Yehya, Mahmoud and Sarah

The image that stuck in my head as I walked away from the funeral was Sarah Ghazali’s uniform laid out on her mattress, untouched as she had left it before running out after her cousins Mahmoud and Yehya. She was to begin the 4th grade on Sep.2, but the school would miss her this year. Her friend Amani who has walked with her to school since the first grade would walk to school alone this year. Sara’s mother had bought her the blue school uniform, blue jeans and the black shoes just the day before. Her mother had waited the last minute to buy Sarah’s school supplies because she was waiting for her husband’s salary, which had finally come through. That Wednesday, Sarah was laying her new clothes on the mattress she slept on when Yehya called her to come out. She had no idea she wouldn’t return and her little body would suffer injuries by Israeli tank fire and would be buried before her 10th birthday. Her uniform hasn’t been touched since.

Ten-year old Mahmoud followed Yehya wherever he went for he looked up to him, as he did not have any brothers of his own. On the day he died he had just finished telling his mother not to buy him anything for school yet until Yehya buys his things. He made her promise only to buy the same thing Yehya buys. Ironically, he was killed with Yehya and buried right next to him.

Yehya was heading to the 6th grade this year. He was one of nine children. He had spent most of his summer herding his family’s goats. His community is a small Bedouin community at the northern border of Gaza, by Beit Hanoun, bordering Erez. Because they are on the border with Israel, they always face the risk of Israeli aggression. Tanks come in almost every week, raze some land, arrest a few men and pull out. When I was at the funeral the tanks were sitting, stationed at the border. There was nothing that would have stopped them from coming in. Yehya’s father was arrested just last September and has yet to be tried, as he sits in an Israeli prison. Gaza was supposedly free; unoccupied when Israeli tanks came in at 3 am, raided the house and arrested Yehya’s father and uncle.

Yehya was walking his goats on that Wednesday afternoon when he lost sight of them. He spotted them sniffing around the rocket launchers, so he went to retrieve them. Yehya followed the goats, and Mahmoud and Sarah followed him only for the Israeli tanks to “suspect they were militants,” and shoot at them. The boys died immediately of shrapnel wounds. Sarah died later that evening, alone in the hospital. Her family did not make it in time to see her.

The Israeli army stated it had launched an attack after they, “identified and fired at several rocket launchers aimed at Israel.” Rockets had not been fired from that area for the past nine months and the Israeli army knew this. After all, the tanks were close enough to see the children, and if that failed, Israel could have relied on the reconnaissance plane, which is constantly hovering over Beit Hanoun.













Mahmoud (left) and Yehya (far right)


I had spent all morning trying to find a driver to take me to their funeral, the second of three days of grievance. The drivers were all afraid to go near the northern border by Beit Hanoun, and they had every right to be. I felt like I was asking them to go into crossfire. Beit Hanoun feels different from the rest of Gaza. There isn’t much life there, not like you see in Rafah. The streets are empty; there is rubble everywhere; trees uprooted, land razed and there isn’t much of a market. An area that used to be green agricultural land has turned into an empty space where no one dares to go. If there is a place in Gaza that feels like a war zone, it’s Biet Hanoun. You see and hear the Qassams we hear about in the news, as they fly over the Gazan border and into Israel in retaliation of Israeli F-16’s and tank shelling. And you see the large white reconnaissance balloon that feels like it follows you everywhere as you drive through Beit Hanoun. The F-16’s fly over the town more frequently than any other place in Gaza. And you begin to understand why drivers don’t want to go anywhere near Biet Hanoun.

The Bedouin community lives north of Beit Hanoun, among razed citrus groves and demolished buildings. I arrived at Yehya and Mahmoud’s house. Their fathers were brothers so they lived in the same three bedroom asbestos house. The bedrooms were covered with asbestos, the living room was the sand in front of the bedrooms and the kitchen was a small stove and a table with a few pots. They have no electricity, which means no running water. Most of the Bedouins of the community used to work daily on their lands and used it to provide for their families, but weekly razing has destroyed their lands and therefore their livelihoods. They receive some aid from UNRWA, but have to travel to Beit Hanoun or Beit Lahiya for everything else. Their means of transportation are animal carts.

