they say revenge is seasonal
but
this day
I watch a parade of souls
file past my mind
each one holding another's face
in his own dead hands
they are not separated
in their geographies
- these souls -
all cellular constellations
ideological discrepancies
pigmentations of skin
the outlines of an eyelid or lips--
gone
who
was right or first
least worthy
most oppressed--
who
was chosen
or cursed--
gone
there is no better season
for grief
but this day
as I watch the silhouettes of souls
moving through my mind
using a word
they barely knew in life:
enough
Mikele Rauch, American
Boston, Massachusetts
Saturday, January 3, 2009
my language
i woke up saturday morning…the light was beautiful streaming through my window…my family was coming down to dc that day to visit me…it was going to be a good day…
palestinian
washington, dc
i called them to see where they were…to find out whether i actually had to drag myself out of bed…they sounded strange on the phone…i asked what was wrong…they made up some excuse…they had left late that morning and were still driving…i went back to sleep…
a couple of hours later i woke up again…called them again…and again they sounded strange…
i got out of bed and like i do every morning i went straight to my computer…my front page (bbc news) pops up…and my heart stopped…
a million thoughts rushed into my head i couldn't even think clear…no reaction…nothing...i scanned the news report after report...and then come the videos...i watched the first video of people running around...bombings...smoke...
i am currently working with a peacebuilding organization concentrating on the palestinian-israeli conflict. for the past year…in an effort to maintain my sanity…i have worked on the art of compartmentalization…work was work…and the palestinian-israeli conflict was work…i…a palestinian…have somehow…finally…in the past two months…gotten to a point where i've somehow managed to do so…i didn't cry or always get angry…cause it was simply work…
on saturday i cried for that whole year…and in that instant…when i heard those words…in my language…i remembered how much it hurts…
in the first three days…most of the time i couldn't breathe…i saw images…read articles…heard my language…and every time i couldn't breathe…i'm so far away and yet the minute i heard those words…"oh god oh god"…i was right there…and my mind was everywhere but here…
i have this great luck of always landing when things get rough there…after years of being away i somehow managed to live there throughout the whole period starting in the events of october 2000…as well as landing a week before the 2006 war…for the first time i'm not there…i'm here…in this city…walking in streets filled with people who haven't seen the images…heard the screams and cries…and aren't watching as my people are dying…
always a challenger of religion…something i never felt very connected to…yet a few days ago…after watching some more images of my people…screaming in my language…i emailed my dad and said: "yaba, if there's a god…where is he today?"…
for the first time in a very long time i cried over my country and my people…maybe it's because i feel like this time it's different…maybe this time i'm different…my words won't have an effect… i don't even know why i'm writing them…maybe i just want them to leave me…
irene r. nasserpalestinian
washington, dc
Friday, January 2, 2009
Names
At approximately 2:40pm yesterday, Thursday 1 January 2008, Israeli aircrafts fired heavy missiles at the house of Nizar Rayyan, a leader in the Hamas movement, in the Jabaliya refugee camp, causing massive destruction in the camp and killing 16 of its residents, 11 of whom were children. The victims were identified as:
Al Mezan Center for Human Rights
The victims are from the same family. The body of Ghassan was still under the rubble of the house at the time this release was drafted. Moreover, 12 people, including five children and one woman, were injured this raid. It also destroyed 10 houses completely and caused damage to another dozens of other houses.
- 49-year-old Nizar Abdul-Qadir Rayyan;
- 40-year-old Nawal Ismail Rayyan;
- 46-year-old Hyiam Abdul-Rahman Rayyan;
- 45-year-old Iman Khalil Rayyan;
- 25-year-old Shirin Said Rayyan;
- 2-year-old Asad Nizar Rayyan;
- 3-year-old Usama Nizar Rayyan;
- 3-year-old Aiysha Nizar Rayyan;
- 4-year-old Reem Nizar Rayyan;
- 5-year-old Halima Nizar Rayyan;
- 5-year-old Meryam Nizar Rayyan;
- 6-year-old Abdul-Rahman Nizar Rayyan;
- 12-year-old Abdul-Qadir Nizar Rayyan;
- 12-year-old Ayia Nizar Rayyan;
- 15-year-old Zainab Nizar Rayyan;
- 16-year-old Ghassan Nizar Rayyan
Al Mezan Center for Human Rights
First Day of the New Year in Gaza
January 1st 2009
It's interesting how, at the most terrifying and horrific of times, we still manage to make light of the events, and even enjoy a dark sense of humor that surprisingly comes out not inappropriate and even the more amusing given the constant state of tenseness and apprehension.
