I grieved three thousand times. Then I grieved for myself, a lonely woman without the honor given to the wives of the fallen. The reverence for their loss, for their children's loss. It was eloquent and grand. So moving and charged with solidarity......
Always" is a good word to believe in.
Under the broken promises of superpowers and under the worlds indifference to spilled Arab blood.
You and I are the remains of an unfulfilled legacy, heirs to a kingdom of stolen identities and ragged confusion.
I know she is crying. Her tears fall on the wrong side, into the bottomless well inside her.
For us, fear comes where terror comes to others because we are anesthetized to the guns constantly pointed at us. And the terror we have known is something few Westerners ever will. Israeli occupation exposes us very young to the extremes of our emot...
Israeli occupation exposes us very young to the extremes of our emotions, until we cannot feel except in the extreme.
Amal,I believe that most Americans do not love as we do. It is not for any inherent deficiency or superiority in them. They live in the safe, shallow, parts that rarely push human emotions into the depths where we dwell.
Thank you,’ I answered, unsure of the proper American response to her gracious enthusiasm. In the Arab world, gratitude is a language unto itself. “May Allah bless the hands that give me this gift”; “Beauty is in the eyes that find me pretty�...
How fate is stubborn and holds to habit.
The soldiers in my life had raised the bar for bad guys.
We're all born with the greatest treasures we'll ever have in life. One of those treasures is your mind, another is your heart.
For I'll keep my humanity, though I did not keep my promises. ... and Love shall not be wrested from my veins.
Would words shatter the immensity of life and death so close to one another?
She loved beyond measure, When I was young I thought her cold. But in time I came to understand that she was too tender for the world she’d been born into,” I said. Sorrow gave Dalia an iron gift. Behind that hard shelter, she loved boundlessly i...
I loved her in spite of myself. I loved her immeasurably. Infinitely. And I feared that love as much as I feared my own fury at the world.
the reverse side of love is unbearable loss.
Do you know, Mother, that Haj Salem was buried alive in his home? Does he tell you stories in heaven now? I wish I had had a chance to meet him. To see his toothless grin and touch his leathery skin. To beg him, as you did in your youth, for a story ...