The mothers of all three were sitting next to each other when I arrived. Yehya and Mahmoud’s mother were each holding a picture of their sons, while Sara’s mother was holding a poster with Yehya and Mahmoud’s picture with their names. In between their pictures was a picture of a bouquet of red roses, with Sarah’s name under them. “Israel just wants to shed our blood,” said Yehya’s mother choking on her words. “They didn’t do anything wrong…they had no rockets, no tanks…just playing,” added Mahmoud’s mother. They were all sitting on the mattress Yehya shared with Mahmoud to sleep on. Mahmoud would sneak out of his mother’s bedroom at night to go and sleep by Yehya. “They were meant to go together,” said Yehya’s mother, “Mahmoud would not have lived without Yehya, May God rest their souls together.”

Sarah's picture held by her sister

The next day, on Friday the Israeli military released a statement stating the killing of Yehya, Mahmoud and Sarah was an accident, stating, “at the very last second, it was apparent that they were children, but it was impossible to stop the explosion,”(BBC). There was no justice mentioned, or repatriations at the very least to help the community. They cannot leave their area, or their land, as they have nowhere else to go. Where’s the justice for 12-year old Yehya and his childhood, or 10-year old Mahmoud who wanted nothing more than to have the same clothes Yehya had, and Sarah…who was ready to go to school on Sep. 2 but would be missed this year?

How it works

Last night the BBC reported: PARTS of the Gaza Strip were still suffering power cuts overnight after the European Union suspended the financing of fuel deliveries for the impoverished territory's only power plant.

Here is how it works:
The Gaza Generating Company supplies the Gaza Strip with about 25% of its electricity, while the rest comes from Israel's Electric Company or Egypt (Rafah and Khan Younis get their electricity from Egypt).

The catch:
The Gaza Generating Company cannot operate without getting fuel from Israel, so technically while we think we supply 25% of our electricity, Israel actually has full control of our electricity, including those in Rafah and Khan Younis. Two days ago, the Gaza Company shut three of its four generators because there was not enough fuel to supply all four of its generators.

Last night, it shut the last (the fourth) generator, as it did not receive fuel from Israel, for the border remains closed. But that’s the 25% of the electricity. What happened to the other 75% of electricity that comes from Israel and why is there a black out in Gaza? Israel is cutting it off on Gaza to save it for its people, especially since the temperature is high and there is a heat wave, after all the people of Israel have to be air-conditioned and fanned. They get full access to electricity while we sleep on top of one another in the heat without electricity, fans or water (water cannot be pumped up without electricity).


How does this effect Rafah and Khan Younis who get their electricity from Egypt?
Electricity has to distributed, so Egypt has to alternate between Rafah the Khan Younis. Rafah gets electricity for a couple of hours, then shuts up to give some to Gaza City, then to Khan Younis, then that shuts off to give some to Bens Hala, and so on and so forth. Hence Gaza's black out.


Collective Punishment: is the punishment of a group of people as a result of the behavior of one or more other individuals or groups.

Under the 1949 Geneva Conventions, collective punishment is a war crime. Article 33 of the Fourth Convention states: "No protected person may be punished for an offense he or she has not personally committed," and "collective penalties and likewise all measures of intimidation or of terrorism are prohibited."

The Voices of Palestinin Women in Rafah, Gaza

This afternoon, over 50 local women in Rafah gathered downtown to rally and protest against the situation in Gaza, including the Israeli occupation; Hamas and Fatah, economic sanctions, border closures, poverty, unemployment and safety and security.

They closed the main street in Rafah, stopping all traffic, and read what they are asking of Abu Mazen (Fatah Representative) and Haniya's (Hamas Representative) government, of Israel and of the international community. They ask for the following:

We are mothers, sisters, daughters of Palestinians in Rafah and we ask for the following:

First and foremost, end the Israeli occupation of Gaza, and the West Bank and the rest of Palestine.

We ask Hamas and Fatah to stop the violence on our young men, to stop dragging them into your politics and getting them killed.

We ask for the unity of Gaza, of our Palestinian People;

We ask Hamas and Fatah for protection, for safety for our children and our families;

We ask for medical aid for our children;

We ask for our salaries to be paid so we can buy school supplies for our children and pay their tuition;

We ask for our rights and our children's rights;

We ask Hamas and Fatah to return our children that were kicked out and are sitting in Egypt;

We ask the world to open the Rafah border, to open Erez, to open Kerem Shalom;

We ask the world to find us a solution to Gaza's economic situation, to find us a solution for our conditions;

They ended with the following:

We're tired and our children are tired....we just want to live in safety and be protected and provide for our children...

