posted at 01:50
Author: Louise Roug
A Shattered Childhood: The War on Gazas Kids
GAZA CITY, Gaza-It was the first day of Eid, the Muslim celebration that caps the end of Ramadan, a day meant for celebration, joy and fun. More than 50 children were standing in line, waiting for their turn on a ramshackle ferris wheel, when a bomb hit, blasting the day of joy into a day of mourning. During my fourth day there, ambulances carried untold wounded children to the hospital and - if the kids were lucky - their grieving parents, too. How many mothers and fathers did I not see at that hospital, distraught by grief or staring ahead of them with vacant eyes because they'd been told their child had died and they would never be able to hug or kiss their child again. A father, told that his son would never rise from the hospital bed again, began shouting "Allahu Akbar," "Allahu Akbar" with a quivering voice, as if the invocation of God could somehow help him, now that his child was gone for good. A three-year-old boy was so frightened by the bombing that he ran from his father's arms, falling in his panic and getting a concussion. The young father was standing next to the boy's bed, caressing his son's cheeks. I went over and gave the father a hug.

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