Just a little break
Beloved Land

“I'm about to go!” yaasin said to his wife in the refugee camp.

“Where to go?” ask wife.

“I will liberate this land from the hands of the invaders,”

His wife fell silent and bowed, for what her husband wanted was something noble. He can't help it. Moreover, scolding him on the grounds if he and his son also need it. But it is his homeland that needs him more.

“If I come back, be thankful that it is a gift from God. However, if I don't return. Please don't need to look for me. Please take care of our child,” Yaasin said.

He said all this without looking back. Because he was afraid, if he looked. Tears will be shed, and his will to fight will collapse. He went to the battlefield. Joining other young people. Join in the same line.

The desire of young people who will never waver and be weary, to liberate this land. They were willing to die bathed in their own blood. Leaving loved ones and their possessions.

As long as they are not slaves of the enemy. The enemy who came begged for protection, like a hungry dog. Now even turned greedy colonizing like a wolf ******.

I tell you a story, to you friends' wahat. A story that has happened for years. The story that made this heart grieve and these eyes cry. In a place where glory and majesty lie in the same place.

The hills are beautiful. The air is fresh. His lands were often trampled upon by the prophets. Abundant natural results. All residents are safe, in good condition and respected.

But now. Because they are we mourn. Really, this guy is sick. One of his subordinates fell asleep because of false peace, and the other was preoccupied with his worldly troubles.

Corrupt governments and long-running civil wars. Make them alone against the invaders and their minions. Until this heart grieves and cries to see it. Then I remembered this sight.

A small tent in the refugee camp. Hayyat and her son, Mahmud. Was eating leftover dry bread yesterday. Mahmud had just regained consciousness from his long break. This seven year old boy. Almost killed by a missile explosion as he was about to go home, after studying with children his age, in the mosque near his home.

By the time Mahmud woke up, he was already in a makeshift hospital bed. Almost his whole body was bandaged here and there. I was confused as to why only my mother took care of it. Where is his beautiful, beautiful father, whose smile really makes little Mahmud long.

After recovering, Mahmud was not brought home. Except for the refugees. Because his house had been destroyed in a bomb by the invading planes. In the corner of the refuge. Mahmud could only wipe away the tears that began to drip down his cheeks. Only this time he could see friends his age playing. Without him he can play too.

It wasn't without reason. Mahmud lost nearly half of his right leg due to a missile explosion near the mosque where he was teaching. Doctors had to amputate his right leg to save the life of this little boy. Because that's the only way for him.

Fined for these evacuations, Mahmud and the others were hungry more often than full. Waking up more often than sleeping well. More often hear explosions than peace. Even clean water for washing your face is rare. They live on the aid of neighboring countries that still care about them.

It has been three months since his father left. Mahmud began to ask where his father was. His mother was confused as to what to answer. He just kept silent every time Mahmud asked that.

In the days that followed there was really no day without Mahmud asking where his father was. The answer is almost the same as in previous days. His mother just kept silent. His father also did not come home. Leaving a big question mark on the little boy's heart.

In the following days. Mahmud began to cry for a moment. Mahmud also did not understand why he could cry, which he began to understand and so the question, where is his father? where's she?

By leaving them both like this. On another day. His condition has not changed. His mother would still be silent if Mahmud asked his father. Mahmud is getting longer. More and more questions asked him.

“Wahai Mom where is my dad? i miss. I want to see his handsome face?” the little boy was filled with feelings and hopes for his father.

“Gee Mom if dad's still alive. Where's dad's place now? I asked for his address. I'm going to see dad. I want to show my Al Qur’an shipments to him,” he said softly.

The question was also once again only answered with sobs by his mother. Until Mahmud asked again with the real question of a child who has mengikhlaskan departure of his father.

“Mother where is dad? If he died. Where's grave? I want a pilgrimage and a prayer for him. May Allah make me one of those who are patient,” Mahmud said with tears.

This time. Her mother was crying so much. He took his son out to the cemetery of the warriors, and said, “Your father has been martyred, son. He was with his lover. Prophet Muhammad SAW, was chatting in heaven. The Kautsar Lake. This is his home now. Your father is inaudible, and untouchable again.”

Mahmud who at that time could not understand too much. Can only be quiet. Without crying without a word just berTO’a so that God receives all the acts of worship of his father. Put the worthy at His side, and repay him with the reward of heaven. Because his father is a good person and likes to pray to his Prophet Muhammad SAW.

“His fate. It is the will of God,” Mahmud said with tears in his hands.

After that, Mahmud immediately asked to be delivered to the market to his mother. His mother asked what he wanted to do at the market?

With a naive Mahmud replied, “Truly now I am an orphan. I live with my mother and without my father. I want to pick up sustenance. I want to find a job to support my mother. I'm strong and I'm healthy.”

Replied by his mother, “Oh lucky son, do not give up all these trials of God. Be patient and steadfast, Son.”

Patience and steadfastness. Those are the only two things they can do right now. And berto’a so that all disasters do not come again. Quickly go away, for this land to be safe and peaceful again, no more bloodshed.

Ohh, beloved land. The land where the chosen prophets were sent down. Although this ummah is asleep, even though this nation is sick, though alone and exhausted. Keep fighting, may God protect you.

For you are the eagles who will never bow down. Except for the God of the universe. Oh yes, the friends of Morocco. Do you know the name of the land?