Blog 14

Pick Up The Pieces and Move On

The Israeli invasion of the West Bank on 29 March 2002 is a memory filled with pain, death, and fear, tempered by anxiety and constant watching and waiting. The voices of desperate people looking for members of their families who were arrested by the Israelis permeate the atmosphere. Hundreds of detainees were transferred to newly erected and impromptu interrogation centers all over the West Bank, without anyone knowing where to ask after them. With no guarantees, we say goodbye to people we love and care about, not knowing if we will see them again, praying to God to protect them and bring them back to us alive one day.

The curfews that were imposed on us were comprehensive and restrictive. Only our ability to reach people by phone made it bearable, as it was the only available means to contact people. We published all of our personal numbers through local and international media in order to try and help in some way and feel that we were doing something at a time when everything was so uncertain.

We learned to divorce ourselves from emotions and deal with the facts before us. Often we found ourselves alone, confronted by an endless cycle of pain and agony on the other side of the telephone line. The phone calls we received were not necessarily related to imprisonment, but also required urgent solutions. We received endless phone calls of critical cases, including phone calls from those injured, women in labor, individuals informing us of an arrest or someone being killed, people with illnesses calling for help, and those whose water and electricity had been cut off. In these moments of madness, we wished that we could perform miracles, one moment turning ourselves into doctors, another an electrician, a policeperson, a psychiatrist, or any other profession that was needed at the time. Today, we continue to relate the stories of all the phone calls we received, recounting our experiences through that unforgettable time.

Most of the time we were overwhelmed by the heavy responsibility before us, and a hollowness that was difficult to fill. The mobile phone rings suddenly and the endless flood of phone calls begins with worried voices on the other side, or the sorrowful voice that looks to you for help. You try to run away from it all, but the voices seep into your ears and mind, full of anxiety and grief as they ask about their loved ones, as if you are the only one who knows of their fate.

We all tried to rein in our emotions and keep calm, despite the constant feeling that at any moment we could burst into tears, or begin screaming for someone or something to take you away from the madness. We all try to appear normal, as if nothing is wrong, smiling and remaining silent. But this facade collapses within you as soon as you hear the heartbreaking voice of the mother who is calling you because she doesn’t know what has happened to her son. You become speechless when an eight-year-old girl asks you “Where is my father and when will he be back?”

In these moments, you separate your emotions from your body, as you try and console a mother whose voice echoes with the melody of pain. You find yourself in several houses at the same time, wishing that your hands could travel distances so that you can wipe the tears from the eyes of more and more crying faces. Fate ridicules you when the list of names of those killed or arrested grows larger and larger, names of pain, hope, dreams, and waiting families. There is no time to stop, to think, to sleep, as the list gets longer.

It is extraordinary how crisis gathers people together who would have otherwise never crossed paths, uniting us through pain and grief. It was under these circumstances that we worked during the Israeli invasion of Ramallah. Our offices were raided and destroyed by Israeli occupying forces, as was the case with many other civil institutions, with equipment, files and furniture destroyed or stolen. In these difficult times, all we can do is pick up the pieces, heal our wounds, our grief, and our hope – and try to move on along the winding road ahead of us.

Jehan Jarrar
On behalf of Addameer Staff