When Israel's war on Gaza begins and we prepare to leave our homes, we read a bad book and a favorite book – things that may now seem unnecessary. I notice that the small shadows of the house provide us with comfort as we leave the house, waiting for the final attack.
But we did not expect to be absent for so long, and we did not wait. We thought that this war would be like all other wars, and that the Israeli army would take a week, or perhaps a month or two, to liberate its raid.
And now, after more than 10 months away from home – by idea – this is what we definitely miss. I wonder if one day you might enjoy reading on my TV or sleeping in my bed again. My home is reconhecível? European Union I wonder. And one day you will come home again?
Born in 2002 and originally from Gaza City, he has spent 17 years, plus 21 years under siege, and has barely survived at least five Israeli military assaults on Gaza. But nothing compares to the duration and intensity of this current genocide.
These are the most brutal, painful, and astonishing days any of us here in Gaza have ever experienced. For more than 10 months, it seems we are living the same day indefinitely – but the pain increases every day. There is always a bomb, a bullet, a shelling, a medium wave. And as the death toll rises, we seem increasingly concerned about negotiations to end this hell.
Israel has killed at least 40,005 Palestinians in Gaza. The death toll may be closer to 186,000Countless bodies remain trapped in bombed buildings, and an unknown number of people are dying from poverty, lack of medical care and the collapse of public infrastructure, according to researchers who published in the medical journal The Lancet.
Those of us who live in this hell already know that the death toll is higher. There are houses next to us that have been bombed with people inside, but so far we have not been able to remove the rubble.
“Where can we go?”
With every bomb that drops, we ask ourselves: “Where are we going? Where can we go?”
For me, home was not just a home. I felt safe in the warmth of its walls, the sight of my dresses, the comfort of the travelers. Som da minha mai was moving in. Shiro was delicious with my favorite dish, musakhan—fried frango with the heat of sourdough and flatbread of caramelized onions—that made the casa.
There was also light in the house. It was in my university and the road leading to it, the herbal shops were not there, the markets, the yellow lights on Ramadan nights and the voices of people praying together and reciting the Korao.
Not a dislocation, or lar paso, for that matter. Now it is a place where we can find walls, a bathroom, water, a mattress to cool us down, and a blanket to cover us. Once, I thought that covering my face with a blanket might somehow protect me during an attack. I have no more credit.
Oh the day everything was stupid
You will never forget October 7th. It was not only the day we left our home in the North, but it was also the day we left behind our hopes for the future.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of being a writer, finishing or graduating in literature and concluding or mastering non-external. I would like to return to Gaza and educate young people about our history and heritage. I also wanted to continue painting and eventually open an art gallery. Purim, my biggest dream was to see my country free.
On Saturday morning, around 6 a.m., a barrage of gunfire fell in the northern Gaza Strip. Minha irmä mais nova was getting ready to go to ensino médio. We did not know that it would be the last day of school – not only for her, but for everyone, as students and institutions alike would be destroyed.
Oh, Sum Das explosives I remembered. Vicki is terrified. I have no idea what was happening.
My heart, which was in Deir al-Balah, was for my homeland. It was worried: our house was too close to the eastern border and would be vulnerable to any ground invasion. We would agree together that it would be better to move to my home – in the middle of Gaza, and further from the border.
Oh, we're still stuck in Deir al-Balah.
simple prayers
War makes us feel like we are missing two simple tasks in our daily lives.
Without missing our garden at home, with its fragrant roses, olive trees, palm trees and larangeira. Above all, there are two missing lemureros – the delicate scent of their white flowers. On summer nights, my family would spend time among the trees, and in winter, we would light a fire to keep warm.
There is no need for two small cafes in the crowded streets of Gaza City – it gives life – even when there is little water or no power due to constant power cuts.
I loved going up to the roof of our house with coffee and cookies for the kids to read.
When we left on October 7, I didn't waste much time thinking about what to bring with me. Look for an example of O Morro dos Ventos Uivantes, my pajamas and clothes – everyday items to help make the move feel a little more normal.
I packed some paonilla cakes – a dozen consoles from what I could see.
I haven't had a bite to eat since. All we have is a dry cloth and whatever canned food we can buy.
After ten months
Deir al-Balah, where my family spent my childhood and life, is a place my family visits on weekends and at summer fairs. He used to complain that he could not sleep in a dark place except in the bed at home. It had been 10 months since I had seen that bed.
Now I have a not-so-big mattress with my mother, my mother-in-law and my new wife in the same room. The mattress is clean and tidy, and my family is united and united. But I have insomnia and anxiety. As I try to sleep, I look for the strong wind, I look for a star in the face of the warplanes tearing up the sky, and I worry that fires might fall on us.
Deir al-Balah was a quiet, small, clean town, full of olive trees and palm trees. Leave, the town is suffocating. As services and the sanctuary continue, the money continues to pile up. The palm trees are barely recognizable, now covered in dust and debris. The sea is covered in cinnamon sticks – pollution from the bombing – and is flooded with nothing but sewage. It is rotting, like the inside of a Lexo jar. She points to everything but the house.
When we moved to my mother’s house, thinking the war would not last long, I continued my studies – and I didn’t want to go back. When I found out that my university had been bombed, I lost hope for a while before I found new ways to spend my time. Right now, I’m learning Italian and writing poetry. When I’m anxious, I like to clean the house. Those pajamas that come from home are too expensive to be used as kitchen clothes.
Daily life consists of walking to find water and trying to find power sources to charge phones and lights. We see solar panels and a well powered by a generator. We can charge our phones at the same time while taking a shower. Every time I shower I feel happy, believing that I do not suffer from a lack of privacy, water and hygiene products. It is a constant struggle to ensure access to communication and basic necessities, such as shampoo, soap, laundry detergent, clothing detergent and shaving caps.
Because people don't have time to go. Also children spend money and children feel their children in the street.
Many people, whether in the streets or in the shops, are constantly praying. In Gaza, we pray a lot – but there is sadness, darkness, darkness. We are losing many, many people. Many cousins and other family members have passed away.
Every moment of survival is a miracle, and that's why we pray more.
Home, Then and Now
Minha physical and mental health in Euros and this has been difficult. I have problems and stomach problems because of the contaminated water and canned food. When it comes to finding medicines or painkillers, when some are available, they are very expensive.
When Israel began attacking Gaza, it was also doing something even more sinister: it was trying to destroy our relationships with each other. This left us feeling anxious, angry, hopeless, and mentally exhausted.
But we still take another step forward. We try to be calm and reassuring, affectionate and positive. We share what we have with our Vizinhos. We try to make the most of things, like bowling without a fire and having fun when possible. And when that wasn’t possible, we hugged each other during what was roim or worse.
We still have days to hope to complete. Now we tell our stories.
At first we embrace the news with hope. Somehow, despite the horror we feel, we believe that there is no way for the global community to allow things to unfold the way they are. Icho que nenhum de nomos tem mas esse a kind of hope.
All we have left are hopes of what we want to do when it's all over.
One day, he was sitting on the balcony of my house with my mother. As soon as she assured me that she was in our arms, I told her about my dreams. Within minutes, a neighboring apartment was bombed. First we were struck by the explosion of the Ensordidora and then by the sound of the walls disintegrating. One day, two dead children.
Or we live in a house full of fireworks and the people who live there are worried about themselves and something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
I look back today and feel ready to oil my destiny. Please always tell my family that I love you – especially my mother, because I never know when this will be the last time I can do so.
I have a Grade 1 death, it's my country. But I want to do many things, to see and learn. I want to meet more people, to meet myself and to have my own family. I want to see my house, in whatever condition it is, just once.
