Lebanon War 1982

 I continue writing about the massacres that took place in the Burj Shimali camp due to the savage bombing of the Israeli planes in June 1982. I think of all those who lost their lives at the hands of the criminal Zionists. They are not numbers, but people I knew, lived with and knew their hopes and aspirations.

Most of the residents were agricultural workers, men and women, who worked for a daily wage without any rights or protection. Some of them were carpenters, blacksmiths, shoemakers, or children in school whose lives were kidnapped early. In short, an entire community was destroyed.

I was in the camp these days, witnessing the horrible massacre in the camp, whose area does not exceed a square kilometer. After seven days, the camp was literally in ruins and scattered rubble. The camp’s road disappeared entirely. And some people were trying to save what could be saved from their destroyed homes.

Our house was destroyed, and all my childhood pictures were lost. The camp look like Guernica paint made by Picasso about a Spanish town bombed by the Nazis and Italian fascists in 1937.and here it’s the same fascist mindset.

The entire camp was destroyed by the American Phantom planes supplied by America to the criminal Zionist state.

Does America, which claims its focus on human rights, know that the aircraft it gave to the Zionist state is to murder civilians?

Of course, they know but prefer to close their eyes because they are partners in the crime.

The camp residents had started leaving the camp on the fifth day to save their lives and their children’s lives. At this time, the bodies of the dead residents were under the rubble of shelters or houses. My cousin was one of them. He was a young man studying car mechanics, I remember him now with a pain in my heart. Later on, his other brother was killed.

It was a tragedy for my uncle, who was strong, but after losing two young men, became like a burning candle day after day. Indeed, my uncle only lived two years after the massacre. He used to repeat the names of his sons. And when I visit him, I try to tell him that they could be in a better world. He would remain silent and look at me and say nothing.

I left the camp with a group of people heading toward the Lebanese villages. The weather was scorching, and we were drinking from the water of the lemon orchards canals scattered in the area. There were men and woman and children of all ages. I felt that it was like the doomsday.

On the road, there was an unbearable smell. Some closed their noses to see a car trampled by an Israeli tank, and in the car was a family who trying to escape from this hell.

The smell of death was horrible. The stench emanating from the bodies was several meters from the car.

My father was one of those who approached the car. When he came back, his face was yellow, and he started shouting they are Nazis.

Many years later, when I moved to Europe, I was once in a debate with one of the Zionists who said to me (you hate us)!!! I told him you are shameless criminals. What do you expect when you occupy my country and murder my people?

I’m confident to say that every Palestinian’s most precious dream is to see Zionist criminals in the criminal courts. I know that the matter is far away now, but I am sure that this day will come.

We walked among the orchards while we hear the planes bombing around. We also heard the roar of tanks. And there we arrived at a Lebanese village. We were exhausted after all we had suffered the past days.

We slept in a small room, men, women, and children, and I put my shoes under my head to sleep. I slept like a stone.

Salim Nazzal  is a Palestinian Norwegian researcher, lecturer playwright and poet, wrote more than 17 books such as Perspectives on thought, culture and political sociology, in thought, culture and ideology, the road to Baghdad. Palestine in heart


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