Looking for Trouble

A Father’s Story from Gaza

(For the past week, I have been running a guest blog by Gerri Haynes, a former president of Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility. Gerri, a nurse from Kirkland, Wash., was in Gaza with 11 other people in an effort to help the people there and also to better understand the situation. They are on their way home now, but Gerri passed along this story from a mental health worker in Gaza. She said it was best if his name wasn’t used.)

“Father, stay beside me and as soon as you hear the shelling, close my ears.”
“Don’t worry, Husam, just sleep.”
“I can’t sleep, I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?” The child pauses. The two sit listening to the sound of their breath. Husam fears what he may hear. The night seems calm. At this moment no sounds enter the home.
“I am afraid of the Israeli shelling,” Husam replies.
“Don’t worry, it is not shelling. It is just sounds to scare people.”
“Why are they scaring people”? Why would anyone scare a family? Such innocent questions a child asks can remind us of our humanity.
“It is part of the military’s way. They want everyone to be afraid at these times. It is their punishment to us for their own fears. Maybe they want us all to feel their fears.” What can a father say in response to collective punishment?
“I am afraid. I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.” Husam is hoping for anything that may give him comfort.
“Why not”?
“They might shell when I am in class, the children will scream, then I will start to cry.”
“Don’t worry, just go to sleep.” What can a father say? Husam knows this experience.
“Okay, I will try. But can you do me a favor? Close my ears. I don’t want to hear the shelling.”
“Okay, just go to sleep.” The father’s voice is comforting to Husam. His presence consoles the child.
“Father, can you hide with me under the blanket?”
“Why, should we hide?”
“If we hide, then we will not hear the shelling.”
“It is okay, son, don’t worry, we will be safe. You just try to sleep. I am beside you.” The father conceals his chills from the cold. He does not want his child to think he is scared.
“Father, I want to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay, son, go.”
“No, I can’t. I want you to come with me to the bathroom.”
“Why?” His father is trying to give him confidence.
“I am scared that they will shell while I am in the bathroom.”
“Okay. I will come with you.”

Then Husam rushes to the bathroom, the father not far behind. He rushes back to his bed covering his head with the blanket. He asks his father to read from the Quran as he is unable to fall asleep, anticipating another shelling noise. The father reads with the hope his child will sleep tonight.

“Father, do not leave, stay beside me.”
“Okay son, don’t worry. I am beside you.”

This conversation is too typical for a father and son at 2 a.m. in the morning. Even during the holy month of Ramadan, the Israeli F-16 fighter jets poison the air with their screeching sonic booms. The children are showing extreme behavior of attachment to the parent due to the fears of the fighter jet sounds that occur abruptly during day or night.

An hour after the conversation between the boy and his father, the sounds resume. The children are awake again. The mother, seven months pregnant, is also awake. It is 3:00 AM, the time to prepare Sehour, the meal before fasting. She is afraid to go alone to prepare the meal. She asks her husband to help her. Her husband, needed in two places, replies, “I would love to help you, but I should stay with the kids in case another sonic boom happens.”

The mother, although afraid, leaves to prepare the meal. Shortly afterwards, the sonic booms begin again. The children are awake again. She returns for her children and for comfort from her husband. They ask her to come beside them. The food leaves her mind and she comforts the children until they fall asleep.

Later, as the parents are eating, her husband says, “I am glad I did not help you in the preparation of food, the kids woke up terrified.”
Swallowing her fear she replies, “Yes, you were right.”
“Funny thing, the Israeli sonic booms did us a favor,” the father says. “We did not have to sleep through the alarm clock, and they woke us up just in time to eat before the Dawn Prayer.” The two laugh at his joke. Sometimes it is all that helps.

“Yes. You were right,” the mother replies. “I am cold,” she says. They cannot close the windows. They have to keep them open. Otherwise, the windows will shatter from the loud sonic noises and the flying glass could hurt the kids. They endure the cold weather as best they can.

The next morning Husam did not go to school. He was too afraid of the sonic booms. When he stayed at home and the booms began he said, “Thanks to God. I did not go to school. I would have been terrified and crying.” He thought about the other children who went to school that day.