|
I
am the General Manager of the Arab Palestinian Shopping
Centers. We are trying to build a chain of modern
shopping centers in the midst of the Israeli re-occupation
of Palestinian cities. Below are two personal accounts,
one today and one from 4 days ago, of life under Israeli
military curfew.
Today
is June 27th. We finally had a house visit of our
cities uninvited guests. Sixteen fully armed Israeli
soldiers entered our home as part of the house to
house searches that they have been carrying out for
4 days now in Ramallah, while we sit under 24-hr curfew.
Our
home compromises of 3 flats. My in-laws live on the
ground level, we live on the 1st floor and my parents
on the 2nd. My wife, Abeer, and oldest daughter, Areen,
spent all day baking to fill the time while under
house arrest (in international law they call that
"collective punishment"). It was 7:30pm
when Areen wrapped a tray of the sweet "Haresah"
that had just come out of the oven and was excited
to send it to her grandmother in the flat below. When
we are under curfew, like now, we use a basket and
rope from our front porch to send things below since
we are not allowed out of the house. When the basket
swings into the door my in-laws know that they should
open to see what we have lowered. This time Areen
was alone on the porch and started lowering the basket
when she saw a soldier's helmet at her grandmother's
doorstep after the basket was half way down. She hurried
and pulled the basket up and in and left the window
wide open. She came running saying the soldiers are
in our house. She was scared, more than she has been
since we became under curfew. I had just
got off the phone with Corky, a New York Daily News
reporter, and was at my computer.
I
went to the front window to see a lot of soldier's
kneeling in front of the stone fence in front of our
house. My dad happens to be with us at the time. As
we sat to see what was going to happen our doorbell
rang. When my wife answered via the intercom it was
her mom saying that the soldiers are here and we should
open the door. When we did no soldiers entered, only
Fadwa, Abeer's mom. I met her in the stairway and
she advised that they want one of us only to come
downstairs. I proceeded to go see what was up. When
I reached the doorsteps of my in-laws I looked in
to see their porch packed tight with fully armed soldiers
kneeling in a full alert position.
One
soldier was kneeling at the doorway and trained his
rifle on me as I approached. I greeted them and asked
what is needed. He asked me if I spoke Hebrew and
I told him English or Arabic. He proceeded in perfect
English and asked who was upstairs. I answered that
my family and father were there. He demanded that
everyone come outside in front of the house. I asked
if the children should come too because the weather
was a little cool. He snapped back and said "everyone".
I yelled upstairs and asked my family to come down
and bring their ID papers with them. As I waited the
soldier asked my mother-in-law where was Marwan Barghouti,
as if she should know. I told him that although my
mother-in-law has the same last name they are not
related. I told him each are from a different village.
He said, sarcastically, "no this is Ramallah".
I answered back and advised him that he was in Al-Bireh
not Ramallah and that my in-laws are from Dir Ghasannah
and Marwan was from a village called Kober. He seemed
to be confused so I just answered his original question
and told him Marwan was in "your jail".
He smirked and seemed to accept the answer, which
is true.
My wife was now approaching with my daughters and
father. Areen, my oldest daughter was shivering with
fear. I held her and bought her in front of the soldiers
who were absolutely crammed in the doorstep and porch
all in the kneeling position, weapons pointed. I told
her, "see they are just like us, they don't scare
us." My father tried to comfort her too and told
her the same. My father was itching to engage the
soliders but we convinced him to pass this time so
no one ended up sleeping in prison.
Areen
relaxed a bit, but did not say a word as the soldier
in the doorstep demanded that my wife open the car
garage. I told him the key was upstairs and she would
need to get the key. He approved and as we sat waiting
for Abeer I told the soldiers, "we have a long
way to go yet." No one answered but 2 or 3 of
the soldiers, young boys, shook their heads in agreement.
We sat there looking at them, each looked as if they
were fearing for their lives. They were in a foreign
land in a stranger's house and had a whole Palestinian
(that is terrorist) family in front of them. They
just stared at us as we hugged our children trying
to relax the shock and shed the fear.
As
Abeer came with the key to the garage two soldiers
asked her to open the garage (in international law
they call that being "a human shield").
As she opened our empty garage, the soldiers, full
of fear, entered step by step guns ready to fire.
