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Letter from Palestine

by anonymous

Somewhere in Palestine, July 1— Morning came and we found that 90 of the nation's best men were captured by Israel from their homes in the night. Our mayor, who was released from four years in prison just a month ago. Someone for whom I have the utmost respect and admiration, as do his people here, political allies and opponents alike. And our vice mayor, too. The last time I talked with him, earlier this week, he was struggling a lot with chronic back pain. I wonder where they are now. If they have been fed today, or tortured. If they will sleep on beds tonight, or not at all. If they will be home tomorrow. If we will never see some of them again alive.

It's the first time Palestinians have captured an Israeli soldier in a long time; families of prisoners have begged the resistance not to release him  until there is a prisoner exchange no matter what the consequences to the community—being well acquainted with the suffering that implies. 

Everyone went about their business today, wedding processions in the streets, families eating icecream and watermelon in the sticky heat. Some with the heavy numb shock of loved ones vanished suddenly, shock without surprise; they expected that the price that has been paid, and paid, and paid, for keeping one's spirit from being broken, must be paid again. Myself, I couldn't keep from crying from time to time, although for me it is just a very small taste of the shock, seeing two good men that I know a little, powerful in their community with the power the community has entrusted them with, suddenly made helpless, pieces of meat for Israeli intelligence officers somewhere to enjoy, and knowing that if I knew them more, if I knew others, the sense of anger and sorrow and disbelief would be multiplied. I know that for the people around me these tears formed years and years ago. The anger and sorrow and loss and disbelief have happened too many times to count, but it does not diminish, to the world it is one more added to a large number, for each mother and sister and wife it is an unconsolable agony, an irreplaceable loss, an unimaginable theft, a violation of a family, a marriage, that might never be able to recover from the traumas and abuses that are being suffered, will be suffered in the days ahead.  

Israel has over 10,000 Palestinian hostages, hundreds of them children, and slaughters Palestinians of any age on a daily basis. When Palestinians take 2 Israeli hostages and kill two soldiers, Israeli bombs Gaza. Bombs out the power stations, the water reticulation; no electricity, no water, bridges blasted severing cities from each other. Gaza Strip, the most densely populated area on earth on account of Israel using it as a specially designed human garbage can where refugees are disposed off and hermetically sealed off from the rest of the world. Brilliant, but unsuccessful. If you treat humans as garbage and they know that they are humans and not garbage, they will not quietly disappear. You will never sleep safe at night. You will never have the right to sleep safe at night. May you never sleep safe at night.  

A young woman in my neighborhood asked, can you believe Israel kidnapped most of our government last night? Imagine waking up to hear that Palestinian forces had kidnapped 90 Israeli government leaders. It's hard to imagine that Israel would leave one house standing, one person uninjured. 

Imagine if Palestinians had the military capacity to punish Israel on a comparable scale for every two hostages it takes and two it kills. Imagine if Americans, and Europeans, valued the blood of Palestinians and Iraqis as much as their own blood. Imagine if the nations of the world used their armies to protect the lives of the innocent and bring to justice thieving, raping, murdering states.

A couple days ago I sat with someone I know, who was taken hostage last night. He explained part of Hamas' interpretation of the Qur'an as follows: there are three kinds of people that Muslims have to deal with. 1) Those who treat you with respect. In this case, it is a crime against God to treat them with anything but respect, kindness, and hospitality. In other words, if a Jew wanted to immigrate to Palestine with full respect for the people here, wishing to become a member of Palestinian society, he should be welcomed. 2) Then there are those who do not respect you, and oppose you. You have no obligation to extend hospitality to them. 3) Then there are those who have no respect for your humanity, your property or your religion, they take power over your land and your lives, destroy your land and kill your people. In this case you have an obligation to fight against them to protect your land and your people. If they kill your people, you can kill their people.  

