In an aerial assassination operation in Gaza, Hamdi Aman lost his mother, his wife and his older son. His small daughter is on a respirator and completely paralyzed, as is her uncle.
The faces of the news anchors last Saturday night were impassive as they announced another "targeted strike in Gaza." So was the face of the Israel Air Force commander, Major General Eliezer Shkedi, who said the next day, with appalling hardheartedness, that "we still have to check" what exactly caused the deaths in the Aman family during this targeted strike. What exactly was the major general hinting at? That perhaps it was not the missile launched by his pilot that killed the family?
And one wonders about the face of the pilot who pushed the button that launched the murderous missile into a crowded street in the heart of Gaza City on Shabbat afternoon - a missile that was meant to destroy Mohammed Dahdouh of Islamic Jihad, and in one blow killed off a grandmother, a mother and her small son and mortally wounded two other members of the family, including the little daughter.
Only the face of Hamdi Aman is contorted now, with tears welling up in his eyes, trying in vain to hold back his weeping: a 28-year-old man, limping from the injury to his leg from the shrapnel, who lost his 7-year-old son Muhand, his 27-year-old wife, Naima, and his mother, Hanan, 46. Mariya, his daughter, 3 and a half years old, is lying in the children's intensive care unit in Sheba Medical Center at Tel Hashomer, completely paralyzed and on a respirator.
"I don't hate the Israelis," says this young man, who grew up in the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, and whose family Israel has destroyed in this way. "Just put the pilot on trial." The words are uttered in the family home in the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood in Gaza. The oppressive silence is broken only by Hamdi's silent weeping, and his tears fall onto the sand floor in the entry hall of the house. He embraces his 2-year-old son Muaman, who was saved from death, but wounded in the back by shrapnel, a toddler who is crying and calling to his mother, who is no longer alive.
His sister Mariya is fighting for her life far from here, at Tel Hashomer, and her father is not allowed to stay by her side. In Ichilov Hospital in Tel Aviv lies his uncle, Nahed, unconscious and also totally paralyzed by the missile.
A family trip in a car, a used Mitsubishi Lancer purchased just two hours before that first trip - eight people in one car, five adults and three toddlers, and one "targeted strike," so targeted that it destroyed everything. A moment before the missile hit, Mariya was still standing on her mother's knees and dancing in the back seat of the Mitsubishi, and a moment later she lay next to her dead mother, hovering between life and death, with the rest of her family lying bleeding alongside her.
The air force is checking into what happened. What is there to check here? There is nothing to check. This is what happens when a pilot launches a "smart" missile into a crowded street. This is what happens when one assassinates from the air, not even a "ticking bomb" - no one talks about "ticking bombs" any more - only a wanted Jihad man who was on his way to the hospital to visit his wife, who had just given birth, and whose two brothers had already been assassinated, also by the Israel Defense Forces.
The white Mitsubishi was traveling alongside the wanted man's van. Didn't the pilot see it? Did he see it and not think? Did he see, think - and not take it into consideration? Does he regret anything?
"It was an attack," says Hamdi in his meager market-place Hebrew; it was another war crime, one can and should say in a somewhat richer Hebrew.
That afternoon, they bought the Mitsubishi in Gaza's used car market. Earlier, during the morning hours, they had worked at adding another story to the family's humble home - an apartment for Naima, Hamdi and their three little children. Later, the grandmother, Hanan, wanted to drive with all of them to visit her daughter in another neighborhood in the city. They had a new car, and they all crowded into the Mitsubishi. The uncle, Nahed, drove, cousin Imad sat next to him, and in the back sat Hamdi, his wife Naima, his mother Hanan and the children. They drove slowly on Sanayeh Street, the "industrial" street of the city.
Suddenly they felt a powerful blow on the left side of the car, just as the Magnum van passed it. There was a loud noise, and then, an even more terrible silence. Imad recovered first, grabbed the steering wheel and stopped the car. Nahed, the driver, was wounded and unconscious. Imad got out of the car first, followed by Hamdi. Imad says that Hamdi was in shock. He walked around the street limping, and only murmured: "What happened, what happened?"
In the back seat, they discovered the horror: Naima lay dead, along with little Muhand and Grandma Hanan. Mariya also looked lifeless, but it turned out that she had only lost consciousness. She was bleeding from the neck. She and her uncle had sustained severe spinal injuries. They got little Muaman out of the car, with shrapnel in his back. Alongside them, the Magnum was in flames; inside was the wanted man, Dahdouh, who was killed on the spot.
Two days later, Mariya was transferred to Sheba Medical Center, but her father was not allowed to accompany her. A brother of her grandfather was the only one permitted to join the wounded girl, and he is caring for her. The next day, Nahed was transferred to Ichilov, and his brother, Maher, a resident of Jaffa, is caring for him. At the beginning of the week they were already considering bringing them both back to Gaza; there is not much that can be done for them. They will remain paralyzed for life.
Sheba spokeswoman, Anat Dolev, said at the beginning of the week: "The child is suffering from a serious injury to her spinal cord. As a result, she is totally paralyzed and on a respirator, although she is conscious. In a few more days she will be returned to Gaza."
Hamdi, Imad and little Muaman were all wounded by shrapnel which is still embedded in their bodies - in their legs, chest, back and neck. Hamdi limps; he sustained a deep wound to his foot.
Imad worked for 30 years as a laborer for contractor Yaakov Barazani. Hamdi grew up as a porter in the Carmel Market. "We were never either Fatah or Hamas. We only wanted to bring food home," says Imad now.
Ten days after the attack, the IDF spokesperson is still wondering if any civilian was killed in the operation: "On Saturday, May 20, the IDF attacked, from the air, a car in which Mohammed Dahdouh, a senior activist in Islamic Jihad, who was involved in elevated-trajectory firing and additional terror operations against Israel, was traveling. The IDF continues to investigate in order to check the report that three Palestinians were killed as a result of the attack on Dahdouh's car. The IDF regrets any harm done to innocent civilians, and if Palestinians were killed by IDF fire, operational lessons will be learned in order to continue to minimize the risk of hurting the uninvolved in similar operations in the future."
Hamdi hasn't eaten a thing since the tragedy - only tears and cigarettes, one after another. He is a handsome man who now asks us to translate for him the paper he received by fax from Sheba, requesting permission to operate on his Mariya. They have to open a hole in her trachea so that she will be able to breathe through it. Muaman cries at night, calls to his mother, in shock from the tragedy and in pain from the tiny piece of shrapnel still embedded in his back. Hamdi asks that he also be taken for treatment in Israel, but who will respond to his request? Occasionally, Hamdi glances at the memorial poster for Muhand, and is overcome by tears. "That's a child, what did he do?"
In the pictures, Muhand looks like a well-cared-for child, as does his sister Mariya, a pretty girl with corkscrew curls, a red bag, a red shirt and white pants. Hamdi says that Muaman can already identify the fresh graves in the cemetery: He knows exactly which grave is his mother's, which is his brother's and which is his grandmother's.
On Shabbat, shortly before they got into the car, Muhand, a first-grader, returned from school and told his father that he had passed his first test. Muhand asked his father to buy him a toy car as a reward. His father promised to buy him the car if he passed the second test, which was scheduled for the next day.
