Posted on 06/09/2010 by reham alhelsi
It was another “ordinary” summer day in Dheisheh refugee camp, as far as “ordinary” goes in occupied Palestine. As with every school holiday, my parents had sent my sister and me to my grandparent’s house. We loved going there and cherished every minute of our stay. And although, in my opinion, nothing compares to Jerusalem and although Sawahreh is forever my little Palestinian paradise, Dheisheh was my fortress, it taught me so much about the occupation, about oppression and about resistance and the thirst for freedom. That tiny, over-crowded refugee camp taught me so much about the Right of Return and about the Palestine the Zionist entity tries so hard to erase."
It was an ordinary day, or maybe it wasn’t. I don’t remember any particular events that’s day, maybe because it was just another summer day or maybe because the events that followed erased any memory I had of everything else that happened that day. That evening my sister and I had a fight over something, most probably trivial as usual, and me being stubborn as usual, declared I won’t talk to my sister anymore, refused to have any dinner and went to bed too early even for chicken despite all the pleading and all efforts from my grandmother, uncles and aunts to resolve the conflict peacefully. After sometime of fuming and secretly cursing, I eventually fell asleep. I was awakened sometime later by loud sounds of banging. I jumped off the mattress (we all slept on the floor, there were no beds) and ran to the sitting room. There I saw everyone awake and wearing their day attire. I looked at the window and to my astonishment saw that it was still dark outside. “What is wrong? Where are you all going?” I asked as I moved from one person to the other and very much aware of the continuous sounds of gunshots, hand grenades and screams outside. “The settlers have attacked!” someone answered me.
And it wasn’t any kind of settlers, but the fanatic terrorists of Kiryat Arba’. “Where are you all going?” I asked. “To defend the refugee camp, to defend our homes” they were saying. They were all ready to leave and were distributing themselves as to which street or to which neighborhood everyone was to go. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time they had to go through this and it wasn’t the first settler attack nor was it to be last, and most probably what happened in my grandparents house happened in every other house in the refugee camp. They were so used to such attacks that all the “organization” was done in a few minutes. And to any Zionist reading this, I will have to disappoint you and say that they strictly refused to let any of us children out of the house, despite begging and pleading to go out with everyone else and participate in defending the refugee camp. We were told to stay in the house, to hide and be careful as to who we allow inside the house. So, next time you Zionists go cry: Palestinian send their children to get killed, keep reading and you’ll see how much Zionist colonists love their children.
So, with the exception of us children, everyone else went out to the streets and alleys to defend our homes, even my elderly grandmother, who without a word snatched a tree stem hidden behind the couch and declared: I am going to the west entrance to defend my daughter’s house. My aunt lived there with her little children and the idea that her house was located exactly at the west entrance of the refugee camp, exposed to the attackers and one of the first houses they would encounter when attempting to storm the refugee camp, brought fear to everyone who had witnessed settler violence, especially that of the Kiryat Arba’ terrorists. We sat in the empty house with the lights off so the settlers don’t shoot in our direction. We could hear the loud shouting and singing of the settlers accompanied by shooting and loud banging. It was as if everything around us was shaking; the walls, the windows, the chairs, the whole house and the neighbouring ones. We could also hear the sound of people running along the small alley behind our house. They were all heading towards the main Jerusalem-Hebron road that passes in front of the refugee camp. At some point, we sneaked to the windows and keeping our heads low we watched as the settles went on with their macabre celebration: There were settlers, many of them, armed, laughing, shouting and shooting at the houses, vandalizing and destroying the cars parked in front of the refugee camp. There were women and children present. They had brought their families with them to joint in the attack on sleeping Palestinian families. There were also Israeli occupation soldiers present who instead of stopping the settlers from shooting were actually assisting them and directing their gun towards the refugee camp. Instead of stopping the Zionist who had come at midnight to attack sleeping Palestinian families, the IOF were shooting at the Palestinians who started throwing stones at the fully-armed settlers.
