Published On 22/10/2025
|
Last update: 21:30 (Mecca time)
In a text that exudes pain and honesty, the young Palestinian man, Abdullah Al-Jazzar, narrates the moments of his departure from Gaza to Ireland, carrying with him a small bag and loads of feelings of guilt, love, and memories, after obtaining a scholarship, leaving behind his mother and siblings and a city assassinated by war and ravaged by famine.
From the first moment in his story, the details of which he wrote in a text in the Israeli electronic magazine (+972), the conflict between hope and shame, between the dream of salvation and guilt, is evident.
Read also
list of 2 itemsend of list
There, between the humble barbershop and his tent in the Al-Mawasi area, the journey of separation begins, as he makes up a “little lie” to his barber in which he tells him that he will propose to a girl he loves, just to convince the barber to take care of cutting his hair so that he will look elegant when he leaves on the day of his final farewell.
Al-Jazzar, a Palestinian from Gaza, says that the Irish government called him on a Tuesday last August to inform him that he had to prepare to leave Gaza for Ireland, where “Mayoth University is preparing to receive you.”
A phrase that has lost its meaning
He says: “For more than a year, I have been training to leave my home in Gaza, just as my little brother is training to fly his kite. Now the training is over, and the real date has come.”
He added: “I had big plans, but how can one leave his life? How can he abandon his home? I wanted to leave with my back straight and my dignity preserved.”
He added that he did not want to feel like he was running away, “but leaving with dignity is a phrase that lost its meaning a long time ago.”
First time
When he looked in the mirror, he saw the face of his brother Nour, the “missing policeman” since the bombing of Khan Yunis, as if he was asking his permission to leave. It was the first time that he became “the one who left”, after he had become accustomed to being “the one who remained” in Gaza.
Between his fear that an Israeli soldier would prevent him from heading to the Kerem Shalom crossing, the view of destroyed Gaza was passing before his eyes.
In an emotional scene, Al-Jazzar describes the moment of farewell, saying: “I rented a taxi instead of a donkey cart to transport me from Al-Mawasi to Deir Al-Balah in the middle of the Strip, and from there by bus to the crossing.”
Meanwhile, he realized that this might be the moment of his final farewell. He said goodbye to his mother, who did not know hatred, even though the war had taken away her love, and said to his little brother Ali: “Take care of yourself and your mother, okay?”
Abdullah Al-Jazzar: I did not turn around to see my family again. I was feeling ashamed. I was leaving for peace, while they remained prisoners of war and hunger.
He felt ashamed
“These were my last words to Gaza. I did not look back to see my family again. I was ashamed. I was leaving for peace, while they remained prisoners of war and hunger.”
At the Kerem Shalom crossing, among the smoke of cigarettes lit by travelers as if it were the incense of departure, he began to dissolve between exile and the unknown.
On the Israeli side of the crossing, the Irish embassy staff seemed – to him – like angels offering water and food to travelers, while one visa would get him out of hell. A single leaf separated him from a homeland crumbling to ashes.
He sees him in his dreams
On the way to Dublin, the capital of Ireland, the ghost of his brother Nour kept visiting him in a dream, telling him: “Carry me with you, not as a burden, but as two wings.” He adds: “At night, I see him in my dreams searching for me. I call him: I see him in my dreams searching for me. I call him: I am in Ireland, my love. Everything here is green and beautiful.”
He continues, addressing Nazer in his dream: “I moved to my apartment in Mayouth, one room but enough room for two. I kept a place for you near the window. Just tell me where you are, my love, and I will come to take you.”
How does he survive his homeland?
The butcher carried his brother Nour in his heart, as he restored the ruins of a house, a factory, and a farm that had been devoured by the war. Even when the ceasefire was announced, he did not feel peace, but rather confusion: How does one escape from his homeland? How can someone he loves be healed?
Then came the good news. Regarding that moment, he wrote: “Live light. Captive, but alive,” before he collapsed crying, as if the heart remembered its beating after a long silence.
In Dublin, Abdullah Al-Jazzar is currently studying for a master’s degree at the University of Maymouth in Ireland, where he holds the position of program coordinator for Palestinian students from Gaza.