From the Children of Palestine to the Secretary General of the United Nations

My name is Mohammad Abu Khdeir

Martyr Mohammad Abu Khdeir. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Abu Khdeir. Source: google images

I lived with my family in Shufat in occupied Jerusalem, and had 5 siblings. I loved playing, participating in social occasions, be it weddings or feasts. I loved dancing the dabke, which is a Palestinian traditional dance, and was member in a local dabke troupe. I loved birds, loved watching them sing, but could never own one because it meant caging them. I hoped one day to be free like a bird, and go places and travel. I was a pupil at a technical school, and studied to be an electrician, just like my father, to help him in supporting our family one day. I loved Ramadan; loved to go to the nearby mosque and pray there, to have Iftar (breaking the fast) with my family and friends, and to spend the evening with my friends laughing and joking. I loved to go to the mosque at dawn for morning prayer, to have that last drink of water before the fasting starts, and to help my father at his workshop. Because of my training as electrician, in the summer of 2014, I helped decorate the neighbourhood with lights in preparation for Ramadan.

Martyr Mohammad Abu Khdeir. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Abu Khdeir. Source: google images

On the early morning of 02.07.2014, at 4 am, I had something to eat for the suhur, drank some water before sunrise and the beginning of the fasting time. I told my mom that I was heading to the neighbouring mosque for the morning prayer. It was Ramadan, the month of forgiveness and compassion, the month of mercy for all living creatures. I sat on the steps of the nearby supermarket, drank some water before the fasting starts. As I made my way to the mosque, a car stopped near me, Zionist colonists were sitting inside, two came out and asked me about directions, I answered them, then suddenly they grabbed me and pushed me into the car, I started shouting, but the car speeded leaving the place. Three young Palestinian men nearby heard me shouting, they tried to follow the car, but the car just speeded away. As the car moved, the Zionists sitting in the car beat me, kicked me, humiliated me and threatened me with death. I fainted. When we finally stopped moving, they kicked me out of the car. I was bruised and hurting, I was afraid, I wanted to scream: Mother! Father! And while they continued beating me and kicking me everywhere on my body, I could see bushes and trees, it was the forest near Deir Yaisn. I shouted, I screamed, I called for help, but no one came. I thought of my parents, I saw the face of my mother, that of my father, my five siblings, my friends. They pushed me around, kicked me, beat me with some iron rod, they tortured me, the three of them, while they were laughing. They humiliated me, and stabbed me several times. Then they brought gasoline and poured it all over me while they were laughing and kicking me. They kept saying that they will kill me, that they will kill the Arab. One of them told the other Zionists to make sure that I was dead because “these Arabs have 7 souls”! I was scared, tears fell down my face, I called for my mother… I called and called. And then, they set me on fire… and they watched, laughing, as I suffered, as I screamed for my mother, as I screamed for my father, as I screamed to God, as I fell to the ground, as I said goodbye to this unjust world… they watched and they laughed…..

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Mohammad Abu Khdeir, I was 16 years old when Zionist colonists, who are fully-armed and live in illegal colonies built on Palestinian land, kidnapped me from my neighbourhood.
My name is Mohammad Abu Khdeir I was 16 years old, when Zionist colonists, who are given a green light by the Zionist entity to kill us and have impunity for all their crimes against Palestinians, tortured me.
My name is Mohammad Abu Khdeir I was 16 years old, when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, burned me alive.

My name is Zakariya Bakir
My name is Ahid Bakir
My name is Ismail Bakir
My name is Mohammad Bakir

