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Palestinians Are Exhausted but Hold on to Hope War Brings Change In a Palestinian Town, Growing Weary of a War and Hoping for Change
(about 1 hour later)
JABALIYA, Gaza — Two families from a destroyed neighborhood of the northern town of Beit Hanoun, with 18 children between them, have made a tidy home out of side-by-side stalls in the concrete courtyard of a United Nations school here. Colorful cloths form the walls, shoes are removed on entry.JABALIYA, Gaza — Two families from a destroyed neighborhood of the northern town of Beit Hanoun, with 18 children between them, have made a tidy home out of side-by-side stalls in the concrete courtyard of a United Nations school here. Colorful cloths form the walls, shoes are removed on entry.
In the women-and-girls’ quarters, a camping stove sits atop a battered wooden desk. In the men’s area, the centerpiece is a small black radio on the floor that tells their future. The grown-ups spend hours fixated on the radio, waiting for the latest news of talks in Cairo about a more durable truce and a string of cease-fires that have brought temporary respite from rocket fire and airstrikes.In the women-and-girls’ quarters, a camping stove sits atop a battered wooden desk. In the men’s area, the centerpiece is a small black radio on the floor that tells their future. The grown-ups spend hours fixated on the radio, waiting for the latest news of talks in Cairo about a more durable truce and a string of cease-fires that have brought temporary respite from rocket fire and airstrikes.
“We are tired, very tired, the kids are tired,” said one of the women, Ikram Saleima, who arrived here with her family and neighbors from Beit Hanoun a month ago to escape the fighting. “But we are already in,” she said, and having suffered so much, “We should come out with a result.”“We are tired, very tired, the kids are tired,” said one of the women, Ikram Saleima, who arrived here with her family and neighbors from Beit Hanoun a month ago to escape the fighting. “But we are already in,” she said, and having suffered so much, “We should come out with a result.”
After more than a month of war, the people of Gaza are sad, of course, at 1,900 lives lost. They are angry, too: at Israel for destroying some 10,000 homes, at the Arab leaders who seem unmoved, the Western ones who seem unable to move, and even, quietly, at the Palestinian militants who built tunnels under their neighborhoods. But mostly they are spent — from weeks of being stuck inside with scant hours of electricity and waiting in line for potable water, but also from years of feeling stuck in what they universally describe as a prison.After more than a month of war, the people of Gaza are sad, of course, at 1,900 lives lost. They are angry, too: at Israel for destroying some 10,000 homes, at the Arab leaders who seem unmoved, the Western ones who seem unable to move, and even, quietly, at the Palestinian militants who built tunnels under their neighborhoods. But mostly they are spent — from weeks of being stuck inside with scant hours of electricity and waiting in line for potable water, but also from years of feeling stuck in what they universally describe as a prison.
Steadfastness is perhaps the most valued trait in Gaza, and in long conversations with three dozen residents over three days, most insisted they could withstand much more to achieve their goals of opening borders and removing Israeli restrictions on imports and exports. They struggled to make a coherent case for how continued fighting against a far more powerful enemy might translate, politically, into these achievements. Yet they were proud of the performance of militants led by the Islamist Hamas faction, who managed to kill 64 soldiers, repeatedly penetrate Israel underground, and even briefly shutter the airport in Tel Aviv.Steadfastness is perhaps the most valued trait in Gaza, and in long conversations with three dozen residents over three days, most insisted they could withstand much more to achieve their goals of opening borders and removing Israeli restrictions on imports and exports. They struggled to make a coherent case for how continued fighting against a far more powerful enemy might translate, politically, into these achievements. Yet they were proud of the performance of militants led by the Islamist Hamas faction, who managed to kill 64 soldiers, repeatedly penetrate Israel underground, and even briefly shutter the airport in Tel Aviv.
