Hashem Azzeh: A fear finally realised.

I am going to struggle to write this tonight. But I owe it to a man I called a friend. I owe it to a brave, brave individual who has had a profound impact on my life. And it has just dawned on me that I am wearing the keffiyeh I bought on the very day I met him. Tonight it feels a lot tighter than usual.

Hashem and one of his children (Photo credit unknown)

The man I am referring to is Hashem Azzeh. To those who follow developments in Palestine, and track human rights abuses, his is a well known name. Hashem was a prominent peace activist, running 'alternative to violence' workshops in his home city. He was also a fully qualified doctor (previously working with the UN), specialising in treating child trauma. He was a phenomenally welcoming man who lived in the Tel Rumeida settlement in Hebron. He was also a father, a husband, and for me, a friend. And today, 21st October 2015, he was killed by over-exposure to tear gas. If you wish to read more about the man and his amazing work, please look at this. In this post, I want to talk about my own experiences meeting this incredible human being.

I met this incredible man when visiting Hebron on 7th May this year. The city itself is almost a blow to see. It has suffered greatly from the occupation. It is understandable why both Palestinians and Israelis have an interest in it: it the burial place of Abraham, and the second holiest city in Judaism, the fourth in Islam. Tensions there erupted in the Cave of the Patriarchs Massacre on the 25th February 1994, when Baruch Goldstein, an American-Israeli, opened fire on worshippers at the Ibrahimi Mosque, killing 29 and wounding 125 more. Unsurprisingly, the Palestinian response to this was massive and fraught, involving protests and riots, and ever since Hebron has been a closed city, with military checkpoints at very regular intervals, watchtowers over all Palestinian areas and fortifications on various hilltops. There are many roads and streets closed off to Palestinians.

A young boy near a closed off road. (Photo: my own)

(Photo: my own)

After some time exploring Hebron (about which I could talk for hours) we went to meet Hashem, in the Tel Rumeida settlement where he lived. The vast majority of Palestinians had been evicted from the settlement a long time ago, but out of stubbornness and wit Hashem was able to stay. Not that his life was made easier. Many times, access to his home was blocked off. He spent some time having to climb up a 7m wall just to access his house, before managing to put a path in between some low trees.

The entrance to Tel Rumeida (Photo: my own)

  I remember a tall man, with a glint in his eye, greeting up with a smile, right in the view of the IDF manning the checkpoint. He instantly started explaining the problems Palestinians face in Hebron, especially in the settlement, pointing out lines they were not meant to cross, as well as brutally violent anti-Palestinian graffiti. We were stopped on the way to his house, obviously arousing suspicion, and we gained an impression that such inconveniences and disturbances were exceptionally regular in Hashem's life.

Graffiti in Tel Rumeida. I almost broke, remembering this and the manner of Hashem's death (Photo, my own)

 Hashem's home is right in the middle of the settlement. On the street above his house, looking down onto it, live Israeli settlers who are both far-right and armed, including the head of an almost para-military Zionist group. Even as we went to his cut-off house, Hashem showed us where a bullet was lodged above his door. He told us of the occasions when his wife was beaten while pregnant so severely that she lost the baby. This happened twice. Hearing these stories, and seeing his shy young children running around the house, was heartbreaking.

 It was also in his house that I had my first taste of maqluba, a very traditional Palestinian meal, which I don't think I'll ever be able to eat without thinking of my friend. The meal was cooked by Nisreen, his wife, and we shared it with some other international volunteers who had come to meet this man and learn of his stories. There are too many to recount to you all now, but when I have the heart to, I shall tell more.

 There was another startling revelation. Hashem and Nisreen asked no money at all from visitors to show them their home, as well as feed them very generous meals. This meant they were putting themselves in financial difficulties, as neither of them could properly work, while also putting them at risk by making them more prominent activists in their beleaguered home. Indeed, the only income they received was from guests buying paintings done by Nisreen. They are powerful pieces, simple and evocative, and even then she never asked for much. Please, if you can, give a little to his family. They will need all the support they can,

 I have too heavy a heart to tell more now. All I can really do is give you this piece of writing, my testimony and memory of a friend. Hashem was a loving man, who wanted peace and a free life for Palestine. He wanted to be able to live in his home and raise his children without fear. And he also would never back down, no matter what the settlers, and the IDF, threw at him. He is someone I shall never forget, who was killed while trying to make his world a better place.

 Violence has been sweeping across the West Bank recently. The death rate is increasing. But at long last, my fear of knowing one of the victims has come true. Hashem is not just another statistic. He was not an 'attacker' as the media are labelling a lot of the dead Palestinians. He was a father, and friend, and an inspiration.

May your memory live on, my friend, and may we continue your good work.

(Photo credit unknown)

Hashem Azzeh, killed on 21/10/15