"O Martyr! You left for heaven too soon! Post my photos everywhere, do not make a fuss at first and forget me later.”
Such was the final wish of Rusul al-Farra. She was known as the ‘Java Nerd’ among her colleagues at Al-Azhar University for her ambition and academic achievements (Java as in the programming language). As a friend, she was “loyal and compassionate… lighthearted and beloved,” said her friend Shatha Abu Rajila. “An angel who could not hurt a fly.”
Death roams in Gaza’s alleyways without shame or fear. Among al-Farra’s family, it found a precious soul to target. Rusul and four of her family members were taken without warning. Like many others in Gaza, they did not enjoy the luxury of determining their future. The Israeli war machine, once on, spares nobody in its wake.
The war stole Rusul’s dreams. She was a top student in her second year at a Computer Systems Engineering program. Her dream was to graduate with honors and become a university professor. As a future professor, her friend Shatha said, she aspired to break the teacher-student barrier. She wanted to become a professor who is close to her students and conscious of their needs and transform the sector of higher education at large.
Like a “space shuttle” she worked tirelessly, recalls Shahad, a close friend in Rusul’s program. Rusul readily shared her knowledge and volunteered her time and comfort to support her classmates. She loved to be called “Engineer Rusul!” Shahad added: “Although she was not initially happy with her major, she excelled at it! I often told her ‘You know too much.’ Just before the war, she had launched an Instagram page about her field of study and asked me to collaborate on content design.”
Rusul loved it when others noticed and complimented small details about her. Shatha, with whom Rusul shared her daily university commute, recalls how Rusul would frown in childlike innocence if her friends did not compliment her apparel. Her tone somewhere between pain and longing, Shatha added: “She would say ‘This is a new sweater! How is the look today? Why did you not compliment the new outfit?’ God help us if we do not compliment her new outfit.”
Rusul had an enchanting smile and an endearing laugh. Shahad recalls: “Her laugh was contagious. Others laughed automatically.” She added “My god her laugh. I cannot tell you enough. You could listen to her laugh all day. Her laugh could warm your heart.”
Ahead of her time intellectually, Rusul nonetheless maintained a childlike playfulness. She loved going to theme parks and sharing food with her friends at university. She always ordered an egg and potato sandwich at the university cafeteria. Shatha recounted: “Whenever we had a common break, Rusul would plan breakfast. She would call and invite everyone. She loved to bring us together. She went around the whole campus, if one of us covers the bill, saying ‘Shatha got the bill today!’”
Before the genocide, Rusul was preparing for her sister Tuqa’s wedding. Full of excitement, she shared the details with her friends. Merciless, the war left no room for joy. The wedding day was set for Oct. 25, on which a missile took both of their lives. The most painful is death, in how it happens, terrifying in how easily it comes.
Rusul had the character of a hardworking and stubborn young woman. She never gave in to challenges. For instance, despite the challenging circumstances she faced during her high school exams, she defied all odds and scored an average of 95.1.
Rusul was determined to continue her studies with Shahad abroad, as soon as the genocide was over. In great pain, Shahad recalled: “She was very strong. She did not succumb to the circumstances. Even during the war, she messaged me every day to encourage me to keep going and apply for scholarships to study abroad. ‘Convince your father and I will convince mine.’ We agreed to do it together. Fat,e however, decided to take her and all the plans and dreams we made together.”
Speaking of her friend Rusul, words failed Shahad. She was overwhelmed with emotions. Rusul offered her a shoulder on difficult days. Their friendship, however short-lived, was extraordinary. As Shahad described: “Friendship is less about years and more about deeds.” They used to meet daily and make numerous memories. The beach was their favorite destination. They were more than friends, they became sisters. Rusul’s family became Shahad’s second home. They visited each other often and shared meals, shopping, and walks. Shatha said of the friendship: “Wherever I looked for Rusul, I found Shahad. They were inseparable. One was tall and the other short — I teased them a lot! Their friendship was one of a kind. They never argued or upset each other. When I learned that Rusul was martyred, my first words were ‘And Shahad?’” To mention Rusul’s death was heavy on Shahad’s heart. As Egyptian Author Ahmad Khaled Tawfiq wrote in his Coffee with Uranium: “So this is death. It seemed to me simple, brief, and quick. You are simply here, then you are no longer.”
