OccupationalHazard.org 10.16.04

The Occupation - 10/16/04

The meter is running

Gideon Levy - Ha'aretz

The cab driver who innocently drove his passengers home; the young husband who returned with his pregnant wife from a visit to his parents; the mentally ill man who liked to watch cement trucks unloading; the metalworker and the car dealer who met in a garage; the brother of a wanted man. The Israel Defense Forces killed all of them in Jenin in recent weeks, although they had done nothing wrong. One of the victims even lay bleeding, and the IDF undercover fighter (disguised as a Palestinian civilian) shot a round into his head - just for good measure. One victim lay dying for 40 minutes on the road until the soldiers allowed an ambulance to approach.
Far from the killing fields in Gaza and the Sinai, Israeli terror in Jenin has reared its head. Far from the lazy eye that we still somehow open in the direction of the horrifying killing in the Jabalya refugee camp - where there were 110 killed by the beginning of this week - the innocent victims who die daily in Jenin remain anonymous, and the circumstances of their killing don't interest anyone.
Yasser and Arafat sit idly in their dimly lit garage. Yasser jumps up from his place when we arrive and flees into the street. The Hebrew sign still proclaims "Electricity and air conditioners," a reminder of the days when Israelis came here to get their cars fixed and the bodywork garage did electrical and air-conditioning repairs. Arafat al-Saad is the owner of the garage, Yasser Nazal is his metalworker, and they are both survivors of the IDF operation that involved spraying their garage indiscriminately, killing the wanted man Fadi Zakarneh and, also on this festive occasion, killing his brother Fawaz as well as Ibrahim Abu Saleh and Mo'ath Qutait, passersby who chanced to enter this hell.
It was the eve of Rosh Hashanah, September 15. Mo'ath and Ibrahim came from their village, Saris, to see if they could arrange some small car deal. Mo'ath, who used to work in Tel Aviv, got married recently. Ibrahim came every morning to look for business. Yasser and Arafat arrived at the garage as usual, to see if maybe today a car would come for repairs. Lately there has barely been one car a week.
Fawaz was working in his spare-parts shop next to the garage, and Fadi, the wanted man, came in to have his brother check out a used car. It ended badly for all of them. Yasser and Arafat were working on a Volkswagen Transporter when suddenly they heard shots from the street. Yasser went out to see what was happening, but Ibrahim burst inside running, pushed Yasser back, and lay down on the floor of the garage. Ibrahim was already injured in his back. Yasser and Arafat lay behind the Transporter, and Arafat whispered to Yasser, who knows Hebrew: Tell them we have identity cards. Ibrahim silenced him.
From under the car they saw only the feet of the undercover soldier, dressed in dark jeans, running into the garage after Ibrahim. Outside two vans were parked, plus the ATVs of the undercover unit. Yasser and Arafat saw the soldier kick the injured Ibrahim, and when he discovered that Ibrahim was alive, he emptied a round into his head. Outside they heard the soldier's friend shouting: Kill everyone inside. But the soldier left quickly, before he noticed the others.
The whole thing took minutes. When Yasser and Arafat went out into the street they saw the bodies of the two brothers, Fadi and Fawaz, lying in the sand. Fadi had a pistol. He had belonged to the Islamic Jihad. His brother, everyone says, wasn't involved in the fighting in the intifada. The body of the car dealer, Mo'ath, was also lying in the sand. Ibrahim was dead in the garage. Abu al-Abed, Fawaz's partner in the spare-parts business, was wounded and taken by the soldiers to Haemek Hospital in Afula.
A poverty-stricken home in Wadi Azzaddin in the city. Fakhri Zakarneh, a skinny kebab seller, the father of the two dead brothers, Fadi and Fawaz - who sells his wares every evening from a cart that he positions next to the city's large mosque - saw the bodies of his two sons lying alongside each other, their heads touching. Fawaz was 29. Fadi was 24. Up until four months ago, Fadi used to help his father with the kebab cart, until he became a wanted man and stopped coming. They never searched for Fadi at home; he would sleep during the day and then go hide at night. Fawaz was arrested a few months ago and released. Innocent.
On September 15, Fadi came home to eat breakfast. Afterward he said that he was going to the campus of the Open University to replace the guard, his friend, whose wife was sick. A short time later, Fawaz called home and asked about Fadi. He told his father that there were undercover soldiers near his spare-parts shop and that Fadi shouldn't come near. Suddenly shots came from the direction of the garages near Fakhri's home.
