Letters from Palestine (17 page)

“Death?”

“Death is a word that I hear every day. For
others, it has different meanings. For example, a Palestinian kills
an Israeli soldier. Here, death means a crime. But if an Israeli
soldier kills a Palestinian, the death means nothing. It is just a
game that the soldier was playing.”

“The stone?”

“It means a lot for us here. It is the way
we struggle, even though it is nothing in front of the weapons that
Israel has. But still we can say no to the occupation with it.”

“USA?”

Khaled looked at me, smiled, and said, “You
study there, right?”

I said, “Yes, I do.”

He said, “Well, don’t be upset with me
then.”

I said, “I won’t.”

He smiled. “I hate bussshhh. I hate the USA
policy. I hate it.”

So I laughed and asked why I would be upset
with that.

He said, “It was just a silly joke. I wanted
to know if you are spying on me for Bush or not.” Laughter.

“What do you want to tell the people?”

“I want to tell them two words that we
always want them to do: wake up.”

FREE . . . FREE PALESTINE.

Manar

Day 9

Birth, Death, and Horror . . .

Hello my friends,

I’m sorry that I did not write to you last
night, but most of the time we have no electricity. That’s why I
could not use the computer.

Last night my lovely cousin Hanin came and
slept over in my house. We laughed, joked, talked, and gossiped.
And then we got serious when I asked how her cousin died!

Hanin looked at me and said, “It is a long
story, and it is late at night. Let us not talk about it so we can
sleep without thinking of it.”

I told her that I really wanted to know the
story, and I told her that I’m going to send the story to my
friends.

So Hanin decided to tell me the story, and
this is what she said, my friends.

“On the twenty second of February, it was
Thursday, and Ibrahim, my cousin, woke up really early. He woke up
at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. He does not do that a lot.”

Then she continued by saying, “He went to
the roof of the house and looked at Balata camp in Nablus, where he
lived. He saw the soldiers surrounding the camp. His father woke up
and told him, ‘Ibrahim, come down the stairs. I don’t want you to
die.’ Ibrahim said that he was coming down. Then, after his father
called him and wanted to leave for work, Ibrahim told him, “There
is a curfew. You cannot go.” His father told him that he knew some
streets that he could take without the soldiers seeing him. He told
Ibrahim to take care of the family.”

My friends, I want to clarify something
before continuing the story. When he said “curfew,” he means when
the Israeli soldiers order the people to stay in their houses for
twenty-four hours for many days. And if the people disobey, the
soldiers would shoot them directly. They must stay inside until the
soldiers say they can leave.

My cousin continued the story and said, “His
father left, and my cousin Ibrahim told his sister, ‘Take care of
your studies and yourself.’ Then he left with his friends to go
throw stones at the soldiers.

“They were far from the soldiers, but the
soldiers could see them. Then Ibrahim left his friends and went
closer to the soldiers to throw the stones. His friends kept
calling him and saying, ‘Come back,’ but he said, ‘Are you scared
of them? Come with me.’

“The soldiers saw Ibrahim throwing the
stones, so they came closer to him with their jeeps and shot him in
his back three times. And Ibrahim was calling his brothers’ and
sisters’ names.”

It was difficult for my cousin to continue.
The tears started to appear in her eyes. But she got her strength
back and continued.

“The neighbors tried to help him. Everyone
tried to help him, but the soldiers would shoot at them every time
they saw the people coming to help. He was by himself on the
streets. The friends called the ambulance, but the soldiers did not
allow the ambulance to rescue him. They wanted him dead. He was
still alive after an hour or so like that. The soldiers came and
grabbed him by his feet on the ground like an animal that they just
killed and wanted to eat. They dragged him all the way to where all
the soldiers are, and they kept him for five hours, until they were
sure he was dead.”

I asked Hanin about his family. Where were
they?

She said that is what makes the story
harder. I asked her to clarify. Hanin kept talking while the tears
were swimming on her face and said, “Manar, his sister was in the
hospital with their mom. His sister was giving birth to a new life
at the same time that her brother was dying. Then their aunt heard
what happened. She ran to go see him and get him from the soldiers.
She was pregnant in her seventh month, but the soldiers shot at
her. She lost the baby for fear of being shot and for worrying
about Ibrahim.”

My cousin Hanin could not continue. She said
she would finish later. I did not want to push her, but I promise
you that I will continue the story of what happened.

Our nineteen-year-old hero was killed by an
Israeli soldier. His sister gave birth on the same day, and his
aunt’s baby died on the same day!

To be continued.

Free . . . free Palestine.

Manar

Day 10

Birth, Death, and Horror, Part 2

My cousin got her strength back last night
and wanted to continue the story. I said, “Yes, please, everyone
wants to hear the end of it.”

“As I said, Ibrahim, who was shot three
times in his back by soldiers who did not allow the ambulance to
take him, was found dead after the soldiers kept him for four to
five hours.

“His mom went home very happy because her
daughter was safe, and she just had a new baby. When she got home,
she saw many people around the house. She asked what was going on.
They said her son was shot but not to worry because it was not
dangerous. The mother went directly to the hospital, but her son
was dead. The father came from work tired, but he became more tired
when the people told him.”

The family, the mother, father, the three
brothers and two sisters lost Ibrahim. He was dead when they saw
him.

I asked Hanin if there is more to the story.
She said “Yes, Ibrahim’s uncles wanted to see him buried. The way
to Nablus from Bethlehem usually takes half an hour, but with
checkpoints it took more than eight hours, so they did not arrive
in time. In the Islamic religion, we have to bury the person
immediately after washing him or her.”

Our nineteen-year-old was gone when his
uncles and aunties came to look the last time at him.

This is the end of the story my friends.

