My sister was the joy of every holiday. Now he went | Israeli-Palestine conflict

It is believed to have a time full of Eid al-Adha, joy and fun. Children need to visit new dresses, laughs, Eidiya (distribution of adults) and relatives.

Houses Maamaoul and Kaak, traditional holiday biscuits and streets should be alive by gathering and celebrating.

But this is the period of sorrow in Gaza. The weather is thick with dust from the destruction of destroyed buildings and the voice of bombings is not canceled.

Instead of joyful meetings, families sit between the ruins and mourn their relatives.

Many of us, we think of our next bomb will fall to us, we have a lot of life, but we keep life. Nights are insomniots, betrayed by memories and unrelated nightmares.

It will be my first holiday without my little sister. My only sister was my best friend. We found comfort in each other during the genocide.

The 13th Educated in this Earth was together and Rahaf was the joy of each. Since he could walk, he woke before everyone, he declared him and started the house.

He asked me to carry his new clothes in his homes before visiting our grandmothers, sat down with the extended family and drank the tea and drank the tea and prepared the mothers prepared by the mothers.

This year, there is nothing to prepare, there is nothing to go, no Rahaf is divided by.

I never thought I would lose him and I was not ready for his absence. We always dreamed of being with each other next to each other, let each other be to celebrate the stages, to create a life full of art and words.

I wanted to see that the artist who dreamed of being always, and I wanted to see the paintings revealed and recognized the world’s talent.

We imagined the day I will publish my first book. How will life be together, knowing that one another will be the biggest supporters of each other.

Rahaf was taken from me on December 28.

We slept at home, when, in 4, the next door in my house was bombed. The explosion also destroyed our house.

Rahaf was asleep in the room closest to his uncle’s house and in a crushed room.

It was the room I used to sleep. We changed only four days before the places were killed.

Since then, there has been no place to grieve and process the loss. There is no comfort between grief bombs.

How can you heal whenever you threaten to buy another loved one at any time? When you are compromised, can you find a way when it is stolen in the future?

In the middle of my sadness, I reminded that those who understand that he had killed less than me.

While the adults carry the intolerant punishment, the children are left to walk their pain alone. They also want to damage, damage, with the lack of those who feel safe once. Recently, my seven-year-old my son recently attracted my attention to this.

As I sat on a couch in the house of another uncle in the house of another, we sat on the house of our house, Gamar came and sat next to me.

His younger hand reached upwards, gently touched my arm. I could say that he thought.

“Shahd”, he is interested in his voice, “Why aren’t you at home? Why don’t he already have?”

My heart threw a hit in the simplicity of his question, and I still had the weight of the thousands I did not know how to explain to these innocent eyes.

“Our house – destroyed. No matter after the bomb was thrown. We lost everything – the walls, memories and rahaf.”

For a moment, his eyes were wide: and Rahaf, where is he? “

I knew that Gamar was draming, so his question was hit by a cold wind.

The weight of the prosecution, especially for someone who recognizes the warm laughter and a gentle spirit of the soul, it was not possible to put words again for someone.

I closed my eyes for a moment. My voice was barely whispering. “Rahaf is in heaven now. We were taken from us during the bomb and can’t bring him back.”

The face was full of confusion and innocence. “Why did he have to go? Why did they take him?”

My hands shook him like I was closely pulled out. “I don’t know, Gamar. I wish I could explain this in a meaningful way.”

He whispered: “I want to see him again. I miss him.”

Tears in my eyes, my heart hurts. “I miss him too. Every day. But he will always be with us in our hearts.”

At that moment, I could not help the day, but not the war, but not to people, but not to people, but when I did not help. When we try to continue, the pain of the loss understands how we look like the shadow.

I don’t want her to understand these things. This is very young for the weight of hard reality. Should not have to feel such pain and loss.

I wish I had to take the children of Gaza and hid them in my heart to protect him fear.

The world is waiting for us to be strong, Sumoud (perseverance), but the emotional depletion of living with war and losses is a small room for something else.

Healing is a burden of survival without luxury. There is no genocide in my genocide.

There is no place to grieve when you require every ounce of living.

But we continue to have the people we lost, our memories, words and struggle.

Hope, but a fragile, the act of resistance.

This ensures that we are looking for light in ruins, no living life in ruins.

It still reminds us that we are here. And this is important.