When it’s too easy to relive the past

Nothing can last like a written word. These words you’re about to read are one year old. And yet every time I read them I relive them again. I wrote this article as a reflection of the most horrific night that my family and I witnessed during the last Israeli war against Gaza in May 2021. 

Gaza on the Night of a Full Moon

Right before I held my pen, other airstrikes were heard coming from every direction. I should say that our navigation senses are not trusted anymore! It started suddenly at nearly 1:45 am.

The moon was full. Yet we did not sit and chat under its light. For we live in an occupied country. Israel has been occupying our land for 73 long, devastating years. Although Gaza is to be considered the only free part of Palestine that does not have any Israeli soldiers on its land, we are not free at all. We are besieged from everywhere.

 The borders were closed and it would require a miracle to leave Gaza. The sea was sowed with Israeli warships and a few miles of sea water was left for us to catch some fish. Even the sky was expropriated by Israel’s drones in “Truce Time” and warplanes in war times.

We were all sleeping; my parents, my grandmother, my sister-in-law, my brothers, my sisters, and me. Eleven people live under an asbestos ceiling and were divided into 4 rooms. I was sharing my room with my grandmother, 79, and my 6-month pregnant sister-in-law.

I woke up to a very large series of bombs. I could see through the darkness that filled my room, that my sweet grandma was sitting in her bed and she was frightened. I knew this from the tone of her voice when she said,” Oh, Doaa! They are above us!”. She didn’t ask as always, “Where was that?”.

When we hear any kind of explosion, we wouldn’t ask,” What was that?” for we already know the answer. The appropriate question always was and will be as long as this world keeps turning away from Palestine and what’s going on here, “Where was that?”, and everyone starts to take the best guess to locate where that bomb landed or airstrike hit. 

That night, I couldn’t assure my grandma like we do all the time “Oh don’t worry grandma, it’s far away. It’s just the sound that echoes.” I thought all the explosion sounds were in our front garden. I literally thought we were going to die. I couldn’t assure myself, so how could I assure that scared old woman?

My heart with every strike was about to burst out from my chest, my ears, how can I write in words what I felt that night?! I normally cannot stand loud voices, so with all those thunderous explosions around me, I felt I was about to cry. My nerves were loose. I could not feel my knees or my arms!

 I sat there listening to my granny who was weeping in fear of the sequenced bombardment, she cried mumbling, “Oh mother! Oh my mother!”. My 79-year old, white haired grandma, was calling out for her dead mother who had been lying in her grave for 45 years! I felt her standing and leaving the room, followed by my sister-in-law, and I could hear the voices of my family right outside. I kept still in my bed asking God to help us, and the thought of dying never left my mind.

I began to wonder how my youngest brother and sister feel right now? They must be scared! They are only 17 and 16 years old! Kids their ages worry about what to wear for a party and how to get away from punishment.

The sounds of explosions never stopped nor became lower! Driven by a protective feeling toward my family, I stood up, I do not know-how. I walked out of my room. The bombing sounds were still could be heard and the power was off.

My sister-in-law was sitting next to her husband. Not far away from them were my grandma and my youngest brother, which surprised me seeing him, were sharing a blanket and sitting under it. My father was sitting by the wall praying in a quiet voice. My sisters were awake in their beds. I went to check on my youngest sister. My mother told me she was sleeping, still, I called her name gently, I do not know why, and as I had expected she did not answer me back. I was pretty sure and still, that she was aware of everything.

I kept moving into the living room and I kept whispering Dua*. I did not stop reminding myself that by remembering God, hearts are comforted. And it worked! The bombing sounds could still be heard. The house was shaking, and the ceiling was raining dirt and pieces of ground stone. At that point, I remembered the war in 2014, and the promise I had made to myself, not to bring children into such a cruel life. I did not want my kids to experience such feelings.

But like all other girls, I dreamed of having kids of my own and I allowed myself to name them! That night’s fire was aimed toward our dreams as well as our bodies. I found myself thinking of my friends who have kids and how frightened they would be, how helpless they would feel unable to protect their kids!

I hated the feeling of waiting for every rocket to be the one which is going to kill us. Finally, we were told to go to bed and submit to Allah, which is something I like. At least I could die in my bed sleeping without feeling the attack. Do you know that we reassure ourselves all the time, that the missile which is going to kill us, we will not feel it coming?

That full moon night, the Israeli warplanes launched a severe barbaric aggression on Gaza. Israel killed 33 Palestinians and about 50 others were injured. This monstrous attack raised the number of Palestinians killed by Israel war machines, which were American made, to 174 and the injured to more than 1200*.

– The night of May 16th, 2021

*Dua: things you ask from God

*These numbers are the outcome of the Israeli attack on Gaza as of the May 16, 2021. The counting continued to escalate until May 21.

Last month, time was repeating itself. I found myself reliving those unbearable memories again when Israel launched airstrikes on Gaza after midnight. 

This time I was alone in the room. No one was there to share the fear with. The sounds were the same, I’m cursing the one who invented these weapons at this moment, the fear was the same, the numbness in my limbs was the same and all I could think of was “I’m going to die this time for sure.” 

I held my phone and wrote to my friend, Steve, on Whatsapp “Steve, we’re under attack now.” 

I guess it was kind of saying goodbye or out of a need not to die alone. I wanted to tell someone that I’m in danger that I’m under attack. I was sure that no one could help, though.

My friendship with Steve, or Uncle Steve as I ought to say paying respect to his age, was born during the last Israeli war on Gaza in May 2021. We met on an Instagram post. He was a pro-Israel guy and the usual argument, whose the land really for, broke out.

Our debate went on and on and we became good friends since then. Steve is now a pro-Palestine guy and a pro-peace man too.

He was supportive, understanding, and generous to offer me a place to stay whenever I could come to America.

The thunderous sounds of the strikes stopped so I went to check on my family. They were all in bed pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t dare to break that shield of protection they wear by their pretense so I closed the door and dragged my feet to the bed.

I assured Steve we were all fine and told him that I prefer to sleep. Sleeping is an excellent way to escape your unwanted memories and avoid having a lot of them for the future. 

I confessed to Steve that I’m getting weaker with each Israeli attack and that “leaving” is the only outlet I can see.