Death and Famine Are Two Sides of the Same Coin

Mohammed Mo’in ‘Atallah, a lawyer at the Training Unit in the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights (PCHR) and resident of Gaza City, shared his harrowing account on February 16, 2024.

In Gaza, death and famine are inseparable. This stark reality defines our ongoing ordeal, marked by relentless suffering since the war erupted on October 7, a date etched into every Palestinian’s memory. That morning, I awoke to relentless explosions shaking Gaza City, a sense of dread and uncertainty enveloping us all.

My family and I reside in a two-story house with a basement in the al-Sahabah neighbourhood. Alongside my wife, Rola al-Sweisi—a pharmacist—and our one-year-old son, Mo’in, my parents and nine of my twelve siblings share our home.

Within hours of Israel’s declaration of war on Gaza, a place long besieged and deprived of basic necessities, our already fragile existence was shattered. We were ill-prepared for the suffering that would stretch over months, let alone the few days we initially anticipated. I ventured to a nearby shop for groceries, as many Gazans did during the conflict. The streets were chaotic, people dazed and fearful of the future, hoping this war would be short-lived like the previous ones. The initial airstrikes devastated Gaza’s infrastructure, and the incessant bombardment created a constant backdrop of fear and destruction. Nights became particularly harrowing as the intensity of the attacks escalated.

On October 11, 2023, a massive explosion rocked our area. The heavy smoke rendered visibility nearly impossible as we heard screams and cries from the street. I joined neighbours in surveying the damage at the Hijazi family’s home, adjacent to my uncle’s house. The scene was apocalyptic: buildings reduced to rubble, many dead or injured, including three of my cousins.

The next morning, as my son Mo’in and I were in the living room, a violent explosion shattered the window glass, filling our home with dust. Amidst the chaos, we fled outside, only to find that our neighbours’ five-story building had collapsed while its occupants were inside. After ensuring my siblings were safe, I scoured the streets for other relatives.

Later that day, another airstrike hit a neighbouring house, resulting in the deaths of my aunt’s husband and three other family members.

On October 13, 2023, Israeli warplanes dropped leaflets ordering Gaza City residents to evacuate south via Salah al-Deen Street, as announced by the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) spokesperson on social media.

While many in our neighbourhood began the evacuation journey south, my family and I, along with some neighbours, chose to stay despite the looming threat. With no safe haven in the Gaza Strip, we prepared emergency bags, uncertain of what the future held.

Fire Belts and the Darkest Night

On October 25, 2023, a date seared into my memory, the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) unleashed the most intense fire belts—relentless airstrikes—on al-Yarmouk Street and the Taj 3 Tower, just 300 metres from our home. That afternoon, as my father was preparing to leave for his duties as the tower caretaker, he received a call from one of the residents inquiring about his delay. The call was abruptly cut off by a barrage of massive explosions. My father rushed to the tower amid the chaos, which lasted for two harrowing minutes. When the bombardment ceased, my cousins arrived at our home, anxiously searching for my father after hearing on the radio that al-Yarmouk Street, near the Taj towers, had been hit.

The news struck me with such force that I could barely stand. Overcome with desperation, we ran into the streets, frantic to find my 56-year-old father. To my immense relief, he was found lying in the middle of the street with only minor injuries, though many others were not so fortunate. Rushing to the tower, I encountered a scene of utter devastation: the building was completely destroyed to rubble, and the streets were littered with debris and bodies. The tower had collapsed onto its residents, and entire homes belonging to the Herez, Hanounah, Mansour, ‘Anan, Salem, Deeb, Zuwayed, and Sharaf families were obliterated. In the initial hours, we recovered 50 bodies from the wreckage, but the search extended for nearly a week, ultimately retrieving 100 bodies while 55 remained beneath the rubble.

On November 24, 2023, a five-day humanitarian pause was declared, bringing a fleeting sense of relief and the hope that the war might soon end. Yet, that night proved to be more harrowing than any before. Around midnight, the ominous sounds of Israeli bulldozers and tanks echoed ominously from al-Yarmouk Street in the devastated al-Taj 3 area. For three hours, we endured the relentless explosions and the relentless destruction by the IOF bulldozers.

