Silence of the Lamb

By Edna Yaghi

Palestinian Files


Today was Hani's birthday. He was six years old. There would be no cake and no one to sing "Happy Birthday" for the small orphan who lived with his aunt somewhere in a refugee camp in Gaza Strip, the most crowded place on the face of the earth. Hani's father died in prison from torture while under interrogation when the child was two years old. He could barely remember that black day when his mother cried for hours and pulled the curtains in their tiny house, shutting out the rays of the bright sun. Almost a year later, his mother was killed too when she joined in a demonstration against the occupation of Palestinian land. No one knew what to do with the boy. As far as the neighbors could figure out, Hani had no grandparents and the closest relative was his mother's sister. Word was sent to the aunt and she came a few days later to pick up the child. The aunt had four children of her own. Her husband was a fugitive. The first thing she said to Hani who was three at the time was, "That's all I need. Another mouth to feed!"

And so it was that for the next three years of his life, Hani lived with his aunt and cousins. Her house was too full of people and covered with a tin roof that made the small house seem like an oven in the summer and a refrigerator in the winter. It would have been better if only there was a little love for the boy to ease the pain and lonliness that he felt. But Aunt was too busy, too poor and had too many problems to deal with Hani. Most of the time he played in the street with his cousins and ate whenever there was food and slept whenever it was time to sleep. Sometimes his cousins hit him because they knew he had no one to speak out for him. He could not complain to aunt because she would not listen. He could only go in a corner and cry and wonder why there was so little love and comfort in his life.

Hani was younger than his cousins. They usually told him what to do and he obeyed. If he didn't, he knew he would be beaten. His cousins knew in turn that no one would take Hani's side or stand up for him. So he was constantly being told, "Go and do this for me Hani!" or "Get that for me Hani!" or "Do as I tell you Hani!"

He learned to be quick or else he would be hit with hard punches and kicks. He never spoke much. He had no one to say anything to. He was so sensitive to life but nothing was sensitive to his feelings. He would delight in small childhood things, such as a blooming flower or try to catch the rays of the morning sun or see where the sparrows' nest was or try to interpret the coo of the lonely wild pigeons that made their nests in cracks of buildings.

But today was his birthday. Nonetheless, there seemed nothing special about this day. Hani felt no different than usual nor was he aware that on this day six years ago he was born. Aunt was not planning to make a cake for him. She had a hard enough time getting food on the table as it was. So right after breakfast, the birthday boy and his cousins went to play in the street. The day was still young and there was a sweet coolness about the early morning air.

"Hani," one of his cousins yelled from a distance, "go and get some stones for us so we can play." Hani did as he was told. He got as many stones as he could manage and was ordered to go and get some more. He complied. While his cousins were shouting and laughing, an Israeli jeep drove down the dusty street. Hani's cousins began to throw stones. The birthday boy just stood motionless and watched. He was hesitant but did not know why. "Come on Hani, what's wrong? Throw stones or you'll see what will happen to you!"


The jeep was like a canon ball. Hani stood paralyzed. He could see the mask of hate on the faces of the Israeli soldiers. The canon ball drew closer and closer. His cousins ran and hid. Hani remained frozen to the spot where he was standing. He had one stone still in his hand but his hand was next to his side. When the jeep pulled to a stop and the soldiers jumped out, Hani started to run. He was too late. One of the soldiers grabbed him and shouted, "So, you want to throw stones do you? Well let us teach you a lesson. You will never throw stones again!"  


Arrest 1 


Arrest 2 

Before he knew what was happening, Hani was passed like a football between the four Israeli soldiers who took turns beating him. They punched him, kicked him and one soldier took off his belt and whipped the small boy on his back until he fainted. The soldiers laughed. One picked up the limp body and threw it in the jeep and they drove off down the street saying to each other, "This is one kid we taught a lesson to. Let's dump his body in the next village."

The unconscious child was taken in the Israeli jeep. His blood soaked his clothing and matted his dark hair. About 20 kilometres down the road, one of the soldiers took the bloodied form and threw it on the side of the road. The soldier jumped back into the jeep and it sped away as the soldiers laughed at the deed they had done. Hani's body lay in the dirt and hot sun for some time until a shepherd stumbled on his body.

"What's this?" the shepherd asked as he picked up the limp boy. "Who's done this to you child?" The child still unconscious did not answer. The shepherd carried Hani to a hospital and waited until he was sure the boy would be all right. Hani woke up on the examination table in the emergency room. He stared up at the bright lights through his swollen and by now black and blue eyes. It seemed everything hurt him. Everyone had hurt him. He didn't know how to cry. He had to lock himself away from this cruel world.

A doctor, with a kind face and soothing voice said, "Well, hello little fellow! Looks like you've had some rough handling. But you are a brave lad and in no time we'll have you all cleaned up. What's your name?" Hani wanted to speak but could find no words. Today was his birthday. This was his gift. He couldn't understand why he was being punished. What had he done to deserve such treatment?

At last, after his wounds were cleaned and dressed, the birthday boy was placed in a clean bed in a cool room near a window. He could hear wild pigeons cooing outside his window, but he knew the coos were not for him. He smelled the scent of roses, but he knew the scent was not meant for him. He saw the sun shining brightly, but he knew it didn't shine on him.

He became the talk of the hospital, how he was brought in by a shepherd and how his back was badly beaten and how his whole body was terribly bruised. Everyone could only say, "Who would do such a terrible thing to such a small boy?"

Today became tomorrow. No longer Hani's birthday. Weeks passed. Hani remained a ward of the hospital because no one knew what to do with him. No one came to claim the boy and the boy either could not or would not talk. It was decided that perhaps he had been beaten for throwing stones, but Hani's doctor told social workers, "I don't think this child could throw anything. He might be retarded. He was probably mute from birth. I don't know how to treat him. I've tried everything but it is as if either the boy is retarded or just doesn't care if he lives or not."

Hani is not retarded. He is a very bright young child. What he needs is understanding and love and a therapist to bring back speech and a sense of order into his life or he will remain forever scarred and a silent lamb.