Chapter 7 - Graduates... Certificates that were not hung, but were cited

They were at the age of dreams. They had recently graduated, wearing elegant suits, and smiling faces that filled social media pages. Graduation photos were in every home. A young man embraced his medical degree, another held up his engineering diploma, and a third bowed to his mother, kissing her hand. But the war didn't give them respite. It didn't give them time to begin.  Diplomas turned into papers scattered over the rubble. Books turned to ash, and hopes to dust. Some of them told their mothers, "I will build you a house more beautiful than this." But the missiles were faster than their dreams. They were martyred while carrying their first work bag. They were martyred while talking to their friends about the future. They were martyred while preparing for their weddings or reorganizing their resumes. Their hearts were full of life, but the enemies of life don't leave a beating heart unquenched. I saw a mother searching her son's phone for his graduation photo, saying, "He was so happy. He couldn't believe he'd finished university... and today, we'll bury his diploma with him." Another one's sister said: "He loved keffiyehs... He wore one on graduation day and was martyred in it." In Gaza, martyrdom isn't hung on a wall. It's washed with blood and buried with the body. They were the country's hope, its educated, kind youth, determined to build despite everything. But enemy planes hated the light and killed anyone who held a pen instead of a bullet. And here they are today, underground, while their dreams embraced the sky. But we haven't forgotten them. Every time we see a picture of a graduate, we remember that they were martyred, but they didn't fail. They are the graduates of life... and the graduates of heaven.