+972 Magazine's Stories of the Week

Directly In Your Inbox

Analysis News
Visit our Hebrew site, "Local Call" , in partnership with Just Vision.

Gaza war diary: 'A second of silence, then the bombs go off'

Despite the danger, Walid Abuzaid couldn’t be separated from his home in Gaza for very long. And though coming home means facing possible death, he refuses to give in to hate. 

By Walid Abuzaid

Thursday, June 27

I was in Cyprus when it all started. When we heard about the kidnapped teens, we were thrilled by the possibility of another prisoner release. Hamas would be held responsible for the kidnapping, but we treat our prisoners well – at least the one prisoner we’ve ever had.

It’s my last night in Cyprus and one of so few in which I smile before I go to bed, for tomorrow I’m on my way home. I know it isn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but I miss Gaza. I miss my life.

Two young men do acrobatic tricks on Gaza beach. (Basel Yazouri/Activestills.org)

Two young men do acrobatic tricks on Gaza beach. (Basel Yazouri/Activestills.org)

“I don’t want to fucking go to Cairo, I want to go to Gaza. How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want me to say it slower?!” I yell at the woman at the gate who takes my passport and makes me watch every passenger get on that fucking plane until the gate closes. “Wait here, please,” she says for the 10th time, before whining about Arabs in Turkish to the lady next to her, who lends me her seat while I wait. An airline employee official who speaks Arabic finally arrives. She hasn’t come for me, but rather for the Yemenite whose Saudi residency has expired. He isn’t allowed to go to Cairo either; nor does he want to.

For three days I’m being prevented from traveling to Cairo from the Istanbul Airport, since Rafah crossing isn’t open until Sunday. I try explaining that I do not want to enter Cairo, and that I agree to be held in that disgusting deportation hall in the Cairo airport until the border opens. Yet, nothing I say changes the officials’ minds. In Arabic, “How do you even know Rafah will be open?” the translator dares to ask me. I refuse to even glance at him and continue to scream in English at the cold officials. It’ll be three days of this.

Rafah crossing, where the Gaza Strip and Egypt meet. (photo: Activestills.org)

Rafah crossing, where the Gaza Strip and Egypt meet. (photo: Activestills.org)

Monday, June 30

I’m finally home, after my dad spent a lot of money to buy me another plane ticket on a different airline. I only had 30 euros for the way back; that’s what was left from the 250 euros that my uncle sent from Germany.

Fuck. My bag is still in Cairo, but who cares – I’m home. I’ll go to my other uncle, the lawyer, and have him write a contract that will allow my relative in Egypt, Mohammed, to collect my bag for me. Then I’ll go to the bar association to make it all official, before sending the papers through DHL and waiting a week for them to arrive. After that, Mohammed may have to wait a few hours at the airport until he receives my bag. Following that, all that’s left is to wait for the border to open again. Simple!

This isn’t even what I intended to write about, god damn it.

Tuesday, July 1

I’m getting ready to embrace my mom, after not seeing her for almost a year. “Wasim, we’re fucked; they’ve just found the bodies of the three Israelis. Don’t tell mom.” My younger brother, of course, decides to use that as an excuse to tell mom that I’m still not in Gaza in order to surprise her when I get to her home. Wasim is like that. He arrived from Indiana just a couple of days before I did. He was there on a year-long youth exchange and study program – the same one I did in 2012. We call it a taste of freedom.

Wednesday, July 2

My mother cries all through the night, a sense of déjà vu overwhelms me as I recall the night of Nov. 11, 2014.

Back at my dad’s, home, we discuss the repercussions. My father and I don’t usually agree, but this time we both know something bad is going to happen. He asks my stepmother, Nirmeen, for the grocery list. She points out that she has already evaluated the situation and the list will be longer than a week. Lamar, my younger sister, comes along for one last ride before she has to stay in an apartment for an unknown length of time. She understands. She remembers October 2012, she was three years old then.

Thursday, July 10

We are in the living room with an incredible view. We can see Gaza’s entire harbor. I try to cover two-year-old Eimar’s ears when a rocket drops and destroys a mini yacht called “Gaza’s Arc.”  She can’t sleep yet; she’s scared. She likes the fire though. She laughs.

A fisherman stands near Gaza's harbor. (photo: Anne Paq/Activestills.org)

A fisherman stands near a bombed out boat in Gaza’s harbor. (photo: Anne Paq/Activestills.org)

“You look upset, you’ve been watching that boat for 30 minutes, what’s wrong?” Wasim wonders. “I don’t know what was in it,” I respond, “I don’t know why they bombed it, but I know someone loved that boat. That boat was someone’s dream, they just killed someone’s dream. That’s far worse than killing them.”

