‘I want to read and write. That is my future. I want to be an astronaut, to fly above all this.’
My two childhood companions were martyred within a day of each other. Where is humanity? Where is global conscience?
Lamia Hatem, who founded the first school for the children of martyrs in Gaza, is both mother and teacher to her students.
‘I can still hear their cries when we left the house,’ says Mera. ‘I tried to hold them, to tell them everything would be fine — but I couldn’t believe it myself.’
In Gaza, peril surrounds pregnancy, birth, and infancy. Parents wonder how much longer their children will be denied the right to live in safety.
The vocabulary of my younger sister, born in 2023, is laced with words of destruction.
A birthday celebration for my sister is one modest example of how life endures among broken streets and destroyed structures.
Lonely, I walk through my sorrowful land / Where dreams are throttled by a harsh hand.
You scroll and witness a child chasing a water truck / your heart shatters in the silent chase.
Stolen childhoods remain lost forever, and broken souls carry wounds that time cannot heal.
She wished she could tuck Janan back into her womb / hide her from the world’s cruelty, keep her safe.
For my brother Hassan, the sounds of war are a full-scale physical and psychological assault, trapping him in a state of constant terror.