Martyrs of the Bakir Family. Source: google images

Martyrs of the Bakir Family. Source: google images

We were children, sons of fishermen; kind and simple people. We grew up near the sea, making our livelihood from the sea. We used to wake up early in the morning, watch our fathers and older brothers go to their boats before the sun shines, watch our mothers repair the nets while watching the sea and waiting for the boats to return. We loved school, we loved to play, but loved the sea more, and waited for the time when we too would take our boats into the deep blue waters of the Palestine. We went everyday to the beach, we loved to run there, to jump into the water, to sit in the evening and watch the sun sink into the sea. We loved to watch the white waves dancing over the blue sea, and imagine that there was no siege, that there was no occupation, that Palestine was free. We loved to watch the birds flying over the water, disappearing into the distance, and would would we could fly with them, fly over Akka and Haifa, over Nazareth and Safad, to reach Jerusalem and land in Al-Aqsa. The sea was our companion and our friend. Sometimes, our mothers would prepare tea and coffee in thermoses, and after school, we would go to the beach and sell people something to drink. During the summer of 2014, the Zionist entity launched a brutal military aggression on besieged Gaza. It was the third large-scale aggression that we witnessed in our young age… Imagine, 10 years old and to have lived three brutal attacks by a terrorist entity that has the most sophisticated weapons. They used all the weapons they had against us; they used their warplanes, their tanks, their gunboats. They bombed our homes, our schools, our hospitals. It was Ramadan, and we were fasting, but it didn’t feel like Ramadan. Instead of playing all day, we were hiding from F16 and drones and bombs. Instead of sitting laughing with the family at Iftar time, we would sit and watch the news, and see the gruesome pictures of Palestinian children killed by Israeli bombs. They were not from another country or another continent; they were here, close by. As we watched these pictures, our parents angry, sad, bewildered and afraid for us, we too were afraid and wondered if our time will come, if we will survive the night, if we will live to see the Eid.

Martyrs of the Bakir Family. Source: google images

Martyrs of the Bakir Family. Source: google images

On 17.07.2014, we were fasting and had nothing to do. It was a hot day, so we decided to go and play football, to run on the beach, like we usually did, to run under the sun, our feet touch the golden hot sand as we kick the ball from one place to another. We were laughing, happy and for a moment forgot all the bombs, the tanks, the warplanes and the gunboats…..But the killers were watching; with their hi-tech binoculars they saw our laughter, they saw us running, happy, playing football, they saw our childish innocence…. one missile was fired; a loud explosion, one of us fell, we started screaming and running away in fear and horror…. We had no time to look behind us, to look for each other…. We were running, screaming, we didn’t feel the sun burning under our small feet, we didn’t heard the birds shouting at us to run, run…. We didn’t see the waves struggling to reach us and protect us from the killers…. We were running, screaming, we were afraid…. They saw us running, little children, scared…. The second and third and the fourth missiles fell….. the sand under our feet became cold, the birds in the sky started crying, the waves turned into tears…

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Ahid Bakir, I was 10 years old when Israeli gunboats killed me while playing football on the beach.
My name is Mohammad Bakir, I was 11 years old when Israeli gunboats fired first one missile, then another then a third and a fourth at a group of children playing and laughing.
My name is Ismail Bakir, I was 9 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me in cold blood on the beach of Gaza.
My name is Zakariya Bakir, I was 10 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me and my cousins.

My name is Mohammad Al-Durra

Martyr Mohammad Al-Dura. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Al-Dura. Source: google images

I was born in Bureij refugee camp in the besieged Gaza Strip. My family comes originally from a beautiful Palestinian city called Al-Lyd, but the Zionist terrorist gangs expelled us from our homes in 1948. I lived in an over-crowded refugee camp in a 50 m2 house with my parents and 6 siblings. I loved football, and loved my fluffy teddy bear; it is brown and small and I used to hug it before going to sleep. My teddy bear protected me from the Israeli occupation soldiers whenever they entered the refugee camp to arrest our neighbours, it calmed me down and sang to me. I felt safe with my teddy bear hugging me. I went to the fifth grade, but, I have to say, I was a little bit naughty; I loved to play with the children in my neighbourhood, and I loved the sea, I would sneak out of class and go play football at the beach. Oh, how much I loved the sea of Gaza! I also loved to cycle, and every day, I fought with my older brother over who gets to ride the only bicycle we had. My dad used to get mad at me; he was afraid something might happen to me because I used to take the bicycle and go cycling in the main street of the refugee camp. He was afraid the occupation soldiers might do something to me, might hurt me or arrest me. So, whenever he prevented me from cycling in the street, I used to sneak the bicycle from the window and go to play in the street. But alas! When at the end of the year I didn’t do well at school, my mother was sad, so I promised her to study hard the next year. I loved to help my dad, and wanted to support my family. During the summer, I used to work with my uncles in a metal workshop to gains some money and help my parents.

