Letters From Palestine

By Kenneth Ring, Ph.D.

Those of you who have been reading my blogs over the past several years will know that I am very passionate about the cause of justice for the Palestinian people. And, naturally, I have been as heartened by the wave of campus protests for their rights as I have been anguished by the continuation of the war in Gaza.

In 2008, my then girlfriend Anna and I traveled to Israel and the West Bank during which time we met and were befriended by many Palestinians. Among them was a professional man named Ghassan Abdullah, and after I got home, he and I co-edited a book about the contemporary lives of Palestinians.  We called the book Letters from Palestine, and it was published in 2010.

While Anna and I were there, we were not allowed into Gaza (but were able to get to one of its crossings, so we had got close).  However, in the course of compiling stories for our book, I heard from and became friends with a number of young Gazans. Gaza had long been under siege, but after we left, in December of 2010, another war against Gaza broke out, killing and maiming many Palestinians, mostly women and children. 

That war was limited in duration. As I recall, it was concluded within a month, unlike the present war in Gaza, which is now in its seventh month, and so far has killed something like 35,000 Palestinians.  Enough has already been written about that war and the campus protests that have spread like wildfire both here and abroad.

But what about the Palestinians themselves?

 

I would like to share some of their stories here.  I will begin with a young Gazan woman named Hanan to whom I became quite close during the time we corresponded, which mostly took place before Anna and I had left for Palestine.

 

Below you will find her letters to me.  My own comments interspersed with her letters are in italics.  Before introducing Hanan to you, I will offer the poem that began our book, which was written by a 14-year-old Palestinian boy.

Me, Myself and Palestine

My home is Ramallah, Palestine.

I am the camel that slowly walks on the dry, hot desert sand,

With stored determination in my hump.

I am the ball of falafel,

Rough on the outside, 

Soft within.

We are the olive and fruit trees, 

Flourishing throughout the beauteous landscape.

I come from the Holy Land,

The place Jesus was born.

I am one of the many strong-willed, 

Educated, civilized people.

We were the ones who were

Deprived of our alphabet and numbers

Which are seen everywhere today.

Deprived of our land

Which spread over a vast area.

This area has now become a little sliver of land

That stretches from the Gaza Strip to Ramallah.

To understand me you have to know,

I’m not a terrorist.

I don’t have bombs.

None of those stereotypes are true.

My people, who have fought for their country,

Are left to sit amongst the dirt and rocks,

The only things left in the ruins of their homes.

I come from what used to be a beautiful and respected country,

But, sadly, it has become almost forgotten.

My soul has felt the pain of all my ancestors,

Knowing that their treasured land will never be the same.

We used to be calm and gentle people,

But have turned furious and outraged 

For what has become of our land.

Palestine isn’t just my home,

Palestine is me.

—Dominic Buoni, age 14

Letters from Hanan

In the course of my correspondence with a professor named Haidar Eid, I asked him if he had any Palestinian friends who might be interested to correspond with me. He suggested I write to one of his devoted students, Hanan Hammad, which I soon did. She responded warmly, and over time a deep and mutually caring relationship developed between us, which exists to this day.

My name is Hanan Hamouda Hamad. I am a twenty-two-year-old Palestinian girl. I live with my father and brothers in a small refugee camp in the middle of the Gaza Strip called Nuseirat. I have just finished school as I was studying at Al-Aqsa University in Gaza City, majoring in English language methodology. If God wishes, I will be working as an English language teacher because spending time with children and students is one of my favorite things ever. However, for myself, the best thing in the world is literature. I love reading, and my ultimate dream in life is to be a feminist and revolutionary writer. My favorite writer is the Palestinian Ghassan Kanafani, and my best poet is the Palestinian Mahmoud Darwish. My life is a very simple one but I love it.

I first heard from Hanan after Gaza was under siege, during which time Israel was already restricting the flow of vital goods into Gaza and keeping people from leaving, thus rendering the population virtual prisoners who were also being deprived, almost to the point of starvation sometimes, of the essentials of life. And after that, of course, they were bombed during the Israeli invasion beginning on December 27, 2008. By the time it was over, nearly seven thousand Gazans had either been killed or wounded, and Gaza itself had been largely reduced to smoke, burning phosphorous, and rubble.

