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Nayre Khademi - This year, "Alisan" and "Taha" will never set foot in school, on the board, or in the first grade classroom. Fatemeh Sharifi will not be able to write a new essay for her writing and literature class in the new school year and describe their last trip to the south or the 12-day war. Parviz Abbasi-Arimi will never wake up to see his family in the bigger house he had dreamed of and breathe a sigh of relief. The lives of these people have remained a vague, motionless image since that date. Two 7-year-old children were hit by shrapnel while playing in an alley at 8:30 p.m. on 31 Khordad 1404. Another female student was martyred along with her family on the Najafabad Ring Road in an Israeli attack on June 15, 2019. Parviz Abbasi-Arimi, a retired education officer, also died on June 13, at the zero hour of the war, along with his wife and children, in the house they had just moved into. More than 40 days have passed since the start of the war, and Etemad has talked to the families, colleagues, classmates, and teachers of these people about a part of their lives. According to Etemad, two 7-year-old Tabrizi children, Alisan and Taha, were in an alley in the Pasdaran neighborhood of Tabriz when the bombing and explosions shook the whole area, and then shrapnel hit their hearts, legs, hands, and even their heads and faces. An hour later, the lifeless bodies of the two children were taken to the hospital morgue to be buried on their chests before they went to school in October of this year. At around 8:30 p.m. on Saturday, 31 Khordad the children suddenly disappeared in white smoke. A second later, both children were taken to Aali Nasb Hospital, covered in blood. Doctors tried to save them, but there was no time for a rescue operation and both died. Taha Behrouzi and Alisan Jabbari were just 7 years old and were about to start school this September. They had gone to kindergarten together, they had been neighbors for a month and were supposed to go to school together, but now they are buried under the ground. Behrouzi, the father of martyr Taha Behrouzi, had not yet arrived home when this happened. The neighbors called him and explained the story. Despite this, when he was on his way home, he did not think that Taha, their only child who was born in Khordad 1398 was missing. "The neighbors said: Get there quickly, so I quickly went to the house. They said: Alisan and Taha were playing in the alley when a bomb came and hit the door of the house and the children were injured. When I got home, I saw that the neighborhood was crowded, but neither Taha nor his mother were there. Then I found out that the emergency room had taken them to the hospital, so I went there and found that Taha had died there and that his mother had also been injured. I didn't think the children would. The doctor was working on them and giving them shocks to make them come to their senses, but it didn't work. The doctors said: "The shrapnel hit Taha's heart, leg, navel and several other parts of his body. When I look at his photo, I can even see some scars on his face." Taha's mother Behrouzi was also injured by the severity of the explosion in the attack, and now 3 of the 7 shrapnel that hit her still remain in her body. According to Taha's father, the shrapnel hit Taha, Alisan and the mother of the two children from among the residents of the alley, and now both mothers have come home having lost their children. "They were both supposed to go to the first grade of elementary school, and we were registering them. There was only one photo left to add to Taha's school file. We took a photo, but we couldn't hand it over to the school to complete his file." Taha loved going to school, and in recent weeks, when talking about classes and lessons, he kept telling his parents to enroll him in a school where his friends were also studying. He was talking about Alisan Jabbari, who was a close friend and had been neighbors since a month ago. Alisan was only 6 months older than him, but they had gone to kindergarten together and were going to spend happier days at school and behind the classroom desk together. Taha had chosen his bag, notebook, and school uniform himself." Taha's father, Behrouzi, is a thirty-year-old worker at the Highway Department, a man who spends most of the day at work. Every day when he arrived, he used to hear the joy and laughter of children from the alley, but now he can't even bear to watch Taha's movies and has deleted everything he had of him and his mischief on his phone, except for the one in which his son plays "Ashiqi" on his small instrument. "He loved Ashiqi's art very much. He also had an instrument that he sometimes played and practiced with." Even when the neighbors and those who witnessed the drone attack in their alley wanted to tell him about the details and moments that happened to Taha and Alisan, he couldn't bear it and didn't want to continue, because he knew how afraid Taha was of the sound of bombing and fighter jets in those days. "We had gone to the village since the beginning of the war, because there were drones and explosions in the city and Taha was afraid, but that day we came from the village to register him for school and then return to the village again. When I was bringing him to Tabriz, he kept saying in the car: "Dad, if I go to Tabriz, a missile will hit me and I will die." I said: "This will not happen, don't be afraid." But what he had said happened. He was afraid of the war. I told him not