A gift to one in real need

* EDITOR’S NOTE: HUSEIN MASHNI is a former reporter for the Daily

Pilot who covered education. He left to do mission work in the Middle

East and writes occasionally about his experiences.

The road that leads to the house is just sand. No asphalt. Instead

of trees there’s just garbage lining this road.

Isbeh looks like a temporary shelter that was set up a few weeks

ago to help with an emergency refugee crowding situation. But, I

found out, it has been here, in pretty much this same condition for

30 years.

The 8,000 or so inhabitants are refugees who flooded into the Gaza

Strip from Israel during one of the many wars that have visited these

parts. The camp is a stone’s throw away from the Gaza Strip’s

northern border with Israel where tanks are stationed to avoid

terrorist infiltration.

In this, probably the most desperate, corner of the Gaza Strip --

which, in turn is one of the most desperate corners of planet earth

-- lives Asa.

Asa used to work in Israel. He saved his money and built his tiny,

four room, cinder block-walled and corrugated metal-roofed home where

he, his wife and four children -- two girls and two boys -- live. The

kids are all under 5.

He wanted to show me the damage to his house. I came over and saw.

About a week ago, a group of Islamic radicals dressed up as Israeli

soldiers, jumped a few fences and found their way into the Israeli

section of Erez, the border crossing. There they, started shooting,

killing four Israeli soldiers and injuring others before they,

themselves were shot and killed.

One of the infiltrators came from Isbeh where he lived with his

family. Retaliation was swift. Israel sent three bulldozers and a

tank to Isbeh. The houses are pretty small. By the time the

bulldozers finished, eight houses, including the house of the

terrorist were completely leveled. Another 24 were partially damaged.

Asa’s home is one of those 24. He showed me his children’s

bedroom. The metal roof was pried off and the cinder block walls were

cracking.

Asa sent his children and wife to live with his parents while he

tried to fix the house. He went to all the municipal folks, all of

whom offered him reasons why they couldn’t help him.

He then came to me. I don’t like to just give money away. I’d

rather have people work for it but his situation sounded desperate

enough to where I wanted to see for myself.

His wife and kids were home today. They seemed happy to be home.

In the “living room” there was one plastic purple chair that they

insisted I sit on. Asa brought out an old wooden chair that he found

on a garbage heap the day before for himself. They borrowed another

chair from their neighbor to put the tea and peanuts on. No matter

how bad off they are, Arabs always will offer their best hospitality.

Their smiling baby boy, kept pointing to the plate of peanuts for

his father to crack one open for him, which he did.

Asa showed me his children’s report cards which, he proudly

pointed out, had grades in the 90s. The children attend a United

Nations refugee school.

There are two pictures on the wall. I thought one of them might be

his daughter so I asked who it was.

It turned out it was just a picture of a pretty young girl from

the back of some toy box. They got the other picture, also of a

little girl, mostly because of the nice frame. When there’s no money

for food, there’s no money to take pictures of the family either.

Having received some money from Cyprus Christians to distribute to

some of the poor folks in Gaza, I wanted to be sure of who I gave it

to, so I visited Asa’s home.

So many people here are so adept at receiving handouts that you

have to be careful who you give to lest you waste an opportunity to

share the Lord’s love with someone really in need.

What I saw at Asa’s house convinced me the need was real. I told

him I wanted to talk to a few people and that I would get back to

him.

Monday morning he was back. I told him I felt that I could help

him with about $100 or 420 Shekels. He said that would be enough to

buy about three corrugated metal sheets. He needed six. He said he

would try to borrow money from some relatives for the rest. I said

that was fine.

He went out shopping at Souk Ifras, “The Market of Horses” so

called, because every one brings their sales carts to the outdoor

market by donkey. There, he found a metal shop that was selling the

corrugated metal sheets for 75 shekels each -- six for 450 shekels.

We were both happy. I told him this was the favor of the Lord. We

paid a donkey cart rider to carry the sheets to his home about 10

miles away. Before he left he said, thank you. I said it wasn’t from

me, it was from Jesus.

He said thank you to him, too.

Thank you, Cyprus.