Friday, July 11

My dad and I go out for the first time in five days to get rgag, a kind of bread made in a saj oven, for the delicious Fatteh dish. It’s 5:22 p.m., the electricity’s been out for three hours. It’s the usual eight-hour rounds and the batteries are almost out. The windows of the house are open and the sweet wind is blowing in. I can hear the jets, drones, gunboats and the occasional thud. Eimar is still awake.

Saturday, July 12, 8:23 p.m.

I’ve just finished eating and I’m heading to my room for a long-awaited smoke or two. My mind is rushing with thoughts of the Brazil vs. Netherlands match. I saw a photo of Neymar with the rest of the team earlier today. I hope Brazil saves some face and wins the game – that would cheer up my Brazilian friend Pedro a bit. I’ve been to Amsterdam, and have friends there too, so I also want the Netherlands to win. Oh well. I’ll go on Facebook before I start looking for a good online stream of the match, one that can tolerate my agonizingly slow Internet speed.

“Breaking: Al-Qassam Brigades threatens to hit Tel Aviv with J-80 rockets at 9 p.m.”

8:28 p.m.

“You still want to go donate blood?” Wasim asks sarcastically. I don’t indulge him this time. A couple of minutes later my mom calls. She succeeds in convincing me not to go out tonight. I haven’t moved from my place yet. I’ve smoked four cigarettes so far. It’s 8:58 p.m.

9:00 p.m.

My dad asks me to take the car keys to the guard tower so he can park it in the underground garage. A chance to buy more cigarettes, I tell myself. I’m dreading the fact that I have to walk rather than “borrow” the car to drive to the market, since, like last night, Abu-Malek has closed up his shop. I don’t blame him. Tonight will be a particularly loud one, and I’m rehearsing the lies I have to tell Eimar.

Displaced Palestinians in Gaza find shelter in an UNRWA school. (photo: Activestills.org)

Displaced Palestinians in Gaza find shelter in an UNRWA school. (photo: Anne Paq/Activestills.org)

Sunday morning, July 13

As Wasim so elegantly put it in a Facebook post, “Everything around me turns orange, then a second of silence, then a bomb goes off! I can wrap it all up in one sentence, but I can never make you feel it.” As Wasim, who sleeps in the bed under the window, rushes toward me for cover, I run to the window. I’m curious like that. Wasim and I can feel the heat. His leg sustained second-degree burns in 2008, though now he is just shaking.

They bombed Ansar, a nearby cluster of Hamas government buildings. I doubt they had any rockets there, since they are surrounded by four residential towers that allow people to see everything that moves there. I find it hard to believe that we would miss the transport of rockets in or out. The attack was to be expected anyway. My dad is relieved – he now expects quieter nights since there are no more suspicious targets around us. I disagree.

An Israeli airstrike over Gaza. (photo: Activestills.org)

An Israeli airstrike over Gaza. (photo: Anne Paq/Activestills.org)

We are watching the World Cup final in the Gaza Hotel’s reception area. It is 30 meters away from our tower, they have a better Internet connection. We’re close friends with the family who owns the place, especially Madj, the owner’s son. They don’t have anyone staying in the hotel anyway; they rarely ever do.

Palestinians in Bethlehem gather to watch the World Cup. (photo: Activestills.org)

Palestinians in Bethlehem gather to watch the World Cup. (photo: Activestills.org)

No one celebrates Germany’s win. Gaza is occupied with a match of its own.

Saturday afternoon, July 14

As soon as my dad and I drive though the garage door, we’re startled by another ear-splitting explosion. We stare at each other for three seconds, both of us thinking the same thing: that was close. We no longer discuss the not-so-loud ones anymore. We rush, we don’t stop. The streets are empty, like in one of those zombie movies. I think of Will Smith and giggle inside.

Sunday, July 15, 11 p.m.

When the electricity finally returns and the elevator is working we go downstairs. Abu-Malek is open tonight. We share a couple smokes and laughs with a friend of mine from high school, Mohammed, and his brother, Ramadan. Our minds can no longer stand the house arrest we’re in; we cannot be forced into depression. They haven’t occupied our smiles… yet. Mohamed and Ramadan live in Beit Lahiya in the north of the Strip, but they came to Gaza City with the entire family because it’s safer. Or so they think. They’re in an apartment two blocks away now, and I bet they miss their beautiful garden. Only three kids are playing in the garage of the opposite tower. Usually I can’t count those noisy rascals, but they’re quiet tonight.

Wasim and I watch the helicopters from the window while they bombard residential towers. We see a yellowish flash from what seems to be nowhere in the bright, night sky, directing us to where we should expect it. Then the notorious red-flamed explosion is accompanied by a thunder-like roar that makes us duck, even though we know it’s far away. I think it’s just a reflex, but hell, you can never be safe enough.