to be afraid. Every time there was a sound, his mother would say that they were beating drums so that he wouldn't be afraid. In the end, it happened and we buried him on Monday, two days after the incident." When asked what complaints and requests he has from the authorities now, he only says these sentences: "We have no complaints, it was a divine decision, the authorities and the Martyr Foundation have been with us since day one and we thank them." Now, the balls, bicycles and even the blood-stained slippers of these two children are still in their homes, and in the pictures published from their narrow alley, the traces of shrapnel can be seen on the doors, walls and windows. Behnam Jabbari, the father of another child who was martyred in the attack, also spoke of Alisan's dream of becoming a pilot, a dream he last expressed when he heard the sounds of fighter jets and bombs in the sky and on the ground of Tabriz: "He had been thinking and mentioning martyrdom since the beginning of the war, sitting together in the yard of the house and talking. He would say: Dad, I will become a pilot and I will bomb these people." But that day, when he saw Alisan covered in blood, his whole world collapsed on him. "My joy in this world was this child, who was also lost to me like this. That day, I entered the yard and saw that there was blood everywhere and that the child had been taken away. The yard was covered in blood, his mother was covered in blood, and the alley was also covered in blood. I went to the hospital, but the doctor said: "Come inside the room." My friend came and went inside. When he returned, he said: "Alisan has finished." "Mom, how many days are left until I go to school? When will I grow up? When will I turn 20?" Fatemeh Rashtbar, Alisan Jabbari's mother, had heard this sentence from Alisan the most in recent months, but she could not send her daughter to school on the first day of the month. Fatemeh Rashtbar described the moments of the attack in the days of the ceasefire as follows: "We were sitting at home, we saw noise coming, we went outside as soon as it was over, it was ten minutes, we had gone outside when this happened in front of the door. My son fell, I held him in my arms and then the shrapnel hit me in the face. I carried the child into the yard in my arms and while there was blood everywhere and we were both bleeding, my son was martyred." Of course, Alisan was taken to the hospital that night and the story of his martyrdom was hidden from his mother until the morning. The last essay that Fatemeh wrote was "Grandma's house is a gateway to the past, a gateway through which one can reach the joy and happiness of the past, how much better if grandparents are also alive. "Grandma's house is big, bigger than our apartment buildings, a house where even sleeping in it is a different pleasure." This is the beginning of the latest essay written by Fatemeh Sharifi, a seventh-grade student at Shahid Ghorbani High School in Isfahan, one of the student victims of the Israeli attack, and now the school's literature teacher has provided her manuscript to Etemad's reporter. On the 27th of June, while Fatemeh Sharifi was leaving Isfahan with her family and one of her neighbors, their car was hit on the Najafabad road and they were all martyred. She loved writing, essays, and descriptions of them, and who knows, maybe if she had survived, she would have become a famous writer or a talented colleague in the press in the years to come. As Ozra Nazemi, Fatimah's literary secretary, told Etemad; She was a very special student, she had high self-confidence and she had shown this in the very first sessions she sat in the literature class. "She was a very excellent girl and a polite and first-rate student. She was creative in writing essays and was interested in this work. She always asked good questions in class, especially about society and teenagers, and these questions showed that she understood more than her age and was a head and shoulders above the children." Every time the teacher gave advice in class about society and adolescence, Fatima would open the discussion and say, for example: Ma'am, consider different aspects, and our time is different from yours. "In public schools, students are weak in terms of studies, but I think she was special. Many people say that we should not create myths and I don't want to create myths either, but the fact is that she was very excellent in terms of writing and essays, and maybe she was a little weak in spelling." The first time she sat in a literature class, she was in the back row and started talking right from the start. "I said, 'You're not tall, why did you sit at the back of the class?' She said, 'Ma'am, let me sit here.' We argued with her until the last day of school to come and sit in the front, but she wouldn't accept. She was energetic and had mischievous behaviors appropriate to her age." The last time Azra Nazemi saw Fatemeh, all the students were in the second round of exams, and now, from that day, an essay in Fatemeh's handwriting has been left in the hands of the school literature teacher, who described her grandmother's house in Ahvaz as follows: "My mother's posters were still on the walls and the beds smelled of soap. It was around four in the afternoon, the sultry heat of Ahvaz had created an interesting contrast with the sound of the air conditioner. I thought, I wish we were going back to Ahvaz. I loved Ahvaz with all the warmth of the air, I loved this city, I loved the cool lemonade at the crossroads, I