Five-month-old Eyad is one
of the happiest babies I've
ever met. Barely touch his
cheeks and he smiles and
giggles; tickle his little
belly and he bursts out in
laughter, kicking his feet
up in the air. When he
laughs, it involves his
whole body, pushing out this
loud giggly sound that's
full of happiness. Eyad
doesn't cry like other
babies when he is alone. He
just lies there quietly and
plays with his hands and
feet. But if he sees you, or
senses you anywhere near him
he starts to laugh again and
kick his feet up in the air
with excitement so you can
play with him. Jamalat, his
mother, says his laughter is
a blessing from God for it
fills her heart with joy and
takes away some of her
heartbreak and sorrow.
Eyad has never seen his
father, and his father has
never seen his son, nor will
he ever. Jamalat was just
five weeks pregnant with
Eyad when his father, my
cousin, was killed by an
Israeli sniper during an
incursion into the town of
Sufa in the south-east of
the Gaza Strip. He had just
asked Jamalat to prepare
some tea for him and went to
sit in front of his house
with his then two-year-old
daughter Malak. It's clear
that the sniper had every
intention of killing him
rather than just injuring or
disabling him, for he did
not shoot him once or twice
or in the leg or arm but
rather he aimed and shot him
three times, in his stomach,
his chest and his neck. The
stomach wound was deep
enough to kill him, but he
was shot again in the chest
anyway. He fell to the
ground and laid there, half
alive, hanging between life
and death. He was still
moving and the blood was
running through his veins
until the final shot to his
neck came minutes later. It
eliminated every ounce of
life left in him.
Jamalat did not rush to see
what had happened for
incursions occurred
regularly in Sufa and she
had gotten used to hearing
them. She didn't think to
see where the gunshots came
from until Malak ran over to
her crying with her father's
blood over all her face and
clothes.
Ironically,
the
sniper
aimed
and shot
from the
house of
another
one of
our
relatives,
just 50
meters
away.
The
house
was
raided
the
night
before
and
transformed
into a
military
site. He
shot
from the
roof.
It's a
common
tactic
of the
Israeli
Occupation
Forces (IOF).
To use
the
cover of
night to
quietly
enter an
area of
Gaza and
occupy
civilian
homes in
order to
--
according
to them
--
diffuse
military
activities.
Once the
Israeli
soldiers
occupy a
home the
family
living
there is
often
forced
and
locked
into a
room
without
electricity
or
access
to
phones
which
are
taken by
the
soldiers
to
prevent
any
contact
with
anyone
outside.
The IOF
station
themselves
inside
the home
which is
deemed a
military
site, or
base,
against
the will
of the
home's
residents.
When
this
happens
it is
possible
that no
one else
in the
area
knows
that the
IOF have
taken
over a
home or
even
that
they are
in the
neighborhood.
Typically,
for the
next day
or so,
the army
assesses
the area
and
quietly
plans.
When
it's
ready,
the army
leaves
the home
to make
arrests,
kill
so-called
"militants"
or raze
Palestinian
homes
and
agricultural
lands.
When
they've
finished
they
pull
back
their
tanks
and
bulldozers
only a
short
distance
to the
border
with
Israel
where
they are
always
stationed,
sitting
and
waiting
for
their
next
incursion
into
Gaza.
Jamalat
and my
cousin
had only
been
married
for four
years
when he
was
killed.
They had
just
moved
into
their
new
house
they
built on
the land
he
inherited
from his
father.
Jamalat
says God
has
taken
her
husband
away
from
her,
only to
give her
a son
with the
same
face as
his
father's,
like the
name
they
also
share.
It's
hard to
watch
and hear
Eyad
laugh
without
experiencing
heartbreak.
He has
no idea
about
the
world in
which he
will
grow up.
He will
grow up
with
only
stories
and
pictures
of his
father.
He will
see his
mother
struggle
to feed
him and
his
siblings.
He will
be told
he is a
refugee,
and get
used to
waiting
in line
with his
mother
for
their
food
packages.
He'll
learn to
sleep
with the
sounds
of
Israeli
planes
over his
head. He
will
recognize
the loud
rumbling
sounds
of tanks
coming
into
Gaza
from the
border
and how
that
sound
means
it's
time to
run
home.
Anger
will
fill his
heart
when he
witnesses
Israeli
bulldozers
crush
his
father's
olive
trees.
And he
will
live his
entire
life
under
Israeli
occupation
in an
unjust
world
where he
will
think
such
conditions
are
normal,
knowing
no other
life
than
this.
He will
never
see the
face of
the
Israeli
solider
that
killed
his
father,
or
receive
reparations
for the
life he
will
live.
And the
Israeli
solider
will
never
realize
what he
has done
or whom
he has
hurt,
for he
has
dehumanized
Palestinians
as well
as
himself.
For a
fellow
human
being
would at
least
consider
for a
brief
second
while he
aimed
his
rifle
that the
man in
his
sight
was
someone's
father
and was
loved
dearly
by his
wife and
had a
whole
life
ahead of
him, one
cut
short
with the
pull of
a
faceless
soldier's
trigger.
All
images
by
Yassmin
Moor.
Yassmin
Moor is
a
Palestinian-American
writing
from
Rafah,
Gaza.
She is
currently
working
to
implement
a
gardening
project
through
an
organization
she
co-founded,
Save
Gaza.
Yassmin
can be
reached
at
yasminemoor
A T
gmail D
O T com. |
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