When Israel Tried to Starve me in Gaza, Palestine.

By Asem al-Jerjawi, a Palestinian writer, activist, and journalist with We Are Not Numbers and the 16th October Media Group.

It was 4am on Friday, October 13, 2023 and I was asleep together with my mom and three brothers in our home in Al-Rimal, Gaza City. We had gathered in one room to sleep because the sound of warplanes buzzing overhead had become relentless, too petrifying for any of us to bear on our own.

An unfamiliar number flashed on my mother's phone. It was a pre-recorded warning from the Israeli military. Our home was in the danger zone and we were ordered to move south. We awoke in horror and ran outside, only to see Israeli army leaflets everywhere. We had no other choice but to flee. 

We decided to go to a friend’s home in Deir al-Balah. We were only able to bring a few pieces of clothes, blankets and some bedding. We waited for nearly an hour but couldn't find any means of transportation as everyone was rushing to leave. Finally, our neighbor, Robin Al Mazlom, approached us and said he could take us south in his truck. Alhamdulillah. 

Robin dropped us off at Wadi Gaza Street. We continued on foot for another 2 kilometers, carrying our bags, blankets and bedding on our backs. Thousands of displaced people were walking with their families south, everyone carrying their life’s possessions on their backs. 

This must have been what it was like during the Nakba of 1948, with one key difference: we have no illusions anymore about Israel’s ultimate aim: our annihilation.  

Dozens of friends, uncles, aunts, cousins and my little old grandmother were already sheltering at our friend’s house in al-Zawaida by the time we arrived. 47 of us in a single apartment. For 2 months, I slept on the floor, catching a cold and waking up every day with back pain. Oh, the good old days, when it was a common cold and common back pain that afflicted me. 

The house was right near Salah ad-Din street, a major traffic artery now completely empty. At least we had easy access to an escape route, if necessary.

The day was January 5, 2024 and we were sitting at home. As the afternoon hours passed, the sounds of whistling snipers and gunshots grew louder. Then came the artillery shells and bombs. I don’t know whether it was a 1,000lb bomb or a 2,000lb bomb that Israel dropped near us, but it shattered all of the windows of the house. It felt as if the fighting was outside our front door for three straight days, the most miserable three days of my life. 

The Israeli army soon declared this area a military zone as well, forcing us all to flee. Again.

We packed our clothes, blankets and bedding, and together with our cats, we were off. My grandmother is old and frail and could not keep up, but we had no choice but to move south. I told my family to move ahead to Deir al-Balah, and I would help my grandmother, holding her hand tight, helping her walk, as sniper shots, artillery fire and missiles landed around us in every direction. 

As we walked south, I saw the body of a toddler girl. Her eyes were missing and all I could see was dried blood flowing from her empty sockets. There were bodies without limbs and human bones strewn around. Animals had clearly devoured their corpses. I felt horror. Anger. 

We reached our new home in Deir al-Balah, an 8-person tent. There were hardly any provisions nearby, just thousands and thousands of people in every direction. As I ventured out to buy provisions for my family, I noticed a large crowd outside the Green Cafe in Deir al-Balah. So many desperate people, so little food. 

We were five people, and for two days, we shared a small amount of tainted water and a single loaf of bread. We were weak and hungry. This was my first experience with starvation. 

Then we received word that Robin, our neighbor who had generously given us a ride south in his truck, had been martyred along with his two sons. Allah Yarhamhum.

All I hoped for at that moment was to return to normal life. But life was anything but normal. In addition to the weakness and hunger, we were also exhausted from the sleepless nights. At night I am awoken seven times, sometimes more. It is impossible to sleep amidst the deafening sounds of rockets, bombs, tanks, bulldozers and heavy-arms fire. 

The rain and the cold are also unbearable. Rain drips through the gaps in our tent's nylon roof. I go days at a time without getting any sleep at all. Not because I’m not tired, but because our tent was soaking wet. How can one sleep in a pool of freezing water in the freezing cold? 

Meanwhile, whenever I try to think, to take my mind away from our plight, Palestinian souls flash before my eyes in the shape of a long beard that has lost its head, limbs, legs and eyeballs.

I’ve never felt as hopeless as I feel now. My life consists of a constant search for water, bread and firewood, just to have a single meal. 

I’ve already survived five wars in 2008-9, 2012, 2014, 2018-19 and 2021, but I'm not sure if I'll survive this one. I was raised in Gaza, I’ve planted all my memories here in Gaza. This is where I belong, in Gaza. Whatever happens to me, my memories will live on here in Gaza.