40-year-old mother of two from the a-Nisr neighborhood of Gaza
I live in a small strip of land that has been under siege for 20 years. Because of the dire economic situation, the wars and the never-ending escalations, I’ve been through multiple physical and mental health crises. Every war makes the crisis worse. In the 2008 war (“Operation Cast Lead”), after Israel bombed the power plant in the Gaza Strip, we were left with no power and no running water either. A 500-liter water tank cost NIS 100 (≈ USD 25 then). We really tried to save, but it was hard. There were ten of us living in the house at the time, with my husband’s family. The children were very small and had trouble sleeping at night. I made them try. I’d close their windows and their bedroom door, so they wouldn’t hear the bombings, and I’d stay up myself, because I was afraid for them. Missiles landed right next to our house too.
When the war ended, I was depressed, but when I saw and heard what happened to other people whose houses were bombed and they were left homeless, I realized that our situation was relatively good.
We, the residents of Gaza, before we manage to recover from one war, another comes. In the war of 2012, I was especially afraid because I’d gone through a divorce, and the children moved in with their father. He lives in the area where the security headquarters of the Strip was, and I was very afraid for them. I’d sit by the window for days, praying they wouldn’t get hurt. At that time, I got acute pneumonia, maybe because of the toxic gases emitted from the missiles. I was admitted to hospital, and they found I had chronic sinusitis. I was also not doing well mentally.
In the 2014 war, the situation was even worse. The sight of the bodies and the destroyed houses in the Strip just increased my fear, and I was sure my turn would soon come. During the ceasefire, I went to pick up my children from their father’s, and when I saw them, they were shattered mentally, but they didn’t cry. They were in a state of shock and anxiety after a house near their father’s house had been bombed. I just hugged them and tried to calm them down, but I couldn’t help crying. I won’t forget those moments, when I hugged them and how hard it was for me to think that I would have to return them to their father. It felt like abandonment. They were with me for a few days and then had to go back to their father’s. He sent a driver to collect them, and I stayed in touch with them the whole way to make sure they made it safely.
I went through 51 days of indescribable terror and fear then. When the war ended, I took the children to my place. They were in a terrible state emotionally and barely ate. Both had stomach aches, and their legs hurt, probably symptoms of anxiety.
In the war of 2021, Rahaf was living with me, and Sa’id was still living with his father. Rahaf was in high school, but she was unable to sit in class and focus. She stopped eating again then, and she was also scared to sleep alone in her room because the window faced the road. I put mattresses on the floor in the living room, and we slept next to each other, together with my parents, who live with us. Rahaf trembled for whole nights and held my hand. She was also very worried about her brother Sa’id, and followed the news on the phone all night to make sure he was okay. Because my parents are elderly, I was responsible for the shopping, and every time I left the house, Rahaf would get stressed.
During the ‘Eid al-Fitr holiday of that year, the fear, sorrow and the sense of oppression and humiliation overshadowed the joy of the holiday.
There’s no real peace, even between wars. By the time we recover from the shock, another one lands on us. One shock follows another. I’ve lost two friends. One was killed in the 2014 war, and the other in the 2021 war. I was so depressed that there were moments when I hoped they’d bomb us too and be done with it. We are tired of this life, and sometimes I feel that death is better. The same war and the same fear every time. Gaza has been completely transformed. The roads, the buildings, nothing is the same as it was, and all the good memories I’d had have disappeared.
After every war, I take sleeping pills for two or three days to get rid of the sound of the planes that keeps buzzing in my head, as well as the sorrow and stress. It’s when the war ends that our mental health gets worse, actually. We are left with fear, stress and depression. Every time we hear Israeli observation planes in the sky above Gaza, all these feelings rise up again, and there’s a sense that they are warning of another war. We are constantly mentally alert, especially when the Israeli army threatens to attack the Strip. I’ve gone to see a psychologist because of the lack of sleep and loss of appetite or sometimes overeating due to stress. He advised me to take anti-depressants, and I’ve been taking Prozac for five years now.
Even the short escalations of one or two days are terrible experiences. Each time, the same scenario and the same sights are repeated. Our living conditions are very hard as it is, and when there’s an escalation or a war, life becomes unbearable.
This year, during the war, Rahaf and Sa’id were both with me, and it was during his matriculation exams. He was so scared he couldn’t sleep in his room and came to sleep with me. Rahaf also slept with me. She was sick. She had some stomach bug and a high fever. She couldn’t eat anything. They were both very frightened. Rahaf is studying psychology at university, and she is supposed to cope by herself, but it is difficult to control the feelings of fear and terror. When I had to leave the house, and they stayed, I knew they weren’t safe. There’s really no safe or protected place in Gaza during a war.
* Testimony given to B'Tselem Field Researcher Olfat al-Kurd on 3 July 2023.