When I was 9 years old, I was shot by the Israel Defense Forces. Most people I grew up with in Gaza have a story like this: a near miss, a face-to-face confrontation with a fatal bombing, a massacre. Mine is nothing special.
It was 1992, during the first intifada, and I was coming home from the afternoon shift at an overcrowded school for refugees. In those days, there were regular scenes of defiance and confrontation outside the school entrance, between the Israeli militarized vehicles doing their rounds and the kids from the secondary school nearby. To my 9-year-old self, the clashes were a huge inconvenience.… Seguir leyendo »