Lima Diab, 27, said that under Hamas’s rule of Gaza over the past seven years “everything went bad,” and she sees the movement as “failed in politics.” But though she would prefer that rockets be fired from open areas to reduce risk to civilians, Ms. Diab described as “genius” the tunnels through which Gaza gunmen attacked Israeli soldiers and shook an entire society with new fear.Lima Diab, 27, said that under Hamas’s rule of Gaza over the past seven years “everything went bad,” and she sees the movement as “failed in politics.” But though she would prefer that rockets be fired from open areas to reduce risk to civilians, Ms. Diab described as “genius” the tunnels through which Gaza gunmen attacked Israeli soldiers and shook an entire society with new fear.
“I think they are brilliant, how they could manage to do this whole thing,” Ms. Diab, who is finishing a course in office administration, said as she lunched with two sisters at Matoug, a Gaza grilled-meat emporium, during the halt in hostilities Thursday. “They are well prepared, really, they think and work. Not just blah blah blah — they say and do.”“I think they are brilliant, how they could manage to do this whole thing,” Ms. Diab, who is finishing a course in office administration, said as she lunched with two sisters at Matoug, a Gaza grilled-meat emporium, during the halt in hostilities Thursday. “They are well prepared, really, they think and work. Not just blah blah blah — they say and do.”
Asmaa al-Ghoul, a local journalist, used to write about Hamas “terrorism” and made international headlines in 2009 when she reported being harassed for walking on a beach without a head scarf in a mixed-gender group. After nine of her relatives, including a 24-day-old baby, were killed in the southern town of Rafah in an Israeli attack, Ms. Ghoul, 32, penned an Al Monitor column saying Israel had “created thousands — no, millions — of Hamas loyalists.” It ran under a headline borrowed from her last line: “Never ask me about peace again.”Asmaa al-Ghoul, a local journalist, used to write about Hamas “terrorism” and made international headlines in 2009 when she reported being harassed for walking on a beach without a head scarf in a mixed-gender group. After nine of her relatives, including a 24-day-old baby, were killed in the southern town of Rafah in an Israeli attack, Ms. Ghoul, 32, penned an Al Monitor column saying Israel had “created thousands — no, millions — of Hamas loyalists.” It ran under a headline borrowed from her last line: “Never ask me about peace again.”
A Hamas rally on Thursday during the temporary cease-fire drew only a few thousand people, and few have raised the movement’s green flags during the fighting. Open dissent, though, is seen as dangerous.A Hamas rally on Thursday during the temporary cease-fire drew only a few thousand people, and few have raised the movement’s green flags during the fighting. Open dissent, though, is seen as dangerous.
When Suhair al-Najjar, 32, said, essentially, “I curse both sides,” and described Hamas as “shoes,” a sharp insult, an older man strode over to scold her. “Don’t say ‘Hamas,’ say ‘the Arab leaders,’ ” he yelled.When Suhair al-Najjar, 32, said, essentially, “I curse both sides,” and described Hamas as “shoes,” a sharp insult, an older man strode over to scold her. “Don’t say ‘Hamas,’ say ‘the Arab leaders,’ ” he yelled.
Ms. Najjar, who lost 30 relatives along with her home in Khuza’a, a village of 10,000 on Gaza’s eastern border that was demolished, was not deterred. “I’m angry at the two sides,” she repeated. “I’m angry at everybody, all the countries.” The bearded man in a gray jalabiya came closer and demanded, “You need someone to teach you how to talk?”Ms. Najjar, who lost 30 relatives along with her home in Khuza’a, a village of 10,000 on Gaza’s eastern border that was demolished, was not deterred. “I’m angry at the two sides,” she repeated. “I’m angry at everybody, all the countries.” The bearded man in a gray jalabiya came closer and demanded, “You need someone to teach you how to talk?”
