In a room packed with journalists in New York, Daniel sat in front of dozens of cameras.
The lights were bright, the microphones were lined up in front of him, and faces were eager to hear "the story of the soldier who returned from death."
He began hesitantly, then grew stronger as he spoke:
"The tunnel wasn't like they told you. It wasn't just hell... there was humanity. There was a man...
his name was Yusuf."The journalists murmured, and one of them interrupted him:
"Are you saying they treated you well?!"
He replied with steady eyes:
"I'm saying they treated me like a human being... while we were punishing them with a slow death. I learned the truth there... the truth I wasn't allowed to tell."
The cameras captured every word, but in the eyes of some of the organisers behind the hall,
concern was growing.
Less than a week later, Daniel disappeared.
No official statements, no explanation.
Experts were divided: some said he had fled, others said he had been "silenced".
...
Three months later.
In one of the refugee tents in Gaza, an unknown man approached a little girl playing near the entrance to the tent.
He bent down towards her and asked her gently:
"What's your name, little one?"
She looked up and said shyly:
"My name is Salma... Yusuf's daughter."
He handed her the envelope without saying another word, then turned and left.
She ran inside, calling out:
"Mum! I got an envelope!"
Her mother opened the envelope, her hands trembling.
Among the papers and photos was a familiar line... a handwriting her heart could recognise
without fail.
Salma said innocently, looking at the photos:
"Mum... this isn't food to satisfy our hunger... it's more than that... it's my father's voice... my father isn't dead."
A tear fell from the mother's eye, and she hugged her daughter tightly, while outside the tent the wind blew as if carrying with it the echo of Yusuf from Tunnel No. 7... His voice was still alive.