Breeding Hate

Breeding Hate
Spelling in Australian English (same as Canadian).

“So what are you planning on doing this weekend, Samih?”

“Uh, I'm goin' fishing with my father. Up near Al Shail,” my mate replied, with a laugh. I stopped working for a moment, and looked across at him. He was on the other side of the incomplete dingy sanding it.

“Al Shail?” I laughed. “What are you planning on catching? Fishing for scrap metal or something?” I begun rubbing at the hull of the boat again, a piece of sandpaper in my left hand.

“Yea I know huh... Uncle Fadl was saying the other day that he caught a five foot mackerel around there. Naturally, my pop was set on goin' there after that. 'Course he was embellishing the story and I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't hear a word of it.” Samih paused. “So we're going fishing near Al Shail!” he continued, letting out a bemused laugh.

Samih was five years older than myself, at sixteen years of age. He was slim and fit, like most guys around here. He had intelligent hazel eyes and short rugged black hair and the beginnings of a beard forming around his face. I had come to look up to him a lot.

“Ahh well, what can ya' do?”

He didn't reply. We continued to work for a few more minutes in silence.

"So how are your plans coming along?" I asked. "Been what, three months now since I've heard you talk about 'em. You wanted to save up money so you could go to Britain and study at some University or something, right?" I continued, recalling what he had said.

He nodded. "I tried to apply for a visa, they turned me down."

"Can't you try apply for a visa to another country? Canada? Australia?"

He laughed quietly. "Somehow I don't think they'd want someone who can't even speak English. I think that is why Britain turned me down. Can't seem to get heard anywhere in this world without knowing English..."

I nodded. He had always dreamed of going overseas and studying. He said after he was done studying he would advocate for our cause. He said that if he was an academic, then people would listen to him.

"Hmm, keep trying mate, you'll get there eventually," I said, switching on the radio. The radio crackled for a moment, before a familiar voice came through the speakers, Exile, by Gilad Atzmon.

“Such a great song,” he commented.

I shrugged.

“Do you even know what it's about?” Samih asked, seemingly offended by my indifference. Before I had the chance to answer he continued, with a voice of passion. “In the song he tells the story of Palestine, asking how the Jewish people – who themselves have suffered for so long – can inflict so much pain on us. And he is Jewish himself!”

I looked up at him, a little confused. Politics never interested me, father always said nothing was going to change. I remembered his words, If nothing has changed after all this time, nothing is ever going to change. The rest of the world doesn't care about us, and the American's are actually helping Israel! Israel is the enemy, don't forget that son.

The one time I had hope, was when the United Nations ordered Israel to vacate the occupied territories, to vacate our land. They didn't, instead they did the opposite.

Nothing was going to change.

“You know,” Samih began, “Gilad Atzmon once said, 'I understand the Zionists, I think that they are the biggest threat to world peace, I argue they are war criminals, I fight them and I try to bring them down. I write about them, I compose music against them...' and he is Jewish himself!” he said, repeating the last detail.

The radio behind me crackled, until nothing but static came through. I turned around and begun at the knob, but before I could turn it an urgent voice came through.

“This is an emergency broadcast, Israel has just declared all-out war on Hamas. It is highly advised that you return to your homes and take shelter. We expect that Israel will launch an attack imminently. I repeat, this is an emergency broadcast...”

The transmission repeated itself.

Suddenly, there was an all to familiar roar of jet engines overhead. I felt my stomach churn.

It couldn't be happening again. All out war?

Samih ran out from under the boatyard into the open, I followed close behind.

"Four Israeli F-15's," he said plainly, looking into the cloudless blue sky. I looked up, following his gaze. Already, the aircraft were nothing more than specks in the horizon. All of a sudden, there were two thunderous explosions. Moments later there was a crackle of smaller explosions, I turned to face where the noise had originated. I couldn't see anything.

"Probably Hamas's men firing rockets over the Israeli border," he whispered. I turned to face him, fear starting to take hold. He looked back at me.

"You should go home, your family will take care of you."

I felt fear wash over me. His eyes were so serious. Was it really that bad?

Finally, I managed a nod. His gaze shifted. I looked down to see what he was looking at - my hands. They were shaking. I hadn't even realised. I looked back up at him. He looked back at me, concerned.

