Musa was a twelve year old boy residing in the outskirts of Palestine. Even though he was just 14 years old, he had seen more of life that even a full grown adult. At only the age of 12 he had lost his older sister, Hayaa’ (16 years old) to a bombing by the Isaeli’s in their old city of Ramallah, where he had lived until this past year . He remembered that day vividly. His mom and Hayaa’ had gone to the marketplace to buy new clothes for Eid that was around the corner. Instead of coming back home with grins and bags of new clothes for the year, his mom had come back home with blood smeared on her face, skin white, tear striken- whispering inna lillahi wa inna alayhi rajioon (To Allah we belong and to Him we return). As time went on, this phrase become normal-something heard often followed by a throbbing pain and realization that another person close to him had now left this dunya.

He had never understood. He just didn’t get it. There were nights where he would stay up wondering how anyone could just get away with the murder of hundreds of people. These Israeli’s, could you even call them human, because last time Musa checked, in order or to be human you had to have a heart. If this was a war against the Palestinian government over land, why weren’t the embassies or courts being bombed? Why market places where the primary people are innocent women and children? What was the fault of these hundreds of children, of his sister, of his mother, who guarded her tongue from even saying the smallest thing against anyone in fear of hurting them. And just like that with a bomb here and bomb there, that was that, their mission accomplished. Musa didn’t understand how they could sleep at night. Did their actions ever haunt them? Would it ever end? Would anyone listen his cries, to his father’s sobs, to the pain that stung him everytime he walked past those places of death?

But Musa knew the answers to all these questions. It would end. One day it would all end and that day, these bombers would not be going back to their commanders for a report, they would be going to Allah, the most Powerful, to answer about their murderous ‘missions’. Allah watches them as they strike down on markets, on masajid, on innocent people who were just going about their daily lives. Allah was watcing. They could feel fearless and powerful all they wanted, but their actions would be held accountable for.

Every time Musa went into sujood, he remembered the last ayah of Surah Tin, “Is Allah not the most Just of judges?” [95:8] With this, he felt peace, remembering the fact that his sister’s and his other loved ones’ lives were not just another couple numbers on the list of deaths that day. His sister and all the other victims were people that had been oppressed in this dunya and their oppressors fate would be decided not by a jury of humans, but by the best of Judges, Al Hakeem. And on that day, Justice would be served.

Keep the victims of Palestine and the entire Muslim Ummah in your Du’a.
May Allah raise their ranks in Jannah inshaa’Allah.
And to Allah belong all things good and pure.