It just got personal

names of children killed during Gaza conflict

For months I have been reading the Israeli news with a heavy heart. The ongoing occupation has catalyzed such despair. In response, young people have taken to the streets in a lethal combo of rage and random violence.  In this latest round of protests, many innocent people have lost their lives through no fault of their own. In this most recent cycle of violence, 15 Israelis and 91 Palestinians have had their lives unjustly snuffed out. I don't track their stories as they mostly form a list of disembodied names that are part of the larger story of this ongoing conflict.  

That is until today. 

entrance to Aida Refugee Camp

Mary Ellen and I went to Aida Refugee Camp with Moodie, a friend who recognized me when we were photographing some of his artwork on the Wall. I hadn’t been in the camp for a few years and he offered to show us around. Today the camp was quiet whereas the night before it had been lit up by a show of force by the Israeli Defense Force in response to the weekly Friday protests. Moodie pointed out the key, the symbol for the Palestinian right of return, the wall commemorating the names of children who have lost their lives, and the recently added poster of Abed al-Rhman Shadi Obeidallah, a 13 year old boy who was inexplicably shot and killed right near the camp entrance just a few weeks ago. I vaguely remembered this story from the news and recalled the sense of tragedy I felt reading it. Few details were given because Abed (or Aboud) was one of two Palestinian teens killed that day. His story was largely buried.

So it was enlightening and moving to hear more of the details. On October 5, Abed had finished school, played a pick up game of soccer with his friends and was on his way home. According to witnesses, he had not thrown rocks at the security tower near the wall nor had the friends who were with him. The Israelis claim his death was an accident. They had intended to shoot him in his leg. The confusing thing was that it wasn't clear why the guards felt the need to shoot at all since the boys weren't misbehaving.

But that didn't change the fact that Abed was dead and we were standing now on the spot where he was killed. It was a sobering moment to realize this young boy existed in time and space. One moment he was heading home from school and the next moment he was gone.

We lingered for a bit and then off we went to see other sites in the camp and around Bethlehem. We eventually said goodbye to Moodie and, hungry, we ended up at the Casa Nova Guest House next the Church of the Nativity where we scarfed down some falafels. There, we ran into Hussein, an old friend who often holds court there. Mary Ellen wanted to get to know more of his story and so she began asking about where he lived and he said “Aida Camp.” We told him we had been there earlier and then he asked us if we had seen the photo of his cousin. All of the sudden we realized that Abed was his young relative. In seconds, I was on the internet googling photos and additional facts about this young boy. Hussein showed us photos of the funeral pointing out Abed's parents and friends. 

Abed's parents at his funeral

I teared up. Abed was far more than an unintended political consequence of the Conflict. This was my good friend Hussein’s cousin, only a few degrees of separation from me. This was someone who, by the smallest of margins, was part of my Palestinian network of friends. Abed had parents and siblings who are now in the weighty press of grief. Abed had friends who stood beside him and watched him die. Abed had been a happy, caring, and optimistic kid, one who donated his toys during for a local charity drive for kids less fortunate than him. Like all 13 year olds, Abed had big dreams for his future. Those dreams ended with his unnecessary death at the entrance of a refugee camp, a camp that according to international law should have been dismantled long ago. 

In many ways, I am ashamed to think that it took my one degree of separation to make this violence real. I’m embarrassed by my lack of empathy that allows me to read the news every day without remembering that every victim of violence is known and loved by others. On all sides of this conflict, the violence must stop. The occupation needs to end. Children like Abed deserve so much more.