Israel's explosive robots: 'They turn night into day'
Israel's explosive robots: 'They turn night into day'
Editor’s note: The following is a personal account of Palestinian journalist and MEE contributor Ahmed Dremly, who is based in Gaza City, as told to MEE’s Jerusalem bureau chief Lubna Masarwa. It has been edited for brevity and clarity.
The sound of their explosion is, without doubt, the most terrifying noise in the world.
Even thunder, in its most violent moment, doesn’t come close to the sound an Israeli explosive-laden robot makes when it detonates.
I’m talking about decommissioned armoured personnel carriers - packed with explosives and remotely operated - which Israeli forces have been using widely across Gaza City in recent weeks.
First, you feel it. A deep vibration. The air being sucked out around you.
Then the blast wave hits - often from behind - like a massive shove you never saw coming.
Even two or three kilometres away, you’ll feel it in your bones.
Something shifts, like the world’s about to crack open.
And then the sound hits you. So loud it drowns out thought. So loud you want to scream, just to prove you still can.
It’s like when one is holding a glass and they drop it right next to your head, an absolutely terrifying noise. Maybe the most terrifying sound in life is that robot detonating.
The house shakes for a few seconds after the blast.
Everything stops
If I sense a blast is coming, I try to turn something loud on to disperse the sound.
I open my mouth to release the pressure. I try to brace myself, to imagine the blast before it happens, so it won’t come as such a shock.
Because when one of these explosive-laden robots detonates, everything stops.
It feels like death - and yet you’re still standing, waiting for the next one
Whether you’re drinking, eating, or walking, you freeze. For a few seconds, you’re unable to comprehend what just happened. You stand there, paralysed.
You can’t believe you’ve survived.
It feels like death - and yet you’re still standing, waiting for the next one.
In recent days, the blasts haven’t come one at a time. They now happen in quick succession - two, sometimes three detonated together. Yesterday, there were three in a row. The noise was overwhelming.
It’s not just frightening. It’s physically painful.
Your head throbs for hours. Something feels wrong inside you.
You feel your life is in immediate danger - as if the blast could tear your body apart. Tear your head from your shoulders.
Night into day
You learn to recognise when a robot’s about to detonate - it turns night into day.
Last night, I was out on the street just past midnight.
I saw fire erupt into the sky - like a volcanic blast, like something from Hiroshima or Nagasaki. A scene straight out of a weapons test, with a towering blaze surging upwards.
It’s become a familiar sight now: fire rising into the sky, the whole horizon glowing red.
At that moment, I knew it was a robot. I was standing in the middle of the street. I ran to the nearest wall, dropped to the ground, and covered my head with my hands.
Three days ago, the same thing happened - this time around 5:30 in the morning.
I was at the window when the fire suddenly shot up. I dropped to the floor, hands over my head - then the blast came.
A minute later, another. And another, a minute after that. All of them in Tal Al-Hawa, in southern Gaza City.
And when do they detonate the robots? In the afternoon? No, they detonate at dawn. At 3am.
And the air strikes? They start at six in the morning. So you never sleep.
