Rubble
As I pull the covers up over me on this chilly November night
I settle in for sleep in the comfort of my bed
My mind drifts
I can’t help but think about the little girl who is not in her bed tonight
trapped in the rubble
pressed under tons of concrete and steel
days without a caress
or the comforting words of her parents
without her ragged stuffed dog that provided some small comfort in the routine misery that was,
until recently, life in an open air prison where everyone struggled to survive
A struggle that has now reached its climax for this child
A struggle that is over for so many others like her
I imagine she is hungry
a hunger that I’ve never even remotely known
she’s had nothing to eat but the dust that cakes the inside of her mouth
that has choked off her voice
so she can only weep in silence
in the dark
under the concrete and steel
in the rubble
She is thirsty
with no liquids available but her tears
She has been locked in this position for days
a building holds her down
crushing her left leg
Her senses don’t work like they used to
Her eyes burn when she tries to open them
Her lungs burn with every shallow breath
Pain overcomes her
She is terrified and confused
as I would be
but even more so because she’s only 3 years old and doesn’t fully understand what is
happening to her
She drifts in and out of consciousness
but there is no rest
just intermittent breaks from the terror
What will take her first
dehydration, infection, or shock
She desperately wants her yaba and yamma
Her father’s hands desperately dig to reach her
Her mom cannot help
her body awaits burial
God also reaches His hands toward her
Who will reach her first?
I imagine how I would feel if my child was encased in a concrete and steel sarcophagus
How is this little girl of Gaza any different from our children?
How can we allow this?
I fall asleep
We sleep.

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