Her sisters brought Hajjeh Um Mhammad home from the hospital, and we began the vigil. Jumana and I were there when she went to sleep that night, surrounded by some twenty family members, and we were there when her sister let out a long wail at five o’clock the next morning. News traveled quickly as Hajjeh Um Mhammad’s sisters performed the ritual washing of the body.

Jumana, Hajjeh Um Mhammad’s nieces, and I managed the flow of people to the house during the funeral and the following weeks of mourning. I don’t recall who said it first, but people began referring to me as “Bilal’s fiancée.” Thousands came to pay their respects after the funeral, the men gathered daily outdoors on the terrace while the women kept their sacred space indoors—Hajjeh Um Mhammad’s sisters, nieces and nephews, their children, spouses, grandchildren and in-laws; the hajjeh’s own in-laws and their families; her friends and their families; her neighbors (even those whose homes had been demolished and who had been forced to move far away); merchants she frequented in various towns; farmers who delivered her produce; carpenters and plumbers who had worked in her house; Ghassan and his family; other friends of her sons and their families; prison mates of her sons and their families. Everyone was there—except her sons.

“Praise God, Mhammad managed to elude the Jews to comfort her in her last hours. At least she saw him one last time. But I know it burned her heart not to see Bilal. May God burn the hearts of the Jews. Amen,” one of the sisters whispered to us. Another shushed her: “Lower your voice! Mhammad might not be safely out of the country yet.”

I turned to Jumana for answers. She caught my eye but looked away. I wondered what she knew, but it wasn’t the time to ask.

Once again, Bilal’s detention turned into weeks, then months. Over the forty days of mourning, with people paying their respects streaming in and out of the house, Bilal’s hunger strike started to attract attention. Israel’s English newspaper published an article about his deterioration, which spurred several international media outlets to follow suit. Telesur, Al Jazeera, and the BBC did stories about Bilal’s detention without charge or trial. I filled those dark days with an exhausting determination to keep some continuity. I cooked and cleaned for the mourners, worked in the salon daily, and picnicked with Jumana in the groves at least once a week, to keep up Bilal’s watering scheme.