Al Jazeera: Rafah is more than just a city. It stands as a testament to Palestine’s and its people’s history. I cross the Rafah border every time I go to see my family in Gaza. It’s the sole route out of the beleaguered strip and into Egypt. And every time I breathe the air of Rafah, I hear my sister Taghreed’s voice: “This is the fragrance of our land’s legacy.” Her eyes would sparkle with pride whenever she spoke of Rafah, and I feel the same way.
Rafah’s legacy goes back thousands of years, a proof of the richness of Palestine and its culture. For centuries, Rafah was a stopover and a trading center for caravans from all over Palestine heading to the Sinai and beyond to Egypt and Africa.
But today, Rafah is facing a genocide.
A genocide that I watch helplessly from afar, terrified of what the looming Israeli invasion would do to the hundreds of thousands of displaced Palestinians who have taken refuge there. I feel like one of those helpless souls who knew what was happening in Srebrenica or the Warsaw Ghetto, who tried to warn the world but failed to stop the horror as the world chose to ignore the imminent slaughter of the innocent.
Since the start of this latest war on Gaza, every new stage of the Israeli assault has brought more agony, anguish and death to the civilian population. Driven out of their homes repeatedly, those who have reached Rafah have no place else to go. The siege of Rafah would be the last and worst phase of this slaughter, the first ever to be broadcast live to the the entire world.
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Rafah has, however, previously been the site of crimes against humanity. The recent history of the border city leaves a scar that never goes away and bleeds with each new violent incident. Like most of Gaza’s cities, the majority of people living in Rafah are the descendants of those who were driven out during the 1948 Nakba; some are survivors of a massacre that occurred in 1956 and the several Israeli attacks that followed.
The 89-year-old aunt of mine, Rayya, is one of those survivors. She is a refugee from Barqa village, which was razed by Israel in 1948. She has seen decades of massacres, brutality and oppression in this city.
In 1956, during the joint attack by Britain, France and Israel, also known as the Suez Crisis, Israel occupied Gaza for about four months, committing horrific massacres in both Khan Younis and Rafah.
On November 2, the Israeli army occupied Khan Younis and ordered all males aged 16 and older to come out. And report to them at various locations in the city, my aunt was there visiting relatives. She was a 22-year-old bride. And she saw the Israeli soldiers line up those men and boys against walls and kill them over two days.
My aunt decided to leave the house with her sister’s family and look for safety. They walked to the beach in Khan Younis and hid under the trees. They ate whatever they could find. Dug holes in the sand to sleep, drink water and use as a toilet. Despite the danger and the constant sound of shelling, Rayya, worried about her husband, made the hard choice to continue her journey to Rafah.
When she got there, Rayya found out that there had been more killings in Rafah. She could not find her husband anywhere. For days, she lived with the dreadful uncertainty of his fate. Luckily, her husband had survived that wave of violence. He later died during the occupation of Gaza in 1967. He was shot by the Israeli army while travelling along the beach from Khan Younis to Rafah.
After her husband’s death, Rayya was left alone. She’s a widow and a mother, responsible for raising five children in the poverty and misery of the Rafah refugee camp.
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