A Volcano of Silence, Man from Gaza
As told by my friend, the psychologist:
I met him in one of the field visits — a young man, living under circumstances harsher than anything you can imagine. He’s a father, a husband… but he’s also collapsing inside.
His daughter had recently been poisoned — a rat bit her finger inside the tent they live in. Just think about that for a moment: how fragile life becomes when even the space you’re meant to feel safe in turns against you.
When I first approached him, he didn’t want to speak. His eyes were hard. He looked at me and said, “I don’t want to talk. Don’t ask me anything. Just leave me alone.”
So I sat beside him in silence.
Eventually, his body relaxed a little. His shoulders dropped. And then… he began to speak. For ALMOST 30-40 minutes, he didn’t stop. Not once. It was like a volcano erupting after years of being sealed tight.
His voice shook with rage, sorrow, helplessness.
He told me:
“Sometimes I wait for my kids to fall asleep… then I go outside and cry where they can’t see me.”
“And sometimes the devil whispers to me… ‘Pick one of your children… kill him… It will lighten the burden.’”
He looked at me, his eyes full of shame.
“I would never… but the thought comes. That’s how bad things are.”
This is the kind of mental storm people are surviving — not just bombs and rubble, but voices in their heads, breaking them from within. We offered him an emotional release session that day. It wasn’t a solution. But it was a beginning — a small crack of light in a sky filled with smoke.
A Volcano of Silence, Man from Gaza
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