Manal Shurafa Al-Qasem (Holland, PA) May 3, 2007

I started reading this book two weeks after I bought it. I was postponing it knowing that it will bring to life the parts of me that I kept enclosed for many years. I cried for every character as I read every page. I felt my sadness that I buried in my heart for so long coming back to life beating stronger and more alive than my heart itself. I cried with guilt even though the massacre of Jenin 2002 still beats in my heart, but not as much as it used to a few years ago. I cried with anger and solicitude for the holy religious places which sacredness and holiness has been violated and profaned with extreme brutality.

I remembered with tears in my heart, the Intifada and the children who gave their lives for their Palestine and mine. For not having the chance to live the life that every child deserves, because their innocence was executed and their dignity was crushed before their eyes for the same guilt of Iman Hajo and Aisha. (They were born by the sacred land of milk and honey).

When you started describing the massacre of Jenin 2002, I struggled even harder to drag my eyes between the lines because I was and still am afraid of the next time Israel will retaliate in self-defense with a future massacre against the so dangerous threat to its security (children). It made my heart dive into the darkness of my chest when I realized that I know in advance what the reaction of the world will be.

I cried for the three Palestinians who lived together under the same roof, each with a different identity, but none of them belonged to real Palestine.

I cried for us Americans that rule the world like a king indulged in his own pleasures and selfishness and not knowing how miserably his people suffered from his actions.

I pitied myself as a Palestinian and American at the same time whichever way I go, I am hated by every one in the world.

I realized that there has been a dagger implanted in my heart for so long and has just become more alive and more painful than it has been for a long time.

When I finished the novel, I realized that all this crying was with tears in my heart that no one can see or feel but me.

But, to my surprise, I felt a thread of light of hope tiptoeing softly into my heart for the new generation that will live and see the free Palestine which I cannot see but, through their eyes and beating in their hearts.

Please continue to write to keep our heritage and our Palestine alive in our children’s hearts and minds, and to keep our memories vivid and alive.