On Both Sides of the Border, Wounded Bodies and Minds
Fear Defines Conflict as Much as Missiles, Bombs and Blood

By Sudarsan Raghavan and Reyham Abdel Kareem
Washington Post Foreign Service
Friday, January 2, 2009

BEERSHEBA, Israel, Jan. 1 -- It was 10 a.m. at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, and Jabber Howez feared telling the truth.

Since Saturday, he had lied to his 23-year-old sister, Mirvat. Their father, brother and sister had not survived an Israeli airstrike. Now, coaxed by a psychiatrist, Jabber looked at his brown-haired sibling as she lay in bed with a bruised face.

"Where is Father? Where is Fadiya? Where is Mohammed?" she asked.

"Listen, Sister. Remember how we talked about fate, how we talked about heaven?" Jabber, 26, replied nervously. "I have good news for you."

His hands shook.

"Their souls are with God now. You should be happy."

Mirvat crumbled into tears.

In cities on both sides of the Israel-Gaza border on Thursday, Israelis and Palestinians coped with the vicissitudes of war. In Beersheba, Israelis hunkered down as rockets that they never imagined would reach their desert oasis crashed around them. In Gaza City, amid continuing Israeli airstrikes, Palestinians struggled not just with a deepening humanitarian crisis but also with the conflict's emerging psychological scars.

"We have tens of cases like this, but there are still many more out there," said Yayha Awad, one of the psychiatrists helping the Howez family. "We can't reach most of the families who were bombed because of the insecurity." A day earlier, his team had treated a 7-year-old girl who became mute after an airstrike, he said.

Mirvat grabbed her brother's arm.

"Where are you, Father? Who will play with Ahmed?" she screamed at no one in particular.

She was referring to their 6-year-old brother, Ahmed. He had Down syndrome and had been transported to an Israeli hospital for surgery to remove shrapnel from his brain. Mirvat herself was recovering from abdominal wounds. On Saturday, the family had been inside their house when a missile struck nearby.

As he clutched his sister, Jabber, too, began to cry.

His ordeal was not over. Hassan al-Khawaja, another psychiatrist, told Jabber that he also needed to inform his mother of their loss. He was now the eldest male in the family. It was his responsibility. The trauma, Khawaja said, would only get worse if she didn't learn the truth. So they went to her side at another hospital. It was 11 a.m.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nadia Howez, 50, cried. "This was your responsibility." She struggled to breathe. A nurse plied her with oxygen and then gave her an injection. She calmed down and fell asleep.

Two hours later, she woke up screaming and blaming Jabber. At 2 p.m., he was driving back to see his sister. He broke down crying, shaking uncontrollably. Khawaja took him to his clinic, where his staff gave him orange juice and a sandwich. One staffer hugged him. "You should be strong," Khawaja said. "You are now the strongest member of the family."

Shortly before 3 p.m., Israeli jets bombed the house of Nizar Rayyan, a senior Hamas leader, killing him, his four wives and nine of his 12 children, the Associated Press reported, citing Palestinian health officials. He had called for renewed suicide bombings inside Israel.

'It Hurts . . . Coexistence'

At the same time, about 25 miles away, workers at the Mekif Aleph secondary school in Beersheba were repairing a massive hole in a ninth-grade classroom, disfigured by a rocket attack the previous day.

At 3:10 p.m., air raid sirens began to wail, sending workers to a basement bomb shelter the size of half a tennis court.

"In another minute or a minute-and-a-half, there will be a boom," predicted one of the workers hunched in the shelter.

At 3:12 p.m., a distant boom.

It was a good time to end a day of work. As the workers left the school, Meir Chachashavili, an engineer with the city government, shook his head.

"I am surprised such a small organization has such long-range missiles," he said, referring to Hamas. "We have to get rid of this terrorist organization, because it hurts not only the Jewish population but coexistence between Arab and Jews."

'My New Year's Wish'

At 3:30 p.m., inside a Gaza store, television cameraman Mamdouh Sayed searched for diapers and milk. The father of twins found neither. "It's hard to find basic needs," he said. He bought some canned tuna, sugar, oil and rice.

