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<h1 class="page__title title balance-text" id="page-title">A window
to hell in Gaza</h1>
<header class="node__header">
<p class="node__submitted">
<span class="field field-author"><a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/people/max-blumenthal"
typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel"
datatype="">Max Blumenthal</a></span>
<span class="field field-publisher"><a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/people/electronic-intifada"
typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel"
datatype="">The Electronic Intifada</a></span>
<span class="field field-publication-date"><span
class="date-display-single" property="dc:date"
datatype="xsd:dateTime" content="2015-07-10T12:57:00+00:00">10
July 2015<br>
<b><small><small><a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="https://electronicintifada.net/content/window-hell-gaza/14679">https://electronicintifada.net/content/window-hell-gaza/14679</a></small></small></b><br>
</span></span> </p>
</header>
<figure id="file-31440--2" class="file file-image file-image-jpeg"><picture><source
srcset="https://electronicintifada.net/sites/electronicintifada.net/files/styles/original_800w/public/150710-khuzaa.jpg?itok=A2SqOtoy×tamp=1436533133
1x" media="(min-width: 72rem)"></picture><figcaption
class="group-caption field-group-html-element"><small
class="credit"><span class="field field-publisher"></span></small></figcaption></figure>
<p>Spending the day of 17 August in <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/khuzaa">Khuzaa</a> was
like peering through a window to hell. But what we witnessed in
the landscape of apocalyptic oblivion paled in comparison to the
experience described to me by two <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/palestine-red-crescent-society">Palestine
Red Crescent</a> volunteers who had attempted to break through
the Israeli military cordon during the siege of the town.</p>
<p>Twenty-five-year-old Ahmed Awad and 24-year-old Ala’a Alkusofi
arrived at the edge of Khuzaa at a time when Red Cross ambulance
crews refused to travel anywhere near the town. They said they had
come to collect the body of a man whom soldiers had lashed to a
tree by both arms and shot in the leg. When they arrived at the
site, the soldiers ordered the driver of their ambulance, Muhammed
Abadla, to exit the vehicle. When he obliged, they told him to
walk five meters forward and switch on a flashlight. As soon as he
flicked the light on, the soldiers shot him in the chest and
killed him.</p>
<p>“It was something I’ll never forget,” Awad recalled, “seeing a
colleague killed like that in front of me. I couldn’t believe what
I witnessed.”</p>
<p>The two Red Crescent volunteers told me they later found a man in
Khuzaa with rigor mortis, holding both hands over his head in
surrender, his body filled with bullets. Deeper in the town, they
discovered an entire family so badly decomposed they had to be
shoveled with a bulldozer into a mass grave. In a field on the
other side of town, Awad and Alkusofi found a shell-shocked woman
at least 80 years of age hiding in a chicken coop. She had taken
shelter there for nine days during the siege, living off of
nothing but chicken feed and rain water. “She couldn’t believe it
when we found her,” said Alkusofi. “She was sure she would die
with the chickens.”</p>
<h2>Horror stories</h2>
<p>In nearly every shattered home I entered in Khuzaa, on every
bomb-cratered street, in destroyed mosques and vandalized schools,
I heard horror stories like this. Every resident I met in this
town was touched by the violence in one way or another. While
visiting the town, I wandered into the courtyard of a
rehabilitation clinic for women and children afflicted with
Continuous Traumatic Stress Disorder — a condition that affects a
solid majority of youth in Gaza.</p>
<p>Located on a street lined with four-story apartments pockmarked
with bullets and tank shells, the school was completely empty, but
the signs of an Israeli presence were everywhere. As we entered,
we found <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/content/murder-holes-and-hooligan-chants-images-israels-war-crimes/14320">Stars
of David spray painted by soldiers across the walls</a>, right
below colorful heart-shaped paper cut-outs bearing the names of
students. In the closet of an administrative office that was
neatly kept except for a few scattered papers, I found a spent M72
Light Anti-Tank Weapon. It was one of the shoulder-mounted
