I want to know the names

of the children who died at Qana yesterday. If you look on the web, you can find the names of people who died when the same town was attacked in 1996. You will find eight-year-old Ibrahim, five-year-old Zeinab and her sisters, three-year old Haneen and one-month-old Maryam.You will find the young brothers Ali, Fadi and Mohamad, as well as seven-year-old Hamza, and little Fatima. They've been dead ten years now.

I want to know the name of every mother, father, son, daughter, cousin and neighbor who died yesterday and was pulled out of the rubble created by American-made bombs. Most of all, I need to know the names of the children. I am in mourning. I want to know how tall they were when they were alive and what they were wearing and how many teeth they had lost up until yesterday and what kinds of jokes made them laugh. And then I want someone to tell me if 34 more dead children is enough yet to call for a ceasefire, or if it is strategically necessary for a few more children to die this week. I want to know those names too, the names of the children who will die tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. And this: How tall are they now, and how many teeth have they lost? What color eyes do they have? By what endearments do their parents call them?

My daughter is seven years old. I call her "beautiful child," "dolly," "baby," "darling girl," "lovey," and a dozen other tender and silly names. She will tell you proudly that she is 52 inches tall. She has lost six teeth. Her eyes are brown. Her name? To me and her father, it is the most beautiful name in the world. The best one we could imagine for her. Like music. Like love. Like Zeinab...Haneen...Maryam...
Ali...Fadi...Mohamad...Hamza..Fatima...