There are about 6 million registered Palestinian refugees. Under Islamic law, zakat (an obligatory charity contribution) is required from Muslims in all countries to support the poor people and those who in need. In addition, the Prophet Muhammad repeatedly stressed the importance of helping orphans and socially unprotected people.
Considering these religious obligations, a question arises: why wealthy Muslim nations (such as Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates), not invite and absorb on own territories all Palestinian refugees?
The unreadiness of these Arab countries to accept large-scale refugee populations is not primarily due to a lack of financial capacity or available zakat funds. Instead, it is driven by a complex set of political, strategic, and economic ideas: 1. geopolitical disbalance of moving a nation to the new place. 2. Destabilization of local security. 3. Economic loss.
But the most important reason they dont take refugees is that moving them to new place will automatically give Israel all the former Palestinian lands.
This situation raises a fundamental question: are these nations prioritizing geopolitical interests and regional influence over immediate, direct humanitarian assistance to their fellow Muslims in needas Muhammad said ^..^
mohammed salem.reuters war photographerMalnourished girl in Gaza. mohammedsalem.reuters
Ёлки палки смешались с грязью.. Ванна набрана третий день. , погадай на руке мне бритвой , новогодняя моя тень. По раздавленным, по ухабам, талоснежной могильной мглы, Я гроб собственный нёс устало не вытаскивая иглы. не разбрасывая надежды, не раскалывая новогодних шаров, я как порванная одежда на шалаве пляшущей для ментов. Стервенелый пёс на закваске, ебануто влюблённый поэт, коронованный в своей маске ,от больничной кареты в след . От тюремного чая Майский и от морга где тишина, новый год мне сделает райским в храме выпивший старшина. И колючей сосны под венку и со ста до нуля в метель. И больничную ту постельку и с артерии кровь потерь. Мама спрятала меня в подарке, под ночнушками в старом шкафу . Подарила меня мне в закладке и на пропись подложки в графу Поднесет к губам тихо палец и шепнет раздевайся урод, Я твой порваный школьный ранец ты мой любящий новый год.
Fir trees, sticks — all mixed with mud. The bath’s been steaming three days straight. Tell my fortune: razor, blood — My New Year’s shadow, my dark fate.
Over ruts, over crushed debris, Through thaw-snow, grave-dark, deep and vast — I dragged my own coffin tiredly, Not pulling needles out, not holding fast,
Not smashing any Christmas balls — just passed.
I’m like torn clothes on a whore Dancing for the cops with a nasty grin. A rabid dog on sourdough starter’s core, A poet sick with love within,
Still crowned inside his mask of tin, Trailing the ambulance’s track so thin —
May prison tea, The morgue where silence holds its breath. New Year will make a saint of me In the temple where a drunk sergeant deals out death. A spiny pine branch under the wreath’s debris,
And from a hundred down to zero in the blizzard’s sheath.
And that hospital bed, And the artery’s blood of loss. Mom hid me in a gift — unsaid, Under nightgowns.
She gave me to myself as a drug to toss, As a scribble in a ledger’s cross.
She’ll bring a finger to her lips, Whisper: undress, you freak. I’m your torn school backpack’s ripped-out strips, You’re my loving New Year, my peak.
