#GazaUnderAttack | Hectic Scenes (Part 1)

I think my eyes are gonna bleed.. I’ve been trying to sleep for 5 hours, I’m trying to sleep.. but when I’m about to fall asleep, I see red and yellow light, and I hear massive explosions.. it is the fifth bombs.. no, no.. it exceeds 20 bombs.. the Israeli air raids targets place very close to our house.. the loud sound of drones is irritating me, I’m not going to tolerate its buzzing.. its sound drills in my head..

Actually there is no chance for a sleep!

I’m writing everything.. At the same time, I’m remembering the last Israeli war on Gaza in 2009.. I can’t assimilate anything.. feeling like I’m freezing to death. My parents have opened the windows, the world outside is burning.. the streets are empty.. Nothing else than the shells when they fall down on the city like bloody rain.

The electricity just went off, the internet went down either.. more loud explosions hit the place I live in. I’m hearing doors, window panes, and glass all breakdown in the area.

we are all gathered in one room. The radio is on. We do not turn it off.. bad news, horrible reports. When the shelling starts, we, my sister and I, get very scared. We close our eyes. We cannot do anything else. Closing our eyes is the only thing that helps so that we don’t see the yellow and red lights of the shells when they are falling.. Our parent hold us and try to calm us down. All of us are young, only a one year baby girl. She is very innocent. When the explosions happen we convince her that they are fireworks. I cannot hide my tears when I see her playing because she doesn’t know what is really happening and that we could all die in any moment.

My family and I are under the fire. North Gaza is firing. War doesn’t recognize life!

On my Chomsky's meeting

Sitting next to a linguist, philosopher and cognitive scientist, means that you are ready for a scientific banquet that may never get you saturated. And indeed that’s what happened to me when I sat next to the “father of modern linguistics”, Noam Chomsky, talking with him about languages, poetry, imagination, and other things.

We were in the main conference hall at the Islamic University of Gaza (IUG), surrounded by dozens of students, doctors and professors from Lebanon, Algeria, France, Canada, the U.S., Britain, Malaysia and China. I was the youngest one in the first class seats and felt like an alien. But Dr. David Heap, French and Linguistics professor, welcomed me, and though certainly not in attempt to cross the laws of Islam that prohibit women and men from sitting side by side, he generously offered me his seat so I would be right next to Prof. Chomsky…and I accepted.

I turned to Chomsky and said, “Hey.” Chomsky smiled subtly and said “hi”. “I read almost all your books and I’m in love with your mind,” I said artfully. I glimpsed a sense of pride glittering in his eyes. “Thanks, but let’s talk after the lecture…” he said.

However, I couldn’t focus on listening to the speaker, so I went on talking. “What do you think…” But Chomsky interrupted me saying, “Give me your notebook.” I gave him my notebook and he wrote down, “it is ‘fiendishly’ difficult to identify the genetic basis for a trait.” Fiendishly? I had no idea what this word means, but felt it means extremely difficult or obscure, and I was excited that the Prof Chomsky would write such a sophisticated word for me (later I looked it up and saw that it means: diabolically cruel and wicked.) But back to our conference at IUG. Having written in my notebook, Chomsky got back to his deep silence, listening to the speaker on stage, but I pushed him to talk more, and he soon “left the lecture” and continued to talk to me

In short, he said that imagination is the essence of poetry, and that poetry is not innate to human nature. Because tastes vary, he said, and not everyone strives to create beauty. Moreover, not everyone is gifted with the ability to look inside and discover the poetry..

Regarding the Arab Spring, Chomsky wasn’t exited about it, and said that the U.S. does not want real democracy in Middle East.

It was my second and final meeting with Chomsky. Then he had to leave the main conference hall (as I understood and knew he had an urgent meeting with Ismail Haniya, the senior political leader of Hamas).

He obscurely smiled at me, and quietly vanished away behind the door. I could see the white field of almonds on his head. It was his white hair and his peaceful spirit.

My meeting with Chomsky was a great experience, although I disagreed with him about his view that One Democratic State Solution is not a good idea to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, adding that he’s against the international and Palestinian calls to boycott Israel academically and economically. Because that will strengthen support for Israel, he claimed.

Let me ask you, why doesn’t the world support the Palestinians who have been beaten by the Israelis in Jerusalem, Hebron, Gaza and everywhere, everyday?.

Boycott of Israel is a minimal punishment to a violent occupation that has no mercy!.

The theater of basil's murder

The best-man who gave a kind speech mixed with a few funny words about his friend and his new wife, was the same one who is standing now in front of the couple themselves. But this time not to celebrate them, or to stop them living in sin. He was standing to end that woeful dialogue between Maria (the wife) and him. Christian looked at the small bucket of plant, it was filled with sand, and almost sinking in water..” I will buy you a new basil plant, sweethe..” he directed his words to Maria. But his talk interrupted by the best-man, saying “Yes, yes, and I will not interfere in life or death of any thing in your house when you are absence.”