Almost 100% aid-dependent

Two days ago, the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) released it's situational report (below) referencing the economic and humanitarian situation due to border closures. Gaza's borders remain closed and conditions continue to deteriorate. Today the UN in a press conference also warned of an economic collapse in Gaza, stating that, "Gaza risks becoming a virtually 100 percent aid-dependent, closed-down and isolated community within a matter of months or weeks if the present regime of closure continues."

Below is OCHA's situational report from July 31 to August. 7th 2007:


Access and Crossings:

Since 19 June, several days after the Hamas takeover of Gaza, a total of 4,339 truckloads (excluding gravel and aggregates) have been allowed through the crossings, including 457 from humanitarian agencies. This represents an average of 118 truckloads/day, as opposed to an average of 238 truckloads/day which were allowed into Gaza prior to mid-June. Food supplies represent 89% of the total commercial supplies transported into Gaza.

Karni crossing has been closed since 13 June – representing 59 days as of 6 August. Only one conveyer belt remains open on two days/week for the inflow of grains and animal feed. 474 truckloads of grains and animal feed came through Karni since 19 June.

Rafah Crossing has been closed for 58 days. Between 10 June and 6 August, fewer than 200 Palestinians were allowed into Gaza and none allowed out. During the same period last year 17,758 were allowed in and 11,045 were allowed out of Gaza through the crossing.

Since 29 July, Israel has allowed 5,166 Palestinians stranded in Egypt for two months to return back to Gaza through Nitzana Border Crossing and then Erez Crossing. At least another 1,000 are still waiting to cross in the next few days.

As a result of the Karni closure, the Sufa and Kerem Shalom crossings continue to function as the principal alternative entry points for commercial and humanitarian supplies. Between 19 June and 6 August, 153 truckloads of commodities from humanitarian agencies and 291 commercial truckloads entered through Kerem Shalom; 289 humanitarian and 3,017 commercial truckloads entered through Sufa; and 9 humanitarian truckloads, carrying mostly medical supplies, entered through Erez.

Gazan Economy:

The limited opening of the Gazan crossings continues to weaken the Gazan economy. The Palestinian Shippers’ Council estimates the total losses of the private sector since the closure of the Gaza border in mid-June at $35 million.

Due to the shortages of raw materials, of which 90% come from Israel, the 600 Gaza-based garment factories that provide employment to more than 25,000 Palestinians have all closed down. 1 million pieces of clothing worth $12 million, which were scheduled to be exported over the last 8 weeks, will not be exported as a consequence of the closures. 90% of garment products are usually exported to Israel.

More than 1,600 containers of non-food items (including clothing, furniture and spare parts) that were scheduled to enter Gaza in the last 8 weeks are still on hold at the Israeli freight terminals and warehouses. Delays in processing the containers are costly for the shippers: each container is charged $50/day by the International Shipping Company and $300/month by the Israeli Port Authority. At the same time, none of the 500 empty containers stranded in Gaza since mid-June have been shipped back out, resulting in a cumulative loss of $1 million by commercial shippers.

In the 2007 season, farmers are likely to cultivate less than 500 dunums (50 ha) due to the severe shortages of raw materials (such as fertilizers and pesticides) and the unlikelihood of export (1). During the 2006 season, more than 3,000 dunums (300 ha) of a variety of crops were cultivated. If the closure continues, the estimated loss to the agricultural sector this season will be more than $12 million. Large quantities of vegetables including tomatoes, cucumbers and sweet peppers are being sold on the Gazan local markets for very low prices instead of being exported.

Construction materials are still not allowed through to Gaza. As a result, 11 tile-making factories, 30 concrete-making factories, 140 marble-making factories and 145 brick-making factories, which collectively employ 2,500 Palestinians, are coming under severe pressure. More than 90% of these factories have closed down and laid off their staff.

Infrastructure:

About 50% of the Gaza Power Plant’s production capacity has been lost due to delays in maintenance in both turbines. On 7 August, due to extensive coordination by UN staff, one of the two turbines needing maintenance was shipped to Israel through Kerem Shalom for servicing by the corporate supplier. The servicing period is estimated at 10-15 days, after which the second turbine will undergo maintenance in either Gaza or Israel.

