On the morning of September 4, my eight-year-old niece Joody woke up bright-eyed and excited and suggested we celebrate her father’s birthday. It had been 25 days since we lost her father Moataz Rajab in the massacre the Israeli army carried out at the al-Tabin school in Gaza City. He was one of more than 100 civilian victims who had sought shelter at the school along with his family.
While Joody knew her baba was gone, it was clear she was trying to process a date in the calendar that had always been special to her and her siblings.
As the family – including my sister, Joody’s mom – was still very much in mourning, no one knew for sure how to manage the situation. We exchanged glances, hoping one of us would step in and handle the matter.
Everyone deals with shock differently, and each of us knew this was Joody’s way of coping with her father’s death.
Her grandparents gave her a hug and a kiss on her forehead and tried explaining that it is awkward to celebrate the birthday of someone who has passed away so recently. Other members of the family also told her it would be odd to sing a birthday song for someone who is sadly no longer among us. There was also no birthday cake to be found; bakeries in Gaza were struggling to make bread let alone produce such “luxury” items.
We knew the best way to handle this was not to get emotional, but be calm and try to reason with Joody.
Disappointed, my niece nodded her head in agreement and went about her day. But an hour later, she came back running to her mother with a counterproposal. “What if we celebrate baba’s birthday not by singing him a birthday song, but instead by reading the Quran?” a determined Joody asked.
We find refuge in the Quran in good times and in bad times, so we all thought it made sense to remember Moataz by reading holy verses.
We also managed to find a solution to the “birthday cake problem”. We found a lady who had some flour and was willing to bake seven pieces of a cake for the 14 of us.
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