JCONLINE.COM SUNDAY, MAY 19, 2024 1B Sara Shannan heard back from her family in hours. It was December, early in war on their native Gaza Strip, and the col- lege student was 6,000 miles away in Dearborn, Michigan. After barely escap- ing an airstrike that destroyed their Ga- za City home, the bombs were again closing in on her parents and eight younger siblings. By then, 1 in every 200 people in the besieged territory had been killed. Shannan felt sick.
She had to get them out. Four months later, she found herself scanning for her parents in a crowd of travelers arriving at Detroit Metro Air- port. By sheer will, succeeded but the work was far from over. nervous. I feel like dream- Shannan, 27, said outside the doors for international arrivals.
An American citizen with her own young family, Shannan had overcome a labyrinth of government bureaucracy and hurdles to relocate her parents and siblings to Egypt and then facilitate their immigration to the U.S., managing to do so before Israel seized and shut down lone exit route ahead of an anticipated ground invasion of the city of Rafah. It had been a hard-fought marked by unexpected snags and de- lays, requiring the family to pay tens of thousands of dollars in bribes and Shannan to travel to Egypt while six months pregnant, with her toddler in tow. Her ultimate goal to bring the full family to the U.S. remains elusive. Her parents were able to come, but her sib- lings, ages 8 through 26, are still in Egypt struggling to make ends meet while dealing with a visa application process expected to last one to seven years, depending on their age.
Shannan worries about how her par- ents will fare without them in a foreign country, uprooted by war from the only lives known. For now, live with her. feels like a huge she said. puts me under a lot of pres- But on that spring afternoon at the airport, worry gave way to gratitude as her mother and father appeared, smil- ing behind a luggage cart. Shannan hugged them each and bowed, raising their hands to her forehead.
believe her moth- er told her in Arabic. Gazan roots Mona and Ayman Shannan never in- tended to leave the Gaza Strip. In the poor territory made up of mostly refugees of 1948 found- ing, they were among a minority who lived comfortably, with Gazan roots go- ing back numerous generations. inherited from parents the six- story Gaza City residential building where they shared a with their chil- dren, they said. The family business a pharmacy was also inherited.
Ayman, 55, owned and operated its two loca- tions, and previously worked as a drug company rep who often traveled to Europe. Life leading up to the current war had, for them, been simple, very normal, but happy as Mona Shan- nan, 49, told the Detroit Free Press in April with Sara translating. Home where her children orbited her as if she were the sun was her sanctuary. The top three were to be renovated for her adult chil- dren to eventually move in when they had their own families. I go outside the house, I wait to go back because it just feels very peaceful and she said.
Wars with Israel up every few years, but the neighborhood Rimal was upscale, densely populat- ed, and rarely hit. In past Mo- na and Ayman said it had even served as a safe haven for people other areas under bombardment. Everything was turned upside down after Oct. 7, when militants with Hamas, the group controlling the Gaza Strip, killed about 1,200 Israelis at kibbutzim, a music festival and elsewhere. In re- sponse, Israel unleashed an unprece- dented aerial assault, ravaging Rimal al- most immediately.
On Oct. 9, an airstrike destroyed the Shannan family home, splitting it apart and spilling its contents into a sea of dusty rubble, photos shared with the Free Press showed. Soon after, the fam- ily pharmacy was hit, too. The Shannans were unhurt, thanks to what they believed was divine inter- vention. Just hours before the strike on their home, Ayman had relocated them to a nearby place on a The family later south to an ac- building in Rafah, near the Egyptian border.
Focused on their im- mediate survival and half expecting the war to end within a couple of weeks, they took few belongings. They never thought they might not return. War-torn Sara, their eldest, had left Gaza to be with her husband in Dearborn four years earlier, becoming the of her family to immigrate to the U.S and ob- tain citizenship. She was growing her own family and studying computer sci- ence at the University of Detroit Mercy on a full scholarship when the war broke out. Soft-spoken with a inner spirit she often pairs hijabs with a black leather jacket Sara reported feel- ing paralyzed by fear, unable to meet the daily obligations of motherhood and full-time school.
