The Heart-Wrenching Reality: Living in Constant Fear for my Palestinian Family's Lives

Since October 7th, my mind has been consumed by everything happening in Gaza - it pervades my thoughts, influences what I hear, shapes my dreams, and stirs up deep emotions within me.

Living with the constant fear of losing my family, I dread every notification on my phone, fearing it may bring the devastating news I dread.

As a Palestinian American residing in Annandale, Virginia, my parents and relatives find themselves trapped in the besieged Gaza Strip. In this bleak world where electricity, fuel, and internet connectivity are scarce, my family has faded away, hidden from my view.

In the northern areas of Gaza, more than 20 relatives of mine take refuge under a staircase, a feeble barrier protecting them from the unyielding and merciless onslaught of airstrikes. Carefully, they move forward, steering clear of windows and the deserted roads where the overpowering smell of death, destruction, and pandemonium lingers.

Hani Almadhoun

They tread cautiously, avoiding windows and the desolate streets where the overwhelming stench of death, fire and chaos hangs heavy in the air.

The lack of protection not only affects emergency services, journalists, and UN staff, but also leaves civilians in Gaza, including my family and friends, in a dire situation. The consequences of this war on my family are profound. Hospitals are overwhelmed, facing a shortage of space for the deceased and injured, even resorting to using ice cream trucks to preserve bodies.

Starving cats wander the streets of Gaza, desperately meowing for nourishment. Adding to the distress, our relatives in Gaza were subjected to a distressing hoax evacuation call last night. It is truly disheartening to witness that, during this challenging period, certain individuals are engaging in malicious pranks by urging Palestinians in Gaza to abandon their homes in the middle of the night, falsely claiming imminent bombings.

This has led to great anxiety and terror among numerous families. These actions are devoid of compassion and are entirely needless, especially considering the countless homes already ruined in Gaza.

(left) and his nieces and nephews can be seen in this photo taken during a visit to Gaza over the summer. The picture captures a joyful moment as they are seen driving on the road to Beit Lahia beach.

We used to joyfully commemorate birthdays, share meals, and create unforgettable memories. However, these cherished moments now lie in ruins, mirroring the desolation of our once beloved sanctuaries.

Like numerous families, mine is deprived of the basic privilege to reminisce about happier times, as they endure yet another day filled with judgment.

Surrounded by her children and their descendants, my 71-year-old mother clings to the familial connection that keeps them united while they navigate the challenges of dwindling water resources and the suffocating darkness that comes with living without power. Their unique predicament is situated in what is ironically known as the evacuation zone of northern Gaza, even though escaping is a dangerous feat for many.

The reasons preventing them from escaping are complex. The lack of fuel raises suspicion towards any vehicle, especially one large enough to accommodate 20 people, in Gaza at the moment. Additionally, heading south would take them into unfamiliar territory, far away from loved ones and the comfort of home. In a region where one's geographical location can determine life or death, very few are willing to take such a risk.

In a world where even my fellow UN colleagues, who are adorned with the emblem of the organization, are not guaranteed safety, the predicament faced by civilians becomes a troubling contradiction. How can regular Palestinians, like my own family, be expected to find a safe haven when the distinction between refuge and danger blurs more each day?

The ongoing challenges today stand as a testament to the indomitable spirit of the Palestinian population, a tenacity born from the haunting recollections of my grandparents' flight during the tumultuous events of 1948, as well as our parents' search for refuge within Gaza in 1967.

War echoes

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Times of similar adversity, when our ancestors endured and survived, pose a question: Why should the children and grandchildren of those who suffered be condemned to relive this endless cycle of pain and suffering?

Reflecting on that period, I have gained a more profound comprehension of my relatives, who experienced the 1948 Nakba - the uncertainty, the injustices, the powerlessness, and the sense of betrayal. These intense emotions have been passed down to a new generation of Palestinians, who have only heard stories about their forced displacement.

Currently, the Palestinians in Gaza are reminiscing about the past as they embark on a journey towards safety, fully aware that they are leaving behind places they may never have the opportunity to visit again.

The agony of losing and being deprived has left a lasting imprint on our shared recollections, serving as a solemn and enduring prompt of our common past.

Recently, I was contacted by Amro, my 29-year-old nephew. Despite having chances to explore and reside elsewhere, Amro remains attached to and enamored with Gaza.

Amro compelled me to make a promise that in the event of his survival, I would assist him in seeking a permanent departure from Gaza. It was a difficult request to fulfill, considering how much Amro cherished this seaside Mediterranean town, until the recent war.

This essay is a sincere appeal for comprehension, empathy, and, most importantly, an immediate summoning for peace and the aspirations of a more optimistic tomorrow.

Sadly, given the relentless duration of the crisis in Gaza, the prospects for such a future seem more elusive by the second.