“Shatha, although two years older, found in Rusul a safe haven, a source of comfort and inspiration. She turned to her for advice and support when she felt down and stuck. Shatha described her: “I sensed maturity and wisdom in Rusul’s company. She had valuable insight, like gems. Irreplaceable in her style, compassion, kindness, and sharpness.”
In a moment of gratitude, Shatha recalled once craving Sumaqiyah — a signature Palestinian dish of the Gaza Strip and especially Khan Yunis, where Rusul is from. Confessing her lack of experience with the dish, Shatha divulged her craving to Rusul. She recalled: “I mentioned I craved it. She said ‘done.’ I did not take it seriously until she called and said: ‘The driver is at the door. I sent you Sumaqiyah’. She sent two dishes. The best I ever had. She was very generous, whatever you ask she is ready to give.”
As for Shahad, her fondest memory with Rusul is etched in her brain. Struggling to complete a university project in time, Shahad had called Rusul for support one night. At a time as late as nine in the evening, Rusul still did not hesitate to support a friend. She invited Shahad to her house to work together. When Shahad arrived, she was greeted with a birthday surprise. Rusul and her family thought it would help alleviate her anxiety. Shahad remembered: “I was shocked. They made me happy after I became anxious and in tears. We finished the project in time and she said: ‘I am here for whatever you need.’”
The thought of having lost Rusul forever brings Shahad to tears like the first time. The hours they spent together daily have turned into complete loneliness. Death might have spared her, but her soul was snatched from her body the moment she learned of Rusul’s martyrdom.
On that day, Shahad was playing with her sister when they heard the missiles of the Israeli occupation forces. Her sister was worried they had hit Rusul’s house, as it was within proximity. Accustomed to Rusul’s messages of reassurance after such attacks, Shahad seemed calm. Her phone was suddenly bombarded with messages: “Shahad, where are you? Check the news online.” Abu Tawfiq al-Farra’s house was targeted, the news read. At that moment, she forgot Rusul’s uncle had a son called Tawfiq. She repeatedly called Rusul, with no response. A friend of hers whose father went to check called. She said there were many martyrs at Rusul’s house. Later, she learned of the martyrdom of both of Rusul’s sisters, Tuqa and Adyan. Shortly after, “My father says Rusul is a martyr.”
Words fail to describe that moment. In Shahad’s words, it “broke” her. She often drowns in photographs and memories; and constantly rereads their messages. In heartbreak, she says: “Once my aunt visited, and I wanted to show her our WhatsApp chat. I wondered ‘Where are our texts from 2024?’ It is hard to think she is not with us in 2024. I forgot she left us in October. It feels like she is traveling and will be back. Like we see each other less because of the war.”
Shatha and Shahad cannot believe they could not give her farewell. In the blink of an eye, the Israeli occupation takes souls, denying Palestinians the chance to say a final goodbye. Shatha misses her dearly and longs for every detail of their friendship. While Shahad, in need of Rusul’s support more than any other time, as she struggles with her family in displacement camps, feels a gaping void in her life.
After Rusul’s loss, Shahad started to view life differently. Everything appeared silly and worthless. She constantly finds herself in moments of weakness and surrender. She nonetheless quickly regains her strength, remembering Rusul as an example of determination. For Rusul, Shahad decided to live life to the best of her ability; to push and work hard, not only for herself, but in honor of her beloved friend. The end of the genocide remains nonetheless her greatest fear. She will have to face it: Rusul is never coming back.
Ten months since the onset of the genocide, as of the time of the writing, the death toll in Gaza has risen to 38,250. Over thirty-eight thousand and two hundred and fifty individual stories. As journalists, writers, and activists, it is our moral and humanitarian duty to tell each of their stories. To honor the lives stolen from Gaza and its people. Palestinians cannot be reduced to numbers and statistics in breaking news banners. We must narrate their stories in full detail; and share them wide and far around the clock!
This article was translated into English by Sara Masry.
