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REMEMBERING A MARTYR FOR PALESTINE: TO A CHILD WHO DREAMT
OF FREEDOM
by reham alhelsi
You dreamt of playing with your friends in the streets and
alleys of Palestine, you dreamt of playing without fear of
F-16s and tanks, you dreamt of playing without blood and
tears. You dreamt of running in the streets, up the hills
and on the beach. You dreamt of playing hide and seek in
a world where playing wars and soldier and civilian would
be just a game, an uninteresting game. You dreamt of a
Palestine that is free. You dreamt of Hebron, Haifa and
Al-Jalil. You yearned for Jerusalem; spoke to its ancient
houses and beautiful arches, you wished you were a bird
to fly over its old city, kiss its sky and touch its
hills, caress its houses, its mosques and its churches,
and hug the city you love so much.
You stood steadfast in your land, the land of your parents,
your grandparents and the generations that were before them
and those that will follow. You confronted the occupier
with your bare body, stood tall in the battlefield, armed
only with a stone and the just cause. You stood in the
face of the coward soldier hiding behind a killing machine,
afraid of the truth that you incarnate, the truth that is
moving to sweep away the occupation, the oppression and
Zionism. You refused to accept the status quo, you refused
to be intimidated by armed soldiers, you refused to forget.
You refused to accept the lie, refused to accept the
distortion of history, you knew that the land is ours no
matter how many massacres the occupier commits, no matter
how many times the occupier bombs our homes, no matter how
many of our villages the occupier deletes. You stood up to
a Zionist soldier and told him in a strong clear voice:
what are doing here? This is my land!
You feared Zion not, feared no merkava, no F-16 and no
bomb. You knew no fear, for you are the owner of the land,
the son of the land, and the land knows you, the land is
part of you. You confronted the fully-armed soldier of
Zion, you refused to be harassed or ordered around in your
own country by a colonizer, a Zionist soldier whose hands
are stained with the blood of your siblings, your friends,
your comrades, your neighbours. You refused to be oppressed
by a Zionist land-thieve whose alien caravans are built
on the ruins of the sitting room and playgrounds of
Palestinian families. You feared this soldier not. You
refused to be intimidated by his gun, by his tank and by
his warplane. You held your little stone, aimed and shot,
and watched as the fully-armed soldier fled in fear to
hide behind his tank. You stood steadfast as the Zionist
soldier watched you from behind his fortress, trying to
threaten you with his tank. You stood steadfast facing
his fortress, armed with your thirst for freedom and your
little stone. You saw the realization in his eyes; that
this is a war the Zionists will never win, that this is a
land the Zionists will never have, that this is a people
the Zionists will never break, that this is a land that
will never be anything but Palestine, that this is a
people willing to fight to the last drop of blood for the
sake of this land.
You stood facing the fire, saw your homeland, stood within
your homeland, stood on its sacred soil and knew that no
fire, no matter how strong, would be able to swallow up
the courage in our heart, nor be able to erase the little
home with the orange tree printed in your mind. You refused
to run away, you refused to fear them, but stood tall
and walked. And with every firm step you took, with every
resolute look you gave them, you marched towards Nablus,
marched towards Haifa, marched towards Al-Jalil, marched
towards Jerusalem. You marched between the killers, you
marched and saw the fear and cowardice in their eyes as
you passed them, you marched and marched until you saw
the blue sky over Jerusalem and knew that the stone has
triumphed.
You believed in the strength of a stone, a tiny stone
capable of shaking the thrones of Zion. You held the stone
in your little palm, caressed it and kissed it for it is a
weapon more powerful than bombs and tanks and warplanes,
and in your heart there is more courage than is in their
army of cowards. Your words are painted in our books, are
carved on the walls of our homes, printed in the sand
along the Palestinian shore and mixed with the oil running
through the olive trees decorating Palestinian hills.
Words your little mind memorized, words your little heart
often sang, words you left us for safekeeping until
return: even if they break my bones I am not afraid, even
if they demolish my home I am not afraid.
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You taught the world that had long lost its conscience the
meaning of determination, courage and dignity. You taught
the world that is hypocrite to the bone the meaning of
steadfastness in the face of oppression, that rights are
never begged, that the oppressed can never be equated with
the oppressor. You showed the world that speaks a thousand
tongues that for courage there is only one name, and for
freedom there is only one name, and for the land between
the River and the Sea there always was and will always be
one name: Palestine. You forced the blind world to open
its eyes and see you walk in confidence, full of determin-
ation towards your oppressors, confront them, dance the
Palestinian dance of resistance, of victory and show them
who owns the land and to whom the land will always belong.
You forced the blind world to open its eyes and see your
sling confront the Zionist merkava and defeat it. You
forced the deaf world to open its ears and hear your words
about a little boy who wanted to know no fear of bullets
that come raining every day, the words of a boy who wanted
to know no fear of flying monsters that bomb homes at
night. You forced the world to hear your songs about a
little bird that wants to fly high over the sky of
Jerusalem, wants to kiss Al-Aqsa and the Holy Sepulcher,
wants to engulf the smells of the Jerusalem's old city
and swim in its colours. You forced them to listen to
your voice, the voice that was louder than the fire, than
the tank, than the occupiers, than the collaborators and
the sellers and the bidders.
You challenged them all, showed them who is the owner of
the land, whom the lands welcomes and embraces and who it
vomits and rejects. Your only weapon was your heart, your
love, your belief in the just cause that is ours. Your
only weapon was your little stone, your constant companion
in all the battlefields. With your weapon, the little
stone, powerful than any other weapon, you confronted the
occupier, you challenged their killing machine, your
challenged the whole blind and deaf world. You showed them
that your stone, your weapon, the weapon of a fighter for
a just cause, is much stronger and powerful than all their
weapons.
And as you lie on the ground, your blood streaming to
water the sacred soil, your little heart beating slower
and slower, you smell the poppies of Palestine, you
feel the sea breeze in Akka, you see the blue sky over
Jerusalem and you know that Palestine is forever yours.
They left you to bleed to death. They watched as your
innocent soul left your little body. They watched as your
little loving heart stopped beating. They did nothing to
save you. They feared you. They feared the little boy who
stood up to their might, stood up to their tyranny, stood
up to their killing machine and feared it not. They feared
you because you are the generation that should have
forgotten Palestine, that should have forgotten Jerusalem,
that should have forgotten how sacred a stone is. They
feared you because with your little heart and your little
stone you told them a reality that haunts them: you won't
be able to delete our memory no matter how hard you try,
you won't be able to delete our history no matter how hard
you try. We are here to stay and Palestine will forever
be from the River to the Sea.
You dreamt of freedom and you got it, you reached for
freedom and you got it. You snatched it from the mouth of
the monster, you snatched it for it is your right. You are
free. And as Jerusalem fills our hearts, and as Palestine
thrives with our steadfastness, you will forever be
remembered, you will forever live in our hearts, in our
minds and in our Palestine. You will forever remain, Faris
Odeh, the 15 year old Palestinian hero who confronted the
Zionist tank with his little stone and won.
Source: My Palestine
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