Stories from Palestine 2023

Mr. Monday - Part 4

The past weeks were a little easier on our mental health. My family and the other hostages would sit together, hold lectures, and do activities together to elevate the morale. The children were at ease, which made the parents at ease. Yahya would take Kay to hang out with the other kids, he would give them sweets and fruits at times when it was difficult to find food. He'd play with him and wrestle with him, letting him win. He would lift Kay as if he weighed nothing.

Now Kay is asking me where Yahya is. Normally he comes by with the other militants every day and has conversation with us, join our activities, or at least briefly check up on us.

But I haven't seen him in three days.

I tell Kay to wait as I go to Abdallah, Yahya's friend. "Do you know where's Yahya?"

He pauses and hesitates.

My heart almost stopped. "Is he okay?"

Abdallah shakes his head. "He's not doing very well. He lost a close family member."

A gasp escapes me. "Aisha?"

The militant presses his lips together and flashes me an empathetic look. I feel a pang in my chest. My eyes start to water.

"Where is he now? Can I see him?"

"He's sheltering in the hospital, where she passed away. I can't let you go there."

"Please," I beg. "Just for a few minutes."

He ended up taking me. The hospital wasn't what I expected. It was extremely chaotic.

Men were shouting and running in carrying people with fresh open wounds and partial amputations, sights I may never be able to forget. Women were wailing over their children. Doctors were ordering the staff around and trying to comfort parents. Yahya's friend leads me to a hallway filled with people on each side, sitting and sleeping, displaced people seeking shelter.

Then I spot him. He's sitting on the floor, reading a book—the Quran. It looks like he's reading it for his sister's soul.

As I approach, he sees me and puts aside the book. When he looked up at me, I felt my heart aching—his eyes were red from crying. Messy strands of his dark hair fell over his face. His clothes were stained with blood and dirt. His hands were full of sand and cuts as though he had been digging and lifting rubble for hours with his bare hands.

I kneel next to him and speak softly, "I'm so sorry about your sister."

His gaze was distant, wearing a subtle frown.

I put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I will keep her in my prayers."

He gives me a weak, appreciative smile. "Shukran May."

But the usual light in his eyes isn't there. My heart breaks for the poor little girl... I can't imagine how he feels, I only spent one night with Aisha and I was already attached to her. I remember the way she was excited to play with Kay, the way she felt unsafe when her brother wasn't around.

I pull out the Palestine keychain from my pocket to hand it to him. "This belonged to her."

He glances at it then pushes my hand away. "Keep it. So you remember us."

I'm not sure if he's talking about him and his sister, or the Palestinian people in general, but I do as he says. I close my hand firmly around the keychain and press it against my heart.

"I left her at my cousin's house for a couple of hours to find water..." he trails off, his voice breaking. "Elhamdullilah. Thank God for everything."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Why are you thanking God?" Especially in a situation like this, where God seems to have abandoned you? I wanted to say but prevented myself.