Life at War - Part 1: Learning to live with a constant fear of death
I first met Tarneem at a Boycott Israel Network Weekend School about 2
years ago. She was a student at an old established university in England and
active in Palestine solidarity work.
A few weeks she contacted me from Gaza where she had returned to a very
different life. Gaza was at war and she wanted me to help in raising funds for
her sick mother who needed to get to Egypt if there was any chance of her
living.
In England she was a student of English and I asked her to write the article
below so that people can understand the life that she, her family and thousands
like her are living as Israel tries to pursue its ethnic cleansing and
genocidal project.
This is her story. It is a story of a living hell that the war criminals
who rule in the West – Genocide Joe Biden, David Cameron, Anthony Blinken and
Rishi Sunak – are fuelling with supplies of more weapons to kill more
civilians.
We learn today that Netanyahu is
afraid that the International Criminal Court will issue a warrant for him
and the other Judeo-Nazi War Leaders in Israel.
Biden we hear is doing his level best to put pressure on the Court’s
Prosecutor Karim
A. A. Khan KC not to issue any because Israel doesn’t recognise the ICC.
Strangely enough Biden welcomed the ICC issuing warrants against Vladimir Putin
even though Russia also doesn’t recognise the court.
The hypocrisy is breathtaking and demonstrates the collapse of any
pretence that international law has any meaning. Karim himself was happy to
issue warrants against Putin at a moment’s notice but has done his best to
delay having to take any action against Netanyahu despite the fact that
children have been deliberately targeted by Israel in this war. 500 children
have died in two years of war in Ukraine, 30 times that number in 6 months in
Gaza. The hypocrisy of our leaders is there for all to see but their only
apparent concern is for Israel’s hostages, never Palestinian hostages.
The photographs below were taken by Tarneem and depict her environment.
Enough of my observations, let Tarneem tell her story.
Tony Greenstein
Bombing has become a regular part of my life.
I was raised in Gaza. This is the place of my childhood and youth.
Every corner of this city has some emotional value for me and is associated
with countless memories. I returned to Gaza from the United Kingdom after
earning my master’s at Durham university, in early March to see my family, and
help my people. With the beginning of this war, I am trapped in this living
hell. Bombing and air raids had now become a part of my daily life. I would
like to say that I am used to the constant sound of bombing and the feeling of
the walls shaking, but I am not. For over six months, my family and hundreds of
thousands of Gazan families live in constant fear of death. Our days consists of
trying to stay alive and trying to find a way out. There are explosions and
aircraft flying overhead every day. The bombings are everywhere and are getting
closer than ever and sound bombs are the worst. We can think of nothing else,
and we can feel nothing else. The days of the week stopped to have any meaning,
I can’t tell whether it is Friday or Saturday, it is all just one long
nightmare. My sister tries to keep count of the days, but for me it is all a
blur.
One night, we all woke up terrified “I can't take this anymore. I can't even sleep anymore without jumping
at every little noise." I told my family. My brother, Ali, replied
"I feel like I'm constantly on edge.
It's destroying my well-being." The bombardments were very close to
the house. They usually increase in intensity once the sun goes down: it's
psychological warfare, at night everything is more terrifying for us.
How could I describe my home becoming a place of fear and terror? How
could I take more hours and long nights of relentless bombings, explosions, and
tank shelling? I was worried for my sister – she was so stressed because of the
bombings that I thought her heart would stop. Her fitness watch showed 180
heartbeats per minute, and I was so worried to see her like this.I told her it
would be stupid if she were to die from fear in the midst of all this! “Look! Who’s talking?”, my sister said.
Then my siblings followed up with a conversation about how I turn off all our
flashlights and remove batteries every time I hear a bombing.
Sister: "Did you hear
that? I think it's another bombing raid."
Brother: "Yeah, I heard
it. But seriously, does Tarneem really think turning off the lights will make
us invisible to the war planes?"
Sister: "Apparently so!
She acts like we're playing hide and seek with bombers."
Brother: "I swear, if we
turned off the lights every time we heard a bomb, we'd be sitting in the dark
all night.Let's just hope Tarneem doesn't ask us to start whispering
next."
Sister: "Oh, don't give
her any ideas!"
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We laughed, knowing deep inside that this is a mental trauma that
might last forever but anything to lighten the mood in this chaos was welcomed.
There is no time to deal with our PTSD, it’s never post for us, always chronic.
Not knowing how long it will last makes this nightmare even worse.
I will ask for some help later as it is impossible to do it now and, to be
honest, I do not have time for it at the moment. I, now, spend my time caring
for my mother, she is going through a lot more, but we support each other as
much as we can. My beloved mother, 66 years old, needs urgent medical
treatment. She requires two CT scans yearly for her upper thigh to monitor her
condition, but she hasn't been able to receive any since October 2023.
