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Sumud Story House
Diaries
The following are diary entries made by 16-17
year old girls of the St Joseph school in
Bethlehem, 2002-3, published in:
2004 The Wall Cannot Stop Our Stories: A
Palestinian Diary Project: 300 pages
(English, with separate teacher manual).
Published by Terra Sancta/St Joseph School for
Girls, Bethlehem.
Lyn Elias
IS THIS MY HOUSE?
In the night of the 4 th March at 8:30 exactly
we heard a noise of an explosion from the F-16
planes, I got very afraid and ran downstairs.
That night me and my family were sleeping in my
grandmother's house.
The breaking news on the T.V were that the (mukata'a)
was bombed, and when I heard the news I couldn't
stand on my feet, I fell down and sat on the
floor without moving,my heart was beating very
quickly, and then the telephone rang and someone
told us that our house was completely
destroyed.I couldn't believe that.Many people
then phoned to be sure that we're out of the
house and some of them told us that a rocket had
entered into the house! Then after few minutes
we heard another explosion,and another.
My mother went after everything was calm,she
went at 10 o'clock and returned at 12:30..at
that time I was sitting doing nothing,staring
and wondering what my house will be after all
this.My mother returned,all her clothes were
white! I asked her,but she didn't answer…she was
shocked.
Now it's 5 o'clock,I went off and dressed up so
as to go to see my house,my mother refused..but
then I went…..
Many metres away from the house I could see
people looking around.
The first thing I asked was: IS THIS MY HOUSE???
I was completely shocked after thinking all the
night and I couldn't imagine that it would look
like that.
First I saw that there were no garden,no walls,
no windows, and even the doors were out of their
places.I entered, and there was dust,broken
glass and I couldn't walk cause there were many
people inside.Everything was broken,not in it's
real place and not good anymore, all the
furniture were damage except few things.I
couldn't imagine that this was my house which my
father used to tell me that it was built in 5
years and I realized that it was completely
demolished in only 5 minutes!
Just at that moment I knew what it meant to lose
a house. But thank God that we're all still
alive!
Date:January 16, 2003
Curfew is a common word we usually use it
everday on;y in Bethlahem or in any other place
in Palestine, and it has become something normal
for what is happening during these days.
What a hard situation that surrounds us? These
days under curfew, don’t make us feel that it is
something strange because we got used to sitting
at home 24 hours doing nothing! For someone else
in the world this thing seems unusual but this
is our life and we must be satisfied with it,
even if no one would accept to live this kind of
living.Till now we can’t do or change anything,
but we hope that the next generations who will
follow us will not suffer and live this way.
Life has become something boring to us because
in situations like these you will not be able
to do whatever you want or wish, you don’t feel
like doing anything, and not being able to live
like other people in the universe is something
very disappointing. If I asked anyone the
meaning of curfew he will say: the situation
when you are unable to go out from your
house…it’s true, but for us this gives us many
deep and painful meanings.
Date:February 3, 2003
Today is Monday the curfew was lifted and I knew
that yesterday, so I went to school as usual.
First when I’ve just closed the door I heard a
jeep calling that we are under curfew! I was
confused and surprised, people were in the
streets, and I think that it wasn’t something
strange! After all I managed to go to school
after I checked that everything was ok.
At school I studied,chatted with my friends,went
home,ate lunch, watched T.V, studied my exams
and listened to the radio… till now nothing
extraordinary or new happened, but for me I felt
that there is a big difference between today and
yesterday because yesterday was curfew so no one
was in the streets, no one was out of his house…
The city was empty like there was no air to
breathe in it, for that no one could live in
such a city.
Today it felt like someone threw oxygen and so
everyone can breathe and so people went out.
This is really strange, when there is curfew, we
are dead but when it is lifted we are alive
again…
And there is a arabic poet who said that when we
are living we are awake and when we die we
sleep, but I can see that in our lives we are
sleeping…what will happen when we die?!
Date:February16,2003
Two days ago I was walking in the street and
there were two women chatting together; they
were arguing about what time they will announce
that the curfew will be lifted the next day!
One woman said that she saw the news on T.V at 2
o’clock (ofcourse in the early morning!), and
the other woman said that she was awake all
night and saw the news at 1:30!!! I laughed and
thought how the people are so silly! They are
waiting for the mercy of other people so as to
move, go out, work, do their shopping… I mean to
start their daily things that they usually do,
but now the people do all these things only in a
few hours…only when the curfew is lifted.
I feel that when there is curfew the city is
like the city of dead people, and when the
curfew is lifted the people are alive again.
Ameera Lama
THE SECOND INTIFADA STARTED RIGHT THERE IN FRONT
OF MY OWN EYES
Days go by and time goes fast; minute after
minute, hour after hour. So I’m writing a few
words to make them last.
Three days ago, we were discussing with our
teacher about time and he told us that
yesterday, for example, is gone and we can’t
bring it back. So I just felt scared and had
goose pimples. Then I thought that my life is
passing, and it’s going without any changes.
It’s just a routine. We need a flavor in our
life like peace, love and faith.