It turned out that after the visit to the university, Fadi had driven to his brother to have him check out a used car. He left his Kalashnikov in his car and went for a test drive.
Fawaz was killed first and Fadi afterward. Their father arrived 10 minutes later and saw the bodies. Fawaz's was sprayed with bullets. He had two children at home, aged 2 and 4. Fadi's body was riddled with bullets, too. They were buried together in one grave.
The checkpoint at the entrance to Jenin. Nesarin and Mohammed Jalabush are wearing festive clothes, and their little daughter Adil is on her mother's shoulders. The mother, Nesarin, is crying. They have a typed and signed entry permit to Israel for today, and yet the soldiers didn't let them pass. The closure of the territories for the Jewish holidays is not over, although the holidays are. Adil has an appointment for an operation on her harelip the next day in the Anglican Hospital in Nazareth. They had prepared a bag with clothes and were all excited. Now they're going home in shame and despair.
A wealthy home in the city, the home of the Shalabis. We were here about two years ago, when their son Ahmed was released from prison. Now he's in prison again. In recent months he had been a wanted man. Ahmed's sister, Nur, in her ninth month of pregnancy, enters the room: She has bruises on her face and she's limping. Newly married, and now newly widowed.
On September 29, after two days of curfew, Nur had come here with her husband to visit her parents for lunch. For Rateb Abu Taleb, 51, this was a second marriage. He spent most of his life in Saudi Arabia, and nine months ago he came here to marry Nur, a 25-year-old divorcee with two children from her first marriage.
At 12:50 P.M. the couple left the house and entered a waiting cab. The driver, Mohammed Bitar, 25, was a family friend. They drove to the square and then, at the exit from the city, turned in the direction of the Jalama checkpoint onto a road that was recently repaved after being damaged by tanks. They suddenly heard shots. The driver sustained head injuries and fell onto Nur's knees. "I want to die," were his last words. The cab went around in circles, driverless, until it stopped and Nur's body became totally bruised.
"Did anything happen to you?" Rateb asked his wife.
"I've been injured in my face and my leg." A shell that had penetrated the taxi hit Nur's leg. "What happened to you?"
"I'm fine, I was only hit in the chin."
The shots continued, but they didn't see from where. The husband told his wife to hide under the seat. When the firing died down, Rateb opened the door of the taxi, got out, lifted his shirt, put his hands in the air and turned toward the soldiers whom he had noticed only then, because they had been hiding behind a fence. He called to them in Arabic: "Only my wife and I are in the taxi." Two bullets were fired into his body. The horrified Nur tried to get out, but the soldiers ordered her to exit from another door. Then they ordered her to throw out the bag in her hand, and helped her to reach a nearby furniture store. She heard her husband calling her: "Nur, Nur."
Nur wanted to approach her husband and the soldiers prevented her from doing so. He lay on the road for 40 minutes, and the soldiers prevented the Palestinian ambulance that had arrived meanwhile from approaching and providing assistance. In vain she kissed the hands of the soldiers, pleading for her husband's life. They told her not to worry, that they would take care of him. Then they returned her bag, making sure that there was nothing missing from it, and went over the list of phone numbers on her cell phone. They were interested in the number of her brother Ahmed; she said that she had no idea where he was. "Captain Jamal" from the Shin Bet security services conducted the intelligence operation.
Rateb died meanwhile. Ahmed was arrested a week later at home. When the soldiers surrounded the house at night, he wanted to try to escape, but his father, Ribhi, prevented him from doing so.
"I want to tell you something," says Ribhi now. "Until September 29 I didn't know that Ahmed was wanted. They never came to the house to look for him. He slept at home every night. He never came armed. Go tell a father that his son is wanted."
His other son was killed two years ago when he was bringing food on Ramadan to the policemen at the Palestinian checkpoint in Jalama. At the time, the IDF fired a tank shell at the group and killed five people. The baby that will soon be born will be named Rateb. Born an orphan.
The terror infrastructure: Little Mohammed is walking round among the ruins of his house. He is one-and-a-half years old. The neighbor women call him "Hamudi" ("cutey-pie"). About two weeks ago the IDF blew up his house. Mohammed-Hamudi is the son of Zakaria Zubeidi, the commander of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade. A smiling baby, the next terrorist.

