DCI/PS Fieldworkers

The stringent restrictions that Israel places on travel into and within the Gaza Strip prevented many journalists and humanitarian organisations from reporting on the spiralling bloodshed and destruction that accompanied the renewed raids of Israeli forces in the area from March onwards. As a result the work of DCI/PS fieldworkers who monitor and record individual and collective rights violations has become more important than ever. In all, DCI/PS has 17 volunteer fieldworkers spread across the major towns and cities of the Occupied Palestinian Territories . Using their contacts within the local communities, including sources in the media, hospitals, local government and other NGOs, the volunteers follow up reports of rights' violations. The statistics compiled and verified by the Documentation unit are used by a wide variety of local and international organisations.

One of DCI/PS' six fieldworker in the Gaza Strip is 29-year old Talal Ahmed Joda Abu Rukba. He completed a BA in social studies from Nablus ' An-Najar University in 1998 and now works as a social worker in Gaza . Here he explains his work and motivation:

I have volunteered for DCI/PS since the beginning of the second Intifada. What has motivated me the most throughout my life is the desire offer something to the children of my country who have suffered from the occupation all of their lives. I wanted to document and report Israeli violence against Palestinian children who have nothing to defend themselves but a yearning to have their rights respected.

DCI/PS has given me this opportunity. Now, my job as a DCI/PS field volunteer is to document Israeli violations of Palestinian children's rights.

It is hard to see children's rights being violated and to witness children, some very young, dying, being injured or arrested without mercy. Israeli soldiers never feel sorry for them.

You cannot begin to imagine how I feel when I report about tens cases of children who died. I had to document the case of Mohammed al-Dura [the 12-year old boy whose death in September 2000  – shielded by his father and huddled behind a water tank – was captured in graphic detail by TV cameras]. I also documented the case of Sana Daour, who was out with her mother, getting ready to buy new things for school when missiles from an Israeli Apache helicopter killed her. The case of [four-year old] Asma Abu Qliq also hurt me a lot. Her mother was trying to protect her with her head scarf after an attack of tear gas. But the girl died.

They are many similar cases. I feel helpless towards the families of these children. All I can do is document those violence and crimes. 

I dream of the day that Palestinian children will live safely in love and peace. I dream of a time when children will not be filled with hate and suffer from violence. I dream of a better future.

This dream can only come true if people over the world get together to stop the violence against children as they did in South Africa . I ask the people of the world to protect children's rights and defend them. We should create and support coexistence and peace, love and respect, forgiveness between all people, especially between Israeli and Palestinian children.

Sincerely yours,

Talal

Palestine Future Project - One week in Scotland

The Palestine Future Project, funded by the British Council, was established in December 2002 to provide Palestinian children with opportunities to think about the future of the Palestinian State and their role within it. Introducing the children to the components of state and civil society, the project also encourages them to engage in an initiative of interaction with the legislative, judicial and executive bodies. Palestine Future presents children with different political and cultural models, and in particular the British model, in order to help them promote and develop their vision and ideas on the future of the Palestinian State . As part of the programme to increase the children's awareness of alternative political models, five teenagers were selected to take part in a visit to Scotland in March 2004. One of the participants, 17-year old Shahd Abdallah Baniodeh from Nablus , tells of her experience:  

Some times dreams come true, and one of these dreams was to visit Scotland . It happened and I was in Scotland for a week. Defence for Children International/Palestine Section, chose me to be one of the Palestinian children group members to visit Scotland . The trip is part of a project funded and organised by the British Council in Jerusalem . At first I was really very happy but when the date of the trip was approaching I was completely confused.

I had many questions but no answers: how could I leave my family, my room, my bed, my sisters, my friends, and my beloved country without seeing the sunshine even though the sun has not been shining in Palestine since 1948 because of the Israeli occupation. For me it could be the day I was born…..but I decided to go without preparing my answers, to face and to live a new experience. It did not matter how it would be but I was sure that it would not be worse than our lives in Palestine .

During this visit I tried to put all the pain and the deteriorating situation in Palestine aside, I tried to forget the occupation, the closure, the Israeli Wall and checkpoints. I tried to enjoy the view and the nature. I could not do that easily, I found myself speaking about Palestinian children under Israeli occupation, how many children have been killed, how many have been injured and how many of them face problems in obtaining education.

