Mira, my wife, wrote this yesterday. I had to give in to her nagging and post this today:
Last night my husband broke my heart.
He wasn’t worried about the “childhood playground” he had lost few days ago anymore or about our house being occupied by some displaced. Nor was he anxious about finding a new house for his parents when the aggression is over (hope before I give birth!)
For the first time, I saw anguish on his face. “If the house (his parents’) is totally on the ground as I have been told today, then there won’t be any pictures of Nazem left.”
You see, Nazem is Moussa’s eldest brother. He died last December. He was only 47.
So this morning, we went to Hadath to see if damage had occurred to our house (yesterday, Israeli airplanes raided this peaceful place). I should count my blessings, for none had occurred to our house. I suppose one house per family is enough!
Leaving, I convinced Moussa (through the use of powerful weapon: “nagging”) to go over to his parents’ house in Beir Abed to see if it was totally demolished (that being relative- demolished as can’t live in it anymore or still standing!).
The car couldn’t park near the house (I am sure you can figure out why!). We had to go over piles of broken glass, stones and bricks until we finally reached our designation.
Part of the house was still there, proudly standing from beneath the rumbles.
I could almost see the pictures.
Hope has risen again.