Free Death, Graves That Can't Be Bought

With a shattered heart, I write these words. In Gaza, death comes easily — but dignity is a luxury we are denied.

Do you want to understand what I mean?

Let me tell you a short story about a man who received the most devastating news: his father had been killed, innocent and unarmed. He rushed to the hospital, only to discover an even crueler truth — five more of his family members had also been killed. Defenseless civilians. Gone in an instant, for no reason. Each step toward the hospital felt like walking through fire, every heartbeat heavier than the last.

He stood frozen. He couldn’t even cry — the grief was too big for tears. Shock gripped him, and his world collapsed in a heartbeat. But the hardest part hadn’t come yet.

He just wanted to bury them — to honor them, at the very least. But even that was stolen from him. The landowner demanded $1,000 just to allow their burial. One thousand dollars for the right to lay your loved ones to rest.

He struggled — desperate, shattered, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders, his soul screaming in silence. He borrowed from neighbors, asked friends, sold what little he had, even pawning treasured belongings, each action cutting deeper into his grief. His hands trembled. His chest ached. Every breath was heavy. Every step hurt. And still, he pushed forward — because even the dead must be honored.

In Gaza, life is taken without reason. And even in death, dignity is not guaranteed.

Can you imagine standing there, helpless, heart aching, knowing that every goodbye now carried a price, a cruel reminder that even love and memory could be bought?

In Gaza, death is easy. But dignity — even in death — is denied.