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.
