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.

The schools in question are run by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency, which also provides aid for Palestinian refugees throughout the Middle East. Andrew Whitley, the director of UNRWA’s New York office, joins Daljit Dhaliwal to discuss the organization’s position and how the Holocaust is handled in Middle Eastern schools.

Worldfocus producer Mohammad al-Kassim interviews Dr. Sameeh Shbaib of Birzeit University in the West Bank.

On Wednesday, a second round of talks between leaders of the rival Palestinian groups Hamas and Fatah began in Egypt. The talks between the two factions are aimed at forming a national unity government that can better work for a common Palestinian cause.

The Islamist Hamas refuses to recognize Israel and has controlled the Gaza Strip since expelling Fatah forces in June 2007. After its victory in 2006 parliamentary elections, Hamas was given the responsibility to form a Palestinian government. This led to tensions and a power struggle with Fatah, a secular movement led by Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas, the chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO).

Fatah is largely in control of the West Bank and supports the creation of a Palestinian state in a land-for-peace deal with Israel based on the 1967 borders.

Dr. Sameeh Shbaib lectures on philosophy and cultural studies at Birzeit University in the West Bank and recently sat down with Worldfocus producer Mohammad al-Kassim to discuss the ongoing talks in Cairo.

Mohammad al-Kassim: What’s your take on the first round Palestinian national reconciliation meetings in Cairo in mid-March?

Sameeh Shbaib: As Palestinians, we are faced with two different powers — Hamas and Fatah. Hamas is a Islamic political movement that has its own ideology, which is different that the national Palestinian political movement established in 1964. The Palestinian National Covenant [the charter of the PLO] has always been the sole representative of the Palestinian people. Hamas carries its own weight and is a real player in the Palestinian political structure and that comes from the majority it enjoys in the Palestinian national legislation. However, it does not speak for the Palestinian people

That’s why we have these deep differences. Hamas has its own view from all the international alliances and national political programs. If we look at the programs of the PLO, we see that they are secular programs and are not religious or partisan. The move toward Palestinian national reconciliation comes after pressure by Arab countries. As we see, there is an environment now among the Arab countries to set aside their differences. There is a thawing of relations is happening between two moderate nations (Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia) and the so-called rejectionist countries (Syria).

This new phase of Arab cooperation is reflected directly or indirectly on the Palestinian issue, which is in dire need of one unified voice. I hope that the national unity government will lift the blockade on Gaza and begin rebuilding.

MAK: Considering the deep divisions between Hamas and Fatah how strong will this government be?

SS: The positive thing about this government is that it’s going to be a transitional government with big responsibilities. The first is the lifting of the blockade and the rebuilding of Gaza. Second, making sure that legislative and presidential elections take place within 10 months or before the end of January 2010. Basically, what we’d have is a general election, which will decide the future of the Palestinian political system, and everyone would have to respect the results, despite the outcome.

MAK: If Hamas joins a national coalition government, will it be implicitly approving or agreeing to all the peace accords the PLO has signed with Israel?

SS: Not necessarily, and that’s because Hamas is a political party and the government is the executive coalition. All the accords that were signed between the Palestinians and Israel, were signed by the PLO and not by one Palestinian faction. And, Hamas is not a member of the PLO.

Hamas has a stronghold on the Gaza Strip.

MAK: If and when the national unity government is created, does this mean the return of the Palestinian Authority to Gaza?

SS: Yes, if an agreement is reached — and that’s what we hope — this transitional government will be a general unity government, which is part of an agreement that includes five major points. The security issue, election issue, the restructuring of the PLO issue and so on. As a result, this government will be able to spread its influence over the Palestinian territories, meaning Gaza and the West Bank.

MAK: What names are on the table as possible candidates for the prime minister position for the national unity government?

SS: In my opinion, it’s going to be an independent candidate that both Fatah and Hamas will agree to.

MAK: What were the motives behind the resignation the current Palestinian government led by prime minister Salam Fayyad? Was his resignation a result of the talks in Cairo or an internal fight?

