Dearest Children of Palestine,
I must write to you again, at this moment… before it is too late.
Before I leave this world, with a heavy debt of untold stories,
Or continue on with my life, burdened with the unspoken words.
I must ask for your forgiveness.
I must ask for your mercy…again.
That I could not do more to stop this.
But it is too late, isn’t it?
As we watch your bodies, your screams, your desires, and your dreams…
literally burn in the fire …and turn to dust.
The world is different now.
The world can never be the same.
Not without you…
I hope it’s okay that I say you are my children… our children.
Because when we say that…when we truly believe it…
we begin to understand the urgency of protecting you
from the greatest evil a child could ever endure.
We will not “other” you.
We will fight harder for you.
I know we do not deserve your mercy.
But we must keep returning to you… and begging for it.
I hope you know, and I think you do, that the entire world is on your side.
The right people. The people of conscience. We are all on your side.
I am nobody. I am invisible. Just another face in the crowd.
But I feel like I am someone because of you.
We are being seen in your light, in your name, all for you.
I am somebody when I speak your name.
When I share your stories.
When I paint my paintings in your honor.
When I gift these paintings to you.
I wish I could hold you in my arms when I see your pictures and videos.
I wish I could be there for you. Comfort you.
When your skin burns, or when you wail in pain, covered in blood, on that hospital bed.
Whenever I see a child… my heart feels you.
Every time I see blood… every time I eat…I see you.
We have lost sleep for you.
But it is nothing, nothing, compared to what you have gone through.
You mean something. You mean everything. You always did.
Since I last wrote to you, the numbers have grown in unbearable ways.
Three thousand was already too much.
Now it is over seventeen thousand of you…
Seventeen thousand children…
Seventeen thousand, and more, of your brothers and sisters, martyred.
Compressed beneath rubble, silenced by the world’s indifference.
So many are still missing. Their names lost and unspoken.
Hospitals are gone. Schools are gone.
Mosques are gone.
Dreams are gone.
And yet, your courage, bravery, love, warmth still shines through.
Every time you are pulled from the rubble.
Because you are more than just numbers.
Never in my life did I imagine…
that an infant’s smile…
after being pulled from the rubble…
could become an act of resistance.
I don’t know why this was in God’s plan…
…. to test you like this, to hurt you like this.
You deserved better than this.
We were tested. Humanity was tested.
And we failed. Again, and Again, and Again.
Consider this my apology letter to you.
Consider this me falling to my knees…
surrendering to God’s Mercy…
For you…
For not saying enough. For not doing enough.
And there are many more letters to write.
Many things that have to be said.
I know it will never be enough.
And I understand if you cannot accept my apology.
For not being able to protect you. For not being able to reach you.
For not doing more. For not saying more.
I know that forgiveness is a lot to ask of you right now.
You have every right to be angry with me, with the whole world.
You just wanted to live, to feel joy, to pursue happiness, to find purpose, just like everyone else.
My power is limited to prayer, marching, painting… to writing for you and about you.
But I promise to keep listening to your stories of survival and resilience and share them with the world.
You are not gone from our hearts.
You deserve better. You deserve to live.
Your legacy will never be forgotten.
I just need you to know this.
I will never forget you.
I am forever yours.
not as your teacher…
but as your student.
Your student of life.
Your student of love.
Your student of hope.
Your student of courage.
Your student of patience.
Your student of resilience.
Your student of persistence.
Your student of resistance.
I humble myself in your name.
I honor your lessons in my heart.
I am your eternal student.
This is a powerful love for the sake of Allah.
The purest of all love from the Muslim.
That is what makes it a Revolutionary Love.
An eternal love that can never be undone.
So let us pray.
I pray for you, and your families, dear children of Palestine.
I pray that we choose love… not fear, not hate.
Dear sweet children of Palestine, I pray that Allah grants you the highest place in Paradise.
And if I don’t meet you in this life, may I be just good enough…
…just enough… to be in your company in the next.
Sending you my peace, warmth, and blessings…
Always,
Your Auntie and Sister,
Dr. Elsa Talat Khwaja
Washington, DC, USA
Painting Heals
[**Note from Letters for Palestinian childhoods: The inclusion of this fundraiser is part of a broader effort to amplify mutual aid for Palestine. We are not highlighting or vetting specific initiatives but are offering space for community-shared resources.**]
The following series of paintings are part of an independent Painting Heals initiative, created during the 2023 – 2025 genocide in Gaza. These works will be sold to raise funds for the 2025 DC Gaza 5K Fundraiser, taking place in Washington, DC, on May 31, 2025.
You can learn more about the Fundraiser here: DC GAZA 5K Fundraiser for UNRWA – Supporting Palestinian Refugee Children
A Nakba Day Painting, May 15, 2025
Ashes and Angles: The Architecture of Resilience
Vines of Hope
Ending an Apartheid
I love Palestine
Image: The invisible revolutionary
Elsa Talat Khwaja