Today I visited with another friend who thinks he may be captured tonight; so many of his friends were captured last night. He said, Israel doesn't care too much about the lives of the Israeli hostages, in the past there were cases of them killing the hostages themselves by indiscriminate bombing of communities. But Israel has been waiting since Hamas' election for Hamas' first military operation, and so they knew this massive attack on the community would come, sooner or later. Even though different groups have participated in the Palestinian military operations in the past few days, all of Israel's targets are Hamas leaders. Israel wants to see Hamas destroyed, Europe and America want to see Hamas destroyed, and Abu Mazen seems to be trying his best to join them. Many of those arrested were among the Hamas members that Israel exiled to the no mans land between Israel and Lebanon, a decade ago.

He told me some of his friend's stories from those three terrible years, living in tents through snowy winters. He talked about the warm spirit that thrived in the tents during freezing months. He told of how hungry men went to an apricot orchard and couldn't find the owner, so they took some fruit and then tied some money in a handkerchief to the tree. When the owner found it, he tracked them down, and said to them, with tears coming down his face, what kind of men are you, starving and rejected by the world, who have such principles that you will not even take fruit that you find on a tree. I give you my fruit, I give you my orchards!

I felt the poverty of being from the West, where the media can say nothing about these men except to endlessly regurgitate simpleminded slander… of those captured I know just a few names, and little of their stories. For anyone here, each of these names represents a rich story, decades of struggles, of suffering, heroism, years of prison, of pain, of courage, of trying again, of hopes betrayed, of disappointment and endurance that continues forward to find new hope.  

We had  this conversation over lunch in his daughter's home. She and her husband were active with Hamas and he was seized by Israel and killed in prison, leaving her with their three small children. Don't forget, it is America that gives Israel everything it needs to do this to us, she said. When we left, she and her three boys kissed him over and over, not knowing if tomorrow they will wake up to hear that her dad, their grandpa, has become a prisoner.    

This week I spent with a French student, an orphan of war in Bangladesh, who is doing research on women's views of dignity. Dignity is a word thrown around a lot in international law but without definition; people have a "right to dignity" but since no one knows what it is, when it comes right down to it violations of this right cannot be prosecuted. I helped her interview dozens of women this week, from Fatah, Hamas, PFLP, poor and wealthy, educated and illiterate, young and old. We would sit down with strangers and as soon as dignity, al karame, was mentioned, the room burst into life with passionate opinions, terrible stories, and incredibly brave and inspiring statements. Here are some of the things I heard about dignity.  

There is no dignity in Palestine; we face humiliation at checkpoints, restriction from visiting our families or going to school, soldiers in our homes during the night, prison… Israel's war is first of all against our dignity which Israel attacks from every angle and with every means possible, because if it can succeed in destroying our dignity, we will not be able to resist anymore. There is tremendous dignity in Palestine; perhaps more than anywhere else in the world, because the occupation with all its mechanisms for humiliation makes us aware of our dignity; the more they try to destroy our dignity the stronger our dignity becomes; they are getting the opposite results that they want. There are two kinds of dignity: one that you get from others, when you are treated with dignity, the other comes from inside of you, from what you know about who you really are before God, and no one has the power to take this away from you unless you let them. Even if as women we are captured by Israel, stripped naked and raped in the prisons, if we resist every attack upon our dignity it will not be lost. A woman was told at a checkpoint to remove her scarf. She refused, and the soldier showed her a metal rod and said he would drive it through her eyes if she did not take it off. You can have your eyes, or you can have your dignity. She refused. He drove it through her eyes. She survived, but she is blind. And she did not lose her dignity. A friend of the Prophet Mohammad, a woman, was tied to the ground by a man who made her choose between her dignity or her life. The only  thing she was able to do was to spit in his face, and she did. He killed her. But he did not destroy her dignity.

Arab people have a great source of dignity from the rich and deep history of our culture. But now all Arab lands are captive and only in Iraq and Palestine are we free within ourselves, because we do not accept the enslavement that is forced upon us; our resistance gives us great dignity.  