As dawn approached, the explosions grew alarmingly closer, and we heard the anguished cries of our relatives from nearby homes. We fled to the basement, seeking refuge, but our safety was shattered when a massive explosion rocked our house, making the glass and debris flying overhead. The IOF targeted a neighbouring house just 20 metres away, and shortly after, the Sa’ed Bin Mo’az Mosque, only 50 metres from us, was bombed. We could hear desperate cries for help from neighbours, but we were trapped in the basement until the humanitarian pause officially began at 7:00 a.m.

Emerging from our house during the pause, we were confronted with the grim reality of our destroyed neighbourhood, scattered with lifeless bodies. Approaching the mosque, we were horrified to find it bombed while worshippers, including some of my relatives, were inside. We spent the afternoon retrieving the bodies of 14 worshippers who had been inside the mosque during the attack.

During the humanitarian pause, I ventured through Gaza’s neighbourhoods, such as al-Remal, Tal al-Hawa, al-Naser, and al-Jawazat, where the IOF had partially withdrawn. The scale of destruction was staggering: homes were demolished, streets were destroyed, and entire neighbourhoods had been erased from existence.

The Agony of Displacement

In the early days of December 2023, al-Sahabah, in Gaza City’s al-Daraj neighbourhood, seemed relatively serene compared to the relentless conflict plaguing western Gaza. As most residents fled the escalating violence to the perceived safety of eastern neighbourhoods like al-Daraj, al-Sahabah, al-Nafaq, and al-Mashahrah—home to a large public market—little did they know that it was all short-lived.

By early December, the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) escalated their assault on al-Daraj and al-Tofah neighbourhoods, unleashing relentless fire belts of heavy airstrikes by night. Mornings brought further horror as the IOF dropped leaflets ordering residents to evacuate immediately to al-Rimal neighbourhood, forcing many to seek refuge at al-Shifa Hospital.

On December 8, 2023, the bombardment intensified, hitting homes in al-Daraj, including those belonging to the families of ‘Atallah, al-Zaytouniyah, and al-Ghefari, killing 100 people. The explosions shook our house, shattering every window. We took refuge in the basement, unaware that our relatives’ homes had also been targeted. Seventy-seven of them perished, with half trapped under the rubble. The airstrikes continued until morning, devastating the al-Shobaki family’s residences and claiming 30 more lives.

Amidst the anguish, with medical supplies scarce and hospitals out of commission, I managed to administer first aid with the help of my nursing friends before transferring the wounded to al-Daraj health center. Despite the overwhelming loss and suffering, we briefly evacuated to a friend’s house in al-Rimal but returned home the following afternoon.

On December 19, 2023, while seated in front of our house, a quadcopter began indiscriminately firing on al-Sahabah and al-Yarmouk streets, driving residents from their homes. My family and I fled to my sister’s house in central al-Yarmouk Market, taking refuge for three days.

On December 21, 2023, as I walked the street, IOF artillery struck our neighbour’s house, forcing me to the ground. Tanks encircled the area from multiple directions—al-Sahabah, the Higher Education Intersection, and a sub-street leading to al-Yarmouk Market. The IOF indiscriminately bombarded the area with artillery shells as people escaped to al-Shifa Hospital and the UNRWA headquarters on al-Sena’ah Street. We, along with around 70 others, fled to the al-Rimal neighbourhood and sought refuge in a building owned by the Selmi family. The journey was fraught with danger as we traversed sub-streets and dodged tank fire at intersections, finally reaching the Selmi building.

From our temporary refuge, we witnessed the IOF’s brutal bombardment of al-Rimal neighbourhood, including the destruction of Shawa and Hosari towers and the homes of the ‘Anan and Salem families. The assault resulted in over 50 deaths and numerous injuries. Our only means of aid involved first aid at the building’s entrance before transporting the injured in donkey carts and burying the deceased nearby.

Israeli soldiers, tanks, and bulldozers repeatedly passed our building, their conversations audible through the walls. We were effectively besieged for three days, deprived of food and water, as venturing outside or even opening windows was perilous. The ten days we spent there were the most harrowing of our lives; we were starving, and my son’s diapers and milk were depleted, leaving him suffering from skin and bowel infections with no access to medical care.

After almost two weeks of relentless hardship, we learned that the IOF had withdrawn from Palestine Square and much of Gaza, redeploying in al-Daraj and al-Tofah neighbourhoods. We resolved to return home and remain there, no matter the cost.