SS: It doesn’t matter because this government came after the Hamas coup of June 2006. Then a state of emergency was declared because President Abbas desperately needed someone who could uphold the state of emergency and Fayyad took on this historical role. This government was created with certain goals in mind, and once they were accomplished, there was no more need for it.

MAK: What if a unity government fails? What are the implications of the failure on Palestinians?

SS: We hope and pray to God that when a Palestinian government is created, it does not fail in its mission and succeeds in rebuilding the Palestinian house, because its failure this time will be catastrophic. It will lead to a permanent division between the two territories. And the future of the Palestinian state will forever undecided and all Palestinians will lose.

Photo courtesy of Flickr user flyk3r under a Creative Commons license.

Alon Ben-Meir, an expert on Middle East politics at New York University’s School of Global Affairs, joins Martin Savidge to discuss how the Gaza conflict will impact the likely outcome of the election, the implications of the nationalist party’s recent gains and the future of U.S.-Israel relations.

The president’s special representative, George Mitchell, arrived in the region today, even as the cease-fire was strained by new violence between Israel and Hamas.

Daniel Levy, the director of the Middle East task force at the New America Foundation, joins Martin Savidge to discuss Mitchell’s mission in Gaza, the U.S. approach to Syria and the president’s decision to do an interview with Al-Arabiya.

A water pipe is called a “narghile” in parts of the Middle East.

Photographer Asim Rafiqui is a photojournalist based in Sweden. He is currently in Gaza documenting the effects of Israel’s blockade and military operations on Gaza’s medical infrastructure, working with the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. He writes about his discussions with Palestinians while smoking a water pipe (also known as a “hookah” or “narghile”) in this war-torn region.

The Defiance Of The Nargila

The water pipe has many names.

In the balkans it is called a ‘lula’ or ‘lulava’.

In Egypt and the Persian Gulf it is often referred to as a ’shishe’.

In Iran it is called a ‘ganja’ pronounced as ‘ghelyoon’.

In India and Pakistan it is called a ‘huqqa’.

In Jordan, Greece, Turkey, Azerbaijan, Armenia and Israel, it is called by the beautiful name of ‘narghile’ — a word that has its roots in sanskrit.

But I doubt if it has ever been called a weapon of defiance.

In 2003 I decided to rent an apartment in the city of Rafah, Gaza and document lives of the people living along the border with Egypt.

These mostly refugee neighborhoods were under assault from Israeli armored bulldozers and tanks – all part of the construction machinery being used to build the steel wall along the Philadephia Corridor – the code name the IDF used to describe the stretch of land it controlled between Rafah, Gaza and the Egyptian border.

Today it is the stretch of land that is being used by the Palestinians for the construction of tunnels, and the area the Israeli Air Force concentrated on as it attempted to destroy these tunnels.

One afternoon as I walked around these neighborhoods photographing displaced families, destroyed homes and the bulldozers working the area, I ran into a group of Palestinian men preparing to sit and smoke a narghile. They had spread out, in sight of a group of Israeli tanks protecting a bulldozer demolishing yet another Palestinian home in the area, a small blanket on the edge of the construction area, but within the 100 meter ‘no go’ zone the Israeli’s insisted on enforcing between the steel wall and any Palestinian building or person.

The men invited me to join them.

I hesitated, knowing full well that within minutes the tanks would approach this group of men and either threaten them or simply shoot at them. And sure enough, before we had managed to take our first few puffs of the narghile we saw the tanks starting to move towards us to investigate. We were soon forced to pack and leave.

When I asked the men why they had chosen to smoke there where they were sure to provoke the Israelis they laughed. To me it had seemed a careless act of bravado. I suspect that it was also a small act of defiance – to be where the Israelis had warned them not to be.

Last night in Gaza City, I went out for a narghile with some young Palestinians I have come to know while working here documenting the aftermath of Israel’s Operation Cast Lead.

We sat and talked about ordinary things. The Palestinians always ask me the most ordinary questions; how do you spend your time with your wife? What do you do when you are not working? How do you play with your daughter? What games do you enjoy?

