Maghazi, Gaza Strip — Last Friday, it was around six o’clock in the evening when the whole of Gaza lost all contact with the outside world and with each other within the besieged enclave.
My family, as well as my uncle’s, were gathered in a single room at his home in the Maghazi camp. We had evacuated our home in the western part and moved to southern Gaza in accordance with Israeli orders. Israel, of course, claims that its orders to leave are for our safety, but as a survivor of its barbaric aggression against Gaza, I can tell you that the claim of relative security in southern Gaza is a myth.
The reason we come together in one room is simple: if we are subjected to bombing and, God forbid, lose our lives, we do it together. Neither of us wants the other to endure the pain of heartbreak alone.
As usual, I grabbed my laptop that evening to make sure its battery was fully charged, allowing me to continue my work as a journalist. Moments before, I was engaged in conversation with a Canadian journalist, discussing the dire circumstances in the Gaza Strip. Meanwhile, my father was on the phone with my brother Adham, who resides in the United States, trying to reassure him of our safety.
In the same room, my cousin Reem diligently reads the news she follows on Telegram, providing us with updates on places that have been attacked in and around the Gaza Strip, so that we can reach out to our relatives residing in these areas.
In another corner, my little brother, who is only 13, plays with my cousin’s son, Hammoud, who will be two next month.
Then, suddenly, my Internet connection went out and I asked in a trembling voice, “Is there a problem with the Internet?” At the same time, my father said, “I lost contact with Adham,” and my uncle added, “I have no phone signal!” »
All we had left was the radio as a means of communication. When we turned on the radio and heard the Al Jazeera radio presenter reporting that Israel had cut off communications and internet access throughout the Gaza Strip, we were all left in shock and silence. We began to think about why Israel isolates us from the rest of the world.
Among us, some believed that they were seeking to isolate us in order to commit new crimes away from the control of the international community. Some even wondered if it would be our last night alive.
We exchanged glances, saying goodbye in silence.
My thoughts were consumed with worry for my friends outside Gaza, imagining the anguish they must feel with no way of receiving information about my safety. My concern extended to my relatives who had chosen to stay in the most precarious areas of Gaza, refusing to move south. The weight of my responsibilities as a journalist weighed heavily on my mind, knowing that I was powerless to convey the truth to the rest of the world due to the power outage and loss of internet connectivity. I couldn’t imagine a feeling more distressing than the overwhelming combination of helplessness and fear that overwhelmed me.
We turned to the Quran, seeking comfort for our souls, and we recited prayers, imploring God to protect us, our homes, and those we hold dear.
Sleeping that night was impossible as the artillery bombardments continued relentlessly, without a moment’s respite. Fragments of the explosions even reached the garden of our house. The sounds of the missiles were simply terrifying, but what was even more frightening was our complete ignorance of the targets and victims of this senseless violence.
From the first day of the Israeli aggression against the Gaza Strip, we have depended on LED light. Over time, the darkness became more oppressive and our light became dimmer as we struggled to recharge the battery that powered our LED.
Try to understand this: the total darkness, the incessant artillery and ground bombardments, the isolation from our relatives and friends and the disconnection from the whole world.
This night was the longest of my life, marked by our sudden isolation from the world. This followed heavy bombing in the Maghazi region, an area far from the areas of Gaza that Israel asked us to leave.
The day before this tragedy, before communications and internet access were cut, occupation planes bombed my relatives’ house in the Maghazi refugee camp, resulting in the loss of nine lives, including seven children. .
Those fleeing in fear in the streets were my own parents. Among them was an elderly mother who had lost her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren. She is a kind woman who is close to my heart. I saw her laugh and listened to her stories from my childhood.
It was my brother Karam, who had just enrolled in a doctorate in accounting in Gaza a few days before the Israeli aggression on Gaza, who transported the wounded in his private car. Today, both universities are reduced to ruins.
On the night of Thursday, October 26, the Israeli occupation targeted the only bakery in the Maghazi camp, adding to the grim toll of more than 11 bakeries bombed across the Gaza Strip during this aggression. It is obvious that Israel’s strategy in this war is one of extermination and starvation.
During this particular attack, I hurriedly collected my bug out bag, which contained only my passport and ID card, preparing to flee again. However, this time I didn’t know where to find shelter.
Tragically, the bombing of the bakery resulted in the loss of approximately 10 innocent civilians. Additionally, debris from the attack hit an UNRWA school housing around 6,000 displaced Palestinians from northern Gaza, causing the death of one person in the school who was injured by stones thrown by the bakery explosion.
This is just a small glimpse of the illusion of “security” that Israel claims to offer in the southern Gaza Strip.
When Gaza finally regained internet connectivity, I did not feel the same joy as many. Instead, I was overcome by a feeling of dread. I immediately reached for my cell phone to check on my friends and relatives, fearing they might have been hurt or worse. I had reason to fear: on October 22, during a horrific Israeli air raid targeting his home, my colleague, aspiring translator Mahmoud, had tragically lost his life. His entire family was mercilessly killed – his father, his brother, his sisters and their children.
I turned to my X account, formerly Twitter, to follow events in Gaza during the two days I was cut off from the world, reading tweets from friends describing the horrors they endured during the bombings incessant.
I was desperate to learn about political developments and the extent of the devastation in Gaza, hoping to hear news of a ceasefire and an end to the incessant massacres against Palestinians in the strip. of Gaza, while Israel continued its aggression without being held responsible. . It was disheartening to learn that the brutality of the bombings continued and that there was no indication of a resolution in sight.
The world may never understand the heartbreaking reality of waiting in line for nearly four arduous hours, just to get $2 worth of bread, only to see the bakery reduced to rubble by a bombing raid. Faced with such adversity, one is forced to resort to primitive methods, such as using wood to light a fire, just to provide bread for more than 50 people grouped in a modest two-story building.
The desperate struggle to obtain even a minimal amount of clean water, just to survive, is an ordeal that few people can understand.
And the agony of isolation from the rest of the world, amidst incessant Israeli artillery, naval and aerial bombardment assaults, is an experience beyond imagination.
