The Drone Eats with Me: A Gaza Diary

By Atef Abu Saif

An ordinary Gazan’s “devastating contemporary war journal” that chronicles his fear, sadness, and boredom during Israel’s 2014 invasion of Gaza (Michael Ondaatje, author of The English Patient)

The Drone Eats with Me is an unforgettable rendering of everyday civilian life shattered by the realities of twenty-first-century warfare. Israel’s 2014 invasion of Gaza lasted 51 days, killed 2,145 Palestinians (578 of them children), injured over 11,000 people, and demolished more than 17,000 homes.

Atef Abu Saif, a young father and novelist, puts an indelibly human face on these statistics, providing a rare window into the texture of a community and the realities of a conflict that is too often obscured by politics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beacon Press
• Release date: Jul 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9780807049112

Book preview

Sunday, 6 July

IT BEGINS

WHEN IT COMES, it brings with it a smell, a fragrance even. You learn to recognize it as a kid growing up in these narrow streets. You develop a knack for detecting it, tasting it in the air. You can almost see it. Like a witch’s familiar, it lurks in the shadows, follows you at a distance wherever you go. If you retain this skill, you can tell that it’s coming—hours, sometimes days, before it actually arrives. You don’t mistake it. Harb. War.

I’m sitting in front of Abu Annas’s house with three of our friends—Tarik, Sohail, and Abdallah. Abu Annas has been a headmaster for fifteen years now at the camp’s Ahmad al-Shokairi High School, although I’ve known him since the First Intifada.¹ He lives just a two-minute walk from my father’s place, in the same refugee camp I grew up in. The night is warm. Two shade trees stand in front of the house.

Abu Annas and Tarik are playing backgammon, from time to time breaking away from their game to contribute to the wider conversation. The sound of the dice rattling against the wooden board always mesmerizes me slightly. I’ve never played backgammon. I merely love the spectacle of dice bouncing along the wood and ricocheting off the back board. An aging blue Sony radio sits between us, playing a classic Fayza Ahmad² song. Oh Mother, the moon is at the door, lighting candles. Shall I lock the door or open it? Abu Annas has kept the radio in good condition since the 1970s, still wrapped in a brown leather casing it came with.

All five of us around the table were born in wartime—as Gazans, you don’t get much choice about it. The crowded refugee camp we grew up in, known to Gazans as Jabalia³—once a field of tents, then a forest of shacks, now a jungle of high-rise apartment blocks crammed tightly together—has been beset by wars for as long as we’ve all been alive. Since 1948—before that in fact, since the British mandate began in 1917—Gaza has barely gone ten years without a war; sometimes it’s as little as two between each one. So everyone carries their own memories of conflict: wars stand as markers in a Gazan’s life: there’s one planted firmly in your childhood, one or two more in your adolescence, and so on . . . they toll the passing of time as you grow older like rings in a tree trunk. Sadly, for many Gazans, one of these wars will also mark life’s end. Life is what we have in between these wars.

Tonight, another one is starting. SMS news updates interrupt the evening’s conversation, with innocent little pings, more and more and more frequently as the night progresses, as we flinch to read them, more and more nervously. The last sustained attack on the Strip was back in November 2012 and lasted for eight days. The one before that—dubbed Cast Lead by the Israelis—ran from December 2008 to January 2009 and lasted for twenty-three days. How many days will this one last? How will it compare to previous assaults? These are the questions I want us to be discussing, but for Abu Annas, at least, it isn’t even certain that war is coming. It will only be a small incursion, he says, a limited one.

Zohdi, Abu Annas’s second son, who is also my barber, prepares the shisha for all of us. When I see him I reach up out of habit and feel my hair and stubble: it’s only been three days since they were last trimmed. Zohdi’s shop is right beside Abu Annas’s house and seeing him appear in the doorway with a flash of steel in his hand makes me think I’m about to feel razor against skin. Then I see that it’s just the steel tongs for the charcoal.

Tarik, a veteran workers’ rights activist, leans over the shisha to blow on the coals, saying that all indicators point to war. Sohail is more skeptical about it. Sohail spent much of his early life in Israeli prisons, having been a local PLO leader in the camp, and served in Fatah’s secret militia during the ’80s. He insists that we are already in the holy month of Ramadan and that full-on war, at least, will have to be delayed until the end of the month, although a controlled escalation of tension may be a feature of the next few weeks. Abdallah, who holds a PhD in psychology, shares this reading.

Me?

Well, I tell them, I can smell it. I sense it drawing in.

As it turns out, it has arrived already, before we even started this conversation.

