Note from the international director of We Are Not Numbers: One of our writers from Lebanon, Huda Dawood, recently wrote for the first time about the death of her father three years ago. Ibrahim Dawood was born in Gaza, but had left when he was 17 to join the Palestinian resistance. He ended up staying in Lebanon, and did not return to Gaza until 45 years later, when he and Huda’s mother used the “illegal” tunnels from Egypt to reunite with Ibrahim’s family at last. He had a heart attack there and died, and Huda never saw him again. She can’t even visit his grave, since he was buried in Gaza. In solidarity, several of We Are Not Numbers members from Gaza trekked to the Martyrs Cemetery in Rafah to pay him tribute.

I was a bit hesitant to join the WANN team in its visit to Huda's father's grave, because I had never visited a cemetery before and it sounded so creepy to me. I was afraid to enter a place where dead people live. I thought about apologizing and not going, but something told me to go. I knew it would please Huda, one of the greatest new WANN members.

Despite the long distance to Rafah from Gaza City (close to an hour) and the recent heavy rains, we made it there and we were met by two of Huda’s cousins—without whom we would never have found his grave. The cemetery is so huge. When I first stepped inside the cemetery, I immediately lost that strange feeling of fear. It was not creepy as I thought it would be, but a large park shining with beautiful light and bright, colorful trees.

It was hard to walk easily because the cemetery was crowded with so many tombs, although it occupied a very big piece land. I could not help but also glance at the gravestones as we walked along, and I noticed that a large number of people buried there had died at early ages, like their 20s and 30s. That’s why it is called the Martyrs Cemetery; most of those young people were killed during Israeli assaults.

At last, we found the tomb of Huda's father. He was resting in peace between his family members in the midst of a field of martyrs. We put flowers on his grave and prayed to Allah that her father was resting in His mercy; we read the Al-Fateha, as we Muslims usually do when someone dies. (At-Fateha is the first chapter [Surah] of the Quran. Its seven verses are a prayer for the guidance, lordship and mercy of Allah.) Even though Ibrahim Dawood is now dead, his soul is free, flying away from the misery of the Israeli occupation and its inhumane consequences. He is now in an eternal heaven and protected rest.

When it was time to leave the cemetery, I felt a little sad; it was such a comfortable place. I know it is awkward to say that a cemetery is “comfortable,” but it was for me—my first visit and surely not the last. 

Posted February 3, 2016