Communications out- ages had reduced her contact with fam- ily to sporadic proof-of-life checks, and sometimes go days without know- ing whether they were OK. Left to in the blanks with news broadcasts, she feared the worst. Single airstrikes were reportedly wiping out whole families as they sheltered togeth- er in Khan Yunis a designated near the city where her family had relocated. Hunger was growing amid a worsening humanitarian crisis, with videos showing desperate Gazans storming United Nations warehouses in search of food. so anxious and so Sara told the Free Press in November.
day gets worse. I wake up multiple times at night if I sleep trying to see if they reply to my Her parents and siblings were spend- ing their nights awake, too, listening to the thunder of distant bombs from a cluster of mattresses situated in the center of their borrowed studio apart- ment. In a recent interview with the Free Press, Ayman explained how they stayed as far as they could from win- dows, where Israeli armed drones known as quadcopters buzzed by al- most nightly. you look out, they will shoot he said of the AI-enabled devices. By day, he and his eldest son made the risky trek out for food and water, sometimes waiting hours and returning empty-handed.
When either was gone too long, Mona quietly feared been killed, but said she did her best to maintain composure for her children. Back in Dearborn, Sara grappled with the uncertainty through prayer. But a few weeks into the a more tan- gible lifeline emerged: The U.S. State Department, she learned, had been helping free family members of Ameri- can citizens from the besieged territory. She started sending emails.
Exit Dear Task Force Team, The tax money my husband and I are paying contributed to the bombing of my family began what would become one of more than a dozen missives to the agency, referencing U.S. and military support for Israel. glad they inside when that happened, can you imagine how would I feel if I knew my tax money mur- dered my family? I contribute to the killing of my family. Let my par- ents and all of my siblings out After several weeks without re- sponse, Sara said, the State Department eventually declined to add her siblings to an evacuation list, citing a guideline that excludes those of U.S. citizens mar- ried and over 21 years old, like her.
She pleaded for leniency, arguing the rules were arbitrary and unfair. As the eldest, she said her siblings were practically her own kids, and that she knew of U.S. citizens had more distant rela- tives released. parents did not initially con- sent to her plan. Even amid food short- ages and the pervasive threat of death, Mona and Ayman were hoping to stay in Gaza and wait out the war.
They had no other home, they explained, nowhere to go. Their prospects in the U.S. were par- ticularly dim; pharmacy li- cense was not transferable, and he said have to go through three years of school to take an equivalency exam. Mona, meanwhile, speak Eng- lish. The calculus shifted as air- strikes closed in on them in Rafah after a temporary in late November.
the night, it was every half hour bomb, bomb, said Ayman. The children were Mona started to hear of acquaintances been killed or lost limbs. When an airstrike destroyed a build- ing about 100 yards from them, killing children, their decision was settled. They told Sara they were ready to leave. Determined to ensure their survival, Sara had quietly continued to press the State Department all along.
And so, on Dec. 10, the agency struck a compro- mise, adding most of her siblings and Mona to the evacuation list at the Rafah border crossing with Egypt. Three family members Ayman and a son and daughter in their mid-20s were, however, not on the list. The State Department provided no explanation for the decision, Sara said, and did not respond to written questions from the Free Press. Unwilling to separate the family, Ay- man scrambled to borrow $20,000 to bribe Egyptian brokers to release the re- maining three.
