MY HEARTFELT THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO SUPPORTED ME IN POSTING THIS. And to the idiot who took me on: find your self a different blog. There in no reason you have to follow me.
For the past six months, I have been moving from one address to the next across the Gaza Strip with my husband and two children, aged 7 and 9, in an elusive search for safety. Our home in the Tal el-Hawa neighborhood, southwest of Gaza City, was bombed soon after the war began, and since then we have been homeless.
At first, we moved between residences in the north. But sooner or later, every neighborhood in Gaza City became a target, and every apartment in which we sought refuge was damaged by Israel airstrikes.
Eventually, my husband and I decided to flee south with our children, to the city of Khan Younis. It was a journey filled with adversity. Again, we moved from one address to another, until we ended up at Al-Amal Hospital.
Sheltering at the hospital grounds in the middle of winter, we slept only on a blanket, with a second blanket on top of us to provide warmth for my children and I. It was the first time I had felt extreme cold; the severity, along with the fear I felt for my children, brought me to tears.
After the occupation army besieged Khan Younis, we fled in early February through the so-called “safe corridor” under their control. On that journey, we experienced abuse, insults, humiliation, and the theft of our belongings. We continued back northward to the city of Deir al-Balah in central Gaza, prolonging the bitterness of displacement until this day.
It has been six months, three cities, and countless places of refuge — and with the war showing no signs of ending, we know that we may not be able to shelter in our current spot for much longer.