None of our heroes knew. The
ones who always know everything suddenly didn’t
know. The ones who can track down the son of a
wanted man in a Damascus suburb didn’t know that
sleeping inside their miserable hovel in Dir al-Balah
was
an impoverished family.
They, who serve in the most
moral army and the most advanced intelligence
services in the world, didn’t know that the flimsy
tin shack had long since stopped being part of the
“Islamic Jihad infrastructure,” and it’s doubtful
that it ever was. They didn’t know and they didn’t
bother to check — after all, what’s the worst that
could happen?
Had they been Israeli
citizens, the state would have moved heaven and
earth to avenge the blood of its famous little boy,
and the world would have reeled in shock at the
cruelty of Palestinian terror. But Moad Mohamed
Asoarka was only a 7-year-old Palestinian boy who
lived and died in a tin shack, with no present and
no future, whose life was as cheap and as brief as
that of a butterfly; his killer was a celebrated
pilot.
Are You Tired Of
The Lies And
Non-Stop Propaganda?
|
It was a massacre. No one will be
punished for it. “The target bank had not
been updated,” army officials said. (After
Yaniv Kubovich’s investigation was
published, the IDF Spokesman released
another statement, “The building was
confirmed as a target several days before
the attack.”) But this massacre was worse
than the targeted killing of Salah Shehada,
and it was greeted by a more-sickening
indifference in Israel.
On July 22, 2002, an Israel
Air Force pilot dropped a one-ton bomb on a
residential neighborhood that killed 16 people,
including an actual wanted man. Before dawn
Thursday, a pilot dropped a much smarter bomb, a
JDAM, on a tin shack in which no wanted man was
hiding.
It turned out that even the
wanted man named by an army spokesman was a figment
of his imagination. The only ones there were women,
children and innocent men sleeping in the dread of
the Gaza night. In both cases, the Israel Defense
Forces used the same lie: We thought the building
was empty. “The IDF is still trying to understand
what the family was doing at the site,” was the
brazen, chillingly laconic response, which suggested
the family was to blame. Indeed, what were they
doing there, Wasim, 13; Mohand, 12 and the two
babies whose names have not been announced.
The day after the killings of
Shehada and 15 of his neighbors, and after the IDF
continued to claim their homes were “unoccupied
shacks,” I went to
the
site of the bombing, the Daraj neighborhood in
Gaza City. Not shacks but apartment buildings, a few
stories high, all of them densely populated, like
every home in Gaza. Mohammed Matar, who had worked
in Israel for 30 years, lay prostrate on the floor,
his arm and his eyes bandaged, amid the ruins, next
to the enormous crater made by the explosion. His
daughter, his daughter-in-law and four of his
grandchildren died in the blast; three of his
children were injured. “Why did they do this to us?”
he asked me, in shock. Back then, 27 of the IAF’s
most courageous pilots signed the so-called pilots
letter, refusing to take part in operations in the
West Bank and
Gaza Strip. This time, not a single pilot has
refused to participate, and it’s doubtful any will
do so in the future.
“Human beings. They are human
beings. There was a battle here – nurses and doctors
against death,” wrote the courageous Norwegian
physician Dr. Mads Gilbert, who rushes to the aid of
residents of the Gaza Strip whenever it is bombed,
treating the wounded with infinite dedication.
Gilbert attached a photograph of the operating
theater in Gaza City’s Shifa Hospital: blood on the
table, blood on the floor, blood-soaked bedding
everywhere. On Thursday the blood of the Asoarka
family was added, crying out now to ears that will
not listen.
This article was originally published by "Haaretz"
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