My 10 year old cousin was eating a sandwich, when my younger brother, 12, looked at him and, quoting a line from one of his favorite video games in his dead on imitation of the characters voice, while being extremely amused by the fear in the younger boys eyes, said "enjoy it, it could be your last!" I looked at him for a second and began laughing almost hysterically.
On another occasion, we looked around for my twelve year old and 14 year old brothers during an intense bout of air strikes and realized that they had snuck back to the living room, the room directly in front of the area being bombed, and were watching a sports channel. "But we had to see the scores" they retorted after being severely reproached". They're becoming desensitized, I thought, I went through this before while living in Ramallah in 2002. I laughed so hard, they had become totally oblivious!
I've had a lot of time to contemplate, the last few days, and looking at my siblings, I wonder how the rest of the world envisions the people who occupy the most despondent and unruly military zones in the world.
My younger brothers spend their free time out with their friends, or playing basketball and soccer at youth clubs. They are passionate about sports, play station, and music. They play the guitar and are exceptional students. My brother who's in collage is obsessed with computers and gadgets, he's an engineering student who comes up with the most ingenious projects for his classes. He listens to music and plays the guitar and prays regularly. He's an honor student who has big goals and big dreams.
So please understand why I am infuriated when I see how we are portrayed on television. Hordes of bearded, teeth-gnashing, stone throwing blood thirsty savages in rags and tatters. And please don't blame me for feeling utter rage against the state of Israel, that has been intentionally targeting the unwary, guiltless, promising children and youth of the Gaza Strip in its vicious attacks over the past 5 days. Already, between 40 and 50 children are dead while hundreds lie in the hospitals, seriously injured or disabled for life.
The people of Gaza have been suffering for decades under systematic and tyrannical oppression by Israel, the latest of its measures has been the siege and closures imposed on the strip that have completely devastated the livelihoods of Gaza residents and caused the economy to fall into an unprecedented and crippling depression. The people of Gaza have long been denied the means that have been afforded to the residents of countries with the same, possibly less, resources. And yet the amount of resourcefulness and zeal we demonstrate is a testimony to the potential of progress and advancement that lies within us.
To the rest of the world, Israel represents the democratic, civilized, patriotic, western, state whose representatives are well groomed, clad in smart suits and silk ties and talking all sorts of political correctness, stringed with terms such as self defense, civilian population, Palestinian terrorists and middle east peace.
And so after Israel launched its military offensive against Gaza 5 days ago, claiming that offensive was a retaliation against Hamas' firing rockets into Israel following the cessation of the period of calm, to many, the Israeli attacks were justified. Never mind that Israel failed to at least ease the siege that has been slowly killing us over the past year (to be more precise over the last 3 years.) Never mind that Israel continued its incursions into the strip and its murder of innocent civilians throughout the truce. Never mind that compared to Isaeli gunships, war planes, tanks and other weaponry, Hamas rockets seem like toys. Never mind that our children are robbed of anything that resembles a normal life and future.
And yet we are continuously accused of being on equal terms with one of the strongest military forces in the world.
So while being cooped up in the house, watching local news stations when we have electricity, still in a state of disbelief, I wonder if the rest of the world would be so harsh in its judgments if they had the opportunity to understand. I wonder if people would as easily accept the unsubstantiated claims that the engineering faculty building of the Islamic university, which has been flattened during the attacks, was a workshop that produced qassams, if they had seen my brothers reaction. When he came back from a walk to the university building the next day, his face was white as a sheet and he had tears in his eyes. "Its all gone he said, even the project (electric car) we've been working on all semester." We'd seen pictures, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Did he seriously have any hope that the car had survived.
A few hours ago, the home of one of Hamas' senior leaders, Nizar Rayan, was struck by 4 missiles. Not only was the entire building flattened, killing all who were in it, but several other buildings surrounding it looked like they were about ready to collapse. It is said that there were over 19 deaths, most of them women and children, and scores of injuries. The entire street was littered with debris and rubble. We saw the images on tv, children being lifted from beneath the rubble, headless corpses loaded into plastic body bags, the whole works. We sent a taxi to pick up my aunt, whose home lies 100 meters away from the Rayan building, and had caved in due to the attack. She and her children arrived, shaken, but all in one piece.
Today the temporary halt of rocket fire coincided with the restoration of power to our home, at least for a few hours, at about 5pm. My brothers went to their rooms and played their videogames, I sat on the couch and read, and my sister went to take a nap. We tried to busy ourselves with regular daily activities in a situation that is anything but commonplace.
