[EDITOR’S NOTE: This blog has been dormant for a long time. I’m in the process of creating a new site, which will have a broader scope and encompass many issues facing contemporary Muslims, such as Palestine, Islamophobia, identity. I was waiting to conclude the transition before posting anything new. But this column was written in Arabic by a friend and colleague of mine, who was at Riham’s funeral. Its urgency lies in its poignancy and timeliness. So, with his permission, it is reprinted here in English. By the time Riham had died on Sept. 6, 2015 from the wounds she sustained after Israeli settlers firebombed her house, the world’s attention had moved on. Let us remember Riham, the way we remembered Ali, 18 months, and her husband Saad. Four-year-old Ahmed is still recovering from burns covering most of his little body.]
By Khaldoun Barghouti
Occupied West Bank
It’s not the smell of the Dawabshe’s burned house that will remind the visitors of what happened 40 days ago, neither will the walls of it’s original colours, which disappeared under a thick, black layer that will remind the 4-year-Ahmad of what happened to his family.
A Molotov cocktail, a bunch of Israeli settlers, and the last 40 days are enough to engrave the image Douma and Palestine of what settler terror can do.
A few days ago, Riham Dawabshe turned 27, but she didn’t finish her first day in the new year of her life. She joined her husband who died on their anniversary, and her 18-month-old son, 40 days after settlers burned him alive.
“I miss her smile, she always kept smiling, and I will miss the time I used to spend with her, asking for advice” said Alia Dawabshe, Rahim’s 13-year-old sister.
Alia turns back and disappears into the crowd of women dressed in black in her parents’ house. Their eyes are directed to the road, from where the coffin of Riham will be brought for the last good-bye.
“She treated us as if we were her daughters or little sisters. She used to spend time listening to us, and finding solutions to our problems, and now she’s gone, and it seems the killers will escape with their murder” said Nisreen, 17.
Riham’s mother had the last chance to see her covered body. She wasn’t allowed to see the face of her daughter; 90 percent of her body had been burned trying to rescue her children.
The relatives carried the coffin and rushed out of the house, while the cries rose higher and higher. They passed the blackened windows of the burned house. The body was laid for the funeral prayer service in the school yard. The school was renamed recently after her son Ali and her husband Saad Dawabshe. Now the name Riham will join them.
The Imam lead the prayer, and in the end he asked God for peace to be upon her. A peace that seems so far from becoming true in Palestine.
Riham was carried on shoulders and taken to the cemetery. There were two fresh graves. A small one where Ali was buried, and the other held Saad.
While Riham was being buried, some people addressed the mourners. The loud speakers were so nearly deafening, but six feet under Ali and Saad were not listening. They were busy welcoming Riham, asking her about Ahmad, and whether he is going to heal from his burns.