Through the echo of the shells that blasted through the ground that night and the loud sirens of the ambulances that drove out of the Emergency Medical Services (EMS) station near our home, we thought the night was over when everything became very quiet. All that I was able to hear that night was the sound of the tire humming with every passing vehicle that drove past our street — little did we know that the upcoming hours held a huge surprise for us. The conflict between Israel and Gaza had re-ignited at that time, government sites and residential areas were part of the Israeli military bank of targets.
Despite all of this, we would have never expected to encounter a near-death situation like what I am about to tell you about below. In the early hours of Saturday, the 17th of November of 2011, the Israeli war machine launched several airstrikes on a football stadium right next to our home that used to host major local football matches and sports events.
I recall waking up a few moments prior to the intensive bombing campaign that occurred; my eyes witnessed my father laying down the praying mat about three meters next to all of us, so he could pray the dawn prayer — but as soon as he raised his palms to begin the prayer and chanted “Allahu Akbar”, I could hear a screech and the bombs started dropping. All I could feel was our apartment shaking left and right, with our bodies being dragged around by gravity, the windows shattered, the furniture falling, and our rooms’ doors being destroyed and thrown on the ground due to the physical magnitude of the bombs. The first thing my father did was instinctively jump on top of all of us just to cover us and give us shelter from any shrapnel that could go through the windows. Black smoke and fire filled up our apartment, and we could not see anything. We just kept coughing, because all we could smell was the chemical residue of the bombs that were used. Electricity was shut off as the power lines were destroyed, and we had no cell signal as the signal towers were also destroyed, and thus, we could not reach anyone. We were scared the bombing would start again, so we instantly rushed to put on our clothes so we can leave the area. Our neighbors had all gone out, apart from the family facing our apartment. We believed they were inside, so my father and I immediately went to knock and yell to see if anyone is inside. Nobody responded, so we started kicking down their door because all we could think of is that they got hurt and that they needed medical help. At this point, we did not care about our own lives, because this is the one thing that Gazans are proudly famous for; bravery, and sacrifice. As we attempted to break through the door, our neighbor informed us that they had gone to stay at their family’s home the night prior, and that moment made us feel extremely relieved, despite the horror that we had just gone through ourselves. Emergency services arrived to extinguish the fires that had erupted in the area, and a medical crew came to evacuate those who were injured. Everyone helped each other, and we sought refuge at our family’s home in a nearby area.
This horrific reality is something that almost every human in Gaza had lived through, whether it was a child or an adult. Bombs do not make that distinction, they just kill and hurt everyone within their sight. They destroy life, dreams, and goals. You tell me, who is the real terrorist here?