I’d like to write about two painful and
unforgettable experiences that played a
tremendous role while growing up.
The first one happened exactly on July 2000 when
my two brothers, who are studying abroad,
decided to come for a short visit after being
away for two years. That date became a nightmare
after my mom was admitted to the hospital and
stayed there for 72 days. My brothers came
directly to the hospital instead of coming home
for a happy welcome. The whole family spent that
time in the hospital. My brothers flew back to
their universities feeling worried about my
mom’s health. Our freezer was full of all the
food and traditional pastries that my mom
prepared for my brothers. We were always praying
and crying so that God would heal her. My
beloved father suffered a lot as he used to go
to work in Jerusalem, to the hospital and then
back to Bethlehem every day. He became thinner
with worry; he didn’t eat properly which made
things worse for him. I, myself, was only 13
years old when I had many responsibilities both
at home and at the hospital.
Something else happened unexpectedly: on
September 28 and while I was studying in my
mom’s room in the hospital in Jerusalem, we
heard shooting and screaming. When we looked
from our window that was facing Al-Aqsa Mosque
and directly over the emergency room in the
hospital, we saw people running in all
directions followed by Israeli soldiers shooting
them. There was also a heavy smoke. I went
quickly to inform the doctors and nurses who
sent ambulances to the wounded people. But those
ambulances were not allowed to move the
casualties into the hospital. All the injured
people and the martyrs were coming to the same
hospital we were in. I was shocked and started
to cry while looking on that tragic scene. It
was the first time for me to see martyrs, and
blood all over the place. The Israeli soldiers
surrounded the hospital and shot tear gas bombs
inside it. I can’t seem to be able to forget
that horrible day when the second Intifada
started right there in front of my own eyes.
The second painful experience happened in June
2001 when my father became ill. He had a surgery
in Jordan and we had to go there by an ambulance
since the political situation was critical and
military closures were heavily imposed on the
Palestinians. My father came back after three
months and continued his treatment in Jerusalem.
We had to go to the hospital after passing the
checkpoints and begging the Israeli soldiers to
let us pass each time. It was to no avail. We
asked our parish priest for help; he was able to
help us get a permit to pass the hateful
checkpoints. My father’s health worsened since
the doctor was giving my father a higher dosage
than was prescribed by his doctors in Jordan. My
dad was going through chemotherapy until he
couldn’t eat a thing. The next day was his
birthday and I presented him with his favorite
bottle of perfume. On April 1st, I
went to visit my dad and I had to stay there
because the Israeli tanks then invaded Bethlehem
and put the Nativity Church under a tight siege
for 40 days. By then my dad’s health worsened
and he was put in the ICU and we were allowed to
stay with him most of the time.
On April 10th 2002, after 10 days of
suffering, he passed away taking part of my
heart with him, leaving me lost with a big hole
in my heart and life.
I will never forgive the Israeli soldiers for
neither allowing us to bury my father in his
native town, Bethlehem, nor for not letting my
brothers come to see him. They had only heard
his voice and advice through the phone, and who
couldn’t believe his death.
We had to bury my father in Jerusalem. I can’t
describe how we felt when we entered the house
without him; we felt him around us as if he was
still alive. We won’t ever remove any of his
things; everything is left the way he left it!
I will always remember his weak and innocent
looks when we were near him (mom and I) in the
ICU.
He once took our hands, kissing them and saying
thank you and he always told us to stop crying
whenever he saw us crying. He used to say:
“Everything is OK. Don’t worry!” I can feel with
many who suffer and I am still suffering from
his loss.
When I became 16 on 26th September
2002, I was aching for my father’s presence, and
I remembered how he used to take pictures of my
friends and I every time I celebrated my
birthday. I passed this dull birthday weeping as
I remembered his promise to me when he said that
he would give me driving lessons and buy me a
computer. I really miss his presence, his
laughter, his kindness, his love and his jokes.
We feel that our house is empty without him. He
left a deep bleeding cut in our hearts and our
tears haven’t dried yet. God Bless his soul.
Raneen Riziq
SOLDIERS IN THE HOUSE FOR THREE WEEKS
10\9\2002
Dear diary,
It is 4:15 and I am just entering the house, my
mother and my sister are watching TV. But wait
… they are sad, when I sat to watch the
interview I saw Fadwa el-Barghouthy, the wife of
Marawn el- Barghouthy, who is now in jail. It
was a very emotional program and it symbolized
the tragedy that happened in every house and
every day to the Palestinian people. Fadwa el-Barghouthi
talked a lot about her life with her husband,
how they suffered a lot from the Israeli
soldiers, and whether or not she and her
daughter will be able to see him again. Then she
added a nice thing, she said it to her husband
and it was “Palestine is not only for you”.
At that moment I was very sad and I went to my
room, shut the door but I could not sleep. I
started thinking of all the people who are
killed every day by the Israelis; people who
lost their houses, their family and of the
people who are passing their hard life in jails.
We are not living our life, we are not taking
our rights and all the Arabs are watching
speechless, without doing a thing. How can they
let a person take another person’s life? I
always ask myself… why is that happening to us?
What did we do to them? What did we take from
them?
