My dearest Roaa,

I hope this letter finds you well.

Ironic, isn’t it? A sentence we begin every letter and email with to establish a connection, but this time it is not merely a redundant overused sentence, it is a deep wish from one friend to another. I have missed you greatly. I miss daydreaming and sharing my thoughts and imaginings with you.

I cannot believe it has been 268 days since we last met.

September 21, 2023, we attended an art workshop and created our own broomstick — Nimbus 2000– in the hope that it would allow us to travel worldwide and join Hogwarts one day.

It’s peculiar how we’ve come to count our lives by numbers, as if dates and names of the days of the week no longer mean a thing. What’s the point of knowing it is a Sunday when it has been 268 days since we met, 254 days since the genocide began, and 247 days since I last was at my home?

After I evacuated to Egypt, I charged my dead iPad, as it had been abandoned for 250 days. When it turned on, my wallpaper of the Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh got me thinking of you. What has happened to my star-gazing friend, I wondered. Is she well? Does she still have the power inside her to gaze at the stars, or are the roaming Israeli drones and warplanes disturbing her gaze too, as they have disrupted our whole lives?

With love,

Danah

‘I still find solace in the stars when I can’

Dearest Danah,

I’m okay, at least physically. You’re right, our customary greetings carry so much weight now, a genuine wish from one friend to another amidst the chaos.

Reading your words brought me both joy and sadness. I miss you so much. I also miss our whimsical daydreams and the fights of fancy we shared. Those are precious moments, now more than ever. I hate that numbers have become our new reality, each date a reminder of the ongoing strife and separation.

I remember the September day we last met like it was yesterday. I still remember that photo of us holding that simple broomstick, smiling proudly with our creation. We could travel at the speed of light on our Nimbus 2000! A beautiful memory from a much simpler time.

I have this puzzle of Van Gogh’s Starry Night that my friend Sama gave me hanging on my bedroom wall. Do you remember it? Every time I look at it, I remember our talks about his ingenuity. It’s a fitting connection, a piece of art that speaks to the resilience and beauty we must hold on to. I still find solace in the stars when I can. They actually appear much brighter now without electricity, despite the hovering drones and warplanes.

I’m so glad to know you are in Egypt. Though I’m sad you’re far away, it’s good to know you are safe there. How is Egypt? I’ve never been there. Is it as crowded as people say? Are temperatures really high? Have you made new friends? Tell me everything about it. I hope you find peace in Egypt, even if it’s fleeting.

With all my love,

Roaa

‘It is extremely hard to adapt to this new life’

Dear Roaa,

Of course, I remember your Van Gogh puzzle! I was so fascinated by it that I ordered one myself which was supposed to arrive on October 7th of last year, but now the package will remain unclaimed forever.

Egypt is different. Yes, it is as crowded as people say, now even more so since so many war-torn people have fled there from around the world. And yes, it is scorchingly hot. The temperature reached 46 °C (114 °F) yesterday, which left me thinking of you and all the people in Gaza, and how you are handling the heat while residing in plastic tents.

It is extremely hard to adapt to this new life, and deep down, I don’t want to. I want to go home.

I constantly struggle with guilt. I feel guilty and disloyal to everyone in Gaza when I eat, when I drink clean, unpolluted water, when I shower with hot water, when I charge my phone with ease at any time, and when I ride in a car instead of a donkey-driven cart. There is always this nauseating feeling stuck in my throat and a harsh grip on my heart whenever I try something new.

For instance, I recently ate at a fried chicken restaurant nearby, and all I could think about was how Fatma, my best friend in the north of Gaza, had not had any kind of meat for the past nine months. When I went to the supermarket, I stared at the packed shelves, wondering how they could be so full here while all the shelves in Gaza are empty.

Now, I truly understand what Rafeef Ziada meant in her poem “We teach life, sir!” when she said: “I wish I could wail over their bodies. I wish I could just run barefoot in every refugee camp and hold every child, cover their ears so they wouldn’t have to hear the sound of bombing for the rest of their life the way I do.”

My heart aches at the scenes coming out of Gaza. I wish I had the power to protect every child, woman, and man from the atrocities you are witnessing. My mind is 24/7 occupied with Gaza and its people, so I am incapable of creating any new friendships. I meet up with Gazan friends who have also evacuated to Egypt, and we spend our entire time talking about our families and friends in Gaza. I hope you can join us soon.

