I Want My Home Back
Gili Karo, Senior, Ami Asaf High School, Beit Berel
I was talking with friends in the center of my village when we heard gun shots. Shocked and scared, we ran into the closest basement we could find. We soon learned it was nothing—someone from our neighboring Arab village got too close to the fence. The shots were fired to scare him off.
I live in Salit, a small village located three kilometers beyond the Green Line, the border between pre-1967 Israel and territory captured by Israel in the Six Day War. I grew up surrounded by nature, in peace with the Arabs around us. This is the childhood my parents wanted for me when they decided to move to Salit. As I grew older I learned about the argument over the territories beyond the Green Line. My mother told me she had made sure no Arab house was ever destroyed so we could build our own. For me that was enough.
Things are different now. The number of soldiers has increased rapidly. Friends are not allowed to visit. My mother looks more worried every day. Before, I never even had a key to my house; now I check twice that the door is locked before going to sleep. Our quiet, peaceful village is no longer peaceful or quiet.
I’m just a teenage girl. I’m not ready to see my home turned into a war zone. While my friends fight with their parents about taking the car on the weekend, I fight with mine about sleeping in my own room instead of theirs where it’s safer. As the president of my school’s student council I send letters to other schools each time a student is killed in an attack. I can’t help but think that someday it will happen here.
My friends and I all want peace. Yet peace can only come when Israelis and Palestinians trust each other again. Once there’s trust there can be compromises. I could lose my house, but I would give it up without a second thought for my children to grow up in a safe home.
I cherish the time Salit was secure. I pity my younger brother who can hardly remember that time. People hear so much about “those settlements beyond the Green Line” but forget that children live here. Children who are used to flowers and birds, not locked doors and gunfire. I will not move just because I’m scared. I refuse to give up my life to terror. I want my old home back.
Education under Occupation
Hazem Zanoun, University of Southern Maine
Rather than follow my older brothers to other countries, I chose to study at Bir Zeit University, the best Palestinian school. I wanted to help develop my country. Bir Zeit’s campus, located near Ramallah in the West Bank, is also only two hours by car from my home in the Gaza Strip. I thought I would be able to see my parents from time to time. This short distance, however, seperated me from my family for two years.
As a resident of the Gaza Strip, I had to wait in line for eight hours to get a special magnetic card, and obtain permission from the Israeli military, so that I could travel from my home to school in Ramallah. I felt that the university would be well worth any difficulties.
With a friend, I left my home for Bir Zeit. We went through the mess of renting an apartment, moving our possessions and settling in. About two weeks later the second Palestinian intifada, or uprising, started and my short honeymoon in Bir Zeit ended. The struggle between the Palestinians and the Israelis took a terrible turn. I saw things I never imagined I would see: brutal killing, houses demolished, air attacks, check points everywhere. I have never been so afraid. Several times, the university was closed for more than a month because teachers or students could not attend class.
The checkpoint between Ramallah and Bir Zeit made travel between them a living hell. The soldiers would force men and women to wait for long hours under burning sun or pouring rain for no apparent reason, and then begin random ID checks. Israeli troops wandered around Bir Zeit, imposed curfews, searched houses and arrested people, even though the population of the village is mostly students.
This summer I felt lost, far from all the people that I love, under so much pressure with no chance of getting a good education. I thought my only choice was to return to Gaza empty-handed. For two years I studied hard and got good grades in the hope of supporting my people. Now that hope is lost.
In my time at Bir Zeit, my military vocabulary has grown. Today, I can identify Apache helicopters, F-16 fighter jets, Merkava tanks, Special Forces troops, RPGs, and anti-tank missiles by sight. But that wasn’t the kind of education I was looking for.
Though I hadn’t seen my family in two years, it was still hard to leave Bir Zeit behind. I would miss my friends. And I felt like I was running away. Still, I went home.
Finally, I found a way out of this dead end. Seeds of Peace, a conflict resolution organization that runs a camp I attended for Palestinian and Israeli youth, helped me apply for and obtain a scholarship to complete my studies in the United States. All I needed was a visa.
My visa application was delayed by months of security checks because of the September 11th attacks. I understand why this happened, but it has made my life difficult. The visa was eventually issued but I had already missed the first semester of college. I’m waiting here in Gaza with my family until I can leave for the spring semester, watching the same terrible scenes I saw in Bir Zeit happening here. I have seen the Israeli military invade the Gaza Strip slowly and spread horror everywhere just as they did in the West Bank. In January, Insh’allah, I am finally going to start a real college education.
I thought that my friendships with Israelis from Seeds of Peace would become more open and mature when we entered college. Instead, it became difficult, and sometimes impossible, to stay friends with them. Just as it did to my education, the conflict has paused these relationships. I hope just paused—because when you pause something you can press play and start it again. I would like this region to progress to a new reality, one where no more innocent people—Palestinian, Israeli, or any others—are killed or have their lives twisted like mine has been.
Like Any Other Town
Baruch Moore, Yeshiva Neveh Shmuel
Today, a terrorist attacked a Yeshiva near my home in the occupied territories. Four students died. CNN barely mentioned the incident.
Growing up in the United States, all I heard about life in the territories was that Palestinians gun down people on the roads and come into the cities to blow themselves up. A couple of years ago, my mother decided we should leave our home in America and move to the territories. I freaked out completely.
Now that I live here, my view has changed. The truth is that daily life in Efrat, the West Bank town where I live, is almost like a regular American town. The town is not full of psychopaths eager to kill every Arab they see. Most of the residents are Orthodox, English-speaking Jews like me. We have great schools and a real sense of community. The difference is that we have to pass through checkpoints to enter our town, and through metal detectors to shop at the mall or see a movie. And my friends’ mothers have guns.
I have changed since moving to the territories. Like everyone else in Israel, I pay very close attention to the news on the radio. My surroundings are hazardous: a backpack left lying around or even a paper bag could contain a bomb. A Palestinian teenager could strap explosives to his body and detonate himself right next to me. We have given the Arabs everything yet they murder us. What more do they want? I am now certain that most Arabs don’t want peace. T
hey would rather kill me.
New Voices IS ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS FOR “CAMPUS DIARIES”
Entries should be brief (300-600 words), personal, reflective, and tell a story. Below are a few upcoming campus diaries topics and some suggested questions to consider in your piece.
“I hid that I was Jewish”—Did you ever keep secret the fact that you are Jewish? How come? Were you received differently as a gentile? Are you open about your Judaism now?
“Jewish Gangstas”—Criminal past? Was your family involved with the mob, illegal activity, anything devious? Were you?
“Sleeping with the Enemy” —Were you ever paired with an Arab student, a Christian fundamentalist, or any other potentially challenging roommate? Did you get along? Did you learn anything along the way?
Don’t delay—send your submissions to editor@newvoices.org
