“The Soul of my Soul” “Rooh Roohi” (in arabic)
Lest we see with our eyes, ye won’t believe; lest the whale spit out thy man, ye won’t believe; lest the oceans part in two, ye won’t believe. Without faith, who is a man? After all, it is not thy eyes that are blind; it is thy heart.
“Jiddi, let go of my pigtails,” she innocently demanded. “Only if you let go of my beard first,” I replied. For a 3-year-old, Reem was a special child. She was a replica of my late daughter, Myra, in her beauty, her demeanor, but most prominently, her laughter. It was as if I was cradling my own baby girl, Myra.
My granddaughter, Reem, was truly a gift from God. I recall she would pray beside me, while attempting to prostrate she would hurt her head. Although she wouldn’t cry, she would giggle and shout in her innocence, “Again, Jiddi, again!”
I could not lose Reem. She was the last of me, the last trace of family. Footsteps of my family echoed, a repetitive lucid dream. The terrorists showed no mercy, took everything, and massacred everyone I knew. Recollecting my thoughts, I witnessed how my father welcomed those foreigners, those refugees to our homeland. No abode, no voice, no possessions. We accommodated and welcomed them with open arms, with utmost hospitality. We were gravely mistaken, little did we know they were plotting a malicious conspiracy, plotting to commit atrocities the Palestinians did not deserve.
Every two hours, the relentless thunder of airstrikes would reverberate through our shattered world. In those haunting moments, I would envelop Reem in my trembling arms, shielding her innocent ears from the brutal symphony of destruction. It became an agonizing routine, running footsteps on the street returned to the Creator, leaving Reem and me, survivors in a terrifying landscape.
On the crackling radio, a glimmer of hope emerged as the news hinted at a reduction in the relentless bombing. The outside world, once engulfed in chaos, seemed to be offering a fragile respite. A fragile flicker of relief, for a fleeting moment, tempered the relentless anguish that had become our daily reality. In that tentative calm, I dared to dream of a sanctuary for Reem, a brief escape from the relentless siege that bound us.
As the radio chatter gradually eased, I saw an opportunity to fulfil a promise to my granddaughter. A promise whispered amid the chaos, Reem’s birthday. Determined, I embarked on a journey to the market, clutching a list of her favorite fruits. A simple pursuit in the midst of calamity, yet an act of love and resilience, a token of normalcy amidst the ruins.
The eerie silence outside heightened my instincts, urging caution, yet the promise to bring joy to Reem propelled me forward. Each step carried the weight of my world as I navigated the remnants of a once vibrant marketplace. The air hung heavy with the scent of uncertainty, and every shadow seemed to whisper a warning.
And then, in an instant, the world erupted in a deafening symphony of chaos. “Kaboom” echoed, shattering the fragile calm I had desperately clung to. With every fiber of my being, I sprinted back.
Clementine, clenched in my fist, my knuckles pale, I tighten my grasp, holding on for dear life. Little shattered spectacles beside a familiar face, my eyes sealed shut, in prostration begging in front of the Almighty to take me instead, take me instead of
“Rooh Roohi”, The soul of my soul, my beloved Reem.