FEBRUARY 27 , 2009

senior student succeeds where her family cannot

The night the Israeli soldiers came to arrest her third brother, Merna al Azzeh said they laughed when they looked at his Palestinian ID card. 

“They couldn’t believe that he was the one they’d come to collect,” she says, tears pushing at the corners of her eyes at the same time an attempt at a forced smile nudges the sides of her mouth.  “He was too young.  You could not even imagine that there were six, fully-armed soldiers in my house just for my tiny brother.” 

Merna looks down and wipes her eyes. 

But she wasn’t surprised either, she’s grown used to having the Israeli military invade her refugee camp in the middle of the night and take away her loved ones, one by one. 

From the time she first remembers bits of her life and her childhood, in those formative years that shape experience and define memory, Merna remembers constant night raids by Israeli soldiers.  Refugee camps are often targets of the Israeli military, who randomly search Palestinian homes, ransack their contents and arbitrarily arrest their inhabitants. As well, Merna recalls her home being shelled by missiles coming from Gilo, the illegal Israel settlement outside Bethlehem.  She mostly retains the feelings of fright rather than the details of each evening visit and each horrendous encounter. 

“I’ve always seen soldiers coming to the camp and it was always a mixture of fear and curiosity,” she says.  “I would wake up and not be able to go back to sleep, I wanted to know what was going on.” 

Her later memories are more than feelings, they are segments of her life forever etched in her mind.

In 2003, Nida’, her 14-year-old cousin and best friend, was shot dead by an Israeli sniper during a curfew period imposed on the Al Azzeh camp, one of three refugee camps in the Bethlehem area where Merna and her family live.  Nida’ had been sitting in front of her family’s home.

Refugees from the village of Bayt Jibrin, Merna’s family fled to the camp in Bethlehem – named after their large family – following a military assault by the Jewish forces in 1948.  They live there to this day.

In 2004, the Israelis arrested her eldest brother, Mohanad.  He was 22-years-old.  An artist who was known locally because he designed the posters and banners of university student groups.  He was accused of taking part in student political activities – which can be anything from running for student council to organizing speaking events – and spent several years in prison.  Unfortunately, like many Palestinian students who want to take part in campus events and student politics as well as try to get an education, Mohanad ended up in an Israeli prison.

Later, in 2007, they came back for Merna’s 18-year-old brother, Mutaz.  He is still languishing in an Israeli prison under administrative detention, which means he has yet to be charged or sentenced for any crime because the Israeli military claims it has  secret evidence, which is shown only to a military judge.  This evidence is used to justify incarceration for a period of up to six months, on a renewable basis, and is used most often for students who are involved in student senate activities.  A 19-year-old cousin, Fadi, is also in prison waiting to be charged with a crime. 

But it was late last year, in November, when the military returned to take her youngest brother, Muayad, that Merna felt like giving up.  He had only just turned 16. 

Israeli military law states that Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza who are 16 years and above can be treated as adults in the courts, a direct violation of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child.  Meanwhile, in Israel, citizens are considered children until they are 18 years of age. 

Merna pauses in her story, looking straight ahead at the wall in front of her.  She pushes a hair off her forehead and continues: “This last time when they arrested my little brother I couldn’t believe it.  He’s my little brother who I used to bake cakes with, and play computer games…he’s too young.  I always imagine what he’s doing in his cell.

“As he was being taken he told us to take care of ourselves,” she says, laughing and holding back tears at the same time.  “He was the one who needed to be taken care of.” 

Merna went to school the next day at Bethlehem University, vowing not to let her personal agony get in the way of her future plans.  No sleep, puffy eyes, her brother on her mind; she’d done it all before.  If her brothers were going to be robbed of an education, Merna had decided she would fight for hers.

In her fourth and final year at Bethlehem University, Merna is an honors student, a senior member of the Bethlehem University Student Ambassadors Program and an example to fellow classmates.  She hopes to pursue post graduate studies abroad and return to work at Bethlehem University in future, keen to give back to the community some of the support it has offered her. 

“She has the highest grades in all of her courses,” says Mr. Imad Abu Dayyeh, a faculty member in the department of English who has taught Merna three courses in translation.  “She loves English very much, she’s energetic, she’s a daring student and she’s willing to learn.” 

He said if Merna is ever absentminded in class, it’s understandable:  “Maybe due to things that are happening at home, but she never shows these things in class.” 

Her fellow classmates also praise Merna’s ability to persevere despite very difficult circumstances. 

“Things have happened constantly for her,” says Mouheeb Mitwally, a fourth-year student and one of Merna’s classmates.  “But she is a very good student.  Every semester she gets honors.  She fights the situation that happens to her, she has a goal in her life and she doesn’t let anything affect that goal – she is going far.” 

Mouheeb recalls many times over the years that he was chatting to Merna online in the evenings, consulting her for homework help or just talking, and she had to leave the computer because the Israeli military was barging into her home.

However, he says Merna always came to school the next day, even if she’d been forced to stay up all night, sitting in her living room while soldiers ransacked her house and questioned her family. 

“I have to come to school,” says Merna, sitting up, a look of determination coming over her face.  “It’s a way of getting away from being surrounded by what happened.  Coming to school is like a refuge.”   

Not forgetting her cousin or brothers for long, Merna adds: “I only wish they were allowed this opportunity.”