Palestinians in Gaza in the midst of a modern-day Nakba

The cries and racing heartbeats of frightened children with dried blood and sheer terror on their faces transcended all debate on whether to stay or leave.

Michelle Thompson

75 years after the first Nakba, Israel is forcibly displacing Palestinians from their land, just as what happened to their forefathers.

Palestinians in Gaza in the midst of a modern-day Nakba

Houssam Marouf

last update on 16 Oct 2023

In Gaza, the bonds of kinship, friendship, and other social connections wield significant influence. Family ties are a crucial pillar supporting the community's cohesion, especially during times of crisis.

Since the onset of the ongoing conflict, these familial networks have banded together, particularly in northern Gaza, specifically in areas like Beit Hanoun and Beit Lahia. These residents were compelled to abandon their homes due to the relentless Israeli air strikes and the constant threat to their lives.

During the first three days of the war, residents from the northern regions sought refuge in different parts of Gaza to escape the peril.

While such displacements had occurred in previous wars, it has been far more extensive this time around. Israel, without regard for Gaza's social fabric, decided to uproot residents from the north and Gaza City, forcibly pushing them southward.

AFP — Palestinians with their belongings leave Gaza City as they flee from their homes following the Israeli army's warning on October 13, 2023.

They issued evacuation orders through direct bombings without warning, voice messages on mobile phones, and small leaflets dropped from Israeli aircraft.

These warnings allowed insufficient time for people to evacuate safely and imposed unrealistic demands on Palestinian civilians, clearly violating international human rights conventions and charters. The ultimate objective seemed to be intimidation, achieved through repeated threats and the brutal bombing of homes and their surroundings.

As these warnings fell upon the residents, it felt like an ominous axe hanging over their heads. Their faces reflected profound shock, and their collective frustration and despair were palpable. Many gestured angrily toward the sky, unable to articulate the turmoil within.

Each person carried unspoken words and a sense of helplessness. I tried to avoid mirrors, fearing that defeat would manifest in my expressions.

A heavy silence prevailed, as people were bewildered by the unfolding events, as if the wheel of history had suddenly reversed, echoing the dark days of the Palestinian Nakba in 1948.

A heavy silence prevailed, as people were bewildered by the unfolding events, as if the wheel of history had suddenly reversed, echoing the dark days of the Palestinian Nakba in 1948.

In the past week, I had hesitated to leave my home. However, the relentless aerial and artillery bombardment in my vicinity gave me no choice but to leave. This time is much different than previous Israeli bombing campaigns, in terms of its sheer force, nature, and ferocity; it has marked the beginning of a harrowing new chapter for Palestinians in Gaza.

AFP — A plume of smoke rises in the sky of Gaza City during an Israeli airstrike on October 9, 2023.

Perpetual displacement

The perpetual feeling of displacement weighed heavily on me and the residents of my area, as well as those in Gaza City and the neighbouring towns. We left our homes with heavy hearts, each step laden with the memories we held dear. It felt as though the fear of not returning and the dread of reliving the Palestinian diaspora were pulling us back.

At first, we thought it was just another time we get another round of pressure from an occupation with no mercy towards the vulnerable population here. But this time, there was no ambiguity.

The occupation's missiles, rockets, and fighter jet raids made it abundantly clear that their intentions were both deliberate and resolute.

The perpetual feeling of displacement weighed heavily on us. We left our homes with heavy hearts, each step laden with the memories we held dear. It felt as though the fear of not returning was pulling us back.

A deafening and agonising roar shook the entire city, prompting Gazan families to gather.

Inside homes, voices rose, and opinions clashed. Many men insisted, "We refuse to leave; let us stay and face whatever fate may come."

On the other side of the debate, women expressed their anguish and terror as they looked at their children, saying, "But staying here means we might die."

But the cries and racing heartbeats of frightened children with dried blood and sheer terror on their faces transcended all debate.

Reuters — Children react as they attend the funeral of Gaza militants who were killed by Israeli forces, on the day Hamas launched a surprise attack on Israel, in the northern Gaza Strip on October 7, 2023.

The situation was fraught with complexity.

There was the fear of displacement, the haunting memories of the 1948 Nakba, and the grim spectre of being confined to camps along the Egyptian border.