I could not tell if they were disappointed that they
fund only dust or if it was a relief to them.
As
the two soldiers returned to the house, as we sat
outside in the cool breeze, one soldier extended his
hand with all of our ID's. My mother-in-law spoke
to them in Arabic, she said, "maybe one day you
will come back in time of peace and not be so scared".
No one answered. The lead soldier called for the soldiers
to exit the house. On his way past us he quickly said
"bye", as if he knew had did something wrong
by violating our life. They left, one by one, in full
alert. It turns out they had searched and taken refuge
in every home of the house not just the porch. As
they exited gunfire could be heard a little way up
our street. It was another Israeli unit for sure but
they took no chances moving slowly and cautiously
back to the street. As the walked past us, one by
one, each with heavy weapon or radio equipment or
backpack, my daughter just hugged me tight. As the
last soldier left the house my father-in-law emerged
and stood at the top of the steps. Frustrated, he
bid them farewell and told them in broken English,
"Be sure to come back tomorrow."
After they left we learned that they checked each
room and closet of the first floor. We returned to
our home and Areen was much more relaxed. She came
to us
and said, "you know I used to be scared of them
but not anymore." She went on, "you know,
some of them look like nice people. I feel sorry for
them with all those jackets and gloves and helmets,
they must be so hot, maybe that's why they did not
talk to us." I assured her that I'm sure they
are nice people but Sharon forced them to come. I
am struggling to make sure she does not view every
Israeli, even those that violate the security of our
home, as the enemy.
At
last, the fear of those helmeted, armed soldiers running
free in our streets has been broken. I was hoping
for this day so my daughter will not live in fear
of our future neighbors. Nadine my 2-year-old daughter
can hardly speak but she imitates the whole above
episode in the cutest accent and body language ever.
As we settled down after our daily dose of occupation,
we joked that they could have stayed since we had
some of the best sweets in Al- Bireh to offer. More
seriously, tonight we will give our girls an extra
hug and kiss good night, because we know how today
could of ended if one of the soldiers in the street
saw Areen lower a basket above the head of the soldier
entering the house.
God
help the next house they went to search.
------------
Today
is July 1st. We enter our eighth day under Israeli
military curfew (house arrest). We were rudely awakened
at 7:20am by someone pressing and the holding the
doorbell of our home. My wife, who was sleeping with
my two daughters (who have not been able to sleep
alone ever since the Israeli army entered Ramallah
and tanks started roaming our streets) answered the
ring through the intercom. The answer was "jaesh"
(army in Arabic).
I
sprang from my sleep to see what was happening. My
two daughters were now wide-awake and already at their
mother's footstep. Nadine, my 2-yr-old could hardly
open her eyes. The Israeli soldier asked for someone
to come down from our first floor flat to meet him.
It was only 4 days ago we went through the same routine.
At that time, my father-in-law, Abu Hazim, bid the
soldiers that with a "Be sure to come back soon".
It seems they took that literally.
I
walked down to our front door and opened the door
to find five fully armed Israeli soldiers, all with
their weapons trained on me. I was still half asleep
myself. They demanded that I call everyone in the
house to exit. I tried to explain that they army had
already been here, but it did not matter. I called
for my wife to come down with the girls and I called
for my father to wake up and come down as well.
We
all exited the house and stood on our front door porch,
above the garage. The soldier then proceeded to call
more soldiers from the street. It turns out that two
fully loaded armored personnel carriers (APC) were
parked in front of our house. About 12 soldiers in
all gathered at our doorstep. One checked our ID's
while one stood guard at the entrance to our home
and 10 proceeded, alone, to search our house. As we
waited for this ordeal to end I engaged the soldier
that stood guard. I asked him if he was enlisted or
part of the reserve army. He said enlisted. I asked
him if any reserves were with them. At first he did
not understand what reserves meant but then remembered
and said no. I started to ask if humiliating a civilian
population was worth it or would picking to be a refusenik
is a better choice. The second soldier with us did
not give him a chance to answer. They spoke in Hebrew
and both moved away from where we stood, question
unanswered.
While
the search went on my 2-yr old yelled out to her sister
who was standing just 1 meter away. "Areen, give
me a kiss", Nadine said as she leaned forward
from mom's shoulder preparing her cheek. She said
it so loud that the two soldiers took notice, without
making a wrinkle in their straight, unshaved faces.