By Dec. 13, after nine weeks of war, all 10 family members had escaped the Ga- za Strip, physically unharmed. Uncertain future Sara felt a sense of relief she thought possible. She reunited with her family in Janu- ary in Egypt, describing a sense of sur- real bliss as she hugged each member. They spent a night reminiscent of pre- war times strolling central Cairo, posing for photos in front of a water fountain and dining out her treat.
a moment the scars of war she wrote in a journal en- try shared with the Free Press. was a stolen instant of feeling at But, she added, a pressing question lingered: would life return to family members were safe from bombs, but they were jobless and nearly penniless in a country that would not permit them to stay for long. come to Egypt on word that they could get to the U.S. sooner if she immigration paperwork in person. First, help her parents obtain per- manent residency, and once approved, they would petition for her siblings.
If all went accordingly, Ayman and Mona would receive green cards within three months of their arrival and siblings un- der 21 years old within one to two years after that. Those 21 or older, however, would have to wait to seven years, separat- ing the close-knit family in whose cul- ture young adults tend to stay home un- til married. After some hiccups at the U.S. Em- bassy in Cairo, she managed to success- fully submit her paperwork on the last full day of her visit. The battle now shifts to one of pa- tience and fundraising.
Her siblings need a conservative $1,500 per month while in Egypt, where staying in a three-bedroom rent- al apartment they can barely she said. The elder siblings have yet to work, but the low wages go very far a pharmacist, also her eldest specialty, earns about $200 a month, Ayman said. Immigration application costs for up to 10 family members, meanwhile, run into the thousands. Each I-130 Petition for an Alien Relative requires an up to $675 fee and processing each visa costs another $325. There are also ancil- lary costs for medical examinations ($120 apiece), the issuance of passports ($620 in total), plus one-way from Cairo to Detroit, Sara said.
She has launched a GoFundMe Gaza to a New in hopes of raising $30,000. face a terrifying and uncertain the campaign pitch reads. have to begin a new life and forget Three weeks after arriving at the air- port during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, Mona and Ayman Shannan were attempting to adjust to life half a world removed from their children and past. On a Tuesday evening in April, the couple sat with Sara and her husband in the family room of the small Dearborn bungalow they share. Brightly colored Eid decor Sara had hung in hopes of fos- tering a festive mood was still up.
Her 3-year-old son, Hani whose name in Arabic translates to happy ping- ponged between his parents and grand- parents, babbling Mona is hardly able to discuss her plight without crying. Shortly after Sara helped win their release, Mona told her have rather gone down with her bombed house than leave it behind forever. That strong sense of connection to home is a Sara said. Residents, in part due to block- ade of the territory, tend not to leave. not just their home, their Sara said of her parents.
They, like most Gazans, she said, are nected to home, family, and they go work and they come home to their family and everything aspiring Mona ultimately knows leaving was the right choice for her children, she said, but that still struggling to process all lost. literally cannot fathom what is going she said, with Sara translat- ing. time I close my eyes, I ask myself, I still actually here in the United Ayman darkly humored, matter of fact interjected with a laugh and wave of his hand: crying, you have to begin a new life and forget There was plenty to be grateful for, they all acknowledged. They were not only alive, but had just welcomed new life into their family, with second child just born. But Ayman conceded he was strug- gling.
He would soon start work as a pharmacist technician, a professional downgrade he said had cost him his dig- nity. was the manager of two pharma- cies, now I have to work under Ayman said. have to adapt and I know if I will have He and Mona fear never earn enough to sustain their large family. They fear their children over 21 will nev- er make it to the U.S. more bad than the Ayman said of the uncertainty ahead.
the real They all hope for the in Gaza to end and to, someday, return home. guilty that I brought them out of said Sara. know I helped save their lives, and at some point they were asking me to, but now (facing) what comes next and (wishing they) can go back. trying to convince myself and my parents this is only Plan parents are safe, but family is not yet whole After arduous journey, a new start with mixed feelings Violet Ikonomova Detroit Free Press USA TODAY NETWORK Sara Shannan hugs her mother, Mona Shannan, as her father, Ayman, watches after arriving at Detroit Metro Airport from Egypt on March 27. JUNFU FREE PRESS.
