Where can we go and what should we take? An Islamic Relief aid worker* in Gaza describes the excruciating decisions his family face as they prepare to flee, again.
In October, the Israeli bombardment forced my family to evacuate our home. Like so many others, we headed south. My mother took us in, alongside as many of our relatives as she could. Her home – the place in which I was raised – has been our shelter for 10 months but now that is coming to an end.
The house is only a few metres from the latest area to be evacuated. From the windows I see hundreds of people carrying their belongings, heading off to no known destination. Inside the house is a chaotic jumble of hurrying, anxious bodies, because the moment we have dreaded is here: We know we have to flee, again, but this time there is no safe place to go.
We are packing now. Everyone is rushing around, checking their things. The children are making sure their toys are included. My kids are trying to pack their shoes and favourite clothes – those which we managed to bring with us the first time we fled, anyway.
My sisters can’t decide what are the most important things to take. In a displaced person’s life, every item is valuable. Every item helps us survive. We can’t carry everything, but how can we decide what to leave behind?
Even greater danger is coming
I can’t comprehend the situation. I feel disoriented, lost, empty-headed. I do not know what to do or where to go. If we leave this house, my family will have to live on the street. How can I let my wife and children sleep on the street?
I do not know how this will end.
I look at my father’s grapevine, which he planted when I was only 10 years old and lovingly tended until his death 2 years ago. I struggle to grasp leaving behind this 30-year-old vine, a living reminder of my dear father that has special meaning for all my family.
My kids haven’t eaten fruit for months due to the Israeli siege and destruction of Gaza’s agricultural land. They have been patiently watching the old vine, waiting for the grapes to grow and ripen. Today, my little boy asked if the Israeli army will destroy it, so even though the grapes are not fully ripe, I decided we should harvest them. They are ours. We are not leaving them behind.
Thousands of people are fleeting for their lives. My friends warn me that great danger is imminent, urging me to leave. But as we prepare to flee, I still do not know where to go.
Please pray for our safety.
Please help Islamic Relief support people in desperate need in Gaza: Donate to our Palestine Emergency Appeal now.
*This blog is anonymised to protect the safety and security of our colleague and others mentioned. Read the other blogs in this series here.
Editor’s note: This blog was submitted amid a fast-changing and deepening crisis. The information was correct as of Wednesday 21 August 2024.