Tag: gaza

Hour: Light through the Darkness

November 15, 2025

This second piece from Gaza is by Hour, and part of the “Light throught the Darkness” collection. For more details on the Writers Matter project, please see here, here and here.

In a world filled with pain and unanswered questions, there is always a ray of light breaking through the darkness, giving us the strength to carry on.

From Gaza—under siege, among ruins—I write these words to speak of the light that never dies within us, no matter how heavy the darkness becomes.

I do not write from a quiet place, nor do I live a normal life.

I write from a place where everything seems ready to collapse: walls, schools, dreams—even childhood itself.

But despite the darkness that surrounds us, there is a small light that lives deep inside me—a light that ignites my heart when sorrow tries to extinguish it.

That light is not something seen with the eyes. It is faith that lives within us, the hope we cling to when all doors close, the smile we draw even while in pain.

It is those moments when we help each other, when we comfort the tired, when we give from the little we have, and keep walking as if nothing hurts.

“Light through the darkness” is when you open your book during a power outage and decide to keep studying because you believe in your future.

It’s when you console a mother who lost her child and whisper, “He’s safe in heaven now.”

It’s when you rise from the rubble, put the broken pieces back together, and smile because you survived.

Gaza taught me that light doesn’t always come from outside—it grows inside.

In the heart that refuses to give up, in the eyes that have seen too much yet still seek beauty, in the call to prayer during an airstrike, in the smell of bread despite the shortage, and in the laughter of a child who only knows he wants to live.

Darkness is not the end—it is a test of how strong our light can be.

The road may be long, but we will walk it, carrying our light in our hands, lighting our steps, and sharing its glow with others.

From Gaza, from the heart of pain, we write, we dream, and we love—because we believe true light cannot be defeated, even by the deepest darkness.

Children of Abraham Hosts “100 Tents for Justice, Humanity, and Equality”: Israeli-Palestinian Camping

August 22, 2025

Amidst a summer of record-breaking heat and divisive war, Children of Abraham brought together 200 Palestinians and Israeli Jews for a fun day of camping together. 

The event was multigenerational, with parents, grandparents, and children of all ages, coming from cities and towns around Israel and Palestine. Children were welcome to join Marc’s arts and crafts station, play with puzzles and inflatable carnival games, and get facepainted by a clown. Throughout the event several stands also provided handmade Palestinian crafts for sale, to help support local women artisans.

After enjoying a group dinner, a DJ played ambient music chosen to help everyone relax after a stressful summer. There were also dialogue circles and a Writers Matter group for participants to express their perspectives and experiences. The next morning breakfast was provided for all participants.

With 100 tents spread out on several levels, there was ample space for everyone to sleep comfortably, although some chose to take advantage of this opportunity to stay up late discussing peace and unity with friends from such diverse backgrounds across the holy land. 

During the opening remarks of the evening, Children of Abraham programs director and Palestinian peace activist Mohamad Jamous greeted all of the participants and welcomed them to another initiative to bring people from different communities together in solidarity and friendship. Subsequent speeches emphasized the diversity of the group, as well as the importance in choosing to come together in peace and friendship, for a better shared future. After these warm words, a special award was presented to Children of Abraham founder Jerry Katz for his dedication to Abrahamic peace in the holy land, and globally. For more information about future Children of Abraham events, please contact Mohamad (050-3190239; Mohamad.jamous26@gmail.com).

Organizer Mohamad Jamous thanked those who had supported the initiative, including David, Leah and Yoel, and shared his thoughts on the successful event:

Here I am, waking up to a new day in my journey along the path of humanity and peacebuilding.

I walk like an old man, weary in his features, whose face has been carved by years of pain, carrying on his shoulders a burden heavier than mountains… the burden of two peoples exhausted by wars, torn apart by bloodshed.

For fifteen years, I have stood—again and again—against despair, to organize yet another event, yet another gathering, that brings together what wars have divided.

I bring together people from different religions, nationalities, and backgrounds, to build a bridge of encounters, smiles, and humanity.

I have always—and still—worked to reunite people, just as I did with thousands over the past years.

I walk tirelessly, with no compensation, no salary, no reward.

I walk, carrying wounds that pierced my heart and soul, surrounded by a deep sadness that never leaves me. But I swore to continue… and I have continued.

And today, among the hundreds of programs I have led, I organized an interfaith summer camp that brought together about 200 people—young and old—inside 100 tents.

A camp that restored smiles to the faces of children, smiles I wished I could plant in the heart of every child on this wounded land… in Palestine, in Israel, and across every corner of the world.

