The war story of Palestinian mother
Mum I am hungry. I must eatโฆ
โ Donโt worry, my dear. Iโll make you a tomato stew.
I went to Um Mahmoudโs house, my temporary neighbor, searching for some tomatoes to satisfy Yusufโs hunger. His father is at the hospital, and no one can go but me. I rushed and prayed for his safety.
I knocked on Um Mahmoudโs door several times, but no one answered. So, I went to the Al-Muqaddad familyโs house across the street, hoping to find some tomatoes for Yusuf, as I hate to be away from him. But there was nothing to eat; these days of war are tougher than anything.
โ How are you, Um? How are your children? Hopefully, the shelling hasnโt reached you.
โ Weโre okay, as you can see. May God protect us, dear.
I echoed the answer to Um Muqaddad and asked her about the tomatoes. In times of war, people canโt afford long conversations; every second might be the last. I took the tomatoes and said goodbye.
โ Pray for us, dear. The situation is really tough, as you can see. We donโt want to go to UNRWA; itโs as difficult as they say.
โ May God protect you and the people. Itโs all a crisis, and weโll get through it with Godโs help.
Then, a loud explosionโฆ
All I remember is a black cloud that obscured everything. I became temporarily deaf due to the force of the blast. But one thing occupied my mind: Is Yusuf okay or not?
I ran towards the street, struggling to breathe through the dust and smoke. There was a big crowd at the bombing site, everyone screaming and assisting the medics, as if it were doomsday.
โ Did anyone see Yusuf? Has anyone seen a small child here?
โ I donโt know, Um. The injured have been taken to Shifa; try to find them there.
I remembered Yusufโs father, who works as a doctor there. He hasnโt returned home since the beginning of the war. I got into an ambulance to go to the hospital. All I remember is the last moment before the ambulanceโs door closed. The door I closed on Yusuf is no longer there. I was afraid of the dangers from above, like any mother sealing her child from harm. Even fear during wars becomes different.
On the second floor of Shifa Complex, I met his father, in his green scrubs, exhausted from days of war and non-stop work, dedicating his life to his duty.
Yusuf, Yusufโฆ I didnโt say more than the name. He understood why I was here. People donโt come to the hospital for leisure.
The search for Yusuf began. โYusuf, 7 years old, fair-skinned and sweet.โ Thatโs what I repeated to everyone I met, be it a doctor, journalist, or a patient. It didnโt matter; all I wanted was to find Yusuf.
After several floors and searching in numerous rooms, I got tired. I tried to lift my feet, but my fear weighed me down. I sat on the nearest chair.
While his father continued to search, Yusufโs life flashed before my eyes. I was blessed with him after years of marriage, and he was the light of my life. I named him Yusuf, and he was like the moon. He compensated for all the deprivations. I raised him, breathed him in, and every day was a new joy. I saw him grow before my eyes, play, and speak. It was time for him to start school this year, and it was hard for me. How could I part with him for eight hours every day? I waited for him at the door every day, welcoming him with a hug and his favorite tomato stew.
Leave me alone. I heard his father say it in pain. I jumped towards him, shouting that it might not be him. I tried, but he was his son, and he knew him. A father doesnโt mistake his childโs future. How could I recognize his features?
A motherโs emotions told me itโs all over. I wanted one last moment to say goodbye, but they stopped me. They wanted me to keep his beautiful image in my mind. Yusuf with his curly hair, before the war scarred it.
I donโt know who Iโm writing this to, but my grief as a mother is beyond translation. How can I express it? How can I explain the years of waiting for Yusuf? He was the one who compensated for my deprivations. I sheltered him and protected him, and now, Iโve closed the door to protect him. How can a mother protect her child in a war?
I waited for Yusuf at the door every day when he came back from school. How can I wait now when Yusuf is no longer here? Yusuf left, and he was hungry. #War_Messages โ The story of Um Yusuf.
Please keep Palestine in your dua. May Allah give sabr to the families who have lost their loved ones.
The war story of Palestinian mother
Story โ via Facebook
Written by
Ustadha Fahmina holds a Sanad in Alimiyyah (6-year Dars-e-Nizami) from two recognized Islamic institutes and a Master's degree in Arabic from Indira Gandhi National University. She teaches Qur'an, Tafsir, Hadith, and Fiqh following the Hanafi school within Ahl al-Sunnah wal Jama'ah. She founded Islam Hashtag in 2015 to bring authentic Islamic learning to Muslim families online. She also holds a degree in Optometry and is the founder of Optometryskills.com.
Discover more from Islam Hashtag
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
