In this new
series of personal testimonies, PCHR looks at the
aftermath of Israel’s 22 day offensive on the Gaza
Strip, and the ongoing impact it is having on the
civilian population.
Text and
images © Malian/PCHR
The only
surviving photograph of 13 year old Hammad Silmiya,
taken when he was seven. ©Malian
On the 14 of February
2009, almost a month after Israel declared a
unilateral ceasefire in Gaza, thirteen year old
Hammad Silmiya was grazing his sheep and goats in
northeast Gaza, about 500 metres from the border
with Israel. An Israeli military jeep patrolling the
border opened fire on him and his teenage friends.
Hammad was shot in the head and he died almost
instantly.
Hammad’s death barely made the
news – just another casualty in the Gaza Strip,
where civilian injuries and deaths continue to mount
daily. His family had already endured the killing of
Hammad’s grandmother, his two cousins, aged four and
eighteen months, and the destruction of their homes
and livestock during Israel’s offensive.
“It was Saturday morning and
Hammad woke up at six,” says Hammad’s aunt Jomai’a,
40. “He left with his brother and a couple of young
friends to graze the animals. At around ten in the
morning Hammad was preparing some breakfast in the
field like he always did. An Israeli military
vehicle fired at them and shot him in the head.”
Jomai’a pulls out a plastic bag
from the folds of her black shawl and unties the
knot. Inside a small envelope is the only remaining
photograph they have of Hammad, taken when he was
seven years old. More recent photographs of him were
lost in the rubble of their home.
“Hammad was like a beloved son to
me because I have no children of my own and he
always slept beside me,” says Jomai’a. “Whenever he
needed anything, he would ask me. They used to say
Hammad didn’t have just one mother, he had two – his
real mother, and I. Hammad owned a part of my heart
and it went with him when he died.”
Hammad’s aunt
Jomai’a (left) and mother Salma (right). ©Malian
Hammad had left school just a few
months ago to work fulltime as a shepherd and help
his family. “I tried to force him to go back to
school but all he cared about was working with the
goats and riding his donkey,” says Jomai’a. “He was
so good with animals. Whenever he came home from
school, he’d throw his bag in the house and run to
be with the animals. The night before Hammad was
killed I dreamt about a wedding ceremony, which in
our culture is a bad omen. When they told me Hammad
was injured I knew that he had been killed because I
had seen him as a bridegroom in my dream.”
Hammad’s mother Salma sits beside
Jomai’a in the makeshift shelter the family has set
up beside the remains of their homes in Hay-as-Salama,
northeastern Gaza. All around them are scenes of
utter devastation. This Bedouin family came to Gaza
as refugees from Beersheva in 1948 and settled in
the Hay-as-Salama area. Prior to the latest Israeli
offensive they had concrete homes and livestock
farms beside the buffer zone, which was the first
area to be hit during Israel’s ground offensive in
January 2009.
“Tanks began firing at the area
at two in the morning on the 5 of January,” recalls
Jomai’a. “The first bomb hit our house and I ran to
my mother’s room because she is 80 years old and
bedridden. Then a second shell hit the house and we
had to run, leaving her behind. We were like scared
goats whose stable door had been opened. We fled to
Jabaliya and then to Zeitoun where we sheltered in
schools. Every day I begged ambulances and medics to
help me go and evacuate my mother. I even said I
would walk in front of the ambulance, carrying a
white flag, but it was too dangerous and they
refused.”
When the Silmiya family returned
to the area on 18 January , they found their row of
houses had been flattened by F-16 airstrikes and it
took them three days to uncover Hammad’s grandmother
from the rubble. Hammad was buried next to his
grandmother just a few weeks later.
Due to this area’s proximity to
the border, few donors have come to assess the
damage or provide assistance. The nearest refugee
tent camp is unsuitable for the Silmiyas because
they need to be near their animals and Bedouin
families prefer to live alone.
The Silmiya
shelter in front of their bombed house. ©Malian
“The war is not over,” says
Hammad’s mother Salma. “There is no quiet time in
Gaza and we often see F-16s in the sky. But Hammad
was never afraid. He was strong and full of energy.
His younger brother says he wishes the Israelis had
killed him instead because everybody loved Hammad.
He also refuses to take any food or tea with him now
when he goes shepherding because Hammad was making
breakfast when they shot him.”
In the days before his death
Hammad had been upset about his donkey that was
killed during the Israeli ground invasion along with
sixty goats and three cows belonging to his father
Barrak Salem Salaam Silmiya, whose three surnames
are all derivatives of the word ‘peace’ in Arabic.
“We want peace, but where is it? Where are human
rights in Gaza?” asks 47-year-old Barrak as he shows
us the animal remains still floating in the mud
around the ruins of his house.
Hammad’s father
Barrak Salem Salaam Silmiya, surrounded by the
carcasses of his livestock and the remains of his
home. ©Malian
“Hammad was 13 years old. In
anyone’s eyes he looked like a child, but they still
shot him. He was very bright and he was great with
animals. He even used to sell our milk and cheese in
the market. What more can I tell the world about my
son? How can I speak about him? Big countries can’t
even stop Israel so what can I do? I feel like I’m
nothing. This area was just houses and a street.
Were these goats fighters? There’s nothing left…”
As Barrak turns to walk away
Hammad’s mother Salma rises to her feet: “These
fifteen days since Hammad died have felt like five
hundred. Hammad was dark, and he was beautiful. Food
has no taste anymore.”
“Everybody who saw Hammad that
morning before he was killed said his face had
looked particularly beautiful,” adds his aunt
Jomai’a. “This is not a war against a strong
government or country. Israel kills us like we are
animals and dogs and nobody stands with us.”
