<![CDATA[Palestine H's Blog]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7 en-us Fri, 11 Jan 2008 21:57:54 GMT <![CDATA[A March for Palestine]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=331 Assalamoalaikum ,

For those who are interested, we are organizing a March for Palestine in August 2008. we have much panning to do. we would like to have many participating and need to know how many will come march with us.

Lamin For Palestine

In english means Helping Hands for Palestine, this is the name for the march as well as the forum and organization that will be the meet points for any interested in seeing the progress or want to join in and help.

http://laminforpalestine.trivuz.com/forums/index.php

Hope to see you there.

fee amaan Allah

waalaikum assalam

]]> Fri, 11 Jan 2008 21:57:54 GMT <![CDATA[Check out my Slide Show!]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=330
.]]> Sat, 29 Dec 2007 22:56:47 GMT <![CDATA[COLONISATION]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=328 A WHITE GROWING CANCER BLESSED BY AMERICA
UNE TUMEUR CANC&Eacute;REUSE (EN BLANC) B&Eacute;NIE PAR LES USA



DESTRUCTION
SEE NEXT PHOTO TO FIND OUT WHAT IS LEFT FROM THIS VILLAGE
VOIR LA PHOTO SUIVANTE POUR D&Eacute;COUVRIR CE QUI RESTE DE CE VILLAGE



DESTRUCTION SIONISTE
THE DESTRUCTIVE ZIONISTS LEFT NOTHING OF THIS VILLAGE, JUDGE FOR YOURSELF
LES SIONISTES ONT D&Eacute;TRUIT TOUT LE VILLAGE, JUGEZ VOUS-M&Ecirc;ME



DEPORTATION
THE PEOPLE OF PALESTINE WENT FROM ONE CAMP TO ANOTHER LEAVING ALL BEHIND
LE PEUPLE PALESTINIEN A &Eacute;T&Eacute; D&Eacute;PORT&Eacute; D*’UN CAMP &Agrave; UN AUTRE LAISSANT TOUT DERRI&Egrave;RE





HUMILIATION
DAILY LIFE IN OCCUPIED PALESTINE
LA VIE QUOTIDIENNE EN PALESTINE OCCUP&Eacute;E






L’INJUSTICE NE VAINCRA JAMAIS !

CYNISME
ZIONIST SOLDIERS POSING FOR TROPHY PHOTO
SOLDATS SIONISTES POSANT POUR UNE PHOTO TROPH&Eacute;E PR&Egrave;S D*’UN CADAVRE PALESTINIEN



INJUSTICE WILL NEVER PREVAIL !

ISRAEL AND MEDIAS: PRO-ISRAELI OR ANTISEMITIC: THAT*’S THE CHOICE !ONLY PRO-ISRAELI PRESS IS ALLOWED, IN DEFIANCE OF ALL INTERNATIONAL LAWS
ISRAEL AIME LA PRESSE PRO-ISRAELIENNE ET TIRE SUR LE RESTE, DEFIANT TOUTES LES LOIS

[IMG]



L’INJUSTICE NE VAINCRA JAMAIS !

ISRAEL AND KIDS - ISRAEL & LES ENFANTS
PALESTINIAN MOTHER OR FATHER CRYING OVER THEIR CHILDREN WHO HIT ISRAELIS BULLETS AND SHELLS
UNE M&Egrave;RE, UN P&Egrave;RE, PALESTINIENS, PLEURANT LEURS ENFANTS QUI ONT AGRESS&Eacute; BALLES ET OBUS ISRAELIENS





L’INJUSTICE NE VAINCRA JAMAIS !]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 22:36:20 GMT <![CDATA[Suspected of what???]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=327
First they arrest Mohamed Saleh, a Palestinian aged 23.
So far nothing is wrong with the picture!!



They have him on the floor still, and they try to question a second Palestinian on the scene.*
They seem to have definitely overpowered him and have full control over the situation.



They seem to have definitely overpowered him and have full control over the situation.
We can see the arm of the other Palestinian, also held on the floor, at this point.



That's not enough?* OK!!*Now they have to strip him to make sure he doesn't really have any bomb on him.* As we can see he is almost naked on the floor, he is obviously overpowered and unarmed, there is no sign of a bomb or any resistance.* So what would a democratic country such as Isreal does??? Take him to prison !!??



