One Small Miracle In Gaza

Present

This didn't have to be a suicide mission. It is not necessary, even I knew that. Especially I knew that. But I had reasoned with them. It will be better this way. And in that part of my chest that never seems to heal and never seems to relax, I had held on to the secret reason why.

I am now in the closet, which is unlocked. We know they will go through everything - they always do, and when they get to me...

I breathe out a prayer. "Allah, fortify me in my time of need."

I hear nothing, but I feel a buzzing through my veins: a purpose, desire, thick and sweet like blood in my mouth.

The boots come closer. They are on the last few steps before the landing. In twenty meters they will be to me.

I listen, but hear nothing else.

A part of me is scared, terrified. Is it because of Yasser? Because of Allah? Or because of this voice, this Jesus demon?

"Allah bring me into paradise," I whisper, wishing, hoping, needing, with all my might for this to be fulfilled. "Allah, forgive me for Yasser."

And just then, the big door bursts open and I hear the sound of voices in Hebrew and then one in Arabic. "Put up your arms. Surrender your weapons."

There is sweat on my brow and I am suddenly panting. I want to reach up to wipe it off, but my hand is trembling hard. Yasser, I think. Oh Allah, Please forgive me.

I shut my eyes tight and wait.

The footsteps come closer. The babies are crying, agitated, alone.

A voice in Arabic says "Oh, you sweet things,"

And then I start to hear the sounds of doors being opened and closets rifled through.

"We know you're in here! Put your hands up and come out!"I can hear them just outside the door. I take a deep breath. My hands are shaking, and the remote is covered in sweat. Then the voice comes clear and loud: Nada, don't. Hell awaits.

And the door is flung open.