Deir el-Balah, Gaza – Yesterday was anything but ordinary.
It was like descending into the depths of hell, the war regained its brutality and intensity as the world descended into chaos, engulfed in flames, bombings and bombings.
The previous night, incessant artillery fire continued in central Gaza, from eastern Bureij and Deir el-Balah to Maghazi.
Around 11 a.m., I was having breakfast with my children before heading to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital to work on my stories when everything suddenly changed.
Artillery bombardments intensified, warplanes filled the skies, and airstrikes shook our home; they were shooting at houses in Deir el-Balah, around us.
The roar of tank fire was accompanied by incessant bombardments and hovers of helicopters, quadcopters and drones.
Fear gripped us. Should we run away or hide at home?
The news said something was happening in Nuseirat, but the bombing was all around us. Then, a strong blow hit a house right next to Al-Aqsa Hospital. Then we learned that the Israeli army had ordered the hospital to evacuate.
It was crazy. At that moment I thanked God that I wasn’t in the hospital but I could feel the terror that was probably going on there.
The hospital, filled with displaced families and makeshift media tents, was the only medical facility in central Gaza to deal with a staggering number of casualties.
What fate awaited these people?
Within moments, hundreds of displaced people began fleeing the hospital, panicked, their faces marked with fear, wandering aimlessly in the streets of Deir el-Balah.
Amid the chaos, screams and screams filled the air, a collective question: “Where do we go from here?”
The reality was grim and conflicting reports confused the situation. Some reported a ground incursion into Nuseirat, others said a specialized unit stormed a house near the Nuseirat market. Frenzied bombing, artillery fire, and aerial and artillery bombardments continued.
In our home, amid a palpable sense of alarm, nerves were strained as we tried to manage the onslaught of events. I tried to contact fellow journalists who had evacuated the hospital, but to no avail.
At some point I realized they might launch a ground operation, so I started throwing the essentials into a bag.
My brother, who had left for Egypt two months before, called me, interrupting the chaos. Concern etched his voice as he asked about our safety, warning against leaving because the streets were full of displaced people and bombs.
The incessant barrage of bombing and gunfire lasted about two hours. Then news emerged in Israeli media attributing the chaos to a military operation to free four Israelis taken prisoner on October 7.
There were moments of silence and hesitation as the situation calmed and the shelling and shooting subsided. Then we began to see scenes of dead and injured arriving in hospitals.
People documented the victims who fell during the bombing of the market and houses. Dismembered body parts of children and bodies of people lying along the road the tanks took to leave. The terror, chaos and mass casualties inflicted by Israel to free its captives.
Initially, official figures reported 50 civilian deaths during the operation, which gradually rose to 226, then 274, as confirmed by the Government Media Office.
The distressing questions began: Is Palestinian blood so useless? More than 200 dead in less than two hours to free only four Israeli captives?
A heaviness invaded my heart. Frustration and deep sadness gripped me as I observed the tragedies of those who survived this ordeal, grappling with the aftermath of their trauma.
Communications were down. I was unable to contact several relatives and friends displaced from Rafah to Nuseirat. My husband received a call: his uncle’s wife and cousin had been killed.
My efforts to monitor my friends yielded no response until, hours later, I came across their social media posts, detailing the horrors they endured.
أنا تعبانة كتير. مش قادرة أصدق اللي عشته اليوم. January 11, 2017 ن رصاص حيّ ع الناس في البحر والخيم. وبعدين بلش قصف شديد والخيم جنبنا تم قصفها وانحرقت وصرنا نجري مع الن اس وكأنه يوم الحشر. بالعافية…
— وين نروح؟ (@NourGaza) June 8, 2024
Each survivor recounts a miraculous escape from death. My friend Nour, a teacher at UNRWA and mother of three, shared on X: “I can’t believe what I experienced today. At 11 o’clock, Yamen and I were next to the tent, and suddenly the Apache was above our heads and started shooting bombs and bullets at the people in the sea and in the tents… We started running… like it was judgment day. »
Islam, my friend who follows her family’s news from Malaysia, was informed of what happened by her sister. She wrote on is enough. for us, and He is the best arranger of affairs, O Mighty One of Heaven, avenge us and heal our breasts. #Gaza’ »
The story is the same for all of us. We are witnesses to what happened: the chaos, the hell, the screams, the terror, the incessant bombings, the shootings, the exodus and death at every moment.
In the midst of these thoughts, I was interrupted by my daughter Baniyas, who lived every moment with tears in her eyes, constantly asking: “Mom, will they reach Deir el-Balah? Are these sounds far away?
أختي نازحة في منطقة الحدث في النصيرات، تصف لنا المشهد بعد تمكنها التواصل معنا قبل قليل لنا “مثل يوم القيامة، الناس تجري وتبكي في الشو ارع ولا تدري أين تهرب لتنجو، طائرات الأباتشي تطير على ارتفاع ا ً، وطائرات خاصة أمام أعيننا تُنزل قوات خاصة ، قصف جوي وبري وبحري من كل…
– إسلام الهبيل (@islamelhabil) June 8, 2024
I can only reassure her: “Don’t be afraid, mom. Fear is engraved in us; what awaits us?”
Perhaps the most distressing aspect of a massacre is its representation in the media. Images of freed Israeli captives circulated, statements hailed Israel’s success in freeing four people – but what about the 274 people killed?
Are we just numbers? Is our blood so easily ignored? Our neglected suffering? Are the lives of Israeli captives considered more precious than ours? Why doesn’t the world see us? Why doesn’t the world feel?
We have been victims of war again and again, and twice as many victims of neglect, oppression and indifference.
Just two days ago it was announced that the American floating dock would be repaired and its negligible aid restored. However, its trucks were later used to carry out a massacre in Nuseirat to free the Israelis.
Why does the world allow this?
Is there a concerted effort to eradicate us? We have never placed our trust in the role of the United States and we never will. But how brazen can they be?
We face hunger, bombing and daily war, only when humanitarian trucks traveling through a corridor intended to help us are used to ambush us to save Israeli captives.
The world is rushing to protect Israel, to turn against us, to conspire at our expense. Our blood, our heartbreak, our tragedies – everyone dances to it.
We are labeled terrorists every minute while they murder, unhindered.
Gaza will not forget or forgive.
Words, reports and statistics are useless. There’s no point in talking.
Every night, after each massacre, I retire to my mattress in our house overcrowded with displaced people. I hold my son tight and implore God to wrap us in His mercy, to spare us further sorrow.
We deplore you, Lord, the betrayal of the world, the silence of our brothers and the pressure of our allies against us.
We will not forgive; We will not forget.
