notes of a non-combatant

sabr

“Sabr,” he called over to me, pointing to the little green discs protruding from the piles of rubble, “nihna hek el’sabr.” His comparison was correct when he said that that the people of Johor El’Deek are like the small cactus that grows regardless of location, sprouting from dunes of wreckage left over from demolished homes. The plant is known to grow all across Palestine, from the rocky desert to the hills. The most resilient of people are likened to this plant, which is rough and covered with spikes but if handled and plucked correctly, its fruity inside can be tasty and nourishing. The sabr’s specific qualities of being rough on the outside but sweet on the inside, as well as being able to sprout from otherwise unlivable locations, make it a special symbol for the inhabitants of Palestine.

A girl runs down the main road in Johor El'Deek, past a group of sabr sprouting from wreckage of a home.

Walking around Johor El’Deek, it’s hard to believe that people still live along the main road that has been decimated by Israel’s invasion of the Gaza Strip four months ago, dubbed Operation Cast Lead. Looking at the schools, houses, and farms in this little town, it is easy to see just what exactly Israel cast lead into, such as when they riddled the local girl’s school and all of its surrounding homes with copious amounts of bullets, shrapnel, and artillery.

A girl stands by piles of rubble while two children walk amidst the remains of Johor El'Deek.

The Girl's Preperatory School of Johor El'Deek stands among the town's wreckage, pocked with a plethora of bullet holes and artillery damage.

Piles of rubble stand along the roadside, so large that they eventually meld into each other and begin to appear as dunes. Remnants of houses blasted by an aerial bombing campaign, pegged with ground artillery, shot up with an infantry invasion, and leveled with bulldozers to clear a path for tanks. All that stands along the main road are a few walls and a house that is half demolished, its remaining half teetering atop the rubble of its lower floors, slanted at a thirty degree angle and completely unlivable.

Once we began walking through the remains of the town, located only two kilometers from the Green Line, the local residents began to emerge from the temporary shelters they had erected with remnants of their old houses. The residents’ huts blend in with the rubble, made of stacked cinder blocks, corrugated tin sheeting, and random sheets or rugs all attached haphazardly, providing some semblance of shelter for the otherwise homeless families. Groups of men formed around our delegation, watching as the town’s mayor explained to us just what happened in Johor El’Deek. Before the Israeli invasion, it had been a small farming town just like any other, full of the typical concrete apartment buildings that are so common across the Middle East. On January 3rd, as part of its ground invasion of the Gaza Strip, Israel began rolling infantry and cavalry towards Gaza City, passing right through Johor El’Deek.

A boy stands among the rubble of houses in Johor El'Deek.

Life has changed drastically since the invasion of the town, whose residents are mostly Bedouin families. Rather than looking out of the window, children now poke their heads out from among the rubble of their old homes, running around barefoot among broken glass and concrete. Rather than having bedrooms, bathrooms, and running water, as they did before the invasion, families now crowd into canvas tents provided by international aid organizations. Makeshift facilities have been set up among the wreckage, with stalls erected for bathrooms and huts used as pantries and kitchens. Mattresses lay on the floors of neatly kept tents and huts which, at first glance, look just like any other home. This of course, is not the reality of the situation, as the tents are quite small and extremely crowded, with families that used to live in two or three story houses now crammed into one infernally hot tent.

A young girl peeks her head out from among piles of rubble in Johor El'Deek.

Two young girls stand among what is left of Johor El'Deek.

One man showed me the wreckage of his old home, standing miserably along the side of the road, half demolished and humbly laying atop the rubble of its lower floors. A Palestinian flag flaps in the wind from its place on the crooked and broken roof. Graffiti lays scrawled across the remains of old walls, reflecting the residents’ thoughts and emotions.

A Palestinian flag stands atop the rubble of a home in Johor El'Deek.

A resident of Johor El'Deek shows the wreckage of his neighbor's home.

A man and his friend gave me a tour of a typical property, skirting around piles of rubble and stacks of salvaged materials, randomly placed water tanks and canvas tents. After the quick tour, I pulled out my camera to capture the scene on video, shown below, quickly walking around the premises as I focused intently on my tiny digital camera. Upon reaching what used to be the backyard after nearly forty seconds of footage, the would-be homeowner and his friend approached me and offered me pizza. After putting the camera down to walk for several more minutes with these men, I struggled to eat the slice of pizza that they gave to me. Though I had lost my appetite and at times was ready to wretch at the sight of the rampant destruction that Israel wreaked on the town, it would have been an insult to refuse or not finish the food that was given to me. As we trudged around town, I nibbled away at the pizza until it was all gone.

Before heading back to the bus and departing, I stood around with the men of the town for a few minutes, allowing one of my favorite United Nations Relief Works Agency staff translators explain just what was on the mens’ minds. She told me that one man in particular wanted me to take a message back to America, to let my fellow citizens know that the bombs they manufacture only produce rampant destruction in places like Johor El’Deek. I decided that it would be best if he gave the message himself, and so I recorded his words in the short video seen here.

Despite the horrifying devastation that has taken hold of the small town, the local residents still maintain a sense of optimism. Farmers maintain their crops, planting plots of watermelon and other fruits in nearby fields. Despite losing their homes and schools, just like the sabr, the residents of Johor El’Deek continue to live, finding their place among the rubble and still managing to sustain themselves, no matter how difficult it may be.

A group of children wave peace signs to members of our delegation in Johor El'Deek.