“My children hiding from planes.” Stories of Gazans amid endless nights of terror and destruction
In a city engulfed in smoke, where the sounds of explosions echo like an unstoppable pulse, Gazans experience nights of terror unlike any other. There is no peaceful darkness, no dawn looming, only a sky raining fire and a land swallowing dreams.
Since the Israeli enemy government decided on August 8 to gradually reoccupy the Gaza Strip, new chapters of hell have begun, beginning in the heart of Gaza City, home to more than one million Palestinians.
A comprehensive assault has targeted homes, hospitals, and camps, extending to encompass everything that carries life. Hidden among the rubble are stories of impossible survival.
Najla Adel, 30, from al-Sabra neighborhood, speaks to Sanad News Agency in a tired, trembling voice, as if she can still hear the echo of the explosion in her ear. “Night here doesn’t mean rest or peace, but rather fear. We sleep waiting for the deadly sound… Imagine a small vehicle filled with tons of explosives exploding in the middle of neighborhoods, eating away at homes and uprooting everything around it.”
She pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then continues: “Just a few days ago, a reboot exploded near our neighborhood. The tremor was so strong that walls cracked and windows shattered. I felt as if my soul was being ripped from my body.
My children hide whenever they hear the sound of a quadcopter in the sky. These planes fire and drop explosive boxes on roofs. We don’t know when our turn will come.”
Alaa al-Sousi, 50, describes what is happening as a systematic policy of destruction: “There are no longer military targets, but families are being wiped out. They bombed the homes of al-Khour, Daghmash, and Bakr families… Every time I hear about a family completely wiped out, I imagine the children and women under the rubble, with no time to escape, not even to scream for a final time.”
He adds, his voice heavy with grief: “A single drone explosion destroyed more than ten homes in our neighborhood. No one escaped without injury or loss. Now, every plane that hovers at night is like an endless curse.”
In a camp west of Gaza, Nourhan al-Zubdah, a 20-year-old woman, is trying to find shelter for her children among tattered canvas walls: “We left everything behind… Our home has been reduced to ashes. We sleep on the cold ground with no clean water or electricity. My children are sick, and the water is polluted. There is no medicine, no hope.”
She speaks, her voice choking with tears: “Every sound of a plane makes my children scream, and I’m with them. I’m suffering from panic attacks. I can’t reassure them, and I don’t know if we’ll survive.”
According to residents’ testimonies, the “car bombs” used by the Israeli enemy army are old tankers filled with highly explosives, sent remotely to explode in the middle of neighborhoods, leaving massive destruction in a radius of hundreds of meters.
Small drones, meanwhile, fly at low altitudes, firing indiscriminately, dropping small explosives that spread more terror than they cause destruction.
As a result of the ongoing Israeli bombardment, thousands of Gazans have been left homeless, sleeping in overcrowded schools and shelters lacking the bare necessities of life.
The city that was once teeming with life is now a city of ashes, covered in dust and choked with gunpowder. Amidst the rubble and ashes, the tired voices of children rise up, their screams calling for help, telling the world: We are here, we need someone to hear us!