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Lost homeland
When Israel's army knocks
By Zuhair Sabbagh
.Zuhair Sabbagh teaches
sociology at the Bir Zeit
University
Published May 5, 2002
After a few days of
hesitation, I decided to write
about the experience I went
through, along with my
family, when Israeli troops
came to our Ramallah
apartment in March. My
reluctance stemmed from
the comparison I made with
the atrocities that had taken
place in Jenin, Nablus and
Bethlehem. I realized that
my experience was not
unique but part of a
phenomenon.
My life in Ramallah was hectic even before
the recent Israeli invasion. I used the shuttle
mini-buses each day to commute to my work
at Bir Zeit University. In the middle of the
journey, I had to walk a distance of 2
kilometers through an Israeli military
checkpoint. At the checkpoint, I would pass
an Israeli tank and soldiers. Sometimes, I
would see my students being held for hours at
the checkpoint. I felt powerless and
humiliated.
At night, I could not concentrate on my work
or sleep well. The sound of fighting between
armed Palestinians and Israeli tanks
interrupted Ramallah's usually quiet nights.
Then the clashes stopped, and
bombardments by Israeli tanks became a
nightly event. At the university, I would listen
to the stories of colleagues and students about
what had taken place the night before.
Occasionally, Apache gunships or F-16
bombers would raid targets in Ramallah. The
sounds of the explosions of rockets and 1-ton
bombs were much more terrifying than the
sounds of tank bombardments. I felt terrified
and more humiliated, but I did not know that
the worst was yet to come.
On March 29, the squeaking of Israeli tanks
passing through the narrow streets of our
neighborhood awakened me. A few minutes
later, all hell broke loose. The sounds of
heavy machine-gun fire and bombardments
kept my family awake throughout the night
and the next day. Then a tight military curfew
was imposed on Ramallah.
Although the clashes stopped after a few
days, the sounds of gunfire, bombardment
and explosions went on in Ramallah for 24
days and nights. My daily routine would start
with the sounds of shooting and moving
tanks and troop carriers. Then we would
listen to all the news bulletins on different
radio stations and watch TV news and
reports. I spent considerable time on the
telephone, exchanging information with
friends, neighbors, colleagues and relatives.
On the next day, a gigantic military bulldozer
dug a deep tunnel across the road that
connects Ramallah with Betunia, another
West Bank town. I watched from my window
as Israeli tanks chased and stopped
Palestinian ambulances and television
reporters. I could see clearly that some
ambulances had bullet holes in their
windshields and metal bodies. A few days
later, a tank knocked down part of our
neighbor's house.
Curfew lifted
The curfew was lifted four times for a few
hours. My wife, 10-year-old daughter and I
drove our car through parts of Ramallah.
Many streets in Ramallah were filled with
parked Israeli tanks and troop carriers, while
others were filled with barbed wire that
delineated the shrinkage of Palestinian space.
On every street and corner, Israeli tanks left
their mark.
Electricity, telephone and traffic pylons were
knocked down and crushed. Debris, rubble,
trees and crushed cars were everywhere.
Israeli bulldozers dug out and cut water pipes.
Ramallah was simply devastated.
We tried to buy some food, but food stores
were almost empty. We could not find bread
or milk. So we went to the vegetable market,
to find that only a few old vegetables were on
sale. While shopping, I learned that many
stores, supermarkets, cultural centers,
educational institutes, television and radio
stations, and banks were ransacked and
vandalized by Israeli troops. This brute
violence was directed at the economy and
culture of indigenous Palestinians.
What I saw was a different Ramallah. What
had happened was detestable and depressing.
The Israeli army managed, in a few days, to
turn a beautiful city into a disaster area.
The encounter
On April 6, three tanks and two troop carriers
encircled our apartment building.
Their cannons were pointed at our
apartments. The scene was frightening and
revolting. I, my wife, Maha, and 10-year-old
daughter, Orjuwana, got dressed at once and
prepared ourselves for an uninvited visit from
the Israeli army. Two neighbors came and
stayed with us.
