Three Weeks at Gaza European Hospital: A Medical Mission Journal
Week 3: Israeli airstrike on a UN convoy; our journey from Gaza to Jerusalem; and leaving Gaza with more questions than answers.
Read previous entries here:“Three Weeks at Gaza European Hospital, Week 1” and “Three Weeks at Gaza European Hospital, Week 2.”
DAY 15: GAZA EUROPEAN HOSPITAL
We are scheduled to leave Gaza today, as per our non-governmental organization’s contractual agreement with the United Nations (UN) and World Health Organization (WHO). It’s not easy to move around in Gaza. All UN, WHO, and emergency medical team movements are coordinated with the Israeli military. Our locations are always known. This poses a challenge for me, as I can’t wander the streets of Gaza to find a present for my wife’s birthday. Normally, I would drive over to Nordstrom last minute and get her a gift that she would stealthily return the following week. But this morning, I had a plan for a special birthday present. I recorded a bunch of kids in the hospital as they sang happy birthday to her! I planned on surprising my wife in the afternoon. But in the late morning, our team rushed to the trauma bay to find another tragedy from yet another Israeli military airstrike. Only this time it was a UN convoy.
The driver was dead on arrival. We were able to stabilize the passenger and coordinate her evacuation to Jordan. The UN was thankful for our services, but they left us with many unanswered questions. In less than two weeks we had now witnessed the targeting of civilians, aid workers, and allies by the Israeli military. We were also informed that our scheduled departure was going to be delayed. We would be divided into groups of two, with each group departing via the Kerem Shalom Crossing daily over the next two weeks. Our medical team held an emergency meeting to inform us that the planned pairing process did not have my wife and me departing together.
Undeterred by this news, we were still able to celebrate a memorable birthday. And we learned how the atmosphere in Gaza is mixed with contrasting emotions. At first I found it challenging, because I am accustomed to the sterile bubble of Southern California, where we have places to celebrate birthdays, places to pray, places to exercise, places to relax, places to heal, places to feel sorrow and despair. It is uncommon in Southern California, to express emotions in public, particularly if it’s not the appropriate place to express that emotion. But in Gaza, I am learning from the locals how to balance, process, and appropriately express multiple conflicting emotions. It’s liberating, mature, and advanced. This medical mission has almost felt like an emotional and spiritual retreat. I was able to laugh with my wife and enjoy our time on her birthday despite our circumstances. We even thought about how amazingly possible it would have been to have brought our three children with us on this trip. They would have loved playing with the Gazan children here and running around exploring the hospital grounds. Even in the current circumstances, I felt a paradoxical feeling of safety, security, and mental peace among the Gazans. If only there was a halt to the American-Israeli military offensive.
DAY 17: GAZA EUROPEAN HOSPITAL
Despite their situation, the people of Gaza hold themselves to a very high standard. They are proud to be Gazan. They smile and greet me in the morning. They present themselves in a dignified and respectable manner. Despite living in overcrowded tents and sharing a single bathroom with a thousand people, they miraculously keep their malnourished and maimed bodies clean and presentable. And their one toilet is clean, because everyone is respectful.
Some children write me thank-you notes and construct little gift bags with whatever they can find, offering me the only piece of candy they have seen in months. I feel embarrassed accepting their hospitality and guilty eating knowing that the population — half of which are children — is starving. I give them Power Bars and Clif Bars, but they never eat alone. They split one bar into six parts and eat together.
My wife dropped $500 cash on the ground and this malnourished and homeless Gazan picked it up, found me, and gave it to me. When I asked him why he didn’t just give it to my wife directly, he said he was shy and just trying to be respectful. Existing in a dystopian, walled-in world under constant attack, when most humans would devolve into acts of desperation, the people of Gaza are a miracle that this world desperately needs to witness. The Gazans maintain dignity, order, and etiquette in a lawless, war-torn environment, and remain positive, patient, and forgiving, despite living in the unpredictable and constant fear of disability, disease, and death. But they have been grasping onto survival in this state for a long time, and they are exhausted.