Unfortunately, even if the war in Gaza were to end, the necessary medical
facilities and procedures would still be lacking. To make matters worse, there
is no PET scan available in Gaza either. Her condition has been worsening, and
she has been experiencing excruciating pain in her leg. We have managed to
obtain some painkillers and vitamins, but the lack of nutritious food and
essential medicines in Gaza is putting her health at serious risk. I am
extremely worried about her, and I need to get her out of here.
Another day filled with the relentless sounds of bombing and
airstrikes. I lay still in bed, my niece Mary sleeping beside me. With my
seasonal allergy, I couldn't help but sneeze. Little did I know, this sneeze
would evoke a heart-wrenching reaction from Mary.
Instantly, Mary's hands shot to her ears, her eyes tightly shut in a
futile attempt to block out the cacophony of noise. Panic surged within me as I
feared I had disturbed her sleep, but her mother's calm voice reassured me
otherwise. "Mary thinks your sneeze
was bombing," she explained softly, her gaze filled with a mixture of
sadness and resignation. "She does
that every time there is bombing while she is sleeping."
The trauma inflicted by the constant barrage of explosions weighed
heavily on us all, even seeping into our sleep. And for Mary, so young and
innocent, the horrors of war were incomprehensible, yet painfully palpable in
her instinctive reaction to the slightest disturbance.
As I lay here in the darkness, listening to the distant rumble of
explosions, I can only hope and pray for a future where peace reigns and the
sounds of war are nothing but a distant memory.Nevertheless, I find relief
writing about my experience. The greatest source of support in these times is
the messages of love and hope that I receive from people who know me and knows
the reality about Gaza. Just realising that there are people who reject all the
atrocities happening in Gaza makes me hopeful that things will get better one
day. There is nothing more terrifying than seeing your loved ones suffering and
your hometown being destroyed.
Facing the
chaos of trying to come terms with a new life
Every morning in Gaza begins with uncertainty. Our so basic and so
earthly human desires are our suffering and today is no different. With each
passing moment, I am reminded of the harsh reality of life in a war-torn city.
My mind races with the endless list of tasks that should be completed each day.
One pressing dilemma is always water. Our tanks on the roof are empty, and the
thought of another day without a drop of water weighs heavily on my mind. Water
is needed for cooking, drinking, for a quick sponge bath and some essential
laundry, which feels like some great extravagant luxury. A normal visit to the
toilet must be planned, pre-planned, and precisely thought out so that one does
not spend more water – it’s a constant balance between normal human urge,
maintaining one’s sanity, and losing it all in a jiffy.
We need water in our tanks, but to pump it up, we need a water
engine. And that engine needs fuel, which is scarce and expensive. Perhaps we
can run the engine on electricity, I think to myself. But alas, electricity has
been a luxury since the war began. Luckily, we have solar panels, a rare
blessing in these troubled times. However, on cloudy days like today, there's
not enough sunlight to power the engine. In the end, we are left with no choice
but to rely on the one precious cylinder of cooking gas we have. It's a meager
supply, one that we waited in line for hours to get. But in this unforgiving
world, every drop of water is worth its weight in gold. This means that we’ll
cook using firewood today, because we need to save the resources we have. Every
day is a day of choosing your new priority. Is it water? Is it charging
batteries and phones? Is it food and cooking?
As I write this, I can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Will it be another day of impossible choices, another day of fighting to
survive? So many close friends have been killed, will it be my turn tomorrow?
Only time will tell.
Before the war I used to buy bread, now I make it. Before the war,
I used to come back from work to home, and then I would relax on my bed and
talk to my mum about my day, now it is not just boredom – it's anxiety, tension
all the time. Before the war I used to have a group call with my international
friends, now I struggle to search for a good signal daily to update them about
my situation. Before the war I used to have a hot shower and sleep to release
the fatigue of the day, now there is a lack of gas, lack of water, a symphony
of relentless bombing and drones hovering over my head all night long.
Every day is Gaza is a battle against food shortages, sanitation crisis,
and blackouts, andon top of all this is the ever-present fear of death. It’s been
half a year since this nightmare began, and the situation gets worse every day.
People in Gaza die each day because of shelling, bombing and due to the lack of
all basic needs – food, water, healthcare. Innocent civilians struggle through
unbearable conditions and hardships every day, every hour, and every minute. Yet,
amidst the chaos, there remains a glimmer of hope. And so, we press on, facing
each new day with courage and determination, uncertain of what the future may
hold.
Writer’s
note:
You can donate
to my mother’s evacuation fundraising campaign through this link:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-ali-get-medical-help-for-his-mum-outside-gaza