The conversation unfolded on the steps of a crushed concrete house among rows of similarly destroyed homes lining a street whose asphalt was torn up by the Israeli invasion. The dome of a nearby mosque sat tilted on the ground, along with the town’s water tank. The metal archway that once spanned the street to welcome visitors was a twisted heap.The conversation unfolded on the steps of a crushed concrete house among rows of similarly destroyed homes lining a street whose asphalt was torn up by the Israeli invasion. The dome of a nearby mosque sat tilted on the ground, along with the town’s water tank. The metal archway that once spanned the street to welcome visitors was a twisted heap.
Ahmad al-Najjar, 44, used to drive a horse-drawn cart, but his horse was killed in an Israeli attack. So his four small children, including a yet-unnamed baby born during this war, slept in the horse’s shed during the brief truce. Mr. Najjar said he and his neighbors “do not allow the resistance to strike from here” and the idea that Hamas might have built tunnels under their homes “bothers me.” The fighting, he said, had only pushed Gaza backward from its goals.Ahmad al-Najjar, 44, used to drive a horse-drawn cart, but his horse was killed in an Israeli attack. So his four small children, including a yet-unnamed baby born during this war, slept in the horse’s shed during the brief truce. Mr. Najjar said he and his neighbors “do not allow the resistance to strike from here” and the idea that Hamas might have built tunnels under their homes “bothers me.” The fighting, he said, had only pushed Gaza backward from its goals.
“So far nothing has been achieved, we don’t know what they are doing there,” Mr. Najjar said of the Cairo talks, where the Palestinian delegation includes members of Hamas as well as the Fatah party of the president of the Palestinian Authority, Mahmoud Abbas. “These are parties — Fatah, Hamas, Israel are parties. We are people. We are victims. If these parties have differences, why do we pay the price of their differences?”“So far nothing has been achieved, we don’t know what they are doing there,” Mr. Najjar said of the Cairo talks, where the Palestinian delegation includes members of Hamas as well as the Fatah party of the president of the Palestinian Authority, Mahmoud Abbas. “These are parties — Fatah, Hamas, Israel are parties. We are people. We are victims. If these parties have differences, why do we pay the price of their differences?”
Farther south in Rafah’s Al Showqa neighborhood, two bulldozers and a digger were searching for bodies in a tunnel used for an Aug. 1 attack that killed three Israeli soldiers, one of whom was thought captured by Hamas, prompting a huge assault that left more than 100 dead over two days. Near the tunnel’s mouth, Fadi Abu Al-Roos, who works as a clerk for the United Nations, returned to his peach-and-white tiled home to find “Storeroom position” written in Hebrew on what remained of the outside wall. Inside, a framed cross-stitch “God Bless Our Home,” in English, was hanging intact amid the ruins.Farther south in Rafah’s Al Showqa neighborhood, two bulldozers and a digger were searching for bodies in a tunnel used for an Aug. 1 attack that killed three Israeli soldiers, one of whom was thought captured by Hamas, prompting a huge assault that left more than 100 dead over two days. Near the tunnel’s mouth, Fadi Abu Al-Roos, who works as a clerk for the United Nations, returned to his peach-and-white tiled home to find “Storeroom position” written in Hebrew on what remained of the outside wall. Inside, a framed cross-stitch “God Bless Our Home,” in English, was hanging intact amid the ruins.
“I don’t see it as a victory or a defeat,” he said. “It’s only destruction.”“I don’t see it as a victory or a defeat,” he said. “It’s only destruction.”
Perhaps a mile away, what had been two acres of orange, guava, olive and clementine groves were, in the wake of the Israeli attacks, mounds of sand marked by bulldozer tracks. On one hill, there were pieces of two uniforms — one Israeli, the other Hamas — an empty packet of Next cigarettes with Hebrew letters, and five fresh eggs where, Wissam Abu Asun surmised, “A chicken must have died.”Perhaps a mile away, what had been two acres of orange, guava, olive and clementine groves were, in the wake of the Israeli attacks, mounds of sand marked by bulldozer tracks. On one hill, there were pieces of two uniforms — one Israeli, the other Hamas — an empty packet of Next cigarettes with Hebrew letters, and five fresh eggs where, Wissam Abu Asun surmised, “A chicken must have died.”
