Update: (8 a.m local Gaza time)

I call everyone these days, any number I can get my hands on. It’s like winning the lottery if you get someone on the line.

I call Shaymaa because I’m worried and because Asmaa isn’t answering.

It rings and she answers quickly.

Hi habibti, I was worried about you. You didn’t answer when I called yesterday.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t have any service, the lines were down. There was heavy bombing here and they are still hitting us. Can you hear it? Here, listen, listen…” I imagine that she swings the phone toward her bedroom window with Jude underneath her arm.

I hear it, I hear it…I say, sighing deeply. It is the sound of mortars being fired by tanks.

“They killed 21,” she says. “And they call us terrorists? No one, on this earth has terrorized or is worthy of being called a terrorist but THEM,” she almost yells. In the background I can hear Jude, cooing with the sound of mortars between her beautiful song. I feel chills on my body.

How is your family? I ask.

“My aunt is in the Nuseirat, they were also hit in that area last night. I can hear something rustling. Then I hear Judes voice, clearly on the line. She must have picked her up, I think to myself.

I don’t want to keep you, habibti, I tell her. I know you just woke up and Jude needs you.

“Yes, I better go,” she says. There isn’t much battery left on my phone.

Take care of yourself, habibti. And give Jude a big kiss from me, I tell her.

Shaymaa giggles. “I will,” she says. I can almost see her smile.

Bye, habibti, I tell her.

“Ma’asalama,” she says. I stay on the line and I can hear Jude’s breathing for a second. Her mother hangs up quickly. The battery, I remind myself. The battery. I sigh and try to smell Jude. I’m sure she smells like all babies, pure and innocent and full of life.

 

#Gaza #GazaUnderAttack