Eman Abu Shawish Story 24

I was writing to you yesterday, on the forty seventh day, on the details of the daily struggle after they took us ages back in time to where we use the oldest and most primitive tools to get by…

The forty eighth day, the day that officially completes seven weeks of barbarianism and inhumanity…

They ascertained yesterday that the humanitarian truce kicks in at 7:00 in the morning. Our history and experience with the Zionists is that this night will be our worst by far… they attempt to gather as many souls and wins before leaving… we wish they would disappoint in this, at least one time.

At half past midnight, a major explosion lit up the earth and the sky. They targeted a house in the street next to ours.

The burning fire was like hell and we see it behind 2-3-story buildings, warning of a humongous fire about to erupt!!

My heart beats fast… “I suspect it’s the house of… no, no, Eman… no, it’s not them…”

I practiced the most beautiful forms of avoidance for about twenty minutes… until, as per usual, a man appeared from the group who left their homes, coming from every corner and every street to the attacked home, hoping to save anyone. The man yelled: “The Abu Shawish home…”

Yes, it’s them… those whom I thought they were. My maternal grandpa’s place that hosts six apartments in which my uncles and their families live…

Communications are in their worst state. I try everyone’s phone, but no one is reachable…

A few moments later, I see one of my uncles’ names on the caller ID. Score I could say anything, he beats me to asking: “Eman، if anything happened, tell me and don’t keep anything from from me!”

I knew that he was at the hospital where he worked as a physician at the time of the attack, and I heard him ask those around him: “Did they bring anyone or not yet!!”

I replied: “I swear I am hiding nothing from you; but we know nothing yet, grateful to God you’re ok.”

The call ended uncharacteristically of how our calls usually end. This person was not merely an uncle to me, he was a brother, a friend, a dear one, and our calls never start nor end this way. But it’s the rush of the worried…

At least I was assured one person was ok…

The clock hands are not moving. Time is not passing. Getting to those in the middle of the destruction is not an option; thoughts are driving me crazy; no escape from sobbing…

After a while – that felt like a century -, the time was 4:00 am when my husband and son returned from the site of the shelling. People dug up with their hands whomever they could find near the surface of the rubble, and tens were trapped in the deeper levels. Some hope remained that we may pull some of the others out at dawn, when the morning light shines on a hand or a leg to lead us to its owner…

Minutes are heavy as we count them towards sunrise. We anxiously await so we can look for our beloved ones…

Shortly after 5:30 am, mostly dark still, the jaw of death decided to give us a taste. I had previously informed you about terrible, horrific explosions… I apologize that I cannot find words to describe this particular explosion…

I, the one whose words never fail her, swear I cannot find the words to accurately describe what happened…

All I know is that my heart literally, not figuratively, stopped from the gravity of the sounds. Sounds that cannot be understood to be described in the first place, as if it was the sound of death calling, with a resounding echo. I was saying: “What is this!! What is this!!”

I try to comprehend, but nobody comprehends. Nobody moved an inch. I just reached out with my right hand to cover Dana and with my left hand to cover Fayruz, who was trembling with fear… We were coughing from all the smoke, but for the first time, we didn’t care about it. There was something far worse. Doom’s Day must be upon us!

I got up, only to discover that we, along with every inch of the floors of the house, were all covered in glass. Above us were all the metal pieces ripped off the windows and scattered for meters by and above us… some shrapnels… cracks in the roof, 2 walls, and fallen parts of the kitchen… only God’s care saw us through, we would never have survived all of this without His will…

Sunshine started to show, and we could eye the target. It was our neighbours’ home. Their house is separated from ours by a one-story house that belongs to a relative of ours and now covered with asbestos. Two martyrs were pulled out – a girl and her mother – and a wounded person, whereas three neighboring homes turned into rubble in the blink of an eye… I wonder if Nagham – one of the martyrs – was like everyone else? Was she waiting for 7:00 am, to celebrate a trite ceasefire, where she can catch a few stolen breaths, before we all return to the same abyss, to nothingness!!

I resume writing the story 3 days later; one of my cousins was found two days later, martyred after the unspeakable attack, while tens remain under the rubble to this moment…

The young martyr was my son’s best friend. Even war had not stopped them from visiting each other. They were together just a few hours before the shelling, and the first thing he planned to do the morning of the ceasefire was to have tea with my son on the roof of our house as they used to do… I don’t know if they have tea in Heaven, but I do know that I have no idea how to console my son after this painful loss… and this young martyr was an expatriate, as his parents live in one of the Arab countries while him and his sister came to study in the colleges of Gaza… still no sign of his sister who was still somewhere under the rubble…

I may talk to you later about this experience of death, after I wrap my head around it.

All I know is that we returned from death… it hugged us tight, then let us go. Maybe to catch us again. Maybe our time is not up just yet.

Eman Abu Shawish – Mental Health Practitioner at UPA, Gaza, Palestine
28 November 2023

To read all stories in the series: http://upaconnect.org/category/gaza2023