A Letter to Gaza

I want you to know.
I want you to know I’m thinking of you.
I want you to know I think of you almost every day.
I want you to know I think of you even when the bombs aren’t falling.
I want you to know I remember.
I want you to know I remember the moment I tasted red tahini for the first time.
I remember Ali running out to a different restaurant so we could taste knafeh ghazawiya
I remember Firas’ baby daughter saying hello to each of us by name. 
I remember talking to the fishermen while they mended their nets.
I remember the exhilarating moment when we set out to sea,
the vicarious feeling of liberation even as we had to stay outside the firing zone.
I remember Erez, that dystopic funhouse maze
and your smiling faces greeting us on the other side. 
I remember the concrete benches lining the seaside,
painted with the names of cities and villages that are not forgotten.
I remember the restaurant outside Beach Camp, the perfect fish, the deep orange sunset.
I remember seeing Ashkelon’s smoke stacks off in the distance,
thinking to myself I am exactly where I need to be.
I remember walking back after dinner, the evening blackout, the hum of the generators.
I remember that final breakfast at the beach,
when I looked at the spot where the Bakr boys were shot down
and I thought of them playing football in Gaza shel mala – 
that is, the Gaza on high –
where there is nothing to fear from above
and how I will not rest until
heaven is brought back down to earth. 

3 thoughts on “A Letter to Gaza

  1. I am moved. I am silent with pain, like Aaron. It is too deep for words, this type of sorrow.

    But, we have a voice. Someone is speaking, he is one who knows.

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