Forgive me if I forgot some details but I will not forgive myself if I forget the warm days that I spent with the Palestinian group (two girls and three boys), we were a close family, and we were lucky to have three persons full of humanity and awareness of teenagers like us, those were: Nasser Alissa from Palestine, and our friends Gerry and Jane.

On 14 th of March we arrived at Glasgow airport and Gerry and Jane were waiting for us. They took us to our accommodation, we were really very tired so after we had dinner they left and we went to sleep. The next day, Monday, at 10am we were picked up by a minibus. This would bring us to the visitor centre at Loch Lomond, which is in the north of Glasgow and is the biggest lake in Britain . Loch Lomond and the Trossachs is Scotland 's first national park. The most beautiful thing that I liked was that they used this park not only for fun and interest but they used it also for education. Many schools come here to conduct their lessons in these beautiful places in nature. These children receive education on how to be friends with nature and how to protect it. There is a lot of education material that children can use to discover the nature and to obtain information.

The next day we visited Hillpark Secondary School and spent the morning meeting the students and discovering the school for example: the Gaelic section, the music & drama section and the modern studies class. The school is amazing it is very big and it delivers many great services. Here they really care about students with special needs; they follow up who need their help and care about special education. We hope that in Palestine we would have a school like Hillpark school and the many other schools in UK and Scotland .

Then we went for a tour around the city of Glasgow in an open bus. It was fabulous. Afterwards we visited the Glasgow office of the Young Scot organisation, it provides really very useful youth services. These services are free and youth can go to the swimming pool or the library etc. Finally we went to visit the Scottish Trade Union Congress and we met some employers there and the general secretary Bill Speirs. They welcomed us and we had a great conversation. We discussed many things about the situation in Palestine and the situation of Palestinian children, how the Palestinians live a tragic life and how we are suffering in order to go to our schools or even to go to visit our relatives. Part of the discussion was about the problem of child labour in Palestine and that many children working because their parents can not work inside Israel because they need a special permit. They promised us that they will follow up this subject especially regarding the violations of children rights. We ended the visit with a tour of the building.

The next day (Wednesday) we visited the Glasgow City Chambers. We met with support staff councillors involved with the ‘pupils council'. We discussed the situation in Palestine during the Intifada, and in which way the Wall that Israel is building will affect the lives of the Palestinian population. Some of these issues are the confiscation of their lands and that Palestinians are forced to live inside a prison. The staff were very kind and felt sympathy with the Palestinian people especially with the children.

It was a great discussion when we told them that we like to live in respectful peace which allows us to have our freedom and independence in our homeland. We do not like to see any person killed whoever he is, especially not children, and that the reason for everything happening is the occupation which we hate.

That day we had a lot of fun, we went mountain biking, it was really wonderful and we enjoyed it so much. Maybe something worth mentioning is that in Palestine it is not very easy, first to have a bicycle and then even if you are lucky and have one, there is no place to go biking. The amazing thing was when we went to Hollywood Bowling, this was the first time for us to play in such a place since we do not have anything like it in Palestine .

Thursday came faster than we expected and that day we went to Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland . We were picked up from Hillpark school then went to Caledonian University and to the Scottish parliament where we met Members of the Scottish Parliament and members of the committee on international affairs and youth. We attended an afternoon session of the Scottish parliament and the first minister's questions.

In the afternoon session of the Scottish Parliament many children were present and when we asked why these children were attending this session they told us “these children are the next generation, they are the future of Scotland .  We have to teach them how to be involved in the political life”. Following the session we had a lunch and then we visited Edinburgh castle and a famous museum. Finally we went to visit a youth link in Edinburgh and presented our projects there and they showed us how they integrate the youth in their activities.  I think they are really lucky to have these organisations taking care of children and youth. We left Edinburgh to return back to Glasgow and we said goodbye to those kind students who had been with us all day.

On Friday morning we went to the People's Palace museum. Here you can find different kinds of trees and plants from all around the world, and you can see part of the history of Scotland . Then we moved to the citizens' theatre, a guide organised a tour for us and showed us every part of the theatre (in this place our friend Gerry left us with tears). We used the evening meal in an Indian restaurant where we had the most beautiful hours together eating, laughing and chatting.

And finally Saturday the last day in the streets of Glasgow when we tried to keep all the wonderful memories that we had, it was a free day, Jane was with us, we went shopping and we spent all the day this way, and again with tears we said goodbye to Jane.

