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Palestinian
Family Recalls Close Call In Rafah
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Hassan,
with two of his children, at the school corridor
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By
Mustafa el-Sawwaf, IOL Correspondent
RAFAH,
Gaza Strip, May 25 (IslamOnline.net) – "Such horrible 21 hours.
Death was there, dancing crazily around me and my family. Bullets and
tank shells were deafening, along with the non-stop screams of my wife
and children. I thought that would be it," a Palestinian citizen
from Rafah recalled a very close call during Israel's onslaught on the
southern Gaza town and refugee camp.
Ziyad
Hassan, 42, recounted to IslamOnline.net the critical 21-hour
experience during which he had to watch his family members as close as
any human may be to death.
"I
was with my family in our home at Brazil refugee camp in Rafah. On the
small hours of Thursday, May 20, the Israeli military bulldozers,
without warning, started demolishing the home over our heads,"
Hassan started the chapters of his story.
"Needless
to say we were terrified. My children started screaming. I did not
know what to do. The deafening sound of Israeli bullets and shells was
everywhere. Parts of the home had already started to fall.
"I
carried my two-year old daughter Ayah on one hand and a white piece of
clothe on the other and cautiously opened the home's front door. An
Israeli tank was stationed just outside the door. Israeli occupation
soldiers waved to me to go out quickly."
The
Palestinian family man then took a deep sigh as his eyes looked wet.
"I
felt relieved. I was thinking 'We can always reconstruct the house as
long as we are still breathing'. Only steps away from our home, heavy
bullets roared everywhere around us and the Israelis shouted at us to
get back into the house."
At
this point, tears overcame Hassan, forcing him to stop talking.
His
wife Sanaa, 40, picked up where he stopped. "We tried to return
to the house slowly while under heavy fire. At the doorstep, Israeli
soldiers were actually shooting at our direction."
"I
felt a line of fire going through my leg. My children were screaming.
They also took bullets in different parts of their fragile
bodies," she added in tears.
While
recalling their ordeal, Hassan family looked so pale, their faces were
closer to death than life.
"We
all ducked down. We were in such a miserable condition. We started
crawling towards the house. My husband here helped us back into the
house. He carried our three wounded children; Nazima, 17, Tarik, 15,
and Walid, 9. They all took gunfire to the limps while Tarik was hurt
in the foot and shoulder.
"Laughing
Israeli soldiers were watching while the children screamed as we
crawled back into the house. Then, death looked only inches away from
us," she remembered.
A
Driver-Turned-Physician
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"I
can't take it, I just want to go home," Walid
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Once
back into the house, Hassan, a driver, found himself forced to play
physician in a desperate attempt to save his wife and children.
"I
called the medics through my mobile phone. They said they had reached
a deal with the Israelis and that they were on their way to the area.
"An
ambulance arrived near our house. But an Israeli bulldozer piled dust
over it. It was buried before my own eyes, almost driving me out of my
mind," he bitterly recalled.
"Time
was running. I was losing my bleeding family members. I called al-Naggar
hospital in Gaza again. A physician there started giving me
instructions, over the phone, on how to make basic bandages to stop
the bleeding.
"It
took so long. I was shaking while making those bandages and applying
them to the bleeding parts on my children' bodies. I could not stop
thinking, 'will that work? For how long can such bandages stop the
bleeding?'"
Hassan
then gathered his family members in one room, recited verses from the
Glorious Qur'an and waited, for death.
"Shells
were falling everywhere, explosions outside were so close. The sound
of military bulldozers pulling down every standing building on their
way. It was so scary, especially when darkness crawled.
"The
seven of us were jam-packed in one room all night through. No one
could sleep for a second," Hassan added.
"Early
Friday, tanks retreated a little bit. I quickly carried my children,
helped the wounded to stand up and we all went out of the house
running. We did not look behind. We found an ambulance that took us to
a nearby hospital.
"After
treating the wounds of my family members, the hospital management told
us we had to evacuate as it was already overloaded with more critical
conditions."
Death
was apparently defeated this time.
Then
What?
Had
that been one of those movies we watch, the scene of Hassan and his
family leaving the hospital, smiling and hugging each other with a
look filled with hope in a better future could have grabbed the
applaud of audience with the word "END" on the screen.
But
this is real life in occupied Palestine. There was no home to return
to, no apparent hope of any future, let alone a better one.
"We
went to Rafah male refugees school. It comprises 14 classrooms. We
live there along with some 250 families or about 1500 persons in
deplorable conditions," Hassan told IOL.
He
and his family are still there, in one of the school corridors. Three
schools in Rafah have been turned into shelters for more than 2,000
Palestinians after the Israeli occupation forces destroyed their
homes.
A
week-long Israeli incursion into Rafah has left up to 57
people dead and displaced more than 1,650 residents, according
to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees
(UNRWA).
Israeli
Justice Minister Tommy Lapid condemned the offensive as "not
humane", making Israel "looks like monsters to the
rest of the world".
Nightmares
Inside
the school, Hassan pointed at a child sitting alone and leaning to one
of the walls, saying.
"This
is my son Walid. He is nine. Since our near death experience, he has
been like that. In the few hours that he falls asleep, he wakes up
screaming and babbling with unclear utterances about 'Jews.. Tanks..
Rockets.. Blood'."
Walid,
limping with a white bandage covering his leg, spoke to IOL in a very
weak tone.
"I
sit here alone thinking about the catastrophes we have to go through
and what we can do to avenge the killers. I do not like to mingle with
people anyway. There are so many people here (in the school).
"I
can't take it, I just want to go home. But I can't. There are tanks
and bulldozers. We do not even know whether our house is completely or
partially destroyed.
"How
come we live here?! This school is too small. It is too crowded.
Entire families are crammed in one room. Why is this happening to us?!
What is our fault to be wiped out by them (the Israeli army)?"
Walid asked with tears in his eyes.
His
father is originally a refugee whose family used to live at Yabna
Village, inside what is now Israel.
"This
is not the first time we have been exposed to being homeless. Israeli
occupation forces have already destroyed two homes for me recently.
One at 'Block O' in Rafah refugee camp two years ago. The second was
destroyed in October 2003 in al-Salam (peace in Arabic) neighborhood.
Its name is now meaningless after being a field for Zionist wars and
destruction," Hassan said.
"My
family and I had to face this situation for the third time during al-Aqsa
Intifada and in the 56th anniversary of our Nakba."
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