The Wahbas' last meal
JUST AN ACCIDENT, JUST COLATORAL DAMAGE.
Khaled Wahba at Dana Children's Hospital in Tel Aviv. "What happened, happened, and who's gone is gone, but what about this boy?" (Cell phone photo by Mohammed Wahba)
By Gideon Levy
They'd all sat down to have lunch at home: The mother Fatma, her daughter Farah, 2; her son Khaled, 1; Fatma's brother, Dr. Zakariya Ahmed; his daughter-in-law Shayma, who was nine months pregnant; and the 78-year-old grandmother. A family gathering in Khan Yunis in honor of the uncle, who'd arrived home six days earlier from Saudi Arabia.
A big boom is heard outside. Fatma hurriedly scoops up the littlest one and tries to escape into an inner room. But another boom follows immediately. This time it's a direct hit by the second missile fired by the excellent Israel Air Force pilot, and it comes right into the dining room through the ceiling. Fatma, three months pregnant, is killed on the spot by the shrapnel that hits her spine. Her brother, Dr. Ahmed, is also killed. His daughter-in-law miscarries her child, the little girl Farah is moderately injured and the baby of the family, Khaled, is critically injured in the head. A puddle of blood collects on the floor. Only the grandmother is unhurt. It will be many minutes before the ambulance arrives. This was the last meal of the Wahba family.
In neighboring Rafah, taxi driver Mohammed Wahba is transporting a family of vacationers to the beach. He hears about the disaster on the radio. His cell phone rings and on the line is his brother Nidal, the father of the family that was hit. "Come quick to get me," the father shouts. The two brothers rush to the Nasser Hospital in Khan Yunis, where they see the horror.
Before he became a cab driver, Mohammed worked for nine years at Tel Aviv University as the maintenance man for the Faculty of the Arts, and later for the Faculty of Law. He lived on Einstein Street in Ramat Aviv, and knew many professors by name. It's been 10 years now since he was permitted to enter his second city, Tel Aviv. Now he's here, having sat for 10 days in a row at the bedside of his toddler nephew, who is in grave condition in the intensive care unit at Dana Children's Hospital next to Ichilov.
Little Khaled is unconscious, paralyzed and on a respirator, wounded in the head by shrapnel from the missile. "I don't know who to blame. If it's the pilot, or whoever gave the order to attack. Who bears the responsibility?," he asks in his excellent Hebrew. The targeted assassination, which was aimed at a vehicle carrying members of the Popular Resistance Committees that was driving down the street, and fell instead right on the family in the middle of its lunch, he calls "an accident."
His brother Nidal, now a widower, calls all the time from Khan Yunis to ask how his unconscious son is doing. The Coordination and Liaison Office has already called to say the child will have to be brought back to Gaza, due to lack of funds to keep him hospitalized in Israel. The father and uncle are terribly worried about what that would mean. This week, Ibrahim Habib of Physicians for Human Rights tried to prevent the child from being returned to Gaza.
The Wahbas tried for years to have a child. They underwent fertility treatment in Gaza and finally, two and a half years ago, their daughter Farah was born. Khaled was born a year later. Nidal is a metallurgical engineer who studied in Germany and works as a supervisor in the professional schools in Gaza, and Fatma was a teacher. He is 40, she was 36. Their house is located under the "Welcome to Khan Yunis" sign at the northern entrance to the city, on the highway between Gaza and Rafah. Israeli tanks will probably be rolling down the road before long, but two weeks ago Wednesday, all was quiet in the city as the family sat down to a special lunch to celebrate the uncle's return from Saudi Arabia. >>>CONT
Khaled Wahba at Dana Children's Hospital in Tel Aviv. "What happened, happened, and who's gone is gone, but what about this boy?" (Cell phone photo by Mohammed Wahba)
By Gideon Levy
They'd all sat down to have lunch at home: The mother Fatma, her daughter Farah, 2; her son Khaled, 1; Fatma's brother, Dr. Zakariya Ahmed; his daughter-in-law Shayma, who was nine months pregnant; and the 78-year-old grandmother. A family gathering in Khan Yunis in honor of the uncle, who'd arrived home six days earlier from Saudi Arabia.
A big boom is heard outside. Fatma hurriedly scoops up the littlest one and tries to escape into an inner room. But another boom follows immediately. This time it's a direct hit by the second missile fired by the excellent Israel Air Force pilot, and it comes right into the dining room through the ceiling. Fatma, three months pregnant, is killed on the spot by the shrapnel that hits her spine. Her brother, Dr. Ahmed, is also killed. His daughter-in-law miscarries her child, the little girl Farah is moderately injured and the baby of the family, Khaled, is critically injured in the head. A puddle of blood collects on the floor. Only the grandmother is unhurt. It will be many minutes before the ambulance arrives. This was the last meal of the Wahba family.
In neighboring Rafah, taxi driver Mohammed Wahba is transporting a family of vacationers to the beach. He hears about the disaster on the radio. His cell phone rings and on the line is his brother Nidal, the father of the family that was hit. "Come quick to get me," the father shouts. The two brothers rush to the Nasser Hospital in Khan Yunis, where they see the horror.
Before he became a cab driver, Mohammed worked for nine years at Tel Aviv University as the maintenance man for the Faculty of the Arts, and later for the Faculty of Law. He lived on Einstein Street in Ramat Aviv, and knew many professors by name. It's been 10 years now since he was permitted to enter his second city, Tel Aviv. Now he's here, having sat for 10 days in a row at the bedside of his toddler nephew, who is in grave condition in the intensive care unit at Dana Children's Hospital next to Ichilov.
Little Khaled is unconscious, paralyzed and on a respirator, wounded in the head by shrapnel from the missile. "I don't know who to blame. If it's the pilot, or whoever gave the order to attack. Who bears the responsibility?," he asks in his excellent Hebrew. The targeted assassination, which was aimed at a vehicle carrying members of the Popular Resistance Committees that was driving down the street, and fell instead right on the family in the middle of its lunch, he calls "an accident."
His brother Nidal, now a widower, calls all the time from Khan Yunis to ask how his unconscious son is doing. The Coordination and Liaison Office has already called to say the child will have to be brought back to Gaza, due to lack of funds to keep him hospitalized in Israel. The father and uncle are terribly worried about what that would mean. This week, Ibrahim Habib of Physicians for Human Rights tried to prevent the child from being returned to Gaza.
The Wahbas tried for years to have a child. They underwent fertility treatment in Gaza and finally, two and a half years ago, their daughter Farah was born. Khaled was born a year later. Nidal is a metallurgical engineer who studied in Germany and works as a supervisor in the professional schools in Gaza, and Fatma was a teacher. He is 40, she was 36. Their house is located under the "Welcome to Khan Yunis" sign at the northern entrance to the city, on the highway between Gaza and Rafah. Israeli tanks will probably be rolling down the road before long, but two weeks ago Wednesday, all was quiet in the city as the family sat down to a special lunch to celebrate the uncle's return from Saudi Arabia. >>>CONT
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