"Here, I'll take ya' back, but then I have to go, okay?" he said, forcing a smile.

"Okay."

Five minutes later, as we neared my house there was another crackle of explosions from Israeli lines. I felt the hairs on my neck prickle. There was a long droning sound that grew louder and louder. I froze in my tracks.

"Artillery!"

I felt Samih push me down to the ground. I stumbled forward, face forward hitting the concrete below. Unsettled dust clouded around me.

The howling grew louder.

I rolled my head to the side, so that I could see.

My world was in slow motion. The familiar sight of apartment buildings lined the quiet street, several blocks away from the beach. I saw people who had been on the streets rush inside, disappearing into the darkness of their homes. There were cars abandoned on the side of the street, with the doors still open.

Everything went silent.

Suddenly, there were several loud explosions, one after another after another. I felt the air rip from my lungs, as if an invisible hand had reached in and had torn the breath out of me. I gasped for air, but there was none. A sudden wave of heat blasted over me. I felt my face burning in the intense heat. It seemed to last forever. My lungs felt as if they had ignited. I saw pieces of the apartment down the road explode out of my peripheral vision. Instinctively, I pressed my eyes shut, bracing myself with my arms. Still lying face forward on the concrete path.

As the noise finally began to die down, I heard someone beside me crawl up beside me. It was Samih.

"Raji," he whispered.

I opened my eyes, and gazed into his solemn eyes. Wordlessly, he looked down the street towards the exploded apartment building. Then I realised... My apartment was the one directly across the street. The front of the building had been blown away, so that I could see inside what was left of people's rooms. Pieces of debris littered the street, everything from concrete rubble through to bits of paper and unrecognisable household items.

I couldn't breath.

"Your apartment is on the far side, isn't it?" Samih whispered.

"I - I err... I can't remember."

He nodded, a glimmer of a tear beginning to form in his eye. Silently, he lifted himself to his feet. I copied.

We began walking down the pathway which was now littered with debris. I felt him grab my hand, holding it. Normally I would have retreated it, but not now. I didn't care about self-pride now.

I realised just how alone I felt. I felt a stinging in my eyes as tears began to well up. My mind imagining what must have happened to my family. My mind was torturing me.

Disfigured images of my two sisters, Alhena and Mada flashed in my mind's eye. Their bodies were stained in blood, their clothes drenched in the horrible red. Their eyes rolled back into their heads. My mother and father, lying in a pool of blood face first on the shattered tiles. Pieces of plasterboard and debris covering their blood-stained bodies.

I felt my whole body begin to tremble. My vision blurred as tears formed in my eyes. My breathing came in irregular sobs.

All I could see was the vague silhouette of Samih, who walked in front of me.

I felt emotions swelling up inside of me, like surging flood waters. An incoherent bolt of emotions ripped through me, fear, despair, loneliness, anger and hatred. How could the Israeli's do this to us?

How could the Israeli's do this to me?

I wiped the tears from my eyes, and continued, trudging after Samih. Hoping desperately. My stomach was clenched. I could barely breath.

I just followed in silence as he navigated his way through the rubble, until we finally found a way up to the fourth floor.

He stopped me. My apartment was just down the corridor to the left.

He knelt down next to me, looking me in the eyes.

"Wait here."

I waited in the corridor. My breaths became long and broken. My heart felt as if someone was gripping it with merciless hands, squeezing the life out of it. I wanted to follow him in. I wanted to know.

I didn't want to know.

I don't think I could have moved, even if I wanted to.

After what felt like an eternity, Samih walked back down the corridor.

I looked into his eyes. I knew. I didn't need to ask. My legs collapsed from under me. I felt as if someone had shoved their hands inside of me and had torn my very soul out; leaving me with nothing. Nothing but grief and hatred.




Authors note: I wrote this story for two reasons. Firstly, to try and demonstrate how violence usually breeds hatred, which in turn further fuels the violence Secondly, I was trying to depict what it must be like for the Palestinian's, who are (in my opinion) frequently unheard in world discussions. I find it sad that many of their protests, and the protests of foreign pro-Palestinian's are dubbed anti-semitic; sometimes fairly, but certainly not always.

If you think that I am being unfair and biased towards the Palestinian's, I would appreciate it if you could read this short piece (2.5kb) before rating, so that you understand why I wrote the story how I did. "Invalid Item"