Ramallah: For a while, I hesitated to write about my recent personal encounter with Israeli troops. Moreover, this limited encounter seemed miniature when compared with the massacre that took place inside the Jenin refugee camp, or with the devastation of the old city of Nablus and the siege around the Nativity Church in Bethlehem. However, I made up my mind to write about my experience because I became convinced that it constitutes part of a phenomenon that has been and is being systematically repeated in thousands of Palestinian homes.
The situation in Ramallah was not rosy prior to the Israeli invasion. The city was invaded twice before. The residents of Ramallah and other cities, towns, refugee camps and villages suffered a lot from the invasions as well as from the Israeli military siege. More than 129 military checkpoints deprived 3 million Palestinians from freedom of movement. People felt captive inside their localities.
During that period nightly bombardment and heavy machine gun fire by the Israeli army disrupted our life. We simply could not sleep well nor function as human beings. Both our work and sleep were disrupted. We did not know that the worse was yet to come.
On the morning of 29 March we were awakened by the squeaking of Israeli tanks. A large number of tanks and troop carriers passed through the narrow streets of our neighbourhood, heading towards the centre of the city. Then we heard heavy tank fire and it sounded as hell was breaking loose. The next day a military bulldozer accompanied by two tanks dug a deep tunnel across the road that connects Ramallah with another town called Betunia. A few days later a gigantic tank drove in the narrow road right in front of our apartment building. While driving, it knocked down part of the house opposite us. During the first few days, we watched a number of Israeli tanks chase Palestinian ambulances. A number of ambulances passed in front of our apartment building. We could clearly see the bullet holes that penetrated their window shields and metal bodies.
Between 29 March and 20 April we lived under tight military curfew, with Israeli tanks patrolling our neighbourhood during the day as well as at night. Their patrol schedule starts with heavy shooting in the air. Then tanks, followed by troop carriers, begin to rumble in our neighbourhood. On four different occasions, the curfew was lifted for a few hours. We went out of our apartment for the first time, only to realize that most of the streets of Ramallah were blocked by barbed wire, tanks and troop carriers. Only one quarter of the city was opened for the 50,000 residents of Ramallah. What we saw was depressing and ugly. The entire infrastructure of the city was devastated. Electricity, telephone and traffic pylons were knocked down and crushed. Water pipes were dug out and cut by Israeli bulldozers. Shops, supermarkets and banks were ransacked by Israeli troops. Numerous trees were knocked down and crushed by tanks. Moreover, numerous vehicles were either crushed or knocked by tanks. The beautiful city was turned by the invading Israeli army into a disaster area.
On 6 April we were awakened by a telephone call from a neighbour. He calmly informed us that three tanks and two troop carriers have surrounded our apartment building. So all of us got dressed at once and prepared ourselves for the uninvited visit of the Israeli army. Two neighbours came and stayed with us. We all began to encourage each other. I sneaked to have a look from the window of the veranda and saw two tanks stationed at the two ends of our apartment building. From the kitchen window, I could see another tank. Their cannons were pointed at our apartments. The scene was frightening and revolting.
As tension and fear began to rise, my 10-year-old daughter Orjuwana rushed to her room and fetched her three favourite dolls and a teddy bear. A moment later, she went back to her room and brought with her a children's book in Hebrew. She placed the book between the teddy bear and the two dolls. When I asked her why she had brought the Hebrew book, she innocently said: "I don't want the soldiers to take away my dolls and teddy bear. When the soldiers enter our apartment, they will see the book and will not take my dolls and teddy bear." I and my partner Maha, placed our two identity cards in a handy place and opened our door a little.
Moments later, other neighbours informed us by telephone that soldiers had entered the first section. Two out of 10 apartments were at the time occupied by their Palestinian owners, while eight were not. After searching the two apartments, the soldiers dynamited the multi-lock doors of the other eight. The sound of the multiple explosions was deafening and frightening. Orjuwana began to cry in fear and we became very tense. Every few minutes, we would be shocked by another explosion.
Finally, six soldiers entered our apartment. The officer asked for our identity cards and took mine to carry out a security check. The officer and a soldier ordered me, while pointing their M-16 guns towards my back, to walk in front of them and show them our apartment. While we were in our bedroom, the officer asked me: "Do you have any weapons? I said: "No I don't." Then, while I was showing them our library, the officer asked me: "Do you have any inciting material?" I said: "I do not work in incitement. I am a lecturer in sociology." "Where do you teach sociology?", he retorted. "At Bir Zeit University." Then the soldier remarked: "Oh, this is the university of the Shaheedim", meaning the "terrorists". I decided not to respond.
After the search the officer ordered us to remain seated. Maha then asked them if we could go out of the apartment while they dynamite the neighbours' doors, but they flatly refused. Apparently, they wanted us to hear the explosions. They probably thought that it would instill fear in us and make us feel that the Israeli army has to be feared. They probably thought that the psychological impact of the explosions would lead us to conclude that resistance to Israeli colonialism is futile and costly. We felt both humiliated and powerless. So, we decided to put our fingers into our ears, but the explosions simply shook the entire building. The soldiers dynamited a total of 21 multi-lock doors.
When the soldiers left our section of the building to go to the last one, we felt some relief for a short while. We quickly counted the unoccupied apartments in the fourth section. We both told our daughter: "Orjuwana, only five more and that's it." I decided to look out of the window, and immediately an explosion took place. I heard the shattering of the window glass and saw two aluminium windows flying down. One landed in our neighbours' garden and the other fell in our own small garden.
After six tormenting hours the soldiers concluded their mission of "search and destroy" and left us. Moments later, the terrified neighbours began to come and all of us went to see the destruction that was left by the soldiers. After talking to the neighbours, I realized that some of them went through a worse experience. Both an old man who suffers from prostate problems and his terrified grandchildren were prevented for two hours from going to the bathroom. The soldiers arrested two of the neighbours. The father and son of the neighbours opposite our apartment building were severely beaten by the soldiers for insisting that the map on the wall was that of Palestine and not of Israel. The experience all of us went through was terrifying and traumatic.
That night I could not go to sleep because I kept hearing the sound of explosions all over the neighbourhood. My daughter Orjuwana woke up twice after going through two nightmares. The soldiers were determined to search other houses and dynamite the doors of empty ones. Days and nights later, we still hear similar explosions.
The soldiers' uninvited visit to my apartment made me ponder on my life in Ramallah. In the period preceding the second intifadah, I thought that Ramallah was the most beautiful city in Palestine and life in it was both socially and intellectually rewarding. Israel's colonial war has simply devastated the city and shattered our lives to pieces. We simply can neither sleep well nor function as human beings. The social fabric of our life has been traumatized. The brutalities of this colonial war have disrupted the flow of normal life for thousands of Palestinian families.
I realize now that, for one and half years, I have been held captive inside besieged Ramallah. In the last 21 days I have become a captive inside my own apartment. Our space has shrunk enormously and our humiliation has become deeper.
*Zuhair Sabbagh teaches sociology at Bir Zeit University in the occupied West Bank.