In Gaza, Survival Comes at a High Cost: No Food, No Sleep, No Hope -

“Even aid workers in Gaza are succumbing to despair amidst the ongoing crisis.”

Having spent a total of four years in Gaza, including six months during the current war, I have never felt such profound helplessness. It’s as though the relentless war machine, ever voracious, continues to churn out destruction at an unyielding pace. Each bullet is swiftly followed by another, with no end in sight, powered by what feels like an infinite supply of ammunition. The situation here is beyond human comprehension. Despite the aid efforts, the scale of devastation is overwhelming, and the usual channels for relief are barely functioning under the weight of such relentless violence.

The people of Gaza are caught in an impossible situation. Basic human rights, dignity, and safety seem like distant dreams, out of reach amidst the unending bombardment. The daily struggle for survival, to find food, water, and shelter, continues. The air is thick with despair, and those of us trying to offer help often find ourselves powerless to provide more than a brief moment of relief before the next wave of violence hits.

The toll on the civilians is heart-wrenching. Families are torn apart, homes are destroyed, and lives are upended in an unrelenting cycle of suffering. But what is even more difficult to witness is the exhaustion of those who are supposed to help. Aid workers, once full of purpose and determination, are now showing signs of desperation, overwhelmed by the scale of the crisis and the seeming futility of their efforts in the face of such unending brutality.

This is not a situation of traditional warfare, where there are clear lines of conflict and eventual resolution. In Gaza, the war has become an insidious force that feeds off the suffering of the people, with no promise of peace or relief on the horizon. Every attempt to bring hope feels like an uphill battle against an enemy that refuses to relent.

There are no easy answers here. But what is painfully clear is the urgent need for a long-term solution, one that addresses the root causes of the conflict and puts an end to the cycle of violence. Until that happens, Gaza will continue to suffer, and so will its people — along with those of us who are helpless in the face of such overwhelming odds.

In September, I had a conversation with a matriarch who ran a shelter for displaced people in Khan Younis. In the midst of the chaos and devastation, I asked her what hope she held for the possibility of peace. Her response was a somber reflection of the unyielding reality they faced.

She pointed to a small girl, no older than five, clutching her mother’s hand and sucking her thumb for comfort. “Her father was killed when their house was bombed five days ago,” she explained, her voice heavy with sorrow. “They haven’t been able to retrieve his body from the rubble because the area is under constant fire.”

The tragedy of that moment hung in the air, palpable and raw. As the mother and daughter stood there, caught in the cycle of violence, the matriarch’s words carried the weight of their situation. “What hope?” she asked, a simple yet powerful question that encapsulated the despair of so many in Gaza. The answer was painfully clear: in the face of such relentless destruction, hope seemed like a distant and unreachable dream.

In hopeless Gaza, sleep has become one of the most precious commodities. Back in January, when the war first began, we would run to the window at the sound of each explosion, eagerly watching the plume of smoke rise and stain the sky after a particularly loud and close hit. It was a visceral reaction, a mix of fear, disbelief, and the need to witness the destruction.

But as time wore on, those plumes of smoke became so commonplace that no one even bothers to look anymore. The sound of explosions, once jarring and terrifying, now blends into the backdrop of daily life. It’s as though the constant bombardment has numbed the senses, turning moments of terror into a sad routine. Sleep, once a natural necessity, is now a rare and elusive comfort. People have learned to survive without it, even as their bodies and minds are pushed to the brink of exhaustion. In Gaza, peace is distant, and sleep is a luxury few can afford.

On an average night in my neighborhood in Deir el-Balah, the bombardment would begin just as people were trying to prepare for sleep. It would start with the whistling of a missile, followed by a deafening explosion that shook the windows of our homes. The blast would rouse the local dogs, the donkeys, the babies, and any other soul brave enough to attempt rest, setting off a chaotic chain reaction of barking, crying, and frantic noises. More bombs would follow, each one escalating the tension, and then the sound of various types of gunfire would pierce through the night. It would seem as if the whole world was on edge, caught in the endless cycle of violence.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the noise would subside, only for a short while. The quiet was always temporary. Just before dawn, the call to prayer would ring through the streets, signaling the beginning of a new day — and often, a new wave of attacks. The cycle would begin again, like clockwork, with no end in sight. In the midst of this chaos, sleep became a distant, almost impossible dream.

The apocalyptic scenes that everyone sees on TV are even more harrowing in person. The stark reality of the destruction is impossible to capture, and I often find myself deleting photos and videos from my phone, realizing that the camera cannot possibly convey the grotesque and overwhelming nature of the surroundings to the naked eye.

In person, these visuals are coupled with a constant barrage of sounds. The now-daily ritual of desperate people fighting for bread at the nearby bakeries echoes through the streets, as food supplies dwindle. The almost total cut-off of commercial goods and the persistent, crippling restrictions on the entry of humanitarian aid only worsen the situation.

Just the other week, tragedy struck when a woman and two young girls suffocated in a stampede in front of a bakery. The fight for a few loaves of bread escalated, and in the chaos, they were trampled, a stark reminder of how desperate the situation has become. It’s a tragic reality that no photo or video can fully capture — the unbearable noise, the panic, the human suffering — it all feels like an ongoing nightmare.