<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="yes"?><oembed><version><![CDATA[1.0]]></version><provider_name><![CDATA[Occupied Palestine | فلسطين]]></provider_name><provider_url><![CDATA[https://occupiedpalestine.wordpress.com]]></provider_url><author_name><![CDATA[occupiedpalestine]]></author_name><author_url><![CDATA[https://occupiedpalestine.wordpress.com/author/hajarhajar/]]></author_url><title><![CDATA[We left Gaza city early&nbsp;…]]></title><type><![CDATA[link]]></type><html><![CDATA[<div class="entry">
<p><strong>13 April 2011 | International Solidarity Movement, Gaza</strong></p>
<p><a rel="attachment wp-att-17581" href="http://palsolidarity.org/2011/04/17580/farming-in-faraheen/"><img loading="lazy" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-17581" src="https://i1.wp.com/palsolidarity.org/multimedia/2011/04/Farming-in-Faraheen-400x300.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="300" /></a>We  left Gaza city early; we were going to Faraheen, a small village near  the buffer zone to help farmers plant peppers.  Israel has declared a  300 meter “buffer zone” along the entire border with Gaza.  What does  the buffer zone mean?  Simply, that Israel will shoot anyone who  approaches within 300 meters of the border.  They don’t really have  rulers though; usually they don’t even have soldiers.  Just remote  control guns controlled by teenage conscripts in the basement of a  military base somewhere, maybe an office park, maybe the soldiers  telecommute, that would be more convenient for them.  For the soldiers,  it is basically a video game, push a button on your mouse, and shoot a  farmer.</p>
<p>The fields that we were planting aren’t actually in the buffer zone,  but they are close, and even being close to the buffer zone is dangerous  – it isn’t easy to judge distance with a mouse.  April 6th was a  beautiful day; the weather was perfect, no wind and not too hot.  A  drone hovered overhead; occasionally bursts of remote controlled  shooting came from the Israeli gun towers that line the border.  They  weren’t shooting at us; they were shooting at some other anonymous  farmer trying to work on his land.  Maybe they were shooting at an  unemployed man who went to collect rocks near the buffer zone? The  importing of cement is banned by Israel, and it is in desperate need to  repair the damage from Operation Cast Lead and to accommodate the needs  of the growing population.</p>
<p>We didn’t manage to finish planting all of the peppers on Wednesday,  so we went back to work on Thursday.  The ‘weather’, the farmers joked,  wasn’t so good on Thursday, there were a lot of drones, and occasionally  the thunder of distant bombing reached our ears.  We kept working, what  else could the farmers do?  They have to plant their peppers to feed  their families.  The weather kept getting worse as the day wore on, more  drones, more thunder.  We finally broke for lunch when the Apaches  arrived.  They hovered over the border like giant evil mosquitoes.   Lunch lasted for three hours while we waited for the Apaches to leave.   Then back to work.  We quit at sundown.</p>
<p>We still hadn’t finished planting all of the peppers, so back to work  on Friday.  The goal was to finish before noon so the men could go to  the mosque.  The weather was even worse and the thunder of the bombs was  closer; Israel had killed three in Khuzaa, the neighboring village,  overnight.  There was no electricity, and therefore no water. There is  no 24 hour electricity in Gaza, they aren’t allowed to import enough  fuel for the power plant, and it was attacked during Operation Cast  Lead, so you get electricity when you get electricity.  Not having  electricity to run the irrigation pumps makes planting peppers rather  painful.  You take two fingers, jam them into the earth, make a hole,  and put the pepper in the hole.  If the earth is wet and the soil is  loose it is ok, but if the earth is dry it isn’t easy.</p>
<p>The thunder finally reached us just as we finished planting the last  of the peppers.  It was loud, somewhere in Faraheen.  We hadn’t noticed  any Apaches in the air, but the noise of the drones had become like  background noise – always there.  The men took me to my friend’s house.   Faraheen was on the news.  The younger children were afraid of the  bombing, but a bit excited to see their village on the news.  The  excitement didn’t last.  Etufa, the oldest daughter came into the room.   She had just heard that a friend of hers had been killed in the  bombing.  The room grew silent. Etufa went to her room to cry.<a rel="attachment wp-att-17582" href="http://palsolidarity.org/2011/04/17580/peppers/"><img loading="lazy" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-17582" src="https://i2.wp.com/palsolidarity.org/multimedia/2011/04/peppers-400x300.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="300" /></a></p>
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<div class="postmetadata2"><span class="date">Updated on April 13, 2011</span><br />
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<p><a href="http://palsolidarity.org/2011/04/17580/">Source</a></p>
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