In my heart’s quiet longing,
A wish takes flight on a whispered dream —
I yearn to be a bird, to fly far and see my loved ones.
I’m laden with separation and yearning for my family.

Amid distance and absence, the vision of soaring high, free from earthly bounds, would give me the reunions I long for.

Homesickness has consumed me. I long to break free like a bird, to experience the freedom and joy of flight, to be with my loved ones, to gaze upon their faces, to embrace them warmly, and to bring them home without fear of harm from the Israeli Occupation Forces. I long to share laughter, reminisce, and spend the remainder of our days side by side. Unfortunately, this dream feels unattainably distant.

The occupation has barred entry to the north side of the Gaza Strip, leaving residents nowhere to hide during the relentless Israeli bombardments. False promises were made that the south of Gaza would be a haven, but it has been transformed into a death-ridden battleground. My family is torn apart by the violence — we all remain scattered across the country.

Separation

In mid-December last year, we had to evacuate from our uncle’s house to seek shelter in the Western Compound of Education in the middle of the Gaza Strip as the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) invaded our neighborhood east of Gaza City, Al-Shuja’iyya, for the first time. My father and brother, Khalid, were with me. At 4:35 a.m. on the twelfth day of our displacement, the IOF invaded the school. I woke up to find my father and brother had disappeared. I had no idea where they were.

Later that day, I found out Khalid escaped at midnight before the army arrived and hid in the Al-Yarmouk stadium nearby, but tragically, he was followed by Israeli drones, attacked and severely injured in the legs and stomach, and captured. He remains imprisoned by Israelis from that day, Black Friday. (I describe this dark day in more detail in a previous WANN story.)

Those who were left were ordered to go to the Al-Yarmouk stadium. This was where my father, Hamdan El-Mbayed, was captured because he looked like Hamas political leader Yahya Sinwar. He suffered a lot physically and mentally during the month he spent at the Israeli detention centers. He was released and then relocated to Rafah and now resides in Khan Younis.

I was detained for most of the day at the stadium. I was brutally tortured by the occupation soldiers. After being released at the Abu Khadra crossing, I looked back with the hope of seeing my father and taking him with me to the Al-Saraya crossing. A spiteful sniper shot me. The first bullet went into my elbow. The next two entered my buttocks near my spinal cord, but thankfully, I miraculously escaped death as I took myself to Al-Shifa Hospital and had my wounds bandaged and cleaned.

In the Al-Zeitoun neighborhood, five kilometers from where we used to reside, my sister Raghda’s family and her spouse Yaser have their home. The Israeli occupation soldiers first attacked the Al-Zeitoun neighborhood at the start of this rapidly spreading genocide, and they continue to do so. Her family (and everyone in her neighborhood) was forced to evacuate due to intense and violent bombardment in the vicinity of where they were residing. They fled with only their clothing and nothing else to survive; they left everything behind.

They knew that people considered Al-Quds Hospital as a safe haven, but it wasn’t at all. They stayed there for almost a month, before the occupation soldiers invaded the hospital and forced them to flee to the southern side of the Gaza Strip, threatening them with their heinous killing machines, quadcopters, above their heads. Finally they reached Al-Rasheed Street where they entered into the south zone.

Now I remain in Al-Shuja’iyya. My father and brother and sister are away from me.

Israel has tragically stripped away everything we hold dear. This prolonged absence has persisted for nearly 10 months. But despite Israel’s attempts to sow seeds of hatred within us, their efforts have been in vain. For Palestinians, each hardship and adversity we endure only serves to strengthen our resolve and fortitude.

Flying to my father

I would fly to my father, embrace him tightly, share joyful moments, gaze upon his serene face, absorb wisdom from our conversations, care for him, and sleep by his side as we used to.

I would savor a cup of coffee, eat dates, or bars of chocolate with him at the doorstep of our home, like we used to. I long for him to be back in the north with me, enjoying a plate of fruit together.

