On his first morning of freedom after being released from Israeli prison, Ubai Youssef Abu Maria wandered around his house, checking to see if his parents were there, as if to make sure everyone was there.
They had all returned home at dawn that day, Friday, and although his body was tired, he was so happy to be home that he only managed to sleep for two hours before go to his parents’ room and wake them up.
Half-jokingly, he asked his mother Fidaa, 38, to make him the breakfast he had been dreaming of since October 7: qalayet banadora, a spicy pan of fresh tomatoes simmered with hot Palestinian peppers. It was served with the requisite fruity olive oil, special family recipe za’atar and a cup of sweet tea.
As he ate, Ubai told his mother that he hadn’t eaten anything but horrible in the past two months. He missed being home and being taken care of.
Then he went to the barber to cut his “wild” hair that hadn’t been taken care of in two months, and he came back trim and feeling a little more normal.
“I saw happiness in my father’s eyes”
Ubai Youssef Abu Maria is 18 years old, lives north of Hebron and has already been arrested six times by Israeli forces. Sometimes he was detained for days, sometimes for hours. The first time he was 14 years old and was detained for 15 days.
A year later, when he was only 15, he was arrested again and detained for nine months. The last time he was arrested was on October 8 and he was told he would be placed in administrative detention, a quasi-informal status that apparently lasts six months but is often renewed repeatedly, the person detained and never charged or tried.
Each time, his parents watched and waited, worried about their son.
Then a “humanitarian pause” was declared between Israel and Hamas this month, with an exchange of captives for prisoners as part of the deal – hope resurfaced and Ubai’s parents, Fidaa and Youssef, began to prepare, in case Ubai was released.
He was finally among the seventh and final group of Palestinian prisoners released from Israeli custody on Thursday.
“I saw happiness in my father’s eyes,” Ubai said. “For us, we are more friends than father and son, and I consider him a role model.
“He was worried about me in detention, especially because of my injured arm. »
Ubai was shot in the elbow by Israeli forces last November, losing 70 percent of the use of his arm. He had undergone post-surgical treatment, but his arrest just a month after the platinum pins were removed from his elbow cut that short.
“I repeatedly told the Israelis that my arm was injured. They didn’t care, in fact it seemed to amuse them anyway to chain my hands,” Ubai said.
“Even the prison doctor laughed at me when I asked him for medicine. Made me think this guy is a jailer in a doctor’s coat. They only gave me Acamol (paracetamol) once. That was it.
“I am happy to be able to continue my treatment now. I’m home and I can see my family and be with them. There are no words to describe this joy.
First words, first hugs
When Ubai entered the house at dawn on Friday, Fidaa was initially surprised.
“I kept looking at him and found myself cringing and thinking in disbelief, ‘That’s not my boy.’ He looked so different, not the healthy boy he used to be, he had lost so much weight, looked so exhausted, skin and bones with big messy hair on top.
“I cried, with joy I guess, I don’t know. My first words to him were: “How’s your arm?” Move it, show me what it’s like.’
Ubai’s first words to his mother were gentler: he hugged her, told her he missed her, and called her “My life,” an Arabic term of endearment he use for her.
Shortly after, he had to show her that his arm was of course still movable. As for his father, he greeted him with “My Crown,” which is a cross between a term of endearment and “boss.”
After a breakfast fit for a king and a visit to the hairdresser, Ubai’s house was filled with family and friends who came to see him and welcome him home. So much so that he couldn’t get his favorite lunch dish, zucchini stuffed in yogurt sauce, and had to settle for the promise that he could eat it on Saturday.
The reunion with his loved ones was more than enough to make up for any culinary disappointment, however, and Ubai spoke fondly to Tel Aviv Tribune of meeting his childhood friend, Mahdi Hammad, when he got off the prison transport vehicle who brought him from Ofer prison to Ramallah. “He took me to my father and my family, they had already been waiting for me since 10 a.m. when I arrived at 2 a.m.
“I can’t describe seeing them again, it’s a mixture of joy and sadness. Happy with the warm embraces I returned to and in tears about what is happening in Gaza, the brutal tax that resulted in the release of Palestinian prisoners. I couldn’t believe it, that I would be part of the deal.
Humiliation and pain in prison
After Operation Aqsa Storm, the treatment of Palestinian prisoners became worse than ever, Ubai said. All access to television was cut off, then all appliances, blankets and spare clothes were removed from the cells.
“The prison guards punished us a lot, as if they were throwing back their humiliation of October 7 on us,” he told Tel Aviv Tribune, adding that the guards broke into the cells several times a day, beating, searching and trying to humiliate the prisoners.
“We were not allowed to raise our heads or look them in the eye, if anyone did that they would be badly beaten and put in solitary confinement where they would be assaulted again, out of sight. »
On the day Ubai was released, he was chained at 7 a.m. and taken from his cell in Nafha Prison to the prison’s “bosta” transport vehicle, which was completely dark inside and divided into several narrow cells with metal seats inside, but he was unable to sit on the journey to Ofer prison, near Ramallah.
Once there, as other prisoners explained, Ubai was held in a cell, this time freezing given the time of year.
“I didn’t have enough clothes to keep warm, they confiscated all my things and I stayed like that for about six hours. I could feel my limbs freezing, especially my injured left arm, and all the while I had no idea what any of this meant, no one had told me what was happening.
“Then a Shin Bet officer burst into the cell and told me that I would leave the prison, but he was also shouting and threatening me, saying that I could not party, carry resistance flags, receive sympathizers or have any political activity. . “You will be arrested again,” he said.
Fidaa sat next to Ubai, a beaming smile on her face. But it covered a deeper sadness, she said. “As a Palestinian mother, we cannot keep our children indoors all the time to protect them from what the occupation might do to them. They are constantly at risk of being harassed, detained, injured or, worse, killed by the indiscriminate bullets of the occupation.
“And look at him!” He’s back but he suffered so much in prison. The stories of what happened to him and the other prisoners are horrific, and the stories of what is happening to the people of Gaza are heartbreaking. »
For now, Ubai can turn his attention to his hobby that he hopes to turn into a career: automotive electricals. So he plans to finish the treatment his arm needs and then start working toward becoming an auto electrician. But first, spend more time with your family.
“Ubai is my friend, my companion and my support… When I saw him, it was as if he was reborn,” Youssef said in tears, hugging Ubai.
