Mourning those you have not met

On the killing of Khaled Nabhan

I woke up this morning to the news of Amo Khaled, who went viral last year from a video in which he was hugging his young granddaughter, Reem, after she had just been killed in an Israeli airstrike. In the video, Khaled was holding her tenderly, stroking her hair, and addressed her as the “soul of [his] soul.” It was a moment of love and devastation that broke hearts across the world.

Khaled went on to share with us his life amidst the genocide, being a pillar of support to others in Gaza and an exemplar of resilience to those outside. One million people followed his stories from Gaza; he, like many of the others there, had become an inadvertent creator in this dystopia in which their genocide is the content.

What was most remarkable about Khaled was how, despite the horror around him, he stayed smiling, and he used the brightness of his spirit to uplift others. Many of us in those circumstances—or in perhaps circumstances far less devastating—would become bitter, but he had joy and inspired it in others.

I saw that his face was still set in a smile, even at his janaza prayer.

It’s a strange feeling to mourn a person who you’ve never met, who existed on the other side of the world. We would likely never know Amo Khaled in other circumstances, likely never witness how pleasant he was, how lightly he walked, how his face reflected so much nur.

When I feel such sadness on learning about a person I have known only through social media, my heart hurts for those in Palestine who are the loved ones, who know them not just through a screen. The daughter of Khaled–the mother of Reem: I wonder about her.

I wonder about the parents of the children killed, who lose their whole world. And the children of the parents killed, who lose their whole lifeline. The sadness we feel is but a fraction of that anguish.

When Palestinians are otherwise reduced to casualty numbers, Khaled—and others like him—remind those outside of their personhood: how they smile, how they play, how they love and are beloved. Khaled reflected humanity–and the best of humanity.

I don’t know a way to cope with the devastation, today and all the days in the last year, other than faith. My heart is put only at ease from the conviction I have that Khaled and his beloved granddaughter Reem are reunited, and that with just a dip of Jannah the suffering of this world is forgotten.

“Soul of my soul” image credit: @theyumnartist