Monday, July 16, 6:05 p.m.

I’ve been up since 6 a.m., the electricity was down from 7 a.m to 3:30. The gunboats and helicopters kept me up as they roared through the night. I just read that four children, none of them older than 11, were killed on a near beach. They were all members of the Baker family. Ahed Atif Baker (10) Zakaria Ahed Baker (10) Mohamed Ramiz Baker (11) Ismael Mohamed Baker (9). What kind of target were they?

I wish Eimar and Lamar never grow up. I wish they annoy me for the rest of my life, come into my room every morning and bite my ear until I wake up. I wish for them to stay safe and ignorant, since ignorance truly is bliss. I do not want them growing up hating their Palestinian passport because it takes months until it gets them somewhere, if it does at all. I do not want them hating their fate for putting them in an inherited feud that will not be over anytime soon. I do not want them hating every Arab leader for not having any balls. I don’t want them to live the life I have lived, or see the things that I have seen. I do not want them to live in war. I do not want them to hate.

Hamda Abdun, age 4 , lies in a bed in Al Shifa Hospital after having been injured in an Israeli air strike, Gaza City, July 14, 2014. Four members of his family were injured.

Hamda Abdun, age 4 , lies in a bed in Al Shifa Hospital after having been injured in an Israeli air strike, Gaza City, July 14, 2014. Four members of his family were injured.

I want them to grow up with grace. I want them to live with freedom, and not only taste it. I want them to be able to choose whether to spend their summer in the isles of Bethlehem or Berlin. I want them to dine in Naples and have knaffeh in Nablus. I want them to love and to have their hearts broken. I want them to love life and see how beautiful it can be. I want them to be grateful and appreciate every minute they have. I want Lamar to be able to take every ride with us. I want Eimar to sleep peacefully. I want them to live in peace. I want them to love.

I am representing myself, Walid, and myself only. I am not affiliated with any political or religious movement. I am among the few who, when Egypt chooses to be merciful, can leave Gaza occasionally. I am among the lucky few. I will choose to come back to Gaza over and over again, in times of peace and most certainly in times of war. I am helpless, a statistical number to many, a hashtag perhaps, another Gazan, another Palestinian. I am a son, a step-son, a brother, a cousin, a friend, a dreamer, a lover, a fighter. I support the resistance, I am part of the resistance, equipped with a couple thousand words in a war of history books.

But, this is non-fiction.

Related:
Shedding the pretense of ‘precision’ in Gaza
This is a war of choice. Netanyahu’s choice
The unfolding lie of Operation Protective Edge

Newsletter banner 6 -540

For additional original analysis and breaking news, visit +972 Magazine's Facebook page or follow us on Twitter. Our newsletter features a comprehensive round-up of the week's events. Sign up here.

  • LEAVE A COMMENT

    * Required

    COMMENTS

    1. Sonnehuhr

      This from Walid says it all:

      “When we heard about the kidnapped teens, we were thrilled by the possibility of another prisoner release. Hamas would be held responsible for the kidnapping, but we treat our prisoners well – at least the one prisoner we’ve ever had.”

      He was happy that the Israel youths were kidnapped. Then he tells a whopper of a lie, Palestinians treat their prisoners well. The families of the three kidnapped and killed youth would tell you different. Here is a short list of how Palestinian treat their hostages.

      In May of 1948 Palestinian Arabs and the Arab Legion killed 127 prisoners of war who had surrendered to them in Kfar Etzion.

      On December 31, 1951 Palestinian Arabs kidnapped an Israeli girl, raped her, and mutilated her body.

      In March of 1973 Palestinians killed 8 Israeli hostages in the Savoy Hotel massacre.

      The Palestinians in 1972 killed 11 Israeli Olympic athletes who had been taken hostage.

      In the Kiryat Shmona Massacre of April 11, 1974, Palestinians killed 18 hostages,

      In May 1974 the Palestinians killed 22 children and 3 adults out of 115 hostages in the Maalot School Massacre. Many of the other hostages were severely injured by Palestinians throwing grenades among them.

      In September, 1974 Palestinians blew up a TWA flight with a suicide bomber killing 78 people.

      In November of 1974 Palestinians killed four Israelis in a building taken during a hostage operation.

      In June 1975 Palestinians killed 3 Israeli hostages in Kfar Yuval.

      In the Entebbe highjacking in 1976 4 Israeli hostages were killed. Palestinians highjacked an air bus to Uganda. They let the non-Jewish passengers go. It threatened to kill all the Jewish hostages. Israel was able to rescue all but four.