loved the hearts of these people, which are as warm as plane leaves. I loved the courtyard of my grandmother’s house, which is adorned with the sounds of cousins playing mafia. I looked at that view with love and said to myself: “God, I thank you for loving these people so much that they live in the same house with their families. God, thank you for giving this city the same warmth in return. God, thank you. The end.” Before Fatemeh could write such an essay, the teacher walked over to her and an interesting conversation took place between them. Now, Azra Nazemi puts a "dear" after her sentences and describes the memory as follows: "I said: Fatima, I want you to write a very good essay. She said: Ma'am, I want you to write an essay that you can read a few times and appreciate. I said: Then leave the stone alone. She said: Okay. We had given three topics for the essay, and Fatima chose the description of her grandmother's house in Ahvaz and described it." The writing exam was Fatima Sharifi's last exam, which was held on Wednesday, June 11, and two days later, on June 13, the 12-day war with Israel began. On the evening of Tuesday, June 17, 1404, their car was targeted. The Sharifi family was from Omidieh, Ahvaz, but they had been living in Isfahan for some time. Her father was a municipal employee and her mother was a housewife who was actively present at all her children's school events. Reyhaneh Al-Sadat Hashemi, Fatima's classmate, also spoke in her memoirs about a ring she had received as a souvenir from Ahvaz during the Nowruz holiday: "When we ate, she would never take more than her share than the others. If she saw that the others' share was less, she would put it on top. I can't believe that a week before this incident, I was supposed to go to my friend's birthday party and a week later I would hear the news of his martyrdom. During the Nowruz holiday, she brought me a ring from Ahvaz that I will always have with me and I want our friendship to last forever. We had set this ring together, but I forgot to put it on my finger for her birthday. When she found out, she asked and I said that I had forgotten the ring. I came home and put it on my finger. The last time I saw her was Friday, Eid al-Ghadir. We had gone to Mawlid together. She would say: May Iran be victorious." Fatemeh's brother, Mojtaba Sharifi, was only 9 years old when he wrote down some wishes in a section of his class notebook, but now those wishes will no longer be fulfilled. Mina Moeini, Mojtaba's teacher, described him as follows: "He was full of excitement, full of enthusiasm and joy, who always showed up to class with energy and was very interested in learning and learning." Mojtaba missed school on some days in the winter due to a respiratory illness, but according to Moeini, the absences did not cause him to fail in his studies and homework. "He followed the lessons with interest and did his homework. He usually came earlier than the other students and showed me the homework. Mojtaba was also really kind and compassionate in terms of morals." Volunteering for the Kermanshah Earthquake Parviz Abbasi-Arimi was born in the 1940s, in Savadkouh, but was martyred with his family on the first day of the war in Tehran, while he had just moved to the Orkideh building in Shahr-Ara. The story of Parnia, the daughter of the Abbasi-Arimi family, was widely heard on social networks and the media on the very first day due to her poetic spirit and activity in the field of literature. The 24-year-old girl who had just graduated from university taught English, recited poetry, and was also an employee of the Central Branch of the National Bank. There is also a picture of her on social networks showing her auburn hair and a blood-pink mattress under the rubble. Parviz Abbasi, the father of Parnia and Parham, was a retired procurement expert for the General Directorate of Education in Tehran; who, according to his colleagues, went to Sar-e-Pol-e-Zahab as a volunteer to help the earthquake victims during the Kermanshah earthquake. Rahmani, a retired director of education in Tehran who was part of that volunteer group, told Etemad: "He came to Sar-e-Pol-e-Zahab as the logistics manager for the team of psychologists deployed and stayed there for about 10 days to see if the work was being done properly. He prepared the grounds and set up the tents. He also got the addresses of the containers we prepared, took them, and delivered them. He said: "One of the best things I could do in my life was to accompany this convoy and see it up close and help. He didn't think it would be so effective, but after reading the reports, he realized the impact of this work and he was very happy about it." Mirzaei, who has been working with him since 2011, told Etemad about the days when they worked together at the Tehran Education and Pension Organization and then transferred to the Tehran Education and Pension Office: "We worked together in the support department and had a close relationship until I returned to the Pension Organization. He was there and retired from there. During the Kermanshah earthquake, we were the first group to be sent to the earthquake-stricken areas. When we collected aid and the shelters were built, he was one of the first to head to Sarpol-e-Zahab with the trailer and the carts we had prepared and take the aid, because there were no facilities there. In the subsequent groups when we took the consultants, he went again and did the support work. Support work in offices and institutions is normally very