freckles make me strong.

—As soon as I arrived home and opened the door, my kids rushed toward me. They covered me with kisses. My 10-year-old, Abdullah, described how he dove to the floor with his classmates at school after hearing the blasts. My 12-year-old daughter, Aseel, was embarrassed because in the rush to leave her classroom, she had lost some of her textbooks. When she passed the smoking police station on the way home, she said she thought she was going to die. The experience seems to have been hardest on my oldest son, Hosam, who is 14. He just sat in front of the television all day, glued to the news reports. He refused even to come to dinner. My wife and I have tried to talk to him about what he saw, but he stops after only a few words. I’m thinking about taking him to a mental-health clinic. But frankly we all need psychiatrists.

I tried to do some reporting, but couldn’t help thinking about what we might do in the event of a ground invasion. What would happen if militants launched a rocket from nearby our home? I went over in my mind how we might stockpile food, water and other necessities. I thanked God when the electricity failed. At least we didn’t have to watch any more TV. We sat in the dark, telling the children stories about their childhood to distract them. It worked—for a couple of hours. Eventually, we got tired and went to bed, but my kids insisted on sleeping in our room.

My wife and I stayed up talking about the situation. It had never been like this before. We are paying a price in this crazy war, and nobody in the civilized world cares. But at least the chaos has finally motivated my family to do one thing. As the bombs sounded in the distance, I finally convinced my wife to leave Gaza.

Gaza Family Considers Emigration After Attacks | Newsweek International | Newsweek.com (via robot-heart-politics)

· 31/12/08 · Reblog