It was not a Friday like all the others. I unusually woke up early, as sleeping on these days of shame is a sin. I switched on the TV to watch "live death". The death toll in Gaza was rising so fast that correspondents could not keep up. I shrank on my chair whenever I saw a Palestinian child being torn apart. My children were still sleeping. I thought their father's incapability or weak faith could one day turn them into victims of Israel's vicious bombardments or a US caprice in a worthless region like this one. Is my life and blood worthier than theirs? What shall I tell God when he asks me: "What did you do to defend your Muslim brother's land and honor?" I will certainly keep silent, as writing does not defend women and children. Writing is the weakest belief in a country whose rulers cannot hear the injured moaning under the rubble. If you scream louder, does it change the way you write? Suddenly, some breaking news: Said Siyam, interior minister in the Palestinian deposed government, has been assassinated. I remembered his visit to my office about two years ago. He looked like a very humble employee; he was wearing a normal suit, he asked for a cab or a car to go to the newspaper, ate the fast-breaking meal with us (we were in Ramadan) and prayed together. Said Siyam had died, but no one cried. Perhaps because there were not enough tears for all these dead, perhaps because eyes could stand no more tears. The "screen of death" moved from torn-apart corpses to the Arab summits: some Arab leaders in Doha, some in Riyadh and some in Kuwait. Qatar needed almost half of the capital to build a luxurious hall to hold the summit. Saudi Arabia hosted some states in its cold capital, while Kuwait needed Egypt's anger at Qatar to hold consultations until Israel ends its slaughter. For the first time in history, Arab rulers were able to hold three summits simultaneously; this is a record that no other nation will ever be able to break. The real achievement, though, was that these three summits clearly classified Arabic satellite channels into different categories according to their loyalty. Now, no one can any longer say that we have independent and impartial channels, as all TV stations turned into local ones to defend their emir's summit, their president's meeting or the their king's session. Time came for the Friday's prayer. I moved away from the TV and went to the mosque. On my way, I kept thinking on the angry demonstrations held across the Arab World. We raise boards and slogans; we speak into microphones and in front of cameras. Is anyone listening, though? Can we harm Israel with our screams? The imam was wrought-up and said in his sermon that Israel's aggression on Gaza was a test from God, calling on Muslims to be patient. Next to me was a man in his forties wearing a Palestinian keffiyeh around his neck and repeating 'amen' after the imam, who in turn was calling for upheaval to be brought upon the Jews. At the end of the sermon and the prayer, we found the mosque surrounded by street vendors selling fruit and vegetables and shouting their discounts. Those who were with me in the mosque surrounded them and rushed to buy as much as they could. I saw the man with the keffiyeh puzzled, as he was holding an orange but had no sack. Finally, as he could not find any, he took his keffiyeh off and used it to wrap up the orange.