Christian pat on his shoulder, saying, “You had nothing to do with the death of our plant. Perhaps death hides a life for something new. You will be the core life in our house forever.”

Maria was crying over that died basil, her exaggerated attitude troubled the best-man.. she stopped crying for a moment and said with a subdued voice “You are the cause of that, look, Christian, at the roots, they are submerged in water.” Then she followed sneering “Our wonderful best-man has known how to remove sin from our basil as well, but apparently he has killed it.”

Christian left the kitchen, where the theater of basil’s murder. the best-man was confused before the angry Maria, he didn’t know how to act, as it seemed the silly conversation with the wife will never end .. A few minutes later, Christian’s voice came from the balcony opposite the sea, he called them out, took out his wedding album as they sat down .. He directed his words to Maria “you have to be gentle with him, he always looks after our house during our absence, do not be harsh.” But she was still angry!.

Maria’s eyes tumbled on one of the pictures of the wedding album, the best-man was holding her hand, also Christian’s hand, while ending his speech with some words from the Bible.

(But how can one keep warm alone?..ect)

She smiled for that picture, then she left the balcony, saying, “I’m going to make some tea.”

Why was Gaza Sea angry ?

Hot morning

We, my father, my sister Rose and I, agreed to go to the sea at five o’clock, in the morning. I was not excited about that journey, because the time will be very early, and I will wake up sluggish. So, it’s not a good time to go to the sea and enjoy.

In the morning, I woke up, the sun was shining, rays penetrated the glass window burning the skin of my left arm.. looked at the clock, it was 10 am!!. I got surprised, and wondered, “did my father and Rose go to the sea without me?”. But after minutes, their voices came out from the living room.

It was a hot morning, so we did not go to sea.

– “I’m lucky”.

Why was the sea angry

Days later that hot morning, my father went to his farm holding a book, and we, Rose, Mohi (my younger brother) and I, went to the sea.

In a hurry, we bought nuts and took a taxi to the sea.

There, the sea was very stunning, it could entices you to draw, or to sing, or even to make love. I thought, what happens if life got only a Blue color.. Imagine: if our ideas have a Blue sky for a swarm of Blue butterflies.

Rose laughed at me like a playful princess, saying, “put your fantasy aside and let’s go to a boat ride.”

The owner of the boat did not allow us to ride if we don’t pay for him three Shekels per person. I said to my brother “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough money.” I said to the man, “we only have two Shekels per person .” Did not agree.

Frankly, I relieved and delighted, because I did not want to get in the boat, moreover, I afraid of sailing and falling off the edge.. don’t know how to swim either. I am a coward fish!.

Just a few minutes later the man came up to me, and said, “OK, give me two Shekels per person.” Rose and Mohi got cheerful, but I felt confused. we got in the boat. I sat beside Mohi afraid, saying, “Mohi, habibi, please, take care of me.”

The man started driving the boat leaving the beach, the sand was disappearing, and people’s heads was shrinking and getting smaller that they sounded like chestnut grains.

The waves was rough and the boat was swinging from side to side, I felt dizzy, and I regretted that adventure.. Suddenly a huge wave struck our boat, we was about to drown, clung to my brother.. But it went alright. I was wet as wet could be with seawater from head to toe, I tasted a salt water in my mouth, .. Two young men were sitting opposite me, smiled at me, one of them said “Are you okay,” I said no word.

As the boat was approaching the beach, I regained my strength, my hand dared to stretch out down the boat to touch the Blue Wave.

When we got out of the boat, I wanted to shout, “People, I’m still alive!”. I was know that people will laugh at me.. I was very wet, I felt like the salt stung my skin.. the waves over the horizon looked like that rough wave.

” The sun sets, my body dries up, lonely child walks by Gaza beach.. Why?, ya allah why this child feels sad or hopeless, and why this sea is angry .. Very angry.”

Nakba Day In Our Classroom

File:Palestinian refugees.jpg

That happened when I was a child student, my teacher asked me, “Where are you from?”, “from Gaza,” I replied. “That’s not true.” he said. I got angry with him. I told him the truth, so why did he say that?.

On that day, I told my mother about what happend. she tenderly pat my shoulder, saying, “Oh my little girl.. we are not from Gaza, we are from Hamamma village.” Of course, I did not understand what my mother meant!!.

As I grew up, I found out everything, and I realized what did my mother mean.. and for the first time I experienced that I was just a Palestinian refugee lives in Gaza temporarily. My family forcibly immigrated from Hamamma village by the Israeli occupation in 1948 .. That shocked me: The painful truth.

Then, I got over my self consciousness with my Palestinian identity, and with those burning questions like: Why can’t we live in our village? Why do those foreigners come to help us in Gaza? Why did Jews occupy our land, moreover, they deal with us in ways based on barbaric and inhumane thinkable ways?

