Mahdi Aslan

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@AmirAminiMD I’m confident that it will tilt. Maybe not soon enough but it will

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@thomasinusa @Bushra1Shaikh Have you ever been and spoken to people there?

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@asadabukhalil It really is the era of mediocrity. Not only because of what is said, but also because of what is generally accepted and repeated. How did we get here?

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@ejmalrai What would he have done had it been 150 Palestinians instead? Once you’ve answered it to yourself, tell me how this is not apartheid

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@ireallyhateyou Nikita Sokolov is a typical Middle Eastern name

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@TheTweetOfGod With a capital M 😄

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

Her response has twice the likes of his post 😄

[Ana Kasparian @AnaKasparian]

@netanyahu fuck you

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@kahale_tayyar هو و مارسيل غانم أقرف مذيعين في العالم العربي

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@mamoun1234 معظم الناس يعيشون حياتهم ضمن حضارة واحدة فقط. الانتقال من حضارة لأخرى فرصة مميزة للغنى تحزن على من يضيعها

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@mamoun1234 أبدعت في التشخيص و في التوصيف

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@allouush ليه متمسكين بإطار اتفاق الطائف؟

[Assal Rad @AssalRad]

“During a ceasefire”

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@AdibChristian نياله على كل هالحب و العوض بسلامتك

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@sawaya_nicolas @lifelearner001 For me, Beit Ehden is the best for shawarma and tabbouleh. Grill Town is good for shawarma

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

I used to think the most remarkable thing about Gaza was how people survive death.
Lately, I have begun to think it is how they survive life.

For the past two days, I have found myself walking through the streets, studying the faces of strangers. I was trying to understand a contradiction that exists nowhere more clearly than here:
How do people continue to laugh after burying those they love?

How do weddings still happen?

How do mothers still buy sweets for their children?

How do people keep searching for small fragments of happiness while carrying so much grief?

Yesterday, I saw a crowd gathered around an elderly woman on the side of the road, she looked as though she was about to collapse.

I approached and introduced myself as a doctor, but before I could ask what had happened, a young woman standing beside her spoke.

“It is the sadness,” she said.
Then, after a brief pause: “Whenever there is a happy occasion, she remembers my brother who was killed in the war.”

“She starts crying. Sometimes she loses consciousness.”

I checked on her and continued walking.

But I carried the scene with me.

A while later, I heard a young man shouting for water.
I turned and saw another elderly woman being held upright by two men.

Her body had not failed her. Her grief had.

I walked over and asked only one question:
“Was she remembering someone she lost?”

The young man looked at me and nodded.
“Yes. My brother.”

The same story.

Twice, within less than thirty minutes.
Two women. Two families.
One wound.

And this is the truth,
Gaza exists in two realities at the same time.

The first is visible.
Children playing, markets crowded with people, families attending weddings, mothers preparing meals.
Life insisting on itself.

The second reality is hidden beneath the surface.

A city of empty chairs, unanswered phone calls, bedrooms preserved exactly as they were the day their owners never returned.
A city where every moment of happiness accidentally steps on a memory.

Perhaps that is why joy feels different here.
It never arrives alone, it drags sorrow behind it like a shadow.

Every celebration has an absent guest, every smile carries a name.
Every mother who watches children play sees one child that nobody else can see.

And yet people continue, that is the miracle. Not that they are strong. Not that they have healed.

But that they continue.
They gather, they laugh, they fall in love, they make plans for tomorrow.
All while carrying losses heavy enough to stop a heart.

And this is what Gaza truly is:

A place where people keep planting flowers in the ruins, while beneath their feet, the graves are still fresh.

#WoundedGaza #EidMubark

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@FaresSouaid تمنيت ان أسمع منك كلمة إدانة تجاه إسرائيل و لكن تموضعك مفهوم

[Hala Jaber @HalaJaber]

Let’s talk about Khaled Daher.

A paramedic in Lebanon’s Civil Defence.
Not a fighter. Not a “target.”
A first responder who ran toward danger to save lives.

Two days ago, he was killed, along with two of his colleagues, when they were directly targeted while trying to rescue a civilian trapped under rubble.

But his story doesn’t start there.

Khaled wasn’t just a paramedic. He was the backbone of his family.
After his brother died in Bulgaria, he went searching for him, across borders & through uncertainty, until he finally located his grave & brought him back to Lebanon, where he laid him to rest.

He then became a father figure to his brother’s daughter, raising her as his own, carrying a responsibility that wasn’t his to bear, but one he chose anyway.

He was a son, a brother, a provider, a quiet pillar holding others up.

And in the end, he died the same way he lived, trying to save someone else.

Khaled Daher didn’t just lose his life.
His family lost their support.
People lost the man who showed up when everything else fell apart.
His niece has now lost both fathers.

Khaled spent his life saving others.
He was killed while doing exactly that.

This is what is being lost.

Over 103 medics and rescue workers have been killed since March 2.

Not numbers.
First responders.
Lives that held other lives together.

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

MELHEM BARAKAT - E Viva Espana 1980 ملحم بركات - فيفا إسبانيا https://t.co/AhOiboJZPo via @YouTube

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@Lowkey0nline Well done Lowkey

[Mahdi Aslan @Mahdi_Aslan]

@LindseyGrahamSC Why you are welcomed in Lebanon is the real issue. Nothing good can come out of your visit