Children Also Die

Chapter One: The Olive Grove

In the ancient hills near Hebron, in the West Bank, the Salama family tended to their olive trees as their ancestors had done for generations.

Sami Salama, a quiet man in his late thirties, was a teacher at the village school. His wife, Layla, managed their home and looked after their three children — Mariam (10), Omar (7), and little Dalia (3), who had just learned to say Alhamdulillah after every meal.

Though life was difficult under the Israeli occupation — checkpoints, home raids, curfews — the Salamas kept their dignity and routine. The children were taught to smile despite the sound of drones, and to never forget the Qur’an even when schoolbooks were torn.

In the evenings, Sami would take Omar and Mariam to the grove and tell them stories of how Prophet Zakariya planted trees with patience, or how the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) endured in the face of cruelty.

“We don’t fight with hate,” he would say. “We fight with faith. Our hearts are our strongest weapon.”

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Chapter Two: A Knock After Midnight

It was a Friday night in early spring when the knock came.

Three loud bangs on the door, followed by shouting in Hebrew. Layla froze, her body trembling.

Omar ran to her, whispering, “Mama… are they coming again?”

Sami opened the door, calm but cautious. Six soldiers stormed in. No explanations, just shouting, flashlights, and rifles pointed at frightened faces.

They searched everything. Dalia began to cry. A soldier pushed aside her doll to check the mattress beneath it. Another knocked over Mariam’s schoolbag, scattering her Qur’an notes.

Sami was taken aside and questioned. They claimed someone in the village had thrown a stone at a military jeep, and now every home would be searched.

When they finally left, two hours later, the house was in disarray. But worse than the mess was what they left behind — the silence, the shame, the fear.

Layla sat on the floor, holding her children.

“Even the air smells different when they come,” she whispered.

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Chapter Three: The Martyr’s Smile

The next afternoon, Omar asked if he could go play with his friend Ahmed near the main road. Layla hesitated but agreed. “Just stay close. And if you hear anything, come home.”

It was supposed to be safe. There was no protest that day. No violence.

But it only took one moment.

At sunset, the family heard the gunshot. One single shot.

Then, screaming.

Then a name: “Omar!”

Layla dropped the water jug and ran, barefoot, down the rocky path. People were gathered. Sami pushed through the crowd and saw him — Omar, their middle child, lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath his small frame.

He had been shot by a soldier who claimed he saw him “move suspiciously.”

He was holding a flat stone. The kind children use to draw in the dirt.

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Chapter Four: The Funeral of an Angel

They wrapped Omar in a white shroud. His body was light. His face still had a hint of a smile.

Layla did not wail. She kissed her son’s forehead and recited,

“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.”

To Allah we belong, and to Him we return.

The village gathered. Men wept silently. Women clutched their children. The Imam spoke of martyrdom, of how Allah welcomes the innocent. He reminded them of the hadith:

> “When a child of a believer dies, Allah says: ‘Build for My servant a house in Paradise and name it Bayt al-Hamd (The House of Praise).’”

At night, Layla sat alone on the rooftop, her scarf fluttering in the wind. She looked at the stars and whispered,

“You got to Jannah before me, Omar. Wait for me by the gate.”

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Chapter Five: The Letter He Never Wrote

Two days later, Mariam found a small notebook under Omar’s mattress. On the last page, in crooked writing, were three lines:

> “When I grow up, I will protect my family.

I will plant more trees with Baba.

I will never be afraid, because Allah is with me.”

Layla read the lines again and again. Each word felt like a seed in her heart — seeds of pain, yes — but also seeds of purpose.

She decided to do something.

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Chapter Six: From Pain to Power

Layla took Omar’s notebook and began writing in it herself. A journal. Every day, she wrote letters to her son — about what Mariam learned in Qur’an class, how Dalia now said SubhanAllah every time she saw the moon, and how Baba still went to the olive grove, though he walked slower now.

She began teaching neighborhood children at home. She taught them Qur’an and resistance — not with stones, but with ideas, with words, with du’a.

She taught them to memorize the Qur’an and to plant trees.

“The olive tree doesn’t leave, even when the earth is broken,” she’d say.

“Be like the olive tree.”

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Chapter Seven: The Visitor

A year later, a young journalist from the West visited their village. He wanted to understand the “human side of the conflict.”

Layla welcomed him, served tea, and shared Omar’s story. The journalist wept. “I’ve covered war for years,” he said, “but I never understood faith like this.”

He published an article titled:

“The Martyr with the Stone: A Mother's Faith in the Face of Occupation.”

It went viral. Layla didn’t care for fame. But she prayed that maybe, just maybe, someone out there would read it and say,

“This is wrong. This must stop.”

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Chapter Eight: The Dream

One night, Layla had a dream.

She was walking through a garden brighter than any she had ever seen. Birds sang names of Allah, rivers flowed with milk, and every tree had gold leaves.

At the end of the path stood a boy in white — smiling, radiant.

“Omar,” she whispered.

He ran to her, held her hand, and said,

“I told you I would wait. Look, Mama, I saved you a place.”

When she woke, her pillow was wet with tears.

But her heart felt full.

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Moral Lessons from the Story:

Children do die — sometimes in the most unjust ways — but in Islam, their reward is eternal.

A mother's patience can shake the heavens and inspire generations.

Occupation and oppression break walls, but cannot break faith rooted in Allah.

Even in the darkest times, Jannah is near, and the innocent are always in Allah’s mercy.

Martyrdom is not just about dying in war — it is about dying while being innocent, while holding on to faith, even with a stone in hand.