I always feel like there’s something so heavy pressing on both my mind and soul. I have never felt this way before, but I’m sure the deep longing for my father is getting the better of me, devouring me and tearing me apart.

I feel like I can’t live a life so far away from him. Engaging with anything in his absence seems strange. I suffer when reminiscing about every corner we both once visited, every place we both went to, every shelter we stayed at beside each other, and I still struggle to cope with each word that reminds me of him.

My brother

I would then fly to the Ofer prison to visit my dear brother, Khalid, slipping through the cell bars to see him. Without him, life feels empty.

Khalid, 34, lives in the Al-Shuja’iyya area. He is the eldest brother and married with two girls and one son. He’s a great brother — so humorous. He’s lovable to everyone. I still recall the happiness he brought into our days growing up. We spent many good times by the fireplace enjoying mouthwatering barbecued mangeesh, beef, chicken, and fish. He would stop us from stealing off the grill (we liked to sneak a piece of the chicken), which made it hilarious to us because he was the first person to pinch a well-cooked piece. If we objected, he would say, “I’m just testing it to see if it’s ready for you.”

I still remember how exhausting it was to pick olives from the trees during the summer harvest when we were younger. But Khalid kept us entertained by telling us amusing tales. I once fell from an olive tree because I was unable to contain my laughter. After falling, I remember thinking nothing was boring about him. I also recall how, in an attempt to climb to the top of the olive tree, he fell. Rather than voice his concerns, he simply continued to laugh, which made us laugh too, so we didn’t worry about him.

I also recall the degree of attention he gave my sister’s son, Mohammed, while he was in the hospital after being severely injured last year. Khalid, myself, and our best friend, Mahmoud — who was killed by IOF missiles in June — took shifts to be by Mohammed’s hospital bed. I will always remember how Khalid would vehemently advocate for him to the nurses and doctors if he was in pain or uncomfortable.

My sister

I can’t help but feel incredibly tempted to take off into the skies and land where my sister Raghda, her husband, and my amusing nephews are. Where I can embrace them and spend endless amounts of time with them and converse about everything.

My fondest memories of her family were when my brother-in-law would invite me to Thursday and Friday meals. I wish I could go back in time to those days. I miss their conversation and presence. The delectable flavors of her food still linger in my memory. We used to spend a whole day exchanging jokes and reminiscing about bittersweet moments. We would also laugh and watch funny videos, eat fruit and popcorn, and drink delicious juices.

It has been a year since she made a cheesecake, but I still remember its delicious flavor. I remember falling asleep and how they teased me when I woke up. These were the finest days of my life. Not to mention the sweet, lovely, and yet humorous fights I would have with my sister’s feisty sons, Mohammed and Yamin, and how they would pretend to hit me, swear at me —  ya kab, meaning you dog, ya sama, meaning you shoes, ya yaim meaning you mean or sly, and yawh, meaning go away from here. They were still children, mispronouncing words in a very funny and cute way. This always drove me to pinch their cheeks! Those cute moments I spent with them were unforgettable.

If only

If only I possessed the powers of a genie, I would transform my father, brother Khalid, sister Raghda, her two sons, her husband, and my dear friends into birds. I would lift them into the sky with me, away from the horrors of war and genocide, seeking refuge in tree nests, sleeping among the branches, awakening to the rustling of leaves and the peaceful melodies of nature.

I would sing the anthem of freedom for a people enduring unspeakable suffering, feeling the gentle caress of the breeze on my face, reveling in the harmonious chorus of birdsong, finding solace in a world far removed from violence.

Truly, the notion of being a bird is a captivating and liberating experience.

From the depths of my soul, I offer ceaseless prayers to Allah, craving their safe return. I hope for a swift reunion, to bask in each other’s presence once more, weaving new memories and reliving past joys side by side until our final breaths. All I desire, for now, is the chance to share in cherished moments and create new memories together once again.

That is my heartfelt wish.