Martyr Mohammad Al-Dura. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Al-Dura. Source: google images

On 30.09.2000, I asked my mother to help me with my homework, I had promised her to study hard and I wanted her to be happy. My father wanted to go and buy a car instead of the old one we sold. He wanted to buy a small car, not a fancy one, we couldn’t afford a fancy one, but we were all happy and excited. I asked my mother if I could go with dad and ride with him in the new car. She said yes and I wore my nice clothes, the ones I kept for special occasions, it was after all a special occasion. My dad and I took a taxi to Gaza car market, but when we reached the Martyrs circle, we saw unarmed protesters confronting the fully-armed Israeli occupation soldiers. The taxi driver was not able to pass the road, so we got out of the taxi, and decided to turn back home. Dad held my hand and we tried to pass to the other side of the road, when all of a sudden, the Israeli army observation tower started shooting at us. Immediately, dad dragged me to a barrel on the side of the road, we hid behind it…. he hugged me, but the shooting from the Israeli army tower increased. I was scared and started crying and shouting, I could hear dad shouting at the Israeli occupation soldiers to stop, but they didn’t, he raised his hands and waived to them, but an Israeli soldier shot his hand. Dad called someone from his mobile, and asked them to send a car to take us away because we couldn’t leave our place because of the shooting. We could hear the sirens of an ambulance, but the occupation soldiers started shooting at it. The unarmed protesters were shouting at us, they wanted to help us but no one could do anything because the occupation soldiers were shooting at us all the time. My dad was shot in the other hand and was bleeding. I started comforting him, but I was very scared and I was crying. I told dad: “Don’t worry dad, I am fine, don’t worry dad”. I stuck closer to him, and then I felt a hot stinging pain in my leg. My dad started shouting and crying when he saw the blood on my trousers, I told him: “Don’t worry papa, the blood hit my leg, it’s not that bad, just hide yourself and be safe”… he was shouting and waiving and I felt another sharp pain, I told him: “Don’t worry, I am strong, I can take the pain until the ambulance comes”…. The ambulance never came… the Israeli soldiers prevented it from coming to help us…

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Mohammad Al-Durra, I was 12 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me, and made my mother cry…. my mother still keeps my photos, my books, my clothes…. at night she hugs them and cries, every night she cries.
My name is Mohammad Al-Durra, I was 12 years old when Israeli occupation snipers deliberately shot at me and my father, killing me while he hugged me, trying to protect me.
My name is Mohammad Al-Durra, I was 12 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers fired at me, not once, not twice, but several times, killing me and took me away from my siblings… my 7 year-old brother Ahmad tells everyone that I am in heaven playing with the birds and that he wants to join me…. My 4 year-old sister Basma says that she loved me more than she loved the sea and that when she is older she wants to come to me.
My name is Mohammad Al-Durra, I was 12 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Faris Odeh

