Amir Ahmed Abu Dahrouj

My little brother Amir, the youngest of us. Amir was always special, from the moment he was born. He wasn't an ordinary child; he was gentle, beautiful, affectionate, and a prince. I loved him so much, and I still do. He was the source of happiness and the soul of the house. In the dark days of the war, he was the light; his spirit, his words, and his innocent laugh eased the burden of what we were living through and enduring in this accursed genocide. Amir, Israel killed him while he was sleeping. Israel killed this innocence and this beauty. He always told me he wanted to become an engineer like my sister and brother, and would say to me, 'I want to engineer my house and my land.' He was very intelligent and quick with mathematics; he would solve fifty math problems and get only one wrong, and sometimes he wouldn't get any wrong at all. My dear Amir, I always felt that I was speaking with a young man, not an eight-year-old child. I always felt he was a responsible boy, in his actions and his way of thinking. And I always bet that he would be the most successful and brilliant of all my siblings, but Israel had another decision; it kills everything that is innocent.