At around 9 p.m. this evening, a drone attacked a group of people near Beit Hanoun, two miles north of Jabalia Camp. No one was injured. Half an hour later another drone fired on three people on the street in the western side of Gaza City. At the time, these were reported as one-offs, the way bad traffic accidents would be. Such things happen now and then—usually a lot more than half an hour apart, of course, but two drone strikes don’t make a war. This is what the radio calls an escalation in tension. Then the presenter goes back to his scheduled program on youth problems in Gaza. His guest for the discussion starts to discuss the despair that hangs over so many young people, especially with regard to their futures; how trapped they feel being unable to travel, study, or make a career outside of the Strip. Then suddenly, at about 11 p.m., the guest is cut off and a nationalist song starts playing. The mood on the radio changes completely.

A few minutes later, Abu Annas’s mobile pings with information on a third attack. Two young men killed in attack in Bureij Camp.⁴ We look at each other. This is no escalation in tension. A moment later, the war introduces itself properly. We hear an explosion, some way to the north, echoing across the city. Hearing a bomb in real life, for the first time in a couple of years, is like having a PTSD flashback. It jolts you to exactly where you were two years ago, five years ago, four decades ago, to the most recent, or very first time you heard one. As the noise of this new explosion subsides it’s replaced by the inevitable whir of a drone, sounding so close it could be right beside us. It’s like it wants to join us for the evening and has pulled up an invisible chair.

Because it’s Ramadan and we have to be awake for the suhoor⁵—which at this time of year is around 3:30 a.m.—we spend most nights staying up, talking, smoking shisha and eating Ramadan specialties: sweets and pastries like awama,⁶ kenafeh,⁷ and baklava. Being the height of summer, it’s also far better to spend this time in front of the house, under a tree, than sweat it out indoors.

When we first sat down tonight, scores of boys passed us singing Ramadan hymns and beating on plastic boxes, turning them into drums: nice hymns, the same ones I used to sing at their age. It’s a tradition that starts three days before Ramadan and runs all the way to Eid; I imagine it makes any Palestinian man—devout or not—warm with nostalgia to hear them.

But now the street is empty; the sound of the explosions has grown louder. Everyone prefers to be inside. Tarik suggests that we go too, but Abu Annas insists: Don’t worry, it’s normal. We know it’s normal, but we have to go. Hanna, my wife, rings me saying that the explosions are everywhere, I need to be with her. Her voice trembles: The kids are sleeping. I know she is afraid to be on her own right now.

Tarik drives me back quickly. I live in the Saftawi district, to the west of Jabalia Camp. All the inhabitants of the districts around the camp originate from inside it. Jabalia is the largest refugee camp in all of Palestine, home to over one hundred thousand Gazans in only 1.4 square kilometers. It’s probably most famous as the setting of countless confrontations between occupying Israeli forces and Palestinians, in particular during the First Intifada, which broke out in its narrow streets. Now, with its increased population, it has spawned new districts around its outskirts: places like Alami, Tel Azaatar, Salaheen, Beir al-Na’aja, and Saftawi. In many ways these all belong to the camp; they are its children.

Tarik is worried that a war in the summer, especially during Ramadan, will be hard on the people. Before dropping me off, he reminds me of our meeting tomorrow, two hours before sunset. Every evening, since the start of Ramadan, Tarik and I have driven out to a small farm his family owns to the west of Beit Lahia, where he grows fruit and vegetables. We spend the last two hours of sunlight there, before iftar (literally, the breakfast). The hardest hours of fasting are those last ones just before the iftar, so it’s good to have a distraction.

I smile at his reminder.

What if this is war? I ask.

This can’t be war.

Inside, I find Hanna perched on the edge of the sofa, listening to the news, rigid with worry. Even her eyes tell me, This is war. I make coffee and set out a few pieces of katayef⁸ for when the children wake. With Hanna, I begin the same conversation that every single adult in Gaza is having right now with someone else: What if this really is war? How long will it last? Will it be harder than the previous ones? Will we survive? Which of our loved ones is going to be lost?

Hanna shouts my name, saying I need to wake the kids up for the suhoor.

It is 3:30 a.m. Monday, 7 July 2014. A date to remember.

Monday, 7 July

THE BEAT OF DRUMS AND BOMBS

SINCE MIDNIGHT, THE SHELLING and bombing hasn’t let up. Tonight, the musaharati is nowhere to be seen. The musaharati is one of the oldest features of the holy month of Ramadan; he paces through the streets waking people to take their suhoor. You can’t imagine Ramadan without him. He is usually an older man, patrolling the neighborhood with a drum, often with a lantern swinging below it. In a fine, well-trained voice he sings a particular song to rouse us.

