It is the 4th of July and almost time for fireworks in Minnesota. The kids are sleeping, two of them with fever bugs on their foreheads. This year we are celebrating at home. It is Ramadan, Muslims’ Holy month, and breaking our fast in the park will be hard without swallowing some mosquitoes on the way. I usually love this Holiday. People gather in the park with one great spirit, despite all the differences, smiling and having fun. everybody belongs together. It is truly a unique occasion.
As our house is situated near a big celebration area, we were able to hear the heavy bombarding noise of the fireworks but unfortunately unable to see any of the startling effects. The earth beneath my feet was trembling. The noise started to sound familiar, in a very scary way. I could not escape the horrifying memories I have as a child that survived multiple wars in my home country.
As I take a deep breath of relief, thanking God for the blessings in being safe and surrounded with my loved ones, I remembered old friends, some families we know in the less fortunate side of the world, that are going through unimaginable hardships in Syria and Palestine. I closed my eyes with anguish, but not despair, hoping everyone is safe. Those noises for them are real, and even though their eyes are fixed on the sky, what they are expecting is much more impactful than some sparkles.
My heart goes out to my people, the hungry, the scared, the one in pain and the one making quiet prayers. And all my sincere wishes are sent out to my other people, the ones I live with and live around, in celebrating one great Holiday. A day on which all hearts are as one.