Chapter 6 - The sound of the call to prayer among the rubble

In Gaza, the call to prayer never dies. Even when a mosque is destroyed, a voice rises: "Allahu Akbar" from the rubble. I would hear the call to prayer and cry. Not because it hurt, but because it kept us alive. Sometimes, we thought we were alone in this world. But when the call to prayer was made, we felt that God was still with us. One day, the neighborhood mosque was bombed. Nothing remained of it except the leaning minaret and scattered stones. But during the dawn prayer, an old sheikh stood on the rubble of the mosque and recited the call to prayer in his hoarse voice: "Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…" My heart trembled. I cried. I felt the sky split open for us. People came out of the tents, walked barefoot, in their pajamas, stood on stones, lined up to pray. Everything was under bombardment… except faith. Every mosque that was bombed was rebuilt in our hearts. And every call to prayer that was banned was repeated a thousand times in our chests. I saw a little boy trying to imitate the muezzin, raising his hands in prayer, saying, "Allahu Akbar." I asked him, "Do you know what the call to prayer means?" He said, "It means God is with us; He will not abandon us." We didn't have walls, but we had God. My father used to say, "When we pray among the rubble, we defy death and declare that we will remain." One night during the aggression, a bomb fell near the mosque. The air suffocated and dust rose. But the muezzin, despite the blood on his forehead, shouted again: "Come to prayer... come to success." He didn't want the bombing to distract him from his duty. And he didn't want God to be saddened by the absence of his beloved servants. In Gaza, the call to prayer isn't just a call. It's a cry to the world: We are not dying... we are praying. And as long as the muezzin's voice rises from the rubble, Palestine is fine, and truth lives on.