We left Scotland , every thing easy and organised, and at midnight we reached Amman . We were ready to come back home. Some bad news reached us at the border, Israel had assassinated a Palestinian leader. We spent at least five hours waiting to cross to the Jordanian bridge to the Israeli side. This meant that the horrible part of the trip started early. We reached Jericho in the evening and there were no cars to Bethlehem , but we found one to Ramallah which I took. I spent the night at a relative's house and moved the next day to my family in Nablus . My friends spent the night in Jericho because of the Israeli closure, and they left the next morning to try and enter Bethlehem . However Israeli checkpoints stopped them, the soldiers refused to let them go back to Bethlehem . After spending three hours there, two people from the British Council came and negotiated with the soldiers until my friends received permission to go to their homes.

Special Report Rafah

The month of May saw Israel launch raids of unprecedented violence and destruction in the south of the Gaza Strip. Code named “Operation Rainbow”, Israel 's large-scale incursions into the Rafah area began on the morning of 17 May with the stated aim being to find and destroy tunnels stretching under the border to Egypt through which weapons are allegedly being smuggled into Gaza . Tanks, bulldozers and armoured vehicles used in the operation wrought havoc in Rafah town and camp, Tel Es-Sultan to the west and Brazil to the East, demolishing homes, damaging schools and other public buildings and destroying infrastructure, much of which stood several hundred metres away from the border, and therefore far beyond the limits of any possible tunnel. Palestinian resistance to the Israeli invasions was countered with disproportionate force by Israeli troops – helicopters fired missiles on several occasions – and even when no Palestinian fighters were present, Palestinian civilians were shot with no warning.

From the opening day of Operation Rainbow to the end of May, a total of 13 Palestinian children were killed by Israeli forces, and many more seriously injured. Ambulances were often unable to or prevented from reaching the casualties.

Asma Mohammed Ali Mghayer, 16 years old and Ahmed Mohammed Ali Mghayer 12 years old, Tal Es-Sultan

Affidavit from Ali Mohammed Ali Mghayer, 26 years old

At 11.30 am on Tuesday, 18 May Asma went onto the roof of the family's house to collect the washing that had been drying there. Our younger brother Ahmed also went up to feed the pigeons which live in a hut on the roof. After approximately 10 minutes Ahmed cried out to me from the roof that Asma had been shot. I started to run upstairs as Ahmad started downs. He had taken about two steps down the stairs when a second shot rang out. The bullet pierced the back of Ahmed's head, shattering his skull. I ran upstairs and saw Ahmed slumped against the wall. I tried to carry him down the stairs but as I moved into the soldier's line of vision more shots were fired. I ducked and pulled my brother's body feet-first down the stairs until I could safely carry him to the ground floor. I then returned upstairs to recover my sister's body. I crawled across the roof on my stomach to reach Asma who had been shot in the back of the head. I collected the pieces of her brain which were scattered around the roof in a piece of cloth. It took nearly 20 minutes. Then I started to pull my sister's body to safety. More shots were fired but they missed me and I was able to carry Asma downstairs. The family called an ambulance, but because of the shooting and a curfew it was unable to reach our house for four and a half hours, during which time we read the Koran over Asma and Ahmed. The bodies of my brother and sister were taken to hospital and later buried. My family was prevented by the curfew from reaching the cemetery for the burial.

Rawan Mohammed Saeed Abu Zeid, 4 years old, Brazil neighbourhood, Rafah

At around 9.30 on the morning of Saturday 22 May, four-year old Rawan accompanied her two sisters Sabah and Huda who were going to buy sweets from a shop a few metres away from the family house. There was no shooting in the area, no clashes or demonstrations taking place, so the girls' father had allowed them to go out. The girls were about to cross the road when Rawan, who was standing between her two sisters, was suddenly and out of nowhere shot twice – one bullet entered her neck and the second went through her right eye. She died immediately.

Rawan and her sisters were standing only 150 metres away from the Israeli border zone which eye witnesses say was the only possible location from which someone would have been able to take a clear shot at the girls.

When Rawan fell to the ground, Huda became hysterical. Hearing her cries, a neighbour came out and seeing what had happened, picked Rawan up and took her to hospital. Huda returned home and told her father. The family rushed to the hospital, where the doctor confirmed that Rawan had died.

