Al-Mu'tasim Khalaf – "faraamaai" – April 1, 2024
The moment of clarity that the occupation persistently seeks to obscure is the Palestinians' awareness of their fate. Since the Israeli aggression on Gaza following the "Al-Aqsa Flood" operation, the occupation has imposed a reality of continuous disappearance on Palestinians through arbitrary detention campaigns. These detentions have reached 7,755 cases since the October 7 operation, according to the Palestinian Prisoners’ Club Association. Meanwhile, Haaretz reported a 150% increase in detainees from Gaza in Israeli prisons between the end of 2023 and early 2024.
This critical juncture in Palestinian lives extends into the prisons, creating an ongoing attempt to separate two distinct timelines: one for the prisoners inside the detention centers and another for their families who witness and read the shocking statistics about the occupation’s brutal practices. These include increased instances of torture, solitary confinement, and systematic medical neglect, all aimed at isolating prisoners from their environment.
This deliberate temporal disconnection, achieved by severing the ties between prisoners and their families, has forced the families into a double struggle. Understanding this struggle requires grasping the long, inevitable experiences of families who have fought tirelessly against the occupation. In this context, Read With Me conducted interviews with Sanaa Salama, the wife of prisoner Walid Daqqa, and Randa Musa, the wife of martyr prisoner Khader Adnan, to explore the shared struggle between prisoners and their families.
Walid Daqqa, the sixth longest-held Palestinian prisoner, has spent 39 years in detention, over half his life. Together with his wife, he fought a 12-year battle to be allowed to have a child. This culminated in the successful smuggling of sperm and the birth of their daughter, Milad Walid Daqqa, defying the constraints of the occupation's timeline.
Khader Adnan waged a different battle with his empty stomach against the occupation’s arbitrary arrests and administrative detention. Arrested 13 times, he spent a total of eight years in prison before martyring on May 2, 2023, during his sixth hunger strike.
As Daqqa once said, "The essence of struggle lies in maintaining the ability to question, even amid imprisonment and siege."
Sanaa, the occupation has imposed harsh measures against Walid Daqqa. What are the latest updates on his health?
As everyone knows, there has been no direct communication with Walid so far. The only means of contact is through lawyers. Since the beginning of the aggression on Gaza, he has been classified by the Israeli Prison Service as one of the prisoners banned from visits. He has only been visited twice in six months, the second time being just yesterday after multiple petitions and court hearings, during which lawyer Nadia Daqqa was finally able to see him.
Walid remains strong and resilient, as we’ve always known him to be. However, physically, his condition is dire. His health is extremely complicated due to the conditions of imprisonment and isolation, which only worsen his situation.
We feel like we’re racing against time. Every hour and every day makes a significant difference. If Walid were freed today, much could be done for him. But we truly don’t know how long his body can endure under these conditions if his detention continues.
His biggest challenges now are medical. In addition to the almost complete removal of his right lung, he has heart muscle issues and cancer. His health is precarious, requiring special care. Any additional health complication could completely worsen his situation. For instance, he has a kidney stone, yet no effort has been made to perform a simple procedure to break it, which could prevent potential kidney failure.
You’ve fought alongside Walid for many years. In your view, what is the occupation trying to achieve with its escalated measures against Palestinian prisoners since the "Al-Aqsa Flood"?
One of the main objectives of the Israeli Prison Service today is to completely isolate prisoners from the outside world, to crush their morale and destroy their psychological balance. Humans cannot endure prolonged solitary confinement. This is the immediate and primary weapon the prison authorities wield.
Internally, they escalate the war on prisoners by raiding their cells with live ammunition and confiscating everything prisoners have gained through years of hunger strikes and resistance. For Walid, 40 years of achievements by the prisoners' movement have been seized—TVs, food, utensils, and stationery. From Walid’s cell, they even confiscated the photo of our daughter, Milad. He now has no pictures of her.
Your resilience reflects Walid’s steadfastness in prison. How would you describe the relationship between the prisoner’s struggle inside detention and the fight waged by their families outside?
When someone believes in their right, defending their basic human existence and dignity, they naturally gain complete faith in the justice of their cause. In our ongoing struggle, we will not allow the occupation to take from us what it desires. We will hold onto our rights and defend them, and this is a cause we will never abandon.
I vividly remember the period after Milad was born. The feeling of building a family, of Walid and I loving each other, getting married, and dreaming of having a child like any family. When Milad was born, the overwhelming attention made me feel like I had accomplished something extraordinary. Yet deep down, I knew what I did was not extraordinary—it was simply a natural right, one granted even to the stray cats in our streets. This experience made me realize the importance of insisting on our right to a normal, logical existence. Because we are Palestinian, the world portrays us as heroes for claiming basic rights. Personally, I will never stop doing everything possible to fight for our rights—for our freedom and Milad’s right to live like any other child.
