There are sounds you hear only once, but they stay with you forever. The voice of my friend Shadi from beneath the rubble is one of them. The place where Shadi and his family were staying was struck. Within moments, the house was reduced to rubble. But Shadi did not die immediately. He was alive beneath the debris. We could hear his moans. His voice came from between the stones and rubble, weak and exhausted, but it was enough for us to know that Shadi was still alive. Hours passed… And Shadi was still there. Imagine knowing that your friend is only a few meters away from you. You know he is alive. You can hear his voice. You know he is in pain. But you cannot reach him. I don’t know how anyone can describe that feeling. Every time we heard him, there was still hope that we might be able to get him out. But time kept passing. Hour after hour. And his voice grew weaker. Then… We heard nothing. Shadi’s voice disappeared from beneath the rubble. The silence that followed his moans was more painful than the moans themselves. We understood what had happened without anyone having to tell us. Shadi died beneath the rubble. His family died too. Sometimes I think about his final hours. What did he feel while trapped beneath his own home? Could he hear the voices of people outside? Was he waiting for a hand to reach him and pull him out from beneath the stones? Did he believe, every moment, that help was coming? I don’t know. And perhaps I never will. But I know one thing: I heard my friend’s voice while he was still alive… And then I heard the silence that followed. War does not leave you only with images of those who died. Sometimes, it leaves you with a sound. The sound of someone you love crying out from beneath the rubble, growing weaker and weaker until it disappears. Shadi is gone. His family is gone with him. But his voice has never left my memory. Even today, when I remember him, the first thing I remember is not the rubble… I remember his moans. 💔