In turn, they tell me about their most important aspirations, and I am always struck by the ordinariness of them; The desire to find a good wife. The hope of finding a job that will bring them financial security. The hope of children, many children.

Ordinary things that over a narghile become the thing of dreams. And the water-pipe, a small act of defiance in the face of the incarceration and deprivation of life in Gaza.

An object that enables pleasures still available to the people here; companionship, conversation and the laughter of friends.

And in the aftermath of the horrors of this last confrontation with Israel, a small act of living life, a small act of defiance.

See the original post.

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

Photo courtesy of Flickr user Johny under a Creative Commons license.

A demonstration in Amman in response to the war in Gaza.

The war in Gaza has generated strong reactions across the globe, particularly in Arab countries. Protesters have marched in support of either side, from Tel Aviv to London.

Rawan Jabaji is an associate producer for PBS’s “Wide Angle” and writes about visiting family in Amman, Jordan when Israel began to launch its offensive in Gaza. For additional resources, view the “Wide Angle” episode “Gaza E.R.”

In Amman, all eyes on Gaza

Missiles started falling on Gaza the day I arrived in Amman, Jordan, to attend my cousin’s wedding and visit with family members I hadn’t seen in eight years. Then a few days later, Israeli ground troops entered Northern Gaza.

From that moment on Gaza was all people talked about. CNN International, BBC, Al Jazeera, Al Arabiya–all the TV stations were reporting on Gaza around the clock. At family functions, my aunts, uncles, cousins and friends all engaged in heated discussions about the crisis. Every taxi driver had the radio tuned to the news. New Year’s Eve celebrations throughout the city were canceled in solidarity.

An estimated 60 percent of Jordanians are of Palestinian origin or descent—including my family. Palestinians were issued citizenship in Jordan following the wars of 1948 and 1967, when they fled to Amman as refugees. Historically, they’ve attempted to blend in, fearing that their Jordanian loyalty may be questioned.

But now, almost 60 years later, the children and grandchildren of Palestinian refugees, who were born and raised in Jordan, are showing their Palestinian pride. Events in Gaza have mobilized the youth to express solidarity by participating in rallies throughout the city, and by wearing the keffiyeh, the traditional checkered scarf that you’ve seen worn by hipsters on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

The black-and-white scarf is customarily worn by Palestinians, while the red-and-white version is worn in Jordan. Jordanians of Palestinian descent usually choose red, as part of their effort to assimilate. But at a hair salon I went to in Amman, the trendy hair dresser in Nike Dunks threading a woman’s eyebrows was wearing the black-and-white keffiyeh, and not around his neck, but around his head, in the traditional style usually only seen on older men. And in Amman’s most exclusive and chic mall, Al Baraka, young girls shopped for designer clutches sporting black-and-white keffiyehs togged around their necks.

During my stay in Amman, demonstrations and donation drives were taking place almost daily.

To read more, see the original post.

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

Photo courtesy of Flickr user hopeless128 under a Creative Commons license.

After 20 days of war, the death toll has surpassed 1,100 and thousands more have joined the endless lines for food. Relief agencies like UNRWA have struggled to meet the basic needs of those in the region.

A new weapon has also been introduced into the conflict: The smokescreen artillery shell. Some say it contains phosphorus, though the Israeli army denies that claim.

Andrew Whitley, the head of the New York office of the UNRWA office for Palestine refugees, joins Martin Savidge to discuss the current humanitarian situation, the U.N. compound and the use and legality of phosphorus in artillery shells.

Martin Savidge’s former cameraman, Adil Bradlow, captures footage of an Israeli tank. Photo: Martin Savidge

Worldfocus anchor Martin Savidge recalls his experience reporting from Gaza in 2002, when his determined cameraman faced the roaring engines of an Israeli tank to get a closer shot.

It was rush hour in Gaza and the tanks were bumper-to-bumper.

I won’t bother blogging about the current conflict in Gaza. The topic is so divisive that no matter what I write, it would be perceived as too this, or too that.

