In Gaza City, we were trying to survive and dismiss the thought of any further displacement southward like others had experienced.

But on January 29, a few seconds in the night were enough for the Israeli occupation tanks to invade and besiege Al-Jawazat area where we live. Israel was taking revenge on us for staying in our own homes.

We were besieged in our home for nine days; real death would have been easier to tolerate than those deadly days. We kept hearing the sounds of bulldozers’ engines and the clanking of tank tracks. Even the soil seemed to recoil from the passage of this tyrannic machinery.

The hours of excavation continued relentlessly. The helicopter gunships rained bullets upon the façades of the houses. The gunfire would momentarily cease, only to resume again, and the airstrikes never ceased, whether on nearby or distant targets.

With each movement of the vehicles, we calculated that the hand of death would reach us either by the bulldozer demolishing the walls above our heads, or a tank’s artillery turning us into ashes along with the rubble, or a warplane bombing the house, rendering us missing persons.

Throughout the nine days, we subsisted on one meal a day: a loaf of bread with some cheese or a small bowl of soup.

We went to sleep early during; there was nothing to do in the long winter nights. Every second, we imagined that the soldiers would storm into our house, but we were always hoping for the withdrawal of the stationed forces.

During the siege, I didn’t want to see what was happening outside. I didn’t want any images related to tanks, soldiers, or any details related to what was happening to stick in my memory. I wanted to survive, with enough space in my memory for all the beautiful events I had experienced before the war!

Yet, I imagined how I would feel upon seeing any of these horrifying details. Would the tank appear as terrifying as we saw it on television? And what would the occupation soldiers do to us if they found us here?

Face to face with the occupation forces

In the ninth day of the siege, on February 6, the sounds of the airstrikes grew louder, and we could clearly hear the reverberations of the shattering caused by shrapnel. Then they stormed our house.

One of the men with us stepped out and shouted to them in Hebrew, “Shalom Shalom. We are civilians!”

The heavily armed soldiers pointed their rifle muzzles towards us, demanding that the man and every other male over 15 to remove their clothes and present their IDs. Then a soldier yelled at us to come out with our hands raised.

I wasn’t afraid! Never! For the first time, I felt this dignity that Palestine bestows upon us as we faced our occupiers face to face.

They took all of us outside the house, with all of our men in their underwear. It seemed that even the oldest among the recruits hadn’t even reached 20 years of age.

There were no landmarks in the street, no buildings left standing! Nothing except for piles of sand and rubble everywhere. I turned back to take one last look at the balcony of our house, and I caught sight of the Israeli flag hanging on the tanks. There wasn’t just one tank as we imagined — there were more than twenty tanks!

The Israeli Occupation Forces led us to sit in an excavated land surrounded by several vehicles and tanks, with their guns and weapons aimed at us and the drones above our heads.

They placed all the men on one side, binding their hands with a strap and blindfolding all of them, to interrogate them while us girls and women were on the other side. A few minutes later, I saw with my own eyes the explosion of our building and our neighbor’s building.

Diving into the dark of night

We were under a clear blue sky, tinged with pink, yellow, and lilac hues, accompanied by scattered thin clouds. Birds chirped and prepared to roost on the branches, and stars twinkled above.

I mostly kept my eyes on the brightest star as I wondered, “Where will I be when I open my eyes after death? Have I done what I was supposed to do in this life? What if they shoot me and I keep bleeding but don’t die? What if everyone dies and I stay here bleeding alone? What if we all die and they cover our bodies with soil? How will our relatives know about us then?”

I wondered about death, about which I knew nothing. Does it hurt?

The darkness of night fell quickly. Two soldiers continued to monitor us. Then the senior officer approached us, firmly ordering us to head southward. It was almost 11:30 at night. Our attempts to convince the soldiers to let us go to Al-Maamadani Hospital or to head eastward were unsuccessful. They justified their denial by claiming that they would re-invade that area and would enter every house in Gaza City.

The cold was piercing. Our winter clothes couldn’t protect us from the cold of that night. Our greatest fear was for the men who were suffering in the bitter February cold. We stripped off some of our additional clothes to cover the naked bodies of our men.

From here, we started walking according to the instructions while reconnaissance planes kept monitoring our progress.

We walked on the beach sand, embraced by the cold sea breeze and accompanied by stars. The road stretched on and on and seemed never-ending. We didn’t know which direction we were heading. But surely the closest point ahead would be near the Gaza Valley in Nusairat.

Every few meters as we walked, we would throw our bodies onto the beach sand to catch our breath, then gather ourselves and continue walking. The cold had frozen our brains. My heart was trembling, and my eyes were half-closed, swayed by the breeze along the way. Only the stars illuminated our path.

Destination and hope

We reached the western entrance of Al Nuseirat around 5:00 a.m. We carried with us throughout our journey the burden of displacement, exile, and nostalgia. My soul only longed for warmth!

We all sat on the sidewalk, waiting for a call from acquaintances who had been displaced in Nuseirat, to direct us to our final destination.

We heard the call to prayer on our way after having not heard it for months in Gaza City because the occupation had left no mosque undestroyed or unbombed. I felt a sense of relief wash over me as soon as I heard the call to prayer.

It was not an easy passage to the south for those who had spent a whole night walking barefoot, naked, and hungry, with young and old leaving behind whatever homes and belongings they had.

Currently, we have been displaced for six months, waiting eagerly for news of our return to Gaza City. How I long for every corner in Gaza and for every whisper of life that once thrived within its streets!