GAZA – On Friday morning, a military airstrike smashed my family's farm in the northern Gaza Strip into a jagged mass of metal and splintered trees.
An Israeli bomb had slammed into the yard, carving a crater into the dirt and leaving rubble in its wake. The conflict, once again, hit home.
The first Gaza war taught me that while our lush citrus grove might offer some breathing space from the congestion and difficulties of city life, it’s no refuge.
A previous Israeli airstrike killed my father, Akram al-Ghoul, on January 3, 2009. As fighting raged, he’d insisted on sleeping at the farm to tend to the cattle and chicken, and to nurture the trees.