Every neighborhood of the camp has its own musaharati. And at the end of the month, he knocks on your door asking for a contribution—money or a gift of food—in return for his service.

Tonight, in my district, a group of young men seem to have collectively assumed the role, striking up at around 2:40 a.m. This is a new phenomenon. They sing the suhoor song and insert the names of almost every person in the street so it becomes a private call for him or her to wake up.

They stand in front of our apartment block and start to sing the names of the people living in it. We only moved into this building three years ago so in the first two Ramadans, they failed to include any of our names on the list. At the start of Ramadan, I had asked the musaharati to update the records so my four boys’ names could be included—Talal, Mostafa, Naeem, Yasser. As my youngest, Jaffa, is only nineteen months old, she has no awareness of this, so she hasn’t been included yet.

As children, having your name sung by the musaharati is a genuine thrill. Knowing they were finally going to be included this year was a source of real excitement for my boys, and on the first night of Ramadan, they barely slept in anticipation of it. The thrill of hearing their names lasted for the first week. Now they are not getting up early and standing by the window in anticipation of it anymore. When the suhoor time comes, I have to wake them up myself. Naeem asks sluggishly: Have the musaharatis been already? They haven’t and I know they probably won’t anymore, so there’s no point in the boys getting up early to hear them. But I don’t want to worry Naeem, so I just say he missed them. He believes me, for now.

It’s mid-afternoon and in the eighteen hours since the raids began, eleven people have been killed and scores of others injured. Every hour the number of victims increases. When we woke up today, Hanna and the kids spent an hour or so talking about the previous war and our memories of it. This will be the third war my children have witnessed in five years. The 2008–2009 war came quite out of the blue by Israeli standards. On that cold morning in December, I was giving a lecture series to a group of young men and women about human rights and democracy, on the other side of town. The human rights center I was teaching in was close to Gaza’s main military and policing compound, a place called Jawazat. This compound was one of the first places in the Strip to come under heavy attack. I was in the middle of a lecture when we heard it and all the students started to shout.

We abandoned the class and all headed up onto the roof to see what was happening. All of Gaza was shaking. There were explosions in every direction. A column of smoke rose to the sky wherever you looked. I knew Talal and Mostafa would be at school and Hanna phoned, terrified, saying someone should bring them home. Before she hung up, we were both relieved to hear the doorbell ring, and to her joy, she opened it to see the two of them, home safe. This was 27 December 2008 and that war lasted until 18 January 2009.

The next war broke out on 14 November 2012, dubbed Pillar of Defense by the Israelis. It began with a raid that killed, among others, a prominent military figure.* At the time of the first strike, I was at the Saraya crossroads.¹ I was just crossing the road, heading towards the Karawan Café—my favorite café in Gaza—when suddenly there was a huge explosion in one of the backstreets behind the Saraya and opposite the Gaza Municipal Park. There was no warning of this attack; everyone in the street just went into autopilot, remembering instinctively what to do, and where to run to, in an air raid. Before the ambulances could get to the scene, F16s and drones started to rain missiles down on the district.

Will this war be different? No one can tell. The rhythm of the explosions last night and all through today seemed faster than before, heavier. As we talked, we allowed ourselves the indulgence of a few comparisons. One of the differences, so far, is that the current assault broke out gradually—we could not tell, last night at Abu Annas’s house, whether it was war or just an escalation in tension, an incursion, a shot over our bow.

The first rule of wartime is don’t go out. Or at least, only when you have to. The children, of course, must never leave the building.

My sister Amina is scheduled to have an operation this afternoon in the Beit Hanoun hospital. On my way to visit her, I hear a handful of explosions coming from the north of the town, and on the road to the hospital, I see a patch of rubble where a house had once stood, on the banks of the Wadi Beit Hanoun.² This house had been damaged in the 2012 war and had never been properly rebuilt. Now the drone has finished the job.

Back at the house, Hanna tells me we need to stock up on vegetables, meat, chicken, and the like, and everyone else will be doing the same. So I head back out to the camp’s souq. But before I get to Saftawi Square, a roar of explosions sounds somewhere to the north. I run for shelter under the porch of a nearby building. More explosions reverberate a few minutes later. After fifteen minutes, it seems to stop completely and silence returns, except for the whir of the drones.

When I get home, we start to prepare the food to break the fast. Even the kids join Hanna and me in the kitchen and offer to help. Making yourself busy at a time like this helps. Of the children, only Talal and Mostafa are fasting. And they’re starving, impatient for the sun to plunge under the horizon.

Suddenly Hanna says, Don’t tell me you’re planning to go to your father’s neighborhood after the breakfast? Actually, I had intended to. I tell her I have to see my father and family but she insists it’s too dangerous. I reply: All of Gaza is dangerous.

