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Four Cousins And Their Funerals

By Nour Odeh

24 March, 2010
Blogs.aljazeera.net

 

Photo by Nour Odeh


Reporting on the death of children is never an easy task. It challenges your sense of professionalism and puts you face to face with the strongest of emotions; a mother's inconsolable grief at the loss of her child.

On Sunday, I went through this unforgettable experience - four times.

It started out with news coverage of a funeral for 16-year-old Mohamad Qadus and his cousin Usaid - 18 years. They were shot dead by Israeli soldiers at the conclusion of a day of demonstrations in their small village of Iraq Burin.

The mood was so sombre; you could feel it walking around… Men silent and serious, women distraught and in tears.

As the older men prepared the graves, Mohamad's and Usaid's friends sprinkled rose petals where their friends will finally rest, looking down on the graves in disbelief.

Most disturbing perhaps were the children, sitting on the edge of the freshly dug graves, sharing their account of what happened on Saturday.

I wondered how these young eyewitnesses can forget the scenes of blood and chaos they saw. "He died right there behind this house! I saw Mohamad taking his last breath," one kid told me.

Being children, their wait for the funeral was a mix of storytelling and play; odd as it may sound; morbid as it may seem.

Iraq Burin is a small village – population 1100. Residents here are like a family; many are related by blood and most are childhood friends. The loss of two teens here is one shared by all.

Then came the mourners, bearing the bodies of Mohamad and Usaid; for a final visit home – a last chance for their mothers to kiss them goodbye.

The sound of women wailing in grief is unmistakable and this Sunday, the usual calm in Iraq Burin was shattered by it. 

"Oh my darling!" Usaid's mother kept calling out. She followed the procession, supported by women, too grief-stricken to provide much comfort.

The Israeli army denied its soldiers used live fire in Iraq Burin. But an X-ray of Usaid's gunshot wound is unmistakable – a cylinder-like metal object is lodged in his brain. That, doctors told me, is without a shadow of doubt, a live round.

As the funeral in Iraq Burin was concluding, we received news of another shooting nearby. We quickly moved towards the scene of the shooting: Awarta, southeast of Nablus.

The paramedics were held up by the Israeli security forces so we went to hospital, where they were heading.

Being journalists, our job is to dig up information – no matter what. So we got on the phone, searching for any relatives of the victims of the latest shooting. We found one; Jamal – but he had no idea his siblings were dead. We didn't tell him.

Mohamad and Salah Qwariq, both 19, were shot dead by Israeli soldiers as they looked for scrap metal in their village, Awarta.

The Israeli army quickly issued a statement saying the two young men tried to stab Israeli soldiers on regular patrol.

One of the teen's father arrives; shaken, his face full of disbelief. He succumbs to tears – as men run to comfort him.

According to Muslim custom, the way to honour the dead is through a quick burial. So Mohamad and Salah were quickly prepared and rushed away to their village.

There, the shock was unmistakable. Salah's mother prepared breakfast for her son in the morning and now, he had returned to her in a white shroud, for a final kiss, a final goodbye.

Hundreds of mourners carried the two young men to the cemetery; their chants could be heard from the four corners of the village.

As the men prayed ahead of the burial, grief and pride kept some of the teens' friends silent and immobile. One couldn't stand up;

empty-eyed, he kept looking at the earth then ahead, where his friends now lay on the ground.

Another sat on a large rock, pondering, it seemed, the day's quick and unbelievable events.

Iraq Burin and Awarta are villages regularly attacked by Israeli settlers, who live nearby. Armed and under the protection of Israeli soldiers, settlers from the illegal settlement of Itamar frequently raid Awarta.

In Iraq Burin, the settlers of Bracha regularly raid the village, attacking residents and burning or destroying the residents' prized olive groves. That's why the residents started the weekly Saturday protests, to confront the raiding settlers.

These attacks and abuses , by soldiers and settlers, have long been documented by human rights organisations. But like so many abuses that are part of daily life under Israeli occupation here, the lives and plight of so many only catch world attention when they become news .

Perhaps that's why the Palestinian prime minister, Salam Fayad, revived a long-standing Palestinian demand for international protection.


 

 

 


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