Martyr Faris Odeh. Source: google images

Martyr Faris Odeh. Source: google images

I was born in Shuja’iya in Gaza and have 8 siblings. I was very energetic and loved so many things; I loved playing and loved sports, I loved singing, for I was a good singer. I memorized all songs of the Intifada, and my favourite song was: “If they break my bones, I am not afraid… if they demolish the house, I am not afraid”. I used to sing it often with my younger brother Issa. I loved to dance, loved the Palestinian dabke. I loved to eat a lot, my favourite dish was spinach, yes, I loved spinach. I wanted to be strong. I was always happy and laughing, naughty, but always happy, jumping and running….. We lived in Salah Idin street. When protests would take place in the street, the Israeli occupation soldiers used to come to our house and beat my farther and mothers and siblings and throw the burning tyres into our house, so we moved to another area. One time, in our street, an Israeli occupation soldier shouted at me to go home, I picked up a stone and told him:”You go home, this is my land!” I was very courageous, loved to jump from high places, and never was afraid to go out in the dark to buy needs for my parents. I used to sit at the window and listen to the Israeli occupation soldiers shooting and would start naming the type of bullet they were shooting. I could recognise them all. I was very clever at school, and always had very high grades, although I didn’t study much, I was clever. But when the Intifada started, I stopped going to school, I would attend the first 3 classes and then leave to join the protests at Al-Muntar, and I used to join the shabab and protest against the occupation, our weapon was small stones against the huge tanks… One time, the school principal told my mother about me. She was very angry. But I used to see Israeli soldiers killing Palestinian children and men and women on TV, and it made me angry, no one helped us. And when my mother would come and drag me from Al-Muntar, she would beg me not to go there again, I would tell her that the Zionists want to take Al-Alqsa. She would say: “Leave the defence of Al-Aqsa to the older ones, you are small”. But I am not small, the older ones are doing nothing! She would tell my dad and he would beat me. One evening, my mother saw me on TV standing in front of an Israeli tank, she was very angry, afraid, and started crying; she begged me not to go, and told me that if I ever repeated this she would tell my father and he would beat me and deprive me of my pocket money. They were afraid for me, they were afraid the Israeli soldiers might kill me, because the Israeli army did not care whether you are a child or a grown up, they just shot you, even if you had a small stone, they would also shoot you for no reason. Sometimes, dad would beat me and lock me in a room to prevent me from going, but I would escape from the window. I used to go every day, this is our land and the Israeli soldiers should leave! I used to sneak to Al-Muntar every day, I used to stand in front of the Israeli tank and sing my favourite song: ““If they break my bones, I am not afraid… if they demolish the house, I am not afraid”, and I used to dance dakbe while singing. Despite everything, I was always happy, jumping, singing…. until the day my cousin Shadi was killed by the Israeli occupation soldiers…. I was sad and angry.

Martyr Faris Odeh. Source: google images

Martyr Faris Odeh. Source: google images

On 08.11.2000, I woke up early. I had dreamt of Shadi. When I told mom, she begged me not to go to Al-Muntar, and said that a stone does nothing in the face of a tank. I replied that a stone rocks them… But, I promised her to go to school, which I did. But later, I sneaked out of class and I went to Al-Muntar carrying my sling. Young unarmed protesters were throwing stones at the Israeli tanks. I threw a stone, another…. my shoe slipped, I bent down to wear my shoe and felt something sting me in my neck…. blood was streaming…. my friends ran to me as I fell to the ground, but the Israeli soldiers started shooting at them, they ran away. I was left there on the ground, looking at the sky, the blue sky of Palestine, singing my favourite song….

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Faris Odeh, I was 14 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers shot me, prevented anyone from saving me, and kept shooting at anyone coming close to me for one hour… they let me bleed to death.
My name is Faris Odeh, I was 14 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me, and I was brought back home to my mother on the shoulders, a bullet type 500 cut most of the veins of my neck.
My name is Faris Odeh, I was 14 years old when Israeli terrorists killed me and snatched me from my family… When my family gathers for dinner, they leave an empty place for me…. Every morning, my mother watches the children go to school, she waits every day when they come home, hoping that I will come home with them, my brother sings my favourite song alone, but he can’t finish it because he starts crying.
My name is Faris Odeh, I was 14 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Inas Shawkat Dar Khalil

Martyr Inas Shawkat. Source: google images

Martyr Inas Shawkat. Source: google images

I was a beautiful little girl from a beautiful villages called Sinjil near Ramallah, I loved to play with my dolls, but had one favourite doll that escorted me everywhere I went. I loved to visit my friend Toleen, who lives nearby. We were best friends and always together. I love to draw a lot, and I could spell the alphabet and count till 50. The teacher said that I was clever and often gave me a star on my copybook, and sometimes she gave me a piece of chocolate when my drawing copybook was neat and tidy. Every morning, mom would wake me up, wash my face and comb my hair, and I would sing to her: “Continue missing me while I am away”. When school started, I asked mom for a new bag, new colouring books and new dresses. She loved me so much, she got me 20 dresses! She got me 20 new dresses, new colouring books and colouring pencils. I wanted to go to university when I grow up, so every day, when I come back home from kindergarten, I do my homework. Mom would tell me: “Dear, get a rest first”, but I would refuse, I wanted to do my homework, I wanted to be clever and go to university when I grow up.