A passage from the Book of Lamentations pretty well sums up what Gazans felt when emerging from the hell they had all lived through during more than three weeks:

"How does the city sit solitary, that was full 

of people! How is she become as a widow! ...

She weeps sore into the night, and her tears are on her cheeks:

among all who loved her she has none to comfort her."

In these excerpts from some of Hanan’s letters to me, she describes what life was like for her and her family during these times of terrible hardship, which then turned into the horror of living, not just under the stifling occupation, but under the incessant bombing and shelling of Gaza during the war—as the city where Hanan lived became widowed and bereft of any comfort.

I begin with her very first note to me, written on June 1, 2008:

Dear Professor Ring,

I’m really honored to correspond with you in an attempt to help in giving an honest view about the situation here in Gaza.

I do not know what Professor Haidar may have told you about me, but there is not much to say. I’m a student in the English department of Al-Aqsa University, hopefully [I] am gonna graduate next term. I live in a refugee camp in the middle of the Gaza Strip, am interested in literature, and I do care about Palestine. I would like to inform you that I might not be available much because of electricity issues, but I will try my best.

After I responded and told her a little bit about myself, when she replied about a week later, I was already being addressed as “Ken.”

Dear Ken,

Hope you are fine, am really glad to receive your email, and I would like to thank you in the name of Palestinians all over the world. We really appreciate your concern and your support to our cause. Palestinians have been suffering for a long time, and the situation here in Gaza is getting worst and worst; however, people like you and your girlfriend, who believe in and support us, are the ones who give us hope and faith. Hope for the future and faith in our cause. Please thank your girlfriend for me and my people. 

Thank you again for everything. One more thing, Salaam is an Arabic word that means peace, and the word I love for greeting people. Hope its OK ...

My best wishes to you and your girlfriend,

Hanan

Hanan’s next letter—her first real letter, as opposed to a note—was written in mid-June, not long after Hamas and Israel agreed to a six-month cease-fire. But even then, there was talk of invasion, which Hanan was praying would not happen. However, in this letter, she gives her first really personal account of how she was experiencing the siege and also of the nature of her opposition to it. It seems that this opening up of our correspondence occurred because, among other things, I had just indicated, with some anxiety about her reaction, that I was Jewish.

Dear Ken,

Hope you are fine, am really glad to hear back from you, and I apologize for being late in replying, electricity was the worst the previous days. Anyway, I have finished my exams, so I will be free to write to you.

Actually, knowing that you are Jewish makes me respect and even admire you more and more. People like you are people of thought and principles, so peace, shalom, salaam. It doesn’t really matter as long as we accept and respect each other.

Indeed, news reports have talked about an invasion of Gaza. Pray with me it won’t take place ever because, in case it does, the consequences will be disastrous; however, this invasion may not take place, especially [now] that Hamas and Israel have reached a cease-fire deal, sponsored by Egypt, starting Thursday at 6:00 a.m.

This kind of deal is supposed to create an opportunity to break the siege, which is the most important step to be achieved, especially in regard to the humanitarian situation. Here in Gaza, it’s the worst ever. Actually, when I got your last email in which you believe that “one day surely the siege will be lifted,” when reading these words, I was thinking that you are an optimistic man. Let me tell you why. I reached a point in which I go to bed each single night thinking, “Come on, Hanan, tomorrow is another day. It is not going to be worst; it can’t be worst.” I fall sleep dreaming of tomorrow, and wake up the next day to find out that, yes indeed, it is another day, yes indeed, its not worst: it is the “worstest.”

Well, linguists should consider adding this word to the English dictionary. You think I am exaggerating? Believe me, I am not. You will see for yourself when you visit us here in Gaza, and, of course, you are welcome any time.

Here in Palestine we are not fighting the Jewish or the Israeli occupation. What we really fight is racism in the shape of Zionism. I repeat these words all the time: “We are resisting Zionist racism and racist Zionism, the two sides of the same coin.” I’m sure that the book you mentioned [Joel Kovel’s] Overcoming Zionism sheds light upon this specific point, and of course, the only solution for the Palestinian/Israeli conflict is the one democratic state solution which is the only one that guarantees peace, justice, equality, and the most important, freedom for both peoples. We will continue resisting, and I am sure that these principles will eventually win, but the question remains: How? Is it going to be by war or by thought?