Instead, I’ll tell you about the first time I went to Gaza — in the fall of 2002, as a correspondent for CNN. It was another time of tension between Israelis and Palestinians, back when Israel still occupied the Gaza Strip and before Hamas took it over.

Late one afternoon, we were traveling back from an interview. We had a driver and interpreter. The cameraman was Adil Bradlow, and a still photographer friend of his from South Africa joined us.

It was rush hour and the two-lane highway outside Gaza City was heavy with small cars and commercial vehicles. Not all of Gaza is dense urban sprawl; there are open areas of land, and we were in one such place.

Suddenly, a hulking Merkava tank — the main battle tank of the Israeli Defense Forces — swerved across the road. Its large cannon swiveled on its turret like the head of a beast, as the body belched a huge cloud of white smoke.

Now, in many parts of the world, this would have brought traffic to a standstill. Not Gaza. It was clear that drivers were accustomed to this, and it surprised me how nimbly they maneuvered around the tank, risking a crushing death if they misjudged the spinning treads that ground up the asphalt along with the dirt.

Another tank immediately followed in its wake, and as we looked in the direction from where they came, we could see a whole line of Israeli armor moving in formation. There was no firing and no clear indication of what the Israelis were up to. But that didn’t stop us from demanding that the driver pull over so we could get out and film.

I had been in enough conflict zones by then to know that you don’t approach a military convoy on the move, even if you only hold a camera or notebook. It’s a good way to get run over or shot. So Adil set his camera up on a tripod and filmed the procession from 100 yards away.

It was then we noted the tank closest to us. It was particularly loud and releasing a lot of smoke. It lurched forward, then back…I recognized the motion. It was stuck and trying to free itself from the soft sand. By now, the rest of the convoy had pushed on ahead. The Israeli tank and the crew inside were suddenly alone and vulnerable, and the crowd of Palestinian drivers halted nearby knew it.

As the tank continued to try and free itself, Adil — who has spent a lot of time in Gaza — decided this was the perfect opportunity to get a really close-up shot of an Israeli tank. So he took his camera off the sticks, put it on his shoulder and marched in the direction of the stuck Merkava. I had just the opposite thought, and felt this was probably a good time to move away from the disabled tank, retreating behind the corner of a nearby abandoned gas station — hardly any shelter from the Merkava’s 120mm gun, but I felt safer.

Adil continued to advance, and it wasn’t long before the tank took notice, swinging its turret and lowering its barrel to meet him head on.

Adil didn’t flinch. In other wars, I have seen a camera person shot for far less. Adil just kept moving closer.

Suddenly, the hatch of the tank flopped open and the commander rose up with an M-16 rifle, firing it into the air. Others who had been emboldened by Adil’s lead quickly scampered back…but not him. I tried shouting to him to get back, but Adil couldn’t hear anything above the roar of the tank’s laboring engine. Having made his point, the tank commander dropped back inside.

The standoff continued until finally another Israeli tank returned and pushed the stuck Merkava out the hole it had sunk into.

I always thought Adil was kind of dumb — after all, he could have just zoomed in from a distance to get his close-up shot.

But to Adil, it wasn’t about the shot at all but rather about the message he wanted to send: That he wasn’t intimidated by the power of the tank.

- Martin Savidge

Bin Laden called for opening up new fronts in his war against America and its allies and condemned Arab governments for being allies of Israel.

Thomas Sanderson, a senior fellow at the Center for Straetgic and International Studies in Washington D.C. and an expert in terrorism and intelligence-gathering, joins Martin Savidge to discuss the timing and message of bin Laden’s tape as well as prospects for capturing or killing the elusive al-Quaeda leader.

Egyptian and Palestinian negotiators met again on Wednesday in Cairo and came out of their meetings with the first public statements on a proposed cease-fire. While no Israeli representatives participated, an Egyptian official said they were “working with the Israeli side.”

At a brief news conference, a Hamas spokesman said his government still has reservations about the agreement.

Another spokesman for Hamas told reporters he was “optimistic now because there is no other choice for us.”

