To those who pass by the numbers and statistics of the martyrs in Gaza without feeling a thing—without even blinking an eye…
Do you even realize the magnitude of the catastrophe we are living through? The scale of the disaster that fell upon our heads??

These martyrs—whether young men or children—are gone.
They’re gone from life, with all their energy, charm, manners, sweetness, beauty, and the beauty of their souls and personalities.
They left with their passion, ambition, and love for life.
They died with their activity, generosity, perseverance, and success.
In short, they vanished. For no reason. With no reward.
They left behind no goal, no gain, no national cause, no religious cause, no personal, communal, or family reason.
Just a devastating loss.
Just the turning of white pages in the story of our lives.
Just the flipping of files belonging to people we deeply loved.
People whose existence formed the foundation of our own.
People whose presence was the very essence of our lives.

When these people leave this world, they take pieces of us with them—pieces of our age, our memories, our present, and our future.
When they disappear in such a painful and unjust way, part of our health and peace of mind disappears with them.
We start to shrink, little by little.
We lose parts of ourselves, in proportion to how much we loved them.
Yes, I swear to you, when someone dies, they take a piece of you with them—as much as you loved them.

May God give strength to the mothers who raised them, taught them, fed them, and stayed up nights building them up.
May God support the fathers who shed blood and sweat to provide for them, who worked day and night to give their sons a future—only for their sons to leave this world before them, leaving the fathers to dissolve slowly in sorrow.

May God help their siblings and close families who lived through every little detail with them.
These weren’t just “people”—they had rich, intricate lives.
They had a presence in the home: their unique sound, their warmth, their laughter.
They had a toothbrush, a pillow, a comb, and a spoon.
They had rituals, jokes, favorite foods, outfits, scents, jeans, underwear, outing clothes, quirks, head scratches, photos, videos, and full routines.

They had a stamp on their surroundings—surroundings that lived them in full detail.
That watched them grow, moment by moment: from being carried, to crawling, teething, being weaned, taking their first steps, their kindergarten, school, university, job, their successes, their struggles, and their insistence on life.

These are sacred souls—not vague numbers.
They are God’s creation.
Do you understand what that means? They are not made by humans.
Not a church, not a mosque.
These are souls that gained their sanctity from the One who created them—not from human institutions.

They are more precious and more sacred than all our supposed “holy” places.
They are more important than every homeland we claim to care about.
Their protection, their safety, should be our highest priority.
They are the priority. They are the most sacred of all.

These are great souls—for those who have a conscience, who feel, who care, who understand, who have a mind, who have a homeland, who have humanity and morals.

May God help everyone who lost their dearest loved ones.
Some hearts have died forever with the loss of their beloved.
No matter how many sweet words you offer them, how many slogans or poetic phrases or tranquilizing metaphors you use—it’s useless, my friend.
If you haven’t tasted loss, you’ll never truly feel the pain of those who have.

May God ease their pain, support them, and shower us all in His mercy…
Hasbunallah wa ni’mal wakeel.