Someone asked a little boy, what's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you?
He thought about it for a moment. Really thought about it, the way children do when they're taking a question seriously.
And then his face lit up and he said: "I invite you to eat shawarma." The person asked who said that to you? And the boy laughed.
This big, bright, unselfconscious laugh. And said “no one” No one ever said it.
He just imagined it. He dreamed up a kindness that had never actually been given to him and held onto it like it was real because in a world that had given him very little,
even an imaginary invitation to share a meal felt like the nicest thing a person could say. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that laugh. Because shawarma is not a luxury. Not to us. It's a Tuesday. It's a quick lunch, a late night craving, something we scroll past without a second thought.
But to so many children around the world living through war and hunger, it is the stuff of dreams. It is the best thing they can imagine. Not safety, not toys, not anything grand. Just a warm plate of food shared with another person.
And right now in Gaza, there are children whose imagination works the same way. Dreaming about meals we take for granted. Shawarma. A warm plate of rice. Something that tastes like a normal day. That is the ceiling of what they allow themselves to want. Not safety, not their home back, not the people they've lost. Just food. Just the feeling of being full.
I keep thinking about that boy. And his laughter. And the fact that nobody ever said it.
We are on the ground in Gaza every single day. And right now, millions of people around the world are in the final days of the most generous month of their year. Giving more, sacrificing more, showing up more than at any other time.
10th March - Gaza Aid Delivery
There is something in that energy that makes you want to match it. To not sit this one out. Because somewhere in Gaza there is a little boy who invented a hero in his mind. Someone who walked up to him and said those six words.
Someone who saw him and chose him. That imaginary person is probably the closest thing he has to a superhero and he doesn't even exist yet.
Be that person. The one who finally says it. And means it.
Not in a dream. For real.
You can't sit across from him. But you can put a plate in front of him. You can be the voice he imagined when he came up with the nicest thing anyone ever said to him. You can make that invitation real.
So say it. Tonight. With your donation.
I invite you to eat with me.
For the boy who finally gets his shawarma,
Hafsa