Areen, who now is considered an expert in dealing
with such situations, comforted her sister with a
kiss. My wife glanced at me and just shook her head.
After
15 minutes or so the soldiers filed out of the doorway
one by one. A few were talking into walkie-talkies
while others seemed to mope along with the flow. Without
a word, they all left to the street. They did not
tell us to enter or to stay put. Areen was hesitant
to just go back upstairs because she said maybe not
all had left. We sat outside for a few minutes until
all the soldiers were in the street before going back
upstairs to evaluate the situation. As we walked upstairs
one of the APC's rolled away. The soldiers of the
second one went across the street, to Abu Mohammed's
house, and rang their doorbell.
We
went through each room in our home and, other than
a few open closets and drawers, all was in place and
again we were lucky not to have any damage (other
than mentally) done. As we gathered on our front porch
of our flat to see what was happening to our neighbors
a loud rumble came up our street. Five APC's, a jeep,
and a Merkava tank all rolled up and parked in front
of our house. Two soldiers walked back toward our
house and knocked my in-laws front door downstairs.
When my mother-in-law came to the door they told her
to come out. She said that "you were just here,
ask them", pointing to the soldiers across the
street who had just left our house. They looked embarrassed
and walked back to the street without a word.
Nadine
now is glued to the porch window watching, absorbing
every move. She can barley talk and with all the excitement
she studders and sometimes stalls mid-sentence while
trying to tell us that a tank came and "Ammo"
(arabic for uncle) came out or an APC's backdoor opened
and soldiers emerged. If only I could video my daughter
to show to the Israeli citizen sitting in the comfort
of his/her office in Tel Aviv what kind of generation
they are creating. Areen sits quietly at my side as
we watch events unfold trying to convince me, and
herself, that they are only going to take our neighbors
house. I can only agree since as a father I must try
to bring order to this chaos.
The
search group of 12 soldiers continued to knock on
all of our neighbors one by one. Called everyone out
of the house and searched. Aboud (9-yrs-old), Areen's
friend across the street, came out in his pajamas
holding his two kittens, one in each arm, as he filed
through the dozen soldiers which formed two rows at
his doorstep. After about 30 minutes all the soldiers
gathered at the APC at our doorstep. They unraveled
a huge map colored map and went into deep discussion.
The plastic coating on the map sparkled with every
bend as the morning sun intensified. After 10 minutes
they nodded in agreement and called out to each other
in Hebrew. By now the APC's had unloaded and our quiet
neighborhood was a military outpost. A few dozen Israeli
soldiers, the smell of diesel fuel, the rambling and
squeaking of the tank moving left and right. The sound
of the motor moving the tank cannon in circles. The
squelching sound of radio communications, all in Hebrew.
The joking and laughing of soldiers. It was a picture
out of the movies. But the movie was yet to begin.
They
went to the 3-storey home across the street again.
But this time one soldier had a sledgehammer. They
had already checked the ground floor, Abu Mohammed
and Areen's girlfriend, Asel's, grandmother's apartments.
Um Khaled's flat is the on the first floor but she
is away visiting her son in Egypt. We know that Asel's
grandmother has a key and most likely they searched
Um Khaled's flat the first time around. That left
the 2nd floor flat. It's empty and is owned by Haj
Waleed, the mayor of Al-Bireh. We heard the pounding
of metal for a few moments then Areen remarked, "they
opened it". We asked how she knew since we could
not see what was going on directly. She heard the
soldiers laugh and say "yeah" when the door
gave way. She was right. A few minutes' later two
soldiers appeared in the 2nd floor flat porch, the
one that is smack across from ours. It took less than
15 minutes before every soldier marched to his APC
or tank or jeep and started to unload duffle bags,
sleeping bags, green, torn sponge-like mattresses,
etc. One soldier brought a TV out of the APC and took
it to the flat. Others carried what looked like boxes
of food.
Every
time we would comment amongst ourselves of what was
happening, Nadine would try and recreate in full body
motion, hands waving and all, the actions of the soldiers.
