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Perspectives

September 18, 2009
Bullet holes, grief remain for Gaza family after war

Jen Marlowe is a filmmaker, writer and human rights activist who recently returned from Israel and the Gaza Strip, where she was doing research for an upcoming book about a Palestinian family.  While there, she met with a father who lost two sons during the 2008-2009 Gaza war. This week, the United Nations released a report condemning the actions of both sides during the conflict. This is the story of one family’s loss.

Abu Absal Shurrab stood in front of his red jeep  and waved energetically when he saw me. I walked towards him. “Salaam aleikum!” we greeted each other warmly, and Abu Absal indicated that I should get into the jeep.

Abu Absal stands next to the car that he and his sons were shot in.

My heart stopped momentarily as he stepped out of the way and the vehicle became fully visible. The windshield was splattered with bullet holes. This was the car Abu Absal was driving the day he was shot and his sons, Kassab and Ibrahim, were killed.

I climbed inside the passenger seat, trying to discreetly count the bullet holes as Abu Absal guided the car onto the road. Twenty that I could see, including the semi-shattered rear-view mirror. Abu Absal noticed my preoccupation.

“Kassab was sitting exactly where you are now,” he told me. “Ibrahim was in the back seat, directly behind him. When the shooting started, I shouted for them to crouch down low. But the bullets went through the front of the car. I tried to replace the windshield, but because of the siege, there is no glass available anywhere in Gaza Strip.”

The final days of 2008 and the first weeks of 2009 saw a large-scale Israeli military bombardment and invasion of Gaza Strip. Israel termed the incursion “Operation Cast Lead,” saying it was intended to protect the citizens of the southern community of Sderot, 24 of whom had been killed by Palestinian rocket fire from Gaza over the past eight years.

According to a recently released report by the Israeli human rights organization B’tselem, 1,387 Palestinians were killed during the 22-day attack, over half of them civilians, including more than 300 children. Several thousand more innocent people were injured, more than 3,000 homes were destroyed and 20,000 were damaged. United Nations schools, clinics and other humanitarian facilities were bombed.

On January 16, 2009, towards the end of the onslaught, I received an email with the horrifying subject line:

“Help me save my dad’s life.”

It was from Amer Shurrab. I’ve known Amer for 10 years, since he was 14 years old. Amer is from Khan Yunis, Gaza, but had recently graduated from Middlebury College and had just moved to Washington, D.C.

With dread, I opened the email. Amer wrote:

“My father’s car was bombed today, he was in it with two of my brothers. My older brother 27 was killed while my dad 64 and my little brother 17 have been bleeding for over 14 hours and Israeli troops blocking ambulances access.  Please contact any media outlets, your congressmen, senators, any international organizations and try to get them help.”

Several hours later, I got another email from Amer with more details about the incident and an update. The morning of the attack, his father and brothers had gone to check on their farm during the daily three-hour humanitarian “ceasefire.” On their way home, his father’s red jeep was bombarded by a hail of bullets from IDF troops who had commandeered a house approximately fifty meters away. Amer’s older brother, Kassab, was shot in the chest and stomach 18 times and died on the spot. His father was shot in the arm and his younger brother, Ibrahim, was shot below the knee.

Abu Absal shouted to the soldiers that he and his sons needed medical attention. They shouted back for him to call an ambulance. He did, via cell phone, but was told by the Red Crescent that the Israeli army would not permit them access. Abu Absal managed to contact media and human rights groups, who launched an immediate campaign to pressure the army to allow medical care to reach the wounded civilians. Nearly 24 hours later, the IDF permitted an ambulance to reach Abu Absal and his sons. By then it was too late for Amer’s younger brother. Ibrahim had already bled to death.

Abu Absal parked the jeep outside an apartment building in Khan Yunis. “Here’s where we live,” he told me. “Any time you are in Gaza, you should make this your home!” We climbed the steps and entered. Abu Absal introduced me cheerfully to his wife and his two daughters. Heaviness and grief was palpable in the home, especially in the eyes of Amer’s mother and sisters. Nevertheless, Abu Absal was determined that my visit be an occasion for happiness. He instructed me to sit in an easy chair, next to his.

“We must speak of many things!” Abu Absal said brightly. “Your visit is like a breeze of fresh air to the family. Only…” He leaned towards me and adopted the tone of a fatherly scolding. “You are not staying long enough! So early tomorrow morning we will visit the farm, before you have to return to Gaza City!”

“Do you go to the farm often?” I asked his university-aged daughter, hoping to engage her in the conversation.

“Not really,” she replied, barely making eye contact.

“The girls no longer like the farm,” Abu Absal explained. “They blame the farm for the death of their brothers. After all, if we hadn’t gone that morning…” He didn’t complete the sentence.

Abu Absal shows off his farm.

