Dear World,
My soul echoes with the cries of generations as I navigate the tumultuous terrain of my homeland. I am a Palestinian child, standing resilient with just a stone in my hand as fighter jets roar above me. Rows of tanks and countless bombs may fill the skies, but they can’t extinguish the flame within me—a flame fueled by the love for my country, my self-esteem, and my unwavering identity.
Since 1948, millions of Palestinians, including innocent lives and children among them, have been swallowed by the merciless currents of this seemingly unending strife. As I stand amidst the wreckage of my present, I’m acutely aware of the echoes of countless lives preceding mine—lives yearning for peace and justice.
Behind the statistics lies the essence of each individual story, each dream extinguished prematurely. It’s not just a matter of numbers but a heart-wrenching chronicle of human suffering. I stand on the shoulders of those who came before me, each generation carrying the weight of unfulfilled promises and shattered hopes.
In the pursuit of a so-called “promised land,” we find ourselves trapped in a cycle of perpetual violence, a cycle that has cost us millions of lives. The term “promised land” resonates with profound irony—for what promise can justify the loss of innocent lives, the cries of children, and the enduring agony of a people yearning for peace?
One life, any life, is immeasurable in value. It’s a spark of potential, a repository of dreams, and a source of boundless love. As I gaze upon the ruins of my home, I question the narrative that places the concept of a promised land above the sanctity of individual lives.
Fighter jets roar above my head, yet a stone in my hand becomes a symbol of defiance. Rows of tanks and countless bombs may fill the skies, but they can’t kill the spirit within me—a spirit fueled by the love for my country, my self-esteem, and my unwavering identity.
Yet, the world remains blind to me. Why? When will they awaken, not after the rubble settles and the echoes of our cries have faded, but before every last one of us is silenced by the Israeli fighter jets? When will the world recognize the urgency of our plea for peace, justice, and the right to exist without fear?
In this landscape of despair, I ask: What is the meaning of existence to this world when 22,000, my brothers and sisters, have been ruthlessly taken away by Israeli forces in the last two months? More than 15,000 of them are children, most likely babies, robbed of their potential, their dreams, their future.
And as I stand in this open prison, surrounded by a blockade that prevents even the most basic aid from reaching me—be it by sea, land, or air—I am starving. In this dire situation, I implore you, the world, to recognize the urgency of my plea. How much longer can I survive in this open prison? How much more must I endure before the world takes immediate action to save me?
Even the United Nations, a beacon of hope and international cooperation, seems helpless in the face of Israel’s actions. The world, united, must now rise above politics and differences to save countless lives. This is not just a Palestinian struggle; it is a universal call for humanity to prevail.
As the world bears witness to the continuing saga of Palestinian suffering, I urge you to go beyond the headlines, to delve into the stories etched in the scars of our existence. Each life lost, each child silenced, speaks to a larger tragedy that demands collective introspection and decisive action.
With a heart weighed down and a plea for immediate salvation,
A Palestinian Child, A Conduit of a Legacy of Pain and Resilience
