It Started Long Before October 7

What Happened to Sapheia in Gaza, 1950: A Memory

Naher al-Bared refugee camp, near Tripoli (Lebanon), 1952. Photo by Myrtle Winter-Chaumeny.

Magdy Hefnawy is a Muslim Egyptian living in the US. He has given me permission to share his memory of a little girl, Sapheia, he knew briefly in Gaza in about 1950. She was about 4 years old; he was about eleven.

At Magdy’s invitation, I have made slight corrections for clarity, spelling, and grammar purposes. His memory was written after reading a poem by Todd Jenkins.

“Todd, your article made me very emotional and weepy. I read the words several times with sadness and sorrows.

It brought back sad memories of my childhood. I was about 11 years old when my school in Cairo arranged for some pupils to travel to a refugee camp in Gaza to distribute to the kids there what had been collected by our school. Fourteen of us aged 11-13 years old and two teachers got in the school bus with our gifts to start our trip to Gaza.

Two hours later, while we were singing, the bus stopped at a check point before crossing the Suez Canal and four British soldiers got on the bus and yelled at us to stop singing and started searching the bus. They were rough and mean and had an argument with the teachers when the British ordered us to stand up for personal searching. After this terrifying incident, there were two boys crying. I asked our teacher what was going on. The teacher explained that the British are colonizing the country and we had to abide by their rules and restrictions.

In Gaza, we met with UN Refugee agents [the United Nations High Commission on Refugees] who explained to us what we’d be doing during our two weeks there. The situation in the camp and the conditions of the people were dire. Terrible. For a couple of days, I noticed that a young girl, 4-5 years old, waited in the morning until we finished breakfast, then she collected the leftovers. She did the same in the afternoons. She was friendly and very sweet. We all loved her and enjoyed her sitting with us during the mealtimes; she also sang and danced.

Sapheia—that was her name—talked to us about her mom, brother and sister and told us that they were very happy with the foods and clothing that we gave to her for them. One day the mother stopped by our tent to thank us for what Sapheia brought home. She told the teacher that Sapheia was an orphan. The Haganah Jewish [paramilitary] group had attacked the town of Ashkelon, killing Sapheia’s parents and brother. The lady said that she found Sapheia hiding in the bushes a day later. She raised Sapheia with her children and after the Haganah soldiers killed her husband and kicked her and the children out of their house, they all became refugees in Gaza.

I will never forget how Sapheia reacted when I told her that we were leaving the next morning. She cried and screamed very loudly and ran away. Later that morning, I found her sleeping beside the tent. I got back into the tent with a determination to take her with us to Cairo. I shared the idea with the other students and decided to make a place among the luggage in the back of the bus to hide her without the teachers’ knowledge. Before we started the trip back to Cairo, one of the teachers went to the back of the bus and discovered Sapheia hidden among the luggage. She refused to get out of the bus. The teacher forcefully carried her while she struggled to stay in the bus. Sapheia ran after the bus for a long time. That view I can’t forget.

Now I am 84 years old, again helpless watching hundreds of Sapheias being killed every day. Eight thousand Sapheias have been killed in two months.”

Magdy’s memory was posted in response to a poem called “Gaza” written by my friend and colleague, Rev. Todd Jenkins. Todd published it on his blogsite, “tuesdaysmuse.” You can read it here or below. https://tuesdaysmuse.wordpress.com/2023/12/05/gaza/

“A name with so much history,
a name with so much age;
a name with so much violence,
a name with so much rage.

Seventy-six years after
the UN proposed coexistence,
the territory was divided,
amidst a flurry of resistance.

As colonial occupiers tepidly withdrew,
and feigned to hold their breath,
tensions rapidly escalated,
generating violence and death.

Fifty-six years after
the so-called six-day war,
bombs are still exploding
and death exudes even more.

So fitting, isn’t it,
that it’s called a strip,
since many of its inhabitants
had their humanity fully ripped.

Extremism is the cancer of our time.
Its raging fire burns, despite the ruse
that we’re not responsible for the flame.
Moral legitimacy, the lifeline we can’t afford to lose.

No matter what we tell ourselves,
the tree our fearful chop is felling
falls on both us and our neighbor;
there’s no healing without truth-telling.

The question going forward,
if we dare to cock our ear,
is, “Can we learn to live together,
without the hate and fear?”

Continuing our current trajectory
of annihilation any and everywhere;
don’t bother worryin’ ‘bout a future hell,
‘cause I’m pretty sure we’re already there.

© 2023 Todd Jenkins

Photo source: UNRWA Photographs 1950-1978: A View on History or Shaped by History? Palestinian Museum, posted 01/05/2014.