Until that day comes, part of me will continue to live in the free Palestine of my imagination, the one where all our burned olive trees are revived, blossoming and bearing fruit once more. Where Mustafa and Khalo Rushdie arrive home in the evening to join their families at the dinner table, and where Mohammed Abu Khdeir makes it to his Jerusalem mosque safely and in time to perform the fajr prayer. Where little Ahmed Dawabsheh is reunited with his parents and baby brother, their burned skin unblemished and immaculate. The four of them are laughing and embracing as they stand beneath the
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