Till two months in the past, my life as a 17-year-old in Gaza was characterised by the predictable considerations and aspirations of a scholar making use of to school. I dreamed of crossing borders in pursuit of a greater life—of touchdown on my toes in an American college and ultimately returning to serve my group as a health care provider. Schooling was my plan to flee this conflict metropolis.
Now, as I huddle in a cramped, dimly lit room with 12 different girls in Rafah, these desires look like fragments of one other life. Our bellies echo with starvation and our throats burn with thirst. We exist in fixed darkness, the world illuminated solely by the glint of missiles and the purple glow of destruction.
As you learn this, I encourage you to pause—to listen to the shrill sirens and the heart-stopping bombs and really feel the tremors that shake our jaws.
I’ve lived in Gaza for 17 years. However amid the ruins I not acknowledge its streets. The place ought to I am going now?
My household was pressured to depart our residence when the conflict broke out. I solely took one bag – I want it was sufficiently big to hold my home, my cat, my recollections. This week, when the Israeli military reached Khan Yunis, we needed to flee for the fourth time.
Even earlier than October 7, kids in Gaza had been born with the burden of survival. We realized to stroll on rubble and keep away from shrapnel like puddles. But this time is totally different. Trying round, I discover myself in a room too small for desires; there’s solely room for nightmares. Each morning I wake from just a few fleeting hours of sleep to the information of one other relative’s demise.
The Israeli bombings usually are not solely assaults on our metropolis, however assaults on our humanity. They’ve destroyed our hospitals, faculties and locations of worship, amongst others mosques and church buildings.
I am not a terrorist. I’m a scholar, a sister, a daughter. My desires usually are not a weapon; that is how I hope to rise above this battle. Kids in Gaza don’t consider conquest or destruction, however of a life untouched by the tyranny of conflict. We dream of lecture rooms, not wreckage; of playgrounds, not bomb craters.
Our demise shouldn’t be inevitable. Over the previous few weeks, my Instagram feed has been inundated with voices from all around the world uniting in an pressing plea for a cease-fire.
It isn’t sufficient to mourn the lack of life. There have to be an unwavering effort to guard it. To devalue a Palestinian life – to see it as much less worthy of security and dignity – is inhumane. Stopping the bombing is an ethical obligation.
How are we, the kids of Gaza, to embrace Israel when each explosion that shatters the sky shapes our understanding of the world? Every bomb that ravages our streets sows deep inside us seeds of worry, anger and distrust – seeds that threaten to sprout and entangle our hearts for years to return. Even when we stay alive, what is going to change into of our future? Our innocence folds within the midst of this assault that we neither selected nor perceive.
Greater than 15,000 individuals in Gaza, 70% of them girls and kids, have already been slaughtered. Hundreds extra lie unrecognizable below the rubble. As much as 1.8 million Palestinians have been displaced, together with myself. We aren’t faceless statistics, however harmless individuals. Historical past will look to us to measure the price of ethical weak point—the results of rejecting the sanctity of all human life.
In Gaza, age is a fallacy. It’s the most harmful place on Earth to be a baby. Since October, I’ve misplaced extra mates than my 78-year-old grandmother. The agony has change into a companion in my existence. If I had been your daughter, would you stand for it?
President Biden’s personal life has been one in all deep loss—a deep, painful grief that I really feel as effectively. So I’m wondering: Will he save us? Will he be a part of the refrain calling for a truce? Our lives dangle within the stability, tied to the hope that the world will acknowledge our humanity. This isn’t a name for political intervention, however a plea for compassion. We aren’t asking for heroes. We ask for empathy.
Over the previous two months the celebrities have been obscured by smoke, however I do know they’re there. They dwell above the smog of Gaza, shining reminders of a world past conflict. I aspire to be amongst these stars—a beacon of hope in a sky darkened by violence.
I really feel like I have been sentenced to demise, however demise would not scare me anymore. I solely worry that after I die, my story might be forgotten.
We plead with Israel, the US and the world: Please cease the bombing. Let the kids of Gaza dream once more.
Salma Hamad is a youngster in Gaza who nonetheless hopes to use to British and American universities. With the assistance of Al Muntaha Tutoring, a web based charity that educates younger Arabs in English, she has documented her experiences of the conflict.