My beautiful child with thick, straight hair, whose eye popped out and whose jaw clenched onto his tongue after the treacherous explosion caused by an Israeli F-16 missile on his house in Gaza.
I know you wouldn’t have been able to read my message if you were alive, because children at the age of seven generally can’t read well. However, you will certainly hear it when I read it aloud after finishing writing, because your spirit has been hovering around me ever since I saw your picture that was published in the media.
When you hear my letter, you will know how much I loved you despite the horrific sight of your eye that popped out of its socket—your eye that lost its light for a moment but now sees clearly, and it will forever stare at your killer until his last breath.
I love you my little one, whose name I do not know, whose tongue stuck out of his mouth as if mocking this silent world who has been watching the most horrific human crimes alive, silently witnessing hurling fire burning the bodies of children.
My sweet child, I want to tell you that I am not afraid to look at the terrifying image of your death, and that I reach out every time I see it, putting your eye back into its socket, your tongue back into your mouth, brushing the dust off your beautiful hair, lifting the rubble off your shattered body, stitching your broken wings back together, and releasing you into the sky to soar with your beautiful image among the thousands of children who have been killed, as they regain their limbs, heads, and eyes and return to being as they once were.
Love from
Najwa Juma