The Bomb that Tore Our Lives Apart

The terrorist attack on the Christian church in Alexandria in 2011 left a deep hole in Kiro’s life, but he wasn’t ready to give up; not yet!

It was New Year’s Day 2011, 20 minutes after midnight. I was bidding goodbye to my friends inside the Al-Qiddissine Church in Alexandria, Egypt. My family was waiting for me right outside the church when I was startled by an explosion outside. 23 lives were lost that day, and 97 were injured, some of them seriously. My mother Theresa, my sister Mary, and my aunt Zahi were among the dead, and my second sister Marina, was seriously injured. Mary’s wedding was scheduled for the week after.

The four of us had gone to church and joyfully welcomed the year 2011 with praise, but now I was returning home alone. In the blink of an eye, the bomb had torn my whole life apart. My father, who had been unable to attend the church service for work reasons, was the only one spared.

At 19, I did not want to admit that my mother was no longer alive, and for a long time, I couldn’t understand that my sister was dead. Marina, who had survived, was threatened with the amputation of both legs. She had to undergo repeated surgeries. Physically, she has come a long way, but she still has not recovered from the psychological trauma. It seems that a part of her also died forever on that fateful New Year’s Eve.

Daily Persecution

As a minority in Egypt, persecution was quite normal for us. I grew up thinking that we were unwanted and loathsome. In the eyes of the majority religion, Christians were considered a mistake by God. We were bullied at school and often beaten by teachers for no reason save that we were Christians. Our religious affiliation was even written on our ID cards, and we were easily recognizable by our names. As a child, I even had a tattoo on my forearm–a Cross–so that if kidnapped, I could be easily identified as a Christian.

I kept asking my mother why we had to suffer so much, even though we hadn’t done anything wrong. Why were we hated for loving Christ and believing we should love our neighbor as ourselves? My mother replied: “Your faith is the most important thing you have in life. It is a privilege to suffer for the name of Jesus.” Her words always inspired my faith. She used to tell me: “Our time on earth is fleeting. At some point, we have to go, but the question is: Will we then go to Heaven? Because that is our home.” I know now that she has gone to her homeland as a faithful martyr.

Is Suffering a Privilege?

“If you have a diamond that someone wants to take away from you, you will clutch it particularly tightly. It’s the same with faith.” These words from my mother have always left a deep impression on my heart, and I experience the truth in them now. Despite the loss of my closest family members, I did not become bitter because I knew that God was with me and He was my only hope. In this pain, I held on to Him tighter than before.

For a long while, I kept thinking why I, of all people, had survived the attack. I hadn’t been ten meters away from the explosion; if it weren’t for the heavy church door, I wouldn’t be here to tell this story. I even felt guilty because my family members had been waiting for me outside when the bomb took their lives. If I had left the church faster, we would all have been on our way home before the explosion, and they would all still be alive. But after brooding over it long and hard, I finally handed it over to Jesus. The least I wanted was to plunge into despair and self-pity. In prayer, I sought to find an answer.

While on earth, Jesus was a carpenter who cut and shaped wood until it became a work of art. He works on us in the same way. He scrapes and shapes us until we become what He wants us to be. I, therefore, trust that God has a plan for my life. After all, I knew from the Scriptures that God works all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

Discovering Happiness Again

In the years following the loss, I tried to become politically active in my home country but was soon threatened personally. In 2014, I made several attempts to leave the country, but as an Egyptian, I couldn’t get a European visa. So I took a complicated route, finally reaching Europe after months of travel.

The day I finally set foot on European soil was the happiest day of my life. But even in the country I initially landed in, they wanted to deport me because the persecution of Christians in Egypt was not enough grounds for asylum there. So, I finally fled to Germany, where I was granted asylum and soon learned the language. On the many long and tiresome flights and later in my asylum accommodation, I had no one I could trust but my God! He always carried me on.

As I came to know later, the bomb at the Church was detonated by a suicide bomber, and for a long time, I couldn’t forgive the attacker. But now, through this journey of trusting in Jesus and His never-failing love, I have come to a space where I can even pray for him. Looking back, I can see how God has always protected me over all these years and always gives me new gifts.

In January 2020, after years of trying to make peace, He gave me a special gift—I met my wife, Theresa Maria, named after both my late mother and sister. She is a teacher at Münster. The family I was able to start with her now fills with new joy and hope, the gap that the attack tore from my life.

Kiro Lindemann lives in Münsterland with his wife, Theresa, and their two young children. The couple is actively involved in the Catholic community start-up Emmanuel House Ministry.