launching tubes manufactured in Mesa, Arizona, by the
Norwegian-owned Nammo arms corporation. The weapon had been used
by the Israelis to rocket civilian homes across Gaza’s boundary
regions.</p>
<p>In a classroom across the courtyard, sunrays burst through a
gaping hole in the wall about the size of a 120mm tank shell. They
shone light on a series of colorful posters decorated with
matching ribbons that contained motivational messages. They read:</p>
<p><em>It always seems impossible until it’s done </em></p>
<p><em>Stay alive</em></p>
<p><em>Look to the future</em></p>
<p><em>No negative thoughts allowed</em></p>
<p>We wandered around the corner, past a group of children filling a
jug of water from a truck that replaced the water tower Israeli
forces detonated, past the giant dome of the Ebad al-Rahman
mosque, which now sat on a pile of rubble next to the toppled
water tower like the ancient ruins of some bygone empire. Nearby,
we entered a small courtyard surrounded by a warren of shattered
homes. At the edge of the yard, a small boy lay impassively in his
bed in a room with no walls. A ceiling fan that looked as though
it had been melted dangled above his head. In the center of the
yard sat a gigantic olive green barrel. It was a spent Giant Viper
round — one of the C4-packed mine clearing devices the Israelis
fired into the center of Khuzaa during the assault on the town. A
hen flapped its wings next to the barrel and chased after baby
chicks bouncing through the rubble.</p>
<p>“Where are you from?” an old man called out to me from the road.
He wore large spectacles and a morning robe, his front pocket
stuffed with paper notepads, various cards and a glasses holder.
He reminded me of my older Jewish relatives who came of age before
the digital era and grew accustomed to carrying stacks of business
cards, coupons and handwritten reminders in their shirt and coat
pockets along with assorted mints and pens.</p>
<p>“I’m from America,” I told the man, readying for an indignant
response.</p>
<p>“Ahhhh, <em>Amreeka</em>,” he grumbled. “I want to thank the
American people,” the man continued, advancing to within two feet
of me. “They are nice people, they give us food and bread and they
give the Israelis weapons to kill us. They have different
standards. It would be nice if they treated us all as humans.”</p>
<h2>“We love life”</h2>
<p>He introduced himself as Ali Ahmed Qudeh, the father of Kamal
Qudeh, the doctor who treated the town’s wounded under heavy
bombardment and in spite of being injured himself. Like his son,
Ali Ahmed was a supporter of <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/fatah">Fatah</a>, the
rivals of <a href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/hamas">Hamas</a>.
And like virtually everyone I met in Gaza, he was an ardent
supporter of the armed resistance of the Qassam Brigades, Hamas’
armed wing. “Our weapons are not terrorist weapons, our weapons
are [for] self-defense,” he insisted. “Our weapons are to free our
land. We are dignified people, we love life. We don’t hate life
like they say. But we’ll die for our land.”</p>
<p>As a group of small children gathered in the courtyard, Ali Ahmed
detailed to me how many family members each child lost in the
assault on Khuzaa. Pointing at the little boy lying in bed, he
suggested that the most devastating consequence of the war was not
the death toll, but the psychological impact on the youngest
members of his community.</p>
<p>“That kid wants to make an atomic bomb and obliterate Israel!” he
roared. “Why? Because he saw his family members die in front of
him! How can you raise kids who want to make bombs?”</p>
<p>When I made my way back into the road, I heard Ali Ahmed call
after me again. He was rushing forward through the rubble with a
tray of sweets. “I don’t mean to say that all Americans are bad,”
he said, urging me to take a freshly baked cookie. “It’s the
government that’s the problem, not the people.”</p>
<p>Just then, an Israeli squadron of American-made F-16s roared
through the sky. A small girl standing beside me ducked
reflexively at the sound of the jets, bracing for another missile
strike. The war was far from over.</p>
<p><em>This essay is excerpted from Max Blumenthal’s new book,</em>
The 51 Day War: Ruin and Resistance in Gaza <em>published by
Nation Books.</em></p>
<p><em>Max Blumenthal is an award winning journalist and bestselling
author. His previous books include</em> Goliath: Life and
Loathing in Greater Israel <em>(2013, Nation Books).</em></p>
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