Protection of civilians:

IDF air and ground military operations in Gaza left 4 Palestinians dead and 15 injured during the reporting period, while an additional 3 Palestinians were killed and 8 injured in internal factional violence. Palestinian militants fired 24 Qassam rockets and 6 mortar shells from the Gaza Strip, most of which targeted the southern Israeli town of Sderot.

United Nations - Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) occupied Palestinian territory P.O. Box 38712 East Jerusalem Phone: (972) 2 – 5829962 / 5825853 Fax: (972) 2 - 5825841 Email: ochaopt@un.org www.ochaopt.org

Where do I begin....

Today I went with my cousin's wife and her children to Gaza's Office of Social Welfare to pick up her monthly pay-check from the government. My cousin was killed last September by an Israeli sniper while he stood in front of his house. Overnight his children and wife became eligible to receive 375 NIS (a little less than $100) a month from the government because their father was now a martyr.

This is our third time coming to the office in the last month, because each time it is closed. Rather, the gates are open, with guards, but the office was not operating, and there were no staff members to help us. "Why closed," I asked one of the guards, "On strike," he replied. "So what do we do now"? I pleaded, "Hope we get paid so we can come back to work," he replied. I glared at him with frustration, but I knew I could not really blame him or the office staff for not coming to work. He was just like any other employee in Gaza. I guess the government staff had enough, I mean after all, they haven't been paid since January 2006 but yet still came to work. I've even met people who would borrow from their neighbors, just to pay for a taxi to come in to work. But that's just life in Gaza.

Every attempt I make to write about Gaza to give the world on the outside an idea of what the people are going through, it is overwhelming. I am never sure exactly where to begin to even give readers an idea of life in Gaza and the accelerating humanitarian and economic crises. Do I begin describing the effects of the border closures, where according to UNRWA, Gaza is on the verge of an economic collapse and if there are no changes in the next two weeks the entire population will be aid dependant? And we can certainly feel the effects, with the fact that all we have in the market are a few vegetables and are forced to rely on UNRWA's food packages of flour, rice and cooking oil. Ironically, we cannot even grow our own food if we wanted to because farmers have run out of supplies, including fertilizer due to the border closures, but Israel does allow its Israeli grown fruits and vegetables into Gaza when it so chooses. So, we are forced to purchase and eat out of our Occupier's hand, and help them maintain their economy, while ours cripples. So you can forget about divestment here in Gaza.

Or should I write about the 1,000 Palestinians still stranded at the Rafah border, away from their families and running out of money as they sit and wait for the border to open. And how they are living in unsanitary conditions and the sick are getting sicker, and the healthy are getting sick from the lack of proper living conditions. The news does not report about their skin that is peeling from being in the sun all day without drinkable water or proper showering.

How can I describe to people the effects of the government workers going on strike, including the municipalities and solid waste, where Gaza's trash has not been picked up for the past two weeks and how flies, cockroaches and rats run around in our streets and homes? We have to keep everything refrigerated, including sugar because of the rats. Gaza has even run out of rat poison of all things. Or the fact that pharmacies have literally run out of certain medicines which does not register in your mind until you watch your uncle in his bed unable to breath because he does not have his heart medication, or your neighbors 6-month old baby hospitalized for treatable diarrhea.

And God help those that are not refugees, Gazans who were in Gaza before 1948. At least refugees are eligible to get food and medical aid from UNRWA; non-refugees are not. Instead they have to rely on the government and with the government's hospitals closed, many do not have access to medical care. And so the women sit there with their children at the doors of the government's medical clinics hoping the doctors decide to come in, out of the kindness of his heart, even though they too have not been paid since last year.

Or how do I begin to explain to the readers the fact that Abbas's government has completely denied the recognition of all documents coming out of Gaza, including passports, licenses, and degrees. Just yesterday 1,000 college students graduated from Gaza's two universities, yet their degrees are not recognized internationally, or locally within their own country, the rest of Occupied Palestine.

People here have run out of money? Even if their basic needs of food are met, people have no money to buy clothes or school supplies for their children, or enough money to pay tuition, or pay house rent. They have no jobs, and no money and so they spend their time driving back and forth to Gaza's beach because there is nothing left to do in Gaza.