It is our right, our land, and on of the rights
is to live peacefully in our own country.
Last but not least I hope that peace will
prevail all over the world and I want to say
that no one loses his rights forever, in the
end, a person will finally get it.
21/1/2003
At this moment I am very angry, provoked and
sad. The news is just over, and the situations
day after day are getting worse. Lots of people
are being killed every day; no one can guess
what will happen after a minute. We sat watching
TV to see if they were going to lift the curfew
or not, if there will be school or not. We go to
school one day and stay house for 4 days.
What a miserable life, isn’t it?
Why do we have to suffer?
Why are not we living like people all over the
world?
Moreover, we have no clubs, nowhere to enjoy our
time or to participate in different activities;
we just stay at home, watch TV, eat, study and
sleep, what a killing routine!
All the people were waiting and expecting that
the year 2003 will be happier and better than
the years before it; without wars or killing but
in peace and love, but it seems that the third
world war will happen this year.
Anyways, I hope that we will go back to normal
life soon, and that we will live peacefully in
our land and birds holding olive branches will
fly all over the sky.
24/11/2003
It was a very hard situation to face! Soldiers
were in your house for 3 weeks, locking you in
an apartment, and preventing you from moving
freely inside your house! The story was that
during the forty-day incursion, the Israeli
soldiers were occupying houses and one day they
reached our house, knocked on the door and
entered, holding their guns. They put them in
our faces and checked the house. Finally, they
decided to occupy the house. They took the keys
locked my aunt and us in the same apartment and
threatening us by saying that any try to open
the door they will not hesitate in killing us.
Days passed and one day they knocked the door
demanding for every telephone and mobile in the
house, for sure we did not accept, and after an
argument, they left us peacefully. My feelings
during this period were unknown. I did not know
whether to cry or smile because they went or
what. Every step we made was watched; every word
we said was heard because one of the soldiers
was staying behind the door to check. They
thought it was their house, if we switched on
the TV they said to turn it down or to switch it
off because the soldiers wanted to sleep, if we
laughed they immediately came to see what was
happening.
During the first days, I was depressed. I did
not feel like talking to anyone but after
spending 5 days under this situation, I got used
to that. After spending 21 inside our house,
they decided to leave. They came at 6:00 and
locked the doors as usual. We thought that they
weren’t leaving. But at 10:10 they came and
threw the keys in our faces and went with a sad
smile on their faces, because they had the
comfort of our house and did not want to leave
it. It was really a very hard situation to face
and at the end, we thanked God that they did not
harm us.
þ25-11-2003
Today is a very funny day, the weather was cold
and our class is very cold as well, so some
girls brought with them blankets, of course
without the knowledge of the teachers. It was
really funny to see. It’s 12:00 o’clock and we
are doing a physics exam, silence is all around
and suddenly…a girl stood and said: “Snow,
Snow”.
WOW, snow is so beautiful because in our
country, we rarely see snow, and the teacher
started shouting and said that each girl would
lose 5 marks of her exam, and he ordered us to
stop this silly behaviors. So, when he went out
and all the girls started dancing because if it
continues to snow, there will be no school for
at least two or three days. I went home waiting
for snow to fall but I slept that day without
seeing it.
The following story is taken from the diary of
the Palestinian author Jabra Ibrahim Jabra
(1930s), “The First Well,” about his youth in
Bethlehem.
On the edge of the Valley of the Camel, a little
below the New Road, a hugh azarole tree soared
upwards, visible from our house on the hill
above. The slopes of the valley were covered
with olive trees wherever you looked, but this
wild azarole prided itself on its height, its
spreading branches, and its towering grandeur.
No one knew who had planted it; perhaps it had
simply burst out from the earth between two big
rocks, too long ago for anyone to remember. We
always saw it clearly from the road, because its
upper branches rose up higher than the road's
edge, and it would sway with every breeze as if
beckoning to us, deliberately and willfully
inviting us. We had only to climb a rock or two
and jump on to one of its branches, then carry
on up into its dense network of branches and
leaves, and fill our pockets with its sweet
little yellow fruit.
During the olive-picking season we'd make it our
point of entry to the trees in the valley. The
croppers, with their sticks and ladders, would
pick the olives with a deftness that went back
thousands of years, singing merrily as they did
so. "'Ala dal'una" was everyone's favorite song;
and in autumn the valley would be filled with
the sound of it, as men, women, boys, and girls
shook the trunks and the branches, beat them
with their sticks and climbed to the higher,
more difficult branches on ladders, making the
green olives fall, like pearls, on to the red
earth. They'd move from tree to tree, picking up
handfuls of fruit to fill their baskets and
bags, and their songs and the tunes of the
double reed and the flute would move on with
them. Whatever the time of day, there was always
someone, perhaps visible, perhaps not, sitting
alone on a rock somewhere and playing the double
reed or flute, pouring out a flood of tunes
which echoed through every part of the broad
valley like the playing of a gentle breeze.
