Bethlehem - Ma’an - Lamis met Jamal when she was a young girl. Their families both attended protests and demonstrations in the Bethlehem suburb of Beit Sahour. Their relationship grew and they were formally a couple as they neared the completion of their university degrees.
In 1983 Jamal and Lamis had a formal relationship and in 1985 they started planning for their engagement.

In the summer of 1985 Jamal was detained by Israeli soldiers. Twenty-five years later Lamis can still relate every detail of the trial, and the long, long period of waiting. This is her story, in her own words:

The lawyer told us that Jamal had a long list of charges against him and would likely spend many years in prison. He said, that Jamal would probably be sentenced to six years and that we should be prepared for the shock.

When we learned this I was faced with my first challenge. Should I remain with Jamal and make his fight my fight, or should I leave and let him fight on his own.

Ultimately I could not imagine leaving Jamal and I decided to fight with him. I was raised all my life to fight for my rights and my land and my beliefs. I remembered seeing Jamal at one of the demonstrations when I was young and I decided that I would have to fight for what I loved: Jamal.

The day he was sentenced, 11 August 1985, I went to work because I was new at the job and afraid of missing too many shifts. A few hours into the day I received a phone call from Jamal’s father, he told me to get to the court because Jamal was about to sit in front of the judge.

When the judge said ten years, I fainted. I later went back to work; I didn’t know what else to do.

I fainted again at work and my coworkers sent me home; I was in total panic, I remember I didn’t speak to anybody and my body was shaking so hard it was difficult to walk.

After Jamal was in prison for two weeks his family invited me come with them to the prison to visit Jamal. My two brothers came with me for support and kept my spirits up as we neared the facility.

I visited Jamal many times and we continued to talk about plans for the future, though we didn’t mention how far off they were. Jamal used to remind me of our old memories when we were at school and how we met and put many plans for our own house. It was these memories that got us through the hard parts.

After we would speak I would go home and close the door to my room. I would want to just be alone with my memories of Jamal and review our conversation a hundred times in my head. There were many many times that I would come home and cry.

There is one visit I will never forget. Our families announced to all those in the village of Beit Sahour that Jamal and I were to be engaged the following week. Dozens gathered on the appointed day and traveled with me and Jamal’s mother to the prison. There was singing and clapping on the bus, though I could see Jamal’s mother holding back tears though she tried to smile.

I remember standing in the queue of people waiting to enter the prison and holding the box with the engagement rings in it. I kept feeling it in my pocket I was so nervous.

The Israeli soldier at the prison entrance - not the usual one who was always so awful to me - noticed that I was holding a box and asked to see what was inside. I handed him the box. When he opened it he was shocked to see two rings inside. He asked me what the rings were for. “Jamal and me,” I answered.

It was a small prison and I was a frequent visitor; the guard knew Jamal was sentenced to a long term. It was a real victory for me when I saw the panic in his eyes at my dedication to Jamal. I know he was thinking, ‘why would such a beautiful young woman bother committing herself to someone who has years ahead of him in prison?’

The prison had no visitors’ area, there was just a big hall with a fence down the center. Jamal and tens of inmates gathered on one side of the fence, and my family, Jamal’s family and our friends gathered on the other. I put my fingers through the chain link and Jamal slipped the rings on them.

The guards didn’t know what to do when they noticed an engagement ceremony was taking place in the middle of the prison.

After the engagement the other prisoners were very encouraging to Jamal and told him that he could not give up hope, not with such a determined woman waiting for him.

Beyond the meetings across the visitors’ hall fence Jamal and I were able to communicate by smuggled letters. Every so often when a visitor was able or when an inmate was released, letters would be folded up into capsule-size and swallowed. A few days later the capsule would pass, be cleaned off and delivered to me.

Our letters were the only private way to tell each others about our lives and secrets. He used to write me at night when all the prisoners were sleeping so he could concentrate and feel free to express what he wanted to in his writing. He used to write me everything what he was doing and what books he was reading. He would ask me to read the same ones so we could share our thoughts on what the authors wrote. He expressed so much love and longing in the letters; I used to read them twice and hold the paper as if it is part of Jamal.

Years passed and I kept visiting the prison and sending letters to encourage Jamal and myself to be strong. I would attend the wedding of all of my friends, and then at the next wedding I would sit beside the newest couple wishing I had Jamal next to me.

I would go home from the weddings or events sometimes and feel so alone, feel so mistreated and angry that I would just cry. There was a time my anger and stress over Jamal got so bad I suffered from thyroid problems.

The last two years were the worst. Friends said my personality changed; I went from a shy and calm girl to an angry and agitated woman.

One day nine years after he was imprisoned there was news about a mass release. The following afternoon a list of those to be released was published. I knew it was silly to hope but I had to. The names of Jamal and his younger brother were both on the list.

The release was postponed.

Jamal, and all of the other detainees refused to sign an oath saying he would give up protests and fighting against what he believed in.

A month and a half later all the family members, cousins, relatives and friends and a camera man gathered in front of Jamal’s home. People from the neighborhood started arriving early in the morning. We all waited.

I wore the nicest clothes I had and brought a chair out to the side of the house; I couldn’t stand all the celebrations inside. Hours passed. There was the sound of car tires, then shouts and then more noises than I could identify.

I rushed around to the front of the house and saw three cars pulled up and everyone gathered around. I saw Jamal hugging his mother. I rushed forward and found myself next to him; no more chain link fence.

On 16 June 1994 at 7:15pm I held Jamal. We married two months later and at 7:15 on 16 June 1995 I gave birth to our first child, my daughter.

The nine years that Jamal was in prison were the hardest years of my life; they shaped me, my marriage and they will shape our children.

Jamal was never able to finish his university education. He was detained part way through and was away too long to go back without starting over. When he was released from prison I was doing a masters program which he encouraged me to do.

I kept my job at the hospital and continued with my studies and many days Jamal stayed home with our children and worked nights at the restaurants waiting tables. We patched together a life for ourselves

Slowly, very slowly the plans Jamal and I made when we were young, daydreaming as we spoke through the prison fence or in letters, are coming true. My eldest daughter is now 13, she has two younger brothers, 12 and 9 years old.

Reporting by Razan Salameh

 

Original link :
http://www.maannews.net/en/index.php?opr=ShowDetails&ID=35762

 

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