Mr. Abu Asun, 34, is a barber and father of six who loves to play soccer. The Israelis left behind food cans and other detritus at his home, too. He thinks they slept in his bedroom, whose outer wall was blown out; he found earphones, and figured they wanted to block the sound of their own bombs.Mr. Abu Asun, 34, is a barber and father of six who loves to play soccer. The Israelis left behind food cans and other detritus at his home, too. He thinks they slept in his bedroom, whose outer wall was blown out; he found earphones, and figured they wanted to block the sound of their own bombs.
“It’s not worth it,” he said as he surveyed the damage. But a relative, Mahmoud Barbah, 28, countered: “The destruction is not important, the importance is that we kill Jews and capture them. Those who kill our children must be killed.”“It’s not worth it,” he said as he surveyed the damage. But a relative, Mahmoud Barbah, 28, countered: “The destruction is not important, the importance is that we kill Jews and capture them. Those who kill our children must be killed.”
Mr. Abu Asun complained that the tunnels were made from “the cement that we are demanding for our home.” Mr. Barbah said some tunnels were actually mud or wood, and that most went not into Israel but Egypt, to bring clothes and food “in order to provide for our children.”Mr. Abu Asun complained that the tunnels were made from “the cement that we are demanding for our home.” Mr. Barbah said some tunnels were actually mud or wood, and that most went not into Israel but Egypt, to bring clothes and food “in order to provide for our children.”
But “there is no water or electricity,” the barber said later.But “there is no water or electricity,” the barber said later.
In Gaza, whose 1.7 million residents are intertwined through large families, everyone seems to have lost someone. For Mona al-Fara, a dermatologist in Gaza City, it was nine members of three generations descended from a cousin, whose house in Khan Younis was hit by a missile at 2:30 a.m. on Aug. 1. There was no funeral because of “heavy bombing,” she said. “All of us are postponing our grief.”In Gaza, whose 1.7 million residents are intertwined through large families, everyone seems to have lost someone. For Mona al-Fara, a dermatologist in Gaza City, it was nine members of three generations descended from a cousin, whose house in Khan Younis was hit by a missile at 2:30 a.m. on Aug. 1. There was no funeral because of “heavy bombing,” she said. “All of us are postponing our grief.”
Dr. Fara, 60, has spent most of the war at the Red Crescent society, where she is vice president, diagnosing injuries, distributing hygiene kits to shelters, and setting up a hotline to answer medical questions.Dr. Fara, 60, has spent most of the war at the Red Crescent society, where she is vice president, diagnosing injuries, distributing hygiene kits to shelters, and setting up a hotline to answer medical questions.
On Thursday evening, she sat with several of the 30 relatives of the superintendent of her apartment building who had been camping in an empty flat there since they fled the shelling of the Shejaiya neighborhood on July 20.On Thursday evening, she sat with several of the 30 relatives of the superintendent of her apartment building who had been camping in an empty flat there since they fled the shelling of the Shejaiya neighborhood on July 20.
Dr. Fara is haunted by a 3-year-old girl who arrived at a clinic with head injuries under the label “Anonymous No. 6.” Not only did the girl have no relatives to identify her, Dr. Fara thought, but there were five others before her in the same situation.Dr. Fara is haunted by a 3-year-old girl who arrived at a clinic with head injuries under the label “Anonymous No. 6.” Not only did the girl have no relatives to identify her, Dr. Fara thought, but there were five others before her in the same situation.
“I’m worried about this generation, what memories are in their mind, what will happen after a few years,” she said quietly. “No matter what you ask the children to draw, the drawings will come back with blood.”“I’m worried about this generation, what memories are in their mind, what will happen after a few years,” she said quietly. “No matter what you ask the children to draw, the drawings will come back with blood.”