By Amira Hass
In 1993, Amira Hass, a tender Israeli reporter, drove to Gaza to hide a story-and stayed, the 1st journalist to stay within the grim Palestinian enclave so feared and despised by way of so much Israelis that, within the neighborhood idiom, "Go to Gaza" is differently to claim "Go to hell." Now, in a piece of calm strength and painful readability, Hass displays on what she has obvious within the Gaza Strips's gutted streets and destitute refugee camps.
Drinking the ocean at Gaza maps the zones of normal Palestinian lifestyles. From her neighbors, Hass learns the secrets and techniques of slipping throughout sealed borders and stealing via evening streets emptied by means of curfews. She stocks Gaza's early euphoria over the peace technique and its next melancholy as desire provides solution to unrelenting problem. yet at the same time Hass charts the griefs and humiliations of the Palestinians, she bargains a extraordinary portrait of a humans no longer brutalized yet eloquent, spiritually resilient, bleakly humorous, and morally courageous.
Full of tales and tales, proof and impressions, Drinking the ocean at Gaza makes an pressing declare on our humanity. attractive, haunting, and profound, it is going to stand with the nice works of wartime reportage.
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Extra resources for Drinking the Sea at Gaza: Days and Nights in a Land Under Siege
In 1947 he was one of the few Palestinians to support the UN Partition Plan (which called for the division of Palestine into two separate states); he understood the reality of the Jewish presence in the country, a stand that was shared only by the Palestinian Communist Party. After 1967, he was one of the first to establish open political contacts with Israelis when such a step was still considered taboo. S. ” Abd al-Shafi’s opposition to the Oslo agreement was primarily the result of the concessions Palestinians made in regard to the Jewish settlements in the occupied territories.
Part I Yearning to Be Free Chapter 1 The Military Governor Has Moved Buildings If the soldier in the sentry tower noticed the couple passing by down below, he apparently found nothing about them to arouse his suspicions. On that summer night in 1985, the headlights of the cars on Omar al-Mukhtar Boulevard in Gaza City and the light spilling from the building that housed the Israeli Northern Gaza Battalion illuminated a scene that seemed perfectly natural and normal: a woman in her final months of pregnancy, leaning on her short, skinny companion with the heaviness of intimacy, as, arm in arm, they sauntered along the length of the perimeter fence of an Israel Defense Forces (IDF) base in the heart of the city.
First time around, they found nothing. Fewer and fewer cars were now traveling along the boulevard. One by one the lights went out in the windows of the nearby houses, and fear gnawed at the four: where was the grenade? To the couple’s relief, on their second pass B. spotted the grenade. S. picked it up, they walked to the waiting car, and got in. “I wasn’t afraid for myself,” B. recollects. “I was afraid for A. S. holding the grenade out the window. In truth, the three men had no experience with explosives—that is, in disarming them.