Here and there a few olives would cling
stubbornly to their branches, or lie hidden
among the pebbles or between the cracks in the
earth that were lined with nettles and various
kinds of autumn anamone; and we'd take our
school bags (school being closed for a few days,
so that the students could take part in the
olive harvest) and glean behind the croppers,
picking up any stray or stubborn olive they'd
missed, however few these might be. These were
free to anyone who took them; and when we'd
filled our little bags with them, we'd go back
to our lonely azarole tree if there was any
daylight left, and climb it, singing our own
songs, happy with what we'd gathered.
I tried to understand the bedouin words of the
song and took pleasure in the uncommon ones
among them. I liked to imagine how the "north
wind" changed the colours of lovers; I saw them,
dark, tanned by the sun as it lit up their
large, kohl-painted eyes, eyes that glittered
and shone, gleaming white and intensely black,
while the north wind blew on them and deepened
their darkness - and their sweetness:
'Ala dai'una, 'ala dai'una,
The north wind has changed my color.
I'll write to my sweetheart on blue paper
And send many greetings to my beloved girl.
But if, my darling, you're bent on staying
apart,
Talk to me on the telephone.
I tried to imagine the voice of this adored
sweetheart as she lisped over a telephone. I'd
seen a telephone once at some people's house,
but I'd never put the receiver to my ear -- and
many years later, when I spoke on the phone for
the first time, this song and these words were
the first thing that came into my mind. I wished
the person at the other end had been that
beloved girl bent on staying apart from her
lover, while I picked olives in the Valley of
the Camel and filled my pockets with azaroles;
then I could have asked her, "Tell me, please,
why are you bent on staying apart?"
One day I was coming back from the azarole tree,
on my way home with Sulayman. Near the tree a
lane turned off from the new Road and went up
till it reached the top, by the garages of the
Bethlehem buses whose company had recently been
established. At that point the lane turned to
join Ras Iftas Street as it carried on upwards;
our house was on the heights above this lane,
which had actually, for many centuries, been the
original road to Jerusalem, before the New Road
was built and paved in the early 1920s. The New
Road led directly to Manger Square, skirting the
edge of the valley in a wide arc and missing the
old town.
One of the owners of the garages where the lane
turned off was a relative of ours called Abu
Ilyas. After my father's sciatic nerve disease
had forced him to leave his job at the convent
hospital, he'd sometimes go to Abu Ilyas to
amuse himself and talk to the two or three men
who worked there and who were acquaintences of
his. He'd watched the car engines being
repaired, enchanted by their complexity and
movements, and he'd say, "that's the kind of
work I've always wanted to do!"
One day Abu Ilyas asked my father why he didn't
go and work for them; and when my father said he
was too old now to learn a new trade, and was
too sick in any case, he insisted that my father
would simply be allowed to help the workers as
best as he could. The wages, he said, would be
very small -- one shilling a day.
My father agreed to this, despite my mother's
objections (my mother was in Jerusalem, and
didn't know what was happening at home). I
argued as strongly as I could, too, because I
was afraid my father would do himself an injury
with the physical exertion involved. But my
father insisted; the work was easy, he said, and
it would give him something to do.
It was just a few days after he'd started work
at these garages that Sulayman and I were, as I
said, going back home up the hill from the
hospitable azarole tree, and I saw my father
busy carrying a number of tires inside from the
sidewalk.
"Let me help you, father," I said.
"No, no," he said. "You go and play with your
friend."
"Let me carry the tires with you," I said. "I'll
go home afterwards."
I turned to my friend. "You go," I said, "I'll
follow on later."
Sulayman went off, and I helped my father with
what he was doing. A few meters below us there
was a car hoisted up on a jack, ready for a
front tire to be put on. One of the workers had
already fitted the tire on to the iron rim of
the wheel and pumped it up, and he asked my
father to carry it to the car.
I volunteered to carry it myself, and, finding
that it was heavy, I stood it on its edge. It
was pumped up hard, like a football, so I
decided I could roll it along instead of
carrying it. I fact, I only had to give it a
little push and it rolled along easily in front
of me.
I ran after it, pushing it once or twice, and it
started to roll downhill faster. Then, when I
tried to push it sideways toward the car hoisted
up on the jack, my hand hardly touched it, and
it went on rolling in the direction it had
chosen for itself.
I ran quicker behind it, but it outstripped me
like a bolting horse, going faster and faster
down the road as I still sped after it with all
the strength I could muster. I saw it getting
further and further ahead of me, while I panted
behind, vainly trying to catch it. It looked
like a furious animal that was thrown off all
restraint. There was a man peacefully riding his
donkey up the road, and I was afraid the crazy
tire would run into him and throw him and his
donkey to the ground, but it crashed into the
side of a stone, bounced two or three meters up
into the air, and came down on the edge of the
New Road. I hoped it would fall flat and finally
come to a stop, but instead the cursed tire fell
on its inflated rim and bounced again, with
increased force, toward the azarole tree. Still
I ran and panted on, unable to grasp the meaning
of what I saw, and I heard my father shouting at
me from a long way off, "Now look what you've
done! Look what you've done!"
At the edge of the valley, near this azarole
tree, the tire gave one last bounce, then
disappeared into the depths.
