My Mother's Vigil: A Glimpse into Gaza's Devastation

Is this genuine?

My nephew's voice cracked as he called me from Greece. I struggled to discern if his words were originating 5,000 miles away, from my ears, or from my own frantic heart. It took a moment for the weight of his words to register; like a buried nightmare suddenly given voice by someone else, leaving me shaken to my core.

My brother Majed. His wife Safaa. Their children Riman, 18, Siwar, 13, Ali, 7…

And nine-year-old Omar, whose dream was to be a soccer player.

All six of them, my family members.

Gone.

At 5.00 a.m. in the morning, two hours before the announced truce came into effect, an Israeli airstrike killed my loved ones, along with their favorite cat, "Lucky," while they laid in bed. As they either slept or deluded themselves into thinking they were asleep, shrapnel tore through the door and the ceiling that had shielded them for the past 45 days in Gaza. The very walls that once promised safety now crushed and trapped their bodies beneath tons of rubble.

and his family traveled to Gaza for a visit during the summer. Tragically, his nephews Omar and Ali were killed in an Israeli airstrike last week.

Only Omar's body was discovered, 20 meters from the explosion. Following this tragic discovery, the young soccer hopeful was laid to rest with haste. Meanwhile, my other relatives' remains remain unrecovered, and my 71-year-old mother grieves amidst the rubble, mourning the loss of her beloved child. She desperately hopes to protect their bodies from the nearby stray dogs, fearing they may desecrate the sanctity of her son, his spouse, and their precious children.

Several days ago, I broke the news of our cousin's death to my family over the phone from the US, only to find out they hadn't heard about it yet. Despite living just minutes away, they have been isolated from the world for weeks. They are grieving for our cousin and many others, but there is little time to properly mourn. This devalues the significance of human life, as death becomes all too common.

While some are celebrating the small number of humanitarian trucks allowed into Gaza during the recent lull in fighting, it is important to note that not a single commercial truck has entered since October 7. With Gaza cut off for two months, shelves in supermarkets are empty, affecting everyone from civilians to humanitarian organizations that are already stretched thin.

The remains of my other family members still lie unrecovered, while my 71-year-old mother mourns in a pile of rubble, grieving for her tender and loving child.

Hani Almadhoun

Water is in short supply, and food has become so scarce that a can of tuna fish would be deemed remarkable, not to mention the tenfold increase in prices for essential items such as yeast, salt, and canned beans. Money has become worthless, leaving individuals to wait in lines for bread, stripped of their dignity.

This is a rarely acknowledged reality in Gaza - people do not want charity, those with means would purchase the necessities if they were available. Everyone is now dependent on aid, and not all organizations are able to efficiently distribute it.

I lost contact with my mom amid the sound of gunfire and shelling nearby. She told me that the Israeli military had destroyed many residential buildings, including our neighborhood mosque, denying them the right to worship and seek solace or pray for the deceased.

This news deeply affected me - I am struggling with a crisis of faith as I witness a genocide unfold, while my mother, living under bombs and burying her loved ones, still holds onto her spirituality.

As I started writing this several days ago, I couldn't help but think about the future of Palestinians in Gaza and the potential impact of ending the ruthless and deadly violence. Too many innocent lives have been taken. I couldn't help but wonder who will fill the roles of the talented doctors, kind nurses, and caring medical staff who have been lost.

Who will carry on the work of the hardened and experienced war reporters and storytellers who were killed in Gaza?

Hani Almadhoun with his brother Majed, who was killed in Gaza last week.

Hani Almadhoun

Is it possible for anyone to fill the void left by the hundreds of educators, teachers, and counselors, many of whom died in the schools that once served as safe havens for nurturing young minds?

Then there are the thousands of students who will never have the chance to go back to school or university because their lives and dreams were tragically ended by a cruel and pointless military offensive.

Who will step into the shoes of the hundreds of engineers, makers, and builders who perished in the buildings and streets they once helped construct?

Meanwhile, the loss of coders, software engineers, techies, entrepreneurs, craftsmen, and chefs has left a void, filled only with memories and sorrow.

Who will have the courage to dream of a future when the present is so uncertain?

Most importantly, I thought:

Who will step in to address the tragic loss of thousands of mothers and fathers due to the Israeli military's destruction, leaving Gaza in ruins and its people living in fear and terror? I urge President Joe Biden to use his influence to halt the violence and establish a lasting ceasefire to prevent further loss of life among innocent Gaza residents.

Hani Almadhoun's nine-year-old nephew Omar, who dreamed of being a soccer player.

Hani Almadhoun

These are irreplaceable individuals, not merely statistics or collateral damage but people cherished deeply by their loved ones.

In a matter of seconds, they were cruelly snatched away for eternity. This week, I couldn't help but think about those people as I finally got to talk to my family after two whole weeks of silence. There were countless tears, unsaid words, and silences that felt like they were piercing through one's soul.

Above all the losses, the world lost a shining soccer star on the morning after Thanksgiving at 5:00 a.m. in Gaza. It's a moment when all the questions seem to crumble. Rest in peace, Omar.

You did nothing wrong. Your only crime was that you were born a Palestinian child.

Until next time, habibi.