It's cold and drizzly outside.  It is also the month of Ramadan and most Gazans are observing the one-month dawn to dusk fast.  Sunset is rapidly approaching as women take to their kitchens to put the final touches on the myriad of delicacies prepared for the iftar.  The menfolk take to the old marketplace to buy some sweets from any of the numerous bakeries displaying steaming trays of syrup-drenched baklava and little pyramids of miniature nut-laden pastries.  By this time, everyone is hungry and eagerly-awaiting the evening call for prayer which signals the end of the day's fast.  My thoughts go to Mahmoud.  I hope he is not cold and that he and his family will have enough to eat when they sit down to their iftar meal.

Mahmoud, a strong, freckle-faced boy of 15 years, came to Atfaluna just three years ago when he was 12 years old.  Mahmoud is one of the close to 6,000 profoundly deaf children in the Gaza Strip who was born into a world of silence.  For a deaf child who had never before been to school, it was very late to start.  With 120 children attending classes in our small rented building, and an overflowing waiting list, it was hardly the time to consider Mahmoud for placement.  But we did anyway.  Mahmoud, you see, is his family's only hope.

Mahmoud's father became an invalid during the Palestinian Intifada.  Bullets irreversibly shattered his right leg when the shooting started as he was walking to the corner grocery.  Mahmoud's mother, Nejwa has had only  5 years of formal education, possesses no job skills, and has her hands full taking care of her disabled husband's needs and those of two other younger children.  Unemployment in the Gaza Strip stands at 60%.  There are few job opportunities for the most educated and skilled and certainly none at all for Nejwa.  Social welfare programs can provide no more than $20 a month for families like Mahmoud's.

During his first two years at Atfaluna, Mahmoud received basic education.  He learned how to do simple mathematical calculations and learned basic reading and writing skills.  He also learned about his world through sign language.  After 12 years of emptiness and loneliness, Mahmoud had a friend.

Like many other deaf children,  Mahmoud had been a stranger in his own house.  As the only deaf person in the household, and no one to communicate with in sign language,  Mahmoud was isolated, angry, and unruly.  No one understood him.  He could not make his needs known.  He was fearful of the world outside the confines of his house and he knew virtually nothing about it. 

Mahmoud entered Atfaluna's vocational training program just one year ago.  Life is looking a lot better.  He is well on his way to becoming a carpenter, his asthma attacks have almost diminished, and he is no longer afraid of the hearing world.

Hashem, his carpenter trainer, is also deaf.  Hashem is the father of three deaf and two hearing children and is very much a father figure to the boys.  He also relates very much to their struggle to hold their heads high in a society that in many quarters still equates deafness with mental retardation and in which the outside world is a frightening and often cruel place.  Hashem is teaching the boys to be strong; he is providing them with a future and with hope.  He explains in sign language, the world around them in a way that few hearing people would be able to do.

We see a lot of potential for the carpentry and for the boys training in it.  The deaf never cease to amaze us with their skill and dedication to work.  At Atfaluna, it grieves us to see the deaf having to work so hard to convince a hearing world that they are capable.  We look forward to the day when they can stop trying so hard.