the olive trees

last night at 2 am, there was an israeli incursion of sufa, a village in south east border rafah bordering israel. they uproot the trees, killing their roots, thus negating the rootedness of the palestinian people and their lands. it's negating a presence and thus a generation. olive trees are considered immortals, and after 200 years, an olive tree re-shoots its roots into the land and thus never stops growing. its for this reason the israeli occupational forces pull the trees from the roots, leaving an empty land. and the trees are now useless....dead and cannot be replanted.

its another form of ethnic cleansing. these trees pose no threat to israel. furthermore these trees were not uprooted to make room for settlements or the wall (which are illegal anyway), but the IOF was trying to destroy and devastate livelihoods. these trees were my family's trees, and my their olives and their olive oil supported the man that took care of them for us. he now has no means of sustenance.

this used to be all olive trees


bulldozer tracks


trees roots, uprooted so they are can no longer be useful


these trees were almost 10 years old

I sent this to Save Gaza's list-serv a few days ago. I thought I'd post it:

Dear all,

I'm sorry for not being in touch and for not writing sooner, but words are failing me, and I cannot articulate what Gaza feels like right now. A hopeless prison with a dark gloomy cloud over it. It's been raining for three days now and its starting to get cold. Unfortunately with rainstorms, come power outages, so that means there is no water or electric heaters. Gas heaters are not operatable either because of the high gas price, that's when gas is even available. But also because most people are saving their gas for cooking food, rather than using it for heaters, especially with a possible invasion coming in two weeks and the possible cut off of gas. I feel for people without access to heat. I also feel for people like my aunt whose house was demolished and is living in a half built house with no windows that UNRWA stopped building because they ran out of cement and other building materials. It's the beginning of the winter. It's only going to get colder.

I also can't help but think of Gaza's sick and dying….in their frailty, lying there helpless…wishing…hoping…praying that by God's mercy they would be allowed a permit to leave Gaza, or by some sort of miracle someone will save them. But most are denied access..…and most die a slow agonizing death, and only then are their bodies free.

And the world reads about it, but its just another story, another one of Gaza's tragedies. But I wish the world would realize how real this is and how real these sick people are. Some of these sick patients are my uncle who has heart disease, or my little cousin with a tumor, and now unfortunately my aunt's husband who one day was walking, and the next day woke up crippled from a brain tumor. And when you see people you care about so sick and unable to leave Gaza, you first get angry for having such shitty luck, and for the injustice of the world….the type of anger that turns into fury and consumes you, until it becomes exhausting. You then resign yourself to the reality of Gaza's fate…which finally sinks in. But with that reality comes hopelessness and the crippling feeling of helplessness. And so my uncle, my cousin and my aunt's husband lie in a hospital, waiting for their permits, and none of us can do a thing other than pray or chase around people who may know someone who knows someone who can help us with a permit. But we know full well how real death is, and that most just die while waiting. And then a human rights organization issues a statement, yet again, another Palestinian dies because they were denied access to medical care. And their only crime was being born Palestinian in Gaza and falling ill. Nowhere else will you see this but in Gaza. And no place else will the world remain silent at the obscenity of Israel's inhumane acts, except in Gaza.

It's hard to not feel like we're in a large concentration camp as I see Gaza's empty streets, and the hopeless feeling in the air…and just the gloominess that has covered Gaza. I think most people feel abandoned as we are literally locked up in this small, concentrated space and we don't know what the world plans for us, or what to expect next. It's hard to imagine what being in Gaza does to someone's will until you've come here. You no longer feel alive, in fact, you're not living; you're just killing time until some sort of change happens. Sadly, Gaza has become desensitized to the rest of the world, as it feels like the international community has turned a blind eye to the reality that is Gaza, and as long as Israel is allowing some food in and hasn't completely cut off electricity or gas..and as long as we are kept alive, no one will ask about us.

But just because we are breathing, that doesn't mean we're alive.

there is a light at the end of the tunnel....

rafah's rainbow...

"Humanity is gone, smoked up in a gravity bong"-Immortal Technique

Only in Gaza does a dying cancer patient have to appeal to the High Court in order to leave for medical treatment:

GAZA, November 17, 2007 (WAFA)- A Palestinian patient died on Saturday of cancer disease due to the closure of crossings in the Gaza Strip, medical sources said.

They added that Nael al-Kurdi was prevented to travel abroad for treatment as Israeli authorities closed the crossings and barred him a permission. Al-Kurdi's health has been deteriorating quickly and died today at Hospital.

Al-Kurdi is the fifth citizen in the Gaza Strip who dies because of being banned leaving the Strip to receive medical treatment.

I can't imagine what Nael was feeling before he died. If we, the healthy people within Gaza already feel abandoned, then he must have been overwhelmed with hopelessness and abandonment, and finally quiet desperation as he wished for some sort of miracle.....but got nothing.

What has to happen for the world to realize the urgency of Gaza? How much more do the people of Gaza have to endure for the international community to stop and think for a brief second at the absurdity of caging an already occupied people in the world's largest open prison?