Anyway, one more thing, thank you very much, we really appreciate your concern about us.

My best wishes to you.

Hanan

After a few more brief exchanges, Hanan’s next real letter reached me at the end of June. During that time, I was working to try to bring attention to the disgraceful treatment of a Gazan journalist Mohammed Omer, who had been savagely beaten by members of the Israeli Shin Bet upon his return from England. (His personal account was presented earlier in this book.) This prompted a long response from Hanan about how the media covers Palestinians, after which she went on to answer some questions I had asked her concerning her present situation and daily life.

My dear Ken,

I am really glad to hear back from you so soon. I know the story of Mohammed Omer, the brave journalist, and have followed it in the news. What he was exposed to is truly brutal. We deeply appreciate your concern and your honest intentions and deeds towards his and our cause.

To tell you the truth, one of our most controversial problems has a big thing to do with media, the very biased and pro-Israeli media in which we are portrayed as the victimizers and they are the victims, which is totally not true. This kind of propaganda twists the facts, and, unfortunately, our media is not as strong as theirs. And even when we try to give the real facts, we are faced [with] such brutal treatment, the same which Mohammed was faced with. But I thank God because there are still some people who believe in our just cause.

My dear Ken, I do not mind at all your asking, and please feel free to ask whatever you want, and I will be more than glad to answer all of your questions. Concerning the one you addressed (whether I work), actually I don’t, although I have tried hard to get a temporary job for summer, but I couldn’t. Here in Gaza, there aren’t many opportunities for work, and I’m sure you know about the increasing number of unemployed young men and women, especially under the siege. My two older brothers are both unemployed. The first, Bahaa, who graduated four years ago from Iraq as a fuel and energy engineer, the second, Adel, graduated two years ago in Algeria, specializing in psychology.

Let me tell you something funny. When Bahaa hears me wishing for him to get a good job, he says, “My dear young sister, don’t bother yourself. I am a fuel and energy engineer, and since there is no fuel in Gaza, they obviously don’t need me!” He laughs about it, but I am the one who knows how hard it is for him.

What I am telling you is that I don’t work because of the circumstances in Gaza. Now that I don’t go to school for the summer holidays, I spend most of my time at home, taking care of our small house, cleaning, cooking, looking after my old father. I also occupy myself with reading novels and short stories as I am very interested in reading literary works. I also follow the news and try to educate myself about local and international realities because this kind of informing myself will help me to become a writer. I like music, and I listen to songs a lot. But when [the] electricity goes off, life stops and I don’t do anything important but playing with my nephews and nieces.

My best wishes to you and Anna.

Hanan

The beginning of July brought another letter from Hanan, which continued her account of the trials and dangers of widespread unemployment in the Gaza Strip but went on to describe the kind of additional restrictions imposed on women. And here, she also enlarges on her own literary ambitions. In many of our letters to follow, we discussed literary topics and authors, but I will have to omit most of those exchanges here because of space limitations.

Dear Ken,

Yes, it does drive us crazy, I mean being unemployed. It is accurate that unemployment here is near 80 percent, and it increases each single day, which I’m afraid is going to lead our youth to desperation. However, I’m pretty sure that one day all these miseries will come to an end as soon as we reach the one democratic state solution, which guarantees equal rights for both peoples. One of these rights is to have cinemas and theaters. Yes, there is no single cinema or theater in [the] whole Gaza Strip. I honestly don’t know the reasons for that. However, what is more important than the reason is the effect. It is dangerously unbearable to live in a place in which there is no kind of entertainment. Do you know that Palestinian society has the highest level of emotional stress and pressure among its people? Of course you understand that there is a connection here.

In your letter, you asked if I am going to travel abroad as my brothers did. Actually, I’m not so sure about the answer. I mean that, yes, it is one of [my] dreams to go out and breathe some free air and also go for my dreams, but in our society, there are many stupid restrictions on the things related to women. For example, a woman is not allowed to travel alone or without her husband’s or father’s approval, and that is exactly the reason for which I want to be writer, a feminist writer, to talk about women and their rights. I also want to be a revolutionary writer, to talk about revolution and resistance against all injustice. There is a Palestinian writer, my favorite, named Ghassan Kanafani, who was killed by the Israeli Mossad through bombing his car in 1972. This is the kind of writer I aspire to be, so wish me luck, huge luck, for it.

