Chapter 3 - My father has nothing but the key... and tears

Always in his pocket a rusty key, holds it with a trembling hand as if it is a treasure. Whenever I asked him about him, he said: "This is the key to our house in the Majdal, which they migrated from them in the Nakba. I did not see our house there, but I saw him in my father's eyes. He described him with painful nostalgia: monsters, tree, smell, sound ... my father did not cry much, but I saw him on the day of the Jabalia massacre sitting in the corner, hiding his face. I told him: "Malik, Dad?" He said: "I did not expect to see the massacres twice ... once in the Majdal, and once." He does not have anything from this world. All that remains for him: the image of his mother, the key, and some memories engraved in his heart. Whenever the bombing intensifies, he sat near the door, the key will be removed from his pocket, and kissed him. I was telling him: "We will not come back, Dad, destroy everything." He says: "It is not important to the house ... the important thing is the important, the important is dignity." My father does not talk about politics, but he knows from traitors and honorable. He does not know the Internet, but he knows history as if he lived once and once. I once saw him crying while hearing the news of the martyrdom of his neighbor, and he said: "My son was martyred in the 2008 war, and the son of my neighbor today, and we are still steadfast ... O Lord, we took martyrs and do not expose us to weakness." A simple man, but his heart is heavier than a city. He goes to the mosque despite the bombing, and he prays the night under the buzz of aircraft. And when it ends, he tells us: "There is no fear, as long as God is with us." He was raising his beard, sewing his old pants with his hand, saying: "Glory is not in clothes ... glory in patience." My father, who only has a key and tears, taught me more than a thousand books. Teach me that the homeland is not a map on the wall, but rather a static pain. He does not write poetry, but whenever he looked at Palestine from afar, he said: "Oh God ... we have come back, even if we are dust." Every night he sleeps and the key is under the pillow. And he says: "Leave my children inherit it to their children ... the firmness is close, even after a while." Dad ... don't worry. Your key will not rust. He will return to the door that was opened to life, not to death.