During the last ceasefire, when the guns fell silent as if exhausted by their own cruelty, the people of Gaza began to walk home. Tens of thousands filled the roads, a river of torn humanity flowing beneath a bruised and merciless sky. I saw them with my own eyes: old men leaning on canes, mothers clutching the hands of frightened children, youths carrying the ghosts of their dead on their backs. They walked for hours, for days, not toward comfort but toward the ruins that once bore their names. And I understood then that returning for them was not a journey; it was resurrection. Each step was a prayer, each tear a hymn. To walk toward their shattered homes was to walk toward life itself, though life no longer wanted them.
But now, even resurrection has lost its meaning.
When the army once again announced that people could return north, the news fell upon us like a stone into a dead sea, no echo, no stir, only silence. Those who once ran now hesitate. Many, like us, no longer have homes. The walls that once held our laughter are dust; the air itself has forgotten our voices. Some went back for a day, only to touch a wall that survived the inferno, or to stand where their father once prayed, and then returned quietly to their tents, carrying nothing but ashes in their hearts.
Do you understand what it means, my friend, when a man prefers a tent to his own home? It means the covenant between man and earth has been broken. It means exile has entered the soul. We have not only been driven from our land; we have been expelled from the very idea of belonging.
And now, among Gaza’s youth, there is but one word on every tongue: Rafah.
It is no longer a crossing; it is a dream, the last metaphor for hope, and not the hope of life, but the hope of escape. They wait for its gates to open as the damned wait for judgment. When it opens, you will see them, thousands rushing forward, faces wild with a desperate light, as if salvation itself were fleeing and they must chase it or die. Many will run toward the sea, ready to throw themselves into its vast indifference, chasing the trembling horizon of Europe. Some will drown, but they will die moving forward. For them, the sea is gentler than the land that devoured everything they loved.
And the world will watch again, in silence, that same holy, hypocritical silence that covers the earth like ash. They will count bodies instead of saving them. They will hold conferences instead of hands. And they will speak of peace, as if peace were not the cruelest word of all.
The Israeli government knows this despair well. It delays the opening of the crossing not from ignorance but from knowledge. For it knows the deepest victory is not military; the deepest victory is when a people forget why they wish to live.
This is Gaza now, a place where even hope has grown tired, where home has become a wound, and where survival itself feels obscene. The tents flap in the wind like dying lungs, and inside them people no longer dream, they wait. They wait for the next door to open, whether it leads to safety, the sea, or the end.
And sometimes, in the dark, I think that perhaps this is not Gaza alone. Perhaps this is the world itself, a world that has forgotten how to love, yet dares still to call itself human.
No Western country would tolerate the killing of 100 kids in 11 days; and if this was Israel, not Lebanon, every Western country would be up in arms and it would dominate the news.
"The Western feminist silence re: ceasefire in Gaza represents not only a moral lapse but also a political one. It perpetuates a brand of feminism intertwined with colonial and imperial power structures, which inflict harm under the pretence of protection"
https://t.co/8D0v2OY8B6
I find it quite insightful of the state of this newspaper when you can’t translate an Arabic word correctly when you’re an English paper in an Arab country .Idraak means : comprehend not realize . You’re welcome ;)
We’re deeply disturbed by reports of the Israeli military carrying out field executions of Palestinians as well as horrific images of Palestinians, including children, detained under atrocious conditions in Al-Yarmouk Stadium.
This is day 80 of the Israeli government’s genocide
I’ve watched this video over and over and over. They way it affects me is indescribable. From the way she looks at him and rests her head on his shoulder to the way her little hand clutches his vest 🥹
These are the little angels that we’re seeing in video after video being pulled from underneath the rubble as dusty corpses 💔
How could you? HOW COULD YOU!? 💔
Today is the 1st time in 17 YEARS (you read that right) that Gaza's skies are free of Israeli predator drones, albeit temporarily
& look at the immense happiness on this child's face
These drones are usually over Gazans heads 24/7 with a traumatic noise getting loudest at night
All we meet with day to day are tiny moments of heightened delight, curiosity or excitement. We need to learn to look after these with manic care and constantly ask ourselves to what totality they might belong.