My sister Islam, who shared my love of tape recording, was diligent, patient, and far brighter than me.
In 1948, my grandfather fled with only a bag of clothes. Last year he fled again—paralyzed, in a wheelchair, and carried aloft by his family.
Hassan Eslaiah was the 215th journalist to be assassinated since October 7, 2023, in a flagrant violation of international humanitarian law.
‘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.’
A birthday celebration for my sister is one modest example of how life endures among broken streets and destroyed structures.
I want to apply for scholarships to continue my education abroad, but will a master’s degree matter if I leave my disabled sister behind?
My cousin Malak has experienced displacement and terrible family loss. Now as she mourns, she longs for someone to listen to her story.
Maybe I would have sat longer in our garden / where jasmine crept up cracked walls / and everything still felt alive.
My grandfather planted a tree in 1998 that, decades later, saved his grandchildren from despair.
Even as I am overwhelmed by this war, I still long to hope, to bring happiness to others, and to make things a little more normal.
What should I carry / in the bag of exile?
We never imagined the day would come when we’d eat a falafel meal with so much eagerness and longing.
