Children of Gaza

By Benak

"Children of Gaza" is a poignant and compelling narrative that delves into the heart-wrenching experiences of the people, particularly the children, living amidst the enduring conflict in Gaza. This book offers an intimate glimpse into the resilience and suffering of Gaza's youngest residents, whose lives are overshadowed by the constant specter of violence, political turmoil, and the struggle for survival.

 

Set against the backdrop of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, "Children of Gaza" is a powerful testament to the indomitable spirit of its people, told through the eyes of Yatim, a character whose deep connections to the land and its history paint a vivid picture of Palestinian identity, heritage, and the unyielding hope for peace.

 

Through the interwoven stories of families torn apart by war, the narrative brings to light the daily challenges faced by Gazans, from the rubble of razed neighborhoods to the echoes of ancestral sacrifice. The dialogues between characters such as Yatim, Amine, Fatah, and Hamas, reveal the complex layers of conflict, loyalty, and betrayal that define life in Gaza, offering readers a nuanced understanding of the human cost of the conflict.

 

"Children of Gaza" is not just a story of despair but also a celebration of the strength, courage, and unbreakable bonds that sustain the people of Gaza through their darkest hours. It is a crucial read for anyone seeking to comprehend the profound impact of geopolitical strife on innocent lives and the enduring power of hope and resistance in the face of insurmountable odds.

 

This book is a must-read for those interested in Middle Eastern politics, human rights, and the transformative power of storytelling in shedding light on the realities of war and occupation. "Children of Gaza" is a stirring call to action, urging the global community to recognize and address the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Gaza and to work towards a future where peace and justice prevail for all its children.

 

Gaza conflict, Palestinian children, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, War and peace in the Middle East, Humanitarian crisis in Gaza, Resilience and survival, Political turmoil in Gaza, Children in war zones, Middle Eastern politics, Gaza Strip life, Impact of war on families, Gazan heritage and identity, Resistance and hope in Gaza, Narratives of conflict zones, Human rights in Gaza

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benak
• Release date: Feb 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224791132

Benak

Écrivain, poète et chroniqueur, Benak est surtout un grand rêveur qui croit en la magie des mots et en leur splendeur. Porteur d’un projet d’écriture tant ambitieux que prometteur, il met sa plume au service de l’humanité pour instruire et plaire. C’est au sang de son esprit et à l’encre de son cœur qu’il nous tisse des écrits de lumière. De la fiction à la non-fiction en passant par le roman, le récit, le conte pour enfant et la poésie, il traduit son imaginaire en nous proposant une écriture de belle facture, un agréable moment de littérature. S’escrimant toujours avec les mots pour le plaisir du dire et de l’écrire, il mène une vie simple, mais pas tout à fait tranquille. En citoyen du Monde très sensible, certains événements déteignent sur sa vie en y laissant des empreintes indélébiles. Philosophe, écrivain et poète engagé, il porte en lui les stigmates de l’injustice et de l’iniquité.

Book preview

1.

"There is nothing noble in the Arabism you so fervently defend, Mr. Larabe. Your arguments, though passionate, fail to disguise the ideology's shortcomings. It's as if you're championing the very essence of folly, reminiscent of a bygone era known only to nomadic tribes. The elite gather, plotting their schemes with glee, oblivious to the dire repercussions of their actions.

"Indeed, Mr. Larabe, the organization you so loyally serve, cloaked in a veneer of loyalty, epitomizes the cowardice of regimes that oppress their people, seizing land and wealth with impunity. You are but a pawn to these desert tycoons, serving their whims, far removed from the reality you so eagerly dismantle.

In these moments of betrayal, the facade crumbles, revealing the underlying weakness. The Arab spirit, once mighty, now succumbs to its own vices, stripped of dignity and grace.

As Yatim navigated the labyrinth of his dreams, his physical self descended the precarious steps to the Arab League's chamber. The faint, erratic sounds that initially guided him faded into silence as he advanced. Despite his quickened pace, the source of the disturbance remained elusive. Once at the hall, all that remained was the echo of his own heartbeat and the rush of his breath in the empty space.

Regaining his composure, Yatim surveyed the silent expanse, questions swirling in his mind. His presence in this austere space felt inexplicable, his purpose unclear. Suddenly, his body tensed, anxiety gripping him. He attempted to flee, only to be halted by a firm hand on his shoulder. Facing him stood an elderly woman, her traditional attire marking her as a figure of significance. He recognized her immediately as the embodiment of Palestine, her gaze piercing.

Why the hostility, my poor Palestine? he inquired, his voice tinged with madness.

How dare you speak, after all your boasts? she retorted sharply.

In this chaotic world, you are all I have, he pleaded.

Never utter such foolishness again. I forbid it, she commanded.

