“In the moments just before dawn, the darkness is at its peak,” my grandmother solemnly whispered to me one day.

By Oct. 12, 2023, my best friend, Mohammed Al-Bayoumi, had lost count of the number of times he had already fled for cover. Israeli bombs had rained down from the sky in the first days of the war, and each explosion brought with it a wave of fear and despair. He was a strong man, but he now lived in fear of losing the people he loved, or even his own life.

Mohammed was no stranger to conflict. Born and raised in Gaza, he had grown up amidst constant tension and violence. But nothing could have prepared him for the horrors that were about to unfold.

His wife, Haneen, and their two young sons, Mahmoud and Ahmad, were home in their apartment in the Al-Mukhabarat Towers, west of Gaza City, when airstrikes began. Mohammed had been at work at his new job as a street vendor, trying to earn enough to provide for his family after the war shut down the schools and he could no longer work as a teacher.

When he had heard the first explosion, Mohammed’s heart stopped. Instinctively, he dropped everything and raced home, his mind filled with visions of his family trapped beneath the rubble of their building.

When he arrived to his neighborhood, he found the devastation he feared. He even had difficulty finding the way to his own home, because the bombing had erased the features of the streets.

Mohammed and about a dozen neighbors used simple equipment, such as shovels and even their hands, to sift through the rubble.

Hours turned into days, and still there was no sign of Haneen, Ahmad, or Mahmoud.

Mohammed refused to give up hope, clinging to the belief that somehow, against all odds, they were still alive. But with each passing moment, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden.

In the midst of chaos and destruction, Mohammad experienced moments of hope. Ordinary people became inspiring heroes as they risked their lives to help their neighbors and strangers alike.

He witnessed acts of bravery that defied belief, such as men and women rushing into burning buildings to rescue those trapped inside. He saw a young mother shielding a group of children from falling debris with her own body, sustaining injuries but ensuring their safety. An elderly man, despite his frail frame, tirelessly carried buckets of water to douse the flames engulfing his community’s homes. Medical professionals, some off-duty, set up impromptu triage centers on the streets, administering first aid with whatever supplies they could find. Volunteers formed human chains to clear rubble and search for survivors.

One of those heroes was Sara Al-Bayoumi, Mohammed’s cousin. She is a young nurse who has dedicated her life to saving others. Despite the danger, she stayed at her post at Al-Aqsa Hospital, where dozens of martyrs and wounded people were arriving daily. When Mohammed went to the hospital — on the wild hope that somehow his family had been taken out of the rubble already and brought there — he saw how Sara worked tirelessly to help the suffering, even as supplies ran low and the building shook from nearby explosions.

For Mohammed, these acts of selflessness, courage, and kindness were a lifeline, a reminder that even in the midst of destruction, there was still goodness in the world. It gave him the strength to keep searching, to keep hoping, even when all seemed lost.

For every act of heroism, though, there were countless tragedies. Families torn apart, children orphaned, dreams shattered like glass. Hundreds of families were affected by the occupation’s bombing of residential towers, which left many of them martyred, injured, and homeless. Mohammed knew this all too well, as he searched amid the rubble for any signs of his loved ones.

The first sign of dawn

Just when Mohammad had begun to lose faith, a miracle occurred. A neighbor heard a faint cry coming from beneath the debris. With trembling hands, he began to dig, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope.

And finally, he saw them. After three days of being under the rubble with neither water nor food at hand, Haneen, Ahmad, and Mahmoud were miraculously alive. They had somehow survived under the demolished roof of a stairwell.

Tears streamed down Mohammed’s face as he pulled them free. He held them close as if afraid they might disappear if he let go.

They were seriously injured, of course, with broken bones in the feet and wounds to the face and hands. But they were alive.

In that moment, amidst the ruins of their former life, Mohammed knew that they had been given a second chance. And as he looked into the eyes of his family, he vowed to do everything in his power to ensure that their future was filled with hope, not despair.

After they were treated in the hospital, the family left for Rafah, where they are to this day. Meanwhile, my family fled to my grandfather’s house in Nuseirat Camp, and so I have been separated throughout the war from my good friend Mohammad.

Clinging to a glimmer of hope in the darkness

The Israeli genocidal war has now been ongoing for nearly eight months. We try not to be gloomy, but it becomes increasingly difficult to be positive as death, pain, and devastation loom closer every minute.

I have to remind myself every day that things are not as hopeless as they seem and that there is light coming.

For in Gaza, where war and destruction are a part of daily life, hope is the most precious commodity of all. And as long as there are people like Mohammed, Sara, and everyone in solidarity around the world willing to fight for hope, there will always be a chance for peace to prevail, no matter how distant it may seem. It is always darkest before dawn — and dawn will come.