…. from an essay written by four students from
St Joseph School: Jennifer Juha, Jumana Denho,
Rasha Hazineh and Nisreen Ballout, 2003
There was a little boy who was holding his toy.
It was a pigeon that symbolizes peace. While he
was playing one afternoon, he had a dream. He
dreamed about another world where he could talk
about his toys and his hobbies, his interests
and his dreams, instead of talking about guns,
blood and killing. A world where he could run
and play with his friends. He dreamed about
people who loved each other, smiling to each
other, happy and secure. Happiness was in
everybody’s heart. There was no war, no tanks,
no rockets, and no shelling and bombing. There
weren’t sounds of crying. Christians, Moslems
and Jews living together in peace, fighting
together against the evil of the world. They
talked about justice. He dreamed about w better
world. A world full of peace. A bullet, an evil
bullet came like a thief and entered his heart.
It took his soul and his dream away. His pigeon
was beside him, right there next to his
motionless body. But the pigeon remembered his
dream, and came to life and flew away. It has
decided to tell his dream to the world. AND it
decided to make his world that he dreamed about
come true.
Occupation Diary
Mary Masrieh from Bethlehem
Monday 8/4/02
Here I am in the place where Jesus was born, now
a most terrifying place. Monday last week we
woke up at 1:00 A.M. I could hear bombing and
shelling everywhere. At 4:00 I ran to my
mother’s room and hid under her bed because the
bombing was very close. My father looked from
the window and counted twenty tanks all around
our house. They entered the old town of
Bethlehem near the Nativity Church. My father
has a shop there. Since a week no one is allowed
to walk in the street or to look out from the
windows. We don’t see daylight, we have covered
all windows with blankets. As if we are buried.
Our house has two floors, one for us, the other
for my uncle with his three small children. We
stay all the time in his place because it is
safer there. I don’t move, I just watch TV.
Bethlehem is really a small town in which
Moslems and Christians live together, and we
know everyone. We knew Omar Salahat who was
killed near the church while he was checking his
restaurant which is near my father’s shop. (They
kill anything that moves, even a cat). The
Israelis went into so many shops. My uncle’s
friend has a jewelry shop; they stole 10 kg. of
gold.
Thursday 11/4/02
Today was the worst day. Not because of what is
happening in Bethlehem – we got used to it.
Tanks all around, I can’t sleep, I can’t study.
I just cried all day what happened elsewhere,
especially in Jenin. Hundreds of people killed.
Many lie in the streets for three or four days,
nobody can bury them. They don’t allow TV to
come in.
Now I can hear tanks near my room. It has become
normal. I don’t feel afraid. I wake up at the
sound of bullets and I go to sleep at the sound
of bullets. I was not afraid when, two days
ago, I went out to buy some bread with my
four-year old cousin. The tanks in the street
started to shoot and shell. Two days ago a man
was killed on the street while he was bringing
food to his children. He went out during the
curfew because his family was in need.
The situation in the church is still the same. I
called father Rafael. He is one of the priests
in the church. He told me that they had not
eaten anything since six days.
I can’t really write everything because I can’t
translate my feelings into normal words. In this
world, the truth is buried. When you say a word
of truth you are smashed and killed under their
tanks.
Friday 12/4/02
Now I am sitting in the garden because we are
allowed to go out for two hours. I can see the
people rushing to the markets and stores to buy
milk and bread. There are some children playing
and others are talking to each other. Five
minutes ago the tank near our house started
shooting in the air while we were all out. Thank
God, nothing happened and none was injured. Then
two tanks approached us. Everyone went inside
but I stayed outside.
Two days ago they buried a Moslem in the church.
There was no place to bury him. I know so many
people there and now they are without food for a
week.
Everything changed in my little town. The roads
are damaged, cars are crashed. Even trees are
damaged. Bethlehem is not Bethlehem anymore. It
is now a desert with destruction everywhere.
There is no hope for us to live peacefully. Now
there is no difference between life and death. I
prefer death so I don’t see those evil crimes
done to my people. Maybe it will be safer in the
other world near God. My cousin asked: “Why
can’t we play and have fun like other children
in this world? What did we do to suffer?” I
laughed and told him that it is a crime to be
Palestinian.
Monday 15/4/02
I woke up at 10:00 to prepare myself to buy some
food with my uncle. The Israeli soldiers allowed
the people to go out from 10:00 – 14:00. On our
way to the market I saw my lovely Bethlehem
ruined. The worst thing is the rubbish which is
everywhere on the streets and which poison the
air and create an unhealthy environment.
Today they entered a building in Doha, an area
near Dheisheh refugee camp which is near our
house. They ordered the women and children to go
out and then took all the men, put them in
armoured vehicles and drove them away. The women
and children are now on the street, the children
slept on the ground. The Israeli soldiers claim
that there were some men with weapons hiding in
the building. When they shelled it, a woman who
could not run away was killed. Her baby of six
months was injured.