During May 2004, UNRWA estimates that the homes of almost 3,800 residents of Rafah were totally demolished or damaged beyond repair by Israeli forces. Given that 53 per cent of the Palestinian population are under 18, and that large families with an average of seven children are the norm in the south of the Gaza Strip, these demolitions have particularly profound impact on Rafah's children. They have witnessed their homes being crushed by bulldozers often with no prior warning. Many scarcely had enough time to get out of the house safely themselves, and had no opportunity to save personal belongings. They have lost everything. Thirteen-year old Adelat Atif Abdelrahman Abu Taher describes her feelings when her house in Block O of Rafah was demolished:

That night we were sleeping in our house dreaming of tomorrow, of days filled with passion and a beautiful and safe future. At two o'clock in the morning on 13 May 2004, a new virus infected my Palestine . The Israeli tanks came supported with  planes and helicopters. The soldiers started shooting randomly. Our house is about 150 metres away from the border between Egypt and Palestine , but nevertheless the angry occupation drew closer to our house. Our father woke us up to save us from the coming disaster. We left home and after an hour, the rooms of our house heaved up then slumped down and the house hugged between its arms the stones that it was built on. We watched as the memories of years of laughter, tears and determination that had that built our house crumbled away.  

Rescuers and rescued, wounded people and lost souls, we stood alone in the night, not knowing what the future held for us. We walked accompanied by my brother's tears to our relative's house. The darkness never felt so absolute as the as the night we lost our house.  

That night has passed but I still don't know where my dreams have gone. Our dreams were harvested early – their souls went up to the sky as a martyr for our country. Now they're suspended from God's throne. Our dreams have achieved so much – but what can we do ourselves!?  

I'm not afraid to admit how scared I was. The fear that occupied my mind is still lodged in my heart. There is no where to run from fear, but nor is it possible to run from God's mercy.  

Hours passed like centuries. In the early morning we returned to find the house broken and bleeding. The house has gone and so have the dreams. All the valuable things in our heart have disappeared too – where is my doll that used to sing? And where is the bird that used to come to the tree and sing? He's gone and all good memories that accompanied that bird have left with him. The taste of a happy life has vanished. Every stone of the house included an echo of a voice – the voices of my brothers and sisters, of my mother and father. Each stone that fell had witnessed my birth and my first month, then my second, my first birthday, my second… Each stone of the house used to touch me and adore my smell.  

I'll never forget you my house. You're my honour and my memories. Since my house was destroyed all my hopes have been destroyed. The same hopes that I had built for my future, placing them ahead of me stone by stone.  

But still I live, and despite all that has happened I will build my house again. I will live my future and I will regain my memories. They will comfort me once again in my new house. I will live and live and live.

The day without end

On 21 February 2003, DCI/PS child rights lawyer Daoud Dirawi was arrested in Jerusalem . He was severely beaten and tortured before being ordered to serve sixth months administrative detention in an Israeli military prison – essentially imprisonment without published evidence, a public trial or specific charges. The order was renewed for a further six months, again without charges or trial, in August 2003, days before Daoud was due to be released. Daoud was released from administrative detention on 29 January 2004 as part of Israel 's prisoner exchange deal with Hezbollah, and has now returned to his work at DCI/PS. Here he recounts the terrifying ordeal that befell him on that day in February 2003:

The storm of that day still rumbles in my memory, the pictures flash before my eyes. At each recurring image my throat tightens and a bitter taste floods my mouth. I would like to forget, to push the scenes to the back of my mind, but under occupation, such memories are impossible to ignore. They fester like deep wounds always ready to re-open, and prickle and irritate like invisible grass seeds.  

It was cold and wet that Friday, the 21 February 2003. I was alone in our flat in Al-Ram when the bleak silence was broken by my wife's phone call. She was ringing from Jerusalem to tell me that our two-year old daughter Mira, sick and feverish, was refusing to see a doctor unless I would accompany her. My wife asked me to speak to Mira, to calm her and persuade her to go without me. But speaking to my sobbing child had just the opposite effect – through her tears Mira convinced me to leave immediately for Jerusalem . Neither the roadblocks besieging the city nor the checkpoints infesting it could prevent me from answering my child's plea. As soon as I arrived at my mother-in-law's house, I scooped Mira into my arms and together with my wife we left for the clinic. Within five minutes of leaving the house, we ran into one of the Israeli army patrols. They demanded to see my ID and at the first glimpse of the green West Bank papers emerging from my breast pocket a shout went up – “What are you doing here? How did you get to the city without permission?” I tried to explain but they snatched Mira from her haven in my arms and thrust her into my wife's hands. Then they grabbed me and pushed me towards a waiting jeep. At that moment my bother-in-law arrived, my tearful wife and daughter got into his car and followed as I was driven away from the Old City . Through the metal grill on the jeep's rear window, through the cursing of the soldiers, I could see Mira crying and waving and my wife looking at me with her sad eyes, willing herself to smile to give me strength. As the jeep turned into the police station, I managed a sad wave of my hand – it would be the last I would see of my loved ones until they finally succeeded in visiting me in Ketziot prison three months later.  