Safa Joudeh, Palestinian
Gaza, Palestine
It's interesting how, at the most terrifying and horrific of times, we still manage to make light of the events, and even enjoy a dark sense of humor that surprisingly comes out not inappropriate and even the more amusing given the constant state of tenseness and apprehension.
My 10 year old cousin was eating a sandwich, when my younger brother, 12, looked at him and, quoting a line from one of his favorite video games in his dead on imitation of the characters voice, while being extremely amused by the fear in the younger boys eyes, said "enjoy it, it could be your last!" I looked at him for a second and began laughing almost hysterically.
On another occasion, we looked around for my twelve year old and 14 year old brothers during an intense bout of air strikes and realized that they had snuck back to the living room, the room directly in front of the area being bombed, and were watching a sports channel. "But we had to see the scores" they retorted after being severely reproached". They're becoming desensitized, I thought, I went through this before while living in Ramallah in 2002. I laughed so hard, they had become totally oblivious!
I've had a lot of time to contemplate, the last few days, and looking at my siblings, I wonder how the rest of the world envisions the people who occupy the most despondent and unruly military zones in the world.
My younger brothers spend their free time out with their friends, or playing basketball and soccer at youth clubs. They are passionate about sports, play station, and music. They play the guitar and are exceptional students. My brother who's in collage is obsessed with computers and gadgets, he's an engineering student who comes up with the most ingenious projects for his classes. He listens to music and plays the guitar and prays regularly. He's an honor student who has big goals and big dreams.
So please understand why I am infuriated when I see how we are portrayed on television. Hordes of bearded, teeth-gnashing, stone throwing blood thirsty savages in rags and tatters. And please don't blame me for feeling utter rage against the state of Israel, that has been intentionally targeting the unwary, guiltless, promising children and youth of the Gaza Strip in its vicious attacks over the past 5 days. Already, between 40 and 50 children are dead while hundreds lie in the hospitals, seriously injured or disabled for life.
The people of Gaza have been suffering for decades under systematic and tyrannical oppression by Israel, the latest of its measures has been the siege and closures imposed on the strip that have completely devastated the livelihoods of Gaza residents and caused the economy to fall into an unprecedented and crippling depression. The people of Gaza have long been denied the means that have been afforded to the residents of countries with the same, possibly less, resources. And yet the amount of resourcefulness and zeal we demonstrate is a testimony to the potential of progress and advancement that lies within us.
To the rest of the world, Israel represents the democratic, civilized, patriotic, western, state whose representatives are well groomed, clad in smart suits and silk ties and talking all sorts of political correctness, stringed with terms such as self defense, civilian population, Palestinian terrorists and middle east peace.
And so after Israel launched its military offensive against Gaza 5 days ago, claiming that offensive was a retaliation against Hamas' firing rockets into Israel following the cessation of the period of calm, to many, the Israeli attacks were justified. Never mind that Israel failed to at least ease the siege that has been slowly killing us over the past year (to be more precise over the last 3 years.) Never mind that Israel continued its incursions into the strip and its murder of innocent civilians throughout the truce. Never mind that compared to Isaeli gunships, war planes, tanks and other weaponry, Hamas rockets seem like toys. Never mind that our children are robbed of anything that resembles a normal life and future.
And yet we are continuously accused of being on equal terms with one of the strongest military forces in the world.
So while being cooped up in the house, watching local news stations when we have electricity, still in a state of disbelief, I wonder if the rest of the world would be so harsh in its judgments if they had the opportunity to understand. I wonder if people would as easily accept the unsubstantiated claims that the engineering faculty building of the Islamic university, which has been flattened during the attacks, was a workshop that produced qassams, if they had seen my brothers reaction. When he came back from a walk to the university building the next day, his face was white as a sheet and he had tears in his eyes. "Its all gone he said, even the project (electric car) we've been working on all semester." We'd seen pictures, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Did he seriously have any hope that the car had survived.
A few hours ago, the home of one of Hamas' senior leaders, Nizar Rayan, was struck by 4 missiles. Not only was the entire building flattened, killing all who were in it, but several other buildings surrounding it looked like they were about ready to collapse. It is said that there were over 19 deaths, most of them women and children, and scores of injuries. The entire street was littered with debris and rubble. We saw the images on tv, children being lifted from beneath the rubble, headless corpses loaded into plastic body bags, the whole works. We sent a taxi to pick up my aunt, whose home lies 100 meters away from the Rayan building, and had caved in due to the attack. She and her children arrived, shaken, but all in one piece.
