Dear Murad,

Thank you for letting me know that it’s Hind Rajab Day.

I think of Hind now, of her mother and family, the dispatcher, and the tens of thousands of children who perished. I sit next to a sleeping cat, both of us in front of a roaring fire almost too warm. I think of what Hind Rajab Day means.

Outside, clean snow drifts and ice crystals freeze the fallen trees, broken logs, and scattered plants in soft sculptural mounds. The sounds of Canada geese in the sky, a passing train, and nearby foxes muffle in the cold air. Hind sat alone, the only breathing form among broken concrete and punctured steel, bullets, shrapnel, and smoke. A nearby tank. We observe Hind Rajab Day because people and politics made it impossible for her to live. 

For one day in a year we commemorate Hind Rajab because this is all we have to give. If we had let her live, she would have a lifetime of Hind Rajab days to celebrate with family, friends, neighbors, classmates, and eventually perhaps a life partner, even her own children and grandchildren. I think of Hind.

The flames are smaller now, quieter as the coals brighten and crackle in ash. The radiant heat is comfortable. I wonder, is this the year that we finally end the ruin? Will we find our way back to humanity? I think of Hind. 

With gratitude and sympathy, 

Nancy