Amidst the ruins, in a destroyed house, there sits a lonely woman
with a child. the bombs have killed her husband, and many more of
her family. the town is littered with the dead and dying. every
night, at 4 o’clock, the rockets fly. five minutes until detonation.
always fear, and sometimes running isnt enough. almost always,
because there are no shelters.
this woman has a dream, always the same. an angel of god descends
from heaven, promising her deliverance. but asking for something
in return. she has to give her child into the care of god. the
angelic voice explains nothing but asks gently, persistently.
a better future. peace. prosperity. for a price. the child. the
angel tells the woman that her child is special.
soon, one of the angels would come. in a fire from the sky, in a
night without rocket fire, a night of peace for all warriors. a
ceasefire. she shall go to a certain point, wait there, cower
onto the ground in reverence, until the angel arrives, in a
chariot of fire. give your child as symbol. and god wont forget
the woman tells nobody. heretics or false visionaries are stoned
in her land. maybe nobody listens anyway, death and destruction
oppress curiosity. she decides to trust the voice. better than
dying in the next rocket barrage. the angel cant take her with
them. only the child. but they promise to return. very soon.
and bring order to earth, and also to gaza.
a smiling angel, clad in metal and light, takes her child while
a terrified woman cowers on the ground. the chariot of fire in
blue and white and yellow races into the sky. the woman walks
back, silent and in awe, empty in her heart, but strangely
joyful, through a silent and peaceful night.