I think this is enough for one letter. [The] electricity is going to be cut off in a few minutes according to the schedule.

Dear Ken, thank you so much for writing to me. I’m gaining a huge knowledge from you, and also thanks for giving time to read my messages. I really appreciate it. Take care of yourself and of Anna.

Yours

Hanan

During the month of July, Hanan’s letters grew even warmer (“Dearest Ken”) along with the heat, and while our literary discussions continued, they were often punctuated by complaints about the increasing problems with electricity and the lack of any progress on the easing of the siege. The following are some typical excerpts, concluding with one written at the very end of July:

I’m really sorry for being late in replying to your emails, but electricity was the worstest lately, and they came up with a new terrible timetable in which it is cut off continuously for nine hours. It is like hell, especially because it is very hot, and of course there’s no air conditioning.

Anyway, we got used to it.

You asked if the situation has become better after the cease-fire took place. Well, the answer is a big no. Everything seems to be the same or the worstest. I believe you read about the experience which Professor Haidar was forced to undergo at the Rafah crossing so you can imagine how awful things are. The same applies to my father. He needs to travel to Egypt for medical treatment, but he is not able to because of the siege which is not broken yet. You can see the harsh reality under which we are living.

I’m sure you follow the news closely and know that circumstances here are the same, nothing gets better. The siege is getting tighter more and more, and we are really tired, so tired that we [are] badly looking forward to getting rid of everything.

Let me tell you something [that] may help you to know how life is in Gaza: I used to go to the beach with my family each summer after school finished. This year, we didn’t. You want to know why? Because the sea, which is our only way out, is dangerously polluted. Some of our relatives ignored the warnings and went out there to swim. They ended up in the doctors’ clinic suffering with a serious skin disease, and of course you know how the sea got polluted in the first place. Oh dearest, I don’t want to break your heart anymore with these words.

By August, things were, if anything, even worse—or, as Hanan would say, “the worstest.” Deaths and illness and despondency had all taken their toll on her, and on Gazans generally, as the effects of the siege, during the still persisting heat of summer, continued without any sign of improvement. But despite this, toward the end of her letter, Hanan speaks of the resilience of the Palestinian people, a theme that appears more than once in her correspondence with me.

Dear Ken,

Oh, I really missed your words. Thank God I finally got to receive some. I’m really sorry I didn’t send you anything before this, but they were the most awful two weeks ever. First, my aunt died. She was too young, only sixty years old. I really miss her so much. Then the greatest Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, died. He is my favorite. His poems are the best. I was so sad for losing him. And finally my poor father, he is very sick. He has been in the hospital for eight days, Yesterday doctors performed the first surgery on him, and today they will be performing the second surgery. I’m really worried about him.

So, am I OK? Well, I’m not sure.

I’m not headed back to school yet. It opens in September, so I believe there is still some time for me to rearrange myself. It is just unbearable, and I’m not talking about myself, I’m talking about the situation here in Gaza. It is the worstest, nothing gets better. People are getting furious. Some became disappointed, and most are feeling lost. I do feel lost. I’m talking about the poor people’s lives; they cannot take it anymore, It’s too much for them. However, they have that amazing power to heal themselves, and they keep going no matter what; they just won’t take “No” for an answer, and that’s exactly what keeps my faith.

Oh dear, I don’t want to break your heart with my terrible news, but I am looking forward to get[ting] another message from you. I will steal some time to write to you as I’m doing right now because I care about writing to you. Please take care and keep in touch.

My best wishes and best regards,

Hanan

It was during this time that the first two of the Free Gaza boats were getting ready to make their perilous voyage from Cyprus to Gaza to try to break the siege for the first time. Most of us in my community, and certainly most Gazans, were following these developments closely, with more anxiety than confidence about the outcome. And so was Hanan.

Dear Ken,

Concerning the sailing in August, even though I’m counting so much on it, I’m also concerned about the people who will do it and try to break the siege. The Zionist Israeli forces may attack them, hurt them, and even arrest some of them. Even though this ship will bring us some essential necessities, it might get hurt, and we will never accept something like that. But I’m not so sure what we can do to protect them.

