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This is a man living in a tent on the ruins of his home in northern Gaza. A cursed soldier plays with his weapon, firing bullets toward the tents every day. Today, one of those cursed bullets struck this little girl.
With no medical aid available, he carried his daughter on a bicycle.
What breaks me the most is the final conversation between them—while he held the bicycle and her soul was slipping away…
How he tried to comfort her, to ease her pain—
her moans, her suffering, her silence…
Until when, world?
I beg you—I am not asking anyone to stop this hell,
just tell me… how much longer?
A message to me, and to the people of Gaza:
Why do we film? Why do we write?
Why don’t we just die in silence?


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