Beacon of Heroes

-3-

After a period of training, the day we had been eagerly and cautiously waiting for arrived; we had to familiarize ourselves with the tunnels that extend beneath Gaza.

These tunnels, which some considered a secret of our steadfastness, represented the first line of defense against the occupation and the way of life that embodies the will to survive.

We gathered in a small underground room, surrounded by mud walls, and our leader directed us toward an ambiguous map. "These tunnels are not just paths for hiding; they are the arteries of resistance. You must learn how to use them effectively, as they are our way to survive and strike." His words were filled with pride and challenge, as if we could hear the echoes of our previous heroes speaking through him.

Under his supervision, we began training on how to enter and exit the tunnels quickly, and how to navigate between the various branches without making a sound. We learned how to use the tunnels in ambush attacks, and how they could be a safe haven for us in emergencies. I felt a passion flowing through my veins, as if I was preparing to embrace an experience I had never imagined before.

But amidst this training, moments of silence were shattered by a sudden attack. The sound of fighter planes approached quickly, and the whizzing of bullets exploded around us as if bombs were falling from the sky. "Fall back!" our leader shouted, and we rushed toward the exits. Yet despite all of this, there was pressure on our chests and a strange feeling that danger was closing in.

In those critical moments, we all ran as if we were living in a recurring nightmare, but our feet remained steady. Our determination grew stronger in those critical times, yet the danger still surrounded us.

After a period of frantic retreat, we returned to our main center. The atmosphere was charged with tension and anxiety, as if everything around us had frozen for a moment. Without warning, one of the fighters entered, his face pale as if bearing unbearable news. "Sanwar has been martyred!"

The blood froze in my veins, as if the tragedy had pulled the ground from under my feet. The man I had greeted with respect, who always led us in everything, was no longer among us. Silence fell in the room, and eyes brimmed with tears. The man who had guided us in times of hardship, who represented hope for all, was gone.

Suddenly, I felt as if the world around me was collapsing. We were in the midst of an ongoing war, and now we had lost a leader, a symbol of our steadfastness. Each of us looked at one another as if searching for something to draw strength from, or even just a word to alleviate the weight of our loss. But words were lost amid tears and pain.

Yet in that moment, I realized that his legacy would not go to waste. He had planted hope and determination in our hearts, teaching us that despite pain and loss, we must continue. "We will not allow his loss to be the end of our story!" I said loudly, and my friends' gazes turned toward me, as if we were all standing on the brink of an abyss, and we had to decide: would we fall, or would we rise?

In that moment, I decided to be the voice of hope, the voice calling that we would continue the path he had begun, and that we would fight for all the names we did not know and for all the dreams that still illuminate our hearts.

The young man who had brought the news of the resistance leader's death spoke, trembling from the impact of the tragedy, saying: "Commander Yahya Al-Sanwar has been martyred! He faced the attacking force with incredible courage until his last moments."

Everyone gathered around him, hearts pounding intensely. The young man continued, "I was not there, but enemy flags said that Al-Sanwar threw two grenades at the attacking force in his last moments before tank fire turned toward him. He is a true hero, who did not retreat in the face of danger, but faced them with bravery."

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath before continuing: "One of the enemy soldiers was seriously injured by the bullets of Al-Sanwar and his companions. Even after being shot in the arm, he continued to fight, throwing grenades before and after his injury."

The young man's words flowed like a river, charged with pride and pain. "The Zionist enemy had tracked Al-Sanwar and his companions two days ago in the Tal Sultan neighborhood west of Rafah, but they did not realize that the commander was alone and dealing with danger in an unexpected manner."

He then added, "This news reveals the Zionist narrative that says Al-Sanwar was hiding behind the detained prisoners. This means that his assassination was purely accidental, clarifying to the world that there was tactical and intelligence blindness in their army."

We all realized that this moment would not merely be a sad piece of news, but a call to challenge. The leader who inspired us, who fought heroically, was gone, but his legacy would live on in our hearts. I looked at my new friends, and their gazes reflected the same feeling: an unwavering determination to continue the path he had begun. "We must continue to fight for him, and for everyone who came before him!" I said, seeing in their eyes the same spark that had ignited in my heart. "We will not forget his sacrifices, and we will carry the torch of resistance until the end."