Yesterday was the anniversary 67 of Nakba, May 15, the day became stuck with each Palestinian’s memory, and linked to the Right Of Return. Palestinians, at everywhere in the world, commemorated this tragic day. Even the schools and universities have revived the memory of the Palestinian Nakba. Here I thank the students at Tel Aviv University who commemorated the Nakba, although the Education Minister Gideon Saar opposed it, and suggested to the university president the Nakba Day celebration should be canceled.

Once Upon a Tel Aviv

Tel-Aviv

Everything happened a week ago:

I received a phone call from Mr. Hans, from German Embassy inBerlin, invited me to visitBerlinin order to attend a lecture at UniversitätBerlin, entitled “Palestinian literature in exile.” I got the invitation, and traveled to Germanyin a few days. There I took the opportunity to meet my brother Fathi, a plastic surgeon doctor, works at a hospital in Tübingen. Fathi looked so young and wonderful, I hugged him warmly and was about to cry, he and I enjoyed strolling in the streets for over three hours.

On the morning of 12 March, my short trip to Germanyended. My brother accompanied me to Flughafen Berlin-Schönefeld. We sat at the cafeteria waiting for my plane that will take me toCairo, and then from there I will head back toGaza.

The plane delayed for an hour, I went to an officer, asked him about my plane. He apologized to me strongly, and said that the plane will arrive tomorrow morning, at eleven. I felt very happy, my brother surprised, I told him, “You, go back to your house. I want to go toSwedenNOW.”

I stepped up a train heading toSweden, then went toStockholm. There I started searching for Mr. Peter.C’s address .. And eventually found it.

So, Mr. P.C lives in an apartment in a brown building or orange .. Oh, my big gladness made me forgot the beautiful details of where Mr. P.C lives.

Eagerly stepped up the stairs where the apartment was. I stood at the door of his apartment, there was a profound silence, I grabbed my breathes, and knocked on the door, waited his hand to open the closed door, but there was no response .. Waited for half an hour and more, but it was useless. I got confused, very frustrating, dragged my feet and stepped the stairs down. I saw a neighbor was talking with his friend, wanted to ask him about M. P.C, but I was very confused and I could not speak.

I waited him for an hour. Oh, if I delayed more, I will miss the plane. So I took a swift gazes at his apartment. And then I sadly went back toBerlin.

On the next day, at ten in the morning, I arrived the airport, my plane was supposed to be arrived in an hour. But it did not come. The officer excused me, and told me that another plane will arrive after half an hour and will take me to Tel Aviv airport.

So I will return to Gazathrough Erez crossing ( not through Rafah crossing). I rejoiced and almost would fly with joy. You can imagine what I did at that very moment, I jumped through the window to the office of the airline employee, and hold him tightly. The employee laughed, I heard him say, “I didn’t meet a mad girl like you before.”

It’s great chance , wahoo!! Finally, will visit Tel Aviv, my dream will come true!

The plane reached, and departed to my dream, to my Tel Aviv. After hours, I saw Tel Aviv, got off the plane and ran around the airport crying, “Am I really in Tel Aviv.” Jews look at me wondered. I heard someone said to his wife, “Look, she speaks Arabic.” I wanted to ask that man, “Is this really Tel Aviv.” But suddenly I felt scared, and unexpected crazy ideas crept into my head. I decided to stay in Tel Aviv, and will never go back toGaza, and therefore should not talking to any Jew, so as not to detect me.. I must hide my Palestinian identity in my bag.

Kept walking in the streets of Tel Aviv. I was walking and walking and walking and walking and walking.. I wanted to be lost in that city .. I was walking forward without turning back.

(The story above is just a dream) !

The fifth night,Gaza remains under Israeli attacks!

It is the fifth night, under the control of fire, terror and the ghost of “F-16”. It is the fifth night in the hands ofIsrael. I sleep and rise to the sound of explosions. Sleep with fear surrounding me. Sleep with that weighty question “Who will be killed tomorrow?”. Oh my God, I do not want to end my life by this violent way, I do not want my name to be added to the list of martyrs killed by Israeli rockets.

Today I decided to get out of the house. I was very angry, very sad. The streets were empty of people and cars, I went to the university although. There were only some students and some professors .. I did not want to get scared, but I was really afraid. Could not help it!.

It is a terrible mistake when one says about the Gazans, “their hearts are too strong, don’t afraid,” and the very ridiculous when add saying ” they – the Gazans – got used to war and trouble life.”

Damn. Does that mean that you can live even only one moment under the bloody dark of war?. I do not think so.

We were born here,Israel’s destruction always around us, but that does not mean the destruction of war have become as a part of our psychological and existential form.

It Is Impossible!

On my way to the university, as I was in the car, I was praying and trembling, “God, Please, Do not allow the military Israeli aircraft bomb our car”.. The roar of the F-16 was rushing the fear into my heart .. We heard an explosion very close to our car, but the driver quickly drove us away..

These days, I’m living with sadness, hearing sad news. I’d like to break the radio and shut the television off, and stay away from internet .. But…

There are problems must be solved. The conflict between Israelis and Palestinians must end. We must regain the Peace before it is too late.. before losing more of innocent people.