A Letter to Gaza
With All My Love
I am drenched in sorrow as I write this. “Write something light”, a voice inside of me whispers. “Please talk about love, of dreams, of friendship, of connections that fill your soul to the brim”, it pleads. “I cannot process the news today”, it cries out in overwhelming pain.
But how can I when my feed is full of images and stories from Gaza, and the news today is of a devoted father being snatched away from a loving daughter and son.
I know this pain too well. This kind of pain does not come alone. It brings with it the kind of grief that continues to wash over you with no warning for the rest of your life. The kind that never truly leaves a child. Time does not heal this kind of grief. It only makes it sting more. I know it really well. I have been living with it all my life and have watched it become more unbearable with each passing year.
Only mine did not come hand in hand with a genocide, with starvation, with bombs raining down upon me and everyone I care about. It did not come with the threat of total annihilation of my people, of me losing my land, my home and everything else that I hold dear. My heart is horrified at the depravity of the society that I am a part of. How can we inflict so much pain on children?
This is not politics to me. This is about love. A love for freedom. For harmony. For peace. For joy. I cannot accept a world where innocent people are deprived of their dignity, the children of their childhood, mothers of nurturing, fathers of providing, a people of their land, and a land of its people, its trees, and its life.
When I opened my social media today, I prayed that the link shared by Dr. Ali, a Gazan doctor, was to promote Anas Al-Sharif’s Instagram page. Anas, a journalist in Gaza, who could have fled the genocide for his own protection since he worked for a popular news outlet. But he chose to stay instead and report on what the leaders of our world and our silence are doing to his land and his people.
He was murdered today, along with the rest of his team. He was expecting this. He was on a hit-list for over a year now. Some say that the reason he wasn’t targeted earlier was because of his huge social media following, but now with Israel’s plans for the total occupation of Gaza, it was riskier to leave him alive to report on the final stages of this genocide.
Dr. Ali, in one of his stories today, mentioned how their martyrdom would’ve come easier if we didn’t know about them. They would’ve been killed quickly at a much faster rate. It’s a statement made out of well-earned exhaustion and agonizing frustration. It seems like our leaders want Palestinians to die a slow death just so they do not have to face the utter depravity of their existence.
I’m not entirely new to this. I know how little of an impact my platform has. A part of me just wants to hug all the children who have lost their parents and families and tell them that they are not alone. I want to mourn with the parents whose arms are now empty because all their children have been martyred. I want to support the men and women of Gaza that have, despite everything, continued to show up for their people. I want the people in Gaza to know that they have my love and my support.
But I am also aware of the fact that my words can’t provide safety, nourishment, anesthesia and other medical and hygienic necessities that are so desperately needed. If I could replace my words with those, I would.
I wish sometimes that I never knew any of you because that would’ve meant you are safe and free. The words of a child from the early days of this genocide keep echoing in my heart. He was standing on rubble of a building destroyed by Israel and screamed, “I wish this was a dream”. I wish for the same.
We all know too well that there is no going back to the “normal life” after what we have witnessed. Even our souls will carry the burden of this genocide to the other realms. And our children will carry it in their DNA for generations to come, if we somehow manage to survive this madness.
But I cannot give up. I want people in Gaza to know that they are more than just collateral damage. They are loved. They are not alone. They are not crazy for resisting. So, I keep going. Keep praying. Keep wishing. Keep hoping. Just as I hoped that Dr. Ali’s link to Anas’s Instagram was simply to promote his profile. All of Dr. Ali’s stories revolved around Anas, which worried me, but I hoped he was trying to raise awareness of the danger Anas was facing. There was a picture of Anas. Then a picture of Anas with his two beautiful children. Then a message Anas had shared only an hour ago. And then came the news I was terrified of - Anas and four other journalists on his team were targeted and martyred.
I cannot do much more than witness the many horrors you are facing in Gaza. I will never forget the press conferences held by children pleading with us to let them live, or the children dying of heart attacks due to the sheer terror caused by the occupation. I will never forget Reem, and her grandfather, Uncle Khaled. His words, “soul of my soul” will never leave me. Hind Rajab’s voice will forever echo in my heart. I will not forget the preemies that were left to die a slow death after the occupation’s army forcibly evacuated a hospital. Or the beheaded and charred babies. Or children wishing for death just so they can finally have an apple in heaven. An apple that they plead to their mother not to make them share.
I know painfully well that my words are not enough. But I cannot give up. We cannot give up. The greatest cruelty is to look away, and to remain silent.
I will keep witnessing and talking about you, so that no one can say they did not know.
Beautifully written, and I think it captures the overwhelming sadness and sheer helplessness so many of us feel.