Inside the police station my hands and feet were chained and I was locked in a small cell. Two hours later an officer informed me that I was wanted by Shabak [Israel Security Agency] and that I was to be transferred directly to a detention facility under the army's control in Gush Etzion settlement. Moments later, the same jeep with the same soldiers drew up, and as we pulled away from the police station the cursing began afresh. At the northern entrance to Bethlehem , the jeep stopped. A soldier got out and started speaking to one of the checkpoint guards. Speaking in Hebrew – a language I understand well – he told the guard that I was to be left in the custody of the checkpoint soldiers until the vehicle from Gush Etzion arrived. Then I heard him proudly claiming that I was a dangerous terrorist and that by arresting me, he and his colleagues had prevented a terror attack in Jerusalem . It was then that the full horror of the situation dawned on me. If they called me a terrorist, anything could happen.  

In a matter of seconds my fears were confirmed. As the soldier from Jerusalem finished his story, one of the checkpoint guards strode over to the jeep, furiously flung open the back door, punched me in the face then grabbed me by the hair and dragged me onto the tarmac. Shouting and cursing, he loaded his gun and pointed it at my head. “I'll kill this miserable terrorist. I'll kill him,” he screamed. I couldn't hide my fear. I looked into those eyes full of hatred and saw death. But before the soldier could pull the trigger, another intervened, pushed the gun away from my head and tried to calm his colleague.  

Were it not for the other soldier, these words would have been the last I ever heard. Not that the soldiers really cared about my right to life in the first place – there's always an excuse that can be trotted out without fear of punishment for the death of an Arab.  

The soldiers dragged me by my feet across the road through the rain-filled potholes and threw me behind a wall, where I was propped up facing the full force of the rain and wind until the contingent from Etzion arrived. The six soldiers who came in the jeep wore the same look on their faces as their departing colleagues. The two groups gathered to discuss me, and once again I could hear the word “terrorist” poisoning the cold night air.  

Swiftly, the fever of hatred and brutality infected the newcomers. One, whom I later learnt was called Strovsky, approached me and asked my name and job. When I replied that I was a lawyer and a human rights activist, he became angry and started swearing at me. He took off my handcuffs and called for someone to bring him some rope – the words chilled my heart. But they didn't want to hang me, instead they tied my hands high behind my back, then used the same rope to bind my feet together. With a flourish, Strovsky pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and fastened it tight around my eyes. In the darkness, bound, blind and lying on my back, the hideous “game” began. First the soldiers poured freezing dirty water over me, I felt it soaking my clothes, robbing the last vestiges of warmth and calm from my body. I couldn't tell how many were savaging me, but I guess there were four or five, including Strovsky, whom I recognised from his hysterical laugh. I couldn't shield myself from them, and they pounded my body with their boots – my face, head, stomach and groin were all targets. The taste of humiliation mingled with the salty blood that trickled into my mouth from my nose and lips.  

As the soldiers jumped on my shivering prone body a horrible scene came to mind – I remembered a documentary in which a pack of hyenas surrounded a wounded animal. As one hyena moved in for the kill, the prey stared deep into its predator's eyes with a look of utter hurt and rage. At that moment all I wanted to do was look into the soldiers' eyes to let them see the level they'd stooped to, to show them that they were worse, much worse than wild beasts.  

The pain and emotion was exhausting, I was paralysed and hardly breathing by the time the soldiers stopped. They demanded I stand up, and when they saw I could not, they dragged me by my feet and threw me onto the floor of the jeep. Then they took their places on the seats either side, put their boots on my aching body and we drove off. After a while Strovsky, the angel of death, began speaking: “What happens if we open the back door while the jeep is moving?” he said in a slow, malevolent voice. “If the terrorist falls out it's just an accident.” I was lying on my back with my head pressed against the door that Strovsky wanted to open. In spite of the pain I gathered my strength, turned onto my side and pushed my head between the floor and the angle of the backseats to make it difficult for them to throw me out. Seconds later the backdoor was hurled open and an icy gust of wind swept across my face. Perhaps the fresh air revived the soldiers' conscience for they decided against their plan, and merely increased the ferocity of their curses.  