We get our dignity from our land. It is our life. As long as we are in our land, no matter how much we suffer, we will have our dignity. If they succeed in expelling us to Jordan, our dignity will be lost forever. I have my family's olive trees. Every year I used to have precious olive oil from my own trees that I could give generously to my friends and neighbors. Now Israel has killed half of my trees and imprisoned the rest. These trees are like my own children. It is a terrible, terrible sorrow and shame for me each day to know that I am powerless to help them. Now, when we need olive oil for ourselves, we have to go to the store and buy it. But I was one who could generously give olive oil to my friends and relatives.  

We get our dignity from Islam, as women, and as human beings. In our culture, before Islam, women were just seen as property, baby girls could be buried alive. We see women in many parts of the world who have no dignity. Islam has given us our full rights as women in every sense, and full equality with every other human being. In the Qur'an God says that he has given the same dignity to every human being—it does not depend on whether you are male or female, or whether you are Muslim or from another religion, each of us has the same worth.  

What do you expect and hope for in the future?

Things will get much, much worse. It is written that we will suffer like this until near the end.

Our hope comes from knowing that Jesus will come back and will remove all injustice from the earth, and at last the race of mankind will be free to live in peace and equality.  

What do you believe should be the political outcome for Palestine?

If only they would all go back where they came from, we could live in peace in our homes and land again.

We can never live with them; if someone has killed your children, can you accept them as a neighbor?

We already live with them, of course we can in the future.

We cannot live with them, we must have a state, and they must have a state. About all the refugees who have their homes and lands in Israel, I don't know……..

We can live with them in one state, the refugees must be given back their homes and their land.

If we have an Islamic state on all of Palestine, it is the only way we will be able to live together, us and them, because Islam is the only system where equality between people of different religions is protected  

Do you think negotiations or armed struggle is the best strategy at this time?

Of course, if we could get our rights back without violence, that would be the best way. If negotiations ever worked, then we should use that instead of armed struggle, but they have never produced anything. We have to keep fighting to protect our land and our community. How could it be right to do nothing when daily they are attacking our lives and our land?  

As a woman would you participate in armed struggle?

I admire women who do, but I myself don't think I'm capable of it. My contribution is to study and be a good mother to my children.

No, I don't think women should carry weapons.

Yes! It would be a great honor to fight for my country!

Yes! How I wish we had the chance to be trained as soldiers like all the Israeli women are. I am not married yet, but I hope that one day I will have a son who will give his life for our country to be free.   The Americans, Europeans and Israelis place more value on the blood of their dogs and cats than they do on the blood of Palestinians. None of us can ever forget the sight of little Huda screaming for her father on the beach of Gaza, throwing herself on the sand next to his dead body over and over. No one in the world has expressed their outrage, or even sorrow, to us about these atrocities against us. They care deeply about the Mundial, and Huda's agony is an interruption, a distraction, from the soccer score. Our blood is so, so cheap to the world, and Israeli blood is so valuable. They do not see our humanity at all.  

How do you find your sense of your own humanity, when all the world is telling you your life, your death, your blood is worthless? 

When it comes down to that, we know that God sees us, even if we are suffering in an Israeli torture chamber and no one in our family knows if where we are or if we are alive or dead, we know that God sees us and knows our value, our humanity. We belong to him, and in that is our worth, and our hope, our fates are in his hands and our lives are very precious to him, no matter how worthless they are to our brothers and sisters in the human race, and in the end, that is what matters. We know who we are. Our lives, our deaths, our suffering, our hopes, our disappointment, are not insignificant.   Yesterday I met a new appointee from the German government in Jerusalem, a young guy with an American accent. He was happy that Hamas and Fatah had agreed on the Prisoners' Document. Great, we've gotten Hamas to recognize Israel, he said. Now we just have to get them to renounce armed struggle, and then get rid of these ideas of an Islamic state. The problem is when we bring democracy to the middle east, we always have to deal with the challenge of making sure there is a secular state when so many people want an Islamic state. (Jewish states, apparently, are just dandy.) What these Palestinians just don't understand, he said, is that armed struggle won't get them anywhere. Haven't they learned anything, after all these years?  It's really hurting their image in the international community. Well, I said sarcastically, since you understand this so well, and none of the Palestinians have been able to grasp it, maybe you should explain it to them then. Oh, I am, every Palestinian I meet, he said with sincerity.

