Marta.
«I survive, with my wife and my two children who will soon be three, only if you help us. The food in Gaza has become a Usso Lbene, which can only be drawn if we have a lot of money. A kg of flour here in Gaza Costa 35 Dolari »this is the desperate message that Ahmed Abbu Assi, a young Palestinian father, sent to Maya, an Italian volunteer who had known him thirteen years ago while volunteering in Gaza. A cry that tears the distance between the siege and indifference, from those who fight every day to feed their children in a devastated place, where hunger kills so much or more of the bombs. From that appeal confived by Maya, with friends and relatives, an unexpected link arises: the friendship and solidarity of Marta, Italian mother, who decides to answer. She, on the other side of the sea; He, in a hungry and exhausted gaza. Two parents who did not know each other and who suddenly discover themselves united by the same universal language: the desire to protect their children.
Marta writes to Ahmed: “A cry of pain for you”
«Dear Ahmed,
I read your words and I would like to tell you that there is no silence in our hearts but a cry of pain for you. A cry that I would like to come to the consciousness of those who cause suffering and death. Every morning and every evening I think of you and I would like all this to end. It would be late for all your brothers and sisters who have lost their lives, but it would be salvation for those who are still alive and for us who want to live serene close to our children and not to think that there are mothers and fathers who cannot give the children who are thirsty, cannot take care of them if they are bad and cannot feed them if they are hungry. Tell them not to be afraid: this is what we all feel like doing for them. For their life, it is what I hope you can still be able to do.
Ahmed replies to Marta: “You have chosen to be by our side”
«Dear Marta,
Your words moved me to tears. I read and reread them, and every time I heard your heart speak to mine. In a time full of silence and pain, your voice has come not as silence, but as a cry of compassion, of truth, of love. You say that there is a cry of pain in your heart for us and I want you to know that we feel it. It also reaches us through distance and darkness, and reminds us that we are not alone. Each word you wrote speaks of a heart that refuses to look away from our suffering. Think of us every morning and every evening – and it is not something I take lightly. In a world where so many choose to look elsewhere, you, your friends and your family have been by our side, feeling our hunger, our fear, our loss. You said you spend that we can still do for our children what all parents want to do: nourish them, soothe their fears, give them peace. This is exactly what we try to do every single day, and your support gives us the strength to continue to try. We have no sufficient words to express our profound gratitude. You felt our pain as if it were yours. You could have turned to you on the other side, but you have chosen to be by our side. Don’t enjoy your meals knowing that our families are hungry. That type of empathy, of love and shared pain is rare and precious. Kindness in your hearts is more than generosity: it is the best of humanity. Thanks for being with us. Thanks for helping us to overcome this darkness. We will never forget it.
With all our love and our gratitude, Ahmed “
Marta Gabriel is an anthropologist, but also the mother of an eight -year -old boy. An anthropologist usually studies what no longer exists: traces of missing cultures, memories that help us understand who we are today. Marta, on the other hand, chooses to support what exists and that risks being canceled: the lives, the stories, the daily dignity of Gaza.
From his Sardinia, land of resilience, has decided not to limit himself to observing, but to act. Because solidarity is not only the memory of the past, it is defense of the present. It is the promise that Gaza will continue to be there, that no blockage can cancel its existence, voice, humanity.
