For My Mom, Zehava Zeitouny

In 1975, during a night of unusually heavy gunfire (in Lebanon) just inches from your living room window, in a blink of an eye, with your husband by your side, you packed up three little kids, dressed in pajamas, ready for bed and left your home. You never knew then, that when we’d return, our home and everything in it would be nothing more than a pile of ashes.
Having no other choice, you took us and left the past behind. We boarded a plane taking us, “anywhere but here,” was how you remember it—and when it landed you were willing and ready to start our lives all over again.