I will never forget the moment my friends and I got arrested. Soldiers, armed with heavy weapons, surrounded us, pointing their rifles at us as if we were a real threat, they were shooting their bullets around our feet, so we couldn’t move.

I felt that life was forcefully taken from my hands at that moment, and l would never have the chance to breath again in minutes, because I would be truly dead.

“Rise your hands up and Don’t move!” One of them shouted so we obeyed and raised our hands high.

“Friends, we will die soon” Badr said, mockingly of the situation we found ourselves in.

“My God, I wish there is a chance that says ‘Here we are again’ “ I mocked responding to Badr, quoting what we used to watch on Spacetoon channel when we were kids.

“Listen, I might not have much good deeds. If you survive, give charity on my behalf”.

” You talk as if we won’t die with you, you smart one” Badr replied sarcastically, so Bilal rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Don’t be afraid, death is one, and God is one” I said with determination, looking at both of them. Badr was already composed, looking at the soldiers with defiance, but Bilal hesitated. I nudged his shoulder to encourage him, we are the owners of this land, we will never waver. He nodded and stood proudly.

I looked at them then at the soldiers surrounding us as they were approaching, they were more than thirty, fully armed.

A silence fell between us, as we smelled the scent of death on the horizon.

Several of the soldiers advanced, bound our hands, and blindfolded us. Even we were unarmed. They never put their guns down.

The neighborhood was supposed to be empty, it had been declared a red zone. We were displaced to south, leaving our homes behind. Still, when things seemed calm, I returned with friends—not for the house, but for my missing brother, Salem. I hoped to find him waiting there, alive, whole.

The night before we fled, he went to check on his friend.

he woke me and told me he was going to  his friend’s house for an important matter. I wasn’t fully conscious, so I didn’t ask any questions. I just nodded in agreement and fell in sleep. Since that night, I haven’t had a deep sleep ever.

Insomnia, tears and questions with ‘What If’ attack me, exhausting and consuming all of me.

What if I had asked him who this friend was?

What if I had prevented him from leaving at that late hour?

What if I had been more responsible and gone with him?

What if that night was the last night I would see him, FOREVER?

WHAT IF.. WHAT IF.. a lot of merciless possibilities that gnaw at my mind little by little, stealing my comfort and certainty.

For two full months, we have received no news of him, and no one has seen him. My mother cries for him every night.

For two months, she gets up in the middle of the night, prays, asks the Lord to take care of him, whether he is alive or dead.

On that day, my friends and I did not die. I think it’s a miracle that I am still alive now and writing what happened with a beating heart. My hands click on the letters on my phone, I write quickly so that the words do not escape me.

After they tied and blindfolded us – Bilal, Badr, and I – One of the soldiers spoke through a transceiver in his Hebrew language. I didn’t understand anything he said, but I was certain that we had only two options: captivity or death, and the latter was more likely.

After perhaps a quarter of an hour, a vehicle stopped before us with a loud engine sound, so I was certain they would capture us..

For a quarter of an hour, they kept beating and torturing us on our heads and backs with their heavy weapons. I felt that my soul would leave my body from the pain.

They led us to get into the vehicle, never stopped hurting, cursing us in our language the whole way, I even heard someone spit on me and felt it through my clothes. It was disgusting, a miserable situation, as if I were living in a different kind of hell.

I wasn’t completely conscious of everything, a severe pain was wracking my head and I was sleeping and waking all the time.

My head was bleeding, so I didn’t fully grasp what was happening around me.

After the vehicle stopped and we arrived at the destination-prison-, I heard the sound of the rusty chains and iron clanging loudly, as if that sound will be my tormentor for an unknown time.

I kept walking into the unknown until they led me into a room and seated me on a chair. I knew that this luxury was nothing but an interrogation session.

I remained seated in my place, hearing their voices as they talked and moved around me, so I secretly lifted the blindfold a little to see what was around me. Unfortunately, one of the standing soldiers caught me, so he grabbed my hand and held it firmly, and took a pair of pliers then pulled my pinkie nail from its root, I screamed and writhed in pain in my seat. The pain continued for two more days until it began to heal on its own.

They put me in a shared cell with the rest of the prisoners. I didn’t find Bilal or Badr there. All the prisoners were kind, but it was a tough time.