* Ahmed Jabari, chief of the Gaza military wing of Hamas.

Tuesday, 8 July

FEEDING TIMES

THERE IS A strange irony to these raids. The heaviest passages in the round-the-clock bombardment seem to be at the two times of the day when we’re serving food—the suhoor and the iftar. Then the raids go crazy. They rain down on all sides—it’s like a monsoon that we’ve just escaped from, to eat. The building shakes. The horizon dances in the window. You don’t know if it’s you or the whole of Gaza that’s moving. Explosions can be heard intermittently all day and night, but when we set the table at 3:30 a.m. for the suhoor, and at 7:40 p.m. for the iftar, it feels like there’s a fanfare being played, especially for the food. As the sun is just below the horizon at both these times, the dusk sky lights up with the bombs and is colored by the red and blue tongues of fire.

This morning, as I prepare the suhoor with Hanna, there is a sudden explosion—somewhere nearby, probably the Maqosi area, which is a cluster of tall buildings in the Nasser quarter of Gaza City. Then more attacks. Mostafa wakes up by himself—the thunder of the shells doing what the musaharatis would have. He wakes his brothers, leaving only Jaffa to sleep through it all. Afterwards, as I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep due to the ever-present whir of a drone, I reflect on how the children are already adjusting to the logic of the war, learning things I learned so long ago.

In the afternoon, I play cards with the whole family. Just to kill some time.

The army seems to be targeting residential buildings only. F16s have only hit houses today, razing them to street level. In east Khan Younis, a house belonging to the Abadallah family was completely destroyed. Many others in Gaza City and Rafah have been hit. Two mosques as well. But the greatest tragedy of the day was the killing of the Kawari’ family in Khan Younis. An Israeli F16 attacked the family home while the children and parents were preparing the iftar. The F16 wasn’t willing to let a family be happy together, to get on with life despite the war. It decided to put an end to such things.

At 6 p.m., a young man was driving his toktok¹ when a rocket struck him directly, leaving a crater in the ground and unimaginable remains. This was northeast of Jabalia Camp, near the Sheikh Zayed Housing Project. A young man who sold kids’ food—sweets, chocolates, crisps—became, in the eyes of the drone operator, a valid target, a danger to Israel. Every single human being in Gaza, whether walking on foot, riding a bicycle, steering a toktok, or driving a car, is a threat to Israel now. We’re all guilty until proven otherwise, and how are we ever going to do that, whether alive or not? Your innocence doesn’t matter—you have to abandon that. Survival is your only care.

After the iftar, I visit my father. He is busy performing the Ramadan evening prayers, so I call in on Faraj, a childhood friend who lives very close to my dad. Faraj suggests that we go and watch the Germany versus Brazil World Cup semifinal at Ayman’s place. Ayman is a friend of ours who’s deeply fond of football. World War Three wouldn’t prevent him from catching a big game like this. Ayman’s house in Jabalia Camp has a large empty room at the front with a TV. We arrive to find over thirty people assembled to watch the match. The place looks like a café. My son Mostafa is also mad about football. He texts me to ask if I’ll take him to watch the match somewhere. But it’s too dangerous for him—the two of us wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough if something started. Last week, before the war broke out, I took the four boys to watch the last-sixteen game between Germany and Algeria. In a huge café, with great big plasma screens on all sides, the boys spent hours shouting and dancing in support of Algeria. Afterwards, I promised to take them to the same café for the next round of games: the quarter finals, then the semis. . . . Some promises you’re allowed to break.

After the game—a momentous 7-1 drubbing of Brazil—I stop by to see Abu Annas on my way home. He’s not in, Zohdi tells me at the door of his shop next door, a pair of scissors in his hands. He’s playing chess with his neighbor. Then he looks at me and comments on how hirsute I’m becoming.

Reviews for The Drone Eats with Me

[mmmorsi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The diary of Atef Abu Saif makes me cry. Because I remember the destruction and the sorrow and also the terror. He does not about Hamas and its archaic rule because it's a human story, not a political campaign. I think a story like Atef's is important so that people can relate to each other, not seem themselves as separate from the violence. Regardless of where they are in the world or whether they are holding a gun in their hands, or not.

[twylyghtbay · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It is very difficult for people who do not live in Gaza or a constant war zone to comprehend how very difficult life is for the the children and families who do live and grow up in such a violent and deadly environment. Reading this book provides the reader with some of the experiences and traumas that become part of every day life. Everyone should read this book in an effort to understand that life's challenges are very extreme and difficult in some parts of the world. While I worry about providing food, shelter and safety for my children it does not include daily bombings and enemy soldiers. Even after reading the book it's very difficult to imagine the author's struggle to survive.

