The Struggle Of Gaza Girl

Like an Angel

Gunfire echoed almost every day. Rocket attacks came more often at night. The thunder of tank cannons rolled through the streets of Gaza as armored vehicles moved through the city.

The middle-aged woman sat quietly on a worn carpet, cradling Zain in her lap while reciting the Qur’an in a soft, soothing voice—almost like a lullaby for the child who had fallen asleep against her.

From the window, Yumn watched thick black smoke rising from every corner of the city.

“Yumn! Don’t stand near the window—remember that! Your little brother might copy you,” her mother scolded sharply.

It was always like this. Children in Gaza and Palestine were forbidden by their parents to go near the windows. The soldiers would shoot anyone they found suspicious.

Someone peeking outside could easily be mistaken for a sniper… or a Hamas militant.

Yumn turned as she saw her mother gently lay Zain down, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead.

“Yumn, I am a widow now,” her mother said softly. “We must survive. Your brother is still too young. Take care of him. Don’t let him wander outside. The situation is still dangerous. There is no safe place right now.”

“Yes, Mom. I will take care of Zain.”

“I think the volunteers from yesterday know our situation. They will probably bring us food, even if you don’t go to the post, Yumn.”

“That may be true, Mom. But I’m afraid that if I don’t go, we might not get anything if they run out,” Yumn replied.

Her mother nodded slowly. “Hmm… you’re right, Yumn. Everything is uncertain right now.”

Yumn hesitated for a moment before asking, “Mother… may I hear something from you? Tell me what Grandfather said about the people of Indonesia. Where is that place?”

“Come, sit closer,” her mother said, adjusting herself on the carpet. Then she began her story.

“Indonesia is a peaceful land—fertile and beautiful. You would see mountains covered with trees, not barren and dry like here. The cities are lovely, and water is abundant.

There are many Muslim women like us there. Your grandfather said the people there have some of the best character and faith among Muslims.

The women are kind and beautiful, and the men are handsome, with clear skin and gentle features. And imagine this—you could bathe all year round… and the water would never run out, nor would you have to pay for it.

But what amazed me most,” she continued, “was what your grandfather said about the mosques. I could hardly believe it at the time. Can you guess how many mosques there are in Indonesia, Yumn?”

“Of course I don’t know… maybe 500?” Yumn guessed.

Her mother smiled.

“The number of mosques there is almost the same as the population of Gaza, Yumn.”

“La ilaha illallah… Subhanallah… Really, Mom? I can’t believe it!” Yumn exclaimed in disbelief.

“I couldn’t believe it either at first,” her mother said gently. “But it’s true. Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world.

Not everyone there is Muslim, but no other country has more Muslims than Indonesia. Even countries in the Arabian Peninsula, though mostly Muslim, have smaller populations.

Indonesia… is proof that Muslims can live side by side with people of other religions. And at the same time, it shows that other faiths can live safely under a Muslim majority.”

“Amazing… so how many mosques are there, exactly?” Yumn asked again.

“Seven hundred and forty thousand, Yumn.”

Yumn fell silent, stunned. Her mother continued,

“Our population here is only about 1.3 million—and even that includes refugees like us. The original population of Gaza might be similar to the number of mosques there.”

“Is that really true? It’s so hard to believe. Such a great country… with so many Muslims… why is it so far away, not near the Arab lands?” Yumn wondered aloud.

“I don’t know exactly how Islam reached there,” her mother replied. “But your grandfather said there are two major Muslim nations in that region—Indonesia and Malaysia—surrounded by countries in Asia, many of which are not Muslim.”

“So we still have brothers and sisters in faith in a faraway land… Allah is truly great…”

Her mother’s eyes softened. “Ever since your grandfather told me about that country, I’ve been curious. I used to pray that one day I could see it myself… but that dream ended when I married your late father.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Now, my prayer has changed. I pray that my children will be able to see that land.”

“Ameen,” Yumn replied quietly.

“You would never have to worry about hunger there, Yumn. The land is rich—full of trees, fruits, vegetables… and animals you’ve never even seen before.”

“Really? I’m so curious. I love food… there must be so much to eat there,” Yumn said, her eyes lighting up.

“Of course.”

“You would never find a Ramadan as lively as the one there. And you would never find a celebration of Eid as joyful. That’s what your grandfather said.

He told me that boys go around waking people up for suhoor. As sunset approaches, people share free meals. Even the mosques provide food for breaking the fast.

There are also many street vendors—it’s crowded and full of life. Just imagining it makes me happy. How beautiful it would be if we could experience Ramadan like that.”

Yumn was completely captivated by the stories of a country called Indonesia. She wanted to keep asking, to hear more and more—until her mother said something that stayed with her.

“Go to Indonesia… before you see Allah’s paradise in the sky, at least… see His paradise on earth.”

Those words planted a dream in Yumn’s heart—a dream to see that land with her own eyes.

“I want to see it too. I will pray so I can go there, Mother.”

“Assalamu’alaikum,” came a voice, followed by a knock on the door.

“Hide, Yumn. Carry your brother gently—don’t wake him,” her mother instructed.

She waited until Yumn had disappeared from sight with Zain before answering.

“Wa’alaikumussalam.”

It was the same volunteer from before.

“How are you, ma’am? Are you well?” he asked from the doorway.

“Alhamdulillah, we are well.”

“I’ve brought some food supplies and blankets. If I may ask… is there anything else you need?”

“It doesn’t feel right to ask for more when you’ve already given us so much,” she said humbly.

“Please, just tell me. If we can help, we will.”

With a shy, lowered gaze, the woman spoke, “My daughter is growing into a young woman… do you happen to have a proper hijab and clothing for her?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll try. Once I have them, I’ll bring them here,” the young man replied.

“There is one more thing… she will soon… forgive me… ‘haadha’ (her monthly cycle),” she added softly.

“Oh, I understand. I’ll prepare what she needs. Where is she now?”

“She’s hiding… Yumn, come out.”

Slowly, Yumn stepped forward.

“She became interested after hearing my stories about your country,” her mother explained.

“Is that so?” the young man said, looking at Yumn. “Hi, Yumn. Is there anything you’d like to ask about my country?”

Yumn hesitated, then spoke softly, “Can my mother, my brother, and I go to your country? I really want to see it.”

The young man sighed gently. “It’s difficult, Yumn. Very difficult to leave this place. Even I can’t return home. And even if things improve, the cost is high—it’s very far. The paperwork at the Egyptian border is complicated… and there are many other obstacles.”

Yumn lowered her head, her hope fading.

Seeing her sadness, the volunteer spoke again, his voice gentle.

“Yumn… would you like to hear something from me? It may sound inappropriate, but that’s not my intention. If you were there… You would be seen as an angel.”