How can we save the next 'Soul of my soul?'

This story is not a scene from a movie but this has been our world’s reality for the past two months of 2023. One morning the two-year-and-a-half girl Reem and her brother Tariq were playing with their mother at home in the Palestinian town of Deir Al Balah in Gaza, Palestine. My namesake, their grandfather Khalid Nabhan was looking forward to play with them as usual, and liked to bring them toys from Egypt, since Gaza has been under siege in concentration camp conditions for the past 17 years.

Reem and Tariq will never again play around with their grandfather as the Israeli Occupation Force dropped bombs, probably weighing 900 kg, on their heads, shattering the little boy Tariq into pieces, killing Reem instantly and severely injuring their mother and destroying their neighbourhood.

As their grandfather Khalid washing them in preparation for their burial, he had flashbacks of how she would tease him and lick his face and how much Reem liked her earrings. He was calling their names hoping they are just asleep and will wake up one more time... he called Reem and Tariq “the soul of my soul”. They joined the 30,000 martyrs who died for their historic homeland, including 8,000 children killed by Israel.

One of the responsibilities falls on all of us is crimes that go unpunished are repeated. So far, 300,000 homes were destroyed, 300 health workers and 70 journalists not to mention hundreds of UN and relief workers from NGOs were targeted and murdered, and $2 million of money and property of dead Gazans stolen by Israeli soldiers found in the rubbles. Is there a way we can understand the implications of these losses and save the next soul?

What does “Soul of my Soul mean”?

Rooh roohi, is an Arabic language endearing term that literally means the soul of my souls and reserved for those whom we regard as the loves of our lives, like our partners and kids. Arabs, Arab culture and Arabic language has been increasingly under assault around the world since the 9/11 attacks. This has not only hurt Arabic speakers it also hurts anyone and everyone from any background who genuinely believes in openness, diversity, inclusion and belonging.

You do not need to be an Arabic speaker to feel the pain of Khalid Nabhan, Reem and Tariq’s grandfather, when he was using his gentle voice hoping in vain that his granddaughter and grandson would be resurrected from their final resting place.

The 12,000 tonnes of bombs used by Israel are not only ethically cleansing Palestinians, city by city, they are spreading a paralysing disgust mixed with fear in anyone who understands how genocide is linked to epistomocide, or the systematic eradication of knowledge and culture.

How can we save the next soul?

Our thoughts and mindsets are behind our actions and this continuous ethnic campaign by political elites in the West and Israel is the result of their historic belief that inflicting extreme violence to eradicate or enslave a target group will result in their love for these elites as a master race.

The political elites in particularly believe that since bombing Japan with nuclear weapons in 1945 caused Japan’s surrender and joining Western culture then the rest of the global south, including Arab culture, will embrace inferiority and love to US and Israel political elites as superior human beings.

Gazans’ resilience proved that just and principled resistance is an alienable human right that is worth defending. For decades, justice and peace talks and conferences failed convincing supremacist superpowers that all human beings are born equal. Today, as we watch live in our homes and mobile phones the limbs of thousands of Reems and Tariqs being pulled from under the rubble, while their Khalids witness the souls of their souls ascend to heaven we should never accept this as our new normal.

Justice and peace need our courage and power today more than ever and the least we can do is lend our voice to those less fortunate even when our own voice is shaking.