I thought about this as a way to force myself to blog more often. From now on I am going to blog 20 incidents that helped me in becoming the person that I am today. So, allow me to start with this one.
I was born in the city of Nablus and grew up in my family house, which is located in the old city. Being born in 1986, I grew up in one of the hottest spots of the first Intifada. This has affected me directly; I can’t deny that my very first memories were on Palestinian shabab covering their faces with Kuffyas and on soldiers sitting in their green uniforms in my family house’s yard to cool down.
One of those memories, bring me back to a day, when the narrow streets of my neighborhood were nearly empty. Tension was high..as someone we all knew had just died(Estashhad). No one told me anything; who cares about informing a 7 years old, anyway.
I climbed the stairs back home to ask mom what was going on, while my cousins stayed downstairs. Mom was….(I seriously can’t remember anything about her at this moment) I remember going down the stairs again, but the yard was full of people. They opened the Diwan(the family meeting room, where they held all kinds of ceremonies) they took a mattress and put it on a metal door, then I remember how they put someone on it. They carried the metal door with the body on it to other side of the yard and stood in lines in front of it, (Later I learned it was Salah Al Mayet “The dead prayer”).
I was pushed away, but I managed to find a corner from where I could watch the whole scene.
His mother was crying while her daughters and my mom were trying to comfort her, all of their attempts went in vain. As soon as the young men finished their prayers and started to get ready to carry him away. His family said the final goodbyes. And in a few second the yard was empty. As I walked to the gate, I asked my older cousin, “where is Nasha’at going?”
Nasha’at Herron was the name of a guy, a Palestinian activist in the first Intifada. He was killed by an Israeli Special unit, who shot him in his knees and left him bleeding to death.
On the metal door they carried his body. They carried him on the same door he had used to jump from one roof to another to escape the soldiers.
PS: This is a story of many stories that made the person that I am today, the text above is from my memory, although i miss some details, I do remember the emotion in peoples faces. If you want to learn more, please contact me, so I can gather further details.