vision equipment to watch my movements and count my breaths and vows. I would feel helpless and frightened facing such devices in broad daylight, but even more so at night. At about 3 o’clock, there was a helicopter in the sky and the heavy movement of tanks in our
street. They came closer and then stopped right opposite our house. I could hear my heart beats on the pillow right under my head. My husband woke up and I asked him to come to my bed. He knew from my quivering voice how frightened I was. I could feel my whole body tremble. My throat became very dry and my lips got drier and I wanted to use the bathroom. My husband held my hand and hugged me. Thank God that the kids were asleep and didn't see me in that horrible state
of fear. Then the tanks moved ahead, inching a little further down our street every five or ten minutes until morning broke. Sleep was impossible. No one knew what was going on. Never before had I felt so weak, so frightened and so small. It is terrifying when you can hear various sounds and voices but can’t see their source or direction. This fear is difficult to
describe because it is not specific; it could be felt but not expressed and is very different from a fear of scorpions. It is a fear of something as huge as a beast that sees me but ignores my presence and wishes to crush me. It is a fear of the beast's limitless power and powerful limits. Fear is when I can hear my own heartbeats so distinctly and clearly that my head
is about to explode and my heart is about to overflow. Fear is when my own eyes can’t witness my death. When I am afraid, I can’t reach with my hands, or blink with my eyes, or feel with my heart or move my parts. I only lie motionless in my bed waiting for nothing. My mouth gets dry because the saliva dries up on my tongue and throat. This fear did not evolve from nothing: a deep fear of what Israel might do to us has always been a part of my life. NEXT
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