IS THE PHOTO EXPLICIT ENOUGH ?
THEY BLEW HIS HEAD OFF. THATS WHAT THEY DID !
FUN OR EVIL ? NOT NECESSITY !
ZIONISM IS THE WORST PLEA ON EARTH.

]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 22:32:55 GMT <![CDATA[Entry for December 14, 2007]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=325 قصة قرئتها بالجريدة من شهر تقريبا
قصة محزنة جدا مثل كتير من القصص
وكل الكلمات النابية تعجز عن وصف الصهاينة وأعمالهم......حسبي الله ونعم الوكيل


يقال أن الحياة مجموعة من القصص والحكايا لم تجد بعد من يرويها، بهذه الفكرة صرفت ملل الانتظار على بوابة معتقل تلموند الإسرائيلي اترقب ظهور عائشة، أصغر سجينة تطلق السلطات الإسرائيلية سراحها

الطفلة عائشة خارج السجن


ففي هذا المعتقل الذي أقف أمامه ولدت الصغيرة قبل ثلاث سنوات، وفي عالم حدوده قضبان المعتقل وملامحه تكشيرة السجان، قضت سنوات عمرها الثلاث محرومة من لون السماء



وذنب عائشة الوحيد أنها الابنة الوحيدة لامرأة فلسطينية اسمها عطاف عليان، تتهمها إسرائيل بالانتماء لفصيل سياسي معاد لها


كانت الجدة أم وليد تجلس أمام السجن على صخرة وضعها الحرس لمنع اقتراب المركبات من البوابة. والجدة، التي جاوزت السبعين، هي ما تبقى للصغيرة عائشة من عائلتها بعد أن اعتقل الجنود الإسرائيليون والدها قبل الإفراج عنها بيومين فقط



كان التوتر والقلق باديان على ملامح العجوز: ' لو أنهم أجلوا اعتقاله يومين أو ثلاثة، سيعيش ولدي بحسرة لأنه لم يضم ابنته إلى صدره'، قالت أم وليد فيما تحجب أشعة الشمس عن وجهها بيديها


عائشة خارجة من السجن مع المحامي



واستطردت تروي تفاصيل اعتقاله التي بدت مشابهة لمئات قصص الاعتقال التي اسمعها، قبل أن تطلب مني أن أسأل الجنود الثلاثة على بوابة المعتقل متى يطلق سراح الطفلة.


ظهور عائشة


وقبل أن أقنعها باستحالة الاقتراب، فتحت البوابة الإلكترونية ببطء مصدرة صريراً مزعجاً، لتظهر عائشة... كانت تمسك بيد رجل تبين فيما بعد أنه محامي الوالدة عطاف وقد كلفته إدارة المعتقل باستلام عائشة وتسليمها لذويها بالخارج


وفي تلك اللحظة صاحت الجدة وقد انتفضت واقفة على قدميها 'يا حبيبتي يا ستي.. يا حبيبتي يا ستي' فيما اندفعت باتجاه الصغيرة تحتضنها وتقبلها.


لم تتقبل عائشة جدتها التي كانت تراها للمرة الأولى، واختبأت باكية خلف الرجل الذي اصطحبها فيما تصرخ بصوت حاد 'ماما'. وبدأت تسحب يد مرافقها للخلف فيما تتركز عيناها الدامعتان على البوابة التي أغلقت خلفها فحجبت عنها والدتها المنتحبة على فراق صغيرتها

عائشة تشعر بالغربة حتى بالنسبة لجدتها
وبخطوات مترددة، خطت الصغيرة أولى خطواتها خارج العالم الوحيد الذي عرفته تحتضن بين ذراعيها دمية من قماش وما اتسعت له ذاكرتها الغضة من سنواتها الثلاث التي قضتها في السجن


عائشة جاوزت سنتها الثالثة بشهرين، ويقول المحامي: 'كان يجب أن تغادر قبل اليوم بستة أشهر على الأقل، وحسب قانون مصلحة السجون، لا يجوز للأطفال فوق سن الثانية مرافقة الوالدة المعتقلة


