Murder in a Beach Cafe

In a place that gazes over the horizons and links the sky with the sea, Ismael Abu Al Hattub was martyred. He wasn’t killed in battle but in a simple café on a Gaza beach. It was the place that he was planning to hold his photography exhibition, but failed to see the light.

This beach which he loved, wrote about and photographed under fire and siege, stamped his final existence and obituary.

He once saw a temporary retreat in the place snatched by the gray strikes made by Israeli raids. Abu Al Hattub saw the beach as mirroring the new disdain life has become…a platform for death, blood and mayhem.

He wasn’t merely a journalist but a witness, holding his camera, as if it was open to the world for a life stage in which reality had become a goal to strike. He led his visual project from the ruins of Gaza and made his picture image an “ambassador” to be narrated to the world.

At the height of the military strikes and bombing, with the homes brought to the ground, Abu Al Huttab used to document not only through his lens but by his heartbeat writing on World Press Day that “in Gaza the camera is targeted, the word is struck down and the vest is dammed by the thudding missiles.

These words were not poetic descriptions but a stark reality his body lived through. Last November 2024 he escaped from certain death while he was photographing the Al Ghafari Tower that was viciously struck.

He came back after a year of hardship and pain to continue what he started, to become a voice in the era of silence and the eye in the stage of blindness.

Between the skies and the sea

Between the tents, the debris and wreckage and between the displaced people on roads Abu Al Hattub collected his photographs refusing to tuck away his camera till the strange sounds of death.

And as a result, he sent his photos to be seen in a joint Palestinian platform exhibit in Los Angeles. However, this wasn’t an ordinary exhibition but an echo dangling on western walls narrating the heinous situation of Gaza.

“From the middle of Gaza under the airstrikes, displacement and starvation I was determined to hold this exhibition from afar to tell the story of our people who have no refuge but the beach,” he wrote.

He would say in every “image there is a soul” and the photos are able to defeat the walls and penetrate the thick international silence.

A dream buried in the sand

He was supposed to train, this week, digital security to a group of journalists in Gaza, he had a date with the interested generation of the future. However, his fate with death was sealed. It was a cruel moment by an even cruellest pretending-to-be master race.

His life passed before our eyes after his face was changed into a collective presence as the tent he was living in became his platform, the sea a sanctuary and the lens resistance.

Journalist Muthana Al Najjar wrote: “The owner of the tent exhibition in the middle of Los Angeles, ascended to the heavens after joining the martyrs after a raid on a makeshift café…he tried to show the Gaza tragedy to the world through an exhibition titled in between the sky and the sea and was made absent in an air strike on the beach he loved so much.”

He departed but his pictures remain, and the narrative is there for all to see. He added the youths of Gaza continue to dare to live despite all the odds stacked against them. The Israeli war machine will not win.

He is not the last number to be killed but one of 228 journalists Israeli warplanes targeted during this genocide. Their pens were broken, but their messages remain and whilst the photo lens has dropped in silence the picture will continue to echo.

What Abu Hattub presented was not only a painful picture but a stubborn visual language that doesn’t submit to the American-made bombs and missiles or the continuing siege. He realized that the camera was not objective but rather biased to the truth, justice and people.

Today as the smoke towers above the Gaza Sea, his words remain, his narratives fly over depicting that Gazans are determined to live and stay on their land in the face of extraordinary adversary.

CrossFireArabia

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

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Beirut Weeps For a Poet

Lebanon mourns Khatoun Salma, a Lebanese national poet who was killed along with her husband in an Israeli airstrike that targeted their home in the Tallet al-Khayat neighborhood of Beirut Wednesday, 8 April.

Rasha al-Amir, publisher of Dar al-Jadeed, announced that the bodies of Khatoun and her husband were recovered from the rubble, Thursday morning.

Lebanese journalist Maha Salma also mourned her sister Khatoun on her Instagram account, writing: “My dear sister is in God’s care. May God grant me patience in the pain of her loss and the burning of my heart and soul.”

Poet and playwright Yahya Jaber wrote a tribute to Khatoun on Facebook, saying: “Yesterday, the Israeli airstrike cut down a poet with its sharp scissors, a poet of delicate Arabic.” Under the rubble, the conjunction “waw,” the plural “waw,” the feminine plural “nun,” the feminine suffix “ta,” the definite article “al-“: a massacre of language at the hands of language. Jaber attached a picture of the building where Khatoun lived to his post, saying:

“Here is the Khayat Hill building, and here on one of these balconies, we used to stay up late with Khatoun and her husband, Muhammad Karsht, in the late 198s, spinning yarns of laughter and sewing memories. We would recite poetry and remember our city, Tyre, and love Beirut, the capital.”

Lebanese poet Majida Dagher wrote on her Facebook page in mourning for Khatoun: “Under the rubble of her house in Khayat Hill, they found a poet lying among her shattered rhymes. The death of a poet in an airstrike on Beirut makes you feel that war is very, very close. The sound of bones breaking has become louder, and the smell of blood deeper.

Salma fell from the heights of poetry before she could bid farewell to ‘the last inhabitant of the moon.'” She thought Beirut was her tent, Beirut the roof of her poem, where she would hide, “embracing a woman waiting” for the dust to settle. But the dust became the tent of a new Beirut, a Beirut weeping, broken, martyred.

Salma, who studied Arabic literature at the American University of Beirut, published two collections of poetry, “I Embraced a Woman Waiting” in 2009 and “The Last Inhabitants of the Moon” in 2012, both with the Lebanese publishing house Dar Al-Jadeed. She first gained recognition in the 1970s, during her secondary school years, when she won a poetry prize. Later, at the beginning of this century, she became known in cultural circles for her relatively small but distinguished poetic output and her academic pursuits, which included studies in Sufism and Sufi mystics.

She combined profound knowledge with poetic sensitivity. She left her mark on the Lebanese cultural scene with a unique poetic voice, manifested in her literary works that carried the pain of humanity, exile, and memory. With her tragic passing, Lebanon loses a literary and human figure who wrote of the wound in a language that resembled nothing but truth.

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Al Bahri: The Man Who Set Palestinian Theater

He is a playwright and author of 12 plays, nearly 20 novels, and numerous translations. Jamil Habib Afara (al-Bahri) was known as the “Father of Theater.” He was born in 1895 in Haifa and his family name dates back to the mid-18th century, as his ancestor owned a merchant fleet that sailed the Mediterranean between Haifa, Acre, and Tripoli. This is where his family name originated.

He showed early interest in literature and writing. He and his brother, Hanna, were keen to revitalize the literary and intellectual scene in Haifa, establishing the National Library there in 1922. He first published the “Zahrat al-Jamil” (The Beautiful Flower) and later “al-Zahra” (The Flower) which was initially a weekly publication that later became a bi-weekly and continued publication for about nine months after his death in 1931. His last piece was

a journalistic investigation into the execution of the three martyrs: Muhammad Jamjoum, Fuad Hijazi, and Ata al-Zeer, in the city of Acre in 1930. He dedicated his time and his newspaper that day to the souls of these martyrs, leading with: “The terrible hour in Haifa and all of Palestine: Let us commemorate those who gave their lives for the homeland.” A large funeral was held for him, and poems and eulogies were recited and published in the Palestinian press, such as the “Al-Karmel” and “Falastin,” newspapers.

The Department of Culture of the Palestine Liberation Organization posthumously awarded him the Jerusalem Medal for Culture and Arts in 1990, and the Palestinian Ministry of Culture reprinted his first book, “The History of Haifa,” in 2022.

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