In Masafer Yatta, every last joy is being stolen from us

Today is my birthday, a day I usually look forward to with happiness and hope. But this year, the joy I once associated with this date has been replaced by sadness and exhaustion. Just two days ago, settlers attacked our village, leaving destruction and fear behind. My wife was injured during the attack, suffering a broken hand, and since then, nothing has felt the same.

Instead of celebrating with my family, I spent today and yesterday standing in front of the police station, waiting for someone to hear our voices. We were not allowed inside, and no one took the time to listen to what we went through. It’s a terrible feeling — not only being attacked, but also being ignored by those who are supposed to protect you.

The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. While others celebrate with cake, candles, and laughter, I find myself dealing with pain, fear, and uncertainty. It’s hard to feel festive when your loved ones are hurting, and your home no longer feels safe. The attacks have taken more than just our peace — they’ve stolen the simple joys we once took for granted.

I had hoped to spend this day surrounded by love, sharing a quiet and happy moment with my wife and family. Instead, we’re nursing wounds, both physical and emotional, and trying to process the trauma. It’s difficult to explain how quickly something so joyful can turn into something so heavy.

Despite it all, I hold onto a small hope — that the future might bring justice, that our voices will eventually be heard, and that one day I can celebrate my birthday again, in peace, with the people I love, free from fear and loss.

Today and yesterday, I spent long hours in front of the police station, searching for truth, justice, and simply being heard. But no one opened the door for me, and no one listened to what happened. It was as if the pain we carry wasn't worth acknowledging. In an instant, I felt as though not only my birthday had been stolen, but my dignity as well. Yet, I will continue to hold on to hope that another birthday will come that brings with it what we were deprived of this year: safety, justice, and joy.