I have been displaced three times from our home in the west of Gaza so far during the last six months, each time to relatives’ homes with my family. Everyone had one bag to take with them that included clothes, some food, and some money.

The feeling of the first displacement was horrible because we knew neither what we would need nor what we would face. The first rule in every Palestinian home is to take the women and the children first to a safe place. So on Nov. 16, 2023, I went with my elder brother, his wife and three young children, my mother, and my two sisters. We were crammed in his little car with our bags and little air to breathe.

From a small slit in the car’s window, my eyes saw the carnage as we drove. I became traumatized again by what I witnessed for the first time: destroyed buildings and streets and people displaced like us. My heart wanted to break, as did the heart of my elder brother’s wife. But Allah gave me the power to stay firm and calm by reading verses of our holy Qur’an as the sound of bombs drew closer.

We arrived at my relative’s house and the women and children went to the first floor through the stairs. My elder brother waited down below for my father and my two brothers who had stayed behind to ensure that our home was safe from thieves and to bring other bags that could not fit in the small car. After an endless wait, they arrived safely and told us about their escape. It was only then that the tears finally fell from my eyes.

They had heard the thunderous sound of bombs near them and the glass of our windows being shattered from the blasts, which delayed them from leaving. They surrendered only to God, saying the Shahada: “There is no God except Allah, and Mohammed is the messenger of Allah.”

When the bombing stopped and the streets became emptied of people, they left home quietly, staying near the walls to come to us, loaded with bags and struggling not to fall and lose our belongings. They arrived exhausted.

The night came with the feeling of cold. My whole family slept on little mattresses with blankets on the ground in one room. My two sisters and parents slept near each other to feel warm, two of my brothers slept in another part of the room, and the family of my elder brother slept in yet another part.

The sun rose again and the days began to flit by. Sixteen days went by from the day I was in my home and my comfortable bed with my warm blankets and we had moved to my relative’s house. I learned to pack my imagination in a bag because the things I carried inside my physical bag were not very important.

We finally returned to our sweet home, but the danger still surrounded us —  the danger of how to get food despite the high prices. The price of flour used to be $25 but had surged so high we were forced to buy the corn used to feed animals instead, and grind it into flour to make bread. Vegetables became unaffordable and nowhere to be found. I have forgotten the taste of vegetables and meat.

Second and third displacements

The happiness of coming back home vanished because we were soon on the move again. On Dec. 21 we moved to my relative’s house for nearly seven days. This time, my bag was essential to me even though the numbness and cold were not from the climate but from leaving the warmth of my home.

Allah finally answered my request to return us to our home again. Our smiles crossed our faces when we once again saw our rooms and furniture. This brought me a small measure of relief, but the bombs destroyed it again, and on Jan. 2, 2024, we were displaced for the third time. My heart wanted to shatter and I screamed, “Again in 2024! It is not enough that 2023 was black and destroyed my dreams. Please we are at the beginning of the year, so please do not let 2024 be as black as 2023.”

But the hope of returning to our home lingers like a black ghost and disappears. Allah makes us feel a little warm in our hearts when we read verses of our holy Qur’an and the sun lifts our little hopes.

We are tired of feeling displaced and having displaced relatives stay with us when we are in our own home. Every part of our body is tired. Our stomachs do not taste the food, and our hands hurt from washing clothes since we don’t have electricity.

And I really wish I had an iPhone, plus an eSIM card so I could stay in contact with my friends. When I was staying with relatives, I appreciated the enormous repertoire of movies and games that the phone offered to break the boring routine — when we had access to the internet.

Living through wars and wishing for peace

The atrocities inflicted on Palestinians since 2023 are the most terrible and the longest we have faced. The lack of food, medicine, electricity, internet, water, and safety and the huge number of displaced people, compounded by all the destroyed buildings and infrastructure, have rendered our suffering infinite.

Even the presence of food aid trucks endangers Palestinians because of the bombs that target them; the only crime the Palestinians committed was to seek food for their families with many Israeli guns or bombs.

The war of 2014 lasted 50 days and was nothing by comparison. We had some electricity, internet, water, and medicine, and the Palestinians didn’t lack food. The cost of the food was not as inflated and expensive and the number of victims was nowhere near this genocide.

My wishes are simple and knock on the doors of my heart, but there is no answer. I wish to live in peace with my family. That is not terrorism. We are the owners of this land but today, we don’t have any of our human rights. The Israelis consider us to be animals and they use this to justify their terrorism against a people trying to live with dignity.

Thanks to fellow WANN writer Asma Abuamra, who served as an electronic intermediary with Salsabeel’s mentor to help overcome internet connectivity issues in the north.