Two hundred people shared their days and nights inside tents filled with stories, with tears, with pain…

But also filled with hope.

The theme of our camp this year was: “Justice, Humanity, and Equality for both the Israeli and Palestinian peoples, and for all peoples of the world.”

And I extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who stood with me and supported me, as always, to make this gathering possible—a gathering that unites us, that brings us together, and whispers to us that tomorrow will be better.

Two Sides, One Humanity: An Israeli-Palestinian Poem

May 2, 2024

The following poem was cowritten by a Jewish Israeli author and a Palestinian author as part of the Writers Matter program led by Professor Bob Vogel. The juxtaposition of two stories (fictional names based on the tragic reality of the ongoing war and surrounding conflict) illustrate how there are two human sides to the conflict, both suffering and both struggling to see one another’s pain.

Two Sides, One Humanity

It’s Sunday morning. I wake up, drool on my pillow, sheet marks scattered across my body, face still puffy. I turn on the TV to watch my favorite cartoon when unintentionally I see the news. I only linger for a moment.

On the news, they say it was them. How can I love them? They are the devil. How can I love them?

My friend Mohammad lost his parents in 2014; they were killed by a bomb. Before that, he used to be the life of the party, his smile shining bright, laughter filling my ears anytime I was around him. He loved to play soccer and play “bananir” and “8omida.” He had a dream; he wanted to be a therapist, to help heal souls, broken souls.

He doesn’t smile anymore, only the pity smile he gives to the people who say, “Sorry for your loss.” He doesn’t care about souls anymore; he doesn’t believe everyone has them. I threw a ball at him and said, “Come on, let’s play.” He kicked it back like it was never a part of him and said to give it to a kid who would enjoy it. I think I saw a tear fall, but I didn’t say anything because kids were orphaned all the time. Looking back now, I would have hugged him and told him everything would be okay. But that was a lie, and we both knew it even then… Ten years later, Mohammad was killed during the war. Then I knew it would never be okay.

My friend Yoav lost his brother during the second intifada. He was always a quiet kind kid and never let anyone fall behind. He loved to read books and go to the beach. He said he was at peace there. Yoav wanted to write books and travel the world.

Yoav is still quiet, but the kind of quiet that you notice, the kind that comes from people who have lost the will to say anything. He doesn’t read books because his brother would be the one to bring them to him. I don’t remember the last time I saw him holding a book. Yoav doesn’t come to the beach anymore. I wonder if he even has a place for peace. He doesn’t travel. I think he felt guilty to travel when his brother was six feet under. Looking back, I would have hugged him and told him everything would be okay. But that was a lie, and we both knew it even then… Twenty years later, Yoav was killed at the nova party. Then I knew it would never be okay.

Sometimes I wonder how you expect us not to hate the very people who took everything away from us.

Mohammad, even when he didn’t get to be a therapist, he was my therapist. He never liked seeing me sad, so why leave? He taught me so much and even showed me how to love myself. He used to help his mom and everyone around him. When he was killed, I didn’t just lose my friend or my therapist; I lost a part of me. A big part of me is with him in heaven. Maybe he can be that part’s therapist.

Yoav was everything to me. He was a brother. He wrote me little stories and held me up when life got tough. So why leave? Yoav was a pure-hearted boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And now he’s up in the sky. My dear Yoav, are you looking down on me, guiding and protecting us?

Mohammad? 

Yoav? 

Just feel, take a deep breath, and let go. 

Stretch your hand and lay your head on my chest over my heart. 

Can you feel my heartbeat? 

I can’t feel yours. 

Why can’t I feel yours? 

Can you hear me? Are you listening? 

Are you there? Maybe if you don’t have a rhythm, you can follow mine, the rhythm of love. 

Love? I think I mean the rhythm of fear.

Eyes, beautiful eyes left open even when life went. 

Ears, clogged. Leave the ignorant bliss and educate yourself. 

Stop hearing and start listening to me. 

I will own up to my part in our story. 

But stop hiding. 

You are not innocent; a victim maybe, but you played a hand in your own downfall.

Tongues, swear to god. 

They spread empty promises and lie 

until those little white lies turn the tongue into black dust. 

You promised a future, but Palestinians in Gaza fail to pass the age of 18. 

A nation of children who never grow up. 

You promised a place where I could be me. Israeli Jews massacred in their own country. 

A nation that has been slaughtered since the beginning of time.

Our senses make us senseless. 

Paralyzed in fear like a child abandoned 

angry like the breeze slapping the trees.

Two sides, always two sides, yet only one ever seen or one you choose to see.