Our team works and lives in the hospital. I feel like the local Gazans look at our team as a symbol of safety, yet they provide me with a unique peace of mind and an uncommon sense of community. They share their dreams, their aspirations, and their interests. In Gaza, people engage you. They genuinely enjoy having company and they enjoy hosting even more. And I know it’s genuine, because they’re living in tents, malnourished, maimed, starving, and they’re offering me food and cups of tea and coffee with their differently abled limbs. At night, we talk amidst explosions and eventually sleep with the windows open, risking mosquito bites. The windows stay open because, if closed, the pressure from American explosive weaponry would shatter the glass all over us.
I consider myself an ordinary person compared to others. I want to learn from the Gazans and adopt many of their extraordinary characteristics; but I am cautious not to place them on pedestals, as we are all, of course, human. One of the OR staff members shares with me his ordinary fears in this environment: “no human being will remain in Gaza if this devastation continues.” Yet, he has an extraordinary certainty in faith: “God’s power is demonstrated by the fact that after every hardship and after every difficulty comes ease and sustenance. Every human being has their appointed time, and, God willing, our Lord makes us die while He is satisfied with us. This is the principle of the people of Gaza — patience and pride. God is the best of protectors.” It seems to me that the people of Gaza take seriously their belief in the Lord.
DAY 18: GAZA EUROPEAN HOSPITAL
I get uncomfortable in large crowds. I remember when my wife took me to Knotts Scary Farm, I was terrified because it is the perfect scene for a “Friday the 13th” crime. Perhaps, that’s why I make a living in the controlled and sterile environments of the hospital. When we first arrived, two and a half weeks ago, at the 232-bed Gaza European Hospital, there must have been more than 25,000 people living in the facility and surrounding encampment. It is hardly a controlled or sterile environment. But I never felt uncomfortable among this crowd of desperate strangers. Today, I noticed that the number of displaced refugees in the hospital is significantly reduced. The tents have been taken down and the staff has used this opportunity to clean the floors and walls. Many families have moved to Al-Mawasi, having already lived through the horrors of a hospital siege by the Israeli military. I get a paradoxical feeling of insecurity as I walk through these clean and empty hospital hallways. I think I prefer crowds in Gaza.
A large part of the community consists of children. I cannot help but think about these kids, who manage to find me wherever I go. I feel like I have gone through this sort of accelerated love-hate marriage relationship with them, as we were all in such close quarters for so many hours a day. The honeymoon phase of when I first arrived and saw their beautiful smiles and energetic eagerness to play. I was curious about their routines. How did they learn English? How did they manage to look so cute while wearing the same clothes every day? When did they eat? How often did they shower? How many of their hands do I have to high five before I get a communicable illness? And how were they always around? It was almost as if they emerged from the walls whenever I stepped out of the operating rooms to guide me around the hospital. They knew every corner of that hospital campus as well as the orphans of Nottingham knew Sherwood Forest. And I’m sure if there were tunnels under the hospital, those clever kids would have discovered them.
That curiosity phase was followed quickly by the overwhelming task of delivering medical services to this war-torn civilian population. I was on a mission to provide medical services, and I would need to utilize these kids to get me supplies and guide me around the hospital. I would get irritated by inefficiency and their cheery high fives, because I was rushed and consumed in the serious work required to treat the traumatic cases presenting to the hospital.
However, my irritation evolved into respect. I realize that I have much to learn from them. How did I have the arrogance to presume to know more about trauma than they did? They enjoy every brief hallway walk, and they are so grateful and forgiving for the little time that I spend with them. They ask about my kids. They memorized my children’s names and ages and any memory or photo I shared with them. They magically create happiness amidst so much sorrow. These kids pray for my children. How can I not love them?
DAY 19: KEREM SHALOM AND JERUSALEM
I did not have time for a proper goodbye. The Gazans, with whom we had been working and living with for weeks, at least deserved that courtesy. All of us American team members were instructed in the early morning to abruptly leave Gaza under the umbrella of the United States State Department. Yet, at the Kerem Shalom Crossing, we were held up for hours at gunpoint by an Israeli tank! It was a very different reception than what the Gazans gave us when we first arrived at the Rafah border.
