I dreamed that somehow gaza was in the borders of Tunisia (or maybe I was egyptian. It wouldn't make a difference) and I passed the border on foot. Israel was bombing gaza. But right across the borders in the south, the attacks were less frequent. So a wreckless Tunisian/Egyptian might get away with a short visit to the warzone. The strange thing was that I wasn't alone. My whole family went in. The first thing you see when you cross the borders is a maze of shops selling things related to the Palestinian culture, history, and lifestyle. But also, deep into the maze, the products start getting random and much more similar to those in our country. Only cheaper. The reason we risqued our lives to get into Palestine in the first place was to spend some money to buy stuff and help the Palestinian economy. Or at least that was the reason for the rest of my family.
I was just tagging along, hesitating . Questioning my own judgement. Lacking the resolve to abort or to continue. That’s when, somehow, I was in some king of means of transport, by the window. Watching. Israeli soldiers manifested out on nowhere, shooting civilians randomly. Then killing the injured who were laying on the streets. That wasn’t the punchline that made me wake up from the nightmare. Because you know what I did then ? Nothing !
I felt nothing. I kept watching as if it were a movie or series. A random thought came to my mind. A stupid challenge on facebook where you answer a bunch of questions truthfully. Some meaningful. Some meaningless. One of them says : Have you ever seen someone die ?
In the midst of horrible genocide, that was what I was thinking. Now I get to say yes to that question. So I made sure to keep watching a certain injured civilian get grabbed by the neck, forced on his feet, then get shot in the head fall back to the ground, motionless.
Suddenly, I’m back in the shops, or in different shops, negociating prices. When a bomb struck the building. Bombing this far south isn’t very likely but isn’t impossible. No one else is surprised. No one died, it seams. So the shopping isn’t interrupted. But I'm so scared. Back in the tramway or whatever I was in, I felt untoucheable. Maybe it was bulletproof and bombproof. But here I’m vulnerable. I’m thinking about death and how I’m not ready for it.
See, in the dream, pretty much like in real life, I believe in an afterlife. With heaven and hell. I believe there are rules to follow and things to keep doing to deserve heaven. Sometimes I follow them enough to be convinced I have a shot to make it if I die. Sometimes I know I’m going to hell. That was the case in the dream. That was it for me. The menace of dying « unprepared ». That was too much. I woke up. And was relieved I was safe. Then I hated myself for that relief and for my heartlessness in the dream. And for my silence and inaction both in the dream and in reality.
I won’t comment or analyse. I’ll just put this out there. I can’t find something to say anyway. So if you do, let’s talk about it in the comments.
The photo credits go a Palestinian friend from Jerusalem. She sent it to me years ago. It has my name in it and it says Al Aqsa misses me. I hope she still thinks I deserve it.
