By Krishanali Merchant
In the dead of night, the chilling sound of explosions reverberates through the
small, close-knit town of Rafah in the southern region of Gaza. The once calm and
quiet atmosphere, which could hear the family discussions and the buzz of life, is
replaced by the horror of brutality. The streets are now lit by the fires and the smell
of destruction, and the buildings, and the people have become silent witnesses to
the tragedy that has happened to this city.
Gaza is well acquainted with suffering and Rafah is no exception to this rule. Their
people have gone through years of war, embargo, and economic difficulties every
day of the year. But nothing could have prepared them for the horror of the recent
homicides that befell the families in the community and left them in deep sorrow.
The recent events have shocked the people of Rafah, the survivors are unable to
come to terms with the extent of the devastation and the futility of the violence.
Rafah has always been the people, and its people are its heart. Those who have
been here for generations, whose ancestries are entrenched in the rich soil of this
historic country. These are individuals who have created their existences on the
basis of hope and perseverance and who have survived in conditions of instability.
But now, their spirits are filled with grief, their faces marked by the suffering of a
tragedy beyond words. The names of the fallen ring in the halls of their houses, a
painful memory of the cut short dreams.
The aftermath of the violence portrays the city as a broken one with many
individuals struggling with loss and yet striving to rebuild their lives. The cries of
women who lost their children, the empty look of the fathers who feel like they are
useless in this world, and the tears of the children who lost their friends and
companions all portray the story of a community that is grieving an unimaginable
loss. The debris of a ruthless existence that now covers the streets of Rafah narrates
the story of a night that will remain engraved in the minds of the people of Rafah
for the rest of their lives.
However, there is a glimmer of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel, a sign of life
even in the face of death. The people of Rafah, albeit suffering and wounded, are
one in spirit, one in mourning and one in defiance. They stand in small groups as
they console and encourage one another. It is impossible to express how much they
must be suffering, but in their absence, there is strength in numbers and the
strength that comes from the human spirit. They still believe in the possibility of a
brighter tomorrow even though the world is filled with so much hatred and
violence.
The global community observes, sometimes nonchalantly, sometimes
empathetically, but always from a position that can never grasp the extent of
Rafah’s suffering. The people of Rafah, like so many others in conflict zones are
no mere statistics or numbers but living human beings. They are human beings
with life histories, with aspirations, with relatives who care for them and want
them back. It is a tragedy that they are no more but their demise is a wake up call
for the world to embrace the need for peace and this can only be achieved through
serious commitment to the realization of the goal.
As the dawn breaks over Rafah, as a city that has been through so much, the spirit
of the people is intact. They bury their loved ones, they support the survivors and
they still wait for the day when their children will live in a world that is not defined
by acts of terror, but by the chance for life. Rafah is a metaphor of human strength
in the existence of human pain.
By Krishanali Merchant
Comments