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The meter is running
Gideon Levy - Ha'aretz





The cab driver who innocently drove his passengers home; the young husband who returned with his pregnant wife from a visit to his parents; the mentally ill man who liked to watch cement trucks unloading; the metalworker and the car dealer who met in a garage; the brother of a wanted man. The Israel Defense Forces killed all of them in Jenin in recent weeks, although they had done nothing wrong. One of the victims even lay bleeding, and the IDF undercover fighter (disguised as a Palestinian civilian) shot a round into his head - just for good measure. One victim lay dying for 40 minutes on the road until the soldiers allowed an ambulance to approach. Far from the killing fields in Gaza and the Sinai, Israeli terror in Jenin has reared its head. Far from the lazy eye that we still somehow open in the direction of the horrifying killing in the Jabalya refugee camp - where there were 110 killed by the beginning of this week - the innocent victims who die daily in Jenin remain anonymous, and the circumstances of their killing don't interest anyone. Yasser and Arafat sit idly in their dimly lit garage. Yasser jumps up from his place when we arrive and flees into the street. The Hebrew sign still proclaims "Electricity and air conditioners," a reminder of the days when Israelis came here to get their cars fixed and the bodywork garage did electrical and air-conditioning repairs. Arafat al-Saad is the owner of the garage, Yasser Nazal is his metalworker, and they are both survivors of the IDF operation that involved spraying their garage indiscriminately, killing the wanted man Fadi Zakarneh and, also on this festive occasion, killing his brother Fawaz as well as Ibrahim Abu Saleh and Mo'ath Qutait, passersby who chanced to enter this hell. It was the eve of Rosh Hashanah, September 15. Mo'ath and Ibrahim came from their village, Saris, to see if they could arrange some small car deal. Mo'ath, who used to work in Tel Aviv, got married recently. Ibrahim came every morning to look for business. Yasser and Arafat arrived at the garage as usual, to see if maybe today a car would come for repairs. Lately there has barely been one car a week. Fawaz was working in his spare-parts shop next to the garage, and Fadi, the wanted man, came in to have his brother check out a used car. It ended badly for all of them. Yasser and Arafat were working on a Volkswagen Transporter when suddenly they heard shots from the street. Yasser went out to see what was happening, but Ibrahim burst inside running, pushed Yasser back, and lay down on the floor of the garage. Ibrahim was already injured in his back. Yasser and Arafat lay behind the Transporter, and Arafat whispered to Yasser, who knows Hebrew: Tell them we have identity cards. Ibrahim silenced him. From under the car they saw only the feet of the undercover soldier, dressed in dark jeans, running into the garage after Ibrahim. Outside two vans were parked, plus the ATVs of the undercover unit. Yasser and Arafat saw the soldier kick the injured Ibrahim, and when he discovered that Ibrahim was alive, he emptied a round into his head. Outside they heard the soldier's friend shouting: Kill everyone inside. But the soldier left quickly, before he noticed the others. The whole thing took minutes. When Yasser and Arafat went out into the street they saw the bodies of the two brothers, Fadi and Fawaz, lying in the sand. Fadi had a pistol. He had belonged to the Islamic Jihad. His brother, everyone says, wasn't involved in the fighting in the intifada. The body of the car dealer, Mo'ath, was also lying in the sand. Ibrahim was dead in the garage. Abu al-Abed, Fawaz's partner in the spare-parts business, was wounded and taken by the soldiers to Haemek Hospital in Afula. A poverty-stricken home in Wadi Azzaddin in the city. Fakhri Zakarneh, a skinny kebab seller, the father of the two dead brothers, Fadi and Fawaz - who sells his wares every evening from a cart that he positions next to the city's large mosque - saw the bodies of his two sons lying alongside each other, their heads touching. Fawaz was 29. Fadi was 24. Up until four months ago, Fadi used to help his father with the kebab cart, until he became a wanted man and stopped coming. They never searched for Fadi at home; he would sleep during the day and then go hide at night. Fawaz was arrested a few months ago and released. Innocent. On September 15, Fadi came home to eat breakfast. Afterward he said that he was going to the campus of the Open University to replace the guard, his friend, whose wife was sick. A short time later, Fawaz called home and asked about Fadi. He told his father that there were undercover soldiers near his spare-parts shop and that Fadi shouldn't come near. Suddenly shots came from the direction of the garages near Fakhri's home. It turned out that after the visit