They call us now. Before they drop the bombs. The phone rings and someone who knows my first name calls and says in perfect Arabic âThis is David.â And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies still smashing around in my head I think Do I know any Davids in Gaza? They call us now to say Run. You have 58 seconds from the end of this message. Your house is next. They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy. It doesnât matter that there is nowhere to run to. It means nothing that the borders are closed and your papers are worthless and mark you only for a life sentence in this prison by the sea and the alleyways are narrow and there are more human lives packed one against the other more than any other place on earth Just run. We arenât trying to kill you. It doesnât matter that you canât call us back to tell us the people we claim to want arenât in your house that thereâs no one here except you and your children who were cheering for Argentina sharing the last loaf of bread for this week counting candles left in case the power goes out. It doesnât matter that you have children. You live in the wrong place and now is your chance to run to nowhere. It doesnât matter that 58 seconds isnât long enough to find your wedding album or your sonâs favorite blanket or your daughterâs almost completed college application or your shoes or to gather everyone in the house. It doesnât matter what you had planned. It doesnât matter who you are Prove youâre human. Prove you stand on two legs. Run. - Running Orders, by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha
Posted on: Sat, 19 Jul 2014 14:11:18 +0000
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