The aroma of freshly baked sourdough bread wafts from the kitchen and the sunlight streams in the living room as my cat lazily sprawls across the floor. Upstairs, I can hear the girls laughing about something and just as suddenly my 2 yo begins to cry.
I walk over to her and tend to her brand new ‘wah-wah’ (an imaginary bug has bitten her) and as I’m kneeling down making sure she is okay, an image of a Palestinian child, all alone and gravely injured enters my mind. The helplessness, the pain, the dire situation. Whilst my heart is humble with gratitude, I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt.
It has been nearly 120 days since the genocide began. How is it that the world is just watching as Gazans get killed, maimed and deprived of everything over and over again and the violence reaches new, dizzying heights? We were reading about Muslim reformers in the 18th century. Revolutions that overthrew oppressors happened just because some Muslim leaders with a conscience could not bear to see Muslims unable to practice their religion freely. Imagine, if those people were still alive, how would they have reacted to human beings being deprived of basic rights to food, shelter, clothing, family and LIFE itself? Why are we a people that cares far more about our own comfort and convenience?
Why are we slaves to the system? Why are we so mortally afraid of losing our privileges, wealth, status? Why do we measure our self-worth with how the West measures us? Are we here in this world forever? Why don’t we live for a purpose greater than ourselves?
We might miss the 9 o’clock soap or God forbid the sale on Zara. We must live our perfectly curated lives, complete with a fancy dinner on the weekend and a vacation later in the year. Feeling the pain of our brethren and doing something to alleviate it is too much work. It is neither quick nor convenient. And our pristine cars might get scratched if we drive into the rubble.
All these thoughts and more flood my mind as I absentmindedly prepare breakfast and wonder what Bisan might have had to eat today. I wonder about Mansour Shouman and his family, and I think about all those people that were abducted and no one knows or cares. I think about the mothers watching their children live with amputated limbs and wondering if death might have been better. I think about the little children that are being starved and frozen and I wonder what a terrible place this world has become because you and I, and those in power, lost all empathy, compassion and humanity.
My eyes begin to well up as we enjoy a delicious breakfast. The guilt is crushing. Perhaps a Salahuddin Al Ayyubi will rise from somewhere. Someday.
Sorry Palestine.
Footprints on the Sands of Time 