to the university, Fadi had driven to his brother to have him check out a used car. He left his Kalashnikov in his car and went for a test drive. Fawaz was killed first and Fadi afterward. Their father arrived 10 minutes later and saw the bodies. Fawaz's was sprayed with bullets. He had two children at home, aged 2 and 4. Fadi's body was riddled with bullets, too. They were buried together in one grave. The checkpoint at the entrance to Jenin. Nesarin and Mohammed Jalabush are wearing festive clothes, and their little daughter Adil is on her mother's shoulders. The mother, Nesarin, is crying. They have a typed and signed entry permit to Israel for today, and yet the soldiers didn't let them pass. The closure of the territories for the Jewish holidays is not over, although the holidays are. Adil has an appointment for an operation on her harelip the next day in the Anglican Hospital in Nazareth. They had prepared a bag with clothes and were all excited. Now they're going home in shame and despair. A wealthy home in the city, the home of the Shalabis. We were here about two years ago, when their son Ahmed was released from prison. Now he's in prison again. In recent months he had been a wanted man. Ahmed's sister, Nur, in her ninth month of pregnancy, enters the room: She has bruises on her face and she's limping. Newly married, and now newly widowed. On September 29, after two days of curfew, Nur had come here with her husband to visit her parents for lunch. For Rateb Abu Taleb, 51, this was a second marriage. He spent most of his life in Saudi Arabia, and nine months ago he came here to marry Nur, a 25-year-old divorcee with two children from her first marriage. At 12:50 P.M. the couple left the house and entered a waiting cab. The driver, Mohammed Bitar, 25, was a family friend. They drove to the square and then, at the exit from the city, turned in the direction of the Jalama checkpoint onto a road that was recently repaved after being damaged by tanks. They suddenly heard shots. The driver sustained head injuries and fell onto Nur's knees. "I want to die," were his last words. The cab went around in circles, driverless, until it stopped and Nur's body became totally bruised. "Did anything happen to you?" Rateb asked his wife. "I've been injured in my face and my leg." A shell that had penetrated the taxi hit Nur's leg. "What happened to you?" "I'm fine, I was only hit in the chin." The shots continued, but they didn't see from where. The husband told his wife to hide under the seat. When the firing died down, Rateb opened the door of the taxi, got out, lifted his shirt, put his hands in the air and turned toward the soldiers whom he had noticed only then, because they had been hiding behind a fence. He called to them in Arabic: "Only my wife and I are in the taxi." Two bullets were fired into his body. The horrified Nur tried to get out, but the soldiers ordered her to exit from another door. Then they ordered her to throw out the bag in her hand, and helped her to reach a nearby furniture store. She heard her husband calling her: "Nur, Nur." Nur wanted to approach her husband and the soldiers prevented her from doing so. He lay on the road for 40 minutes, and the soldiers prevented the Palestinian ambulance that had arrived meanwhile from approaching and providing assistance. In vain she kissed the hands of the soldiers, pleading for her husband's life. They told her not to worry, that they would take care of him. Then they returned her bag, making sure that there was nothing missing from it, and went over the list of phone numbers on her cell phone. They were interested in the number of her brother Ahmed; she said that she had no idea where he was. "Captain Jamal" from the Shin Bet security services conducted the intelligence operation. Rateb died meanwhile. Ahmed was arrested a week later at home. When the soldiers surrounded the house at night, he wanted to try to escape, but his father, Ribhi, prevented him from doing so. "I want to tell you something," says Ribhi now. "Until September 29 I didn't know that Ahmed was wanted. They never came to the house to look for him. He slept at home every night. He never came armed. Go tell a father that his son is wanted." His other son was killed two years ago when he was bringing food on Ramadan to the policemen at the Palestinian checkpoint in Jalama. At the time, the IDF fired a tank shell at the group and killed five people. The baby that will soon be born will be named Rateb. Born an orphan. The terror infrastructure: Little Mohammed is walking round among the ruins of his house. He is one-and-a-half years old. The neighbor women call him "Hamudi" ("cutey-pie"). About two weeks ago the IDF blew up his house. Mohammed-Hamudi is the son of Zakaria Zubeidi, the commander of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade. A smiling baby, the next terrorist.
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