In one of the most heart-wrenching scenes from Gaza, a Palestinian child stood beside his martyred brother, saying goodbye.
“I want a strand of hair from him… just a strand… before you bury him.”
“Goodbye, my love.”
A plea so small, so human — yet so heavy.
He didn’t ask for time, or miracles. Just something to hold on to.
A memory. A piece of him. Anything that could stay.
In a land where children bury children, even the simplest goodbyes carry the weight of the world.