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UPDATE: WEDNESDAY July 30, 2014 Call time 3.45 pm (EST) It took me over an hour to collect myself after this phone call. As I look at my notebook my handwriting goes from stable and readable to chaos. I don’t need my notes to remember this conversation. Just a steady hand as I type and HOPE they and others are alive to tell me what happened after I hung up. …………………………………

I call to see if I can get through, as soon as I see some friends from ‪#‎Gaza‬ online again.

First time it finally RINGS, NO ANSWER.
Second time, it RINGS AGAIN, NO ANSWER.
Third time, it RINGS ASMAA ANSWERS! I finally breathe again, exhale.

Are you all ok, I ask? Oh my god we were so worried because they cut off communications.

“We are good, my sister is here, with us now, and some of her husband’s family,” she says. Her sister left the Braiyj, their home was also destroyed by missiles. Her family has been made refugees AGAIN like hundreds of thousands like them in Gaza. Every Palestinian’s life, there and in diaspora has been marked by violence, displacement and death. Yet, her voice is a song of liberation, strength and HOPE.

I can hear the sounds of shelling, missiles and the violence echoing in the background.

“Here, talk to my sister” Asmaa says as the phone whips through the air bustling through a beautiful market of children’s voices.

How are you, I ask her. How is the baby? She has a 5 month old.

“She is good, sleeping and sending you love and kisses,” she says. I imagine her smiling and looking at her baby, Jude, wrapped safely near her. “One of my husband’s first cousins was killed, she was 16 and we have FIVE children wounded. Two of them were sent to Egypt for care because of their serious injuries. The other three are in hospitals here,” she pauses for a second. “They were ONLY children,” her voice resigns. “It is WRONG, to do this to US…to hit us with these type of weapons…they are PURE FIRE, you should see the bodies of the dead burned beyond recognition,” her voice was angry and pleading. My heart aches, and I tell her I am sorry for her loss while images of the dead come back to haunt me.

How is Ahmad I ask, the last time I talked to Asmaa he was sick with a fever and vomiting. I hold my breath and hope whatever ailed him has passed.

“He’s better, don’t worry. He is CRAZY, this morning he slipped out of the house and went to swim in the ocean without us knowing,” her voice is chastising. “He wants to DIE,” she raises her voice. My heart sinks. Oh my God, I can’t believe he did that, I reply.

NO I think to myself, he wants to LIVE. He wants to be like any other child. He wants to feel the water, the sun and FREEDOM without worrying about being murdered. My mind conjures the images of Gaza’s beach and Ahed Atef Bakr and Zakaria Ahed Bakr, both aged 10, Mohamed Ramez Bakr, 11, and Ismael Mohamed Bakr, 9 hunted down and killed by a naval ship, in mid-July…while playing on the BEACH.

“Talk to my mother,” she says.

“How are you habibti,” Souad asks. I’m fine I reply. Her voice is not low, it sounds like she raised it so I can hear her above the sounds of the children and people around her. You sound tired, I say. I ask if they charged the phone. “Everyone charges their phones on the generator. We each have 10% , 15%, enough to call and let our loved ones know we are still ALIVE,” she sighs.

“WE ARE ALL TIRED,” Souad says in a tone of sadness. I suddenly hear another woman’s sharp voice break into the conversation, “Tell THEM, tell them…WE bake bread outside on fire when we can, tell THEM we have NO electricity for FOUR days now, tell THEM we have NO WATER, tell THEM about the bakery where we buy bread” her voice cuts out as Souad returns to the call.

“Did you hear her? She is another one of the refugees living in the building with us. There is a bakery that opens up in the day to feed the people, the line is 500 meters long, we stood in line for FIVE hours to get bread today. The loaves are small, smaller than usual because they can’t get flour. They are running out of supplies. We got thirty very small loaves of bread to feed over twenty of us,” she quickly explains as the woman in the background yells again, “Yes, tell THEM!”

I sigh deeply, I don’t know what to say to comfort them. Is there any comfort, for them? No. I do the math quickly, the line for BREAD is equivalent to 1640 feet.

Suddenly, I hear an EXPLOSION A LOUD BOOM, like I’ve NEVER heard on the phone with them before. I can hear the children start to scramble, they raise their voices in shouts and yells. I am afraid, I got used to the sounds of the artillery, shelling and bombing by missiles, but they were always in a distance not too far away. This time it is DIFFERENT. I try to keep calm, but my heart races.

“YOU HEAR, YOU HEAR THAT?!” she yells with a level of panic. “

I HEAR IT, I HEAR IT…I repeat, almost in a panic as I can tell by her voice that she is now distracted. “I HAVE TO HANG UP, I THINK THEY ARE TARGETING near US because they TRACK OUR CELL PHONE SIGNALS,” her voice is panicked but before I can say anything, in a matter of seconds….
there is another horrific BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM WITH THE SOUND OF DESTRUCTION coming from a VICIOUS BLAST. IT’S UNBELIEVABLY LOUDER THAN THE LAST ONE. I FEEL LIKE I CAN HEAR THE SOUND OF THE BUILDING SHAKING. NO, it has to be MY IMAGINATION. NO, it was the the SOUND OF A MURDERER KNOCKING ON THEIR DOOR.

WHAT HAPPENED!?!?!?! I AM SCREAMING INTO THE PHONE…she is saying something I can’t make out, the phone has left her ear. The sound of the CHILDREN is that of panic, CHAOS has taken over. I hear BODIES moving. SCREAMING, ADULTS AND CHILDREN. CHAOS ensues in my HEAD. I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT, were they HIT!? OH MY GOD ARE THEY OK?!

“MA’ASALMA, MA’ASALAMA, MA’ASALAMA Souad screams goodbye several times into the phone. She doesn’t want to hang up.

Oh MY GOD, oh MY GOD I am thinking to myself …so I click END on my phone to cut the SIGNAL that may have brought the DEVIL to their DOORSTEP. Please GOD, PLEASE GOD. I APPEAL TO GOD and HOPE that they weren’t HIT then my tears come.

My body starts to SHAKE, I hope they are OKAY. I try to CONVINCE myself that it was just a “close one” that it hit the ground near them. I create a landscape of where they are in my head to counter the image that they hit THEM or ANOTHER building with PEOPLE in it. It is an OPEN EMPTY space, in my mind. BUT there is NO EMPTY space in GAZA. The ONLY empty spaces LEFT are those of scorched CITIES and the bodies of HUMAN BEINGS that lay beneath HOMES.

There is now SILENCE. I don’t KNOW WHAT HAPPENED the ONLY sounds that REMAIN are the SHATTERED sounds of CHILDREN playing and the conversations of adults around them and my HEAVING CHEST and SOBS….while the SOUND OF THE BOMB reverberates in my head…..

#Gaza ‪#‎GazaUnderAttack‬ ‪#‎HELP‬ ‪#‎MASSACRE‬‪#‎EthnicCleansing‬ ‪#‎StopTheWar‬