“As the blade sank into the neck of the sheep, my brother Mokhtar took a thick piece of parchment—made from the leather we had bought to wrap around the meat—and placed it over the sheep’s neck, thereby preventing blood from flowing onto our faces. Meanwhile, I fixed my eyes on the left hand of the butcher. He repeated those two words several times, trying to comfort and ease my pain. I saw a delicate design of the cross, painted in dark green color, engraved on the butcher’s wrist. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy, something that I cannot describe at all. My ears were filled with the sound of deafening cheers, echoing endlessly throughout the universe.”