[dele2451 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A deeply personal account of a noncombatant Palestinian author/husband/father of 4 young children trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in his family life in the midst of daily deadly aerial attacks and surveillance conducted by modern weaponized drones, naval warships, and heavily armed F16s. His granular descriptions of living next to a sea you aren't allowed to boat/fish/swim in, borders you can't cross, a long-awaited airport quickly turned into rubble, UN elementary schools designated as emergency disaster shelters and then bombed anyway, and quick grocery trips to the food stalls including frequent detours for removing the bodies of civilian casualties (many of them preschool children, their mothers, and the elderly) from homes turned into rubble the night before are all the more harrowing because of the way these events have become almost matter-of-fact to his very young family. The most surprising aspect is his continuing love and respect for his home in spite of all the horrors he and his family have experienced there. Saif's book is important, richly detailed, illuminating, and well written. I'd venture to say that years from now it will be listed along with A Frank's, Nelson Mandela's, and other survivors as one of the most important conflict diaries of its time because it brings real faces to atrocities and deaths which a lot of the international community has largely ignoring or making feeble diplomatic stabs at for decades.

[catscritch · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

No matter your politics, deep inside, you must have compassion. And this diary from inside the Gaza strip during a 50-day “conflict” can only raise your hackles that the world powers play with words to hide their deeds. If I’m conflicted over what I’ll have for dinner. No one dies. Israel and Palestine are conflicted over who should own what land. Slaughter. Indiscriminate, eeny-meeny-miney-moe, you hold the short straw slaughter. I never read such an intimate non-political rendering of trying to persist day-to-day buying food and separating your family so that at least some of them might survive. God save us all

An advanced copy of this book was provided for an honest review.

[illiniguy71 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is the diary of a Palestinian writer with a doctorate in Policy Studies during the bombardment and invasion of the Gaza Strip by Israel in July and August, 2014. But Saif makes very little political comment. He tells instead of his and others' daily struggles to find food and housing, to protect his family (which includes young children) and to keep his own emotional balance as people are dying around him and the city he loves is being destroyed. The author is an excellent stylist who produces clear, crisp descriptions of the daily struggle to survive the bombardment. Still, political issues are always in the background as one reads this largely non-political text. From this distance, however much the Palestinians provoke Israel, and however difficult and self-serving are Palestinian leaders, this reviewer cannot see the war as anything other than a tragic over-reaction by an Israel led by hardliners.

[marcusbrutus_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This story is definitely one that needs to be told, from a perspective that most in the Western world don’t usually get. The author’s solid word choice also keeps the book compelling despite a lot of (necessary) repetition. (Unfortunately, the repetitive nature of life in the midst of hardship seems to be a staple of life, so there’s no getting around that. It needs to be expressed just as much as anything else.)

The biggest downside was that while he paints the destruction in really clear imagery, and even some of settings, the author doesn’t spend as much time describing the people. I don’t remember a single physical description of anyone, and more importantly, very few of the people were described in such a way that I could get a sense of their personalities, so I had a hard time picturing anyone. The book was full of anecdotes about various people during the bombings, but I would’ve wanted to know more about what those people were like, or how they thought, not just the things that happened to and around them. The exception to this is that the author does talk about his family enough that some of their individuality comes through, but not so much for the rest of the large cast that passes in and out of the book. I might not bring this up at all except that the main point of this account seems to be about how people need to humanize each other. It’s one small mark against an otherwise memorable memoir that I would highly recommend to most people except young children (due to the constant oppressive violence that did make it a tough read emotionally).

[mabith_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is Saif's diary of the 2014 war in Gaza, which lasted for 51 days. I hesitate to use the word war, but it's what Saif calls the frequent bombardments which Gaza rarely goes more than a couple years without. Usually they only last for a week or so, and this round of attacks was particularly destructive.

Saif wrote every morning during those 51 days, and it's an important record of being powerless in a world of unpredictable death. I remember seeing pictures when this was taking place, and I wish the book had included some. It's hard to imagine that level of destruction just from the text. His generation and after grew up with these attacks every few years, and it's hard to overestimate the effect of that on the individual.

'Diary' also feels like a bit of a misnomer, as the text is very careful and detailed. However, Saif is a professional writer, and while he may not have started the diary with the intention of publication it may have been started with his children in mind.

Despite the extremely heavy subject matter, the book went by quickly. Each entry is relatively short and I found it somewhat addictive reading. Saif avoids getting into politics and merely presents the circumstances that he and most other Gazans are trying to live through.