ومثل عائشة، ولد خمسة أطفال داخل المعتقلات الإسرائيلية لأمهات سجينات، وفق إحصائيات 'مؤسسة الضمير' التي ترعى شؤون الأسرى الفلسطينيين في المعتقلات الإسرائيلية، خرج ثلاثة منهم مباشرة بعد الولادة لأسباب صحية تتعلق بظروف الولادة الصعبة، فيما توفي طفل واحد خلال عملية الولادة، وكانت عائشة الخامسة التي أصرت والدتها على إرضاعها


عودة الى البيت


بسرعة، انشغلت عائشة بهاتفي الخلوي الذي لفت انتباهها برنينه المستمر، وهكذا أفلتت يد المحامي لترافقني وجدتها إلى المنزل


التأقلم مع المحيط دون خارج السجن ليس سهلا

هناك، انطلقت الصغيرة مستكشفة كل زاوية من زوايا المكان، فيما جلست أحادث الجدة بعد أن فشلت كل محاولاتي مع الصغيرة أحثها على الكلام، كان قلق الجدة يتمحور حول قدرتها على العناية بحفيدتها 'لو أنهم تركوا أحد أبويها طليقا على الأقل، أنا لن أقوى على ملاحقتها في كل مكان، فمرض السكري أتلف قدمي


اشتكت الجدة فيما تتنقل نظراتها مع قفزات الصغيرة التي بدت وكأنها تكتشف عالمها الجديد باحثة لنفسها عن مكان فيه


غابت عائشة بإحدى غرف المنزل لتعود راكضة وقد حملت بين يديها صورة والديها يوم زفافهما، وبما أنها لم تعرف والدها إلا من خلف القضبان ولخمس وأربعين دقيقة فقط هي مدة الزيارة الواحدة، لكنها بالطبع ميزت والدتها ...'من هذه؟' سألتها محاولة جرها للحديث

عائشة مع مراسلة بي بي سي



نظرت إلي الصغيرة وكأنها تعاتبني على جهلي 'ماما...وين ماما؟..أروح ماما؟' تمتمت الصغيرة بمفرداتها الخاصة بها فيما تسمرت عيناها على الإطار الذي تحمله فتتحسس الصورة تارة وتقبلها تارة أخرى. 'وين ماما راحت


كنت أستعد للمغادرة عندما استوقفتني الصغيرة وهي تشد حقيبتي وتتمتم بكلمات لم أفهمها، انحنيت مقتربة من عائشة أحاول فهم ما تقول، بدت وكأنها تستجمع ما في قاموسها الصغير من كلمات علها تحصل على ما تريد ثم نطقت 'أروح معك؟... أجيب ماما؟


وقفت عائشة بتحد تبوح بشوقها لحضن أمها وإن احتجزته القضبان. فسنواتها الثلاث كن بالنسبة لها عمراً كافياً لتدرك الكثير...
]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 21:50:58 GMT <![CDATA[International Committee of the Red Cross]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=324

Palestinians queuing at Huwara checkpoint, one of the two entry passages along the main road connecting Nablus to the rest of the West Bank. Private vehicles are not allowed through this check point, unless the owner holds a special permit.

December 13, 2007

Throughout the occupied Palestinian territories, in the Gaza Strip as well as the West Bank, Palestinians continuously face hardship in simply going about their lives; they are prevented from doing what makes up the daily fabric of most people's existence. An ICRC report.

Occupied

"To be a Palestinian means to face limits in every aspect of life. We are blocked everywhere: we lose our jobs, we cannot travel freely, we are separated from our families. To be a Palestinian means to be deprived of many things that to others are normal."
Mohammed, a Jerusalemite


Trapped in the Gaza Strip

"Even after the disengagement, they did not leave us alone, they return every now and then, levelling our land, uprooting our trees and destroying our houses. In addition, you only know that you are inside the buffer zone when they shoot at you."
Saleh, farmer, Gaza


Enough to survive, not enough to live

"It is difficult to find certain types of medication, such as antibiotics. We have already run out of cereals, and these days milk powder for babies is very hard to find. When you do find it, it is unaffordable for most, as its price has increased dramatically."
Dr Salah, pharmacist, Gaza


Shrinking agricultural production

"First, they took land for the road, then more land for the security zone along the road, and then they destroyed my house because it was too close to the security zone. Now they have levelled the land again. I have nothing left."
Abdul, Gaza