Martyr Inas Shawkat. Source: google images

Martyr Inas Shawkat. Source: google images

On 19.10.2014, mom woke me up to go to kindergarten; I was sleepy and didn’t want to go, I had a beautiful dream. I took my doll with me, I always took her with me to school, she would sit on my desk and repeat the alphabet with me, sing with me or hold my colouring pencils while I drew. My friend Toleen came, and like every day, our mothers walked with us to the street until the school bus came and took us. I waved goodbye to my mother. At the kindergarten, we played, sang and I volunteered to tidy the classroom. The teacher was very pleased with me. We went back home with the school bus. It stopped at the entrance to our village, and I could see my mom and Toleen’s mother waiting for us like every day on the other side of the road. They came every day at 12: 40 to the village entrance and waited for the kindergarten bus. Before crossing the road, we looked right and left, as mom used to tell us. She would say over and over: “Be careful before you cross the road and watch out for the cars”. My mother was standing on the other side of the road waiting to hug me. We started crossing the road, a car was coming, mom shouted at us to stop. She then waved to the Zionist colonist to stop. He slowed down, he could see clearly, the road was empty and as we crossed, all of a sudden he speeded up, swerved and drove speedily in our direction. Suddenly, I was thrown up in the air and fell hard on the ground. I tried to stand up, but was feeling sleepy, so I fell on the ground… My doll and my colouring pencils in my bag scattered everywhere. I heard mom shout, I wanted to reach out to her, but I couldn’t. I was sleepy. I felt her hug me. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her not to cry. I wanted to hug her, but I was sleepy… She hugged me and I slept.

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Inas Shawkat Dar Khalil, I was 5 years old when Israel killed me and left my mom sad… she thinks of me all day long and dreams of me all night long… she regrets sending me to school that fateful day….. Please tell her not to be sad.
My name is Inas Shawkat Dar Khalil, I was 5 years old when a Zionist colonist deliberately ran me over and broke my mother’s heart….. I used to fall asleep in my mother’s lap, now she is alone, now she is sad…. now she sleeps hugging my dress.
My name is Inas Shawkat Dar Khalil, I was 5 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Mohammad Ismail Nassar

Martyr Mohammad Nassar. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Nassar. Source: google images

I lived in Dahiyet Al-Barid in occupied Jerusalem with my family. I loved going to school, and was a clever pupil, I among the best in my class. I also loved to draw, and my parents and my art teacher said that I was talented. Friday 06.03.2001, was a holiday, so in the afternoon, and after I did my homework, I went to play football with my friends in the nearby playground. When it got dark, my friends and I parted to go to our homes. On that Friday, my parents waited and waited for me, but I never made it back home alive; On that Friday, as the sun was setting, as some were sitting around the dinner table, or gathered around the TV, or on their way back home from visiting friends, I made my way back to my home. Then suddenly, zionist colonists from the nearby colony of Neve Yaakov appeared out of nowhere… they kidnapped me, dragged me to the colony… they tried to cut my wrist, they wanted me to bleed to death… but that was too quite a death for their enjoyment… so they beat me with rocks on my head, my chest and my back… they tortured me… I screamed and screamed, I screamed for my parents, I begged the zionists to stop, I screamed as they crushed my skull with stones…. they killed me…. my family and friends and neighbours spent the whole night looking for me… they even asked for support from the occupation police, which refused to help in the search…. My family continued the search for me the next day. In the afternoon of 17.03.2001 they found me…. they found me dead…. they found me in the bushes among the rocks about 20 meters away from the Jewish religious school in Neve Yaakov… my body bore marks of brutal torture and beating with rocks on my head which was shattered, and the presence of bruises on my back and chest and feet and cuts with a sharp object in the right wrist…. two of the kippas and four white gloves worn by my killers were found near my body, but the Israeli occupation police refused to investigate what had happened to me…

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Mohammad Ismail Nassar, I was 10 years old when Zionist colonists kidnapped me, tortured me and killed me.
My name is Mohammad Ismail Nassar, I was 10 years old when Israel refused to investigate my death and let my killers escape justice.
My name is Mohammad Ismail Nassar, I was 10 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Iman Al-Humus

