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Letters from Gaza (21)
…Back to Work
The road was dreary, it was the second day
after the cease fire was announced, and people started to leave
their houses to see what had happened to the other places. I was
in a taxi going to my work in Gaza, and the whole way there I
was trying to prepare myself for what I was going to see, the
destruction of houses, lands, roads and everything. It seems
that I was humble in my expectations, everything was different.
Starting from Natzarim junction along to Gaza city stretched out
a scene of destroyed houses, offices, streets, buildings, play
grounds, even worship places, the mosques where we found peace
and security.
I was shocked. Though I had seen many reports
on the news about the destruction of Gaza, in reality, with my
own eyes, it was different, more painful, and more frustrating
to witness this destruction.
All the way to the office I was trying to
recognize what these places had been, a house, a farm, a school.
Maybe; nothing for sure. Everything was upside down as if the
earth shook with anger, and erased everything. However this time
it is not the earth to blame, but the violent work of man;
guided by a politics of power, fear, hate and brutality.
With each meter of the road there is a story,
a story told by the faces of the residents of this place, which
was their home, their shelter, and their life. On each pile of
rubble stand children, women without any feelings, any
reactions. There is only silence as each tries to grab what is
left from their lives, from their memories, from their hard work
of past years years, but all they find are some ragged cloths,
nothing else.
Today I had the chance to meet with families
who lost their houses, the stories told by the women in general,
and the children in particular reveal more about the war and
it's cruelty. One question is on everyone’s minds, why us? It
was not our war, we were unarmed civilians, we were families in
our homes. Why did we have to leave under the fire, and the
shelling, with the screams of our terrified children, hoping for
one thing; to stay alive or to die together.
Today I saw the tears shed by the mothers who
went through this experience, the experience of losing the safe
shelter of home. They are now unable to give more to their
children as if drained from any feelings, from any love, any
security. They are distracted by their painful memories that, as
one mother told me, may take an age to be healed and forgotten.
The children’s simple wishes of finding their
toys, their books, their favorite things, were very hard for me
to listen to. Their innocent eyes and their shaky hands when
recalling horrific events make it difficult to believe in peace.
A question is left there in their small
heads, and tiny hearts; what is the point of teaching us human
rights while we can not experience any of these rights? Why am I
as a child unable to live in a safe house? Why am I not treated
as a human being while many others who are no different from me,
in other places in the world, practice these rights.
While the Israelis seek a better life for
their children, at the same time they destroy our simple houses,
our lives, our dreams, leaving us nothing but a toll of painful
memories and a bitterness. This will remain, consuming us from
the inside, until finally it takes its revenge.
How can they ask us to be normal, logical,
and life loving people, while they teach us how to hate? How can
peace ever come if it comes at the cost of our lives and the
lives of our children? |
