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WE ARE IMPRISONED, BURIED ALIVE IN A TOMB
Claire Anastas, house wife
I am a mother of two children – two girls
and two boys. We live in a building that is
surrounded on three sides by a nine-meter
Wall, with fourteen persons, including nine
children and my mother-in-law who is sick
and has rheumatism. Only one side is open,
with barely any sun coming through. While
sitting in the kitchen, I see three walls.
As we live near Rachel’s Tomb [in
Bethlehem], our house is subject to severe
military measures. Our two shops – for home
accessories and car mechanics – are located
on the first floor of the building. They are
closed; there is no business. In front of
our house used to be the main street to
downtown Bethlehem. It was the richest area
of Bethlehem, but now it is a small, scary
place. We are without neighbors; we just
live with two families on our own. We are
imprisoned; we are buried alive in a tomb.
Even during the years of the second
Intifada, we experienced much pressure. In
2002, there was a lot of shooting. We lived
in a cross-fire. Soldiers occupied the high
positions around our house. People were
shooting at the soldiers from different
directions. My children were paralyzed by
fear and could not even use their hands.
During some of the shootings, the bullets
entered our house. We did not know where to
hide; we did not know where to go. The
situation lasted one year. Each night my
children would wait for the shooting to
start. They shouted, “The shooting will
start soon, we don’t want to sleep in our
beds.” We had to sleep on the floor, near
the door. The six of us slept there, in
sleeping bags, next to each other. Our
oldest girl slept on a chair.
We haven’t had work for five years. Our
businesses have almost come to a standstill.
The last two years have been unbearable. Two
years ago, the electricity was cut off for
four months because we could not pay the
bill. In 2002 my husband cut his hand. He
was very anxious about the situation. At
that time our debts began. Instead of fixing
the car, he cut his hand. His hand is now
always painful; half of it is paralyzed. The
churches gave a little help, and our
children’s schools reduced tuition fees for
us.
We are waiting for our shops to open, but I
now have no hope. Clients are afraid to
visit this military zone. Even our family is
afraid to pay us a visit. My children are
deprived of having friends come home to play
with them. So-called emergency checkpoints
are constantly being set up by the army. I
try to tell my children that I am going to
support them by asking the help of a great
power, of leaders from abroad, who have the
power to move the Wall. “Don’t worry,” I
tell them, “I am doing my best.” This is
what gives them a bit of hope. I don’t know
what to do if no one asks about us.
For me, freedom means living in a free
country, not in a cage with a minimal amount
of space, without the requirements of
living. My memories of freedom are buried in
the past. God keeps me going. We always pray
to God that we will find people who can help
us get rid of this Wall.
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