Bilal Kamel Muhammad Mahfouz

I felt he was a grace bestowed upon me by God, not one I bestowed upon him; he silenced the mouths of many after I had given birth to four princesses. Bulbul, my beloved son Bilal Kamel Muhammad Mahfouz, was a gift from God. He came to me after a trial. I was offered to undergo medical procedures to have a male child, but my answer, after my fourth daughter, was certain: "He gives to whom He wills female [children], and gives to whom He wills males... and He makes whom He wills barren." I accepted God's gift without wish or request, and the pregnancy with Bilal came the quickest after Riyam. I felt that God had rewarded me for accepting His gift, and I saw him as a gift from God. He was handsome, beautiful, and always smiling. He was kind-hearted, or more accurately, tender-hearted; he carried the heart of a sparrow in his chest. He loved children without limits and would get along with them to the point that he forgot the age difference, as if it were a meeting of innocence with the purity I knew in him. I would even ask my sisters, "Is what Bilal does normal? Is his love and attachment to children normal for a boy?" They were all surprised by his immense attachment to children. The day before he was martyred, I told him, "Play with the little ones, but don't forget that you've grown up." He laughed and said, "The little ones are the smartest, they are the smartest!" then ran towards them to continue playing. I said to myself, it seems there's no use. Bulbul, despite his young age, combined the innocence of children with the nobility of men. Many of my husband's friends saw in him the traits of a man and would ask my husband about the secret to his personality. The love of my heart and his father's heart was so very self-confident. One of his teachers once stopped me and said, "For God's sake, what do you do with Bilal to make him so confident? The whole school stands on one leg when they see me, except for Bilal. Even if he's a whole period late, he walks in with a steady gait, his eye doesn't blink, and his heart doesn't tremble." I remember he greeted me and thanked me for this upbringing. He even told me, "I swear I get jealous when I see Bilal's confidence, and I wonder what the secret is behind this self-assurance." One of Bilal's most beautiful qualities was his honesty. I would never ask him about a mistake he made that he wouldn't admit to, even if he was late for prayer. I would ask, "Did you pray, Bulbul?" and he would swear emphatically that he had not prayed yet! I would laugh at his extreme honesty and say, "I believe you without an oath, especially on this." One of his noblest qualities was his trustworthiness. He was trustworthy, trustworthy, trustworthy, in his words and his actions, in his movement and his stillness. He kept secrets, was respectful of others, and was honest with money to a degree that astonished everyone who knew him. He was generous and giving. He loved to feed me from whatever he was eating. About a week before the war, my friend's husband gave him a can of Coke because he saw how exhausted he was on his way home. He used to walk a long distance from his school to the house, but he chose not to open it, despite his intense thirst, until he got home so I could drink with him. May God give you to drink from the Prophet's basin, my love. He was a boy of few words, concise in his expression. But if he saw something he liked about me, he would become a dictionary of sweet talk. How beautiful you were, Bilal. Beloved Bilal's favorite song for me, which he would play on the speaker almost daily, or at least weekly, was "Ma Ahlaki Ya Tayouba" (How Sweet You Are, Kind One). He would always say, "This song is for Mama." To your kind heart, a thousand greetings and peace, you who were the kindest I have ever seen. He had a strange hug, filled with love—no, with sincerity in love—even for my friends. I always heard from everyone Bilal hugged that his hug was strange. One day I went with a colleague of mine to ask about him at school, and he hugged me as he always did. I quickly left the classroom, and she was crying bitterly. I asked her, "What's wrong, is everything alright?" She told me, "Your son's hug is strange. I got goosebumps and I couldn't bear it." It's true that his heart was like a sparrow's heart towards people, but for himself, he cared about nothing and feared no dangers. Bilal went through many different forms of death: falling from the third floor, drinking gasoline, accidentally hanging himself behind the sofa when he was little, almost being burned, or being run over by a trailer, a truck, or a car. Despite all that, God's grace always surrounded him. But God decreed that his death would be a life, and his taking would be a selection. How befitting martyrdom is for you, Bilal. As for Bulbul's relationship with his father, volumes would not be enough. He was the close one, the beloved, the comfort, the companion, and the confidant. He loved his father with a strange love, imitating him in everything. He waited for him after every prayer to lean on him when he stood up. He wouldn't let his father carry anything, even if it were ten bags, swearing a man's oath that he would carry them himself, in one trip or several, to make it easier for him. He would prepare all his father's things before he left: the work bag, the mobile phone, the keys, the glasses... He would polish his shoes daily, start his car and check it before his father came down. I was surprised to find that on his way back from school, he would pass by all of his father's acquaintances to greet them and say, "May God give you strength, uncle." For your devotion to your father, the gardens of paradise called to you, my love. And as for his father's relationship with him, he was the affectionate one, the companion, the generous one, the support, the protector, and Bulbul's defender. Food was not savored without him, sleep was not peaceful unless he was hugging him, and an outing was not enjoyed unless he was holding his hand. Everyone who saw him envied him for the way he was doted on. How many times I heard from other children, "I wish we were Bilal," because of his father's immense love and pampering. Every day, there was a biscuit for him next to his pillow. Even if he spent the night at a relative's house, his father would send the biscuit he loved with him, saying, "Bulbul wakes up at night for the biscuit, don't forget to put it next to his pillow." If I forbade him something, his father would give it to him without my knowledge. If I was strict with him to discipline him, his father would pat him on the shoulder and appease him. If they disagreed, his father would placate him with just a look, and win him back with a flood of apologies. May God strengthen your heart, my love. I always used to say that I feared for this boy from life, because he knew nothing but goodness, and only goodness. How would he face this life with all its hatred, envy, malice, and cunning? Just like his sister Rafif. The answer was that these pure, untainted souls are suited for nothing but the gardens of the Most Merciful, and the company of the best of mankind. My heart was not mistaken about the true place of my son and my daughter. O God, please accept them. You know they were the purest of my heart, as they were pure for You. O God, may we have a meeting in the gardens of bliss, with the prophets, the truthful, the martyrs, and what excellent companions those are.