FREE . . . FREE PALESTINE,

Manar

Day 11

Shooting right nowww!

Hello my friends,

Have you heard any fireworks lately?

Right now, it is 11:00 p.m. here in
Palestine. My camp is surrounded by settlements everywhere. It is
like a big jail. And right now, the soldiers are shooting from
these settlements into the camp. Maybe they want to arrest some
people.

The people are at their homes. They do not
want to look from their windows or move from their places, or even
to walk from a place to a place in the same house because the
soldiers are shooting at the people. Sometimes the shooting is not
more than a sound, just to scare people.

Now, my friends, I am sorry, but I have to
go sit with my family and see if anything happens. I will write to
you soon, but hope with me that the electricity won’t be cut
off.

Now my uncle’s household has come to my
house. They live above us, and we would rather all be together when
something like this happens.

My sister Hazar just came and said, “Manar,
come sit here, next to me.” So I have to go and sit next to my
family.

FREE . . . FREE PALESTINE,

Manar

Day 13

New Sadness Every Day

Hello my friends,

Today I went to Bethlehem. Wow! It is
Bethlehem, where Jesus was born, but no one is looking at it now.
It is a very sad city now. No one cares! Or do you care? I don’t
really know.

I walked on the streets. Most of the shops
in Bethlehem are closed. There is no work and no business.
Nothing!

People are walking in the streets, looking
for the cheapest prices so they can buy something for their kids or
something to eat.

This is Bethlehem, my friends: sad and
disappointed.

I went to the Church of the Nativity because
I love to go there to look at the beautiful designs. There were
many people there who were praying to God and asking God for
help!

I looked at the walls of the church. The
church is an important place, not just religiously but politically.
You know why? Because it protected Palestinians when they hid on
April 3, 2002, and it lasted for forty days. There was a curfew for
forty days. The Palestinian men were hiding inside the church so
they would not be shot or deported because some of them were
politically active and opposed Israel.

But this curfew ended by deporting most of
the men who were at the church or killing them.

Then I looked at the church, and I smelled
the smell of the struggle inside it. Then I continued walking with
my auntie. We were walking to get to a place that we hardly look
at, which is where my grandfather was shot.

April 10, 2002: It was the curfew, all of us
in one house. We were more than thirty people in one room: my
mother, my siblings, my cousins and their mothers, my grandfather,
and four of my aunties. We were sitting in one room, all of us,
hiding from the shooting. The kids were crying. All of us life felt
intense fear. We started to have a shortage of food. No food!

I tried to play with my cousins who are all
younger than me, but it was no use. The kids got very scared, and
the mothers could not do anything.

They my grandfather decided to leave so he
could buy some bread from somewhere! We begged him not to go, but
my grandfather said, “Don’t worry. I’m an old man. What would the
soldiers want from me? Don’t worry.” He did not listen to us
because he said that we have to have some food.

My grandfather left us and went out, and on
his way, a tank saw him and shot him thirty-five times. They took
his life.

We were waiting for my grandfather, hoping
that he would come back. But some people called us and said that my
grandfather was on the street, dead.

My grandfather died with their bullets. The
sixty-two-year-old man died with their bullets.

No one wanted to eat anymore. We just wanted
to wake up and say that it was a nightmare. Nothing more.

But, no, it was real!

So today we went to the place where my
grandfather fell and died. We said no words, but tears were coming
out from our eyes. We said that we missed him and that things have
been worse since he left which is sooo true, my friends. I mean the
situation in which the Palestinians are living.

When I write about him, I find no words, but
my heart speeds up so fast, and I shake, and tears come from my
eyes.

We left that place and walked to the camp,
and every minute we would remember another Palestinian who was shot
in this place or that or another place. The blood of the
Palestinians is falling, even in the city of peace, the city where
Jesus was born—Bethlehem.

FREE . . . FREE PALESTINE,

Manar

Day 14

[In her last letter, Manar begins referring
to what she describes as a massacre in Gaza in which several
children were killed, along with a number of adults. Afterward, she
recounts a conversation with her father. —Ed.]

I asked how many were killed. My father said,
“Nine as of now, and twenty-five wounded.”

Nothing to do, nothing to say—just sitting
and hearing the news and looking at Palestinian TV. But the other
channels we have are talking about the World Cup!

Yes, my friends, about the World Cup!

The Israeli soldiers threw rockets at a
Palestinian car, and the car hit a house. Then the soldiers threw
another rocket at the house. The people in the car were “wanted”
people. Israel wanted to kill them, and they succeeded with that.
But the thing is that after they threw the rocket at the car, they
threw another one at the house.

In the house, there were two kids whose mom
briefly left them to go and buy something. When the mom got back,
the house was destroyed, and inside the house were the two
kids.

The two kids were gone too. (I don’t know
the ages, but I will find it out for you. I heard their ages were
ten and eight years old.)

The story of Huda [one of the dead children]
was gone too, and this story will disappear too. No one heard about
it. Or did you?

But I agree with what my dad said: “Manar,
if this girl was in another country, that country would invade the
people who did this or they would kill the people who did this. And
if it was in Israel, the news wouldn’t stop, and the picture of the
girl would be all around the countries, all around the world.”

“But the girl is Palestinian, so that does
not mean anything in the media in the world. If the people just
heard her screaming, ‘Where is my dad? Where is my dad?’ All the
world would understand the suffering we are living through.”

This is what happened today, my friends.
Please try to go search about Huda on Google or something so you
can see the pictures, and I will do my best to send the pictures to
you, my friends.

My people are dying. My people are living in
poverty. My people are in so much turmoil. But my people and I will
never lose hope! I believe in you, my friends. Come on! You are in
the country that controls all. Move, move, MOVE! For the sake of
humanity, move!