27. Dezember 2008. Ein sonniger Morgen in Gaza. Doch plötzlich bricht die Hölle los. 22 Tage lang bekämpft Israel die 1,6 Millionen im Gazastreifen eingesperrten Palästinenser mit allem, was ein modernes Kriegsarsenal zu bieten hat, bis hin zu weißem Phosphor.
Ein junger Mann, damals grade 19, beschreibt den Tag und die Folgen:
http://electronicintifada.net/content/three-years-ago-normal-morning-turns-horror-gaza/10738
Everything was completely normal, except that the sky seemed clearer than usual with the absence of the Israeli unmanned drones that would fly and buzz in the sky above. No abnormal signs, no reason to worry, and not a single harbinger of an impending war.
My mom was away for the weekly shopping. My sisters, who had been halfway through their day, were back home from school and were already seated before the television, watching cartoons. I made myself a cup of tea and, as is my habit, started to count the pages I had to finish studying that day. Very soon, I was immersed in my book.
A little while later, and all of a sudden, all hell broke loose. I can’t even remember how it all started. It just happened. There was no beginning, and there was no end.
The bombs rained down from every direction. I felt the floor beneath my feet shake so terribly. The entire building shook back and forth with every falling bomb. It seemed as if all the bombs had been dropped in my neighborhood, just next to where I lived.
The bombing was so horrendously ear-piercing. My heart skipped many a beat. Wide-eyed and petrified, my sisters stood transfixed next to me, tightly clutching my arms. I wanted to calm them down, but not until I calmed down myself first. Not until I could get myself to think clearly, and not until I could understand what was happening in the first place.
Ungefähr 1500 Menschen starben, unzählige wurden verletzt. Unter den Toten waren allein 344 Kinder, einige davon erst weniger Monate alt. 2000 Kinder wurden zu Waisen, inzwischen gibt es ca. 53000 Kinder in Gaza, bei denen beide Eltern oder der Vater nicht mehr leben.
Gazas Kinder – mit welchen Erinnerungen leben sie, wachsen sie auf?
Doch Gaza und seine Menschen leben weiter. Vergessen wir sie nicht.