Palestinian doctor Izzeldin Abuelaish came to the world's attention during the recent offensive in the Gaza Strip, when the respected obstetrician, holed up with his family in their home, gave daily interviews from the battle zone on Israeli television and radio.
Then, on Jan. 16, the last day of the offensive, Israeli fire killed three of his daughters. "My God, my girls," Abuelaish wailed that night on Israeli television, decrying the loss of Bessan, 20, Mayar, 15, and Aya, 14, as well as his niece, Nur Abuelaish, 17. Now he is trying to use his fluent Hebrew and English -- and his pain -- to appeal for peace between Israelis and Palestinians. What follows is an edited transcript of an interview he did with The Times' Marjorie Miller.
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I had returned home on Dec. 25 from Tel Hashomer, the hospital where I work in Israel. That day, they had opened the border for humanitarian aid for the first time in more than a month, which made me realize something bad would happen. At 10 a.m. on the 26th, the airstrikes started.
I gave radio and television interviews throughout the operation. We all slept in the salon in the middle of the house, but the night before the shelling began, we couldn't sleep. We were up at 1 a.m. and at 2:30 a.m. I gave a speech by phone to the Jewish community in Pittsburgh. Our neighbors had left, but we stayed in our home. Tell me a secure place in Gaza where I could have fled to protect my children. There was no place. And why flee? Am I militant? Are my children fighters? I would have left my home if there had been a place that was protected. But schools, public places, mosques -- there was no secure place.
During the war, we ate whatever food was available. On the last day, my brother, who had ducks, said we could have them. He and Bessan cleaned them. They cooked duck with rice, and we all ate together. They were happy. Afterward, I sat with the girls in their room and we talked. I had two job offers to discuss with them, one from Toronto University and one from Haifa University. "What would you like?" I asked. Aya said, "I want to fly." I said, "OK, you want Toronto."
It was January and very cold, so I left the girls' room and my sons, Abdullah and Mohammed, and I began to prepare the charcoal so we could have some fire. The girls were sitting in their room, Mayar and Aya in their seats. And the first shell came. I ran back to find Mayar and Nur; their bodies were disconnected from their heads. Their brains and the blood stained the ceiling; they were drowning in pools of blood. I saw my daughter Shadah, her eye coming out and fingers torn. Then the second shell, and I saw Aya lying on the ground, Bessan lying on the ground.
