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O n the night of the eighteenth day of Ramadan, the 20th of March to be specific, we were woken up by something other than the call to suhoor. We’d gotten used to being woken by it since the beginning of the holy month, but that night, it was a series of violent, uninterrupted explosions that shook us from our sleep at 1:41 AM. Startled and in a panic, we couldn’t understand what was going on.
A ceasefire had been declared between Israel and Hamas, limiting military operations and providing a minimum of security for civilians. But in the last few days, repeated violations by the Israeli occupation have torn this agreement to shreds: sporadic attacks have multiplied, and with them a permanent sense of insecurity. But such an outbreak of violence we never could have imagined. It revealed the fragility—or rather the nonexistence—of any sort of ceasefire on the ground.
Entire families spent what would be their last night
My children woke up in tears, terrified by the sound of the bombs. “What’s going on?” they asked me. I had no answer to give them. My heart was shaking just as much as theirs.
In the midst of all the chaos, I grabbed my phone and desperately tried to connect to any network, to get a link to the outside world, to find an explanation as to what was going on. After countless attempts, a few messages finally started filtering through on a news feed: Massive Israeli bombardment… over 100 targets… raids on the five governorates of Gaza…
My children woke up in tears, terrified by the sound of the bombs. “What’s going on?” they asked me. I had no answer to give them. My heart was shaking just as much as theirs.
No one knew for certain why Israel had resumed its offensive with such intensity. Defense Minister Israel Katz cited “Hamas’s refusal to release the hostages” and its “threats against the Israeli army and Israeli towns.” A spokesperson for the Foreign Ministry referred to “Hamas’s rejection of the mediation proposed by American envoy Steve Witkoff.” But no one in Gaza was fooled by any of this. Israel has never needed a pretext to continue its war against a population it describes as “human animals.”
Dozens of dead and wounded were rushed to hospitals, most of them women and children. Some were pulled from under the rubble. Others arrived in pieces, their bodies torn apart by bombs launched on tents—supposedly safe—housing the displaced. No one was spared: not the overcrowded makeshift shelters that were reduced to rubble, not the houses that collapsed on their occupants, burying dreams and lives under broken rock.
Hospitals, already overwhelmed, saw their hallways get inundated with more wounded. The morgues were overflowing from the first hours of the strikes as corpses kept piling up: 174 children, 89 women, 32 elderly, 109 men… all murdered by the bombs. They didn’t stand a chance. Entire families had gone to sleep expecting to wake up in the morning. They may have woken up, but elsewhere.
War, all over again
Things gradually started getting clearer. The Israeli media announced that it was resuming military operations in Gaza. So it was war, all over again. Again, it brings us bombs, terror, and death, though these never actually left us. They were always just around the corner. The deep fear that had weighed on our chests for more than 15 months is back with a vengeance. It’s like we never even paused to try and catch our breath, pick up the pieces of our shattered souls, rebuild life from the ashes of nothingness. The aggression is back and the occupation is no longer content with only destroying houses. It wants to annihilate every remaining trace of our city, of our exhausted souls.
Has mass death now become a common part of the news cycle? Are massacres just numbers now, relayed by news agencies without stirring anybody’s conscience or humanity? What kind of world is this, that sees all this destruction and contents itself with silence or even justification?
Relentless violence has made a brutal return. It shows no mercy for our weakness, our hunger, or our fatigue. As if what we’ve suffered in recent weeks wasn’t enough. For more than two weeks now, we’ve been under a stifling siege as the occupation has closed all crossings into the Gaza Strip and prevented the entry of aid and fuel, leaving millions facing hunger, cold, and a slow death. There isn’t enough food to feed the children, no clean water to quench their thirst, no medication to alleviate the pain of the sick, no fuel to operate hospitals that are overflowing with the bodies of victims and the wounded. Their generators are close to shutting down, which would add more death to the list of impending disasters.
And still the occupation is not satisfied with this collective punishment. It has resumed its aggression with unprecedented ferocity, as if the death it sowed in every corner wasn’t enough, as if the blood flooding our streets had barely satisfied its thirst for annihilation.
The bombing resumed, demolishing homes with their inhabitants inside, burning the tents sheltering displaced people fleeing one death for another, mercilessly turning hospitals, bakeries, and shelters into military targets. Israel is flouting all international laws and ignoring calls for aid and international statements. These barely register as an echo amid the complicit silence.
How can the world comprehend a crime of this magnitude? How can it justify the killing and disappearance of more than 400 people just in the first hours of this brutal attack? Has mass death now become a common part of the news cycle? Are massacres just numbers now, relayed by news agencies without stirring anybody’s conscience or humanity? What kind of world is this, that sees all this destruction and contents itself with silence or even justification?
