By Ramzy Baroud
Palestine Chronicle
"The following is an excerpt from Ramzy Baroud’s forthcoming book: My Father Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza’s Untold Story.........
.....Spring was one of the most beautiful times of the year in the countryside of Palestine. With everything in full bloom, apricots, almonds, oranges and lemons, the perfume carried itself on the wind for miles. As the villagers embarked on this rite of passage, many captured a long moment to breathe in the fragrance of the fields and orchards, to snatch a large handful of the earth of Beit Daras, wrap it in a small piece of cloth and tuck it away for safe keeping. Deeds and keys were stored safely.
Grandpa Mohammed mounted his faithful donkey with a few of the family’s belongings and young daughter Mariam. Ibrahim was in his mother’s arms. Ahmed walked alongside his father, and my father, Mohammed, barefoot and confused, trotted behind. It was another trail of tears of sorts.
Neither parent had answers to the children’s incessant questions: “where are we going?”
They headed south. That was all they knew. First to Isdud, then to Hamameh, then to Gaza......."
Palestine Chronicle
"The following is an excerpt from Ramzy Baroud’s forthcoming book: My Father Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza’s Untold Story.........
.....Spring was one of the most beautiful times of the year in the countryside of Palestine. With everything in full bloom, apricots, almonds, oranges and lemons, the perfume carried itself on the wind for miles. As the villagers embarked on this rite of passage, many captured a long moment to breathe in the fragrance of the fields and orchards, to snatch a large handful of the earth of Beit Daras, wrap it in a small piece of cloth and tuck it away for safe keeping. Deeds and keys were stored safely.
Grandpa Mohammed mounted his faithful donkey with a few of the family’s belongings and young daughter Mariam. Ibrahim was in his mother’s arms. Ahmed walked alongside his father, and my father, Mohammed, barefoot and confused, trotted behind. It was another trail of tears of sorts.
Neither parent had answers to the children’s incessant questions: “where are we going?”
They headed south. That was all they knew. First to Isdud, then to Hamameh, then to Gaza......."
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