On lost bets: Remembering Yahya Sobeih

Editorial note: Journalist Yahya Sobeih, 32, was killed in an Israeli airstrike on a popular market in the west of Gaza City on May 7. He and his sister’s husband were celebrating the birth of Yahya’s daughter earlier that day. Yahya was killed alongside 31 others in the Israeli attack. What follows is an article written by Mada Masr’s correspondent in Gaza, Thaer Abu Aoun, after the loss of his friend, brother and fellow journalist. 

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It’s not like I’m living in a different place. I know I could be next in this genocidal war. But I don’t stop myself from grieving and crying sometimes, when I lose someone dear to me.

Death doesn’t hurt the dead as it does the living — those who loved them. 

Yahya’s passing pained as all. It rubbed salt into our wounds, to remind us of every loved one, every friend we’ve lost in this war, of every time we’ve hurt and suffered together. 

Yahya was a brother before he was a friend, a soul mate before a colleague — to me and to all those who worked with him and knew him closely. 

Yesterday, my fellow journalists and I lost Yahya, this beautiful journalist, the person so generous with his smiles, the one so gentle in his presence and in his heart. 

I never got to say goodbye. I hadn’t had the time to congratulate him on the birth of his daughter — just as he hadn’t had the time to savor the joy of her arrival, the time to hug her before he was martyred and his soul ascended to its creator. 

Yahya, my friend, I remember our time together, our conversations, each and every one of them, word for word. How could I forget them, when they helped me forget, for a few moments, the bitter ugliness we are living in? 

I remember your excitement as you spoke about how eager you were to see your little daughter, how your eyes lit up when you talked about her. 

I remember once, when you found out I was sad because I was far from my son Fares, who is now in Cairo, you patted my shoulder and said with a smile, “Remember, he’s safe. The rest is on you.”

We worked side by side so many times, my friend. I was aware of the danger surrounding us, but I never thought I’d lose you soon.

I remember the time we bet on which of us would be martyred first and I told you, “I’ll die before you.” But you said, “I don’t want my heart to ache for you, my friend. Better we die together.”

We both lost that bet, my friend. And how I wish you had won it, and we had gone together. 

You always used to say, “Journalism has a special taste. It’s the most beautiful and the most dangerous profession.” 

Well, it no longer has any taste. If it weren’t for the duty of conveying the truth, I wouldn’t continue working after losing you. 

How brave you were, facing danger head-on with your camera. You never feared it. On the contrary, you always charged into danger. 

But today, you are the news. 

The news that hurt us and broke all of our hearts. 

I’ll miss you, Yahya. I’ll miss our moments together, your smile, your spirit. 

You have caused our hearts to ache, Yahya. Who can ever fill the space in the heart left by someone else? Who can mend a wound carved by the loss of a loved one?

You were the best of brothers and friends. You were the best of journalists. 

My only solace is that you’re in a better place, that you’re living on in the hearts of all who knew you. 

I hope we’ll meet soon. 

To my precious, courageous friend, Yahya Sobeih.