It is now 12:00 P.M. I can’t sleep because the
soldiers are planning something terrible for the
men in the Nativity Church. First a soldier
speaking good Arabic started threatening them
through a megaphone: “To those in the Nativity
Church, know your destiny, go out and you will
be without harm or loss, you will be safe.” He
kept repeating these words for an hour. Our
house is far from the Church but we could hear
it clearly. After that, they played a tape with
terrible sounds which I can’t describe. I still
hear them: people screaming, sounds of machines,
hammers, alarms, knocking, barking of dogs. I
know we won’t sleep tonight. I wonder how the
people inside the Church feel. I think they are
getting crazy. No one can hear those sounds for
long. The soldiers just want to make them crazy.
They keep repeating the sounds for several
hours.
I am going to pray the rosary with my family. We
pray it every night, we ask God to protect those
who are in the Church, Moslems and Christians,
because they are innocent.
I can’t continue… I hear bombing, maybe they
start bombing the building. Now we are going to
hide somewhere because it is really near our
house and it is dangerous…
I always say a prayer to God: Our case is clear
as the sun but no one in the world wants to look
at it and see the truth. So please, God, I am
only asking to let evil not destroy us. I beg
just to be with us and to assure that we will be
safe and return to normal life like others in
this world.” Is this too much to ask? We just
want to live.
Tuesday 16/4/02
Today was one of the worst days. I woke up at
the sound of bullets from tanks crossing our
street. The street was empty but they just shoot
to terrify people. I studied a little. Then I
went to watch TV to see the latest news. I was
very sad hearing that they arrested Marwan
Barghouti. He is a decent men who has faith in
our case and always prefers peace and
negotiations with the Israeli side. Now God
knows what they will do to him. His only guilt
is that he loves Palestine very much.
In the afternoon my uncle wanted to go out for a
while and sit in the garden which is behind the
house away from the main street. He went out
with his wife and three children and my little
brother went out too. My mother was praying in
my room while I studied. I went downstairs so as
to study outside and have some fun. The minute I
wanted to go out my uncle shouted at me not to
move because there was a tank crossing the
street. I could hear its sound clearly. Then my
uncle’s voice disappeared. I wanted to look out
from the door to make sure it was safe. As soon
as I opened the door a rain of bullets came into
my direction. I ran as fast as a I could and hid
behind a huge cupboard in my uncle’s house. I
heard my cousins and my brother screaming but I
could not do anything. I thought that they might
die. After two minutes I could move and my uncle
came running, his face white. The children could
not move from fear so he held them tight. My
mother was hiding under the desk in my room. She
could hear the bullets hitting the door of my
balcony. After a while I went out to the balcony
and we found there a lot of bullets. That was
the worst moment in my life. Death was very
near. It is really terrifying. They know we are
civilians but they don’t want to see anything
moving.
At 7:00 o’clock, the soldiers started shooting
from all sides at the Church. Two rooms of the
priests were burned. There was no shooting from
inside the Church. Windows were broken. Two men
were injured. They continued shooting and
shelling for forty minutes. I started to cry.
Where are the Christians who have dignity and
faith? My church in which I praise the Lord with
my prayers and songs, has become a war zone. I
wish that I once again pray in it some day in
the future. I always pray that someday I stand
in a place where everyone in this world can hear
me. I’ll tell them some words that may light
their hearts and open their eyes to see the
truth and defend it. I will tell these words to
all the people who live peacefully and happily
in their independent countries. Just remember
when you eat that there are hundreds of children
who die from hunger because they are
Palestinians. Remember when you drink water that
there are hundreds of children who drink dirty
water from the ground because they are
Palestinians. Remember that when you go asleep
that there are hundreds of children homeless who
sleep wearing nothing just because they are
Palestinians.
Wednesday 17/4/02
Today was a bit calmer. New tanks entered
Bethlehem with machines I had never seen before.
The only hope that Palestinians had in Powell’s
negotiations with Sharon and Arafat was that
there would be an end to the massacres in Jenin
and Nablous. I was really shocked when I heard
Powell saying that Arafat disappointed him. What
is this? He returned to America blaming Arafat.
Is he blaming him because his people are killed
by Israeli soldiers? Instead of blaming Sharon
he blames the man who is a prisoner in Ramallah.
There are no words which can express my feelings
towards this injustice. Are they blind or are
they making themselves blind? To whom shall we
shout, beg for mercy?
There are people stuck under their destroyed
houses screaming and asking for help. The UNRWA
was unable to rescue them because the Israeli
soldiers prevented them from entering. They are
left there; no one knows how many they are.
Doctors say there is a strong smell in Jenin, a
smell of dead bodies, some of which have not
been found yet.
Today I called Father Amjad in the Nativity
Church to know how the people there are. He was
desperate; he could not even talk to me, he told
me. They stay awake all night and sleep some
time in the morning. There is no food. They only
drink water and salt. The sounds from outside
make them very nervous. Some of them start
hitting the floor with their legs and scream.
I am desperate without hope. Our innocent
children don’t know the meaning of happiness.
They just know death, war, tanks, fear and
suffering. How much feel I sorry for my people,
my lovely country.
Now after Powell has gone there is no hope that
somebody will move. We just hope that God will
do a miracle and stop our suffering.
19/4/02
Here we are: Another day of death and
destruction. More dead people, more suffering.
