October, 2023

Dearest Asma and Hiba:

I know that the skies above you are pouring down their rage and indifference. I know the ground beneath you is covered in rubble and rivers of red, and the voices of unspeakable pain are everywhere. I know that there is a fear beyond anything most of us can ever imagine, and it is a daily reality. I know you feel alone and forsaken. It's unfathomable what they get away with. It defies logic, sanity, and all that should be right.

My own days are shrouded in a mist, and I'm not sure how they pass. I drift in and out of moments until I realize that another day has ended. I gaze at my television screen in disbelief at how your already fragile existence has once again been pushed to the brink, on a scale that exceeds anything we've ever seen. I scrutinize every face, hoping to see if you or your family are among them. I even try to discern if anyone beneath the layers of rubble, emerging from under the concrete slabs that were once their homes, resembles you. It might seem silly, but in many ways, I'm relieved I haven't seen you yet.

They say, "If abattoirs had glass walls, we'd all become vegetarians." The truth is abattoirs will never have glass walls because those who perpetuate the lie have the most to lose. So, the innocent and unheard are cruelly led in and slaughtered, left to fall onto the blood of their kin, unseen, their suffering theirs alone. And nothing changes. People only see the parts that fit their narrative. Heartbreakingly, your birthright has been an impediment to the story they want to sell. Palestinian blood remains hidden from the world, while the "civilized" both reinforce these walls and maintain the grand illusion of their humanity, compassion, and democracy. It would be laughable if it weren't so gut-wrenchingly tragic.

Asma and Hiba, do you remember when you were kids, how you loved to run as fast as your little feet would carry you? Asma, I know you recently underwent foot surgery, but you must promise me you will run as fast as your legs can take you, to hide wherever the bombs are not. Outrun them. Swim away. Defy them. Live. Please. You are too full of life and hope to be buried just because you were born as children of a lesser god. We will fix your foot again, make it as good as new. I promise. So, for now, run in your confined world until you find a corner that's less bombed.

Remember, you have hopes and dreams that no bombs can take from you. So, you must outrun them. Please. Those whose madness and hate are cloaked in a false armor of justice may extinguish a single flame, but your collective fire is a blaze of defiance and life they can't extinguish, no matter how many bombs carpet your world.

You will graduate, and I will bring my tissue boxes, crying until I can't cry anymore, as you walk across that stage having earned your degrees. You will go on to make a difference in this world, despite the hate. You will come here after this is over so you can start your life, safe with us, even if the rest of your family remains behind. You will overcome.

But if you do not outrun the bombs, just know that my life will never be the same. A light will be extinguished, and you will take it with you. So, if not for yourself, then for me, I need you to outrun the bombs, the rubble, and the shrapnel. I need you to hold out for that drink of water and food. When you get here, I'll quench your thirst and feed you nourishing meals. You won't have to fear the bombs. And maybe, from here, we can continue to chip away at the abattoir walls so that one day, we can force them to see Palestine and its people for what they are—victims of their birthright.

Palestine is a land with a rich history and Palestinians have a strong will to live. For now, run... Run for me, please.

I love you,

“Mama” Rana