[samsattler · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It is difficult to read Atef Abu Saif’s The Drone Eats with Me: A Gaza Diary and simultaneously keep oneself divorced from the politics that caused the situation to happen in the first place. But that is exactly what Saif, who hardly addresses the cause of the 2014 war that Israel waged in the Gaza Strip, asks his readers to do. Doing so allows the fifty-one days of war he describes in his 2014 diary to be experienced strictly through the eyes of those helplessly caught up in the middle of it all with no place to hide. And that makes The Drone Eats with Me a very effective war memoir.

(But for the sake of context, here are some basic facts as I understand them. In July of 2014, three Israeli teenagers were kidnapped to Gaza by Hamas and brutally murdered there. Then, in response to the Hamas rocket attacks that followed Israeli airstrikes, all-out war began. Fifty-one days later, over 2,000 people were dead – about 1,500 of them civilians – and over 17,000 homes had been destroyed.)

Atef Abu Saif, a respected Arab author of five novels, was born in the Jabalia Refugee Camp in the Gaza Strip in 1973. In 2014, when the fighting erupted, he lived in Gaza with his wife, two young sons, and baby daughter. For the duration of the fighting he, and every other citizen of Gaza, only had to look out their windows to judge how the war was going from one day to the next. But as Saif makes clear in his daily diary entries, that was not the same as understanding why particular buildings and houses became targets of Israeli drone, tank, or naval rockets and others did not. Without that knowledge, civilians were forced to admit to themselves that no safe structure existed anywhere in the Gaza Strip – and that sheer chance was going to determine if they and their families would survive one more day or not.

Amidst all the chaos and death, however, Saif and his fellow citizens show a remarkable durability and a determination to live life as close to normal as possible. They settle into daily routines that give their lives some semblance of structure despite what is happening around them. But it is still war, and it is still unpredictable. Toward the end of the fighting (although he did not know how close the end was when he made the entry), Saif said:

“You need a little luck to get you through war. All wars are unpredictable. You have to learn to live with that unpredictability, subject yourself to its mechanisms, get a feel for it. But on top of this you also need luck. The dead are not military personnel…Most of them are your fellow citizens…You have not made it this far because you are smarter than them or because you took the right precautions.”

There are no good wars, and with The Drone Easts with Me, Atef Abu Saif reminds us of the utter horror of being trapped inside one with no place to hide.

[carkur · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I should begin this review by stating that I am fairly familiar with books and news on Gaza. As a college student focusing on Middle Eastern politics and relations vis a vis the US, the Palestinian situation has been the subject of much discussion. All that being said, this book was a new experience. As is stated in the editor's note at the end of the book, the aim had been to encourage various Palestinian writers to write about the day to day life they lived rather than about the past. This style really made one feel as if they were able to get a glimpse into the way modern war affects civilians. The situation in Gaza is unlike anything else; the author states how Gaza borders the Mediterranean but is forbidden from having a port. It lacks long-term landmarks, as they are frequently targeted by Israel. At times, the book can feel a bit post-apocalyptic, so strange and unfamiliar.

At first, I was frustrated by the number of names (the author seems to have a never-ending list of cousins and friends) and was unable to keep track of what day of the war we were on. As I read, however, I realized there was a point to all this. It shows the monotony of war and the destruction it causes, such that you have no time to get connected to people before they are killed. At times, you only know their name after they are dead.

One of my favorite things in this book was the way in which the author personifies the drones. That much is clear from the title, but the concept remains throughout the book to the very end. The drones are almost like wild beasts controlled by keepers in Israel. They devour their prey hungrily, and are feared almost as if they are themselves alive. The fear that they cause is worth noting; in the West we often hear about drones as a tactic but don't understand the feelings they inspire in the locals, whether or not they are the intended targets of a strike.

Overall, I would say this book is an important addition to any literary study on the Palestinian situation. For another unique perspective, I would recommend "Palestine" by Joe Sacco.

[kimaoverstreet · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Atef Abu Saif is a writer, political commentator, and professor living in Gaza City with his wife and four young children. This book is his war diary, with eloquently written day by day entries written during Israel's 51 day long invasion of Gaza in the summer of 2014.

I read the book straight through in preparation for this review, and I found myself feeling frustrated, worried, and numb. I think an optimal reading would be an entry each day to fully grasp the war's duration and to be able to set savor the beautiful nuggets of prose hidden in each entry.

Regardless of your politics, books like this should be required reading for everyone to understand what is like to live in an attack zone in this era of modern warfare.

