At the Jaba checkpoint in the occupied West Bank, Israeli soldiers kidnapped me on November 28 and stopped my car there. I was imprisoned for 253 days without being charged, and I never learned what was happening.
I couldn’t delay an English language exam that I needed to take as part of my application for an MA program at a British university because my wife and my three-month-old son were battling the flu that morning.
I called my wife to let her know that I was returning home and bringing food as I was making my way back. My son’s crying was playing in the background. For the next eight months, I’ve been thinking about his cries.
I was handcuffed, blindfolded, and forced to kneel for five hours inside a military camp at the checkpoint by Israeli soldiers who had just arrived. I was moved from camp to camp until I was eventually moved to a detention facility in Hebron, a Jew-occupied settlement.
Despite my persistent requests, I was not able to get in touch with a lawyer or my family. Only after two months of detention did I finally have access to a lawyer and learn that I had not been charged. I was in the custody of an administrative detentionist, a law that allows the Israeli occupation forces to hold anyone they want indefinitely.
Since October 7, 2023, this measure has been extensively used as yet another collective punishment for Palestinians. More than 3,300 Palestinians are still imprisoned in Israeli prisons as of this month, without trial or charge.
I spent my time in inhumane prison conditions designed to bring maximum suffering, just like the rest of the 10,000 Palestinian political prisoners.
For over eight months, I was starved, humiliated, insulted and beaten by Israeli forces. In a tiny concrete cell designed for five, 11 other detainees were interrogated. We were suffocated alive, as if we were being kept in a mass grave. It was hell on Earth.
The guards frequently slammed against us with sticks, hands, and feet while carrying heavy protective gear. To terrorize us, they would release large police dogs. Without bringing us a moment of tranquility, they would bang their batons nonstop on the metal bars of the cells or other metal objects. They would insult us constantly, cursing the women in our lives, degrading our mothers, sisters, daughters and wives, and referring to the detainees as subhuman. In an effort to denigrate Palestinians’ very identity, they would insult and denigrate national symbols like Palestinian leaders, slogans, and our flag.
Except for the brief moment when we were given access to the restroom and for the first six months, we were denied shave. The amount of food provided was lower than what was required for an adult’s survival. I lost more than 20 kilogrammes while in detention.
Without even knowing why we were there, we were observing how our bodies changed and kept ourselves afloat. The only source of information was from the arrival of new detainees. This psychological torture included this isolation.
If I could hardly recognise myself, how would I recognise my son when I get out, I wondered. Without my presence and holding him, I kept seeing him grow and accomplish milestones. I was concerned about my elderly father, who I had spent the last few years caring for but was ill. When he had seizures, I kept wondering who was taking him care and whether he was getting appointments in the hospital.
When Israelis release us, if they ever do so, we are a shell of who we were, humiliated, and broken, as it became clear to me as they spent time in Israeli prison. The release of detainees who hardly look like themselves any more, starved and unshaven, suffering from physical illnesses and psychological disorders, is meant to serve as a message to the rest of the Palestinian population, to break their will, resilience, and hopes for liberation, a dignified life and a bright future.
But this sinister strategy is meeting resistance. Even if our concrete cells had been crowded, we would still have a smile to show. Our weapon against the Israeli guards’ brutality was a smile. Hope was our shield.
I had hope when I thought of my baby boy. I imagined staring into his eyes while reuniting with him.
I couldn’t control myself and the tears started to pour as I was called my wife and the camera was pointed at my son. I kept repeating, “I am your baba, I am your baba”.
One of my life’s most beautiful moments was when I saw my son when I was home. I embraced him and looked at him, examining his eyes, his mouth, his hair, his feet. In order to correct the image I had of him in my mind over the previous 253 days, I was trying to memorize every detail quickly. He surpasses the most exquisite picture I had in mind.
Israel tried to derail my spirit, but I emerged from this challenging situation stronger and tougher. Although I will still be in prison, my mission will continue to be with me.
Prior to my arrest, I had worked for the Aida Youth Center as its executive director. For years, this organization has provided essential assistance to the Bethlehem residents of the Aida refugee camp. Our educational program, music and sports classes, and our youth programs have all had positive effects, while the general public has received medical and humanitarian aid in times of crisis.
As a parent and community leader, I am more determined than ever to work with Palestinian children and youth to ensure that they realize their potential and prepare for a brighter future now that I am back at the center.
I am aware that the Palestinian people face radicalization, racial oppression, and a lack of opportunity for a dignified, prosperous life under the control of our youth.
I think working with young people, offering them guidance, encouraging them to develop as individuals, and promoting social inclusion can counteract this brutal Israeli strategy and contribute to the construction of the Palestine I long for.
Being the father of a one-year-old who is taking his first steps and saying his first words, I am more determined than ever to ensure his better future after having gone through the horrors of the occupation. To ensure that he never experiences the fate of Israeli political prisoners held by Palestinians because of their Palestinian identity. To ensure that he is able to develop confidence, resilience, and pride. For that will I continue to fight.