Your friend,

Danah

‘Knowing that you are safe … genuinely makes me happy’

My dear Dana,

Your lines about guilt resonate deeply with me. In truth, knowing that you are safe, and have access to clean food and water, genuinely makes me happy. This is what I wish for my friends who left Gaza — to live the life we have been deprived of. It’’s hard to see loved ones paralyzed by guilt. Ultimately, I want to see you move forward with your life. This doesn’t mean forgetting about us; no one who has experienced what we have could forget. It means being strong despite everything you’ve been through —– for Fatma, for me, for Gaza, and most importantly, for yourself. Seeing your strength will make us stronger too.

Remember when our friend Hamo — may his wonderful soul rest in peace — told us, “I swear to God, in a parallel universe, we— the three of us— are not friends. We are siblings in blood.” Siblings always want each other to be happy, strong, and confident. Even Hamo from high above would agree with me.

We have re-evacuated from Rafah to Khan Younis. I actually lost interest in counting how many times we have evacuated. Our days are all alike, spent between baking and filling the water tank. I can’t really say that I am adapting, because I’m not. I don’t want to adapt to such a life because this is simply not a life.

There’s a mix of frustration and sadness here about the closure of the Rafah border. The closure has cut off our only route for injured individuals to receive proper medical care outside of Gaza. Many are devastated because their hopes for better treatment have been dashed. I was supposed to transfer to a university abroad to continue my studies as all universities were demolished, but the Israeli invasion of the Rafah Crossing Border stopped all the plans.

The situation has left me feeling frustrated and profoundly sad. I’d been looking forward to continuing my education, a goal I’ve worked toward tirelessly. Now, my plans and aspirations seem suddenly out of reach. The sense of being trapped and the uncertainty about when I might have another opportunity to pursue my studies weigh heavily on my heart. It fills me with a deep sense of helplessness and despair.

What occupies my mind the most is the question of what is going to happen next. If, God forbid, we have to evacuate again, the only place left for us is Al-Mawasi, the shoreline in the west of Khan Younis.

Do you remember the time you gave me a ride to a WANN meeting in a cafe by the sea? I told you how the sea is one of my biggest fears in life. When we arrived there, you kept checking up on me every now and then. The idea that I might spend a much longer time by the sea, afraid of both the waves and the bombardment, has been haunting me. I just wish that the next time I see the sea is when everything is over and my family can have a picnic there.

Please take care, beautiful.

Your friend always,

Roaa

p.s. Don’t forget to stay hydrated in such high temperatures.

‘What I am absolutely sure of is that I will go back to Gaza’

My dear Roaa,

It means the world to me to know that is how you feel towards us who evacuated Gaza, but it is exactly as you phrased it, I am paralyzed by guilt. However, I am trying my hardest to be strong and redefine my purpose in life.

The fact that we are Palestinian always pushes me to never surrender to the harsh circumstances of life. My identity as a Palestinian woman, especially Gazan, pushes me to work three times harder to be acknowledged. We have to fight our occupier by any means possible. They try hard to shut us up because our words have power, just as they assassinated Dr. Refaat Alareer for speaking up and exposing the truth.

My heart aches knowing you were supposed to travel but are still forbidden. Life has a funny way of robbing us of our dreams. But I am sure that you will transfer to a new university and finish your bachelor’s degree. God is so merciful, he will guide your way.

As for moving forward in life, I know the future is uncertain as long as the genocide does not stop. But what I am absolutely sure of is that I will go back to Gaza. There is no forward without Gaza. Yes, many of us have had to evacuate to different countries, but we will return. Gaza is our phoenix; it always rises from its own ashes. I know the destruction this time is incomprehensible, and our phone screens show no more than 10 percent of the truth. But I believe Gaza’s sons and daughters will rebuild it, and I want to be among them.

When that time comes, we will go on a longer car ride, listen to music, talk for hours, and have a picnic at the seashore so you fall in love with the sea as I have.

Sending hugs,

Danah

‘I hold on to the hope that we will rebuild and reunite in Gaza’

Dear Danah,

Like you, I hold on to the hope that we will rebuild and reunite in Gaza, our resilient homeland. I believe in our collective strength and the indomitable spirit of our people. There is comfort in knowing that we are all still connected, even across distances. I think often of our dreams, our plans, and the times we’ve shared. They are a beacon of light in these dark times. No matter where the future takes us, I know that we will face it with courage and resilience, as we always have. Take care, and may we meet again under a sky full of stars.

With all my love,

Roaa

Editor’s note: Since the time of this correspondence, Roaa and her family have had to evacuate from Khan Younis.