Jan 30, 2009
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Hiyam Noir at Al-Attatra Village Gaza

GAZA - Twenty-eight letters of the Arabic language aare no longer sufficient to create a the new vocabulary capable of describing the horrible stories of the Israelis Cast Lead Operation - Massacre in Gaza. The great pain from her grief will last for a long time. Nor can the creation of even 100 letters in the repetoire of the English language express the deep trauma in Ismail's face, a face washed by a thousand tears. I am looking into the eyes of a man's face, aged but still so young. In just a few days many years were added to his face.

I am meeting Ismail in a friends house, he will tell me about the events that culminated in the murder of his 8 year old son, Ibrahim. Ibrahim was assassinated by Israeli soldiers in front of his own father. Ismail told me how helpless he felt, he himself a real man, and a strong fighter, became a victim of the Israelis perverted cruelty. Ismail was forced to watch the horror, a seemingly endless wave of extremely savage violence, that lasted for many hours and days, not being able to protect his family, not able to save the life of his precious son Ibrahim.

Some nine days before the Israelis left Gaza, after conducting the most awful war crimes, [unanimously condemned throughout the world], Israeli ground troops and death squads [snipers] had in an early stage of the invasion closed off the village of Al-Attatra. In this village the Israelis executed the little boy Ibrahim in cold blood. After the killing, the Zionists manifested their murder. With a sinister expression on their faces they began a ritual dance around the child, lying there on the blood soaked floor; then they discharged their weapons and emptied the bullets into Ibrahim's motionless body.

Despite the long siege, the closed borders and continued Israeli attacks from the air, the sea and the land, the young parents, Ismail, Assefa and their small children tried to make the best of their lives. They never left their home in search for a safe shelter. This family of ordinary people woke up every day by the sunrise and as a custom, every morning they brought their children into the garden in front of their house. How would they know that this silent morning would be the beginning of a very dark day, a day that would change their lives forever. On the horizon there was not the usual sight of a beautiful raising sun and another bad omen - the birds had left the tree on the courtyard, to escape far away from the approaching evil force, trespassing across the border into the northern Palestinian lands of Gaza.

Ibrahim was restless this morning, he longed to leave his room, so he asked his mother Assefa if he could go out and play in the garden, "just for a little while”. He said, "Mommy please, let us drink tea and eat our breakfast outside”. With these words to his mother, Ibrahim pursued her to bring the family outside to enjoy their first meal of the day together in the garden. This poor family did not think that Israeli snipers, positioned on the rooftops and soldiers on the ground, some 50 meters away from the house, would see them there or hear their voices.

Suddenly the silence was broken. Dogs barked ferociously and a severe assault on this family began. A missile hit the house and large parts of the building's structure collapsed. Shrapnel from the missile blasted deep lines and holes into the walls. The sharp, frightening sound of terror was deafening: "the cups fell down, spilled out the tea, then crashed on the beautiful colored tiles below the breakfast table and the bread was covered in blood." Ibrahim, the child, was hit by scrapnel and suffered in awful pain, he cried out to his father, "Dad I am dying, dad I am dying", according to Ibrahim's father, Ismail. He said, "I lifted up Ibrahim's body from the ground and carried him in my arms, searching for his wounds. I saw the blood on my hands pumping out from Ibrahim's abdomen. I screamed to my wife and I told her, 'let’s get out, lets get out of here quickly'.” While carrying the injured Ibrahim, the family tried to escape outside through the door …not knowing that there were the Israelis waiting for them, positioned in front of the house, aiming heavy machine guns at the family.

Bullets penetrated the body of Assefa. Because of the sharp pain she was unable to walk and she was too traumatised to even understand what was going on with her family. Another bullet penetrated the back of Ismail, Ibrahim's father. His seriously injured child fell from his arms to the ground ... "With a round of bullets the Israelis silenced the last breath of my child", Ismail said. Ibrahim's siblings were hiding behind the walls of the house, crying and grabbing and tightly holding onto their mother, Assefa, with their little hands. Then came the foreshadowing silence, Ibrahim was dead, his family was still a life, the parents thought that the terror was over and that they now were safe. But the silence was just a warning, more terror was emerging, now voices of Israeli soldiers could be heard and the squeaking sound of tanks were moving closer.

Ismail told me, that he became terrified. He remained there, with his face down on the floor, injured in his arm and back. He made a quick decision to act as if he was dead. He prayed to God that the Israelis would leave him, when he suddenly heard their steps walking near his son Ibrahim. Hard army boots began to kick the child’s body ... "they turned him around with their boots to make sure the child was dead ... The Israelis then dragged Ibrahim's body up the stairs to the second floor of the house. There, they discharged their weapons and the shooting resumed. More than 50 bullets penetrated his body; loud laughter would be heard; the Israelis lined up around my roughly-handled Ismail. They discharge their weapons again and emptied the bullets into the body of my poor child. I thought the horror would never end, how long did it last, one minute, ten minutes, I cannot recall, I lost my mind."

Before I left, I asked Ismail, “Do you believe you can survive this terrible trauma, will you ever be able to come back to life again? He answered me with a voice marked by bottomless sadness, his eyes dark and full of tears,

"I don’t know what my son did to these pigs. He was only a child. We, my wife Assefa and I, spent four days in the cold and darkness. We both were bleeding from our wounds. Thanks to the cold weather, we did not bleed to death. I held Assefa in my arms, together we looked at the body of Ibrahim, our son, and we remembered the happy day when he was born. Our grievance is beyond description, our son was dying there in front of our eyes, drowning in his own blood. During four days we did not move because we believed the Israelis would come back, to make sure we were dead, we were witnesses of their crimes. I was thinking that if I had not acted dead they would not leave me there alive; they would complete the killing. God willing, how I prayed it would go fast."

I said to Ismail, "I can see by looking at your wounds on your body,that you lost a lot of blood. Are all your wounds healed a bit now". He answered,

“they left a wounded heart inside me ... eternal pain you know that will last forever. During the four days, it was a nightmare, we were suffering in the cold from trauma, without drinking water and without food. There was no electricity and no water to heat, to wash our self and to clean our wounds. In the 5th day we heard a vehicle outside and there was an old women in a carriage. I forced my self to pull together all my power to call for her. Thanks to God, she heard my call for help, her carriage moved closer to us. She called the Palestinian ambulance service from her mobile phone. Because of the bulldozed roads and our narrow alleys, after one very long hour of waiting, the ambulance crew arrived to transfer four survivors of our family to Kamal Edwan hospital. On the way to the hospital I was thinking of my son and I looked at my poor wife Assefa, and our two small children. They were still unaware of that they lost their brother Ibrahim - we all will need much time and professional help to heal from this trauma."

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*Hiyam Noir is Axis of Logic's war correspondent in Gaza. She is a courageous writer, poet, editor and publisher of Palestine Free Voice. Read her bio and all her reports coming directly from Gaza in: 

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and in AXIS OF LOGIC'S

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