by Nassar Ibrahim, AIC & OPGAI
The place looks so quiet here in Deir Yassin. A deep silence drowns the place, a sad silence that reaches to the depths of the soul. This is the silence of death, loss and betrayal. Of silent memories of children, women and men. They woke up in the morning and in their eyes were a thousand questions, but they did not have time to wait for the answers and died with eyes full of admonishment, anger and fear. They fell in the morning and at noon. The child did not leave his mother’s breast, so they passed together, their angry eyes looking to the heaven and earth.
Birds landed close to forgotten cactuses, grass, weeds and thorns, the remains of almond trees, pomegranates and figs continue to grow stubbornly. Sections of walls overlook from the desolation of the place in sad silence, remnants of paths which have lost their landmarks. The chirping of grasshoppers, the whispers of the wind spin around the space with the echo of sounds coming from a distance of 66 years ago. The sounds of children. The smoke of stoves billowing to the sky, the dialogue of eyes with a cup of tea. The call to a neighbour crosses the evening. A woman receives the evening greeting and goes up, immersed with the smell of fresh bread. Butterflies hug the clusters of flowers.
This is Deir Yassin. The remains of homes, windows, doors and silent paths, all yearning nostalgically to the distant horizon. It is too quiet here, in Deir Yassin.