The Shafi'i family... when the horrors of war came together in one house.

Jabalia morning was like no other morning. The siege was strangling the alleys, and the smoke hung in the air like a heavy cloud that did not want to leave. The moment the families thought the hard days would pass quickly, the wild incursion began...suddenly, thickly, swallowing up everything.

People hid behind the walls of their homes, holding on to a small hope that the army would withdraw, that the devastation would not last.
In a modest house at the edge of the camp, the Shafi’i family were gathered around the Qur’an. They read the verses of Allah day and night, fortifying their hearts and hoping that the storm would pass without being stolen dearly from them.

But time was running... and danger was faster.
The sound of the tanks approaching, crawling with his weight above the ground, strikes fear in the breasts of women and children. They continue to shoot at houses without warning. The mother turned to her children, stretching her arms as a last fortress:
"Come here... let me protect you."
It was as if they were building a wall of light, but the darkness was too strong to deter.
The soldiers suddenly kicked the door. The father and his son, Abraham, were standing in front... In one second, their souls ascended to heaven, leaving behind a tearful cry that looked like an entire heart had fallen to the ground.

A cry followed by the soldiers' voice:
"Yeldim...Yeldim".
"Children"... is a word that drips harshly despite its meaning.

The place was filled with a heavy silence, as if the angels were present, shrouded in fear, and reared the hearts of the survivors.

The soldiers allowed the mother to leave with her children, after they snatched her husband and son without even saying goodbye. She begged to be buried, to kiss their faces last time, but the war does not give gifts. She went out dragging her six children, each carrying an older age.

I heard the voice of a woman screaming from the rubble, so I rushed to her, and the woman embraced her whispering like the sky breaking over the head:
"Khalid and Abraham... martyred."
She only understood that she had lost half of her heart, and that the other half was clinging to the fingers of children who needed her more than turning herself in for grief.

Today among them is a young man studying medicine, his father's dream was to see him as a doctor. And here he stands confused between two ways:
To complete his dream to be proud of their souls...
Or does he stand in his father's place to carry his little sisters on his shoulders?
The others, too, are little girls who keep the Book of God as their mother recommended.
She always told them:
"I wear the crown of reverence... my world."
Today, despite the destruction, despite the loss, despite the orphan...
They all walk towards life, collecting their wounds into each other's hands, trying not to fall.
Because that's what survivors do...
They keep walking even if their hearts are pierced.