“عشانك” (For You)
Descriptions and names for emotions vary across the world; people define them differently, feel them uniquely, and even express them in their own ways. Yet, whenever someone speaks of the concept of safety, my mind wanders back to Gaza; my homeland, the memory of tender moments, and the time and place of everything I’ve ever loved in my life.
I feel this emotion intensely whenever I recall it. I see it in every image I try to create; in the clasp of hands, in the meeting of lovers, in the footsteps of friends, and in a homeland vast in spirit despite its narrow borders.
To me, safety means having something that calls you to keep going. It could be a person, a place, or a homeland. It is something that makes you carry on because you know it’s always here; “عشانك” (“for you.”)
In a land torn by war, I believe that the feeling of safety sometimes vanishes, and at other times, it intensifies depending on many factors. It fades in the face of approaching death, in moments of displacement, in one’s final breaths. Yet it grows stronger whenever someone’s hand is beside you, even in your last moments.
The feeling of safety increases in the gaze of gentle eyes as you escape the war, or in the instant you realize you want this land, even if it’s the worst of lands. You love it as it is, you yearn for everything within it.
And in your escape, those same hands accompany you. The ones that pulled you from beneath the rubble, the ones there with you in what you thought were your final moments.
“عشانك” (‘For You’) is the word that, in my view, mirrors the essence of safety; the title of all these moments. It is what I have seen embodied in “Gaza” the city of love and war.
Tools used: Canon 6D Mark 2 – 50mm lens
Editing: Adobe Lightroom
This photo was taken inside a refugee shelter tent, showing a boy and his sister who have endured severe psychological trauma due to the bombing and events they’ve witnessed. In the photo, the boy holds his sister’s hand; from outside the frame, he gazes into her eyes and says, ‘Don’t be afraid.’
I believe that children, too, are a source of safety in a frightening world like the one we live in.
Tools used: Canon 6D Mark 2 – 50mm lens
Editing: Adobe Lightroom
This photo was taken in Jabalia Camp, specifically in the Tal Al-Zaatar area, which is currently under siege by the occupation.
The photo shows two friends walking together down a street lined with rubble from destroyed buildings. One of them holds an umbrella to shade her friend from the sun, creating a scene where color triumphs over the scene of destruction; a bold statement of defiance against war and the separation imposed on us.
At that moment, I saw the emotions and laughter shared between the two girls as if each one was telling the other, ‘I am always here for you.’
Tools used: Canon 6D Mark 2 – 16 – 35 mm lens
Editing: Adobe Lightroom
The photo was taken on the shores of Gaza, the only place where the city’s residents can breathe, a sanctuary for everyone here in a land closed off from every direction.
In a scene that is raw, real, and different, these two individuals stand at an age that’s far from young, ignoring the ongoing war and the ever-present threat of death. As they stand together, stealing a moment of life, I found the scene to be both moving and tender. I love these glances shared between lovers, especially at this age. What makes this scene remarkable is their defiance of war by seizing a moment of life and love amidst death.
Tools used: Canon 6D Mark 2 – 16 – 35 mm lens
Editing: Adobe Lightroom
I once asked a friend why she always wears the keffiyeh at every important occasion. She answered, ‘It makes me feel safe, like a gentle embrace, carrying a sweet, familiar scent, like a hug.’
Her words were an inspiration to me. For us, the keffiyeh embodies the land, our homeland, Palestine. Through this photo, I wanted everyone to feel that the keffiyeh is the soul of our country and that our homeland will forever hold us close. No matter how many strangers may occupy it, it will never feel like exile.