Gazans are being denied every fundamental human right, right to live free, without occupation, without fear; right to an education; right to work; to provide for their families, and the very right to govern themselves and their lives. All the while, Beit Hanoun and Biet Lahiya are being bulldozed away and we are being terrorized by the tanks that sit at our borders and the F-16's that roam our skies. And how do I describe the planes that fly low at random hours of the night to frighten our children who then scream for the rest of the night.

Everything has been taken away from the people of Gaza to the point that if a young man wants to work as a taxi driver because there are no other employment opportunities, he cannot even get a license because licenses can no longer be issued in Gaza. Yet, Ms. Rice met with so-called Palestinian leaders but failed to include Haniya or Hamas in the talks. Gazans were not represented or included in the negotiations. We had no voice. Our needs were not heard, or even considered. We could not even rely on our own President to give us our right of representation. So I ask Abbas, Rice, Fayyad, Bush, Blair and the rest of the world:

What about the 1.4 million Palestinians in Gaza?

A Tribute To My Grandparent's Demolished Home

I first learned of my grandparents' home being demolished a few months after it actually happened in October 2003. Rafah was under siege by the Israeli Army at that time and phone calls to Gaza were nearly impossible. Al-Barazil housing project was hit especially hard because it was alongside the Gazan-Egyptian border. I remember I was driving to school in Pennsylvania when my mother called to tell me. She was very calm, and reported it to me like she reported every other piece of news that came out of Gaza. I could not comprehend what she was saying. The shock did not allow for me to make sense of anything she was telling me. It didn't make sense that the house my grandfather built was no longer a house, but just rubble. And when I asked her how she felt, she replied like she did with everything else, "We're no different than the other Palestinians." My grandfather died in that same house a year before it was destroyed. Since that time my uncle and his 10 family members had been living there.

Now, almost two months of being in Rafah, I worked up the courage to go visit the Al-Barazil Housing Project to pay respects to my grandparents' demolished home. It was time to come to terms with the reality of the situation. I think it was also important for me to see where the house I spent so many summers used to stand. Perhaps to understand why it was demolished in the first place, or to make sense of yet another one of Israel's unjust and inhumane acts.

I took my cousin with me because I didn't think I would be able to find it on my own. The entire area around by the border and around the house area was demolished in October 2003. I read in the news, and my uncle confirmed that Israel destroyed all the homes because they apparently were looking for tunnels between Rafah to Egypt that they said were used for smuggling weapons. So basically Israel was doing its job in reportedly, "dismantling the terrorist infrastructure."

After walking around in what felt like circles around the flat land looking for the remnants of the house, we found it! There right in front of me sat but a small piece of land with a few strings of grass growing on it. The house my mother grew up in no longer stood there. And there I stood staring at the land wondering how or what could have wiped away an entire house from the ground up. And neither did the garden my grandmother grew, or the fig trees, or the olive trees. What about the small shop my grandfather had inside the house he built to keep himself busy? Or the gate that I hated for the many times it shut on my fingers. Or the backyard where my mother had her wedding? Where was the room that I saw my grandmother for the last time before she died … Gone too?

I felt lost; I couldn't make out exactly where I used to sleep during the summers, or where the steps that I played on used to be. It was all gone, and all that was left of it was flat land with a few strings of green grass. "Are you sure this is it? Are you sure, maybe there were still some parts left to it," I asked my cousin. "Yes, of course," he replied. There wasn't any way to come to terms with what I was looking at. It was hard for the land to mean anything to me. I had no relation to it. It was nothing to me if it did not have my grandparents house, just land alongside the border of Rafah. Without the walls, or the rooms, or the gardens, it meant nothing to me. All my rationale was suddenly gone, and I felt like a child again wondering and in denial if I would ever see my grandparents' house again.

We continued to walk alongside the Wall, over empty lands and I imagined the houses that stood under my feet as I walked over it. I wondered whose homes I was stepping on, whose memories I was walking over, and whose lives were shattered with the demolition of their homes. I imagined as my cousin described where the tanks stood just two years ago and shot 10 children dead, and where the Israeli snipers hid in a hole they dug in the rubble. It was still there. I imagined the shelling of the houses, and where people must have run to with their children. But I didn't recognize any part of El-Barazil, for it wasn't houses I was looking at, only empty flat land. The school my parents met and feel in love was gone, and I stood face to face with the Wall, in the same spot I used to stand over 10 years ago, but it was barbed wire then. The same barbed wire that my grandfather stood in front of and spoke to his son who was on the other side in Egypt, with wires between them. All of Gaza used to be surrounded by barbwire, but it was now a Wall. And Palestinians in Egypt who are not allowed in Palestine cannot meet us at the Wall, and if my grandfather were alive, he wouldn't be able to see or speak to his son through this 25-foot Wall like he used to.

