Gaza strip – My baby Iyas turned three months old and my nephew Ezz just celebrated his first month.
Here is my rating for them:
Dear babies Iyas and baby Ezz,
I understand that you feel something is wrong. Your reactions to the explosions are palpable – shaking and crying with every thud.
Sometimes we look for answers in our faces, disturbed by the incessant bombings and the planes that fly over us during the night.
My dear babies,
I write this letter with the hope that you will grow up in a world safe to read it. Unfortunately, this outcome is uncertain. The current situation compels me to document this testimony for your generation.
As I look into your eyes, I imagine premature babies being moved to al-Shifa Hospital, putting their lives in danger.
The world has become a cemetery for the most innocent beings. I contemplate the distressing stories of parents unable to reach their waiting children due to land invasion or, worse, those who may have been displaced or killed.
My babies, my heart cries profusely. Every day in the hospital, I shed tears for the children growing up in this chaos. I cry when I see them laughing in the makeshift tents, oblivious to the tragic disaster unfolding around them – a reality they may only understand in the future.
My beloved ones,
Your well-being in these tragic circumstances is of deep concern to us, your parents.
Last week, your incessant crying and discomfort intrigued us until your grandmother’s kidney pain revealed the cause: dirty water. Despite our awareness, we had no alternative, leading us to the quest for clean mineral water bottles for your safety.
Every day we went to the hospital, which is also my current workplace as a journalist, to seek information about the available water sources.
The joy of coming home with water was akin to that of holding treasure, a stark reminder of the chaos surrounding a basic necessity: water.
The shortage extends beyond water and has us concerned about your dwindling supplies of formula and diapers. Ezz, despite the difficulties, your father managed to get you some formula. But Iyas, we had to change the formula due to unavailability, risking temporary discomfort.
As we navigate this veritable battle of thirst and hunger, discussing which formula is best for you seems like a luxury. Everything now revolves around preventing hunger.
I want to familiarize you with this “wonderful” world witnessing our struggle under various means of genocide.
Beyond the shortages of water and food, it has been more than a month without electricity, without Internet, without communication networks, without supermarkets, without bread or fuel.
Ongoing airstrikes inflict endless bloodshed, targeting every aspect of life, making this world dangerous for innocent babies like you.
Every day in the hospital I see bodies wrapped in bloody shrouds – women, men and the elderly – but the most heartbreaking bodies are those of children. Here, babies learn missile sounds before childhood melodies.
Displaced, disconnected, bereaved and besieged – this is how the people of Gaza endure continued Israeli aggression.
My darlings,
This may be my last letter. Remember not to forgive those who have remained silent in the face of our suffering. Life in Gaza has always been difficult, but we strive to live, dream and prosper. Now regret the shadows in every moment that we imagined to bring you into a better life.
Watching your smiles and holding your hand in the midst of chaos breaks my heart. Hope for a better future is rare here; the future only seems to promise more torture.
