By: Atef Abu Hajar On the ancient fringes of sorrow, where memory mingles with dust and tales slumber upon the doorsteps of absence, there lay a small cave known to few… yet within its depths, it held an entire world of innocence. It was no ordinary cave; rather, it was a final sanctuary for souls that life did not grant time to grow, nor the chance to utter their very first word. There, in the silence of the earth, the bodies of children were laid to rest, but their souls… flew higher than everything else. In that distant time, I had a sister named Safa. She did not tarry long in this world, departing before completing her first few months. That was in the mid-1970s, back when life was simpler, yet harsher in some of its facets. In the city of Salt, specifically near the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, people used to bury infants in a cave situated in the middle of the cemetery, right next to the tomb of a righteous man. I can never forget that day… the day my father carried my baby sister, Safa, in his arms. She was as light as a breeze, as still as a prayer. They said she was a bird from the birds of Paradise, and I believed it without fully understanding the meaning of departure. I watched how the cave's opening was uncovered, how my father stepped inside with paces heavy with silence, and then how the entrance was sealed with a medium-sized rock, surrounded by stones, and mortared with mud and cement. The ritual was simple, yet majestic… spiritual to a degree that makes the heart tremble without a sound. Years passed, and the cave remained a resident of my memory. On one occasion, my mother told me a story about it—a tale so strange it felt as though it came from another world. She said a strange man once passed through the city of Salt, accompanied by a young girl who had not yet reached the age of ten. The little girl fell ill and passed away, so the man sought the aid of the city's folk, asking them for a place to bury her. They directed him to the children’s cave, so he carried her there, bidding her farewell the way a heart bids farewell to its very last beat. But the story did not end there… My mother said that during that period, she saw an unforgettable scene in a dream. She saw herself passing through the middle of the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, where she beheld a great number of children playing and frolicking above the cave. They were laughing, running, and embracing one another… and in their midst sat that strange young girl, as if she had been one of them since the dawn of time. The scene was akin to a heavenly carnival, a celebration surpassing the most beautiful amusement parks in the world… yet it was purer, truer, and closer to divine mercy. When my mother reached this point, she fell silent. And I fell silent too. There are things that cannot be said, because they are greater than words… and deeper than language. Today, I possess nothing but prayers. May mercy be upon Safa… and upon all the children of the world who passed by swiftly, yet left an indelible trace behind. Peace be upon them, the day they arrived light… the day they departed pure… and the day they are resurrected as a light in our hearts whenever we remember them.
By: Atef Abu Hajar On the ancient fringes of sorrow, where memory mingles with dust and tales slumber upon the doorsteps of absence, there lay a small cave known to few… yet within its depths, it held an entire world of innocence. It was no ordinary cave; rather, it was a final sanctuary for souls that life did not grant time to grow, nor the chance to utter their very first word. There, in the silence of the earth, the bodies of children were laid to rest, but their souls… flew higher than everything else. In that distant time, I had a sister named Safa. She did not tarry long in this world, departing before completing her first few months. That was in the mid-1970s, back when life was simpler, yet harsher in some of its facets. In the city of Salt, specifically near the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, people used to bury infants in a cave situated in the middle of the cemetery, right next to the tomb of a righteous man. I can never forget that day… the day my father carried my baby sister, Safa, in his arms. She was as light as a breeze, as still as a prayer. They said she was a bird from the birds of Paradise, and I believed it without fully understanding the meaning of departure. I watched how the cave's opening was uncovered, how my father stepped inside with paces heavy with silence, and then how the entrance was sealed with a medium-sized rock, surrounded by stones, and mortared with mud and cement. The ritual was simple, yet majestic… spiritual to a degree that makes the heart tremble without a sound. Years passed, and the cave remained a resident of my memory. On one occasion, my mother told me a story about it—a tale so strange it felt as though it came from another world. She said a strange man once passed through the city of Salt, accompanied by a young girl who had not yet reached the age of ten. The little girl fell ill and passed away, so the man sought the aid of the city's folk, asking them for a place to bury her. They directed him to the children’s cave, so he carried her there, bidding her farewell the way a heart bids farewell to its very last beat. But the story did not end there… My mother said that during that period, she saw an unforgettable scene in a dream. She saw herself passing through the middle of the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, where she beheld a great number of children playing and frolicking above the cave. They were laughing, running, and embracing one another… and in their midst sat that strange young girl, as if she had been one of them since the dawn of time. The scene was akin to a heavenly carnival, a celebration surpassing the most beautiful amusement parks in the world… yet it was purer, truer, and closer to divine mercy. When my mother reached this point, she fell silent. And I fell silent too. There are things that cannot be said, because they are greater than words… and deeper than language. Today, I possess nothing but prayers. May mercy be upon Safa… and upon all the children of the world who passed by swiftly, yet left an indelible trace behind. Peace be upon them, the day they arrived light… the day they departed pure… and the day they are resurrected as a light in our hearts whenever we remember them.
By: Atef Abu Hajar On the ancient fringes of sorrow, where memory mingles with dust and tales slumber upon the doorsteps of absence, there lay a small cave known to few… yet within its depths, it held an entire world of innocence. It was no ordinary cave; rather, it was a final sanctuary for souls that life did not grant time to grow, nor the chance to utter their very first word. There, in the silence of the earth, the bodies of children were laid to rest, but their souls… flew higher than everything else. In that distant time, I had a sister named Safa. She did not tarry long in this world, departing before completing her first few months. That was in the mid-1970s, back when life was simpler, yet harsher in some of its facets. In the city of Salt, specifically near the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, people used to bury infants in a cave situated in the middle of the cemetery, right next to the tomb of a righteous man. I can never forget that day… the day my father carried my baby sister, Safa, in his arms. She was as light as a breeze, as still as a prayer. They said she was a bird from the birds of Paradise, and I believed it without fully understanding the meaning of departure. I watched how the cave's opening was uncovered, how my father stepped inside with paces heavy with silence, and then how the entrance was sealed with a medium-sized rock, surrounded by stones, and mortared with mud and cement. The ritual was simple, yet majestic… spiritual to a degree that makes the heart tremble without a sound. Years passed, and the cave remained a resident of my memory. On one occasion, my mother told me a story about it—a tale so strange it felt as though it came from another world. She said a strange man once passed through the city of Salt, accompanied by a young girl who had not yet reached the age of ten. The little girl fell ill and passed away, so the man sought the aid of the city's folk, asking them for a place to bury her. They directed him to the children’s cave, so he carried her there, bidding her farewell the way a heart bids farewell to its very last beat. But the story did not end there… My mother said that during that period, she saw an unforgettable scene in a dream. She saw herself passing through the middle of the Al-Eizariyah Cemetery, where she beheld a great number of children playing and frolicking above the cave. They were laughing, running, and embracing one another… and in their midst sat that strange young girl, as if she had been one of them since the dawn of time. The scene was akin to a heavenly carnival, a celebration surpassing the most beautiful amusement parks in the world… yet it was purer, truer, and closer to divine mercy. When my mother reached this point, she fell silent. And I fell silent too. There are things that cannot be said, because they are greater than words… and deeper than language. Today, I possess nothing but prayers. May mercy be upon Safa… and upon all the children of the world who passed by swiftly, yet left an indelible trace behind. Peace be upon them, the day they arrived light… the day they departed pure… and the day they are resurrected as a light in our hearts whenever we remember them.
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Children’s Cave
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