Would I be your mother, my palestinian child …


My beloved child,
Here’s the letter I wish so much you would be able to read one day. The letter I wish so much I would never feel to have to write you today. All the things I wish you could remember from me, would I be your mother in Palestine.

Would I be your mother, we would be pariah, my child. Pariah and fugitives. Fugitives in between our own family, in between our own people, in between our own Nation.
Would I be your mother, I would build a entire world for you, my child, a world where no one could harm you, would it be in the darkest place of the darkest wood, would it be in the middle of the driest desert … anywhere my hands could flower a small, very small place for you, anywhere my smile could get some light, very some light, shining in your eyes.
Would I be your mother, you would never go to school up on a bunker, but I would learn you every possible I could learn you … learn to see around you in the ugliest place some beauty, learn to hear the silence of peace over the bombs, learn to keep your heart unhurt whatever your injuries, learn to keep your mind open in the deepest distress…
I would tell you about your deepest roots, I would offer you mines to protect them until yours will be strong enough to carry you higher. I will tell you about your deepest roots, but not a single second I would hesitate to root you out, to separate you from your family and bring you in a place where you can grow safe and free.


Would I be your mother, I would hide you far, where no one can ask me your life. I would hide you from any God, who would ask me to sacrifice you …I would hide you from Abraham, who obeyed his God … I would hide you from your father, from his father before him, from your uncles, which ask you to die with them in name of Palestine or in name of their God. I would protect you from anyone who would value his dreams or his faith over your own life, my child. I would keep you close to me, as far possible on the road, even our world would be just for you and me, and our road short… I would keep you close to me as far as possible, but not further.
Would I be your mother, and wouldn’t I be able to protect you by myself, I would send you far from me … would I die in my deepest me in doing so.
Would I have to walk day after day along kilometres of wire or crawl through hundred of tunnels imploring for mercy and protection for you, before finding another mother, from any other side … I would send you far from me.
Would I have to throw you away in a basket and entrust the elements, whatever the river, whatever the sea, would it lead to Egypt or in any other place in the world… I would send you far from me.

Would I be your mother and would you still have to die, I would still protect you, my child.
I would protect your bloody body of being exhibit all over the world… I would protect the image I wish to keep from you, my smiling child … the image I wish you would once remember of yourself wherever and whenever you will be.
I would do anything possible so that you what would remember from me are the warmth of my arms, the brightness of my smile shining despite my tears. I would close your ears to shouts of hatred, despair or revenge … I would close your eyes to the horror of your destroyed world…. Remember, my dying child, there can be light in the deepest wood; there can be flowers in the driest desert … Remember the world we built together, just you and me.

Would that not be enough to protect you, I would remind you that you are not dying alone. I will remember you that at the very same second you died, a young man died with you, deep inside, the one that had to shoot you, to protect his own family, his mother, his sister…If once you meet him, be kind with him, his whole life long he might remember your smile and might wish to be at your place… be brother in death where you couldn’t be brother in life. Protect each another, if I couldn’t protect you. 

Remember that my child, the child I would never raised in Palestine… Remember, my child, and one day, you will, or your child will, or the child of your child will, come back to build up our world in Palestine.

With all my Love,

Your French mother, the one I could never have been in Palestine, my child, the one I wish so much I could have raised in Palestine.



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