From a hospital bed in Khan Younis, came her fading voice, be strong, she repeated three times.  For nine long days, Laila called my name, Mona’s, Manar’s, Mai’s and Mones’s but to no avail. None of us could break the Israeli occupation siege to be with her.  Maha was the only one privileged to be there.  

Laila, was dying for nine long days, yet we could not reach her in a hospital in my birth place and where I belong.  Forces of oppression who claim to be the protectors of democracy and human rights denied us the simple right to be at her bed side during her last precious moments.  We were harshly denied the joy of having a final kiss; and what a precious kiss it would have been.

Stood between us, was an occupation army, barbed wires, Apartheid walls, and borders followed by even more borders.

Stood between us the Eretz check point with its long metal passages which are suitable for Western European and American cattle.  

Stood between us war crimes, a watertight siege on millions of human beings who have done nothing other than being on the wrong side of the interests of the American, Israeli and corrupted Arab regimes.

Stood between us, 6000 oppressed human beings who were stuck for nearly two months under the summer heat at Rafah border; tens of them died as a result.

Stood between us, Entry permits United Nations and Human rights organisations which could not do anything until it was too late.

Stood between us, a British Embassy that is terrified of upsetting the executor; a world that is reluctant to condemn the oppressor and its blatant crimes against humanity.

Laila, whose fathers escaped from Caucuses, from the brutality of the Russian Tsars to take Palestine as a homeland, the place she loved more than anything on earth ; From Haifa as a little toddler to Tubas, Nablus, Tulkarim, Ramallah and finally Khan Younis.  

Engraved in my memory, as a little kid, how you always cried and made us cry telling us, and your pupils, stories of the suffering and dispossession of the Palestinians in the thirties and forties of the last century, tales of the revolutionaries and martyrs; of the tears that were always shed over loved ones; of the injustice that is still prevailing.

I will never forget that autumn night in the seventies, when a big group of Israeli occupation army soldiers stormed our house, how strong you were resisting them how fierce you were defending us.  On that evening, you condemned all Arab leaders who claim day and night to be the protectors of defenceless Palestinians.  I then realised your contradiction, how brave you were in facing such situations and how weak and concerned you were about other little things concerning us or your pupils.

Zakaria came to give condolences: I am indebted to Laila in two big ways:  First for teaching me for six years; and secondly for this:  In 1972 I was 9 years old; I threw stones at an Israeli army jeep; I ran through Ma’an school where Laila was the headmistress; the soldiers followed me.  Laila came out, as she always did; to stop them, she closed the school’s main gate; the soldiers kept pushing; she shouted; this is an educational institute, these are just children, you have no right to enter; they pushed her, she fell down, by that time, I was on the far side of the school’s concrete fence disappearing in the adjacent fields.  Laila always proudly told us of these incidents which happened on a regular basis.  It was so emotional that Zakaria reminded me of what Lalia always felt proud about.

Laila’s pupils, very affectionately refer always to her as Mistress.  Many of them achieved a lot in education.  Her interaction with families and ordinary people in Ma’an area was unorthodoxly impressive. She always laughed when comparing her office to a tribal Chief’s headquarters.  She helped to solve so many domestic problems on a regular basis, over the three decades of her educational career.  

Laila’s motto in life will live in memory forever, if a nation lost its moral values; it is a nation that has ceased to exist.  There is something seriously wrong, Laila always reiterated: all these claims of virtue, patriotism, religious devotion, yet we witness a clear evidence of disintegration in moral values and the social fibre.

It was the year 1975; the meeting was between the Israeli military governor of the Gaza Strip with the UN education officials and all UN schools headmasters and mistresses.  Teach your pupils that their homeland is where they were born not where their parents or grand parents were born; the military governor said in a clear reference to the refugees right of return.  Laila interrupted him, as she always did when she spoke what she thought to be the right thing, I am an educator, I can not lie; their homeland is Asdod, Yafa, Haifa, Al Majdal, and other areas inside the green line.  How about you, you were born in Poland, why do not you practice what you preach; why did you come to Palestine to uproot its indigenous population?  The Israeli military governor, very angrily, banged his hand on the table, declared the meeting closed.  He ordered a disciplinary action against Laila; something, the director of the UN education authority never implemented.  Such was Laila.  She will speak the truth, and fear no one and no consequences.

I always joked with Laila, do not do it when I cannot be with you; she laughed and asked me to promise you to burry her with my own hands.  I did promise, forgive me Laila, I was not allowed to do it; my only excuse is that an Israeli occupation soldier is stronger than me and all claims of human rights and freedom put together.

Laila, you always taught me that happiness is making other people happy.

You always reiterated; I would give the clothes I wear to the poor, if I could.  You always took side of the poor and underprivileged.

As described by many, you were a charity of your own; you thrived on giving; some times you even borrowed to help others.

Your popular sayings expressing the hopes and aspiration of the oppressed world- wide are still ringing in my head and will always do:
One day, our home will embrace us after long years of disposition;  
One day our, food will become tasty after sourness.
For all this you will always be remembered,
Laila, mother and mistress, farewell.