Atef Abu Saif was visiting members of the family in Gaza along with his 15-year-old son, Yasser, earlier than Oct. 7 and has saved a diary of the conflict because it started. Right here is his entry for Nov. 21, the day he determined to go away the Jabaliya neighborhood within the north of the territory for southern Gaza, en path to the Rafah crossing into Egypt.
We can not keep right here any longer. We now have determined.
The shells over the past two nights have been so near the condo we’re staying in that I didn’t simply see the sunshine and listen to the thunder of their explosions. I noticed them move proper by my window. The Israelis are getting nearer each minute. A lot of the outer areas of the camp are beneath full occupation now. In a single day, troops superior a few streets nearer from the north. Our road got here beneath steady shelling from the tanks.
I by no means closed my eyes. “I wish to be awake after I die,” I informed my brother Mohammed, who has been with us for many of the conflict. “I wish to see it taking place.” Earlier than going to sleep, my son Yasser stated he felt extra afraid than ever. For the final 45 days, he has proven nice energy within the face of all the pieces, however all of us have our limits. “Let’s see,” I informed him. “Within the morning we’ll resolve.”
This was two nights in the past. So, yesterday morning, I went to see my dad to ask if he’d think about transferring with us. It was a tough “no.”
“However most individuals have left already,” I stated. He’s staying put, he insisted, come what could. Then, as I used to be leaving he shouted again to me: “Get that boy to security.”
That helped persuade me. As I lay on my mattress final night time, I noticed it was not truthful that my 15-year-old son ought to pay for my choice to come back to Gaza and keep so lengthy within the north. He may need survived 45 days, however would he survive the subsequent 45? The possibilities of escaping dying are rising narrower and narrower. I shouldn’t have the best to resolve for him. In her final name to me from our dwelling in Ramallah, on the West Financial institution, my spouse, Hanna, stated merely: “I need my boy. You took him to Gaza. You deliver him again.”
Speak of a truce fills the information, and this is likely to be a very good time to head south to Rafah and be close to the border with Egypt in case it opens. I’ve a job within the ministry in Ramallah to get again to, in spite of everything.
The sight of the shells flying previous my window the night time earlier than additionally made it clear that it was time to go away: typically it’s higher to be clever than appropriate, if that is sensible. The clever factor is to offer everybody an opportunity to dwell, even when the right factor is to not let the Israelis get away with a second Nakba — one more expulsion from our land.
When this morning lastly comes, the driving force we now have employed for the primary leg of our journey arrives. My father-in-law Mostafa and his spouse Widdad, who makes use of a wheelchair, are touring with us. My in-laws wish to stick with their granddaughter Wissam, 23, on the European Gaza Hospital in Khan Younis, within the south. Wissam is recovering from triple amputation surgical procedure, after surviving a bombing within the first week that killed her mother and father and most of her siblings. Wissam’s surviving sister, additionally named Widdad, can care for her grandmother in addition to Wissam.
I carry my mother-in-law into the automotive. Because the automotive units off, all of us attempt to put together ourselves mentally for the lengthy journey forward. We get out on the Kuwait site visitors junction and negotiate the rent of two donkey carts to hold us all to a gathering space alongside Salah al-Din Avenue, the principle north-south route already referred to as “New Nakba Highway” by some.
The journey takes solely seven minutes. In regular occasions, a donkey-cart journey is likely to be one thing we’d do for enjoyable, on a household day trip, maybe on the seaside. However this can be a grim day trip. After we get to the gathering space, 1000’s of different displaced individuals, identical to us, are lining up, ready for the Israelis to allow them to move. That is the primary time I’ve seen Israeli troopers, within the flesh, inside Gaza since 2005.
Understanding that we would develop into separated within the chaos, I inform Yasser in no unsure phrases that he’s in control of his grandmother; not simply that he’s pushing her wheelchair and retaining her snug, however that he’s her main caregiver ought to the troopers wish to arrest him. I keep as near them as I can, carrying two shoulder luggage. Considered one of them is especially heavy. Earlier than leaving this morning, I bundled all our official papers, together with beginning certificates, diplomas and deeds of possession, into this bag, together with a number of photograph albums. These are our recollections. These we should preserve.