And what is that dazzling offer that Europe will extend, if Palestinians promise to sit on their hands and open their mouths? In exchange for your dignity, what? Maybe longlife, lifelong food rations? Maybe the chance to clean toilets in Israel, and the dream that your grandchildren could do the same?

I have not been here too long, but it is long enough to be sure of one thing: It is the Europeans, the Israelis, and the Americans who fail to grasp the central truth, after all these decades of trying to finetune the catastrophe they have engineered in Palestine: these women and men and children, who carry their heads so high, know who they are. They are prepared to sacrifice their lives, but they are not prepared to sacrifice their dignity.  While the world discusses the moral or strategic aspects of armed resistance, there is no confusion about these issues here. Undefended, dignity—and the land—would be lost, and death would be better. With or without your permission, they will continue to fight.

this letter was received by NECDP, New England Committee to Defend Palestine

Another Letter From Palestine

Posted by Bronwin Peel at September-23-2007 07:28
When I saw the title Letter From Palestine I was taken aback as I have a BLOG entitled Lettersfrompalestine.blogspot.com . I want to share my latest entry with the author of Letter From Palestine so that she may see all Americans do not share the arrogance of the young American she quotes at the end of her letter.

Living in the Village
by Brownwin Peel

For fifty years my life was influenced by an
inexplicable attachment to a man with whom I rarely
lived happily. I traveled to occupied Palestine in the
fall of 2005 to care for him. In 1994 he had left the
US to return to the village on the West Bank where he
was born and grew up. Thirty years of breathing toxic
chemicals while employed as a research and works
chemist in the US had destroyed his lungs. He was
dying a slow and agonizing death by asphyxiation. He
spoke only once of his dread of the concluding moments
of his life, saying he hoped the final suffocation was
over quickly. He was unconscious when the end came.

He is now buried not 30 yards from my front
door in the family cemetery. Another 30 yards behind
his grave is the front porch of my father-in-law’s
house where my memory sees him in 1982 holding court
for dozens of villagers. They gathered from miles
around to visit on his first trip home from Jordan in
three years. Tired by his many years, the guests
rejuvenated him. He entertained his audience for
hours with stories that spanned his nine decades of
life, from his military service with the Ottomans to
modern life in Amman. His wit was such that even
though his stories were translated to me from Arabic
and spanned two cultures I laughed aloud. He left us a
few years later and now Sami’s grave is located a few
feet from his. In the evenings as I dress for bed, I
see the framed portraits of our grandchildren glowing
with their young beauty and I think of the future.

A dozen spring kids from an exotic breed of
goats frolic and bleat in the nearby barnyard. Young
children play on the only road. Of the 120 people in
the village 75 are under the age of sixteen. The
children seem friendly and unspoiled. The charming
shyness of one five year old has motivated me to
improve my Arabic so I can talk to her. She has large
dark eyes and a mop of shining, black hair. In the
mornings I’m sometimes awakened by a pair of mourning
doves cooing at my window sill. A family of feral
cats gathers occasionally at my door and begs for
food. Sami fed them before his illness compelled him
to leave the house in November for the warmer hotel in
the city. An older cat remembers. He leaps up boldly
on to the window sill and meows shrilly. They have
lived for generations on human food disposed of in the
dumpsters. Last week I recognized one of my beggars
lying dead beside one of the dumpsters, run over by a
passing car. I hesitate to feed them as they will
depend on me and then I will leave. One kitten with a long snout and bushy tail resembles a small fox from my home in Virginia; I’m tempted to tame and adopt.
.

