She was crying but there was no voice to be heard. She was bleeding, but there was no blood to be seen. She was wounded but there were no wounds on her skin. She was feeling, but there was no expression on her face. Her pain was beyond physical. It was apparent yet nobody could see it.

Nobody could see it. Not because they were not looking, but because they failed to perceive it. She was helpless at that time because nobody was helping her. It took her some time to realize that she didn’t need the help she had sought, until then. She was looking in the wrong direction. She was looking everywhere except the one place that was the right one. It was when she lost everything she ever had that she looked there, on the ground. She kneeled, she bowed, she prostrated. She never stood again, but she never wanted to either.

She had found amidst the loud bombings and fires which took from her everything that she had ever called as ‘hers’ the One whom nobody could ever take from her.

Meanwhile, at places far away from Gaza, smallest of change was happening.

Although people kept on buying expensive things in preparation of Eid, kept on arguing about their favorite football teams, kept on fantasising about their worldly desires and kept on regretting their biggest failures in life; the things they have done since time immemorial. Yet somewhere in between all the protests on the streets and on the social media, in all the shouts for pray for Gaza and somehow during the ibadah they were doing in the Holy month of Ramazan and sometimes when they were reciting :

‘لااله الا انت سبحانك انى كنت من اظالمين ’, in small moments, even for a second or two when people felt a pang for their brothers and sisters dying for no reason at all, a line was being drawn.

It was a clear line that differentiated between the Muslim Ummah and the rest of the world. It divided us and them; a line which was straight, although still faint but it was there nonetheless. Something was happening or was about to happen.


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