[joycebl · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Atef Abu Saif, author of The Drone Eats with Me A Gaza Diary, is a noted Palestinian poet and author. His personal account of the Hamas-Israel war in 2014 is an overpowering account of what life is like in modern war time. Drones watch civilians' every moves and the drone operators sitting at desks in Israel push a button and send rockets into homes and apartment buildings without apparent provocation by those civilians. The helplessness, anger, despair, and terror felt by the residents of the Gaza Strip is portrayed in horrifying detail as their towns, farms, homes and businesses are bombed relentlessly. This account of the war is one-sided and Atef does not attempt to justify or explain the Arab position. His purpose is to show what is happening to the people of Palestine during the recurring conflicts. He does this with clarity and humanity. As hard as this book was to read emotionally, I am glad I did since it brings a crucial perspective to a war that is either ignored or exploited by other media formats.

[thosgpetri · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Israel was created from the land called Palestine. In order to right the wrongs committed against the Jews, the UN created Israel, displacing the Palestinians who had occupied the land for thousands of years. Once again, two wrongs don't make a right. But now the Israelis, forgetting their own history, are determined to wipe out the Palestinians rather than let them share the land that was rightfully theirs to begin with. Always their actions are justified by actions taken by a minority against some Israeli(s). Might makes right, apparently. And the Israelis make sure to show their might at every opportunity. This serves to only to make matters worse. And thus, the story in this memoir shows the effect on everyday Palestinians. It is cruel and only serves to make more terrorists among the Palestinians. When you read this book you realize how helpless and hopeless the people feel, a recipe for the perfect storm. I am convinced that we don't need more aid to Israel, we need aid for both sides in the form of serious peacemaking efforts.

[savta-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

an eye opening view from within the Gaza Strip during the 2014 Hamas-Israeli conflict. we are told how it feels to be constantly watched via a drone as one goes about the daily activities as best as can be done under the unnerving conflict conditions. we learn about the uncertainty of life from someone who has no way of knowing where it would be safe to 'hide' from the missiles and bombs, who doesn't know when there will be electricity, who to believe about cease fires and truce discussions. trying to reassure children, wife, friends, self that there will be an end to the explosions and uncertainties when there is little to go on for that assurance. while reading the diary, it has to be remembered that this is from a limited perspective, but it shows the trauma of that existence, shut off from the world so much of the time, the population feeling "a bit like walking through a tunnel whose length you don't know. There is barely a glimmer of light at the end; when you think you see something, it's just a glint, reflecting the light behind you."
it was very unnerving for me, being set in the uncertainty that over a million people lived in for more than 50 days.
there are no easy answers or black/white explanations for conflicts, just the hope that compassionate and wise people will work out the differences because the ones hurt the most, are not the ones causing the conflict.
this is an ARC received through LibraryThing reviewers grouop

[carolee888 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In The Drone Eats with Me: A Gaza Diary by Atep Abu Saif relates his experience as a civilian and living with his family and trying to survive the drones and tank attacks during July 7, 2014 to August 26, 2015.

The author did not want to write a sensationalized portrayal but instead give a true report of what he as a typical resident experienced. During this period of war, the author lives with his family in the largest refugee camp Gaza, Jabolia. Within this population dense place, his family struggle to have as normal a life as possible. Short and few in number the truces were treasured as times to take care of the things like getting groceries, buying supplies and taking care of tasks that other families take for granted.

The drones are almost always above while his family wakes, get ready for the day and while they eat. In the evenings, there is shelling and bombing. People cannot go to work. It is not safe for children to go to school. The children long for school, they miss their friends and being someplace else besides this apartment. For safety sake, the children sleep in the hallways. They come close to running out food many times. They also need to make sure that they have enough water. The power goes off so they have to improvise. Friends and family may die, your family may not survive.

This book was a very honest and telling report of what it is like to be target of war when all you really want is a normal and safe life. At first, I noticed that the author reported what happen in a sort of a monotone of writing. As more and more of what they were going through was revealed, you could feel the family’s desperation and frustration. Above all you feel how different their life is from ours and we take so much for granted.

I received an advanced copy of this book from the Publisher as a win from FirstReads but that in no way made a difference in my thoughts or feelings in this review.

[kaylayackamouih · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This story of survival has touched me like no other. I always knew I didn't agree with war, but this book illustrated all the reasons I could never quite articulate and it did it in an elegant and engaging way. It's so beautifully written that it makes the horror of war that much more sickening. I found myself shaking with rage. As a white American, I will never truly know the fear that these families felt and continue to feel, but even just reading about it set me on edge like nothing before. This book is genuinely a gem, a glimpse into Gazan devastation and Israel's overwhelming and undeserved military power. I suggest it to anyone and everyone. The physical beauty of Gaza can be destroyed, but it seems that the beauty of the Gazan people and their hope can never be tarnished.