When my sons and I arrived here from the city in
February a week after Sami’s death the almond trees
were in full bloom. The blooms are gone now and
almonds encased in their fuzzy spring green cocoons
hang from the trees. The wild cyclamens that covered
the ground in front of the house are fading. The space
is colored by red wild poppies intermingled by blooms
of blue that resemble wild asters. Yellow flowers
crowd most of the space and dance in the spring
breeze, their exuberance matched by the brightness of
their color. Interspersed throughout the plant life
are ancient stones jutting two to three feet from the
ground. The stone outcroppings are loaded with fossils
created a million years ago when the area was under
the sea. The family has used many of the stone fossils
to build terraces for planting flowers around the old
stone house that was built by Cidi (grandfather) sixty
years ago. Not far up the incline from my house are
the ruins of Saul, a town mentioned in the Old
Testament.

A young neighbor, Rajai, spent an hour with me
last evening, updating my computer and sharing the
plans he has for turning the forest beyond the village
into a public park. The trees in the forest were
planted by my father-in-law, when he worked as a
forester for the British Mandate, during the thirties
and forties. A lovely stone fence borders the road
leading up the mountain and into the village and the
forest beyond. Moe supervised the building of it when
he was in high school back in the forties. It’s now in
danger of being removed to widen the road to make
space for the hundreds of people who drive up this
mountain on the weekends to picnic and enjoy the
beauty of the place. I discussed with Rajai charging
these visitors enough money to finance cutting a new
road farther down the slope to save the fence. He
agreed and said if people would pay; it would finance
building the park and would provide jobs for some of
the young people of the village. If the activities of
the visitors were supervised they might behave better.
They’ve been found cutting down trees and they litter
the forest with trash.

Huda, an eighteen year old sister of the five
year old charmer, cleaned house for Moe while he was
ill. She came by this afternoon with another sister to
return laundry she had taken to her house yesterday to
wash. Her stocky build and firm square jaw speak of
her dependability and I wasn’t surprised when she told
me she enjoys housecleaning. I’m glad to see the
dangling silver earrings I gave her add to her charm.
Playful, they have softened her sturdy face. She
refuses to take any pay, seems insulted at the
suggestion, so I’ve been generous with gifts. She’s a
storehouse of useful information for me. I showed her
today where I was having a problem with a leak in the
bathroom. She told me immediately who I must call for
help. Her English is rudimentary. I’m helping her with
new English words while she teaches me a few new
Arabic ones each day. I’m learning slowly. Though I
enjoy learning new words, I’ve decided I don’t have a
talent for languages. Maybe time and persistence will
give me an adequate vocabulary. I hope.

I’m certainly practicing the simplicity of my
Quaker brethren. I came with only the 140 pounds of
luggage allowed by the airlines, much of which was
used for gifts. I’ve discovered the advantages of
living simply. My one concession to extravagance has
always been my wardrobe as I enjoy beautiful clothes.
Now I have a few changes of everyday sports clothes,
two dress-up outfits for weddings and funerals, a
denim jacket and a dressier coat, three pairs of
shoes, pajamas and underclothes and nothing more. I’ve
found a sparser wardrobe is easier to care for and I
don’t waste time deciding what to wear for the day.
In the past my protein has mostly been chicken and
fish. Fish is hard to find and chickens are scarce
since the Avian flu scare announced from Israel last
week. I’ve ceased eating eggs. The goats raised on
the farm supply me with goat cheese. That and some
veggie burgers I found at the supermarket in the
nearby town are my sources of protein. A vegetable
peddler comes to the village daily in his truck so I
have a steady supply of fresh vegetables and fruits.
I buy yogurt and milk from the grocer in a nearby town
as I find the flavor of the goat yogurt and milk too
strong for my taste. Tomorrow I’ll go into the city
where I can buy whole wheat bread from a grocer. I
like pita but not as my only source of bread. Though
mayonnaise is available I’ve found yogurt makes a good
substitute and is healthier. I’ll buy mustard and
catsup tomorrow and perhaps some ground beef. I find
that I anticipate eagerly my weekly shopping
excursions. I’m learning first the Arabic words for
different foods and fee? (Do you have?) was the first
question I learned to ask.

