we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
A young woman enjoys only a fleeting marriage before the war destroys her and the happiness of her family.
Martyr Lolo Akram Herez, March 15, 2023, Gaza City. Photo: Nadeen Said Abo Al Aoun
Lolo Akram Herez, a 24-year-old Palestinian woman, was born in Gaza — a land that has endured more war than peace, more siege than freedom. From a young age, Lolo found solace in the power of words. Her passion for the English language led her to the University of Gaza, where she immersed herself in literature and linguistics.
Our paths crossed in 2018. From the moment we met, an unbreakable bond was formed. Together we navigated the world of academia, attending classes, exchanging ideas, losing ourselves in endless conversations about philosophy and life, and dreaming about the world beyond the blockade that confined us. We laughed, cried, and hoped that one day we would walk under the blue sky, free from fear, anxiety, and uncertainty.
Despite the hardships of our troubled city, Lolo took great pride in her family. She often spoke of her father’s affection and her mother’s unwavering care, their love shielding her like a rare gem. At home, they created a special corner just for her, adorned with her favorite colors — a comfortable space where she could study and dream freely. It was as if they had woven invisible threads of protection around her, a haven untouched by the chaos outside.
But even the strongest walls of love could not shield her from the bombs of war; merciless, indiscriminate, and unyielding. Lolo was the light of her family, a beacon of joy in their home. But war does not tolerate light. It came to steal that joy, to turn laughter into silence, a cruel reminder that in Gaza, even the most precious souls are not spared.
On December 18, 2023, Lolo’s light was extinguished. She was martyred in the relentless genocide that has claimed more than 50,000 souls in Gaza.
Lolo’s essence extended far beyond her academic dedication; she had a vibrant personality and a deep love for life. Music and poetry were her sanctuary, her coping mechanism, and the language through which she poured her heart into the world. She delighted in singing, her voice a melody of longing. She often recited poems about martyrs with a sweetness that could soothe even the most troubled hearts.
I remember how we used to sit in the university alleys, waiting for our lectures. We would gather like a small family, huddled together, sharing stories and laughter. And then, suddenly, Lolo would start singing — her voice soft yet powerful, tender yet commanding. She had a magic that no one could resist. Conversations would fade, and everyone around would listen, as if held captive by a spell woven through her melodies.
Her favorite song was ”My Martyred Moon.” She would sing it over and over, each word laced with deep emotion, as if she knew that one day, she would be a martyr herself.
And I was content when you left me,
You once told me, ‘Wish for something.’
I hoped you would never be absent from me.
Did I kill you, or am I still alive?
Her voice continues to linger like an echo in our hearts, as if it were a part of our lives that can never be erased.
I remember one day in December 2022 we sat together having breakfast, lost in conversation about love and admiration. Lolo’s eyes sparkled as she recalled a family gathering where all her relatives in Gaza, near and far, had come together. Amid the familiar faces, a young man she had never seen before caught her attention. As she moved around, offering refreshments, she found herself stealing glances at him. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake him from her mind.
After the party ended, curiosity got the better of her, and she casually asked her father, while cleaning the dishes, who the young man was. He told her he was Ahmed, a very distant relative and a successful businessman who lived nearby.
She didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Laughing, she joked with me, ”I have been struck by the arrows of love!” She admired him from afar, keeping her feelings locked away, never daring to share them with anyone else. Instead, she whispered a silent du’a (prayer), asking God to bring him to her — never realizing that he felt the same. Destiny had already made its choice.
Ahmed began visiting her family more often, and each visit drawing them closer together. In time, he expressed his feelings to her family, and their love story blossomed, growing from stolen glances to heartfelt promises. Soon, they were engaged, and on October 6, 2023, in a celebration filled with love, joy, and the blessings of their families, they became husband and wife.
On her henna night two days earlier, a cherished pre-wedding celebration, Lolo had ensured that her Palestinian identity was at the heart of the occasion. She wore a breathtaking thobe, a ceremonial Palestinian dress, embroidered with traditional and symbolic patterns.
Lolo’s thobe was a blend of red, white, and gold, each color rich with meaning. Red, the symbol of love and fertility, was believed to ward off the evil eye and protect the bride from harm. White, in contrast, reflected the purity of her heart. Gold represented prosperity. The intricate embroidery was a labor of love, crafted by the women of her family, who wove their prayers into every stitch. They believed the white threads carried divine protection, a silent blessing for her journey ahead.