It really became part of our days and lives.
Death is very near to us and any minute anyone
could be killed. Yesterday I was watching TV
with my brothers at seven in the evening when
suddenly a huge explosion shook our house. My
mother told us to lay on the ground and be
careful. The tanks were in front of our house
and started shooting everywhere. Then another
huge explosion. It was dark everywhere and we
could not see anything or move to hide in a safe
place. After an hour of fear the tanks drove
away and we found out that the Israeli soldiers
suspected a car in our street to be full of
explosives but the car was from our neighbours.
The two huge explosions were from a plane which
bombed the car, while the shooting was for
nothing, just to make us and the other civilians
here shake from fear and pain.
Today I woke up at nine, really desperate. I
wish to stay sleeping for a long time so as not
to see innocent people getting killed each day.
I asked my mother not to tell me anything if
they enter the church and a massacre happened,
because I don’t want more pain, more tears and
more suffering.
I saw today on TV a baby injured from a bombing
on Gaza. His body was full of wounds and he was
screaming from pain.
In the afternoon we went down to my uncle’s home
and our neighbour told us to be careful. The
soldiers reached our area, and they were going
to enter the houses and arrest the men. My
brother was very afraid.. He is fifteen years
and very tall so they would think he is old
enough to take him away. They entered a big
apartment building near our house, checked every
apartment and left without entering our house.
They arrested many people from Bethlehem but
thanks God our house yet… haven’t been entered.
NO MATTER WHAT
PALESTINE WON’T DIE
20/4/02
Nothing new: more killing, more suffering.
21/4/02
I feel very sorry because each Sunday we go to
church but today we can’t go as usual, and we
just pray at home.
22/4/02
I woke up at nine in the morning hearing my
mother talking in a loud voice with the
soldiers. I went to see her and she told me that
we have to go down. We went downstairs and I saw
nearly twenty soldiers at the door, one came in
and told us that we have to stay in one room.
They took my brother and my uncle so as to lead
them to the rooms.
They searched everywhere, they took out
everything in the cupboards, drawers and
everywhere. They made a mess in our house,
everything upside down, nothing in its place.
They stayed two hours. There was one outside and
four were with my brother upstairs, four with my
uncle in his house and another four in my
grandmother’s house. A soldier came in the room
where we stayed and told us, “Please, don’t
worry and stay here.”
After a while they went but they are still in
our area. Thank God, they didn’t take anyone. I
thought that they will start ruining and
destroying everything but they were not really
bad. I think it depends on who is living in the
house. In some houses they destroyed a lot.,
sometimes didn’t leave anything undamaged. The
important thing is that they didn’t take anyone.
It is now 12:00. They gave the people permission
to go out from two till six. So we are going to
buy food.
Thursday
As usual, I woke up at 12:00 because we stayed
watching TV till a late hour. I heard some
sounds in the late afternoon, sounds of
shooting. We were disappointed because the
meeting between the Israeli and Palestinian side
over the case of the Church did not achieve
anything. This will keep the situation as it is
or it may deteriorate. It is threatening to
enter the church these days. One was killed in
the Church and another injured. There is no
first aid or medication that can save them.
Some of our relatives called my father asking
him for food. They are a big family but they
cannot go out and buy anything. They asked my
father for help. I studied a little but not too
much, the situation doesn’t allow that.
Friday
As usual, tanks go around our house all day. The
Israeli army gave permission to the civilians in
Beit Jala and Beit Sahour [two towns
neighbouring Bethlehem] to go out and buy food.
My cousins and brothers were very happy and
danced as they heard this news. This is the best
news these days. One can see light and sunshine.
My father wants to check his shop which is near
the Church. We join him in the car. I hope that
nothing will happen.
26 May 2002þ
Today the tanks which entered yesterday have
gone out of Bethlehem. I don’t understand what
they did here, they did not achieve something
real. I decided this month not to continue
writing because there is no use in explaining
the Palestinians’ situation when no one cares
about it. What really hurt me was when the
fighters were transferred to several countries.
My heart was going to split from the anger, the
sadness, the injustice. These men who the whole
world thinks are terrorists are the most
faithful men in Palestine. When we suffered from
Israel, they used to defend our lands and let
Israel know that Palestine is not empty as they
want it to be, but that it is filled with
Palestinians who are not afraid of Israeli
weapons. Every house in Palestine was sad. I
felt something really bad the minute the bus
went and disappeared from the Nativity.
I am a Christian and I was anxious about all the
lies and misleading stories the press started
reporting about what had happened in the church.
I went and saw it myself. There weren’t anymore
blankets, cups, and plates. The relationship
between the men and the priests had been very
good. The priests used to give them from their
own food. In Bethlehem we find this normal,
because they were men from Bethlehem. Everyone
knows them, we are living together, we see them
when we go to school or the old town. They are
not what the world or the press says.