Today the temporary halt of rocket fire coincided with the restoration of power to our home, at least for a few hours, at about 5pm. My brothers went to their rooms and played their videogames, I sat on the couch and read, and my sister went to take a nap. We tried to busy ourselves with regular daily activities in a situation that is anything but commonplace.
Safa Joudeh, Palestinian
Gaza, Palestine
For a Name Who Has a Face and a Home
364 Dead. 4 Dead. Hundreds Wounded. 7 Wounded. These are the reported numbers from 3 days of bombs, missiles, and death in Gaza AND Southern Israel. I have waited to write this note, to control my anger and hopelessness because I want my words to bring hearing and sight to the deaf and blind. I will not write about politics, strategy, history, or philosophy. Too much has been written about that. Not enough has been written about people. A Palestinian friend of mine wrote it best; “I know for most of you these are news items, but this is my home.” Palestine is not my home, nor is Israel. But Palestinians and Israelis are my sisters and brothers and they are dying. They are burning alive, charred bodies, soon to be burned and buried souls, intent on more death and destruction. They have names and we must know them.
Callousness has led us to this day. More callousness will not lead us to a new day. “Collateral damage” is callous. “Proportionality” is callous. Such words speak of news reports, television pundits and disconnection. But I am not disconnected. I have close friends studying in Israel. Close friends living in Palestine. Close friends living in Lebanon. When bombs and missiles and people start dropping on those places they will drop on my friends. And they will eat the heart with rage and anger and despair.
How does one repair burned flesh? How does one put back together torn and mangled earth? We forget about the earth, the land we all so desperately seek. But seek and we have not found. We have found instead our blood and brains, littered and dumped as refuse.
The names and faces I know are not garbage. The earth I have seen is not garbage. The God I know is not garbage. And so I ask for a shelter of peace, to mend and repair torn bodies and souls. A shelter to pause. For I know a pause is all I can request. Politics and strategy and history and memory are for the future. A future uncertain and more so each day. But a pause. For my sisters and brothers in Gaza and Israel, for friends and loved ones. To remember that a home is not a news item and a body torn and shattered, bloodied and bruised has a name and a face and must be known.
Hal Steinberg, American
Washington, DC
Callousness has led us to this day. More callousness will not lead us to a new day. “Collateral damage” is callous. “Proportionality” is callous. Such words speak of news reports, television pundits and disconnection. But I am not disconnected. I have close friends studying in Israel. Close friends living in Palestine. Close friends living in Lebanon. When bombs and missiles and people start dropping on those places they will drop on my friends. And they will eat the heart with rage and anger and despair.
How does one repair burned flesh? How does one put back together torn and mangled earth? We forget about the earth, the land we all so desperately seek. But seek and we have not found. We have found instead our blood and brains, littered and dumped as refuse.
The names and faces I know are not garbage. The earth I have seen is not garbage. The God I know is not garbage. And so I ask for a shelter of peace, to mend and repair torn bodies and souls. A shelter to pause. For I know a pause is all I can request. Politics and strategy and history and memory are for the future. A future uncertain and more so each day. But a pause. For my sisters and brothers in Gaza and Israel, for friends and loved ones. To remember that a home is not a news item and a body torn and shattered, bloodied and bruised has a name and a face and must be known.