This sailing carries not only food and medicine, but also hope and freedom. I can’t wait to see it coming, breaking the horrible siege, bringing with it the free air which we need the most. As I told you before, life here in Gaza is unbearable. And the cease-fire deal is only some “ink on paper.” Nothing gets better, the crisis is growing wider and wider. At the same time the siege is getting tighter and tighter, and we are stuck in the middle. By “we,” I mean the poor people whose biggest dream is to live a decent life enjoying their rights, equal to any other human beings. Is that too much to ask? Or are we just not humans? 

In the media, they used to call Gaza Strip a big prison or mega prison. I personally call it a mega cage. The difference is obvious. At least in a prison one can still have some of his rights; in Gaza, we are driven to give up our rights, dignity, and, most important of all, our humanity. However, I have learned that no one, whoever he is, has the right to take away any of my rights, especially the right to a decent life for me and my children. I’m a woman, and my ultimate hope in life is to be a mother someday, a good mother. But the question is, how can I be a good mother when bringing my children into a world that rejects them, and steals their right to life? How can I bring them into a world in which they have no right to play, to get proper medical care, proper education? Sometimes our children even lose their right of birth—I’m sure you know about the uncountable number of women who had to deliver their babies at the checkpoints, and many of these babies passed away before the permission to go to the hospital arrived.

What I am saying is the world is standing still, motionless in front of the crimes against our people, and we all have to stand up and say no in the face of injustice.

Sorry to bother you with this too long letter: however, I felt like writing, and I think this is what letters from Palestine is all about. 

But finally, in early September, Hanan had something to mitigate her anger and despair. She even had something to cheer about.

I’m sure you watched the arrival of the two boats. It was amazing—people down here were flying happily. Most of them were on the beach, jumping into the water to welcome the supporters. It was amazing. I called Professor Haidar one day later, and he told me that he was there, and he found the reaction of the Gazans unbelievably great, as if they were locked in a prison for ages and finally got out of it. Wish you were here. It was a remarkable day in our lives.

Over the next two months, my correspondence with Hanan consisted mainly of short exchanges, partly because I was sick for a time during this period while Hanan was very busy with her school work and preoccupied with her father’s health. Also, beginning in October, I became very preoccupied with preparations for the trip that Anna and I would be taking the following month to Palestine and Israel. It was to be our first visit to the Middle East, and we would be away for virtually all of November. Of course, Hanan wrote to wish us well, but with that, our communications necessarily ceased until after my return in early December.

A few days after getting back home to California, I wrote Hanan to let her know that Anna and I had had a marvelous time during our journey to the West Bank, where of course we had a chance to meet many Palestinians and even to stay with some Palestinian families. She quickly responded with one of her warmest letters to date, and one of the hardest for me to read.

Dearest friend Ken,

Oh  I’m so gratefully glad to receive your email and know that you’re back home safe and well. I have just read your words and feel very happy that you have spent good time in the West Bank. I’m fine, and my father and family are fine too, so don’t worry about us.

I really missed your letters during these days, and God knows how much I wished you were permitted to visit the Gaza Strip and finally meet you. You have become one of my best friends ever, but I do realize that it was impossible.

After describing some of the recent hardships she and her family had been experiencing because of chronic electricity outages, she poured out her heart to me about what life in Gaza was like for people living there as 2008 drew to a close.

My dear, I don’t want to break your heart with the awful news of the late Gaza, peace be upon that place of earth. I’m sure you follow the news wherever available, yet media cannot and will never be able to honestly describe the truth of our reality. People here have reached a point at which they feel as if they are isolated from the rest of the world (which they are). I have personally heard some saying, “This is not a life; we are dead. We have been for a long time but lying to ourselves, saying that we are alive, but we are just some moving dead people.” 

Believe me, it is worse than that, but there are still many people who truly believe that the salvation is very close. I’m not sure which one of them I am??

What do you think?

I believe I have already broken your heart, but never mind, my friend. I’m very glad that we are back in touch again. It might be the best thing of this siege that it gave me the chance to communicate with such a devoted friend as yourself.

