Waiting together
Patience, סבלנות , صبر
Editor’s note
The war on Iran entered its third week on Sunday, March 15. We’ve moved from counting days to counting weeks. As more reliable information emerged from the region and communication was re-established with friends, I also calmed down from my initial panic.
In this time, I recalled one of the first Arabic words my friends taught me in university: صبر (sabr) — meaning patience, endurance. In this space, perhaps, we can all wait together.
What follows was written in the first hours of the war, when anxiety overwhelmed me, and I feared for my friends’ safety… Thankfully, all is well so far. The following text remains as it was written, reflecting the emotional reality of that moment:
Since the US and Israel struck Iran on Saturday, most of us have not been able to take our eyes off our phones, waiting for the next news and the next update. Our worries are personal and driven by visceral feelings, while the world turns to experts to explain and better understand the immense uncertainty people in the region are living through.
I am also waiting. And as I wait, I wanted to share the distant memory of a brief encounter from many years ago.
Rodi hadn’t been able to sleep for days the night we met at a bus stop in Edinburgh. It was 3:30 am on Monday, 26 February 2018. His home in Iraq was being bombarded and as a consequence, he had lost all contacts with his family there.
“They don’t answer my calls. I don’t know what happened to them. I can’t sleep,” he said to me, while smoking a cigarette at a distance.
It was evident that he was terribly worried, and I felt for him. I only remember that when the bus arrived (I was going to the airport to catch an early flight), we shook hands and said goodbye to each other, “Inshallah.”
Rodi’s memory resurfaced, because the only thing I’ve been able to think about since Saturday is, “are they ok?” Because headlines of war in Iran and regional escalation are not words. While we read all the analyses, it’s our friends and loved ones we think of, dying to know if they are well, praying they will keep safe, and mourning them with our tears when reality can no longer be changed.
For the first time, I’ve joined the ranks of those waiting for a message from a faraway place, unable to change a thing, only praying and hoping the world may come back to its senses. If you’re also waiting and hoping, or, if you’ve already waited and hoped for far too long, may you feel a little less alone.