The Gazans have this saying, “Teglagish,” which basically means “Don’t worry.” They say it all the time. As an American, in my normal day-to-day life in Southern California, I find myself worrying regularly—about safety, security, privacy, cell phones, the environment, house payments, student loans, retirement or taxes. You name it, and I bet I’ve spent time worrying about it. Meanwhile, the Gazans just don’t waste time worrying. In Gaza, I did not see one police officer, militant, or combatant in nearly three weeks. I didn’t even see an Israeli soldier until we arrived at the Kerem Shalom Crossing today. In this poverty-stricken, war-torn, and lawless environment, the Gazans continue to maintain a level of security and safety, particularly for the most vulnerable people in their society. Our emergency room nurse from Dallas told me that she didn’t encounter a single case of sexual assault or domestic violence in almost three weeks. The Gazans are a model of a humanity that most communities in Southern California would envy.
As I enter Jerusalem, it almost seems like there is an Israeli military unit at every street corner. For some reason, in Jerusalem, I expected a different vibe. This is one of the most historical and spiritually significant cities in the world. Long ago, I read some poetry about the ancient city:
Historically, in Jerusalem, there’s a different tone,
It is a place where all cultures shine and have grown.
Through the ages, the land of Palestine has served,
As a refuge for the God-fearing souls who deserved,
A righteous beginning from a life of adversity,
A peaceful existence among an abundance of diversity.
Despite being conquered by warriors of different beliefs
From the Christian Crusaders to the Ottoman chiefs,
Its magical essence maintained a purity,
Shielding its holiness from abomination, obscurity.
Different tales and paths, all hearts are equally same.
In Palestine’s Jerusalem, we all play life’s game.
Although our stories vary, our dreams overlap,
It’s in ordinary songs, where connections unwrap.
So we share and exchange, learn and partake,
To build a community, for everyone’s sake.
Today, I perceive a different feeling consuming the atmosphere of Jerusalem — a taste of fear with a scent of anxiety. Among my fellow American and British tourists, I sense apprehension as we tour the old city. So, I wrote an afterward to the poem:
Israel’s Jerusalem is reek with terror and sorrow,
Once a sanctuary for all, shared and just borrowed.
It had been home for ages, to many a kind,
But now it elevates one, leaving others resigned.
In fact, that trepidation manifested itself in the form of Israeli military officers terrorizing two of my colleagues when they went to take pictures of the Dome of the Rock. It is challenging to comprehend the chutzpah of Israelis beating American backs with the butts of American rifles.
DAY 21: STATESIDE
When the Israelis invaded Rafah, I recall getting messages from family and friends back home, who were concerned for my safety. I thought to myself, this is strange. We have been communicating with the United Nations, the World Health Organization, and Israeli military about our movements from the moment we came to Gaza. They know our whereabouts. We gave up our privacy to ensure our security. Why did our intelligence deem our safe house to be unsafe and a potential target of an Israeli military strike? Where was Hamas and why didn’t they threaten us? Weren’t we strangers walking around in Hamas’ territory wearing American flags on our foreheads and chests? And why did the United Nations convoy get hit by an Israeli military strike when their movements are coordinated with the Israeli military? What kind of military terrorizes non-threatening civilian tourists from an allied country? Why am I more afraid of our Israeli allies than I am of the Gazans? What kind of ally is that?
It appears as if the whole situation is deliberately confusing to cause overwhelming stagnation among the American population. I have learned that there is a great cost to stagnation, and the Palestinians, particularly in Gaza, have been bearing the brunt of this cost for a long time. For decades, these innocent Gazan civilians have unfairly suffered horrific violence from brutal operations at the hands of American and Israeli corporations and politicians. I think it’s time we demand some answers from the politicians in our government and put an end to this most recent violent Israeli operation on the innocent citizens of Gaza. It is long overdue that we allow Gaza to voice their concerns and provide us with some clarity to all this confusion.
The citizens of Gaza are peaceful. I was not frightened while I was working in Gaza European Hospital. I read that most Israeli citizens are required to serve in the Israeli military. Annually, these citizens are also required to return to Israel for military service, from their respective countries, for a designated period of time. I have seen firsthand how the Israeli military is directly involved in the planning and execution of covert operations that have murdered innocent women and children. What frightens me is that after their annual military service is completed, they simply return to their respective jobs and communities. They proudly wave their flags, speak highly of, and donate to support the oppression and annihilation of an innocent population. These military operatives work next to you. They sit next to your wife and attend your children’s sporting events. They invite your children to their homes for parties. What assurance do we have that they view us differently than their civilian neighbors in Palestine?
