23 Days in Israeli Jails: A Palestinian Student Real Life Story

by SR Editor 

Twenty–three days is the amount of time that I spent in an Israeli jail. Twenty-three days seems like a small part of a person’s life, but it was enough time to change the rest of mine.

I want to share my experiences of the twenty-three days that I spent in jail; how I dealt with what I saw there and the people whom I met. For twenty-three days my freedom was stolen. Other Palestinians are not so lucky. They don’t know if they will ever be free.

One cold night in March, I threw myself on my bed after a hard day at the university. It was raining heavily outside, the weather was cold. I was tired enough to go sleep early. I didn’t know what awaited me the next day; my thoughts were focused on how I would get to the university the next day in the cold weather. I had many exams that week and I was worried about getting good grades.

Because I was tired, it didn’t take more than a moment until my eyes closed and I fell asleep.

What felt like a second later, my eyes opened again.I wish they had not. Suddenly there was a noise I couldn’t recognize. A huge sound shook my house; I would later find out that the sound was the front door of my home being broken into.

I thought it was a nightmare. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, a soldier was aiming his gun at me. It felt like a dream. I closed my eyes for the last time and then opened them again. The soldier was still there.

He spoke in a language that I didn’t understand. I stood up and saw a group of soldiers holding my brothers, shouting and forcing them to come into my room.

I realized someone was going to be arrested. I identified the soldiers as the Israeli army. I still couldn’t understand what they were saying to us, but suddenly I heard my name. They wanted to arrest me, but why? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

One of the soldiers took me to another room; he took off my clothes and inspected me thoroughly. I was wearing pajamas, which of course would not protect me from the cold. I asked them in English to take me to the bathroom. When I went, they came with me.

I saw my family together in one room. The soldiers prevented them from leaving or talking. My six year old sister looked at them with fear, but I was relieved because she wasn’t crying. Then I saw soldiers searching a room and throwing everything outside. I also noticed one of the doors was broken; it seemed caused by the soldiers’ violent entrance into our home. When I reached the bathroom they aimed their guns at me. I couldn’t understand why. Maybe they thought that I would jump out the window of the bathroom, maybe even fly out of the fifth floor, where we live. They took me to another room of our house. I looked at the clock; it was two in the morning.

Suddenly, I heard a soldier calling me. He was speaking Arabic. He identified himself as the officer in charge. He asked me for some personal information then informed me that I was now a detainee. I asked him to let me wear something warmer. He told me to not worry. They put me in a chair, and tied my hands tight behind my back. I almost shouted from the pain, but I kept silent. Then I saw a soldier carrying my laptop, and another soldier holding some of my things. They blindfolded me. I couldn’t move or see, but I could still hear the officer speaking to my family. I heard my father say, “We are not thieves. If you had knocked on the door, we would have opened it. You didn’t have to break in; we didn’t do anything that would make you break into our home in this violent way.”

I heard the officer apologize and say that he wasn’t responsible for what the other soldiers did. I couldn’t understand how he could claim he wasn’t responsible, when he was the officer in charge. It didn’t make any sense.

I heard my mother argue with soldiers loudly, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She was too far away, but she seemed very angry.

One of the soldiers draped a jacket on my back. I couldn’t wear it properly because my hands were tied. I later found out that my mother had been screaming at the soldiers to let me wear my jacket. Then, one of the soldiers took me with him. I realized then that this was not a dream, they were really arresting me.

When we reached the door, I heard my mother’s voice calling me. Although I couldn’t see her, I turned to her as she said, “Be strong, don’t be afraid.” I couldn’t deny that I was scared since the first moment I realized what was happening, but now I wasn’t afraid. My mother had given me back my confidence. I hadn’t done anything in order to be arrested, and I was sure that I would come back soon. I didn’t answer my mother, I only smiled. I thought that the smile would be enough. Then the soldiers took me away.

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