While many have thrown their hands up in despair over the ongoing genocide in Gaza, a 19-year-old writer from Gaza tells us that despite what she and her family are enduring, ‘Gaza will not die,’ and that ‘victory is coming.’ But where does her faith come from?
Gaza, a city scarred deeply by years of ongoing Israeli siege and war, stands as a living testimony to the resilience of its people. Every day, its residents endure Israeli airstrikes and destruction, living in a state of constant fear, torn between the hope for peace and the harsh reality of war.
Each time they think they’ve come closer to safety, a new wave of Israeli violence shatters their hopes and reminds them that peace remains an elusive dream. Yet, what truly defines Gaza is the unwavering faith of its people in God, a faith that gives them the strength to endure, even in the most brutal moments.
Life in Gaza is anything but ordinary. Every moment holds the possibility of being the last, as its people face death daily, yet refuse to stop living or fighting. The fear here is not only of death but of losing everything—becoming just a number in a news report, or being buried under the rubble, forgotten by the world.
The sound of the bombing is not just noise; it’s a reminder of every moment of pain, suffering, and loss. But despite all these challenges, the faith of the people of Gaza remains strong. Through their faith, they find the strength to keep going, knowing that victory will come one day, despite the destruction and loss they face.
Between Life and Death
On Monday, March 17, I was planning to wake up at 4:00 AM before the dawn call to prayer to drink some water and prepare for fasting, prayer, and reading the Quran before going back to sleep. I thought I might get some rest to face the challenges ahead. But fate had other plans.
At 2:00 AM, Gaza was once again plunged into chaos by a series of massive Israeli airstrikes that shattered all our hopes. The tremor that rocked the city tore apart the quiet of the early hours, leaving a familiar reminder of the destruction we have endured.
We didn’t have time to think or even understand what was happening. We rushed out of our rooms and gathered in the living room, looking at each other with pained eyes, refusing to believe that war had returned.
Our eyes spoke more than words: looks filled with shock, worry, and questions racing through our minds, searching for answers but finding only pain. Our eyes reflected agony, helplessness, and exhaustion beyond what words could convey, yet despite it all, there was a strange determination in some faces.
We never expected this, not even in our worst nightmares. We woke up to terrifying airstrikes, their impact on our hearts heavier than ever before. I’m sorry to admit that I fear sleep now, knowing how many explosions and violent raids we face. It feels as if we haven’t taken a single step toward peace. We remain trapped between life and death.
That night was not just another round of airstrikes; it was a harsh reminder that peace in Gaza is a fleeting illusion, if it exists at all. In that moment, our world turned upside down once again.
We had hoped that this year’s Ramadan would be different. After 532 days of war, displacement, and loss, we thought Ramadan would offer us a moment of peace. We hoped to experience a day without death. But as always in Gaza, those hopes quickly faded.
The sound of airstrikes is a constant companion in Gaza—a companion no one ever gets used to, despite the years of war. We thought we might experience some calm, but instead, we found ourselves thrown into the depths of a new wave of Israeli violence. The explosions didn’t stop—they came in waves, relentless and unforgiving, each carrying with it the weight of death and destruction.
Within hours, 405 Palestinian lives were lost—lives that were not just numbers, but individuals with families, dreams, and hopes. These were not mere statistics on a news ticker; they were real people, and with every death, we lost a part of ourselves. The martyr was once like you and me. He had a home, a beating heart, a soul, and endless dreams.
No ‘Human Rights’
In the Israeli war on Gaza, there is no relevance to human rights, whatsoever, despite what is said about laws of war and the protection of civilians.
I remember my love for history in school, how I studied passionately and believed in the importance of rights and justice. I kept every word from the textbook, feeling proud every time I got top grades. Back then, I thought human rights were something guaranteed, and the world would always respect them.
I learned about international laws protecting civilians in armed conflicts, and the principles of justice that should apply everywhere. But after experiencing war in Gaza, I realized those rights remain mere words with no value here.
There is no safety, no protection from bombs, and our lives are reduced to statistics, our pain ignored, and the rights the world claims to defend remain reserved for others, while we live without them. They are just ink on paper, never applied in our reality.
The basic rights we were taught to value—the right to life, safety, shelter, food, and education—have become unattainable illusions here.
How can the world claim to defend human rights when Gaza lives in isolation? How can human rights organizations remain silent in the face of what we endure? In Gaza, there is no hope for international justice; the bombings won’t stop because of reports or decisions from the United Nations.
Hope Remains
Yet, despite all this, hope remains in our resistance and resilience, in our struggle for our land and dignity. Gaza defends itself and the honor of the entire nation, and it will remain steadfast despite the world’s indifference.
The daily struggle in Gaza is not just a fight for physical survival amid airstrikes, but a painful psychological battle amidst continuous fear. Every day, we ask ourselves if tomorrow will bring more explosions and death. Our children grow up in the shadow of war, losing their innocence in the midst of explosions and seeing the rubble of their broken world.
War is not just fought with bombs; it is fought in the hearts of people, where the bitterness of loss lingers long after the explosions stop. War steals lives and hope, yet we continue to live and endure, finding solace in our faith and in each other.
What amplifies our suffering is the silence of the world. Countries speak of solidarity with Gaza, but in practice, they do little to end the suffering. We are left to face this injustice without accountability. Human rights organizations ignore our pain, and we are left to pick up the pieces and try to care for ourselves in a world that has abandoned us. Amidst this, we cling to our faith in God, our only refuge.
What we live in Gaza is a test of faith and patience. Despite the pain, loss, and fear, we find strength in our belief that God will not abandon us. Gaza will not die. It will resist and endure, because we believe that justice will come in the end.
One day, the darkness will break, and light will shine through. Until that day, we will remain firm in our resolve, knowing that our strength comes from our faith in God, who will grant us victory in the end.
(The Palestine Chronicle)
– Taqwa Ahmed al-Wawi is an aspiring writer and student of English literature at the Islamic University of Gaza, carving her path in a city that speaks the language of resilience. She contributed this article to the Palestine Chronicle.
(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by PostX News and is published from a syndicated feed.)
