ZIAD IN GAZA

 

The youngest child (not grandchild) is 16 years younger than his oldest brother (the father of the three kids). He is a very nice kid. When we first arrived, he heard me talking about reading and started asking me about the books I love to read and whether I could recommend some writers to him.

 

Earlier today, I noticed that he was anxious and was fully dressed. Usually, in times like these, women wear praying clothes because they are easier to move in, and men stay in their pyjamas. His middle brother was dressed up, too. I asked where they were going and he said: “His school friend is at the hospital. His parents and one of his sisters are dead. My brother is terrified, and he wants to visit his friend.”

 

When they come back, hours later, the teenager comes and sits quietly in the room. My sister and I try to open a conversation and ask how his friend is feeling. He says: “He is doing very well. He has several wounds but the doctor says that everything will be OK.” I want him to express his feelings, so I share with him that he looks worried. He says: “There is something. He does not know that his parents and sister are dead. The doctor asked us not to share the news with him in order for his medical state not to worsen.”