If Israel thinks that the Intifada will end just
like that, they are wrong. If the Israelis want
to achieve this, they must kill every single
Palestinian man, woman, boy or girl, because no
one of us will live happily as normal without
our freedom. You may ask yourself why the
Intifadah after everything Sharon did, did not
stop. The answer is that this Intifadah is a
just revolution and that we must continue and
will continue. And I believe that the
Palestinians who were transferred will return
one day carrying the flag of Palestine. We will
welcome them with singing and dancing and
happiness and hope will return to our soul.
Yesterday I went to the church to pray. Father
Ibrahim expressed his feelings of anger and
sadness, and he said: “Even we were in danger
and anyone could be killed but I was concerned
for these men equally as for the other priests.
Staying in the church with them was better than
seeing them getting out of Bethlehem with no
justice or mercy. When I got to know them, I
found them really good and they respected the
church. I pray for them to be safe and secure
and return some day to their own country.”
Marianne Sa’adeh (sister of Christine Sa’adeh,
12 years, who was killed in Bethlehem during an
Israeli assassination)
March 27th 2003
March 25th was a good day, at the
beginning anyway, but it turned out to be the
worst at 6:30 p.m. until now. My story started
when we went out at 6:00 o’clock to do our
grocery shopping. The weather was bad; it was
cold and snowy. My sister and I were sitting in
the back of the car, after our shopping at
Awwad’s supermarket near Rachel’s Tomb. We saw
three Israeli jeeps and an ambulance following
them. They were driving so fast that I said to
my sister, “What kind of bad luck that awaits
those people who are living near the place where
these soldiers are heading.” It didn’t cross my
mind for a second that we will be those people
who will be under their fire.
Mum and Dad went to Giacaman’s market to finish
our shopping. When we were close to the
Shepherd’s Hotel, we saw the same three jeeps
stopping a white car. We passed by the first
jeep when suddenly the shooting started; they
were shooting at us!! My sister tried to hide in
between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s
seat, and I put my head in between my hands to
protect myself from dying. My sister and I were
screaming. I was afraid; the bullets were
hitting the car and exploding in it. I closed my
eyes because I was afraid, but I felt my body
exploding with those bullets. Everything came to
a stand still, even the car stopped. My mom
asked me whether I was OK and I answered that I
was fine, but I felt something hot entering my
right knee with great force. She asked about my
sister, Christine, but there was no answer. She
asked me to check on my sister and at the same
time she asked my father. I held my sister’s
hand asking her, “Christine, are you OK?” No
answer came. I was so afraid and I went out of
the car shouting and asking for help. My mother
started screaming and calling for help. When I
went to the car, I saw my sister, who was
sitting right behind my father’s seat, lying in
between the two front seats, bleeding. I was
terrified and in such a great shock. A good man,
who was living close to the area, came down from
his house with his wife and his mother-in-law
and he took my sister out of the car. My father
was injured; he had eight bullets on his side
and back. The ambulance that was escorting the
Israeli soldiers was near. I went and asked for
help. They told me that they would help, then I
just collapsed on the wet ground. Somebody’s
voice was calling me, and I left my place of
hiding and went with my family in the Israeli
ambulance to the checkpoint. There were three
ambulance cars and a lot of soldiers waiting for
us. They put some bandages on my leg and took me
in the same ambulance with my sister. When I saw
her, I started shouting and covered my eyes with
my hands (I don’t want to talk about her during
that time). The doctors asked the soldiers to
take me to another ambulance. Everybody knows
what happened after that, I think.
It was the worst day in my life, and I don’t
want to add any more words about that night or
the nights that I spent in the hospital.
However, I’d like to say that the Israeli nurses
and doctors were very kind and nice to me
because they treated me in a good way.
After jail
Wassim, Ahmad and Jamil were born in the same
refugee camp, in Nablus. They grew up under the
same conditions but became real friends when
they were prisoners. They were imprisoned in an
Israeli jail for periods between 3 and 5 years.
There they spoke together about things they
could do to help people. They wanted their life
to take a new turn. They developed the idea to
create an association to do social work among
youth in their refugee camp.
After leaving the jail, they collected books and
opened a small library. They did so under the
distrustful eye of some inhabitants of the camp.
Books are not part of their culture, their
traditions… But after a while, the three
friends’ library met so much success that they
could enlarge it. Step by step, their
association became a large center in the refugee
camp, with more and more activities (artistic
and sports activities for youth, kids and a
women’s group, speech therapy, physiotherapy,
support for the handicapped kids...) and with
more and more people coming.
Eighteen years after the creation of the center,
Wassim, Ahmad and Jamil are very proud of it.
Despite all the difficulties the association has
always been active. “This life is hard”,
comments Ahmad, “but we have to accept it.” I
ask him what his hope for the future is, and he
answers: “The kids. When I see them learning,
growing, smiling, singing… I think: this is our
future. Some youth have grown with the center;
they’re now volunteers and they help us with the
activities for the children. Soon we will stop
working in the center, and we know that they
will continue our work, that the center will
never die.”
The story of Wasim, Ahmed and Jamil written down
by Anaele Hermans, a Belgian volunteer who
worked in a Palestinian refugee camp in Nablus.
From: Hoping against hope: Stories and thoughts
about life in Palestine, Culture and Palestine
Series, Bethlehem, 2008. |
