I’m Not a Thief I’m Just Hungry
She was just a little girl from northern Gaza — innocent, fragile, and full of a dignity that war had not yet stolen. I saw her one day approach a street cart, her eyes fixed on the small pile of raisins. She reached out and took just three pieces. Just three.
The vendor noticed. In a panic, she turned and ran, screaming through tears:
“I’m not a thief! I swear I’m not! I’m just hungry!”
The vendor chased after her and caught up. But before he could say anything, she collapsed from fear, fainting in the dust.
When she finally came to, she opened her mouth and, with shaking hands, removed the raisins she had not yet swallowed. Her voice trembled as she whispered,
“I’m sorry. I swear I’m sorry.”
The vendor knelt, kissed her on the head, and said:
“I won’t forgive you unless you come eat with me. Will you?”
She looked at him with the eyes of someone who had just escaped death — eyes full of disbelief, relief, and a spark of joy. She nodded. And then she hugged him tightly, crying and laughing at once.
Together, they returned to the cart. The vendor opened two cans of tuna. He fed her gently, with his own hands. She sat on a chair, swinging her feet with happiness — a joy so pure, it could’ve warmed the hearts of an entire city.
Note: The child in the photo is Shahd Al-Sawwaf, a young girl from Gaza who was killed in the war. Her memory lives on in every hungry child, every small act of kindness, and every soul that still believes in mercy.
I’m Not a Thief. I’m Just Hungry
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