Daniel Levy, the director of the Middle East task force at the New America Foundation, joins Martin Savidge to discuss the Egyptian plan for a cease-fire, the Israeli military’s position and other prospects for bringing an end to the conflict.

Tamara Cofman Wittes, a senior fellow with the Saban Center for Middle East Policy at The Brookings Institution, joins Martin Savidge to discuss the effects of the Gaza war on moderate Arab governments allied with the U.S. and how this will impact American interests in the region as President-elect Barack Obama prepares to take office.

Worldfocus.org presents a webcasted radio show on Gaza with the help of BlogTalkRadio.

Worldfocus.org and anchor Martin Savidge host a panel featuring a range of voices and perspectives on Gaza, addressing questions submitted by Worldfocus viewers:

Ehud Eiran is a research fellow at the Belfer Center’s International Security Program at Harvard University. Prior to his studies, Eiran served as an officer in the Israeli Army and is currently a reserve major. He was a legal clerk for two Israeli attorney generals and assistant to Prime Minister Ehud Barak’s Foreign Policy Advisor.

Wendy Pearlman is a political science professor at Northwestern University specializing in Palestinian politics. She is currently finishing a book that examines fragmentation and violence in the history of the Palestinian national movement. She is the author of “Occupied Voices: Stories of Everyday Life from the Second Intifada.”

Ghassan Shabaneh is a professor of Middle East and international studies at Marymount Manhattan College. During his career, Mr. Shabaneh has done extensive field research in the Middle East, and most recently in the West Bank, Syria and Jordan. He is currently working on a book tentatively called “The Role of the United Nations in State Building: The Case of Palestine.” Watch his previous interviews on the Worldfocus newscast.

Charles D. Smith is a professor of Middle East history at the University of Arizona. He has written extensively on the Arab-Israeli conflict and is the author of “Palestine and the Arab-Israeli Conflict,” currently in its seventh edition. He is a former president of the American Research Center in Egypt and a former research fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He has lived and done research in Egypt, Israel, Lebanon and Tunisia.

Music courtesy of the Search for Common Ground.

Credits:
Host: Martin Savidge
Producers: Lisa Biagiotti, Katie Combs and Stephen Puschel

Anthony Cordesman, an expert on the Middle East, terrorism and defense policy at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington, joins Martin Savidge to discuss Israel’s consideration of a “phase three” in its war against Hamas and the smuggling of weapons into Gaza from Egypt. 

Nabil Abuznaid, a top Palestinian representative in the United States and an official with the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), joins Martin Savidge to discuss public sentiment among Palestinians, the effect of the war in Gaza on Hamas’s popularity and Fatah’s role in resolving the conflict. 

The U.S. abstained from voting as it waited for the results of talks between Hamas and Israel mediated by Egypt.

Countries like France and Turkey are also involved in trying to mediate an end to the conflict.

Robert Pastor, a professor at American University and senior advisor to the Carter Center on conflict resolution in the Middle East, joins Martin Savidge to discuss diplomatic efforts by the United Nations and others to end fighting in Gaza. They discuss the rejection of the cease-fire resolution, communication with Hamas and the level of American influence in the region.

Hezbollah’s ally Iran is also a strong supporter of Hamas and has been very critical of Israel’s offensive in Gaza.

Hillel Fradkin, a senior fellow at the Hudson Institute in Washington, joins Martin Savidge to discuss where the blame lies for the rocket fire and Iran’s involvement in the Gaza conflict.

They join Martin Savidge to share their knowledge of this divided region, in this third segment focusing on pessimism surrounding the current violence. They also reflect on their own interaction in the workplace.

See the first part of their conversation here: Israeli, Palestinian media show different sides of Gaza story.

See the second part of their conversation here: Producers recount personal stories from Gaza and Israel.

As the war in Gaza continues and tensions flare on both sides, Worldfocus takes a step back to examine the historical roots of the conflict and the background of the current war in Gaza.

Thank you for your responses. Worldfocus.org presents a webcasted radio show on Gaza with the help of BlogTalkRadio, addressing some of your questions.