EBOOK
About
My name is Amani Saqer. I was born and raised in Gaza, Palestine. I'm 37 years old, mother to four beautiful children, and a widow. My beloved husband was martyred a year ago. He was my partner in life, in love, in faith and in hope. His loss left a silence in our house that words can never quite fill. It is for him, and through him, that I write this book.
This cookbook is more than a collection of recipes - it is a legacy, a memory and a prayer. Each dish within these pages was once shared with family, neighbours and friends. They were made with the little we had, seasoned with laughter, sometimes with tears, and always with love. These are the meals that told our story when there was no time for words. And now, in these difficult times of scarcity and loss, I hold on to them like one holds on to a photograph - a reminder of what was once, and a hope for what may come again.
There have been many days when I could not cook these recipes. Not because I had forgotten them - no, they are etched in my hands and heart - but because the ingredients simply weren't there. War, famine and grief stole so much from us, but they could not take away the memory of flavour, the rhythm of preparation or the dignity of a meal made for those you love.
I write this not only as a tribute to my husband, but also as a gift to my children - and to you. I want to make sure that if anything should happen to me, there will be something left behind. Something true. Something warm. Something human. A part of me, still alive in your kitchen.
This cookbook is more than a collection of recipes - it is a legacy, a memory and a prayer. Each dish within these pages was once shared with family, neighbours and friends. They were made with the little we had, seasoned with laughter, sometimes with tears, and always with love. These are the meals that told our story when there was no time for words. And now, in these difficult times of scarcity and loss, I hold on to them like one holds on to a photograph - a reminder of what was once, and a hope for what may come again.
There have been many days when I could not cook these recipes. Not because I had forgotten them - no, they are etched in my hands and heart - but because the ingredients simply weren't there. War, famine and grief stole so much from us, but they could not take away the memory of flavour, the rhythm of preparation or the dignity of a meal made for those you love.
I write this not only as a tribute to my husband, but also as a gift to my children - and to you. I want to make sure that if anything should happen to me, there will be something left behind. Something true. Something warm. Something human. A part of me, still alive in your kitchen.