Since that time, things have not improved much, and all attempts to peace in the region (always shaky attempts) were frozen. Simultaneously, Israel maintains an organized and illegal occupation. Many of those which stand in its way are put in prison. This work talks about prisons and jails. In the forty eight boxes, we find the burnt wooden silhouettes (faceless, nameless) attached with letters of Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails. Letters with parts that could be read. Surely, they are letters that speak of their daily lives, their worries, asking how are you and what are you doing, enquiring about their children, and women…, letters such as those that could be written by anyone who is away from home and family. Yet these are letters which are confined with them, and the replies, if they arrive, would be read over and over again until they wither, because there in the prison, these silhouettes which bear no name or face, do not allow themselves to forget who they are. Contrary to the official chronicles in the records of prisoners, which Foucault enjoyed investigating; they never rendered anything new about the person, but kept them, as Pardo says, “anonymous”. These letters tell of prisoners and due to them, each one of these silhouettes has a name that will remain in the memory, even if they were written of again (once and a thousand times), the big story.