Aisha. In her Rich Red Silk.

Today was the eighth day of Sukkot; it was Shemini Atzeretin in Al-Bayuk. A little paradise yet unaffected by gunfire and war debris, Al-Bayuk sits quietly in the southern Gaza Strip. Villagers were assembling in the local synagogue to read from the Torah. Preparations were on for festivities later in the day after the recitation of tefilat geshem, the prayer for rain.

Noor has been busy since morning. She carefully took out her long white skirt, neatly folded and kept for this very day. A perfect match with her long-sleeved lace top and earrings that she received on her seventh birthday from her mother. Noor felt like a princess this spring afternoon, the picture of the modest tzniut. Food was cooked yesterday for the whole community, as no one was supposed to work or even cook on this holy day! Last afternoon, Noor helped her mother prepare challah. The chicken stew was sitting in a large stone pot, veiling their house and even the lane outside with a splendid aroma. Tonight, their humble abode would be home to so many living in Al-Bayuk. 

Dusk was preparing to descend with a golden after-glow. Almost as if the sun chose to leave behind in Noor’s Al-Bayuk, a bit of herself. Noor picked her constant friend, Aisha, her beloved cloth doll, draped in a rich red silk for this special day, as she joined the others on the narrow lane outside. Rafah and Layla were already there, jumping and waving at Noor, in an effort to be seen above several tall heads. As they walked by, they passed little Adil and Isa kicking around a football. Noor sent the ball bouncing over their courtyard with an effortless kick. She still harboured her secret dream of playing football for those fancy foreign clubs when she grew up. Her mother of course said that was nothing short of blasphemy! 

What a solemn procession this was! Men dressed in their white kittel and women in pretty long dresses, beautifully covered hair, colourful scarfs. Noor and her friends joined the others on their way to the synagogue to recite the prayer for rain. Later, they would all join in merriment; they would sing and dance with friends and neighbours. Rafah, Layla and Noor planned to slip away later in the evening, while the adults were busy in festivities and sit in the desolate park just across the lane. None would notice tonight. The moon looked the biggest from there, they knew!

The dark cool synagogue felt alive this evening with the entire neighbourhood assembled. As they read out from the Torah, heralding the rain, there descended on them a blanket of peace and quiet. Torah symbolises the cycle of life. The last verse of the tefilat geshem was being recited by the Rabbi. And then came the sudden interruption. A loud noise. Sirens and a deafening ‘boom’.  A deathly quiet followed. As the small group looked around, puzzled and uncertain of the reality which was looming a few metres away, there was another loud boom. This time, nearer. The roof and walls of the room shook. Everyone knelt on the floor. A minute or so passed. And then the massive explosion came. As if rising from the dark depths of the earth, like a slow monstrous thunder roll, the sound rolled over and over, till it seemed to engulf the entire town of Al-Bayuk. The golden dusk vanished behind a cloud of dark grey. Pitch dark descended on this day of Shemini Atzeretin.

The whites of the kittel were scattered with colours of the scarfs. A woman’s bangles caught a touch of gold from the open sky above and threw around such a pretty kaleidoscope of colours. Somewhere outside the huge mass of debris, a child was crying. A helicopter kept circling the sky above their synagogue. Its monotonous drill was like a call to action to the quietness inside this house of prayer. 

The men soon came, some of them in army attire. The peace force could only gape in shock at the sudden devastation. There was not a sign of movement, not even a moan from under buried rocks and debris. The silence screamed of stillness, of stifled dreams, of a large pot of chicken stew lying untasted. The next day’s news would have a nondescript corner, “Al-Bayuk synagogue shattered by bomb”. 

As the sun was about to set and the dark gray dust cover had lifted a little, there stuck out from the darkest corner of devastation, a rich red silk. Was there a limb too, caressing in its last moment, the silk of what looked from close, a ragged doll? Aisha lay in a heap of rich red color in a gray backdrop of ruin. Her hand was gripped tightly by the girl whose name meant “light”. Little Noor lay broken under a huge stone, lifeless as the stone itself. Her dream of playing football forever stilled.

And then just as suddenly, rain came pouring. God had listened to the prayers of tefilat geshem.