Free I Shall Not Hate: A Gaza Doctor's Journey by Izzeldin Abuelaish

pandemonium.
    We stayed in the fields for three or four days, slept on the ground, ate the apples and apricots in the orchards until it was over. When we returned cautiously to our homes, we found out that some people who had had no place to run had dug holes in the ground and jumped in and covered themselves with pieces of tin. Many of our neighbours were killed or missing. We also discovered that the Israel Defense Forces were now occupying Gaza: there were tanks all over the streets and soldiers who pointed their guns at us while we walked home. I’d never seen Israeli soldiers before. When loudspeakers suddenly announced that all the residents should gather at the public square in the middle of Jabalia Camp, I was certain we were all going to be killed. The square was also the major water collection basin for the whole camp, but since this was summertime, the water hole was dry. The soldiersmade us line up around the empty waterhole. I was sure we would be forced to jump into it and be shot.
    But all the soldiers did was to arrest some young men I didn’t know and take them away to prison. Then they told us to return to our houses and not to break any of the rules, the major one being that from now on there would be a curfew from six p.m. until six a.m. For me, that was the end of the Six Day War.
    Almost no one had behaved the way I’d expected them to behave—not the parents who’d run off without their children, not the soldiers who I’d presumed were there to kill us. The knowledge unsettled me. It made me more aware of what people say versus what they actually do. And I finally realized that my own poverty wasn’t the only issue holding me back. I began to ask questions about discrimination: Why are the Israelis like this and we are like that? How come there’s a difference in the way we are treated? At last, at age twelve, I began to keep my eyes open in order to better understand the circumstances I was living in.
    Soon enough, after the Six Day War, Israelis started coming back to the parts of Gaza that had always flourished—the areas where Gazans lived before the refugees arrived. The fish, fresh fruits and vegetables in the region were a particular attraction for these Israeli tourists. I saw their arrival as a way to earn some money. I carried their shopping bags and fetched parcels of fruit for them. I’d walk the six kilometres from Jabalia Camp to Gaza City with a basket strapped to my shoulders and earn a little money that way.
    When the new school year started in September 1967, for the first time I began to have doubts about my goals. Why was I bothering with school when we were occupied and the future seemed so bleak? I was older now and better understood the consequences of occupation. My school grades notwithstanding, I began to question whether there was a way out of this turmoil. Also, myfamily desperately needed any money I could earn and I was good at finding jobs. Why shouldn’t I just try to make life a little easier for my family? As the eldest boy, it was my job to provide. Perhaps I should give up on my dream of improving our lives through education.
    And so, in grade seven, I started skipping classes. If there was a job to do, I wouldn’t go to school. If I was exhausted from piling orange crates until three in the morning, I’d rest rather than attend classes. My parents knew I was missing school, but they both thought that it was better to work and make money than get an education. I’d always tried to set an example for my brothers and sisters, but for a time I didn’t care about that at all.
    Then my English teacher took me aside. He told me I was a good student, said I was intelligent enough that I could eventually go to university, become a professional, a doctor or lawyer or engineer. He pleaded with me to consider the consequences of skipping school. At that point I’d actually been planning to drop out, but after he took me to task I decided that I couldn’t let him