Martyr Iman Al-Humus. Source: google images

Martyr Iman Al-Humus. Source: google images

I was a little school girl, clever and energetic. I used to watch on TV the crimes committed by the Israeli occupation army, and it always made me cry. On the early morning of 05.10.2004, I was on my way to school with two of my friends and classmates. Suddenly, Israeli occupation soldiers started shooting at us from the observation tower. We were very scared, and ran in different directions to escape the bullets; I ran in the direction of Israeli military site where two bulldozers stood. The Israeli soldiers started shooting in my direction, I fell to the ground, was very scared and crying, I did not know what to do. One Israeli tank came out of the site and Israeli soldiers demanded in loud speakers that I take off my bag and put it on the ground… the minute I did that, there was intensive shooting in my direction, I fell back… one occupation soldier came out of the tank, stood 10 meters away from me…. He saw that I was a school girl, he saw that my bag had nothing but my books and copybooks, he saw that I was hit and bleeding, he saw that I was scared and crying… he shot 2 bullets at me, went back a little bit, and emptied his M-16 in my body. 20 bullets hit me all over my body, especially the head and chest areas. I was dead on the spot… then the soldiers surrounded me, and prevented anyone from reaching me.

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Iman Al-Humus, I was 13 years old when an Israeli occupation officer from Giv’ati unit killed me and afterwards mutilated my body.
My name is Iman Al-Humus, I was 13 years old when Israel cleared my killer despite the evidence and the testimonies. My killer was “tried” on charges of “killing a child” in front of a Zionist military court, but was cleared, released and ordered to return to the military service. He was only accused of “the use of weapon in a manner contrary to the orders of firing”.
My name is Iman Al-Humus, I was 13 years old when Israel tried to cover up the crime committed against me by its terrorist army. The crime was exposed only after some Israeli soldiers told Israeli newspapers about the incident, because “their conscience did not take what had happened”. In their testimonies, the Israeli occupation soldiers said they saw that I was but a school girl, and that while some refused to shoot at me, others did.
My name is Iman Al-Humus, I was 13 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Mohammad Salaymeh

Martyr Mohammad Salaymeh. Source: google images

Martyr Mohammad Salaymeh. Source: google images

On 12.12.2012, it was my birthday. My classmates and I celebrated during classes, we bought a cake and biscuits and chocolate. Everyone was happy, and wished me success and happiness. I was looking forward to return home and celebrate my birthday with my family. That evening, my family gathered, they all wanted to celebrate my birthday with me, everyone was present except my eldest brother Awad who was freed from Israeli captivity through the prisoners exchange swap and is now residing in besieged Gaza. Being the youngest in the family, I told them I will get the cake. While on my way to the shop to buy my birthday cake, I passed an Israeli checkpoint in the old city of Hebron, and all of a sudden, without reason or warning, an Israeli occupation soldier shot me from distance zero in the chest and stomach… 6 times they shot at me, for no reason. I fell to the ground, bleeding. Some people came after they heard the shots, they tried to come close and help me, but the soldiers prevented them. I was left there, bleeding…. When my father came and tried to reach me, shouting and calling my name, they beat him, and prevented him from coming to coming close to me, from hugging me one last time. A doctor living nearby came and tried to save my life, but the soldiers refused to let him, women came, journalists came… they were all prevented from reaching me with threats of fire … and all this time, I was left on the ground to bleed to death, thinking that a birthday was meant to be a celebration of life, thinking of my mother, thinking of my siblings, hearing the screams of my father, hearing him beg the soldiers to allow him to hug me, hearing the screams of the people, begging the soldiers to allow the doctor to help me…. and when finally, after the residents fought with the occupation soldiers, the doctor was allowed to come to me, but I was already dead….

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Mohammad Salaymeh, I was 16 years old when Israel killed me on my 16th birthday when I went to buy a birthday cake.
My name is Mohammad Salaymeh, I was 16 years old when the Israeli occupation army killed me and rewarded my killer with a distinction because she “dealt successfully with the situation”.
My name is Mohammad Salaymeh, I was 16 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Fahmi Al-Darduk

Martyr Fahmi Al-Darduk. Source: google images

Martyr Fahmi Al-Darduk. Source: google images

I was living in Nablus with my parents and my three sisters. I was a pupil in the ninth grade, and on the weekend I used to help my father in a bakery to support our family. I was full of life, loved to play sports and to listen to music. On 19.05.2008, I was on my way to visit friends in Ramallah. I waited in line for the check at the Huwara military checkpoint. I had earphones on and was listening to music from my mobile phone. One minute I was listening to music, thinking of the good time I was going to spend with my friends…. The next, I fell to the ground…. They shot me… they shot me several times at the same time… at least six bullets hit me in the head and the chest. They riddled my body with bullets. Despite people’s pleading that I be treated, the Israeli soldiers refused to let the medics reach me, left me lying on the ground for two and a half hours and watched as I bled to death. And while they left me to die a slow death, the Israeli army closed the checkpoint and forced all Palestinians there to leave by throwing tear gas and concussion grenades at them. Afterwards, they started washing away the blood with water jets. They wanted to clean the scene of the crime, and wash away all traces of the murder they committed, and keep away any possible witnesses. They allowed the ambulance to reach me, only after they made sure I was dead.

