“What will afflict us? Will they kill us?” Dima whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Everything around her felt black, as if swallowed by darkness — like ink spilt over the world. Her damp clothes clung to her, soaked with a cold liquid. Blood, perhaps, though she couldn’t say whose it was. What she knew was that it belonged to someone closer to her than her own veins.

These weren’t the words and scenes of a horror movie, but the desperate thoughts of a 15-year-old girl staring down the challenge of survival.

Her name is Dima, and I know her through my mom; Dima was a student at one of the UNRWA schools where my mom taught. Throughout the war, my mom had kept in touch with her students, but she had lost contact with Dima for a whole year. Then, on October 16, 2024, Dima ran into me and my mom on the street. She told us that she had lost her mobile during the siege she’d endured. We asked her to visit us. When she came, she burst into tears, falling into my mother’s embrace. Sitting with us, she recounted her agonizing story and the obstacles that had prevented her from contacting us.

Dima’s story didn’t start here, amidst terror and loss. It began four years earlier, when she was just 11 years old, taking on the mantle of motherhood to her younger siblings. She had already struggled so much, and then a new war started.

On December 5, 2023, at exactly 5:47 pm, the sky in Bani Suhaila filled with missiles. The explosions ripped through the air, scattering shrapnel and filling the streets with scared cries. Most residents fled, but Dima’s family wasn’t so lucky. Israeli forces launched a siege on their town just as her family was preparing to escape; survival itself became a question without an answer.

The siege trapped Dima, her siblings, father, and extended family in their home, and then in a neighbor’s home. Days turned into weeks, and hunger, thirst, and terror took their toll on everyone.

A grandfather’s sacrifice

Dima recalled how, after 10 days of siege, her grandfather could no longer bear to see his grandchildren suffering from thirst.

Being outside at night in Gaza, especially in the siege, is a huge risk, as there are snipers and quadcopters watching for any movement on the streets. Despite that, her grandfather ventured out one night with a gallon jug to fetch water. A quadcopter targeted him almost immediately, killing him before Dima’s eyes.

“I screamed for my father to help,” she said, “but it was too late.” Her grandfather lay lifeless outside the house door until morning, when Dima’s father buried him in a small warehouse near their home.

Dima, barely holding back tears, comforted her siblings, who clung to their grandmother. She whispered promises of safety she didn’t know she could keep.

Three days later, tragedy struck again. While Dima’s grandmother and aunt were baking bread, a missile tore through the house, killing them both. “Oh, my aunt, who will give me my mother’s tenderness? Oh, my grandmother, who will hold me like you did?” Dima screamed.

Her family fled to a neighbor’s empty home, leaving behind the bodies of their loved ones. A week later, Dima’s father returned to bury her grandmother and aunt next to her grandfather. The warehouse had become a mass cemetery.

A daughter’s burden

Dima described those days as endless misery. For five days, they had no food. The bombardment continued, and grief weighed on their souls.

Dima recalled that on December 30, 2023, while sitting in the kitchen with her six-year-old sister, Dana, she was flooded with recollections of her mother’s tenderness. She thought of the warmth of her mother’s face and the memories that always brought her comfort. “Never mind how the bread cooks, just keep your attention on your school, my little doctor,” Dima’s mother once said. “Now I’m cooking, doing the missions my mom tried so hard to shield me from,” Dima thought. “I miss you so much, Mom,” she whimpered.

Then, an explosion shattered her calm. Soldiers surrounded the house, forcing the family to kneel silently. They blindfolded Dima, her siblings, and her surviving aunt, and they took Dima’s father away, warning them not to speak.

Then they confiscated their belongings, shot Dima’s aunt in her arm, and struck Dima in her waist. They dragged the family out to the street and loaded them into an armored vehicle, then abandoned them in a decaying, foul-smelling building. “It seemed like an ancient warehouse,” Dima explained.

There, Dima clung to her sister Dana, who was trembling with fear. “She cried so much,” Dima said. “I didn’t know how to calm her.” A missile exploded nearby, and shrapnel struck her brother’s head, causing it to bleed profusely. Dima screamed for help, but in vain. Then she pressed a cloth to his wound.

This was the moment when, covered in her brother’s blood, Dima felt as if her world had been swallowed by darkness.

The longest night

On December 31, 2023, after a long day full of horrifying happenings, thirst, and hunger, a soldier placed a bottle of water at the door, taunting, “If you’re brave, come get it. But whoever tries to get it will be killed.”

Hours passed, and Dima could no longer bear the thirst. She crawled to the door and took the bottle, barely surviving the ordeal.

On the next day, on January 1, 2024, instead of waking up with sounds of birds and having a traditional New Year’s breakfast table, Dima, her injured aunt, and her siblings — one of whom was wounded — woke up to the sounds of shooting and missiles, and with nothing to eat or drink. Then, one of the soldiers sprayed gas into the warehouse, leaving them gasping for air.

Dima prayed for deliverance. Then, amidst the chaos, she heard the unfamiliar sound of an ambulance — a lifeline amidst the terror. With her last strength, Dima cried out, “Help us, we’re here!”

Dima said to me, “The sound of the ambulance seemed strange to us, as we lived through days that we didn’t hear any sounds other than bombing and explosions.”

The ambulance arrived and took Dima, her siblings, and her aunt to Nasser Medical Hospital. There, they received treatment for their wounds and began searching for any news about Dima’s father and other relatives. Eventually, they discovered that her father was being held in one of the prisons. After some time, he was released and reunited with his family.

A testament to resilience

I went with Dima to the rubble of her demolished family home, now a cemetery. The scene in front of her eyes reminded her that she could no longer hang onto her mother’s dream that she become a doctor. Now, her head was filled only with the war and what might happen.

“The war is still happening? Will I face another loss?” she asked.

Dima’s voice carries the weight of countless untold stories. Her journey, marked by survival and loss, is not just her own. It reflects the horrors endured by so many children in Gaza.

All of my words escaped me when I heard her tragic story. I couldn’t console her for the loss of her family members, her home, or even the fearful moments she lived. She taught me so much about being brave and strong, despite her young age. I’m so honored to tell you about Dima’s strength. Her story is a call for humanity to see the lives behind the numbers. Each number is a person, a family, and a dream left unfulfilled.