The world focuses on the Iran-Israel war, but the enduring tragedy for Gazans continues. A once thriving Strip is now sheer desolation. Even our school building in Rafah lies in rubble.

GAZA REPORT JUST IN!

Communications from Gaza get harder but leading Palestinian journalist Sara Osama al-Najjar (pictured above) sends us this latest report on the daily struggles facing Gazans right now.

Where do I begin when there is no sign of an ending? We were defeated before we had the chance to begin.

Our hope and patience collapsed, and our lives crumbled under relentless blows of fate, turning into a ceaseless inferno. Words fail to capture the scene—rows of displaced souls, forced out of their homes, walking toward nothingness, carrying bags laden with burdens heavier than mere belongings.

Forced Eviction: An Unknown Destination and an Inevitable Departure

The announcement arrives:

“The Defense Forces order you to evacuate immediately…”

They specify the places of evacuation, yet no destination is given, as if we are cast into emptiness. Even though our city lies in ruins, shattered and grieving, it too has been condemned to yet another forced displacement order.

How do we leave? Where do we go? What do we take with us?

No answers come, only the urgency of time that fights us back, leaving us with unanswered questions lingering in silence.

We begin packing, murmuring to ourselves, “Take everything, because when we return – if we return – we may find nothing left… perhaps we won’t return at all.”

But how can one take everything?

How can memories be stuffed into a backpack?

How can comfort and safety be boxed up in torn cartons?

The Path of Displacement. Longer Than the Limits of Fear

We board a small bus, heading from the east to the west of the city. A journey that used to take thirty minutes before the war, but now stretches to over three hours due to destroyed roads and endless columns of displaced people.

Most of them walk on foot, their exhaustion weighing heavier than their belongings.

Cars stagger forward, running on prayers as fuel shortages shorten their lifespan, just as war shortens those of their owners.

Carts pulled by exhausted animals, sharing the same brutal journey of survival as their human companions.

 Al-Mawasi: A Place Without Refuge

At sunset, we arrive in Al-Mawasi, yet no time is granted to build a tent or find shelter.

Some sleep on the sidewalks, while others are welcomed by strangers who, in an instant, become family.

I thought solidarity had died, until we met Uncle Abu Sand, who lost his brother only twenty days ago, yet his grief did not stop him from offering us shelter in his sorrow-filled home.

We were twenty-five souls…

– Six children under 18. Three elderly over 65.
– Six women, femininity scarred by hardship. Hauling heavy loads, lighting firewood, scrubbing clothes with bare hands, soaking them in seawater that stung their skin with its salinity.
– The rest young men, burdened with responsibilities beyond their years, their youth disappearing under the weight of survival.

The End That Never Comes

Fear, hunger, cold, exhaustion… These are the chapters of our journey, a journey whose beginning is lost and whose end remains unknown.

ABOUT ALL THE GRANTS…

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