The sun was just beginning to rise the next morning when Abu Absal and I climbed back into his battered jeep.  The sandy roads of Khan Yunis were bathed in golden light and early morning silence. We turned off the main road after passing the European Hospital. Less than a minute later, we approached an intersection. Abu Absal slowed down. “This was where they were killed,” he said. “You see that brown house?” he pointed. “That’s where the soldiers shot from. I didn’t know they were there. If I had known, I could have taken another route…”

Amer had told me how close the hospital was to the scene of the killings, but seeing it for myself felt like a punch in my gut. Kassab could not have been helped, but Abu Absal and Ibrahim, even with their injuries, could have made it there, walking or crawling or both. But the soldiers had threatened to shoot them if they moved.

Ten minutes later, Abu Absal was giving me a tour of the farm, pointing out with love and devotion each fig and citrus tree, every pepper, the collection of bee hives. From the window of the elevated farm house, he asked me if I could see the fence and the military tower in the distance. I could. “That’s the border with Israel,” he told me. “I watched dozens of tanks roll into Gaza from there. I must guard the farm every day to make sure no one uses it to launch rockets. I don’t want the Israelis to have any excuse to destroy my farm.”

The destruction was not always related to rocket fire. The day before, I had filmed the remains of a school bombed by fighter jets, a clinic that had been shelled and a residential neighborhood reduced to rubble. I had also seen a mosque sprayed with bullets from a recent shootout between Hamas and an Islamic militant group. But in the midst of this destruction, I also witnessed resilience and ingenuity. I saw tent-dwellers whose homes were destroyed tap into a main power line, providing their families with electricity. I watched a youth soccer tournament and broke the Ramadan fast with families at sundown. Though people were going about their daily lives, loss and pain in Gaza still run very deep.

Abu Absal tenderly showed me his baby eggplants nestled in rich soil. He offered me a ripe pomegranate dangling temptingly off a tree. A warm light glowed in his eyes.

“Your farm is beautiful,” I said, hoping my appreciation would further boost his spirits.

A cloud passed over Abu Absal’s face. He fingered the rubbery leaves of his olive tree silently. Finally he spoke, echoing, it seemed to me, the sentiment of thousands of Gazan civilians. Those who lost loved ones, their homes, their schools. Those who saw crushed in front of their eyes whatever hope they still nurtured, whatever shards of a normal life they had managed to preserve throughout decades of occupation and years of escalating violence.

“It is very beautiful here indeed. But the beauty means nothing since my sons are gone.”

– Jen Marlowe

The views expressed by contributing bloggers do not reflect the views of Worldfocus or its partners.

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Comments

9 comments

#9

Thank you Jen for sharing your experience & the experience of the people you meet on your travels while doing research. It’s just so sad that there are people out there who not only feel nothing for this family’s loss & the pointless loss of precious human life, but they diminish these families’ pain and anguish by bringing up all kinds of irrelevant things. Such irreverence … Thank God for writers like you. I pray that you will always have the strength and courage to continue doing what you obviously care deeply about. And I will pray for your safety.

#8

Jen, keep on going. What else can make a difference? Devastating! And so many years…

#7

I didn’t read any analyses in a media, why HAMAS are firering rockets for more than 3 years?? What is the goal they are trying to achieve??Media reported only about result of operation. For sure HAMAS know effectiveness of kassam rockets. They are not so “stupid Palestinians”, as one of their supporters said; they act by ORDER’s from Iran and Syria. HAMAS bosses have very simple plan: Provoke Israel to respond, put civilians under fire and so call “balanced media” prepare new “honest reports” to starts new anti-Israeli propaganda companies. Arabs could not defeat Israel in conventional wars; they switch to moral and political attacks to destroy Israel. Before they started aggressions in 1948, 1967 and 1973 they did not care about international law, but after every Israeli anti-terror operation they cry on front of CNN or BBC camera: “Israeli aggressor violated international law”, “war crimes” or “disproportional respond”..

#6

oh so israel should go on trail for war crimes but what about chinas war crimes conducted in tibet youll let them get away and say that israel is the only country treating people badly just because thew US is in debt to them

#5

Israel has to be blamed for the situation In Gaza . Israel troops killed 1300 people . Most of them are children . Israel is acting as a bully. then every body make an excuses for the Israel. Israel should hold accountable for wall crime. and sudanse gov should stand for trail .no expection for nobody

#4

such a documentary could easily be made about two boys killed in a rocket attack upon israel yet it isnt because this blogger only cares about terrorists not the real innocent victims

#3

I don’t understand how anyone can read this or any other account of life in Gaza and not weep tremendously. We are all human beings, regardless of nationality, and we all have hearts which suffer greatly at needless loss. I can’t decide within my soul which is the greater sorrow-that some innocents have died needlessly or that other human beings felt justified in taking their lives.

#2

Good platitudes…till the child that is snuffed…is your own.

The you can babble how Humanity is one
and everyone is feeling Unity in their Harmony.

Meanwhile…
back in Reality…

#1

There are big holocausts and there are little holocausts. All who die and suffer have the same human longings in there hearts. It is time to forget fancy words like, “holocaust”. When we make a mistake, we should admit it and ask the collective humanity for some suggestion as to how to correct our defects. I have one suggestion: Think long and hard about the fact that humanity is one. If one child dies unjustly, it is a defect in the whole of human society.

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