In the weeks that followed, our communications were mostly about a story that Hanan had been attempting to write for the book, one that, as she said, made her cry bitterly to recall it. And it was during this time, as the end of December drew near, that finally the threat of an imminent Israeli attack turned into a dreaded actuality. On December 27, the first wave of bombing hit Gaza, killing more than two hundred people and wounding many more. These days were some of the worst of my life, as I could only hope and pray that my friends there were not among the casualties. I wrote to Hanan, desperate for a response, and, finally, a few days later, on the last day of 2008, in the midst of the relentless Israeli assault, I received this note from her.

Dear friend Ken,

Thank you so much for your concern and your noble feelings, I really appreciate them. You can say that I’m fine but my people are not. You can never even imagine the destruction and the horror we’re living in. Circumstances are the worstest. We haven’t had electricity for two days, and we just got some. It’s actually four o’clock after midnight now, and it is an awful night. F-16 planes are joining our children with their dreams or what have become nightmares. Sorry, I have no words to describe the situation here.

Dear Ken, again thank you so much for your concerning feeling. There is one thing I want you to know in case something happens and I didn’t make it or haven’t the chance to say so. I would like you to know that you are one of my best friends ever and that it was a great pleasure for me to know you and to communicate with you. I’ve really learned a lot from you and your forgiveness personality was a source of inspiration and admiration.

Take care of yourself, dear friend, and excuse me for this short message but it might be the last,

Your little friend, 

Hanan Hamuoda

After that note, there was nothing more I heard from Hanan.

About a week later, I received a letter from a good friend of mine in Canada who knew I must be very concerned for my friends in Gaza. In my reply, I wrote about Hanan:

First, here are some excerpts from Hanan’s last note to me, a week ago—obviously, I have had no word from her since. Of course, there is often no electricity, no water, no cell phone service; it is winter there, but people have to leave their windows open lest they shatter if there are explosions nearby. Families huddle together just to keep as warm as they can. Under such conditions, how can I expect Hanan to write? And how can I know what her silence means? Anyway, here are her last—but I hope not her final–words to me [and then I quoted from portions of the letter I have just reprinted above].

After writing my Canadian correspondent about another Gazan friend whom I already knew had narrowly avoided being killed when a bomb struck near his house but about whose fate I was still uncertain, I continued:

These are just two of my friends. There are about 1.5 million Gazans, all of whom have friends and family, mostly there, some elsewhere, and they all have similar stories to tell. You can see why Gaza is so much on my mind. And there is no end in sight. At least fifty-five more civilians died today, and more than six hundred have perished now. At least eight hundred children have either been killed or wounded, and, of course, the hospitals, completely undersupplied and understaffed for years because of the Israeli siege, can’t cope. One Norwegian doctor, Mads Gilbert, who has been working there now for eight days, with almost no sleep and little to eat himself, broke down in tears last night because of the children he can’t help and can only see die. And then he has to tell their parents—when they are alive to tell.

Weeks passed, and there was still no word from Hanan.

Then, finally, just after the twenty-two-day invasion came to an end, my prayers were answered.

Dear Ken,

I really missed you. Thank you so much for taking time to write and check on me and my family. We are all fine, physically, I mean. However, I am feeling a huge pain in my heart for those children who were killed with no concern for their right of life during the war. I needed a friend to talk to about all the horrible things that were happening, but I found none, and my words also didn’t help me. I really need you to know what I and the whole Palestinian people went through during the war. Dear Ken, you are a dear friend of mine, and I need your support to survive all this. Thank you again for everything, and thank you for your friendship, 

Regards from my dear hurt Gaza,

Hanan

Hanan has promised to write me more, and more at length, about her experiences during the war and its aftermath. But at the moment of this writing (February 10, 2009), she is back at her university, taking her exams, and everything must wait until after she has finished them. But at least I know she is still alive, that her family survived the terrible ordeal through which they suffered during the Israeli attacks, and that she will continue to write to me.

I am happy to have been able to share these letters from my beloved friend Hanan with you so that you can know her, too, and understand better what it has been like for Gazans like her to live, suffer, and sometimes die during the siege and then the bombardment of Gaza. But at a more personal level, her letters will also make you aware of what she has come to mean to me. Hanan is the spirit of Palestine.