Testimony of Dr. Ali Tawil on the AlAqsa hospital massacre:
Dr. Ali Tawil
@alitawil92
#AlAqsaHospital "I Was There"I felt uncomfortable, as if my heart wanted to jump out of its place, as if something was going to happen. I don't know if it was just a passing feeling of something coming on the horizon or if it was an intuition we gained from this damned war."
In every shift I have, I cannot take my hand away from my heart for fear of the coming massacre."This is how your shift begins, laden with the worries and tragedies of the earth, you start it as if you are waging a fierce war against the cosmic current, striving with the size of the pain that resides within you to help your people, those who have been raped by the distorted memory of the land and the margins of fake history.
I started my shift fearing myself. I am the ghost of that person whom I forgot with the passing of days and months in this holocaust. After everything, I am one of this people who live the genocide with its details, stories, tragedies, madness, cruelty, brutality and tyranny. I always try to extract from the pain an imagination full of will and challenge so that I can storm the field of death mixed with life, where I sometimes succeed in saving a soul and living the pain of losing another.
On the virtual margin of our distorted memory, we try to write a line of humor with a colleague here or there, perhaps we can unite with the human nature that we deeply miss, perhaps we can steal a specter from the dark loneliness, perhaps we can regain a sparkle from the memory of violets, or we can catch a dream lost in the endless catacombs of death.
Then you turn to the clock to discover that its pendulum is spinning with the heaviness of someone suffering from depression, and the wall around it with its worn-out, dilapidated green color doubles the ecstasy of feeling depressed. Suddenly, a sound of an explosion uproots your heart from its place, followed by the sound of ringing in your ear, you try to touch your head and body and move your limbs to know that you are still alive, then you turn to check on those around you to see pale faces and eyes afflicted with astonishment and the tongue in a unified voice saying: "Where is it?", and everyone runs towards the nearest window or balcony overlooking the hospital yard in the hope that it will bring us the certain news. And it was ...
The scene was indescribable, much uglier than you can imagine, as if it were the resurrection. A yellow beam illuminating the darkness of the days, smoke rising from the flying flames, men wandering and screaming, women and children running, some seeking rescue, some trying to put out the fires, some fleeing in fear and panic, and another taking pictures that may not resemble the real picture we see here.
With all this hysteria, while you are scattered from inside facing this challenge, trying to save what can be saved in the shadow of this hell, you have to pour salt on your wounds to heal the wounds of others, you have to be the first and last line of confrontation to rearrange the barricades that were shattered by the zi0nist treachery machine, and you have to rearrange the lost identity in that face that was disfigured by the fires of darkness. After all that, you remain alone, living your tragedy with yourself without anyone hearing you, uniting with silence, and merging with the fragility of worn-out time, to say: “I was here one day, caressing the butterfly of memory, so will I be there tomorrow to relive our first dance and rearrange the story from the beginning?”
Dr. Ali Tawil
source
www.politico.eu