On the other hand, there was the option of staying, defying Israeli threats and confronting an imminent danger greater than ever before.

As hours passed, news of warnings spread like wildfire, and suddenly, the streets of Gaza began to stir with activity as people started to leave their homes.

As I travelled along the road, I couldn't help but observe the scene unfolding around me — a procession of vehicles, cars, and small trucks packed with families, their belongings strapped to the vehicle roofs with belts.

Mattresses, pillows, and blankets were precariously secured. The modes of transportation varied, from small tuk-tuks to larger trucks carrying multiple families. Migration had once again become a grim reality in Gaza.

AFP — Palestinian families with their belongings flee following the Israeli army's warning to leave their homes and move south before an expected ground offensive, in Gaza City on October 13, 2023.

Leaving meant facing the grim spectre of being confined to camps along the Egyptian border. Staying meant confronting an imminent danger greater than ever before. But the cries and racing heartbeats of frightened children with dried blood and sheer terror on their faces transcended all debate.

Ghostly faces etched with fear and anxiety

The faces of the displaced individuals weighed heavily upon me —an almost unbearable burden. I gazed at the furrowed brows of the men, many of whom found solace in smoking, exhaling their migration-induced sighs along with the smoke into the unknown.

The women's faces were etched with anxiety, fear, and a ghostly pallor, while the children's expressions were marked by an unbroken thread of terror — terror of death, and the terror of homelessness.

The overwhelming majority of people appeared to be in a state of shock.

They all gazed towards an uncertain horizon. A profound silence engulfed the buses that were once filled with chatter. Even those accustomed to speaking in all circumstances had lost the ability to find words amidst the profound disarray.

In the past, I used to engage in heated debates with my father about the intricate details of the 1948 Nakba. I would often blame our forefathers, questioning why they had abandoned their homes and seemingly allowed the enemy to achieve its objectives.

I would assert that, had I been in their shoes, I would have stayed and resisted. However, life has a way of repeating the same painful cycle, and here I find myself, with my family, caught in the same whirlwind.

Now, I understand why our forefathers made the agonising decision to emigrate, why they left their homes behind and complied with the occupier's demands.

The circumstances were unimaginably challenging for them, and now for us, the present generation, than any mind can fathom. Just as they were entangled by conflicting opinions and the grip of fear in 1948, we, in 2023, find ourselves ensnared in a similar trap.

I now understand why my grandfather made his choices, justifying his departure from his home. The situation was so dire that it forced people to make the heart-wrenching decision to leave.

It was a stark and bitter realisation that confronting an army armed with the most advanced machines and weapons was an exercise in recklessness that could only lead to death.

I often blamed our forefathers in the past, questioning why they had abandoned their homes, but now I understand why. It was a stark realisation that confronting an army with the most advanced weapons was an exercise in recklessness that could only lead to death.

The haunting memories of the Ras Naqoura massacre in Haifa during the 1948 Palestinian Nakba, when Israeli soldiers dug a massive pit in the village and buried its inhabitants alive without a shred of mercy, haunted my thoughts.

Thus, like hundreds of thousands before me, I left our homeland, departing from deep within Gaza and heading south. I wonder, will my grandson forgive me in the future?

During our journey south, the sluggish traffic flow posed the greatest obstacle to reaching a place of safety. My anxiety grew as I contemplated the possibility that the Israeli army might exploit these gatherings as an opportunity for a harsh strike, randomly bombing the congested columns of cars.

Israeli warplanes had a notorious history of targeting civilian gatherings.

With haunting memories of the 1948 Ras Naqoura massacre in my head, I left our homeland and headed south. I wonder, will my grandson forgive me in the future?

Upon arriving at my new place of residence, the reality of the situation set in. Of course, the internet had been cut off, as the occupation had destroyed telecommunication towers in Gaza, rendering the internet a precious commodity.

And then, the very thing I had dreaded transpired: the occupation bombed a truck carrying many people, part of the slow-moving, crowded convoy from Gaza to the south.

Dozens of Palestinians were murdered in cold blood, and hundreds were wounded. The truth became apparent that this occupation does not distinguish between individuals. There is no respite or reward for those who carry out its orders.

In the eyes of the occupier, every Palestinian bears a death sentence, signed by them; the only difference lies in the timing.

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