Crumbling infrastructure

"We don't know how this will end. Hospitals are fighting to get enough fuel. If they run out, hospital laundries will be rationed first. Then, medical equipment will be affected. And that would only be the beginning of a terrible end."
Abu Hassan, Gaza


Access to land

"I used to work at Nablus market. But in 2002, because of the city closure, I had to relocate my shop to Beita market, 12 km from my house. Because of the checkpoint, it would take me two hours to reach my shop. So I had to move to Beita, and I only visit my family on Wednesdays, when the market is closed. I miss my children".
Murad, Nablus district


Access to roads

"We were woken up by the light of the flames. We ran out and saw that our olive trees were burning. The fire brigade could not reach the fields because the gate was closed. Our fields are behind the West Bank Barrier and we cannot access them every day, so we could not clean the land properly. That evening, we could do nothing but watch our trees burn, because the gate was closed"
Farmers from Beitunia, Ramallah distri


Harassment by settlers

"I had to build a high fence around my house to protect my children. Before, my children were stoned by settlers when they were playing outside. They stone us for the simple reason that we continue to live on our land and do not want to leave."
Anwar, Hebron]]> Fri, 14 Dec 2007 09:22:03 GMT <![CDATA[The Butterfly of Palestine]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=323 The Butterfly of Palestine Friday, May 17 2002 @ 01:24 AM GMT
By Marilyn Robinson for Palestine Chronicle

The sounds of the buzzing saws, nails being hammered, orders being shouted by the construction crew bosses, heavy equipment moving debris remaining from the Israeli invasion, such as telephone poles in splintered pieces, along with rocks, boulders and chunks of stone from foundations of homes damaged by tanks used by the Israelies;

and, in the main shopping and office district in the city of Ramallah, the sounds of the outdoor marketplace where cabbages the size of small children; peaches, their perfume tempting you to buy and take a juicy bite; watermelons, tasting like honey was used to sweeten them; newly roasted pistachios, cashews, peanuts and other nuts, filling the air with irrestistable aromas; people greeting each other, happy to see a friend or relative, a kiss on both cheeks, a warm handshake, brief words exchanged and each is off to work or pleasure; children playing outdoors, their voices filling the air with happy, joyful sounds once more, but for how long, no one knows; I will miss hearing the sounds coming five times a day from the mosques, calling for prayer to Allah; these are the sounds I heard today in Ramallah and Jerusalem. Now, finally in the home of Bahia and Mahmoud in Ramallah, I feel strangely safe even though not too far away, the Israeli presence is stationed as an intimidation procedure. While at the Kalendia checkpoint, the play is acted over and over, seemingly the same dialogue, just different voices each day from the Israeli soldiers there.

I recall the day before as I was returning from Jerusalem to Ramallah. I, like all Palestinians, had to cross the Kalendia checkpoint, one of many checkpoints in the city of Ramallah and the surrounding villages therein. I had traveled up to it with Bahia from her office in Jerusalem by taxi. No cars, no trucks, no taxis, no vehicles of any kind except for Israeli military vehicles, can get through to the other side. You must depart whatever vehicle you arrived in on one side, cross by foot with approval by an Israeli soldier through the checkpoint, then, use another taxi/service on the other side to continue on to Ramallah. Bahia and I were in line, me with my two backpacks awaiting the signal from the soldier to take one step at a time moving up to the front of the line to proceed for approval through the checkpoint. All of a sudden the crowd grew a bit pushy and some shoving ensued. One of the Israeli soldiers starting yelling commands in Hebrew. The crowd understood his words to mean move back. This soldier had decided we were not where he wanted us to be even though the mark at the head of the line hadn't changed perhaps all day. We all moved back, all the while being pushed by the soldier using his gun and his body to direct us. We waited two at a time in line. Completely at the whim of the soldier in charge, we were chosen to move ahead to the next soldier who would check and re-check your papers and or passport. Approval given, you were then able to move on to awaiting taxis or services to take you to Ramallah. The play took a strange direction this time for me. Usually, I would be easily waved on after a quick check of my passport. But today was different.