      In the Coastal Road Massacre in 1978, Palestinians killed 38, including 13 children, Israelis after taking them hostage. The attack was meant to thwart peace talks between Israel and Egypt. Israel had invited Palestinians to join the peace talks.

      In 1979 Palestinian Sumar Kuntar from Lebanon took hostage a father and his young daughter hostage. On the beach he shot the father and bashed the child’s head in with the butt of his weapon.

      In April 1980, terrorists took hold of a nursery in Kibbutz Misgav Am, killed an infant and injured four children.

      On Thursday, December 8, 1983, 14-year-old Israeli teenager Danny Katz, left his house to visit a friend, but was abducted en route.

      After a three-day search, Katz’ mutilated body was found outside a remote cave in the Sakhnin region, bearing marks of strangulation, torture, and sexual assault. Two of the three Palestinians arrested confessed to an earlier abduction, rape and murder of an Israeli girl in 1982.

      In 1985 Palestinians hijacked the Achille Lauro cruise ship and killed Leon Klinghoffer, an elderly Jewish man who was confined to a wheel chair. After they killed him, the Palestinians threw his body into the sea.

      In 1988 Palestinians kidnapped and killed 3 Israelis in the Mother Bus Attack.

      On Feb. 16, 1989 Hamas kidnapped and killed two Israelis.

      Dec 12, 1992 – Staff Sgt. Major Nissim Toledano, of the Border Police, a 29 year old resident of Lod, was kidnapped by Hamas terrorists while traveling from his home to his base. He was murdered several hours later, while the terrorists were still negotiating for the return of their imprisoned leader Ahmad Yassin.

      Dec 19, 1992 – A Hamas terrorist kidnapped and murdered a policeman in Jerusalem.

      Mar 12, 1993 – Canadian Pvt. Yehoshua Friedberg was kidnapped and murdered by terrorists.

      October 29,1993 Chaim Mizrahi, resident of Beit-El, was kidnapped by three terrorists from a poultry farm near Ramallah. He was murdered and his body burned.

      The body of IDF Staff-Sgt. Sharon Edri, missing for seven months, was found buried near the West Bank village of Kfar Tzurif. Edri had been kidnapped and murdered by a Hamas terrorist cell in September 1996 while hitchiking to his home in Moshav Zanoah.

      In January 2001 a 24 year old Palestinian woman lured a 16 year old Israeli boy to meet her in Jerusalem. She kidnapped him and drove him to a secluded spot where other Palestinians shot him to death.

      In 2003 Massoud Makhluf Alon, 72 years of age, was abducted and murdered by Palestinians. His crime was he collected and distributed clothing and blankets to Arabs.

      On July 27, 2006 Palestinians kidnapped Dr. Daniel Yaakobi, took to a garage and there beat him to death with a wrench and sticks. They then stuffed his body in the trunk of a car and set it on fire.

      September 21, Sasson Nuriel, 55, of Jerusalem was kidnapped and slain by Palestinian terrorists. His body was found on Sept 26 in a garbage dump in the industrial zone of Bitunya, west of Ramallah. Hamas claimed responsibility for the attack.

      On September 20, 2013 a Palestinian man kidnapped a 20 year Israeli, killed him and dumped his body in a well to use to negotiate the release of terrorists.

      And there are so many more.

      Reply to Comment
      • JG

        Sunwhore spitting lies. Good job done for hasbara mastre. Take a bone, goodboy…

        Reply to Comment
        • Craig Vale

          Not since Otto Premiger’s semial work of propaganda ( Exodus) have we seen such an onslaught of garbage coming from the Hasbaran minions and talking heads. They’d make Goebbels & Leni Riefenstahl stand and applaud. After all Israel is incapable of ever doing anything wrong. Always they are the victim and never the victimizer. The land belongs to them as no less than their historical hero David himself stole it from the Canaanites back in the day .

          Reply to Comment
          • whiplash

            I hate to tell you that Jews were Canaanites. Somewhere in the dark recesses of the Bronze Age the Jewish people emerged as a separate people and nation. They lived in Judea and Samaria. They never left and are the indigenous people.

            Reply to Comment
    2. Goldmarx

      Sonnyboy’s list does contain some truths, but why should anyone believe him when he tells falsehoods repeatedly on this website? He’s like the boy who cried wolf.

      Reply to Comment
      • whiplash

        Can you point to one of the killings mentioned above which did not happen? Maybe you define torturing and killing hostages as good treatment?

        Reply to Comment
    3. Goldmarx

      Wow, I give Sonnyboy some credit, and that’s not good enough for you.

      Talk about a rabid dog that needs to be put down. Sheesh!

      Reply to Comment