Displaced Again: A Cycle of Devastation

On the afternoon of January 29, 2024, an unprecedented and brutal bombardment shattered the fragile calm, leaving everyone in shock and confusion. The Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) launched an assault on several neighbourhoods in western Gaza: Tal al-Hawa, al-Shifa, western al-Shati’ refugee camp, al-Sena’ah, and al-Sabrah. In a wave of panic, people began evacuating from al-Shifa Hospital and makeshift shelters on al-Naser and al-Sena’ah Streets, fearing that the IOF would storm and besiege these locations to force evacuations toward Deir al-Balah. By morning, streams of displaced individuals fled from western Gaza to the perceived safety of al-Sahabah and al-Daraj neighbourhoods.

The following day, around 09:00, Israeli warplanes dropped new leaflets ordering residents of western Gaza—al-Sheikh Redwan, al-Naser, al-Shati’, al-Shifa, al-Rimal, Tal al-Hawa, al-Sena’ah, and al-Sabrah—to evacuate to Deir al-Balah via al-Rasheed Street. Faced with this directive, most people fled to eastern Gaza City rather than Deir al-Balah. For two weeks, relentless bombardments continued, wreaking massive destruction on al-Sena’ah and al-Sabrah neighbourhoods.

On February 10, 2024, we heard on the radio that the IOF had withdrawn from Gaza’s neighbourhoods after two weeks of unrelenting assault. We took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief and ventured into the devastated areas, where the scale of destruction was almost unrecognisable. The devastation was compounded by a dire shortage of food and water, with prices soaring for already expired commodities. Despair gripped the population as they faced deliberate starvation, clinging to the hope that a truce would soon be declared to end the hunger crisis.

Daily Struggle: The Fight for Survival in Gaza

A new chapter in Gaza’s relentless suffering has unfolded, marked by an entirely man-made catastrophe that drives people to the brink of madness. Once-bustling markets have vanished, replaced by makeshift stalls in al-Sahabah, al-Thalathini, al-Shifa, al-Sahab, and al-Sena’ah. The scarcity of essential commodities has reached a critical point, with available supplies either expired or prohibitively expensive.

Flour now costs between 80 and 100 shekels per kilo, corn is priced at 50 shekels per kilo. Families are forced to use animal feed as a substitute for flour. Our daily meal has been reduced to a single loaf of bread per person.

Our lunch options are limited and repetitive: lentil soup, mallow, white rice, and canned food, which has become exorbitantly priced. Chicken and turkey have been absent from markets for months, and beef, available only at selected butchers, is priced at 130-150 shekels per kilo. Many resort to cooking beef bones with rice, which costs 15 shekels per kilo. Eggs, a rare commodity, cost 6 shekels each, with a carton priced at 180 shekels.

We can no longer afford the daily essentials due to skyrocketing prices and their scarcity. Traders exploit the situation by changing prices daily, leaving us to buy only the most basic necessities while sacrificing many other items due to lack of funds.

For the past two months, we have been without cooking gas, forcing us to cook over open fires. When available, a 12-kilo gas costs between 700 and 800 shekels, making it unaffordable for most. We collect wood from the streets and demolished homes, which has become a source of income for some who sell it in the market.

Our health deteriorates daily, and the lack of medical care is devastating. Most pharmacies are empty, and essential medications are nowhere to be found. The constant search for basic supplies for my 1-year-old child and pregnant wife is heartbreaking. My wife, in her third trimester, and my 55-year-old mother, who suffers from chronic hypertension, both require medical attention that is simply not available.

The daily struggle for water is equally dire. A gallon of drinking water costs 5 shekels, and obtaining it involves hours of waiting in line. For bathing and daily use, we rely on water from Gaza Municipality wells, requiring long walks and extended waits. The wells operate only two or three days a week, depending on diesel availability, and often run dry before we reach the front of the line.

The streets are choked with garbage, emitting foul odours, and sewage flows unchecked after Gaza’s main sewage plant ceased operations. This dire economic situation has led to increased begging, particularly among children and women, and a rise in theft and burglary, especially in areas recently vacated by the IOF.

The sight of hundreds waiting in the cold at Kuwait and Sheikh ‘Ejlin intersections for humanitarian aid is etched into my memory. Humanitarian aid trucks, particularly those carrying flour, have been absent for weeks. On January 22, 2024, while waiting for aid at Kuwait intersection, the IOF fired shells at us. The chaos left dozens dead or wounded.

This is our reality in Gaza: a relentless struggle with food and water shortages, poor communication, and sky-high prices. Yet, we cling to hope, yearning for a ceasefire or humanitarian pause that might allow us to rebuild our shattered lives.