Every week, three times, I go to the interrogation room, and throughout that time, I was subjected to brutal beatings until I lost consciousness. I couldn’t count the days properly, so I was asking the other prisoners about the date.

All of us were dragged to interrogation and returned either unconscious or on the verge of it. In the second session, they told me that all my family members had been killed, and I would never see the light again if I didn’t tell them what did X? And where was Y hiding?, as if I had any idea about anyone but myself!.

Afterward, I continued crying for three whole days, and I hated myself. I carried their guilt on my shoulders; it was all because of me; if I hadn’t been captured, they probably wouldn’t have been targeted.

I didn’t go easy on myself until one of the prisoners told me that they told all the prisoners the same thing. A little hope flowed through my veins that perhaps they are alive and well, but the fear and doubt never left me throughout the captivity.

In one of the sessions, they hacked my phone in front of me and browsed through it completely, they even recovered my first account on Facebook from more than five years ago.

I didn’t care about that except that I was astonished by our painful reality. Besieged by land, sea, and air, even electronically. No privacy for anyone, not even secrets. They have all the information and can access any thing they want with a few clicks on their computers. They are just enjoying torturing and humiliating us.

The holy month of Ramadan came, and I am still in captivity. I couldn’t fast, they only feed us crumbs so we can barely stay alive.

I tried to fast one day, but I lost consciousness, as did some of the other prisoners; our bodies are not strong enough.

Our days were not without incursions in the middle of the night with their dogs and the heavy beating weapons they carried, they were torturing us until they get tired.

I remained in that hell for two months, moving from the cell to the interrogation room back and forth. I was also placed in solitary confinement for two weeks. A cell two meters long and two meters wide, where you sit alone, and you think you will lose your mind, and perhaps it actually happens.

During one of my episodes of unconsciousness, I woke up in another room, lying on a bed. I was very surprised by this, then the doctor told me they would release me, so they medicate the prisoners before release so that their reputation would not be tarnished.

I can’t forget the happiness that came over me when I was told that. Mixed emotions, as if I were leaving the seventh hell to the Paradise

I kept counting the seconds until my eyes saw the sky without any barrier between us.

Only my body is free, but my heart and mind remain there, in the overcrowded cell with the other prisoners, waiting together for the moment of salvation.

I still suffer from occasional unconsciousness and nightmares that disturb my sleep, sometimes I wake up not recognizing anyone from my family, though they remain around me, filling me with kindness and love. I am grateful to God that he gave me the chance to kiss my mother’s hands, I’m grateful for hearing her voice and that all my family are fine.

My lost brother Salem returned home after three months; he had a moderate head injury so he couldn’t communicate with anyone until he recovered.

As for Bilal and Bader, they were released from captivity a month before l was released. When I saw them again, I almost cried. We talked and laughed until our throats dried.

Their period of captivity was not easy; Bader has a large burn scar along the back of his neck, which made me shrink back in sadness. In addition, he suffers from nervous spasms, because they were torturing him with electric shock in the head for long periods, and Bilal’s leg was broken twice due to torture and neglect that the prisoners face, and he still suffers from it and cannot walk for long distances. He is now attending physical therapy sessions which he will improve greatly from, as the doctor informed him.

I haven’t felt the importance of life like I do now. We have only one life, and we must not waste it. Despite the difficult times and nights of crying I went through, they represent nothing but very little of what other prisoners face.

It took me months and desolate nights to write these words. I know that I haven’t mentioned everything in detail, and there is much I do not have the capacity to recall, and perhaps in minutes I will forget who I am and where I am. However, I know for sure that I will fully recover and will use my pen as a weapon, its bullets will echo in the silence of the papers.

Someday, someone else will write and convey their stories and ours too, so that history will immortalize them for those who come after us, so they will not forget our suffering on this land and will take revenge for us.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the day after tomorrow, but certainly one day..

Note: This project is supported by the British Council as part of the SARD programme, which focuses on the role of English and other languages in building resilience. SARD – Stories of Adversity, Resilience and Determination – encourages Palestinians, particularly young people, to share their stories and lived experiences through creative and educational media. The content of this production is solely the responsibility of Resilient Voices and does not necessarily reflect the views of the supporting or partnering institutions.