"No! You got to find a way to survive
cause they win when your soul dies
Baby please don't cry, you got to keep your head up"
-2 pac

I don't generally write about what I am feeling, or what being in Gaza does to someone...to see your people played with.....without a life or meaningful existence....and what that to someone's will. I've always tried to write about other people's experience and the injustices of the occupation and the siege of Gaza. What I am feeling right now, I think the other 1.5 million people are feeling but much worse. But I think I can legitimately say that I feel what they feel, maybe not the same pressures of having to live under $2 a dollar and feed a family, but I am living and experiencing life in Gaza.

A lot has been going on. I've become obsessed with the news, waiting to see what the large-scale invasion will be, so I can make sure I don't sleep by the windows, or plan ahead and tell my uncle I'll be staying with him. I live by the beach, at the tip of Rafah, on the Egyptian border and almost every night Israel shells the beach. Recently Palestinians have shot at the Israeli naval ship. And we all know how Israel responds....throw a rock, or shoot at Israel, and Israel responds with massive shelling. It's like being on the edge of your seat constantly, jumping at every sound or movement, and too afraid to sleep. We don't have much contact with the rest of the world, so we watch the news to see the latest regarding our fate. Like prisoners, our existence evolves around seeing what Abbas or Rice or Olmert do next...cut off the fuel, postpone the large scale invasion (but continue with the planes and the shelling)...allow some opening of the border. It's a constant game of waiting....helplessly hoping for someone to hear us, to not let our sick die at the border, or let us starve to death.

Life in Gaza has becoming meaningless, and no matter how hard we try to resist the occupation and continue living, we have no life. Ask anyone in Gaza about an invasion, and they will welcome it, ONLY because they already feel dead. The way my aunt said it was like this, "we're already dead, the only thing we need is to be buried, to be pushed into the grave and buried. it's already been dug up for us. " What's a life when you have no salary, there are no jobs, literally, there is nothing to look forward to. What's the point of getting an education or going to school when there is no future, and what's the point of life if you cannot provide for your family?

And I think I can handle the planes, and the shelling, or the shooting that keeps us up at night. I can certainly handle eating the same thing every day, and the loss of electricity, or taking a shower every other day because there is no water.

But what I cannot handle is the hopeless feeling i have in my heart, the loss of will to continue to resist...the feeling that we've been broken down. It's like screaming at the top of your lungs but no sound comes out of your mouth. You first get angry and frustrated because nothing is coming out, but you keep trying in hopes that you will be heard, but soon your throat gets sore and you gradually stop until the scream turns into a whisper. And then you give up.

Because they are hungry....

I wrote this piece during Ramadan a few weeks ago. I finally posted it.

Omar Ibn Abu El Khatab, the prophet's uncle was taking a walk one night when he heard children crying. He followed the cries, leading him into a house where he found a woman with her children. "Why are your children crying," he asked. "Because they are hungry," the woman replied. He saw a pot on fire with the top closed, and suddenly got confused. "And what are you cooking," he inquired. She looked up at him and said, "I added rocks and water and cooking them in the pot so that they think I am cooking food, and they’ll stop crying. They'll fall asleep thinking the food is not yet ready."

There are always scraps of vegetables left over after Rafah’s daily market. Scraps of rotten tomatoes, cucumbers or just leaves and strings from onions and radishes, mixed with garbage, all in the street where the carts used to be earlier that day. By the end of the day, they’ve gotten mixed with sewage water and stepped on by over a hundred footsteps.

Today, I met a woman who has relied on those scraps to feed herself and her children. While I was sitting with her, she was making soup out of those very leaves of radishes that I have on so many occasions walked on or tiptoed around after I had purchased my vegetables from the market.

Desperate to feed her six children and break her own fast, she fries the rotten tomatoes and makes a salad out of the eggplant and cucumbers. This would be their first and only meal for the day. For her three younger children, all who want something sweet to drink, she adds sugar to water and tells them it’s colorless juice.

What drives a woman to wait until after people have left the market to walk around with a plastic bag picking up left over vegetables from the ground with puddles of sewage water and take it home to cook it for her children? Desperation. She wouldn't do it if she didn't have to, nobody would. But she doesn't have any money to buy what she needs. And to make matters worst, she ran out of the food aid she received from UNRWA in July, such as flour, oil, sugar and lentils. And she has to feed herself and her children.

UN registered refugees are eligible to receive aid every three months. They are due to receive food packages this month, in October but with the border closures, aid is slow to come in, if it does come in at all. With over 80% of the population depending on that food aid, there is simply not enough coming into Gaza to feed everyone.

The Karni and Rafah Crossings have been closed for almost five months now, so even when countries send us millions of dollars worth of food aid, its sits at the border until Israel decides to let it in. Likewise, if the outside world is to send financial assistance, Israel withholds it. As I am writing this, Gaza's banks have run out of cash. Even someone like myself, who has funds in a local bank account, am unable to withdraw cash because the banks simply run out due to Israeli banks cutting off ties with Gaza.