Hal Steinberg, American
Washington, DC
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Giving names to numbers
The first 187 names of those murdered in the ongoing Gaza massacre:
| Ibrahim Al-Jamaj Ibrahim Al-Jamaj Isma'il Al-Husari Isma'il Salem Isma'il Ghneim Eyman Natour Eyhab Ash-Shaer Ibrahim Mahfoudh Abu Ali Ar-Rahhal Ahmad Al-Halabi Ahmad Al-Kurd Ahmad Al-Lahham Ahmad Al-Hums Ahmad At-Talouli Ahmad Zu'rub Ahmad Abu Jazar Ahmad Radwan Ahmad 'Udah Ahmad Abu Mousa Ahmad Tbeil Adham Al-Areini Osama Abu Ar-Rus Osama Abu Ar-Reish Osama Darweish Ashraf Ash-Sharabasi Ashraf Abu Suhweil Amjad Abu Jazar Ameen Az-Zarbatli Anas Hamad Anwar Al-Bardini Anwar Al-Kurd Ayman Abu Ammouna Ayman An-Nahhal Ibrahim Abu Ar-Rus Basil Dababish Bassam Makkawi Bilal Omar Bahaa Abu Zuhri Tamir Qreinawi Tamir Abu Afsha Tawfiq Al-Fallit Tawfiq Jabir Thaer Madi Jabir Jarbu' Hatim Abu Sha'ira Hamid Yasin Husam Ayyash Hasan Baraka Hasan Abid Rabbo Hasan Al-Majayda Hussein Al-A'raj Hussein Dawood Hussein 'Uroq Hakam Abu Mansi Hamada Abu Duqqa Hamada Safi Hamdan Abu Nu'eira Haydar Hassuna Khalid Zu'rub Khalid Abu Hasna Khalid An-Nashasi Khalid Shaheen | Raed Dughmush Rami Ash-Sheikh Raafat Shamiyya Riziq Salman Rif'at Sa'da Rafiq Na'im Ramzi Al-Haddad Ziyad Abu 'Ubada Sarah Al-Hawajiri Salim Abu Shamla Salim Qreinawi Sa'id Hamada Salim Al-Gharir Suheil Tambura Shadi Sbakhi Shahada Quffa Shahada Abd ar-Rahman Sabir Al-Mabhouh Suhayb Abu 'Iffat Suhayb Abd al-'aal Tal'at Salman Tal'at Basal 'Aasim Ash-Shaer 'Aasim Abu Kamil Abid Ad-Dahshan Abd ar-Raziq Shahtu Abd as-Sami' An-Nashar Abdul-Fattah Abu 'Uteiwi Abdul-Fattah Fadil Abdullah Juneid Abdullah Al-Ghafari Abdullah Rantisi Abdullah Wahbi Arafat Farajallah Azmi Abu Dalal Isam Al-Ghirbawi 'Alaa Al-Qatrawi 'Alaa Al-Kahlout 'Alaa 'Uqeilan 'Alaa Nasr Ar-Ra'i Ali Awad Imab Abu Al-Hajj Omar Darawsha Omran Ar-ran Anan Ghaliya Gharib Al-Assar Fayiz Riyad Al-Madhoun Fayiz Ayada Al-Madhoun Fayiz Abu Al-Qumsan Camellia Al-Bardini Ma'moun Sleim Mazin 'Ulayyan Muhammad Al-Ghimri Muhammad Al-Halabi Muhammad Asaliyya Muhammad Az-Zatma Muhammad Az-ahra Muhammad Gaza Muhammad An-Nuri Muhammad Abu Sabra Muhammad Abu 'Amir Muhammad Abu Libda | Muhammad Hboush Muhammad Al-Mabhouh Muhammad Sha'ban Muhammad Abu 'Abdo Muhammad Salih Muhammad Tabasha Muhammad Al-Habeil Muhammad Abdullah Aziz Muhammad Abdul-Wahhab Aziz Muhammad Awad Muhammad Abd An-Nabi Muhammad Salih Muhammad An-Najari Muhammad Hamad Muhammad Barakat Muhammad Muhanna Mahmoud Al-Khalidi Mahmoud Abu Harbeid Mahmoud Abu Matar Mahmoud Abu Tabour Mahmoud Abu Nahla Mustafa Al-Khateib Mustafa As-Sabbak Mu'ein Hamada Mu'ein Al-Hasan Mumtaz An- Najjar Mansour Al-Gharra Nasser Al-Gharra Nahidh Abu Namous Nabil Al-Breim Nathir Al-Louqa Ni'ma Al-Maghari Na'im Kheit Na'im Al-Kafarna Na'im Al-Anzi Nimir Amoum Hisham Rantisi Hisham Al-Masdar Hisham Abu 'Uda Hisham 'Uweida Humam An-Najjar Hanaa Al-Mabhouh Haytham Hamdan Haytham Ash-Sher Wadei' Al-Muzayyin Wasim Azaza Walid Abu Hein Walid Jabir Abu Hein Yasser Ash-Shaer Yasser Al-Lahham Yahya Al-Hayik Yahya Sheikha Yahya Mahmoud Sheikha Yousif Thabit Yousif Al-Jallad Yousif Sha'ban Yousif Diab Yousif Al-Anani Yousif An-Najjar Younis Ad-Deiri |
Gaza's Children
I want to share a couple of my drawings with you. They're originally photos by Kai Wiedenhofer, a German photographer. His book is called "The Palestinians from Intifada to Intifada" and it's really good.
They're pictures of children from Gaza in the old Intifada.
Nada Dajani, Palestinian
Jerusalem, Palestine
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