Who could sing game songs?

Is there anyone left to write children’s songs in Gaza?

For children left in Gaza?

And who could sing game songs?

And do the moves in her tiny hands?

I know a tiny house

This way, this way

All the way up on the roof

A flag waves

This way, this way

Left: Hands up; right: Give me your hand

Colors now? What the…

Children in colorful clothes smile in photos on Adi Ronen Argov’s Daily File.

Babies, toddlers, girls and boys. Just like we have at home.

I think of that mechanism we have in our heart. The more similar they are to us, the more it – the heart – opens up. Here is a child that looks like my first born. Here is a toddler

who reminds me of myself at her age.

Here is a pajama of super-heroes just like at the Delta shops.

A mother holding a baby in her arms, looking like someone I just saw on the street,

here in Tel Aviv. The girls who make a heart shape with their fingers and a pose

for the camera. And those who raise their thumb. I see the similarity running along the beach from Rosh HaNiqra in the north to Rafah in the south. And on to El Arish and on and on in a great big arc, around the Mediterranean Sea. But our heart opens up perhaps in love to our similar neighbors in Greece or Italy, and closes up, locks out our similar neighbors just an hour or two’s drive from us. It’s terrible, that mechanism. On the one hand our heart opens, and then slams shut when we hear the children’s names.

Fatima. Muhammad. Salem. Sama. Salma. Hanan. Talal. Ibrahim. Nur...

And now, as white cloth has run out, the bodies are covered in flowery colorful blankets.

I’ve run out of white cloth for shrouds

Imagine a row of children standing one behind the other waiting for the slide. Or children talamaking “a train”. Each puts their little hands on the shoulders or hips of the one standing ahead. For what long lines do we know where children stand waiting? Now try to imagine such a line, a long long long train of a thousand little children. And now imagine that at the head of such a train stands Masa, almost 8-years-old, and at the head of the next train stands 3-year-old Ibrahim. And another train of a thousand children with 2-year-old Alia at its head. And another train with 9-year-old Yamen at its head. Thus, 15 or 17 such trains, a thousand children each.

These are the children who were killed by the Israeli army since October 7, 2023. These are “only” the children who were identified, who have faces and names. Who have someone left to provide a photo, a name, an age. Someone who mourns them.

And there are so many of whom no one knows anything. No one left to identify them. To remember them.

These are not candy

Masa – nearly 8-year-old. Sawar and Suleen – sisters. Nara – 2-years and 3-months old. Muhammad – 6-months old. Ibrahim , 3-years-old. Brothers. Yamen – 9-years-old. Rand – a 5-year-old girl. Youssef – 3-years-old. Brother and sister. Tulin – 5-months-old. Mahmoud – 1.5-years-old. Alia – 2-years-old. Jamal – 5-months-old. Riham – a 4-year- old girl. Mohammed – 2-years-old. Halaa – a 6-year-old girl. And more and more and more.

Eyes

Looking into the children’s eyes in the photos.

Looking into the Gazan children’s eyes in the photos.

Looking into the Gazan children’s eyes who were once alive and are now dead.

In Khan Yunis, too, there are children

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Meirav Trachtman Cohen is an artist.