My father just keeps repeating in total disgust that
the world has accepted Israeli occupation and should
be ashamed of itself. He asks himself aloud if Bush
would have made his infamous speech if the issue was
Texas not Palestine and Bush's home was violated as
ours has been.
After
all was emptied from the armored vehicles they moved
all of the APC's and tanks and jeeps into position
around the entrance of the house they now occupied.
As the moved these huge armored cars two soldiers,
one in front and one in back, gestured to the driver
how the driver should maneuver in order to work his
way around our narrow street. I'm sure the zoning
board of Al-Bireh did not build this street for so
many armored vehicles at once. Nadine picked up every
move. Like the person who makes arm gestures to planes
taxing, Nadine started to move her hands up and down
as if she was guiding the tank. After all was in place
they turned off the engines on all the vehicles and
quiet came back. It was around 9am by now.
A
few minutes later more soldiers appeared in the porch
window, now topless. No helmets, no flak jackets,
no olive green army clothes, no rifles, just a man.
A man no better and no lesser than I. Only difference
is this man allows himself to be part of an occupying
force, something I will never do.
Today
it was announced that we would have the curfew lifted
from 9- 2am. Those that have started to venture out
of their homes to buy the needed food and necessities
can now be heard. The kids in the neighborhood are
starting to gather near the tank. One young boy actually
went up to the tank to touch it, as if he was in a
war museum. All the soldiers, except two, are now
in the house that was occupied. The two soldiers that
stand guard are stopping those that are walking on
the street and demanding that they turn around and
use a different route. Cars coming up our street,
not knowing of today's adventure, hit the brakes as
they come face to face with a tank. The soldier signals
to the drivers by moving his finger in a circle that
they should turn around. Our trash man, Abu Hassan,
who is
over 70-yrs-old came up the street pushing his three,
age-old black trash barrels on his rusted metal cart.
The soldier standing guard yelled out for him to stop
and turn around. Abu Hassan can't hear when we yell
in his ear from one foot away so I knew he could not
hear. He took another step toward our house. The solider
cocked his rifle and yelled louder and gestured for
him to leave. Abu Hassan now understood. He yelled
back in Arabic saying that he wanted to pick up our
trash. The soldier did not understand and Abu Hassan
was determined to do his job. At the end of this standoff,
the gun won and Abu Hassan turned around and slowly
pushed his cart away in disgust.
The
mayor, Haj Waleed, has now arrived. He is telling
the soldiers that this is his home and he wants to
enter. They debated him at the door and after a few
minutes he leaves, inhaling his cigarette in frustration.
We just learned that they told him "we need two
days to shower".
As
I write, a car coming from Jerusalem road in front
of the National Insurance Building turned to come
up our road, saw the tank in front of our house and
hit the breaks only to be hit by an oncoming car that
was heading South. A minor distraction to the re-occupation
of our city and lives.
So
chaos, fear, anger reigns our home and neighborhood.
The kids gather to explain to a reporter that came
to see what's happening. I can hear them give a frame
by frame account of how they were told to leave their
homes and how the tanks came and how they came out
when the curfew was lifted and how the soldier almost
shot Abu Hassan, and, and. All this while our uninvited
neighbors proceeds as if the house was always theirs.
We can only hope their stay is short and will be the
last.
In
the meantime, my girls have forgotten that the real
soldiers and tanks are outside. They are playing hide
and seek in the house. Nadine is the Palestinian and
Areen is the Israeli soldier. Nadine hides under my
desk as I type and when Areen knocks on my office
door we all have to go and wait in the hallway as
Areen checks the room. We even have cardboard passports
to give Areen. Do average Israelis understand what
kind of generation they are creating! Do they feel
more secure that their kids are tormenting a civilian
population?
I
just heard Abeer yell out to Abu Hassan. He saw only
one soldier now outside and has just returned to pick
up our trash. He smiled as his wrinkled and tired
face looked up as he took away our trash bags. For
the soldier this was probably his first encounter
with Abu Hassan. For Abu Hassan, he has entered year
36 facing Israeli military occupation.
I
guess the gun has lost, again.
*Sam
Bahour is a Palestinian-American businessman living
in the besieged Palestinian City of Al-Bireh in the
West Bank and can be reached at sbahour@palnet.com
Index: Current Articles + Latest News and Views + Book Reviews +
Letters + Archives
|
