Grandma Takes On The
Israeli Defense Forces
By Kay and Randy Bond
The morning we arrived in Qalqilia, the Israeli Defense Forces had blown open the door of Fatimas' home. They had blown two holes in the front wall and thrown all the furniture, household goods and clothing around. They claimed to be looking for a bomb factory in this humble cinder block one room home. They said they would return at midnight to blow up the house.
We were part of a nine member international delegation working with the International Solidarity Movement. We were in Palestine to be of aid to the Palestinian people as they struggle to shake off the thirty-five year occupation by Israeli military.
We stood by as Fatima cried looking at the home it had taken her husband ten years to build. I am sure she was feeling violated not only by the property damage, but by her clothes, her lacey night wear and very best dress being yanked from the closet with such force as to break the closet rod. This kind of humiliation is an everyday occurrence in the West Bank.
We soon learned that Fatima and her two children had been staying at her brother's house just a block away because her husband was unable to come home from his job in Israel since the closure had been imposed.
Three of us, Jenka, Randy and myself volunteered to spend the night with her. We returned to the home in the evening and met her Uncle Achmed, her mother and her grandmother. They were also going to spend the night. Her husband, Ghasson, called and asked to speak with me. He said how thankful he was that we were there with his wife and how he wished he was free to travel to be with his family.
Around 10:30 p.m. we were all sitting on the patio drinking tea. The patio of this humble home was an eight-foot wide cement slab between the front door and the four-lane street. After a few minutes, we could hear the rumble of military equipment rolling down the street toward us. It was two tracked armored personnel carriers. One stopped just before it reached the house and the second rolled by, stopped turned around. It proceeded to come directly beside us. The hatch opened, a soldier appeared with a helmet and automatic weapon. He said, "This town is under curfew". Feeling that he was checking to see if indeed we were internationals, I replied, "I beg your pardon". This exchange seemed to ignite Fatima and her family. They all rose to their feet and began talking. Even though their words were Arabic, it was clear to me their meaning. Fatima with a wave of her hand indicating the patio said this is part of my home and I can be here. Her uncle and mother both were having their say, when Grandma stepped to the front within just a couple feet of this menacing machine carrying soldiers. She spoke strongly and with gestures indicating the soldiers did not belong here and they should return to where they came from and probably adding that their mothers would not want them bothering good families like hers. God, it was a sight to behold as the soldier slid back into the machine, lowered the hatch and drove off into the night.
This was why I had come to Palestine. I had come to give the Palestinian people the margin of safety they needed to speak their minds or to demonstrate non-violently to let the Israeli government know they were resisting the continued military occupation of their lands.
