we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
In Gaza, peril surrounds pregnancy, birth, and infancy. Parents wonder how much longer their children will be denied the right to live in safety.
Al-Sahaba Medical Complex (pre-war), where Mira was born. Photo from the Complex’s website
Pregnancy and delivery, the beginning of life on Earth, are no walk in the park wherever they take place, but for one Palestinian woman—one among thousands—they were a nightmare.
When Iman Al-Zard, a 35-year-old wife and mother living in the Tel Al-Hawa district of Gaza City, found herself pregnant at the beginning of December 2024, in the midst of Israel’s relentless bombardment and near-total deprivation of food and water in the Gaza Strip, it was to be a life-and-death struggle. She and her husband, Fadi Al-Drimli, along with their 4-year-old son, Karim, and 3-year-old daughter, Mariam, were already barely hanging on to existence surrounded by daily death and destruction, noise and chaos.
From the start, Iman’s pregnancy was a challenge. Food was scarce, prices had skyrocketed, and each day brought a new desperate search for something for all of them to eat. A single egg, which would give minimal nourishment to just one—her daughter?—could not be found, or if it were, would be unaffordable. They all were continually hungry, and her own body grew weaker as she carried her unborn child without proper nutrition or medical care.
What should have been a time of nourishment, anticipation, and preparation for Iman, was months of sharp hunger, dizziness, and sleepless nights filled with anxiety. She drank water to trick her stomach into feeling full. She smiled at her children so they would not feel her pain. At night, she whispered prayers, asking only that the baby in her frail body survive.
Iman went into labor early, before completing eight months of pregnancy, and on July 2, 2025, gave birth at by Cesarean section without anesthesia at the only hospital operating nearby, Al-Sahaba Medical Complex. The baby was a tiny 2-pound girl whom she named Mira. She returned with her baby to her fragile home with a worn-out body and a heart weighed down by fear.
Immediately after the birth, she was confronted with an even harsher reality: Everything related to caring for an infant was scarce or unavailable. She could not find milk or diapers for her baby, had to turn to relatives and acquaintances abroad to send money to buy a few of the things her newborn needed. At that time there wasn’t even food and water for the entire family. Yet, with all her strength, she insisted on providing for her daughter, even if it meant denying herself and her other children.
Almost two months after Mira was born, on August 26, Iman was awaiting a visit from her mother in the afternoon. It was to be a happy moment for mother and daughter with this precious newborn. Her mother had been too afraid to come earlier because of the constant bombardment, but at that moment the situation was calm. Iman thought maybe, just maybe, things were changing.
But in Gaza, calm never lasts.
Moments before the call to afternoon prayer, Israeli special forces infiltrated their neighborhood of Tel Al-Hawa. Within minutes, heavy military vehicles stormed in to take control of the residents. Shells, bombs, and missiles rained down on civilian homes. Windows shattered, doors blew open, stones and dust filled the air—and terror engulfed everything.
The onset of the attack, heard from a distance, caused Iman’s mother to turn around and go home before she got there. And just before it started, Fadi had gone out to see if he could find milk, flour, and food. Iman was in their home alone with the children. Panic overcame her. Karim was crying, Mariam was screaming, and her fragile newborn was gasping for air. Iman felt she was about to collapse.
But that wasn’t an option. It was time to get out. Yet with military vehicles surrounding the area, fleeing didn’t seem to be possible. Displaced neighbors, living in tents after losing their homes, rushed into her home, desperate for shelter. A stranger approached her, reaching out to take her baby. “Give her to me—I will protect her,” he said. Trembling, unable to control her other two children, Iman handed him her infant. Then, clutching Karim and Mariam with all her strength, she remained where she was and held on.
After more than four hours trapped, Iman managed to get out and find her way to a tree at the end of the street. But her heart was breaking as she questioned what she had done and wondered if the stranger would return with her baby, would be able to find her. Every minute stretched into an eternity as bullets cut through the air and shells shook the ground.
And then, through the smoke and rubble, the man appeared—carrying her newborn as though she were a piece of his own heart. In that moment, life returned to Iman. She was united with all three of her children, holding them tightly, her tears mixing with the dust on her face.
But her relief was short-lived. As her eyes met her baby’s, seeking assurance that she was safe, a massive explosion shook the entire neighborhood, and the place that had been alive with families was reduced to rubble, with bodies scattered in the streets. Iman screamed for help while her children wailed.
Eventually, the only way out was by ambulance, as there was no movement allowed by the Israeli forces. Iman and the children were evacuated, and happily found Fadi who had been prevented from getting back to Iman and the children by the deadly shooting on all sides. Karim had been slightly injured by shrapnel as they shielded themselves behind the tree. Iman was in deep shock.
Somehow, they had all survived, but there was nowhere to go; their home was destroyed.
Today, the family is living north of Gaza City in Iman’s mother’s house, shared with dozens of others for whom there is no other shelter. Iman’s spirit remains trapped in that terrifying day when she almost lost all her children. She takes solace in their being together, but knows that what she has lived through, what she has brought one more child into, is not the world for any of them.
Iman’s story is not an exception. It is a mirror reflecting the story of thousands of mothers in Gaza who are hoping every day for just the most basic rights: to live in safety, free from fear and bombardment, and to have food to eat and water to drink. All the people of Gaza want is to live in peace, to dream simple dreams, to live in safe homes, and for their children to sleep without fear.
