How do we receive the news of the martyrdom of our beloved ones!!💔💔
Let me tell you today about the first blow life dealt me… or let me describe it more precisely, the first stab: the martyrdom of my brothers. For two and a half years, my heart has refused to move past that moment. I was displaced in Rafah, renting a house with a group of friends. It was the best option, considering that my husband spent more than 22 hours in the hospital, and on some days he was forced to be away for several days. I stood on the balcony overlooking a border area, staring at our stolen land, now covered with settlements, while we, unfortunately, lived in utter darkness, and the settlements were lit at night. That day, I felt an intense pain in my chest. My children had gone to sleep, and it was 7:00 PM, while my husband was in the hospital. It was December 2nd, the second month of the war. The pain overwhelmed me without warning, and I began to cry uncontrollably, missing my brothers deeply. Memories of the afternoon came back to me; my daughter was telling me that if the war ended and we returned north, she would go stay with her grandmother for two weeks, longing for her maternal uncles. My brothers were very close to me; the elder was like a second father, and the younger was my closest friend. I prayed and asked God to reunite me with them safely, but the crying continued—perhaps caused by my longing for them. I washed my face over and over, but I could not stop the torrent of tears. I tried calling my mother, but the line was cut off and there was no network. In the end, I surrendered to sleep. I awoke to movement, grabbed my phone, and saw it was 6:30 AM. I got up to find my husband entering from the hospital. I asked if he wanted a cup of coffee; he said yes, he would take a quick shower and return to the hospital, and the car would come back in half an hour. I lit a small fire on the balcony and started preparing a cup of coffee that resembled everything but coffee. I looked at the area before me—ominous black clouds sent shivers through my body. I heard my husband’s phone ring. I thought they had rushed him; often he was forced to return after a few minutes. I carried the cup, and he was speaking strangely, lifting his gaze and turning the phone away from me. I put down the cup after feeling a tremor… his face looked like the Angel of Death, the spirit being taken from him. I heard him say to the person on the line: “Go down, I’ll talk to you.” I could feel his hands trembling, and his words were broken as he spoke. He hung up. I asked him: “What happened?” He deliberately avoided looking at my face and said: “I’m hungry, help me get something to eat together.” Even though neither of us eats at this hour. With words full of fear, I asked: “Is my family okay?” He, avoiding my gaze, replied: “What does your family have to do with this?” Then he added: “A friend of mine from the Gaza hospital, how does he know your family?” He tapped my shoulder and said: “Quickly.” I was wearing my jacket, my hair loose, and went to the room with my children. I grabbed my phone like a robot and called my mother. I felt my heartbeat race a million times faster. When the line connected, I breathed a sigh of relief… but it wasn’t my mother’s voice. I asked: “Where’s Mama?” Our neighbor answered: “Here, Nada, don’t worry, your mother is fine.” I breathed more easily and felt temporary relief. I asked: “Is everyone okay?” She said: “I don’t know how to tell you…” I felt as if death had stolen my soul when I heard her words: “Your brothers have been martyred, and your father and mother went to say their farewell.” I hung up without responding and sat on the floor, feeling my legs give way and my soul withdraw from my body. My husband came to hurry me to prepare food, but he stopped speaking when he saw me like this with the phone in my hand. He asked: “Did you call anyone?” I raised my eyes barely able to see him, held up two fingers, and said: “Both of them, both.” He came closer quickly, held my shoulders, and said: “Nothing for sure, be strong.” I said: “My mom and dad went to say their farewells to them.” I felt him crying, and I felt that I had lost the ability to see. He said: “Say, may God accept them, patience comes at the first shock.” Seconds passed, and everyone in the house gathered. I kept telling myself: So it’s true, my brothers have left this life… how is this possible? I didn’t say goodbye, didn’t hold them, didn’t ask them to stay by my side. I just cried… my daughters collapsed after hearing this news. I remained silent except for my tears and memories, like a knife killing inside. Everyone was around me, and I was in another world, hearing the ache of the soul, but I didn’t know this would truly happen. I truly felt fires that would not extinguish in my chest. My mother called my husband, and when she spoke, she was firm: “Be strong.” This is what she had written for them since they were fetuses in my womb—that they would die at this moment. I asked her: “And the only words you spoke, were their bodies whole or dismembered?” She answered: “Whole, Mama, they kissed and said goodbye, they were like the moon.” I felt my mother choking despite wearing her robe of strength. My beloveds were buried in each other’s embrace. I felt I was losing consciousness. Later, I learned that she had collapsed while speaking to those around her, instructing them about me: “Don’t leave Nada alone, stay with her.” I was denied a proper farewell. I requested photos after their martyrdom, but they refused. I later learned that the person who called my husband was indeed a friend who had seen the news on television. My younger brother was a university lecturer, and I learned from those at home that they found out the same way. Even now, I feel the burn of that moment and the pain; it refuses to leave me, and I feel the injustice of not having said goodbye. I will write to you about my first night after their martyrdom…
The support link for my family⬇️⬇️https://chuffed.org/project/167068-urgent-assistance-for-nada #Palestine #Gaza