After all these years and struggles, where do you draw your strength to continue?
Walid is now entering his 39th year in prison. I’ve learned so much from him—his resilience, strength, and creativity in resistance without resorting to grandiose slogans. Walid inspires me immensely, and he says the same about me.
Resilience cannot be achieved through rhetoric alone; it requires the presence of someone who provides strength. Walid and I complement each other in this regard, and I am confident that we will meet again. The occupation is doing everything it can to prevent Abu Milad (Walid Daqqa) from walking out of prison on his own two feet, but I am certain he will, and I believe he will never let us down.
Forgetfulness.
Forgetting them, getting used to their imprisonment.
Forgetfulness betrays the prisoners and their families, even by their closest relatives. Walid wrote about this idea and called it “the nightmare,” recounting a dream where he met young men from his hometown and told them he was Walid Daqqa, but they didn’t recognize him. He mentioned his father’s name and home address, but the young men insisted they knew the house and family, listing all his siblings’ names except his.
This is what truly betrays a prisoner: being forgotten. A prisoner’s strength lies in their connection to the outside world. The greatest victory for the prison authorities is breaking prisoners through isolation, severing their ties with the outside.
"I send you these words as my flesh and fat dissolve, my bones erode, and my strength wanes in my prison in beloved Ramleh, our genuine Palestinian home. This is my will to my family, children, wife, and my people."
Khader Adnan, a martyr who waged a long struggle against the occupation, lived a life of resilience and sacrifice. I was with him during his long journey. There are countless unforgettable moments, but the most memorable was his first hunger strike, which ended in victory. It was a monumental moment for us, especially since it was his first experience. As his wife, I was terrified of losing him, but he went on to wage five more hunger strikes. Even during the final strike, I never imagined I would lose him.
His first hunger strike lasted 12 days in the Palestinian Authority’s prisons, just days before his renowned "empty stomachs" strike. During his time as a fugitive from the Israeli occupation, he told me that if arrested, he would go on hunger strike. I believed in every step he took because he was a source of inspiration to me. I never doubted he would emerge victorious, even during the most severe moments of his strikes. I remember visiting him once and being arrested and interrogated by the occupation forces, who pressured me to ask Khader to end his strike, claiming he would lose his ability to father children. Later, we were blessed with seven children.
The occupation is attempting to break people’s spirits. Many leaders in the West Bank have stepped aside out of fear of arrest, as current detentions are more humiliating than ever. Sheikh Khader Adnan’s greatest fear was that we would reach a state of self-defeat, allowing the occupier to feel that its policies were effective and just.
Today, we are in dire need of every free breath, every person capable of mobilizing the streets against the occupation’s actions. What is happening in prisons and the brutality we witness and hear about against male and female prisoners are all attempts to suppress the streets and sow despair among families and leaders. This is what the occupation seeks: to perpetuate a cycle of fear and anxiety.
Sheikh Khader Adnan always said, "The occupation can arrest us at any moment, whether we resist or not. Therefore, we must resist as if we might be arrested every day." I am deeply disheartened by the current reality in the West Bank. Why do we demand Arab countries act to stop the aggression when the West Bank remains silent? If the West Bank is silent in the face of what is happening in Gaza, our turn will come, and we will once again chant, "Where are you, Gaza? Come on!" There must be a more honorable stand from the West Bank.
This is both my message and that of Sheikh Khader Adnan. We bring our young children to the streets to send a message to all prisoner families: bring everyone, young and old, to the public squares. We aim to assert our rightful claim and our determination to fight for it, generation after generation. By including our children, we emphasize that they are our legacy and our future weapon to end this occupation.
At the memorial service, I said, "Remember my children’s faces well," to tell the occupier that we have an unforgotten vendetta. I made sure my children were not distanced from the events, the struggle of their father, the suffering of the people, and the pressures imposed by the occupation.
Disloyalty.
Disloyalty deeply wounds prisoners and their families. Sheikh Khader and I exhausted all avenues with various entities, only to realize that in our time of need, we stood alone.
The day before Sheikh Khader Adnan’s martyrdom in Ofer Prison, I asked everyone not to chant, "Rest, O martyr, we shall continue the struggle," because I saw the signs of martyrdom and departure on his body and in his words. Yet no one moved.
This article was written before the passing of prisoner Walid Daqqa.
This piece was produced with support from the “Alternative Academy for Arab Journalism,” overseen by February, a network of independent Arab media organizations, in collaboration with -faraamaai – The Independent Arab Media Platform.”