Where usually it would be Bahia, a Palestinian woman whom they would choose to make wait a little longer for approval, it was my turn to wait. My passport was in full view as I proceeded in the line to the front, one step at a time. Bahia advanced quickly, looking back to check on me, finding me becoming engulfed in the crowd, as people stepped ahead of me and my load. The soldier kept shouting, "Get back! Get back!" in Hebrew. I watched as Bahia was okayed and stood waiting for me on the other side. Even though it became very apparent it was my turn, even as I showed him my passport, opening it up for him to see, he continued to ignore me, picking women behind me and men next to me to go ahead through. I waited for what seemed many minutes, getting a taste in my mind what it must feel like day in, day out to be ignored, shouted at, singled out of line for inspection, laughed at, humiliated and disrespected that way, not really being able to show displeasure or anger, as this surely would mean further delay. I looked at each soldier, wondering, the same questions coming into my mind. Where is their conscience? How do they sleep? Where is their real joy in life?

I just wanted to move on. Bahia stood watching, waiting. Finally, an older soldier positioned in the camoflauged area, his gun pointed at me, beckoned me to come. Approval was given to advance to him. With outreached hand, I showed him my passport. He took it from me, examining each page. Finally saying "Ok", he handed my passport back to me. I was approved. I could go on. As I walked with Bahia, in my mind I wished them all a sleepless night. It was with relief to arrive at Bahia's home where we felt at peace and happy for a while.

The next morning, while standing at the top of the stairs on the second level looking out the windows lining the area, I enjoyed the idea of a new day. I noticed, there on one of the window sills was a small, gold colored butterfly. It seemed to be struggling to fly out, thinking the glass was non-existent, hitting it with every attempt to be free. I hurried to get my camera to capture its beauty on film for a memory. After a few shots, I laid the camera down and reached carefully out to pick it up, remembering from childhood times to only touch it on the very tip of the outside part of the wing, hoping not to erase in the palm of my hand. It opened its wings, setting there awhile before it slowly moved up my arm. I was transfixed to that spot on the stairs, as if I was viewing a miracle in progress. It didn't fly away, but seemed to enjoy moving on my arm. It stopped for a rest, then, returned to the palm of my hand once again. Taking initiative, I decided to place him outdoors giving it freedom at last. I called to Saleh, Bahia's 5 year old daughter to come with me. We stood together just outside the front doorway. I gently placed the butterfly on Saleh's palm. She held it for a while, giggling at the feeling the butterfly gave as it walked on her hand. I took it from her and placed it on a leaf of a nearby tree. I realized I had held the power of the butterfly's life in my hand. I could have hurt it, ignored it while it struggled on the sill, or killed it but, chose not to do so. In fact, really, those choices never came into my mind. Its freedom was my only choice, my only thought, and getting it to freedom, my responsibility. After all the bustle, city sounds, tasks accomplished, moments of upset in my day, I was treated to a simple moment...the power and miracle of freedom.

There are many beautiful butterflies here in Palestine. Yet, these beautiful, Palestinian butterflies are encased in the claustrophobic fear of this Israeli occupation, continuously hitting the glass believing somehow they will be free. They need our help toward freedom. The beautiful butterflies I speak of, are not the small, gold variety but, each and every Palestinian here under this illegal occupation by Israel and the Israeli military.

Will you help these butterflies to be free? Will you lend your outreached hand? They are waiting at the window.

Marilyn Robinson is one of three members of the Colorado Campaign for Middle East Peace who have joined internationals in solidarity with Palestinians nonviolently resisting Israel's illegal military occupation. More on their trip at www.ccmep.org/palestine.html ]]> Wed, 12 Dec 2007 18:31:42 GMT <![CDATA[Angry Settlers]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=322 From: "CPT Hebron" <cptheb@palnet.com
Sent: Thursday, May 23, 2002 4:38 AM
Subject: HEBRON: Angry Settlers

Angry Settlers
By Bob Holmes
Christian Peacemaker Teams, Hebron
22 May 2002

Today CPT received a call from the Palestinian Land Defense Committee - could the team send someone to photograph a destroyed Palestinian vegetable garden, vineyard and orchard belonging to Mohammed (not his real name). It had been bulldozed by the Israeli settlers four days earlier. His land lies next to the Israeli settlement of Karme Tzur near Halhul just north of Hebron.

