July 28, 2014

God, if my fate is to die tonight, please make it as soon as possible. If my soul is to ascend to its creator, please put my heart to rest and grant it the freedom to do so. Anything, even death itself, is better than the torment of expecting death with every breath.

It was the hardest night, a night when death was just around the corner, a night I wished for the first time to taste death instead of feeling it hover like a ghost, a night of such darkness even the dimmest of lights were not visible. I stole a look from a small crack in the window, only to see that the whole city was drowning in darkness, seconds after missiles had targeted the electrical power plant, which was not far from my home. It felt like I was a confused child who loses the ability to find the right way to her mother's embrace when she is suddenly lost in a crowd. But my mom was not there. I usually grab her shoulder to feel the warmth of her safety. She is a “home” where I can shed my fears and find solace.

I became nervous and started shouting, "Wait for me! I can't find my praying dress. Don't leave me alone here; wait!" I used to keep my praying dress beside me in case we were obliged to flee. But when I tried to fetch it and follow my family downstairs, it was not there; or maybe it was, but I was too agitated to think rationally. I was shouting while ran about touching things to find the dress, until I felt my father's hand grabbing me by the shoulder, pulling me downstairs. My three little siblings (ages 6, 8 and 10) were in my mom's lap, clutching her clothes. I leaned near her, wishing I could hide myself in her embrace. I wanted her to hug me tightly until I could feel her close to my heart and I could hear her heart beating, drowning out the bombing.

Is the next bomb going to find its way to my home? If it didn’t, it would target someone else's and the victim might be a father, a mother, a child or a whole family! I am not selfish. I don't want anyone else to get hurt, but I wanted my family to survive. I was terrified by the idea of being left behind without having my family around. My eyes were exhausted and blurry, yet unblinking; I couldn’t get any sleep for several nights. I wanted to sleep, but I didn't want to die while sleeping; I wanted to die with my eyes open.

Still grabbing onto my mom's hand, I laid my head on her shoulder and listened to the sound of bombing, while the radio announced that the area where my family lives was heavily under attack by tank bombs. Panic hung in the room until my father said, "We have to leave right now. What are we waiting for?!" The sky was filled with warplanes and we could guess they were not that far from us. The whole city turned into a ghost town, since no one would risk going out. No one listened to my father because we knew he realized the danger of fleeing. There was no safe escape. We were awaiting our fate.

I had experienced fear and fatigue since the first moment of the Israeli aggression that summer, but this night was unprecedented in its fierceness, only hours after 10 little children were killed while playing in a park. F16s hit them with at least two missiles. Even after two previous wars, I never dreamed that fear would take control of every atom of me and paralyze my ability to act or think. It was a night of nothing but thoughts of misery, which carved its path through our hearts and minds. My only hope was that I might be shaken awake with the words, "It is all over now; it was a nightmare and it’s gone forever."

I tried to distract myself by texting my friends. "Forgive me if I ever did you wrong," I wrote. Some chose to console me by saying we were going to survive this war as we did the last two; some insisted that I flee our home along with my family and be their guest. Some tried to make me relax by telling jokes and planning what to do when we came through this ordeal alive. I felt relieved that there were other people feeling my pain and who would cry over my grave, listening for my name among the martyrs.

It was 4 a.m., my weary body ignoring my will to stay awake as if it wanted to put my heart to rest, to grant my mind mercy from all of the thoughts rushing through it. I fell asleep, hoping to awaken to news of a truce agreement. I slept for two hours or even less. Daytime is better than a calm night, let alone a dark, terrifying one! I opened my eyes to see my family still sound asleep after the depression and agony of the night.

It was another day, about to begin. What would it hold?

Mentor: Pam Bailey
Posted March 19, 2016