My friends, I think I have not met most of you. I am Hashem, a Palestinian Seed who went to camp in 2010. I live in Arroub Refugee Camp in North of Hebron. I have never written anything on this group, as I consider it a personal space for the seeds to talk, update each other, and most importantly, challenge each other. But, today, I am writing about a very sincere story to my heart; a story that brought tears to my eyes and left me shocked all day. A story for part of our Seeds family who is facing the Israeli oppressive system that has killed more than 500 Palestinian innocents. Before saying the story, I want to ask you all to not respond to this post. I want all of us to read this post, and try to take the story in, without thinking about any political or nationalistic stand. A couple of days ago, some Palestinian Seeds and I decided to contact all of our Seeds from Gaza. We wanted to make sure that they are alive and safe, and that their families are safe. We wanted to hear their stories, and connect the numbers we hear in media to their faces. We wanted to put faces on the faceless numbers and statistics that the news agencies supplies us with. We took the list of numbers, and divided responsibilities. Today, we started calling the Seeds. My very first call was with Iyad AbuAita. Iyad went to camp in 2005, 1st session. He lives in Beit Lahia in Gaza. I did not know anything about Iyad, but once he heard my voice and that I am from Seeds of Peace, his voice started shaking. How are you, Iyad? Maybe not the best question to ask, but I am going to ask it anyways. We are thankful, Hashem. We are thankful to God. I am in the house alone with my grandmother. My entire family, along with all of the kids, have been evacuated. More than 700 sites have been destroyed in our neighborhood. My family and the kids could not sleep since the beginning of the Israeli oppression. Our neighbors houses. Our shops. Our streets. Everything vanished within few days. My grandmother is so ill that she cant walk. I have to stay with her in this house, and wait until this madness ends. I could not think of anything. I started crying out of my impotence and powerlessness. I started telling him that I am here for him, as so many other Seeds. Iyad took my words in and did not say a word. Then, I started telling him about the situation in my refugee camp, trying to show him that we are all going through a struggle for the same reason. I did the wrong thing of comparing my suffering to his. I forgot that suffering is suffering. That death is death. That violence is violence. Whatever politicians and militants do to find other definitions of these concepts, they fail, and will fail. Iyad is in his house right now, alone. Iyad is waiting for the unknown to arrive. Perhaps a ceasefire, or his family, or an Israeli airstrike. Iyad is me. He is you. He is every Seed. He did nothing that would put him and his family as a legitimate target to the Israeli F-16s. Think of him. His dreams. His ambitions. His peaceful thoughts that he had in front of the lake, and around the field. Palestinians in Gaza are human beings. I sadly have to remind everyone of this. The International Media tries to dehumanize them, but they are human beings. There are many stories like Iyads, my friends. Pray for them, and spread awareness. Justice will prevail, and soon.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 18:57:17 +0000
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