I’m tempted to retire to this house in the
village. My sons and I own it now. My money is
adequate to live on here and would provide me with a
trip back to the states at least once per year. Though
I would miss my grandson, the granddaughters live so
far away I rarely see them anyway. Before they
returned to the states, both sons spoke of traveling
here in the summers with their families for vacations,
but I doubt if it will happen often. The quiet peace
of this place encourages me to write, sketch, and
catch up with all the things I planned to do in a
hectic, hurried life that interfered with my best
intentions. The village is very safe and I’m treated
like a star as they’ve never had anyone of my
background living among them before. Before he died,
Sami said it’s unimaginable to them that an estranged
wife would travel all the way from the US to care for
an old sick man. That surprised me as I find them to
be more generous and hospitable than westerners.

I plan while in the city tomorrow to buy a
microphone for my computer so I can make international
calls through it at a much cheaper rate than by phone.
I miss my friends but the world is truly a global
village. With the Internet, I’m still in touch with
everyone. Once I have the microphone, I can speak for
free with anyone in the US who is willing to download
the web page and buy a microphone. I’ll have the whole
world available to me from my little house in the
village where I am familiar with the cycle of life in
dramatic and intimate ways.

This Shangri La, this heaven exists in the midst
of hell. I listen daily to stories of the cruelty
meted out by the Israelis to the inhabitants of this
land they continue to occupy and steal. Neighbors of
mine, the village muktar, and his wife had a quarrel
with their teenage son last week concerning his study
habits. He left the house angry and threw rocks at a
nearby settlement, a settlement built on land stolen
from his village neighbors. The settlers arrested
him, and then went to the family home to threaten
further arrests and the destruction of their home if
another family member throws a rock. They forbade the
parents to see their son for three months. If the
Israelis follow their usual policy the boy will be
tortured and remain incarcerated for three years.

Muhammad, the keeper of the goats at the family
farm, must walk from his village and cross the valley
near the settlement to arrive here. The settlers often
stop him and force him to sit in the hot sun for hours
before letting him continue. This is done only because
he is Palestinian.

My late brother-in-law, who grew up here and
inhabited the village at various periods of his life,
is buried now in the family plot. He died five years
ago from bone cancer. When the physicians at the
American hospital where he went for treatment x-rayed
him they discovered every bone in his body had been
broken. They hurried into his room to ask what had
happened to him. What happened? In the sixties he led
a strike against an Israeli employer. He was arrested,
thrown into an Israeli prison and tortured to the
point of near death. A brave and compassionate Israeli
attorney, a woman, came to his rescue, represented him
in court, and obtained his release.

I visited my sister-in-law, Maha, this past
weekend. She told me stories of the incarceration of
other Palestinians. Sickening stories! Soldiers take a
cup, four or five of them spit into it, then force the
prisoner to drink it; sometimes they urinate in the
cup or on the prisoner. She spoke of a villager who in
2001 was painting a fence near the settlement. The
settlers kidnapped him, cut out his eyes while he
lived, murdered him, then threw his body under his
house where his twelve year old daughter discovered
him the next morning. Maha struggled to describe the
composure of the young widow, the mother of five, as
she received her visitors at the funeral. She became
overcome and said she wished she had not remembered
because now she would have trouble sleeping.

I, an American accustomed to freedom and
security, explained to Rajai I was reluctant to spend
money on renovation of my village house because the
Israelis might take it from me and my money would be
wasted. His reply was an incredulous, “But why?”

The villagers do not hesitate to remodel their
homes. Tomorrow night I’m invited to the wedding
celebration of a neighbor. I’m urged daily to come for
tea by others. When I go for a walk a woman asks me to
come in for candy to welcome the birth of a new baby.
The mournful wail of the call to prayer interrupts the
village quiet five times a day. The majority of the
people continue to celebrate their weddings, pray to
their God, educate their children, care for their
neighbors, and have their babies while they practice
passive nonresistance. The American newspapers
continue to emphasize only the suicide bombers.