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Fahmi Al-Darduk, I was 15 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me, and because of my young age, as I didn’t have an ID yet, my parents didn’t know I was killed until the next day.
My name is Fahmi Al-Darduk, I was 15 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me, and the killers claimed I had a pipe bomb and an explosive belt on my body. Nonetheless, despite the many bullets that hit my young body, no “explosives” blew up.
My name is Fahmi Al-Darduk, I was 15 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Aya Najjar

Martyr Aya Najjar. Source: google images

Martyr Aya Najjar. Source: google images

I am from Khuza’a in besieged Gaza. I loved school, and was very clever. I loved to play with my friends. During the summer of 2008, school was over and I had finished second grade. I was very happy; I was the best in my class, and the teacher gave me a reward and a certificate to show my parents. Mom and dad were very happy for me. I was looking forward to the summer vacation. On the early afternoon of 05.06.2008, I was playing outside my home, in wait for my school friends to come for a visit. I was playing between the trees, and I could hear Israeli drones and war planes in the sky. I hated the Israeli soldiers, they occupy our land, they bombed our homes and schools, and they killed my brother Zaki. My mom was sitting inside, looking out the window every now and then, looking at the warplanes with worry on her face. No one was outside in the streets except me. Everything was quiet, except for the sound of the warplanes. I continued playing, and watching out for my friends. I was looking forward to their visit. Then, a loud explosion… It was all over…..

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Aya Najjar, I was 8 years old when Israeli apache fired a direct rocket at me… followed by another rocket …… I was playing, but they turned me to pieces.
My name is Aya Najjar, I was 8 years old when Israel killed me with a rocket while I played outside my home …. My mother cries herself to sleep every night…. Tell her not to cry, tell her that now I am with my martyred brother Zaki.
My name is Aya Najjar, I was 8 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Khalil Al-Mughrabi

Martyr Khalil Mughrabi. Source: google images

Martyr Khalil Mughrabi. Source: google images

I was born in Yabna refugee camp in Rafah. Sometimes, I was a quiet boy, and sometimes I was noisy and naughty. I was member in the Little Parliament, a sort of mock parliament for pupils. I loved participating in public activities, and loved volunteering. I loved playing sports with my friends. My favourite game was football. On the evening of 07.07.2001, I was playing football with my friends in Yabna playground; we were about 20 to 30 boys, aged 10 to 13 years old. We were happy, running and screaming… At about 5 pm, we saw an Israeli tank move opposite us on the other side of the fence in the direction of the Israeli army observation tower. They were watching us, they saw us playing football, heard our laughter. After playing football for some time, we all sat on the sandy hill talking and laughing….. We were happy; children playing football, trying to forget the occupation soldiers that were watching us… trying to forget the occupation that is strangling and killing us… trying to live, even if for a few minutes, like other children…. Then a bullet pierced my head coming from the observation tower…. I fell back bleeding profusely… part of my skull splattered on my friends and before they could scream and run away more bullets starting flying in our direction, hitting another 2 boys aged 10 and 12 years in the stomach.

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Khalil Al-Mughrabi, I was 11 years old when Israeli occupation soldiers killed me in cold-blood while playing and laughing with my friends.
My name is Khalil Al-Mughrabi, I was 11 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

My name is Raghda ‘Assar

Martyr Raghda ‘Assar. Source: google images

Martyr Raghda ‘Assar. Source: google images

I lived in Khan Younis with my family. We are refugees, and the Zionists expelled us from our original village in 1948. I was a pupil at the UNRWA school. On 07.09.2004, I was sitting in class listening to the English teacher. It was still early in the morning, when all of a sudden we heard sounds of explosions. The Israeli occupation army was bombarding the area. We started screaming and crying… we didn’t know what to do, some hid under the tables, others ran towards the door, while others froze in their chairs. We heard bullets… They shot at us from the observation tower of the Neve Dekalim Zionist colony which is close to the school…. I felt a sting, I screamed and put my hand on the right side of my head…. I felt nothing anymore….. I was hit in the head, I was in coma from which I never woke up. On 15.09.2004 my parents and siblings said their final farewell to me.