The thobe Lolo wore on her henna night in Gaza City, October 4, 2023, two days before her wedding. Photo: Nadeen Said Abo Al Aoun
More than just a wedding gown, Lolo’s thobe was a tribute to generations past, a symbol of her people’s heritage. Every detail of the evening — the music, the dances, the henna — echoed her deep connection to the land. She carried herself with radiance and pride, not just as a bride-to-be, but as a living symbol of her heritage, a reminder that the love for Palestine is always present.
On her wedding day, joy and light filled every corner of the celebration. As Lolo stepped into the wedding hall, the bright lights reflected off her white dress, making it shimmer like the night sky. The air was fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers.
Laughter echoed through the hall, mingling with the happiness of friends and family. It was a night of pure joy; one where Lolo felt as though the entire city was celebrating with her. In that moment, every dream she had ever wished for felt within reach, and the path ahead seemed bright, filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities.
At dawn on October 7, Gaza was plunged into tragedy, and Lolo, like countless others, was not spared from the horrors of this deadly Israeli war. The joy of the night before vanished, replaced by fear and devastation, as the world around her crumbled under the weight of violence.
The morning of her first day as a bride was nothing like she had imagined. Instead of waking up to the joyful congratulations of friends and family, the beautiful Palestinian bride was jolted awake by the deafening roar of missiles. In an instant, Gaza transformed from a city of celebration into a battlefield, shattering the illusion of peace she had hoped to begin her new life in.
Lolo was no stranger to war in the Gaza Strip. During her short life, she had survived several wars, each one leaving a scar, yet she always found a way to keep going. Like the rest of us, she believed this war would be like the ones before, brutal, terrifying, but temporary. She thought it would pass, allowing her to return to the life she had just begun.
I was in constant contact with Lolo during those first days of war. The last time we spoke, she told me she had managed to reach her family, but the connection was now completely lost. She asked me to call her 10-year-old sister, Layan, to reassure her that everything would be OK.
But as the aggression intensified, communication with her parents became difficult, their voices fading into the distance as chaos consumed the city. In her last call to her mother, she said, ”Mama, I’m scared. I wish we were together, I will come with Ahmad to see you as soon as things calm down.”
She did not know that it would be her last call. Her last unfulfilled promise.
The day of that final phone call, life took a harrowing turn. Stability abandoned Lolo and her husband; fleeing from missiles became their daily existence. For the next few weeks, they moved from one packed house to another, staying with relatives and friends, in places where they could no longer remain together. Every night, Lolo worried about where they would seek refuge the next day, and hoped that this would end soon, and she could be safe with her Ahmad.
On their last day, they were taking shelter with Lama, Ahmad’s cousin, in a house packed with more than 40 people. When the missiles struck, panic gripped the room, everyone huddled in the shadows, desperately seeking cover from the bombardment. The air was thick with dust and destruction, every explosion shaking the earth beneath them. The sounds of collapsing buildings merged with the roar of rockets, wailing sirens, and the cries of people in the streets.
In the chaos, Lolo caught sight of Ahmad. They ran together, searching for a place to hide from the next missile. Terror filled the air, yet she clung to hope, forcing herself to stay calm despite the devastation unfolding around them.
She turned to Lama, who was there with them with two of her three children, and whispered that time felt unbearably slow, as if each moment could be their last.
Al-Qadar (destiny) had written that these would be her last words. Lolo and her husband, who had been forced apart in life during their final days, were reunited in martyrdom.
Death came swiftly, claiming Lolo’s life along with the dreams of happiness she once held so dearly. In a single moment, war erased them both, as if their love, their future, and their story were nothing more than a fleeting whisper lost in the annals of time.
Lama survived, carrying the heavy burden of recounting the final days of Lolo’s life to Auntie Fatima, Lolo’s grieving mother.
More than a year later, Auntie Fatima, still waits, holding on to a fragile illusion that her daughter may not be dead, that she could still return. She longs to hear Lolo’s voice, to see her walk through the door and share the stories of a married life that lasted in peace only one day. How can a mother accept the unthinkable?
It took a long time for me to learn what had happened. For more than two months, communication was cut off. The occupation had blocked all communication, severing our last ties to one another. When I finally found an internet connection, I made endless attempts to reach Lolo, but as the days passed, my efforts remained in vain.
Then, late in January 2024, I finally got through to Lolo’s sister, Layan. Her voice, heavy with sorrow despite her young age, confirmed what I had feared. ”May God have mercy on her,” she said softly. ”She was martyred; she promised me she would come back and bring me my birthday gift.”
The news hit me like a thunderbolt — the world around me blurred, my heart shattered. My beautiful friend was gone, her life stolen like so many others, becoming yet another story that Palestinians share at dinner tables.
But what comes next? What is the next story? The next lesson the world will ignore? And how long will this silence continue?