CPTers Kathy Kamphoefner (Beijing) and Bob Holmes (Toronto) met Mohammed, who from behind some trees, pointed out his three dunams (3/4 acre). Three years ago the Israeli military had ordered him not to go there. The CPTers, approaching on the settler road, were challenged by Israeli security personnel on the far side of a fence next to Mohammed's land. Kamphoefner and Holmes proceeded to take photos and walked away. A white car came after them and three armed and angry Israeli settler guards stepped out.

Yelling, they grabbed Holmes and shoving him roughly towards the vehicle said he was under arrest. Holmes told them they had no authority to make arrests and asked that they call the Israeli police. Kamphoefner was on the cellphone to the CPT office, where Greg Rollins could clearly hear the yelling settlers. Then four Israeli soldiers arrived in a jeep. One soldier pushed Holmes against the car and demanded his ID. Refusing, he asked again that the police be called. The still angry settler guards then demanded the film. When it was not handed over, they forcibly took both cameras, wrestling Kamphoefner's from her backpack. A soldier ripped out the film and exposed it. Holmes' digital card was removed and confiscated.

With cameras back in hand, the CPTers walked away, somewhat surprised at not being stopped. Fortunately, the card removed from the digital camera was blank. The one with the photos documenting this latest destruction of Palestinian farmland was safely in a CPT pocket.

]]> Wed, 12 Dec 2007 18:30:06 GMT <![CDATA[Nowhere to escape]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=321 Nowhere to escape

At Six PM, a last team meeting ahead of the night. The small commune is conducted
by strict rules. Every morning at 8.30 they meet at the appartment after having
spent the night at threatened Palestinians homes. They discuss the experiences of
the past night, hear from Palestinian friends on developments on the ground, and
divide tasks for the coming day. They stand as human shields at electricity
installations and water wells, collect testimonies, and take footage on small
video cameras. They face the hostile lumps of steel with their megaphones and try
to establish dialogue with the soldiers inside.

These seven people are taking up an enormous load in this chaos. But who is to
take care of these young people themselves, who sleep two hours per night and had
not yet time to come to terms with having intimately witnessed Rachel's death?
They spare themselves nothing. They had insisted on wiping the blood from Rachel's
face, touching her broken back, taking the body to the morgue with their own
hands, wrap it with shrouds, and accomapny it in the ambulance to Tel-Aiv, sharply
debating with the soldiers who stopped them for hot hours at the checkpoint
despite the fumes which started to arise from the body.

The mother role is played by Carol Moskovitz, who joined the group with her
husband Gordon a week ago. Carol is 61 and Gordon seems a bit younger. They are
artists, they live in Canada, and have been travelling the world for the past
three months. When they heard of what happened to Rachel they decided to cut their
trip short and come to offer their help. Since Sunday, they act like parents to
the younger members of the group: preparing tea, asking questions, trying to
address the shock and disbelief which Rachel left behind.

Carol and Gordon have three daughters in Canada. An hour ago Carol got a phone
call from her eldest, 30 years old, with warm greetings for Mother's Day. Carol
and Gordon conceal from their daughters the fact that they are in Rafah Camp. They
don't want to make their children and grandchildren worry.

It was at 7.30 that I went with Laura and Joe to stay the night in the house of
Muhammad Jamil Kushta, the first house fronting the IDF position on the Egyptian
border, an ill-fated house. There, in Jamil's house under the ceaseless shooting,
guns, missilies, rockets and only the devil knows what else, for four consecutive
hours, truly feeling that these might be my last moments, I gambled and revealed
my identtity as an Israeli from Tel_Aviv. Then I said that my own sons might be
among the soldiers shooting at us, not knowing that I was there in the house they
were shooting at, or it might be one of my sons' friends who had visited my home.
And that was the moment we started to look at each other and laugh. Three babies,
two Americans, a Palestinian couple and an Israeli woman all sitting around a big
bowl of salad, with bullets whistling through the air, we started to laugh. A
laughter of despair, of apprehension, of relief at the human closeness which we
suddenly found. I knew that with some luck I would get through the night and run
for my life, but Jamil and Nora had no escape, that they were doomed to raise
their three babies under live fire. And then Laura opened her mouth to reveal that
she was Jewish too, and rather an observant Jewess too. And it turned out that the
fiery Alice, the group's "Jeanne d'Arc", the Israel-hater, was Jewish too. "And
the soldiers" said Jamil "they too are just 20-year old children who have to stand
out there, alone in the dark, shaking, within the cold steel".

