وتطوع الدكتور ( آمين آيت سي علي) بترجمته إلى الإنجليزية وهذا هو النص:

وتطوع الدكتور ( آمين آيت سي علي) بترجمته إلى الإنجليزية وهذا هو النص:
Dr. Amin Ait Si Ali volunteered to translate it into English, and this is the text:
Today marks the 36th anniversary of her departure, with the hope of reunion there... She was a woman I loved and adored deeply. No beauty in existence has captured my heart, soul, and spirit as she did. Her presence has never left me since I first knew her, even after she was gone.

In my life, spanning over sixty years, I have tasted various forms of love, affection, and tenderness. Yet, her love, warmth, and tenderness have a special flavor that I still savor every moment. She was 25 years old when my eyes first met hers. I’m sure she recognized me, but I likely didn’t care; after all, I was just crying, having just emerged from her womb, where I was nourished effortlessly and moved freely.

I lived with her for 29 years, divided as follows:

* **4 years** that I don’t remember, filled with major milestones (meeting her face to face after being nourished by her blood, starting to nurse from her, depriving her of sleep and rest, learning to sit, crawl, walk, eat, and drink, her cleaning up after me, staying up when my teeth came in, playing with me, cooing at me, teaching me to speak, praying for me, and investing all her hopes in this new arrival).

* **12 years** spent between: the traditional Quran school (kuttab), primary school, middle school, and play (with only soccer and hide-and-seek for us). I would enter the house for (studying, eating, drinking, with my meals, clothes, and school supplies always prepared, and guidance always available).

* **3 years** away at boarding high school. She made all the clothes required for boarding life, with help from my two sisters. I would return to our village only once every 15 days.

* During **vacations** over the next 15 years, most were spent with my grandfather, Haj Al-Dayef, in his thriving zawiya, involved in Quran study, herding sheep, goats, and cows, helping with gathering wheat and barley, harvesting, threshing, and winnowing.

* **4 years** at university, also in boarding. I would return to our village every one to two weeks. My focus shifted to study circles at the mosque and gatherings at home. Most of these were held in my parents' home, where they hosted us lovingly, treating us as champions of faith, there to restore religion to its rightful place in society.

* **4 years** in Grenoble, France. She visited me once, staying two months with my sister who lived in France. After I completed my doctorate, I returned to my homeland, to my father, mother, siblings, relatives, friends, and loved ones. But six months after my return, my support, my pillar, my teacher, my father Sidi Ammar bin Al-Dayef, passed away to meet his Lord. I soon went into military service, and a year and a half later (two years after my return), my beloved, my light, my warmth, joined him, leaving a void filled only by the Quran we recited in their lives and the dhikr we shared with them, and the love and kindness we received from them.

When I recall those 27 years with Sidi Ammar and the 29 with my mother Jamila, I feel I only truly lived with them for a few months.

They gave me everything, as he did, and when I matured, grew strong, and my harvest ripened, they both went to the afterlife. It’s as if they said, “We do not seek thanks or rewards; our reward is with Him (ALLAH).”

Once, I was with her, walking with my sister, my wife, and my son Abdullah, pushing him in a stroller. We entered a store, and my mother picked up an outfit and tried it on Abdullah. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and I didn’t understand why. I looked into her eyes and asked, “Why are you crying?”

With tears streaming, she said, “Praise be to God. Now you can clothe your children, but we had you under occupation. France deprived us of enjoying you. We hid you in barns and stables to keep you safe from the French.”

I remembered this story, thinking of the suffering of mothers, fathers, grandfathers, and grandmothers in Palestine, Gaza, Jerusalem, the West Bank, the territories of ’48, Lebanon, Yemen, and Syria. This suffering resonated in my mother’s tears and voice, and I will never forget when I entered Gaza in August 2010 and met mothers of prisoners. I approached one of them, whose eyes were filled with sorrow, and said, “I have no mother; mine passed away years ago. Will you be my mother?” She hugged me, smiled, and said, “What a joy.”

Indeed, this suffering has no relief except through God. Merciful Lord, forgive us and do not hold us accountable for the actions of the foolish among us.
Lord, do not hold us accountable for our shortcomings. Our vision is clear, but our hands are short.

God, relieve them of their distress, save them from grief, lift their burdens, and grant them victory, for all things come from You and return to You. May God be our guide and purpose.
Dr. Abdelkader Semmari