[bookaddict45 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"The Drone Eats With Me" by Ateft Abu Satif is a diary/eyewitness account of the Israel military attack on Gaza from July 7, 2014 until August 26, 2014 in retaliation of three Israeli teenagers who had been murdered. Ateft Abu Satif writes in such a profound, authentic and elegant manner. I really enjoyed reading the book from beginning to end. It was wonderful to learn a bit about Palestinian/Gazan culture, to learn about the history of Gaza and the different neighborhoods/districts and landmarks. As you read the book you will essentially experience every emotion known to mankind even humor. I cannot emphasize enough how wonderful the writing is.
Nonetheless it was hard to read about what Ateft Abu Satif, his family, friends, neighbors and the entire Gazan people went though. How do you continue to live and function as a normal family when chaos and death surrounds you 24/7? Even schools and hospitals were deliberately targeted. What amazes and inspires me the most after reading, "The Drone Eats With Me" is how incredible and resilient the Palestinian people especially the Gazan people are after everything they have been through. It takes a truly astounding group of people to be able to continue living and look forward to the future after the loss of 2,145 loved ones and the complete destruction of 17,200 homes.

[bbrad_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book opens a world that most of us have not seen - Gaza at war. The picture is deeply disturbing. Saif is a 41-year-old Gazan, and his book is a daily journal of his life during the 51-day war with Israel in the summer of 2014. The author is the father of five children, has a Ph. D. in social science, writes a weekly Gazan newspaper column, edits a political journal, opines often on Gazan TV, and is a playwright and a novelist.

His affecting daily entries, from July 7 thru August 26, describe, almost hour-by-hour, the drone strikes, the F16 bombings, the missiles from the sea and the Israeli tanks and troops on the ground. This assault does massive damage to the small strip of land on the Mediterranean coast and its inhabitants. The publisher tells us that 2,145 Palestinians (578 of them children) were killed, 11,000 Palestinians were injured and 17,200 homes were destroyed.

In an area as small as Gaza, families are interlocked, and everyone seems to know everyone else, or knows someone who does. Thus, grief over the dead and injured and the crumbled houses is pervasive. The strikes come without warning at all hours of the day. Every morning the Gazans check the news for familiar names among the victims.

Drones have added a 21st century efficiency to the attacks: "Our fates are all in the hands of a drone operator in a military base somewhere just over the Israeli border. The operator looks at Gaza the way an unruly boy looks at the screen of a video game. He presses a button and might destroy an entire street. He might decide to terminate the life of someone walking along the pavement, or he might uproot a tree in an orchard that hasn't yet borne fruit. The operator practices his aim at his own discretion, energized by the trust and power that has been put in his hands by his superiors."

In addition to the bloodletting, there is the destruction of routine, the almost constant loss of electricity and running water, the disappearance of food from the markets, all making life almost unbearable.

Except for a few days of truce, there is monotony to the destruction, the maiming and the killing. But the author's telling largely avoids the monotony by offering varied vignettes and gripping scenes every day, many of these involving his children and other family members. Saif is a spare and elegant writer: "The pleasure of watching my kids sleep peacefully is no longer possible. Instead, what plays before my eyes are haunting images of the preceding day: a house in the neighborhood struck by a drone; photographs of mayhem posted online by various media; vivid descriptions of destruction from a friend who happened to be an eyewitness. Watching my kids sleep used to be one of my greatest pleasures. . . . But now, looking at my children and thinking they could be dead in a moment's time, that they could be transformed into one of those images on the TV - it's too much."

The one failing of the book, and it is a major one for me, is the complete avoidance of the "Why?" Why is this war happening? What prompted it? What, if anything, could the Gazans have done to avoid it or mitigate it? What are the Israelis saying in justification of it? Some readers, perhaps, follow Israeli-Palestinian politics closely and know the answers to these questions. But the answers should have been given for the rest of us.

"Wednesday, August 13 - Once again, talk about the case-fire is everywhere. Wherever you go, people are discussing it, giving their predictions, offering theories. . . . And it's always the same: countless opinions, hours of argument, days of commentary, weeks of analysis, expert after expert, context after context and no result. Today is the third and final day of the talks."

Please - give us an encapsulation of the theories, of the opinions, of the analysis. Several paragraphs would suffice.

"Sunday, August 17 - I am at the Hona al-Quds TV studio, being interviewed abut life in Gaza during the war and the possibility of a permanent resolution."

Tell us a bit of what you said about a permanent resolution. What could stop this and prevent it from happening again?

Thus, the mastery of this book is lessened by its failure to place the conflict in the big picture, by its failure to deal with motives.