We all agreed: life is short and human beings are silly creatures.

International Solidarity Movement http://www.palsolidarity.org/
]]> Wed, 12 Dec 2007 18:26:06 GMT <![CDATA[A faceless enemy]]> http://blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-LIDrzdQheqrnV9XaTtq3Mbx7boj7s8j7?p=320 A faceless enemy

In the bereaved families' houses, where I sat with the others on the floor, drank
bitter coffee and ate dates, I hardly ever heard the word "Israelis". Even the
word "soldiers" was only rarely used. What the Palestinians usually say is simply
"they". This is not by chance. During the 30 hours that I lived there I never saw
a flesh-and-blood Israeli soldier. From the Palestinian point of view the enemy
has no face, no body, no human form. The enemy is hidden behind giant D-9
bulldozers, monsters as big as a house themselves, at whose top there are squares
of opaque reinforced glass. The enemy is hidden behind bunkers, guard towers,
metal tanks. The enemy has no face, no expressions which could be interpreted. The
enemy is hidden behind tons of khaki-coloured steel. Massive steel, frightening,
belching fire without warning. For the man in the street the enemy is virtual,
sophisticated, unhuman, inaccesible.

And facing this enemy are the Palestinians I see waliking in the dirty streets.
Many with torn cloths, some barefooted, neglected, manifestly poor. You can see
the traces of sorrow, apprehension., suffering, inadequate food. At 45 they look
old. They walk from one side of the city to the other, seeking some kind of a job.
Man walk in groups, hither and fro. They have no jobs and nowhere to go. They live
squeezed - men, women and children - in narrow houses and small pieces of land.
On the way back from the condolences visit, we encounter a massive group of
marching men. At the front a car with enormous loudpeakers, blaring music and ten
masked young men holding swords and calling out slogans against the Iraq War. "A
demonstration, a demonstration" the internationals call out, stopping the taxi and
joining right in among the fiery men. Willy-nilly, the French journalist also
walks with the march, keeping constant eye-contact with the three women of the
group - Laura, Alice and Carol. There are no Palestinian women to be seen.
It is one of these demonstrations which look very frightening on TV. Guys with
black rags covering their eyes, blaring loudspeakers, swords and knives between
teeth. The direct human contact, at close range, diminishes the drama. I look at
the fiery men and toy with imagining how they would have reacted if they knew that
there is an Israeli identity card right there in my pocket. In their sweating
faces I can see how young and desperate they are, looking for action. Alice, Laura
and Carol join the heated chanting of slogans against the Americans and Israelis,
taking out a large colour poster, with the face of Rachel in her role as a martyr.
Alice, a 26-year old Londoner, takes up the megaphone and delivers a fiery speech
on what Rachel had done for the Palestinians and how she was killed. Alice speaks
in English and the Palestinian men listen in admiration. I feel that Alice is the
stongest woman in the group. She is young, charismatic and determined. I had to
watch my chance for ten hours before she consented to peel off her tough exterior,
soften a bit her Jeanne d'Arc image and exchange some words with me.
Alice, who prefers not to mention her family name, grew up in London. After
highschool she studied computer programming, had a nice job and rented a good
appartment."I lived a bourgois life and I found that it leads nowhere. Going to an
expensive restaurant with a new boyfriend, and on the way passing homeless people
sleeping on the pavement. I started to be interested in how the strong exploit the
weak, and for a time I went to work in a factory. Afterwards I became more and
more political. I started to give an account to myself for everything I did, what
did I eat, what entertainment did I enjoy, what does it mean to live in a
capitalist society. I went to demonstrate in Prague and got arrested. I put my
courage to the test, until I finally trained myself to come here. Here it is the
most difficult. What is most interesting to me is to analyse the tactics of force
used by the strong against the weak. Only here, when I help the Palestinians to
face the Israelis, do I feel that my life has a meaning.

We walked for 20 minutes with the stormy march, then we moved aside and started
shopping for the evening: preserved meat, noodles, rice, sugar, cookies and tea.
The group is financed by contributions and lives as a commune. Every spent Shekel
is carefully noted down
]]> Wed, 12 Dec 2007 18:25:16 GMT