We transfer on and arrive at a checkpoint at 7:20 a.m. Tanks line our route on the left-hand facet. I see Israeli troopers lounging about on high of them, sipping Arabic espresso. The troopers nearer to us shout at anybody who even appears to be like at them. Take out your telephone in entrance of them and also you gained’t be seen once more.
Youngsters standing in entrance of me are shaking. They’re too afraid to speak in case they are saying one thing that may annoy the troopers and trigger them to start out firing. I look up often to see if I can work out which one is in cost, which one will resolve if we dwell or die, if we’re allowed by or taken prisoner.
After half an hour of ready, a soldier speaks to us by an amplifier. He repeats the orders about transferring in a straight line, not trying left, not trying proper. We should solely face ahead.
“The faces of infants shouldn’t be coated,” the soldier provides. At round 8 a.m. the voice tells us to start out transferring. That is the toughest a part of the journey. The street is roofed in mud and the asphalt is broken, cratered in all places, and scattered with rubble and rubbish. Yasser is scuffling with the wheelchair. On a number of events I’ve to assist him elevate my mother-in-law and the wheelchair collectively over a crater. We now have to maneuver rigorously. Thrice the outdated girl falls out of the chair and I’ve to select her up and put her again in.
After 20 minutes we’re funneled by a short lived construction, a wierd sort of room, erected in the midst of the street. After that we now have to face in a line and lift our ID playing cards. Now, lastly, we’re allowed to show our faces to the left. Actually we’re ordered to take action, in order that the troopers can have a look at us and examine us with our IDs. They’re many yards away, and appear to be checking our particulars by binoculars. Are they actually too afraid to be any nearer?
Random people are summoned to method the road of troopers to be detained. A soldier may name out: “The one with the white T-shirt and the yellow bag — come.” Or “The one with the mustache — come.” Every is then requested to throw their bag to 1 facet, and kneel on the mud and wait to be interrogated.
As we stroll previous, a soldier calls out, “You with the darkish pullover.” Yasser is carrying a darkish pullover. I whisper, “Don’t transfer. In the event that they meant you, they might have stated ‘the one pushing the wheelchair.’ Insha’allah.” I used to be proper.
For an additional two kilometers we battle on, ultimately reaching a stretch of street the place the Israelis not flank us. My again hurts, my shoulders and my arms are sore, however we’re relieved to be strolling on an abnormal street once more.
However that is the toughest half. Though we’re not being informed the place to look, I give Yasser my very own strict orders. “Don’t look,” I inform him. “Don’t look.” Scores of our bodies are strewn alongside each side of the street. Rotting, it appears, into the bottom. The odor is horrendous. A hand reaches out towards us from the window of a burned-out automotive, as if asking for one thing — from me, particularly. I see what appears to be like like two headless our bodies in a automotive, limbs and treasured physique components simply thrown away and left to fester. “Don’t look,” I say to Yasser once more. “Simply preserve strolling, son.”
We feature on strolling for an additional kilometer or so, till we arrive at a degree the place donkey carts are gathered and obtainable to take individuals the remainder of the way in which to the place taxis and different vehicles are ready.
We regroup in entrance of the vehicles. We’re secure now. We now have made an amazing step towards our survival. I battle to discover a driver keen to take us to the European hospital, which is on the japanese street connecting Rafah with Khan Younis. It is going to be our ultimate cease earlier than heading again to Khan Younis after which Rafah.
The driving force of a truck crammed full of individuals agrees to take us. We elevate the wheelchair up onto the again of the truck and jam it firmly right into a nook. Mohammed and Yasser preserve a agency grip on it the entire manner. There are about 40 of us on the truck. I can’t think about what we should appear to be: refugees, clinging to the facet of a truck heaving with different refugees, holding on to a wheelchair for expensive life. We ultimately arrive on the European hospital and we handle to get my mother-in-law in a mattress in the identical room as Wissam. I’ve to seek out the supervisor of the hospital to thank him for accommodating us on this manner.
Now, lastly, I can relaxation.
Atef Abu Saif is a author and minister of tradition within the Palestinian Authority who lives in Ramallah, on the West Financial institution.
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