I spent one of the worst nights of my life in a very dirty cell in Sharon prison, completely isolated from the outside world. Its walls were even soundproof. It was constantly lit with a bright and irritating yellow light that caused me tension and anxiety. My fears did not betray me for even a moment, for the unknown that I was falling into, amidst enemies who were lying in wait for us as a people and for me personally as a saboteur and terrorist who must be stopped and disciplined, confused me, shook my self-confidence, and raised my fear index to the highest degree.
I estimated it was the dawn of a new day when the prison guard unlocked the cell and ordered me to stand up and come forward. It was not one prison guard, but a group, at the front of whom stood one who carried a great amount of large keys grouped in a chain, each one resembling a hammer but with a serrated head. Next to him stood another who carried metal handcuffs; he let their rings hit each other and make an annoying clanging sound to further put psychological pressure on me.
Despite the excruciating pain in my joints and the weakness caused by my high fever and not having food in a long time, I forced myself to my feet and cautiously stepped forward. The prison guard handcuffed me, making sure they were tight, and dragged me down a long corridor. He put me in another cell and locked the door again. I was distraught, not knowing what was happening. I didn't dare ask the prison guard, and I doubted I would have believed any answer he would have given me. For the first time, I was in such a state, surrounded by enemies I did not know. Suspicion, distrust, and apprehension were the only bonds that connected me to them.
I threw my exhausted body onto the very cold cement bench in the corner of the cell. I gazed at its very dirty walls and floor, on which dark bloodstains that had been there for some time were scattered. Images and imaginings of the Palestinian prisoner who had preceded me, bleeding, overwhelmed me. Had the torture during the interrogation left wounds on their body that continued to bleed, leaving behind a testimony on the walls of this cell?
Or were they shot by a bullet that pierced their flesh? Did it penetrate their bones? Were they in severe pain? Were they a young person, an old person, or still a child? Did they receive treatment or were they left as they were as further torture? Many thoughts messed with my head and remained suspended without answers. Rainwater was pouring into the cell from under the door and gathering in the middle, creating a puddle of sorts and making the cell colder than it already was, and I was sitting in one of its corners, my body shivering and my teeth chattering from the cold.
The female prison guard would clench her fist and hit me on the back of my head, back, neck, and shoulder. I would try to avoid her blows, but the tight restraints on my hands and feet would prevent me from doing so. The prison guard walked and led me along, and she kept walking behind me, hitting me and yelling at me to lower my head. However, I did not obey her orders and kept my head up. At the beginning of a corridor of stairs, she violently hit my head, a blow that disrupted my balance, and if it were not for Allah’s mercy, I would have fallen and slipped down the stairs.
At the end of the corridor, the door was opened from the inside, and a person wearing a gray military uniform took me in. On his jacket, I read the Hebrew word "Nachshon" (the special unit responsible for transferring prisoners from one place to another outside the prison). They searched me, changed the handcuffs, took my file, and checked my name, picture, and ID. They led me to a wide blue metal gate surrounded by barbed wire on both sides above the high walls.
I realized I was on my way to another place, but I didn’t know where. I glanced up at the sky; it was dark and cloudy, silently shedding its sorrowful tears. I saw a flock of crows crossing the sky; their cawing filled the horizons. I didn’t know if they were weeping for my wounded people or standing with me and comforting me. They quickly departed and disappeared from my sight.
Someone roughly dragged me to a bus parked on a concrete walkway in front of the prison gate. I climbed onto it with difficulty. They sat me down on a freezing metal bench in a tiny cell-like space, barely big enough for one person, with only a few centimeters of space below for my feet to rest on the floor. They closed the door and locked it securely from the outside. I sat down and waited apprehensively, hoping the coming days would reveal more about what awaited me.