This little book is a collection of poems and testimonies from the children of Gaza, compiled between October 2023 and March 2024.
Leila Boukarim and Asaf Luzon came together in December 2023 to create this book with the aim of raising funds to support organizations helping Gazans and to amplify the voices of Gazan children who have suffered, and continue to suffer unfathomable injustices.
All profits from the sale of this book will be donated to organizations helping the people of Gaza.
Leila Boukarim was born in Lebanon, grew up in several countries, and now resides in Berlin. She has published a number of children’s books internationally, and her North American debuts are forthcoming, including Lost Words and Mariam Dreams: The Story of Mariam Al-Shaar, Soufra, and a Food Truck of Hope (Chronicle Books); the Zips and Eeloo graphic novel series (Andrews McMeel); Summer Sunday (Groundwood Books) and Rima and the Painter (Macmillan).
Leila’s stories are often influenced by her Middle Eastern upbringing, her observations as a citizen of the world, and the playfulness that arises from raising two young boys. In addition to writing and editing, Leila also spends her time reading, (proudly) hoarding books, embroidering, cooking, and trying to impress her cat.
“Everyone in my class died. I’m the only one left. I wish I was in heaven, too.” I was so afraid to read this little book. So afraid, because I was scared of the pain. This morning, after my Tahajjud duas, I decided to open it. Not a single page was turned without tears. There were moments where I had to close the book, bury my head between my knees, sob and sob, and sob. Tell myself, no. Munira, don’t look away, they are a part of you. Their wounds, are your wounds. Pick the book up, and finish it. Because what kind of lives are these tiny children living? What kind of a nightmare where they wish they were dead? Doesn’t the thought of it alone crush your heart? But you can’t look away, can you? I can’t, either. Because these children are just as dear to me as my own family. We are an Ummah. They are a part of us. And they are bleeding. This book is the embodiment of heartbreak. It is raw. It is a collection of voices from little children, many are the age of our little siblings. After reading this, I will never be the same again. I don’t have the right words to describe how I feel. How I felt through this short, but incredibly heavy journey. My thoughts aren’t very long for this review. I really don’t know what to say, because some books just twist your heart… this was one of them. My Lord, be with the oppressed children all around the world. Grant them a life in Jannah far better than this. Forgive me for all the times I am ungrateful, for all the times I forget how blessed I am to have a father who is still breathing, how blessed I am to have two hands, a fridge full of food, how blessed I am to witness a quiet night. That is all I can say. Please… read it.
With English as my second language, it is truly difficult to express how I feel in English. Nevertheless, I also found myself lost in words in my first language. My mouth came out with nothing, but my eyes were full of tears.
Reading this book is also a practice for me to sit in discomfort, to try not to look away, to remember, and to hope. I hope one day there will be no war on this unique planet.
Ich habe eine Zeile eines einzigen Gedichtes gelesen und konnte nicht mehr aufhören zu weinen. Kinder sehen das Leid anders, aber sie nehmen es trotzdem wahr. Ich kann wirklich nicht in worte fassen wie schön und gelichzeitig schmerzhaft dieses Buch ist. Wir kennen die Bilder sie sprechen für sich und dieses Buch gibt den schwächsten von Ihnen eine Stimme. Gobt nichts zu sagen außer: Free Palestine🇵🇸✌️
I was not prepared for what I read. The reality of what is happening to CHILDREN is heartbreaking and almost unbearable. I hope their messages reach everyone and brings about the change that they desperately need.