The hour's journey seemed to stretch interminably beyond the confines of human history. Twice I had narrowly escaped death, and I still found it incredible to realise that a human being's life could be cut short at the whim of another. The sense of being a victim, the feelings of pain, grief and impotent anger welled up inside me.  

I remembered what I had written earlier in the Intifada about the actions of Israeli soldiers. During my research, I came to realise that harsh and humiliating treatment is no less cruel or ugly than the intentional murder of a fellow human being. In fact, I had reflected, maybe it is even worse, for there is peace in death, the time of suffering is over. But for those denied their dignity and human rights, their soul and spirit may die, but the pain of humiliation remains.  

Finally we arrived at our destination. I hoped this might mark the end of my suffering, but my optimism was short-lived. The soldiers pushed me, still blindfolded, out of the jeep and stood me against the freezing metal of the gate to the compound. There was a small hole in the door through which the wind whistled a mournful symphony, intensifying my loneliness. After an hour a car pulled up and I was bundled inside and driven the short distance to the detention centre. Once there, the soldiers walked me along corridors and up stairs. They warned me of the obstacles ahead, but laughed when I stumbled or bumped into them. We reached what I assumed was an open space since the bright light penetrated my blindfold and I walked forward only to collide with a wall. I cracked my head against it – the kind of jolt that in normal circumstances would be agony. But at that time the pain was just a drop in the ocean of my despair. I was soaked, filthy, abused, my body was shaking uncontrollably, my teeth chattering, and my entire being was shrouded in a veil of anguish.  

A door opened in the wall and the soldiers pushed me inside a warm well-lit room and removed my blindfold. I found myself in a clinic with two young nurses, one of whom immediately asked why I was in such a bad state. I saw a momentary opportunity for revenge and, indicating at the soldiers, said in Hebrew that these criminals were entirely responsible. They swore at me, called me a lying Arab and maintained they hadn't touched me. In any event the nurse paid little attention to my answer, it seemed she saw such injuries every day, and I was unlikely to be the last.  

The nurse asked the soldiers to untie me so that she could give me a check up. The relief to my shoulders and arms was marred by the sight of my hands. It pained me to see them burnt, red and swollen like a hanged man's face, with a bracelet of blood round the wrists. The nurse checked my blood pressure, which was unsurprisingly abnormally high, and asked my medical history. She noted that I had had an operation on my spine two years previously, and with this the check up was over. The moment the clinic door closed behind me the soldiers blindfolded me again, chained my feet together and tied my hands behind my back, squeezing the metal cuffs as tight as possible in revenge no doubt for what I'd said in the clinic. When we reached the jeep the soldiers ordered me to climb onto the back step – it was impossible with my feet tied together so one soldier helped me get one leg up. As soon as I had done so a hand pushed me into the vehicle. Unable to use my hands to break the fall, I smashed head-first onto the corner of the back seat. I felt my face burning and white pain flashed before my eyes. I felt my lower jaw wrenched sideways and dislocate, until it was level with my upper jaw.  

I almost fainted from the pain, with my last strength I let out a scream of agony. The sound scared the guards and they quickly took me back to the clinic where they claimed that I'd fallen entering the car – there was no way on earth I was able to speak the truth.. The nurses for their part tried to help and I felt they a hint of humanity in their actions. They put ice on my face to ease the pain and tried many times to reset my jaw. There was no doctor on the shift and the nurse told me that the soldiers would not allow me to go to hospital in this condition – a filthy sack of bones. Ignoring the soldier who claimed that I exaggerating, the nurses persisted and eventually succeeded in putting my jaw back in place. That done they sent me on my way, giving me two headache pills that scarcely scratched the surface of the pain.

The soldiers transferred me wounded and broken to the cells, but even here my suffering continued. Since Shabbat [the Jewish day of rest] had just started, the soldier there refused to let me enter the cell. Instead he put me in a metal cage outside and there I stayed from 1am Saturday morning to 8pm that evening, handcuffed and blindfolded alone in the rain with only my pain for company. It was the end of a day like no other, a day in which the hours dragged far exceeding those of any normal day. It was a day that is scorched into my memory – a day that has yet to finish in my dreams.