Democratic Palestine : 23 (ص 9)
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- Democratic Palestine : 23 (ص 9)
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teen years old at that time; my agitation
when she asked me questions probably
aroused her suspicions. Whatever it was,
she opened the envelope and read the
contents before I had time to cross the
street and catch a taxi. She started
screaming at the people in the street to
catch me; I remember she used a lot of
cbscene words. Anyway, I had to run
across an open field to the other side
where I caught a taxi and went to the
appointed meeting place. The taxi
driver said, «Oh, look, that woman is
calling after you.» She had left the
house and started running after me
herself when nobody had responded to
her. I just shrugged and told the taxi
driver I had never seen her before -
which was true.
MESSENGER TO FAMILIES
Sometimes we would be charged with
other tasks which were less dramatic,
but potentially just as dangerous. I was
supposed to distribute salaries or letters
to the families of martyrs or of com-
rades on the run or imprisoned. The
letters were in a very compact form so
that we could easily hide them, or if
necessary swallow them. Money was
distributed every two months; a reduc-
tion in frequency was necessary so as
not to look suspicious. Once, I and my
girl friend had such a mission to carry
out. She was always the very serious
type, and soldiers at checkpoints were
always picking on her in particular. I
was more fashion-conscious and gave
the impression of not being the type to
be involved in any serious work. At one
checkpoint, this paid off. My friend
was asked to get out of the car and
enter a tent the Zionists had set up for
searching women. I was not asked to
get out. Luckily I was the one carrying
the letters and money. I had the letters
in my mouth, making ready to swallow
them if I was called to be searched.
Fortunately, things never came to that.
As I said before, my brother used to
cover up for me when I was absent
from home, carrying out my duties.
However, he was killed by the Zionists,
and my freedom of movement was
greatly reduced. I had to find different
excuses to leave the house. This was
difficult because my family was over-
protective of me as the only daughter,
and especially so after my brother’s
martyrdom. This situation was tem-
porary however, only a few months.
Then I graduated from high school and
enrolled in a community college. My
teacher had been a member of the
PFLP, and was aware that I was
politically active. He would therefore
give me special permission to leave the
college when I asked. This allowed me
to carry on my organizational duties. I
also wore the traditional Gaza dress (a
long, black skirt and head cover) so
that when I moved about, I could cover
my face and not risk that people
recognized me and reported back to my
family.
MILITARY TRAINING
After a period of carrying out duties
of the type I have described, my girl
friend and I started demanding to be
trained for the military section. Our
record was good, and our comrades
arranged for us to be trained to carry
and use arms, not just smuggle or hide
them. However, our means and
methods were very primitive. We could
not afford to use live ammunition in
training. Bullets were few and precious.
We used to be trained in somewhat
isolated and sheltered backyards, or
inside. We were taught how to dry
damp bullets in hot sand, how to hold
and aim a pistol, and how to use hand
grenades.
Our organizational duties continued
much the same as usual; we would hold
our meetings as always. Not more than
two or three of us would meet, always
in public places, and never for long
periods of time. None of us knew the
others’ real names. This was a precau-
tion we learned to appreciate later on
when some of our comrades were
caught during an operation. At the risk
of sounding vain, I must say that the
comrades of our group were something
special. They were as militant, loyal
and steadfast in prison as they had been
outside. I must also say that it was not
just our comrades who acted commen-
dably.
THE MILITANTS AND THE
MASSES
Although the majority of the
Palestinian people in Gaza were not
actively involved in the resistance
organizations, their hearts were with
us. When Zionist patrols attacked us
during demonstrations or chased us
down the streets, we could be sure that
any door we knocked on would be im-
mediately opened to give us refuge.
Somtimes we were hosed down with red
water, a dye used to spray
demonstrators so they could be iden-
tified later. People would take us in,
give us a change of clothes and help us
clean up. Sometimes I would lose my
way when sent to a new area to
distribute money to martyrs’ families.
People would willingly and discretely
walk me to the house I asked about.
I remember one woman who had two
sons in the Zionist jails. She was our
special link to these prisons. My
family’s neighbors were always ready
to hide the handbills I had to distribute,
because I could not keep them at home
for fear of my parents discovering
them. One night while I was
distributing handbills, a man walked up
to me out of a side alley and asked for
one. I was taken completely by sur-
prise. (The militants’ objective was to
spread the handbills without actually
handing them to persons, for they
could be arrested if ‘caught in the act’.)
I tried to put on a brave face and denied
having anything with me, but the man
persisted and tried to persuade me that
he was ‘on our side’ as they say. Final-
ly, because I was desparate to shake
him and get my job done, I let my in-
tuition overrule my sense of caution. |
gave him a handbill and he walked
away.
Sometimes, however, our experiences
were not pleasant, especially as females
in a society such as ours. Once I was
keeping watch on a certain position
several days in a row. One shopkeeper
noticed me and obviously thought I was
hanging around for - you know - im-
moral purposes. He walked up to me
and offered me money. I was so upset
that I shouted at him. Later, the
Organization had a male comrade ac-
company me for such tasks.
I was also active in the framework of
my regular life, i.e., at school. The high
school I attended had over 1,000 girl
students. Literally all of us would take
part in demonstrations. One time all the
girls agreed to march in a demonstra-
tion commemorating a certain event
which I no longer remember. Our
school had the reputation for giving the
Zionist authorities a particularly
troublesome time, so we expected that
the soldiers would be very brutal in
dispersing the demonstration.
Therefore, we prepared a molotov
cocktail to use in self-defense, or so we
thought. We hid it in the girls’
washroom on the window sill. We had
not however counted on the sun
overheating our homemade bomb. It ex-
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