As tension and fear began to rise, Orjuwana
rushed to her room and brought with her the
three dearest dolls and a teddy bear. A
moment later, she went back to her room and
brought with her a children's book in Hebrew.
She displayed the book between the teddy
bear and the two dolls. When I asked her why
she had brought the Hebrew book, she
innocently said: "I don't want the soldiers to
take away my dolls and teddy bear. When the
soldiers enter our apartment, they will see the
book and will not take my dolls and teddy
bear."
Maha and I placed our two identity cards in a
handy spot and opened our door a little.
Moments later, other neighbors informed us
by telephone that soldiers went inside the first
section of the building. Two out of 10
apartments were occupied by their Palestinian
owners, while eight were not.
After searching the two apartments, the
soldiers dynamited the multi-lock doors of the
other eight. The sound of the multiple
explosions was deafening and terrifying.
Orjuwana began to cry in fear. Every few
minutes, we would be shocked by another
explosion.
Finally, six soldiers entered our apartment.
The officer asked for our identity cards and
took mine to conduct a security check. While
pointing their M-16s at my back, the officer
and a soldier ordered me to walk in front of
them and show them our apartment.
While we were in our bedroom, the officer
asked, "Do you have any weapons?" I said,
"No, I don't." Then, while I was showing
them our library, the officer asked me, "Do
you have any inciting material?" I said, "I do
not work in incitement. I am a lecturer of
sociology." "Where do you teach sociology?"
he asked. "At Bir Zeit University." Then, the
soldier remarked, "Oh, this is the university
of the shaheedim," meaning the terrorists.
I decided not to respond.
Explosions and flying windows
After this search, the officer ordered us to
remain seated. Maha then asked them if we
could leave the apartment while they
dynamited the neighbors' doors, but they
flatly refused. Apparently, they wanted us to
hear the explosions.
When the soldiers left our third section to go
to the last, we felt some relief for a short
while. We quickly counted the unoccupied
apartments in the fourth section. We both
told our daughter: "Orjuwana, only five more,
and that's it."
I decided to look out the window, and
immediately an explosion took place. I heard
the shattering of the window glass and saw
two aluminum windows flying down. One
landed in the neighbors' garden, and the other
fell in our small garden.
We all felt humiliated and powerless. All we
could do was put our fingers in our ears. But
it was useless because the explosions were
extremely strong and shook the entire
building. Out of 40 apartments, the soldiers
dynamited 23 doors.
The soldiers left us after six tormenting
hours.
Moments later, the terrified neighbors began
to come, and all of us went to see the
destruction left by the soldiers. After talking
to the neighbors, I realized that some of them
went through a worse experience.
An old man who suffers from prostate
problems and his terrified grandchildren were
prevented for two hours from going to the
bathroom. The soldiers arrested two of the
neighbors. The father and son of the
neighbors opposite our apartment building
were severely slapped by the soldiers for
insisting that the map on the wall was that of
Palestine and not of Israel.
I could not, that night, go to sleep early
because I kept hearing the sounds of
explosions all over the neighborhood.
Nightmares awakened my daughter twice. On
the same night, the soldiers were determined
to search other houses and dynamite the
doors of empty ones. A colleague at the
university told me that in his neighborhood,
the soldiers refused to use the keys and said
they prefer to dynamite the doors.
Days and nights later, we still hear similar
explosions.
The soldiers' surprise visit to my apartment
made me ponder my life in Ramallah.
Israel's war has simply devastated the city and
shattered our lives. We can neither sleep well
nor function as human beings. The social
fabric of our life has been traumatized. The
brutalities of this war have disrupted the flow
of normal life for thousands of Palestinian
families.
I realize now that for 1 1/2 years I have been
held captive inside besieged Ramallah. In the
past 24 days, I have become a captive inside
my own apartment.
The space has shrunk, and the humiliation
has become deeper.
Copyright © 2002, Chicago Tribune
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