And so it was: stones against a rain of bullets and tear gas canisters. And while they were shooting, the Zionist settlers were singing and chanting. If this isn’t lust for blood, if this isn’t celebrating murder, I don’t know what it. And the Zionists who keep claiming Palestinians send their children to be killed in demos, had brought their children with them to join in the attack, they had brought them with them to teach them “how to love thy neighbour” and “how to make peace with thy neighbor”. They wanted to show their children what being a Zionist is all about and how to deal with Palestinian civilians ‘a la Zionist way. I remember asking some friends from Dheisheh about this years later and being told that often when the settlers of Kiryat Arba’ attack the refugee camp they bring their wives and children with them. When I asked about their thoughts as to why the settlers did such a thing, they answered: so when Palestinians go out to defend their homes and throw stones at the armed attackers, the settlers would use their wives and children as human shields and so that the Palestinians would stop throwing stones considering there were children. I was told that they saw more than once how the children were standing in the first row in front of the adult settlers. So, the settlers would use their children to stop Palestinians from throwing stones at them, but these same settlers wouldn’t hesitate a minute to shoot a Palestinian child. Judging from the sound of bullets and tear gas canisters flying all around us and the banging and the rejoicing and judging from the holes in the houses and cars and the shattered windows we found everywhere the next day, it was obvious that the settlers didn’t give a damn how many they kill or who they kill, i.e. whether a child, woman or adult. They were just aiming to kill. Fortunately, and maybe should I say miraculously, no one was killed, but not because the settlers didn’t “mean any real harm”. It was because the Palestinians had been used to such terror attacks and knew how best to keep themselves and their children safe: upon an attack all house lights immediately go off, movement inside houses is only when there is a necessity and while bowing down so one doesn’t get hit by a bullet flying through the windows, and those who leave to fend off the settlers know the streets and the alleys as the back of their hands and thus have the upper hand. Every time the Israeli occupation army commits a massacre in the middle of the night, or raids a Palestinian village or town in the middle of the night, or bombards Gaza in the middle of the night, I remember the midnight settler attacks on Dheisheh. These cowards chose the time when Palestinians are asleep in their homes, the time they believe when most Palestinians are not in a state to defend themselves and their homes. But they are mistaken; a Palestinian is always ready to defend his/her family, his home and his land.
Seeing that the residents who were defending their homes were actually in a better position and had the control over the refugee camp (not one single settler was able to enter the refugee camp that night), and seeing that their machine guns, live bullets and poisonous gas canisters were useless in the face of Palestinian steadfastness, the soldiers and the settlers finally retreated. The next morning, I went with the others to my aunt’s house. On the way, I remember passing the houses and seeing the bullet holes practically everywhere. Every single house we passed on the way to my aunt’s had bullet holes from the previous night. The main street was more like something from a war movie. The Israeli occupation army had tried it best to remove the evidence of the attack, but alas! The time of miracles had long gone. The whole area was filled with journalists. They were all taking photos of the bullet holes visible everywhere, of the destroyed cars, of the shattered windows. They were interviewing everyone on what had happened the night before. In front of my aunt’s house, which was affected greatly by the bullets, one “foreign looking” female journalist was talking to my aunt. The journalist looked at me as I came and stood near my aunt and said: I have a daughter who looks just like you. I don’t want to think of her going through what you went through last night. Then some other journalist came and talked to her in Hebrew and I realized that she was an Israeli. The only Israelis I had known at that time were mostly the armed soldiers and the fanatic settlers. Being there to report on what the Zionist settlers had done to us, and telling me, indirectly, she didn’t like what had happened was one thing I never forgot. I stood among that sea of reporters and residents, drowned in the sound of questions, comments and watching the Israeli army jeeps patrolling the main street as if telling us: don’t tell much or else, when the reporters eventually go we will be here. Among this sea of reporters, residents and soldiers I looked up and saw my aunt and the Israeli reporter: there they were, two mothers, talking about what had happened the night before, and I remember, a naive child at the time, thinking: if the Israelis themselves feared the settlers so much, why don’t they say NO to the settlers? It was on that or on a following day that we heard from the Israeli reporters, and they had access to Israeli settler media, that among the attackers was one “newly converted Jew” who had just moved to Kiyat Arba’. The attack on Dheisheh was some sort of initiation ritual for this new member of Kiryat Arba’.
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