Shadows: The Morning Newspaper 

From the Perspective of a 9-year-old Palestinian Child - Siaansh Bhadauria (Deerfield Elementary, 6th Grade)

They never cared. All they did was shoot pitiful glances our way and turn without a second look back. They left us in the dust, writhing with agony. But why? Why undergo such tragic situations in the first place? War destroys. In the name of care, they destroyed our land, and everything we had known, and have crushed a part of our identity. You may be used to the sound of the school bell ringing. I am used to the blaring of airstrike alarms and crashing of shells that tear through the place we’d known as home. You may feel safe and cozy in your home but for me, even the safest of forts cannot expunge even the slightest bit of danger. While you have the fire of pursuing your dreams up and running, my fire was long extinguished, my dreams plummeting and reducing to ashes. I’m too infirm to even hope for anything. What is all this war for? 

The Hamas terrorists launched a surprise attack involving missiles and hundreds of gunmen infiltrating the Gaza-Israel border. 250 people were taken hostage, and in retaliation, the Israelians hit back with full force. One attack escalated to a full-fledged, seemingly never-ending war. The Palestinian people and their families and loved ones faced the wrath of a counter-attack. In the aftermath, whatever little aid we received was staggered compared to the consistent bombing, missile launching, and shelling attacks on us. 

War is futile. War is fruitless. War is frivolous. However, no one cares to understand. I thought the world was filled with humans that embraced love and peace. It seems, however, that people have a predilection towards war. Diplomatic negotiations are paid little attention to. Peer pressure from other countries presents moral dilemmas. There are ways, passages, and pathways that lead to less death while still achieving the goal of this war. 

Under the name of protection, we were injured. Under the name of hunting down enemies, we were treated with animosity. WHY!? I was fleeing Israeli shelling until my arms were severed in front of my eyes. Crimson blood spurted, and I let out a jarring caterwaul. It echoed throughout, spreading for miles…until I fell in exhaustion, awash with pain. Eventually, I was taken by some means of transportation to a hospital in Qatar. It was clear that nothing could be done to heal my arms to their original conditions. I await prosthetic surgery but, as of now, I can do little for myself. I am such a ragged, withering being that I remain unsure of what life has in store. I have reached the crossroads of the continuation to live or to die. My decision will be made in due time, but no matter how fast my legs carry me, the inescapable shadow lingering over me, showering the acid rain of negativity, will never leave my side. But a spark remains that a God-sent person would prove to be a savior. Who knows, you could be that person. Unless someone[like you] cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.

Some few months before the war had started, my classmates and I watched the inspirational story, The Lorax, adapted from English to Arabic. Is there anyone who would care such an awful lot, or will the world remain detached, disinterested, and dismissive? Will it remain impervious to my woes? 

The Grand Mosque, which once stood with dignity and glory, has now crumbled. Hamada’s Ice Cream Shop, which imparted delightful memories to both the young and old, looks ghostly and abandoned. The Citadel of Toys, a place where ebullient kids clutched their holiday money and swarmed the shop, looking for playthings and toys, now is nothing more than rubble. The New York Times carried my picture on their front page the other day, but those headlines received only a few pained looks until the paper was stacked in the storage bin. And with that, my face and my painful experiences were all folded away. That single spark of hope was extinguished. Little did I know that it was to be rekindled soon.