"I didn't even remember that this was January 1, 2009," he said. "It's a dismal day like another. Only it's worse.

"My New Year's wish is to be able to return home safely each night, to wake up and see my kids again. I'm always worried that I might not see them the next day."

'A New Reality'

At 4 p.m., in the basement of Beersheba's municipal government building, nearly two dozen young women were answering phone calls from concerned citizens: Where did the rockets land? Where is the nearest shelter? We need mattresses and bottled water in our bomb shelters.

Callers were informed that three rockets had landed -- all in open areas. There were no injuries. And callers were assured that any needed supplies would be dispatched right away. "There are people who need help to find a safe area inside their house," said Shiri Solomon, one of the workers. "So we go to their house and explain to them."

This is Beersheba's war room -- an illustration of how well equipped Israelis are to ride out the conflict. Earlier in the week, a rocket had struck a kindergarten. Then came more rockets.

"This is the first time since 1948 that a real missile has hit Beersheba," said Heftsi Zohar, the city's deputy mayor. It was pure luck, she said, that no one in the city had been killed. Schools had been ordered closed in anticipation of possible attacks, but to most residents the rockets were a sign of their altered world.

"We woke up into a new reality," Zohar said.

At 4:20 p.m., the sirens wailed again. Zohar rushed into a room filled with computers and monitors. A TV set displayed images of the attack on Rayyan, the Hamas leader.

"The Islamic Jihad has launched 10 rockets," one man yelled after ending a call on his cellphone, warning that they would hit Beersheba.

"It's because of the assassination of Rayyan," Zohar said. Another official said the rockets were fired at Beersheba because Prime Minister Ehud Olmert had visited the city Wednesday.

"There are rockets landing in the old city," Zohar announced. Everyone dialed their cellphones.

Finally, Shimon Krief, another official, said the rockets had landed on the outskirts of the city, probably two of them. "But I am not sure," he added.

At 4:35 p.m., a voice on the radio blared: "Rocket landed in Beersheba."

Krief looked at the phone monitors. They had received only 18 calls from concerned citizens -- an indication, he said that Israelis approved of the tactics used by their government in the Gaza Strip.

"People are relaxed," Krief said. "Most of our population agree with what is happening in Gaza and see it as the right thing to do. They are ready to suffer the missiles."

At 5:15 p.m., Shlomo Codish, the deputy director of Beersheba's biggest hospital, proudly declared that the facility could withstand a biological or chemical attack. Since Saturday, the hospital had been placed on high alert.

Doctors and other vital staff had cut short vacations. The hospital had increased its supply of blood and canceled nonessential surgeries, freeing specialists to respond to a catastrophic attack.

Since Saturday, the hospital has treated 164 patients, the vast majority for stress-related ailments. Only 10 were for bodily injuries, Codish said.

"People are very concerned," he said. "The mood is also surprisingly resilient. With each attack, we've gotten significantly less patients."

Nearby, the hospital's trauma unit gleamed with state-of-the-art equipment. There was not a single patient.

'I Am Afraid for My Kids'

Mohammed al-Jabali, 34, a father of five was waiting in a line to buy bread in Gaza City. It was about 5:15 p.m. He had been waiting for six hours. Ahead of him, two people were tangled up in a conversation.

"I have no money. I'm concerned. I have no work," said Abu Mohammed, smoking a cigarette. "What can Hamas do for us? This is not the time for Hamas."

Abu Anis, a Hamas supporter, replied: "No, Hamas can do more. We have faith in God. I am sure Hamas will hit Israel hard."

Abu Mohammed shook his head.

Jabali listened to the men without saying a word. He was worried, too. "The Israelis are strong enough to hit us hard," he said. Like many Palestinians, he expects an Israeli ground invasion.

"I am afraid for my kids. I am afraid they are going to attack my neighborhood and my house," Jabali said. "We have no bomb shelters."

Abdel Kareem reported from Gaza City.