On November 28, Israeli soldiers stopped my car at the Jaba checkpoint in the occupied West Bank and kidnapped me. I spent the next 253 days in detention without charge, never knowing why this was happening to me.
That morning, I didn’t want to leave the house because my wife and three-month-old son were sick with the flu, but I couldn’t postpone an English exam I had to take as part of my Master’s application. . program at a British university.
As I was going home, I called my wife to tell her I was coming home and bringing food. I could hear the sound of my son crying in the background. Her screams stayed in my head for the next eight months.
At the checkpoint, Israeli soldiers took me out of the car, handcuffed me, blindfolded me, and made me kneel for five hours inside a military camp. I was transferred from camp to camp until I was finally transferred to a detention center in an illegal Jewish settlement in Hebron.
I have had no contact with a lawyer or my family, despite my constant requests. It was only after two months of detention that I was finally able to speak with a lawyer and learned that no charges were being brought against me. I was under administrative detention – a legal measure applied to the Palestinian population that allows Israeli occupying forces to arbitrarily detain anyone they want.
This measure has been widely used since October 7, 2023, as an additional means of collectively punishing Palestinians. As of this month, more than 3,300 Palestinians remain held in Israeli prisons without trial or charge.
As an administrative detainee, I – like the rest of the 10,000 Palestinian political prisoners – experienced inhumane detention conditions designed to cause maximum suffering.
For more than eight months, I was starved, humiliated, insulted and beaten by Israeli forces. I was held with 11 other detainees in a small concrete cell designed for five people. It was as if we were being suffocated alive, as if we were locked in a mass grave. It was hell on Earth.
The guards walked around in heavy protective gear and regularly beat us with sticks, hands, and feet. They would release big police dogs to terrorize us. They constantly beat with their batons on the metal bars of the cells or on other metal objects, preventing us from enjoying a moment of peace. They insulted us constantly, cursing the women in our lives, degrading our mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives, and calling the inmates subhuman. They would also insult and degrade national symbols such as Palestinian leaders, slogans and our flag, trying to degrade our very identity as Palestinians.
We had no privacy except for the brief time we were allowed to use the toilet and we were not allowed to shave for the first six months. The amount of food provided was less than what is needed for an adult to stay alive. I lost more than 20 kilos during my detention.
We watched our bodies change, isolated from the world without even knowing why we were there. The only way we got news was from the new inmates who were constantly arriving. This isolation was part of the psychological torture.
If I could barely recognize myself, how could I recognize my son on the way out, I wondered. I kept imagining him growing up, reaching milestones without me being there to support and hold him back. I was also worried about my elderly father, who was ill and whom I had been caring for for several years. I kept wondering who took care of him when he had seizures and if he was taken to his hospital appointments.
During the time I spent in Israeli prison, it became clear to me that the Israelis use detention to try to break us, so when they release us – if they ever do – we are one shell of what we were, humiliated and broken. The release of detainees who no longer look like themselves, hungry and unshaven, suffering from physical illnesses and psychological disorders, aims to serve as a message to the rest of the Palestinian population, to break their will, their resilience and their hopes for liberation. , a dignified life and a bright future.
But this sinister strategy faces resistance. Crowded into our concrete cells, we would still find something to smile about. Smiles were our weapon against the brutality of the Israeli guards. Hope was our shield.
Thinking of my little boy gave me hope. I imagined finding him and looking him in the eyes.
When I was released and called my wife and the camera was pointed at my son, I could no longer control myself and tears began to flow. I kept repeating: “I am your baba, I am your baba. »
The moment I came home and saw my son was one of the happiest moments of my life. I kissed him and looked at him, examining his eyes, his mouth, his hair, his feet. I tried to memorize every detail quickly, to correct the image I had created of him in my mind over the previous 253 days. He surpassed the most beautiful image I had drawn of him in my head.
Israel tried to break me and destroy my spirit, but I came out of this difficult experience stronger and stronger. My imprisonment is a wound that will remain within me, but it will not stop my mission in life.
Before being arrested, I worked for five years as executive director of the Aida Youth Center. This organization has for years provided essential support to residents of the Aida refugee camp, near Bethlehem. Children and young people have benefited from our educational program and music and sports lessons, while the wider community has received humanitarian and medical assistance during the crises.
Now I am back at the center and as a parent and community leader, I am more determined than ever to continue working with Palestinian children and youth to ensure they realize their potential and build a better future.
I know that the persecution of the Palestinian people, especially our young people, aims to radicalize them, to deprive them of their rights and the hope of a dignified and prosperous life.
I believe that working with young people, giving them advice, encouraging them to develop and become active members of society can counter this brutal Israeli strategy and help build the Palestine I dream of.
Having experienced the horrors of the occupation and now being the father of a one-year-old child, who is taking his first steps and uttering his first words, I am more determined than ever to ensure a better future for him. To ensure that it never suffers the fate of Palestinian political prisoners held by Israel simply because of their Palestinian identity. To ensure he has the opportunity to grow up hopeful, resilient and proud. This is what I will continue to fight for.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Tel Aviv Tribune.