My name Haim Hoter. I was born in the Giv’at Haim transit camp in 1952.

My older sister was kidnapped when she was a year and a half old. She was born in Yemen and my family immigrated to Israel when she was a year and a half old. They arrived at the Ein Shemer transit camp. At the transit camp they gathered a few women, brought them to the clinic, took their children and told them they needed to be tested.

The mothers waited there all day and all night, and in morning they were told that the children were not feeling well so they were taken to the hospital. They were not told which hospital, but the guards told them—if they did take the children, they probably took them to a hospital in Haifa, to Rambam.

When my father and the other parents heard the story, they wanted to go to Rambam, but they were not allowed to leave the camp. You could not leave the camp—the guards threatened them with weapons and told them they must not leave the camp.

My father, who was a young man, jumped over the fence and went to Pardes Hanna. There he asked where his daughter was, and was told she was in the hospital in Haifa. At the last moment the police caught him and brought him back to the camp, and told him that if he were to leave the camp again—he would be shot.

After two or three days all the parents were informed that their children had died. The child was not sick, she was completely healthy and all the other children were too. They asked for the bodies and were told they were buried in Haifa. There was a great commotion and the parents were very upset. The parents protested and tried to leave the camp but could not—they were repeatedly threatened with weapons and barred from leaving the camp. There was no one to talk to. My mother says there were about 15-17 children, and they told everyone the children had died.

My parents moved to the Giv’at Haim transit camp. My second sister was born there and my parents hid her under the bed in an orange crate. My mother refused to go to the hospital and her friends from the community delivered her baby. I was also born in a tent, and I was also hidden under the bed in an orange crate. Until the age of four we would sleep under my mother’s bed because she was afraid we would be kidnapped. Our parents did not receive food and clothes subsidies for us because they were afraid to officially declare that we were born—out of fear that we would also be kidnapped—and the family in essence subsisted without enough food throughout that time period.

Only at the age of 12 did we go to the courthouse in Netanya, along with other witnesses, to testify that we were the children of Ziona and Yosef Mansour from Elyakhin. Only then were we registered in our parents' identity cards. Throughout these austere times, our parents did not receive benefits for us.

My parents went to the investigation committees but nothing came of it. The last investigation committee said they found graves in Haifa, but they dug up the grave and found nothing there—no bones or anything. Babies’ bones are usually preserved for thousands of years. Even today we as archaeologists find bones that have been preserved for thousands of years.

Because of the trauma my mother was not willing to take any of her children to the health clinic. Instead the nurse would come to our house. My sister must be 66 or 67 years old. My mother used to say she looked like my sister Leah. My parents have passed away—my father a year ago and my mother two years ago, with great sorrow.

When my son Gabriel was murdered 13 years ago in Otniel, my mother told me that Gabriel was gone, but that she still had hope that her daughter was alive, and that I might get to see her. My mother cried for both of them until the day she died.

*Videography and photography — Alchi Salomon

Thanks to Carmit Hoter