Occupation vehicles and tanks entered west Gaza City on January 28, initiating a nine-day siege filled with continuous air strikes, explosions, and military presence. Families stayed in silence, rationed scant food, and lacked sufficient water while fearing bulldozers, tank shells, and airstrikes that could destroy homes. Nighttime brought soldiers' voices and laughter nearby, and strict precautions included turning off all lights to avoid detection. On the ninth day soldiers fired at a building, shattered glass throughout the block, launched a grenade at a neighbor's entrance, and stormed the building, intensifying fear and displacement.
As the Israeli military begins its latest invasion of this city, an unshakable fear settles over me. As I live in the heart of northern Gaza, I carry not just worry for what may come, but the weight of what I've already seen. The memories of soldiers in our streets, the sound of tanks, the fear in my family's eyes-none of it has left me.
With every rumble of the vehicles outside, we were convinced death could claim us at any moment: whether by a bulldozer crushing the walls above us, a tank shell reducing us to dust amid the debris, or a warplane striking our home and leaving us among the disappeared. None of us had ever experienced anything like this before. Through the nine days of siege, the air strikes and explosions never ceased, whether on nearby or distant targets.
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