Deir el-Balah, Gaza – Yesterday was anything but ordinary.
It was like descending into the depths of hell, the war returned to its brutality and intensity as the world exploded into chaos, engulfed in flames, bombings and bombings.
The night before, relentless artillery fire continued in central Gaza, from eastern Bureij and Deir el-Balah to Maghazi.
At around 11am, I was having breakfast with my children before heading to Al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Hospital to work on my stories when everything suddenly turned upside down.
Artillery bombardment increased, warplanes filled the skies, and airstrikes shook our home; they were shooting at houses in Deir el-Balah, near us.
The roar of tanks firing was accompanied by relentless shelling and hovering helicopters, quadcopters and drones.
Fear took over us. Should we run away or stay home?
The news said something was happening in Nuseirat, but the shelling was all around us. Then, a violent blow hit a house near Al-Aqsa Hospital. Then we heard that the Israeli army had ordered the evacuation of the hospital.
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 spreading there.
The hospital, packed with displaced families and makeshift tents for the press, was the only medical facility in central Gaza, dealing with a staggering number of casualties.
What fate awaited these people?
Within moments, hundreds of displaced people began to flee the hospital in panic, their faces marked with fear, wandering aimlessly through the streets of Deir el-Balah.
Amidst the chaos, screams and screams filled the air, a collective question: “Where do we go from here?”
The reality was grim and contradictory reports clouded the situation. Some reported a ground raid in Nuseirat, others said a specialized unit raided a house near Nuseirat market. The frantic shelling, shooting, and aerial and artillery shelling continued.
In our home, amid a palpable sense of alarm, nerves were frayed as we tried to process the onslaught of events. I was trying to contact fellow journalists who had evacuated the hospital, but to no avail.
At one point I realized they might launch a ground operation, so I started throwing the essentials in a bag.
My brother, who had left for Egypt two months earlier, called, 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 relentless barrage of shelling and gunfire persisted for about two hours. Then reports emerged from the Israeli media, attributing the chaos to a military operation to free four Israelis captured 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 at hospitals.
People were documenting the victims who fell in the bombings of markets and homes. Dismembered parts of children’s bodies and bodies of people lay along the road that the tanks traveled to leave. The terror, chaos and mass casualties inflicted by Israel to free its captives.
Initially, the official figures were 50 civilian deaths in the operation, which rose steadily to 226 and then to 274, as confirmed by the Government Social Communications Office.
The distressing questions began: is Palestinian blood so dispensable? More than 200 dead in less than two hours to free just four Israeli prisoners?
A weight took over my heart. Frustration and deep sadness washed over me as I watched the tragedies of those who survived the ordeal, struggling with the consequences of their trauma.
Communications went down. I was unable to contact several family members and friends displaced from Rafah to Nuseirat. My husband got a call – his uncle’s wife and cousin had been killed.
My efforts to check in on friends yielded no answers until, hours later, I came across their social media posts detailing the horrors they endured.
That is all. This means you can do this. Chapter 11 كنا قاعدين جنب الخيمة أنا ويامن وفجأب رت تضرب قنابل حراريّ There is nothing you can imagine. وبعدين بلش قصف شديد والخيم جنبنا تم قصفها وانحرقت وصرنا نجري مع اس وكأنه يوم الحشر. Good…
— وين نروح؟ (@NourGaza) June 8, 2024
Each survivor reports a miraculous escape from death. My friend Nour, a professor at UNRWA and mother of three, shared on X: “I can’t believe what I experienced today. At 11 o’clock, we were next to the tent, Yamen and I, and suddenly the Apache was above our heads and started throwing bombs and bullets at the people in the sea and in the tents… We started running… as if it was the day of Judgment.”
Islam, my friend who follows the news about her family in Malaysia, was informed by her sister about what happened. She wrote in the enough for us, and He is the best administrator of affairs, O mighty one of the heavens, avenge us and heal our breasts. #Gaza’”
The story is the same for all of us. We bear witness to what happened: chaos, hell, screams, terror, relentless bombings, gunfire, exodus and death at every turn.
In the midst of these thoughts, I was interrupted by my daughter Baniyas, who lived every moment with tears in her eyes, asking incessantly: “Mommy, will they reach Deir el-Balah? Are these sounds far away?
Don’t forget to do this anywhere in the world تهرب لتنجو, طائرات الأباتشي تطير عل ى ارتفاع منخفض جداً, وطائرات ة 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 comes next?”
The most distressing aspect of a massacre can be its portrayal in the media. Images circulated of freed Israeli prisoners, statements praised Israel’s success in freeing four people – but what about the 274 people killed?
Are we mere numbers? Is our blood so easily disregarded? Has our suffering been forgotten? Are the lives of Israeli captives considered more valuable than ours? Why doesn’t the world see us? Why doesn’t the world feel?
We have been victims again and again of war and twice as often by neglect, oppression and indifference.
Just two days ago, it was announced that the US floating dock would be repaired and its insignificant assistance would be restored. However, his trucks were used to carry out a massacre in Nuseirat to free the Israelites.
Why does the world allow this?
Is there a concerted effort to eradicate us? We have never placed our trust in the US role and we never will. But how brazen can they be?
We face famine, bombings and daily war, but aid trucks passing through a corridor meant to help us are used to ambush us to rescue Israeli captives.
The world rushes to protect Israel, to turn against us, to conspire at our expense. Our blood, our sadness, our tragedies – they all dance on them.
We are labeled terrorists every minute as they murder, unhindered.
Gaza will neither forget nor forgive.
Words, reports and statistics are useless. There’s no point in talking.
Every night, after each massacre, I retreat to my mattress in our overcrowded house of displaced people. I hug my son tightly and beg God to wrap us in His mercy, to spare us from further suffering.
We lament to 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.
This story originally appeared on Aljazeera.com read the full story
