“Six years after the writing of this book, my mother died. Her hope – as I mentioned at the end of the book – ‘to live to see the end of this tragic story’ was not fulfilled. The way things are going, it doesn’t seem likely that I will live to see the end of this tragic story either. But then I listen again to the birds in my garden and wonder what I can do to make it happen, and so

I continue to write.”

Grief is a circular staircase. Reading When the Bulbul Stopped Singing, Shehadeh’s parting words pen down the inexplicable dilemma of a crumbling world, one that bears witness to the tragedy, loss of moral compass and unforgivable violence-yet still demands hope, to survive. The pulse of hope, fleeting in nature, stays and departs much like a songbird, the Bulbul. Mirroring the defiant spirit of unwavering resilience of a Palestinian, the Bulbul rises as a living metaphor for the fragile hope and broken dreams of Palestinian homes, held by children, mothers and fathers. Every Palestinian heart, young or old, testifies to the presence of quiet, unshakable rebellion to guard one’s moral ground, sense of righteousness and faith in the face of Israeli occupation and settler colonialism while carrying the weight of grief, flickering hope and fragile dreams. Yet, fleeting as it remains, the spirit draws a portrait of human resilience, enduring strength and a heart that remembers how to hope, sing and live. This remembrance turns into an act of rebellion in a world that constantly demands them to forget, give up and erase their roots. Nevertheless, the Palestinians had understood long ago that if they’d pull their roots themselves, what would hold them all together?

With the current aid blockade imposed by Israel, the children of Gaza are starving as “they have officially run out of infant formula.”

In today’s divided world, the Nakba transcends........

© Daily Times