But, dear Palestine, am I not your devoted son, the one who truly cherishes you?

Your words ring hollow. You have forsaken the principles of Arabism and the legacy of our revered ancestors, she accused.

Yet, I am but a humble servant to my fate, guided by the divine, he defended.

Spare me your excuses. They serve only to justify your failings and the imperialism that ensnares us, she countered.

Destiny shapes me, yet in my heart, there's a longing for our storied past, from the banks of Nahr al Litani to Nahr al Falak. I dream of our ancient lands, from the vibrant streets of Haifa to the serene shores of Galilee, where my hopes mingle with the horizon's embrace.

Your nostalgia cannot mask the pain inflicted by our own kin, their immaturity bleeding our essence dry, she lamented.

Mother, I feel your anguish, your words a bitter reminder of our estranged bond, he acknowledged.

Our roots run deep in Arab soil, our heritage vast and rich. Yet, our leaders have strayed, forgetting their duty to their people and land, she educated.

Is this the end for us, my valiant Palestine? he despaired.

Only when our hearts turn to the divine will redemption be possible. Until then, we are doomed to suffer the consequences of our actions, she prophesied.

Let us not dwell on our sorrows. Despite everything, my love for you remains, for I am a grateful child, bound by duty and affection, he affirmed.

My heart is steadfast, and my love for you is as boundless as our lands. But only those who truly cherish our heritage can flourish in our embrace, she concluded.

I will be freed from this burdensome weight that stifles my spirit, cleansing my mind with your pure waters, and allowing me to embrace life with joy.

You will never reclaim the villages you've lost while you bear the name Al-Arabi, the hypocrite. As long as you ally with the League, a haven for deceit and betrayal, peace and paradise will elude you.

I've been deceived by those who claim kinship, those traitors who tarnish my name in the squalid marketplace of deceit.

Life grants no favors, and time waits for no one, my boy. Better to walk away before the feast begins.

The Arab vessel, now barely afloat, is in peril. It's sinking with all its cargo. 'Ladies and children first' is forgotten as the elite scramble for safety, indifferent to the plight of those left to perish in a world corrupted by deceit and greed.

Despite my soul's decay, my greatest concern is for the Levant. God forbid, its downfall would spell my doom. So, leave now, my child, and may Allah guide you. Do not look back. Both Syria and Palestine cry out for the vitality of your blood.

Yes, madam! I will summon the winds, steady the ship, and navigate through the tempestuous darkness to reach safe harbor. At dawn, I will set out to capture the sun's first rays, to bring light to our beleaguered land.

May Allah bless your journey and deeds! In my heart, you are already a martyr, nourished by my boundless dreams. I envision you laying down your life for our nation's cause. Amidst my despair, I hold onto the hope that you will fulfill our pact. As for me, my faith is but a whisper on the wind, a melody for our anthem, woven into the fabric of our beloved homeland.

Yatim awoke abruptly, bathed in sweat, puzzled by the recurring dreams that bordered on nightmares. He glanced at his wife, Yatima, whose steady breathing offered him solace. Her serene and gentle nature, unchanged since their marriage, brought him comfort. Her simple, agreeable demeanor, always in harmony with his desires, earned his love and respect.

Comforted by her peaceful form, he smiled and quietly left their bed for the kitchen. There, he refreshed himself with water and sat down to ponder, his journal before him. With a moment of reflection, he opened his eyes, took up his pen, and let it glide across the page, eager to capture his thoughts.

2.

At the entrance to my heart, where my lineage intersects and my spirit seeks refuge, I paint delicate visions on the canvas of my hopes. Amidst the turmoil of my cries, I envision brighter tomorrows, sketching dreams on the canvas of a hopeful future. At the junction of my confused thoughts, I affirm my identity, despite its flaws. In the recesses of my mind, where thoughts of my family dwell, I craft a banner of love with the threads of my very essence.

Gaza suffers with every one of your careless actions, as you parade your arrogance, spreading false smiles across the media landscapes you dominate. Gaza, born of resilience, remains isolated within its own land.

Ramadan, you intensify my struggles in these times of scarcity and sorrow, mocking the dignity of civilization as it falters under the weight of history.

Ramadan, each year you cloak my troubled days in mystery, where the line between life's end and death's embrace blurs, and children bear the burden as if it were their destiny.

Ramadan of anguish and sorrow, I dare not confront the reflection of my own despair, nor can I face the accusatory figure that mirrors my inner turmoil.

Ramadan, you bring a semblance of clarity to my cluttered mind, sweeping through the chaos within, stirring the storm beneath my troubled thoughts.

In the present, I endure the scorched reality of existence, consumed by the endless desolation of the desert that claims me as its own.

Yatima, I am lost, wandering between the venomous days and treacherous nights. My life, intertwined