difficult, and it is much more difficult in earthquake or flood conditions. The entrance exam was also near, and we prepared a space for the earthquake-affected children in the Shahid Bahonar camp, and then we brought about 200 to 300 students to Tehran so that they would not miss the entrance exam. The space was prepared, and then support was provided with the help of Parviz. After retirement, due to his activities, he was elected as the CEO of the Tehran Education Employees Cooperative, which happened and we lost him. He was very sociable and had excellent public relations, and he always behaved in a way that no one would be offended by him.” He talks about the days when Parviz Abbasi invited them to Savadkouh and his father’s house there: “Of course, his father had passed away, but his mother was alive and still is, although she is weak and sick. Parviz had been going to Savadkouh every Wednesday without exception for a long time to take care of and nurse his mother, because her mother’s mood was not and is not good at all.” The Orchid Complex had 10 units, and the 3rd to 5th floors of the complex collapsed due to the Israeli attack. The issue that now upsets many comrades and colleagues, including Mirzaei, is that Parviz Abbasi had been waiting for years for the day when he could buy a three-bedroom house for himself and his family so that the children could study and live in better conditions, and just a few months ago this wish came true and they moved to the Orchid Complex in Shahr-e-Ara and settled in a three-bedroom unit. Now, however, the entire family, along with at least 7 others, have died in the Israeli attack on the Orchid building. “Parviz had two children, a girl and a boy, and for years they lived in Patrice Lumumba and in the smaller two-bedroom house he had, but he wanted to make his apartment bigger. Parnia studied in the previous house under special conditions. At that time, Parham was a child and mischievous, so Parnia, in order to have peace, equipped a small warehouse they had in the parking lot for a while so that she could study and read there with her friend. Then she passed the entrance exam and continued her studies. Under these conditions, she studied and passed the entrance exam, and she also wrote poetry. Parviz and his wife, who retired, were finally able to purchase this three-bedroom unit in the Orchid building with their retirement bonus and savings and moved there just a few months ago. Nothing happened in the previous house for all these years, but less than a year later, they moved to another building when this happened. I don’t know how it happened and it was not possible to enjoy this apartment that she had dreamed of, that had made her children happy, and that each of them could have a separate room. They were just getting used to using and enjoying this house, but they reached eternal peace in the house where they were supposed to find comfort.” Parnia graduated as a language translator from the International University of Qazvin and her birthday was 10 days after the day she was martyred. The Instagram page of the magazine "Weight of the World" published a poem by Parnia Abbasi in the early days and in the midst of the war: "Somewhere / you and I will end / the most beautiful poem in the world / becomes silent / somewhere / you will begin / you will shout the whisper of life / in a thousand places / I will end / I will burn / I will become a silent star / that smokes in your sky." Parham was Parviz Abbasi's other child, born in 2009, and since both parents were employees, he spent most of his life in his mother's or father's office, so Mirzaei has many images of his childhood and mischief in his mind. "The children were either in our office or in the lady's office, they grew up. Parham was very small and sometimes he would come and hang around the rooms. He was a busy boy, visiting all the rooms and playing with staplers and stationery, and he also loved football.” Parviz Abbasi had studied literature at the University of Guilan, and he also had a pen in his hand, and Parnia had inherited writing from her father. A quiet man who was a man of action, and according to his colleague at the pension organization, he would get upset when he saw that he could not do anything about the shortages. He and his wife, Masoumeh Shahriari, were both from Savadkouh and when they first came to Tehran, they had very difficult circumstances, so they searched the city to find a house right from the start. Throughout all these years, like many Iranian families, they saved their income little by little to complete their lives. They started with a small house and gradually made the house bigger, their lives were complete, and they were able to buy a car. "They went through a lot of hardship to get here. It saddens me that they were just starting to find peace when this happened." On the day of the attack, Mirzaei was heartbroken when he realized that the area around Abbasi's house had been hit. No matter how many times he tried to call his friend's cell phone, no one answered after the continuous beeps. Although he still didn't know exactly which house they had moved to, he and another colleague headed towards the Shahr-e-Ara neighborhood. There was a security atmosphere at the site of the explosion, they didn't give out information and didn't let them go inside the building, but in the end, from the words and signs the head of the complex gave the families, they realized that their colleague had died along with his family under the rubble of the war.