Gaza, Deir el-Balah: It wasn’t a nightmare; it was real. Without any prior notice, the war had already begun.
When we woke up in terror to the audible sound of air strikes, the clock read 2:10. Everything in the room was shaken by a violent scream.
My daughter, Banias, awoke screaming in apprehension, “Baba! Mama ! What is going on?
She was crying out in terror right next to me, but I couldn’t even comfort her. My entire mind was a mess.
Has this been a bombing? What’s going on? Who is threatening us?
I was thinking, “Are these Yemeni missiles attacking Israel?” Do we get hit by this strike?
The unmistakable sounds of genocide
Oh my God, I love you. We all knew that Israeli air strikes on Gaza would intensify, and the sound was unmistakable.
In an effort to calm Banias down, my husband held her.
I searched through local journalist organizations on my phone. What’s happening, everyone was asking.
A home in Deir el-Balah was targeted just before the news broke, and another home in Nuseirat was struck.
In al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, and Rafah, artillery shelling was reported, as well as several tents for displaced families.
In Jabalia, in northern Gaza, a total of a residential building was struck, and the al-Karama neighborhood was also struck. Central Gaza was suffocated by a “belt of fire.”
Then came the desperate appeals, such as “A family is trapped under the rubble.”
A residential block has been leveled, according to the statement.
“We require ambulances.”
People pleaded for assistance and urged the formation of civil defense teams.
The bombing continued, persistently and violently.
images of death and fear
Every functioning medical facility in the Strip was filled with photos and videos of shattered bodies, martyrs, and the wounded. We quickly recalled the scenes that we had forgotten.
Israel made a formal announcement a few moments later that it would resume its occupation of Gaza.
It sounded like a head blow.
What does “this mean” exactly? My sister cried after spending a few days with me. “No, God, no! We oppose a new war. Fear and the bombing are not what we want.
We all watched the news with wide-eyed shock in our eyes. “Oh, God, that’s enough,” the expression goes.
I continued to scroll as I grabbed my phone as I saw images of infants being killed in airstrikes, burning tents, and entire residential blocks being destroyed.
Oh God, the same images, the same suffering, and nightmares.
Without embellishment, pretence, or disguise, the war was picking up where it had already started. Just killing, bombing, extermination, and a never-ending stream of blood.
What about the north, my family members inquired. Will the road be reopened between the north and south?
We were entrapped.
You can’t plan for a tomorrow in Gaza.
I just last night invited my father and my two 20-year-old twin sisters to a Ramadan iftar at our location in al-Zawayda, close to Deir el-Balah in central Gaza. I persuaded the members of the family to stay the night and make plans to travel north the following morning.
Before Eid and summer, we had planned some Ramadan travels and errands to run to get clothes for the kids. Every trip to the north was, as always, an opportunity to learn new tales.
All of those “plans” had no purpose at the time. Life suddenly turned its head in the air. The conflict was returning.
In this location, planning has become illegal. Even something as simple as shopping or spending time with family is an unforgivable luxury to plan for your day, no matter how monotonous it may seem.
You are guilty here of expecting normalcy; you are also impure to live there year after year after year, every second, every minute, every hour, every day.
My sister, who works in media for a humanitarian organization, suddenly realized: “Oh God! I didn’t bring my laptop or other items! What’s next, then?”
I felt guilty. This was my fault because I had to persuade them to stay.
What if the roads are closed? What will the war’s upcoming stages entail? Will the north be the starting point for the conflict? Or will they occupy the region’s center?
Only Deir el-Balah is still standing. What kind of trap is this, God?
As I perused my thoughts, my mind began to sway: Would we ever need to wear our press-protection gear once more? Return to the hospital workforce?
However, we had already destroyed our tent’s storage there. Journalists had left in an effort to start fresh, dispersing between north and south.
What about the school of Banias, then? I had just registered her for a week of school, so it was probably over. We had returned from war.
My heart pleaded. We initially experienced some relief from the ceasefire, but nothing more. We were clung to by fear, hésitation, and confusion.
We never thought to plan, and the missiles kept reminding us of our error whenever we did.
The closet
For the first time in two days, my husband and I went shopping, and we ended up with just a few kitchen essentials, including a rug, a table, chairs, plates, and spoons.
All we have now are four mattresses, four blankets, four plates, four spoons, and a small pot of water.
We refused to receive anything else throughout the war. We jokedly called the dressing room because our clothes were stacked on a sheet spread out on the floor in a designated room and divided into separate sections for each of us.
My husband and I would constantly say, “We need a closet, because it was always a mess. “Organizing the clothes on the floor was a daily struggle.
Although we were unsure about moving north or staying in the south, we were finally able to think about buying one because it was a grand luxury. We always make the decision to travel in a hurry and leave.
But I finally told my husband, “Let’s buy a closet,” and we finally packed away our winter clothing yesterday morning.
I had my response now. The closet was no longer an option as a result of this additional bombing, which was the chaos of my thoughts, my failed plans, and the chaos of a life I could no longer control, despite my best efforts.
We are aware that we can no longer dream, plan, wish, or look forward to anything despite the destruction and ruin that surround us, as if it weren’t already enough.
