Dear Jumana,

My beloved friend, you could never imagine what my days are like without you. How could you imagine the depth of my longing, the endless ache that follows me wherever I go? I miss your gentle kiss. I miss your warm touch. Please, come back to me. I would bring you all the apples and carrots you love, just to have you by my side again. I live in the hope — no, in the dream — that we will meet again one day.

Yours, Bashar 

Bashar Iyad Alkrunz, 20 years old, is a student of Press and Media at Al Azhar University. He is an athlete; he loves swimming, playing football, and riding horses. When Bashar was 7, he joined Al-Faris Palestinian Club to train with horses. Horses were not just animals to him; they were companions, and working with them gave him a way to channel his energy and love. He spent countless hours grooming, feeding, and training them, finding the unspoken trust they shared, each session a wordless conversation bridging two worlds.

After Israel’s 2014 war on Gaza, Bashar moved to Al Aseel Club, which was closer to his home. The club bought a young mare, only 2 years old. She was wild, unpredictable, and almost impossible to handle. Bashar named her Jumana, and she became his responsibility, his friend, and in many ways, his source of strength.

Their bond was unique, and she quickly became attached to him. Bashar discovered that Jumana craved apples and carrots, so every morning he would go to the club, carrying her favorite treats. She recognized him from afar, as soon as she heard his voice or smelled his cologne. She would neigh, filled with excitement. When she saw him, she would greet him by nodding her head and “kissing” him. Bashar would then feed her apples and carrots, watching her happily munch away before they began their training session.

After a year, the club closed, unable to succeed because of other nearby clubs. Bashar returned to Al-Faris Palestinian Club; he couldn’t imagine leaving Jumana behind, knowing how special she was and how much potential she had. He suggested bringing Jumana to the club. The manager, aware of Bashar’s talent and connection with the horse, trusted him, and Jumana was brought to the club. The reunion between Bashar and Jumana was powerful. It was not just a horse and rider relationship anymore; it was something far deeper, something that had grown over the years.

Bashar and Jumana spent their days together, and they won every competition they entered. In 2015, when Bashar was 11 years old, they won first place in a special competition. As such a bonded pair, these strong results were even more thrilling. Over these years, Bashar grew up with Jumana, and so did his love for her.

Although he rode other horses — Frankel, Alexandro, Asef, Noor, Albatool, and Everest — Jumana remained irreplaceable. She was stunning, with her glossy brown coat and long, straight mane. She was strong and graceful, and their bond ran deeper than any Bashar had even with his family.

On October 7, 2023, Bashar brought Jumana her favorite treat, apples and carrots, hugging her without knowing it would be their last embrace for a long time. As the situation in Gaza worsened, orders came to evacuate to the south, and Bashar couldn’t say a proper goodbye to Jumana. He couldn’t take her with him, as she belonged to the club, and so, heartbroken, he left Gaza City, leaving his soul behind with her.

When he reached Al-Bureij camp in the south, Bashar began his desperate search for Jumana. He hoped that someone, a trainer or a friend, might have taken her south as well. By January 2024, Bashar had moved to Rafah, still searching. Whenever he saw a brown mare, he would run, hoping it was Jumana. He even refused to ride on any carts, as he didn’t want to feel like he was betraying her, choosing instead to walk on foot for hours.

With every passing month, he began to lose hope. Apples and carrots, once his favorite offerings, now reminded him of Jumana’s absence. He promised himself that if he found her, he would somehow get those treats to her. But he lost hope and started to despise apples and carrots as well.

In May, after losing nine friends to Israel’s incessant bombardment, Bashar went to visit an old friend in Al-Zawaida. On his way back, something caught his eye—a mare pulling a cart. Exhausted by months of disappointment, he didn’t even go to check. But then, she neighed.

It was Jumana.

If she hadn’t recognized him, Bashar would have missed her. She was weak, dirty and covered in wounds. Bashar rushed to her, and she gave him her signature kiss. He hugged her tightly, not as a lost child would, but with the full weight of a man reunited with a beloved part of his soul. His tears fell quietly, as though months of sorrow had found a fragile moment of relief. Jumana’s eyes reflected her own sorrow.

Bashar asked the man driving the cart about her. Receiving no response, Bashar explained that Jumana belonged to the club, but the man, claiming he had found her ownerless, refused to let her go. Bashar didn’t argue — after all, Jumana wasn’t his to take; she had belonged to the club, and the club’s owner had been martyred. With a heavy heart, Bashar said goodbye to Jumana, knowing it would likely be the last time.

I met Bashar during a podcast training, and it was there he told us about Jumana, his beloved horse. As he spoke, his voice trembled, and I saw tears well up in his eyes. Seven months after he saw her for the last time, and despite all the suffering he has experienced since, her memory still fills his thoughts and heart.

This story is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.