Will the Sun Rise Again in Gaza

As if the sun had set on the sixth of October and had never risen again in Gaza, until today we live in deep darkness.

It’s when you leave your inner self and move into the unknown; it’s when you are forced to flee from your awareness, from your assets, from yourself, to move as a physical creature and start to find any place or shelter. Literally, you are not aware enough to ask yourself, “What is this? Is this real, or am I watching a terrifying movie? Am I awake?”

After a massive bombing in Gaza City, where I used to live, my family and I left home for the first time to seek safety.  I know it was very heavy on my kids’ hearts to hear and see all the explosions in our neighborhood. My husband and I were aware that there is no safe place in Gaza.

As the Israeli forces had ordered civilians to do, we evacuated to southern Gaza.  We moved, carrying our heavy bodies, to the unknown for the first time in our lives, reassuring our two kids that we were moving to a safer place, although we knew we were lying to them.

Since then, safety has become more than an aspect in our life. And for the first time, we experienced shortages in basic needs: literally no food, no water, no electricity or cooking gas, no fuel for cars, and it became harder to make phone calls.

Everything changed, and we were exhausted by everyday details; the heavy near-daily bombing, especially at night. Many times, we felt it was the time for us to die. We knew about friends, relatives, very respected and well-educated people who were killed in massacres. Entire families were erased from the records. They bombed everything in Gaza: civilians’ houses, restaurants, hotels, universities, schools, hospitals, private sectors, shops. They even destroyed historic landmarks and any sign of civilization. They killed mothers in front of their children, killed children, and burned the mothers’ hearts. Within all of that and much more, there were no medical supplies. They targeted doctors; hundreds of them were killed with their entire families.

I sometimes ask myself, what reactions should we have to all of that? What amount of emotions and tears? What yelling and shouting should be heard? Will our hearts keep beating? 

I saw the answers reflected on the faces surrounding me, and on mine. We have no reaction to all of that. Is it numbness? I do not think so, but we do not have the luxury to grieve. We do not have the place, time, or energy to show how we feel, neither to ourselves nor our people. We have not processed the reality yet. I am not sure if we are aware or not, but we are all wearing the masks of “OK.” 

And I am still wondering, did we survive or did those who died survive, and it’s not us?

After two months, they again forced us to flee, even farther south. They ordered us to move from Khan Younis to Rafah, again to the unknown. I miss my self that I left in my beautiful home in Gaza. I am going further away from it.

I have this contradiction in me; I wish to return to Gaza, the city that I love, but I hope to leave it for a safer place in any country, which is forbidden for all Gazans. We don’t have the option to leave!

And yet, as much as I wish for this war to end, I am afraid of that day. I cannot imagine our reactions, and I cannot imagine what happened to Gaza.