Dov Weisglass was certainly not joking when he said earlier this year, that "the idea is not to put Palestinians on a diet, but not to make them die of hunger." For the fourth day this week we have been breaking our fast with fried eggplant and tomatoes, lentil soup and a salad washed down with some tea. Vegetables are hardly getting into Gaza because of the border closures. Kerem Shalom only lets in some food, but its mostly aid packages and not fresh vegetables or fruits. Like a prison, we are fed in small portions and our guards decide when and if to allow us some food.

Even Israeli products that used to arrive into Gaza have become scarce. Also, food prices are sky-rocketing and people cannot afford basics such as flour or sugar. At least last year during this time, Gazans were able to live on bread, but now they cannot even afford the flour that does become available.

We are being confined to this space, silently imprisoned, sanctioned, completely isolated, abandoned and denied every opportunity to provide for themselves and our families. This is man-made crisis, where everything has become desperate, to an already impoverished territory. We are not starving yet, but Gaza is dying a slow death, and Israel has been brought to our knees in desperation. People's lives have been reduced to chasing after food packages, hustling in order to survive.

Our hopes lie with the conference of November to which Gaza is not even represented because Hamas is not invited.

When Omar Ibn Abu Khatab saw the desperation in the woman’s eyes, and heard her children’s cries, he went out and brought back foods of all sorts and offered it to her. “Now you’re children don’t have to cry,” he uttered.

What has to happen for Gaza’s borders to open so that a woman who wouldn’t otherwise eat scraps from the ground could provide for herself and her children? What has to happen for the world to hear Gaza’s cries?

Jamalat with her children, Malak, Mohammed, Atwa and Eyad

Five-month’s old Eyad is one of the happiest babies I’ve ever met. Barley touch his cheeks and he smiles, tickle his little belly and he bursts out in laughter, kicking his feet in the air. He’s also really quiet when he’s alone. He just lies there, and quiets plays with his hands and feet. He doesn’t cry like other babies. But get anywhere near him, and he sees you, he starts to laugh and kick his feet up in the air with excitement so you can play with him. His mother, Jamalat, says his laughter is a blessing from God as it takes away some of her sorrow and fills her heart instead with joy.

Eyad has never met his father, and his father has never seen him. Jamalat was 5-weeks pregnant with Eyad when his father, my cousin, was killed by an Israeli sniper during an incursion in Sufa. He had just told Jamalat to prepare some tea and took his then two-year old daughter, Malak and sat in front of his house. The sniper had every intention of killing him, not injure or disable him, for he didn’t shot him once or twice or in the leg or arm but he shot him three times; in his stomach, his chest and his neck. He would have died from his stomach wound, but was shot again in his chest. He fell to the ground and laid there, half alive, but mostly dead, hanging between life and death as he looked at his daughter. And then came the final shot to his neck, which eliminated any ounce of life left in him. Jamlat was used to the sound of gunshots, so she didn’t think to check on where or whom had been shot, until Malak ran over to her crying with her father’s blood all over her face and clothes.

Ironically, he was shot from his uncle’s house, just 50 meters away. The house was raided the night before, and transformed into a military site. The sniper was on the roof when he shot my cousin. This is how Israel legally and quietly harasses Gazans. They come in quietly from the border, whether its Sufa or Biet Hanoun or Khan Younis, and raid a house. They cut off all the phone lines and the electricity and lock the house residents into a room, declaring the house a military site. For the next day or so, they assess the area, and quietly plan. No one else in the neighborhood knows that the IDF has taken over that house, and it could be days before they leave. They come to arrest or kill so called militants, and raze trees and demolish homes of so called militant supporters. They then leave quietly, pulling back their tanks and bulldozers from Gaza, and sit at the Israeli-Gaza border until they decide on the next incursion.

Jamalat says God has taken away her husband away from her, only to give Eyad the same face. Eyad is an exact image of his father. He was also given his name.


Me with Eyad

It’s hard to laugh with Eyad laugh without having your heart-broken. He has no idea the world he will grow up in. He’ll grow up with only stories and pictures of his father. He’ll see his mother struggle to feed him and siblings. He’ll be told he’s refugee, and get used to waiting in line with his mom for their food packages. He’ll learn to sleep with the sounds of Israeli planes over his head. He’ll recognize the sounds of tanks coming into his neighborhood and that’ll be his que to run home. Anger will fill his heart when he sees Israeli’ bulldozers raze and break his father’s olive trees. And he’ll live under Israeli occupation, in an unjust world, where he will think its normal to live in such conditions, and there is no other alternative.

He’ll never know or see the face of the Israeli solider that killed his father, or receive reparations for the life he will live. And the Israeli solider will never realize what he has done or who he has hurt. He never thought for a second before he shot those three shots that the man he was shooting was someone’s father, and was loved by his wife and had just invited his neighbors for tea to celebrate Jamalat’s pregnancy before sitting in front of his door to greet them.