I cried at what was left. I had nothing left to imagine, nothing but memories of my grandparents home. The house ceased to exist and there was no way to get it back. I am left along with many other Palestinians trying to come to terms with the reality of our situation. And we are supposed to accept unquestioningly that this is what the world has willed for us as life goes on regardless.

This is where the house used to be

Could It Get Any Worse?

Every morning, I usually wake up to the sound of construction in front of my home in Southern Rafah. The UN is building homes here for over
25,000 Palestinians whose homes were demolished by Israel during the past six years. But in the last two days, I have had to wake up on my own. There are no trucks loading sand, or construction men screaming at each other because the UN has halted the project along with some $93 million in other projects when the cement and other building materials ran out. And Israel will not include the necessary building materials in any emergency package to Gaza. I don't think anyone outside of here realizes how negatively this will affect Palestinians
in Gaza.

For example, my uncle and his family of eleven are just one of the many waiting to get a home from UNRWA. His home was demolished almost 3 years ago, one of the 3,000 destroyed since the beginning of the Second Uprising (Intifada). Although he was lucky enough to find an
apartment, it has only one bedroom, one bathroom and a small kitchen for his family of eleven; and he was still one of the lucky ones. Most people had to crunch themselves in with relatives whose houses are already crowded. With 1.4 million people crunched in 139 sq mi, almost twice the size of DC which is …… people per square mile, Gaza is one of the most densely populated places in the world. So, when the news of the halting of the construction reached my uncle, all he could say was, "Could it get any worse?"

Like many Palestinians, my uncle, earns his income by going to Egypt and buying merchandise -- mostly cigarettes since that's what sells in Gaza -- and comes back to Rafah to sell it. When the Egyptian-Gazan border was functional, he made a trip to Egypt every two weeks. Many times he would buy, for instance, $200 worth of merchandise but the Egyptians at the border checkpoints between Gazan and Egypt would often dump the products they didn't like, such as cigarettes, or keep some of what they did like, or just mistreat them while rifling through my uncle's bags so that most of electronics wound up not working properly. So, even then he didn't always profit from his trips; and this was his only source of income. The border however has not opened since June 6th, and my uncle has already sold all of his merchandise. So, he now sits and waits, and finds ways to keep himself busy until the border opens, without which he has no source of income. And neither does his son who works as a police officer and has not been paid for 18 months, since Hamas's election. The economic embargo has not allowed any
funds to reach Hamas's government because the US classified Hamas as a terrorist organization, but it is people like my cousin and 19,000 other government employees that suffer as a result, and therefore must work without salaries.

Similar to others here in Gaza, life for my uncle is becoming desperate. He has 10 people that he has to feed and clothe, but he doesn't even have a shekel to cover the cost of his children's
transportation to school. And to make matters worse, he has a heart condition and the pharmacies have run out of medicine he needs. Last year, he was able to get through to Egypt to have a heart operation, but now if something were to happen to him, we don't even know where we would take him or how we would even get him there. The border is closed and there are 6,000 people waiting to get out, 28 of which have already died in just two weeks. No one besides his family would care if he were to die. To the rest of the world, he would just be another number; another one of the 60% of Gazans who are unemployed; another one of the 81% of Gazans living below the poverty line; just another poor Palestinian waiting for his demolished home to be rebuilt by UNRWA. My uncle is still my uncle, and not a number, but he is just one of the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians whose life has been challenged in every aspect; his very right to live has been violated by Israel's collective punishment of all who reside in Gaza.

After we heard of the news, I stood with my uncle at our window and as we stared at the dozens of concrete skeletons of homes and schools bathed in the fading light of the sunset, when he said quietly, "I guess we won't be moving in September."

"God willing, soon," I replied. "Don't worry." But inside I knew -- we both knew -- that life here in Rafah will only get worse before it gets any better.