Dear Mr. Secretary General;
My name is Raghda ‘Assar, I was 10 years old when Israeli occupation snipers shot me while sitting among my classmates in an UNRWA school.
My name is Raghda ‘Assar, I was 10 years old when the Zionist entity, which you removed from the list of child abusers, killed me.

Dear Mr. Secretary General,
We, the martyred children of Palestine, address you from a place where Zionist terrorism can’t touch us anymore, we address you from a place where your complicity with Zionist crimes can’t hurt us anymore, we address you from a place where world inaction towards Israeli war crimes can disappoint us anymore. We address you, not for our sake, for you have failed us, you let us down, you ignored our pain and suffering, you chose the side of the oppressor over that of the oppressed… we address you for the sake of those who are still alive, for the sake of Palestinian children who still suffer under Israeli military occupation, for the sake of Palestinian children who daily face Israeli terror and war crimes… we address you for their sake. You did nothing to protect us from Zionist terror, and to add salt to our bleeding wounds, you removed the Zionist entity and its occupation army from the list of child-rights offenders, thus giving them impunity to continue killing Palestinian children. Our blood, and that of every Palestinian victim, is on your hands and on the hands of every individual, every country, every government, and every organization that witnessed our suffering and turned a blind eye. Our stolen lives, and those of every Palestinian victim, will forever haunt you, and haunt every individual, every nation, every government and every organization that heard our calls for help and turned a deaf ear. You, and this unjust world, turned you back on our daily suffering, stood in solidarity with our killers, cried for our killers, protected our killers, and rewarded our killers. You, and this unjust world, ignored the suffering of the victims, demanded concession after concession from the victims, accused the victims. But, in the name of every Palestinian child, those martyred and those alive, we say to you;
Palestine, all of Palestine, was and will always be our one and only home, from the River to the Sea.
Palestinians, women and men, young and old, living in occupied Palestine or in the Diaspora, will continue the struggle until all of Palestine is free, until all Palestinians return to their homes.
The Palestinian people, and all free citizens of this unjust world, will bring to justice all Zionist war criminals and all perpetrators of crimes against the Palestinian people and against humanity in general, their supporters, their defenders, and all those who granted them impunity for their crimes.
Justice will prevail and Palestine, all of Palestine, will be free.

© https://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com/

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8 Responses to From the Children of Palestine to the Secretary General of the United Nations

  1. Michael Bond says:

    Beautifully written. Heart-breaking.
    The people of Gaza have not merely been subjected to extreme violence and traumatization. Their capacity to continue to live autonomously in historic Palestine is being systematically undermined. The destruction of infrastructure, such as the ‘Operation Protective Edge’ attack on the Gaza Strip’s only power plant, is just one indication of this truly genocidal project. Not only do the Israeli onslaughts end the physical existence of Palestinian individuals, they also aim to obliterate the capacity of the Palestinians as a people to live independently in their homeland.

    https://mpbondblog.wordpress.com/2014/07/02/gaza/

  2. Pingback: Children of Gaza | *Orbis non sufficit*

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  5. Pingback: From the Children of Palestine to the Secretary General of the United Nations | Uprootedpalestinians's Blog

  6. INGAORAMA says:

    Reblogged this on ingaorama and commented:
    Held að við öll sem þykjumst kunna Ensku lesum sögu þessarra barna og unglinga sem voru myrt af Israelskum stjórnvöldum…I think we who claim we know how to read and talk English should read about the story of these kids and teenagers who was murdered by the soldiers of Israel government! No matter were you stand politically – children and teenagers are kids and teenagers ! No matter were in the world that is!

  7. Pingback: Steadfast for Palestine: The Heroes of the Battle of “Breaking the Chains” | Uprootedpalestinians's Blog

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