Editor’s Note: Aseel Mousa is a journalist from Gaza City. The views expressed in this commentary are her own. Read more CNN Opinion.
“May we reunite in Gaza City soon,” is a phrase I’ve repeated incessantly since being forced to leave my home in October to seek refuge from Israel’s bombs – only to discover that nowhere is safe within the confines of the Gaza Strip.
This holy month of Ramadan also marks two and a half months that I have been sheltering in the city of Rafah in the southernmost region of the Gaza Strip bordering Egypt, along with around one and a half million other Palestinians.
Now, after being driven from our homes in the north by the Israeli military, we are threatened with a looming invasion that aid groups have warned will be a “bloodbath” and the fear of being expelled out of Gaza entirely.
The humanitarian crisis gripping Rafah, an area barely spanning 25 square miles, is nothing short of apocalyptic.
Displaced people, many of whom have been forced to flee for their lives multiple times, are everywhere. Tents set up to house them fill the sidewalks. Alarmingly, the UN has said that Rafah is now more densely populated than New York City.
We live in a state of perpetual fear and anxiety. In tents, UN schools, and out in the open on the streets, people grapple with severe deprivation. The basic necessities of life are scarce as a result of Israel obstructing the entry of food, water and other humanitarian aid to Gaza for the past five months.
Hunger is a constant companion, with canned goods being the sole sustenance. Lines stretch endlessly as people traverse great distances in pursuit of potable water and to wait to use the toilet.
We came to Rafah because Israel said that it was a “safe” zone, but the Israeli military continues to bomb and kill us here. The Israeli military says it is targeting Hamas but in reality it is targeting all Palestinians in Gaza, which the UN has condemned as “collective punishment.”
For five months I have been trapped in a recurring nightmare, uncertain of its end.
On October 7, my normal routine in Gaza City was abruptly shattered when Israel launched its devastating military assault following Hamas’ attack. I was scheduled for a morning workout at the gym followed by a business meeting. I haven’t set foot in the gym or my office since. Both were severely damaged by Israel’s bombardment.
A week later, my cousin relayed the distressing news that Israel was ordering people to leave their homes and move south. The moments before the evacuation of our home will forever be etched in my memory. Hastily, my family and I grabbed the bag we had prepared beforehand, containing only our passports and other essential documents, and some cash.
We were convinced that our absence would be brief, hence we neglected to pack an abundance of clothing. Inexplicably, I felt compelled to capture a photograph of our house - a snapshot of the life we were leaving behind.
Clutching the key, we left our beloved home of over 23 years and embarked towards Al-Maghazi refugee camp in the center of the Gaza Strip amidst throngs of other displaced people.
Along the journey, my mind wandered to the memories my grandfather had recounted of his own exodus from the village of Aqir in 1948, when about three quarters of all Palestinians were expelled from their homes during Israel’s establishment. Like countless others in that sea of humanity, we traversed towards an uncertain future.
We spent nearly 80 days in Al-Maghazi in a home with around 30 other displaced relatives in appalling conditions. Each night unfolded against a backdrop of terrifying Israeli aerial and artillery bombardment, casting a shadow of uncertainty over our survival.
As elsewhere throughout Gaza, Israel ruthlessly destroyed essential infrastructure in the small camp, including the sole bakery, the mosque, and UNRWA schools.
Tragically, the bombing killed nine members of my family, mostly children, when it struck the home of my cousins. At the end of December, airstrikes forced us to flee once again - this time to Rafah.
The International Court of Justice and a US Federal Court have ruled that Israel’s military campaign in Gaza may amount to genocide, but those of us enduring it didn’t need to be told that.
Over the past five months, Israel’s assault has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians, including more than 13,000 children and 9,000 women. Thousands more are missing under the rubble and presumed dead. More than 70,000 others have been injured.
It has displaced 90% of the population from their homes, most of whom are now sheltering in Rafah with nowhere else to flee to.
From the start, President Joe Biden has backed Israel’s onslaught virtually unconditionally, providing extensive military, financial and diplomatic support. This support has been instrumental in enabling Israel to continue its annihilation of Gaza, making the US complicit in what the UN and rights groups say amount to grave war crimes.
It’s truly mind-boggling how Biden manages to reconcile his actions with his supposed great empathy for others. Are Palestinians not human beings, deserving of the same rights and protections as everyone else?
Like many others, I have begun to lose my faith in international law and the international community. Biden and other western leaders give lip service to human rights while aiding and abetting Israel’s systematic violations of them.
It’s a heartbreaking realization when the very pillars we’ve built our hopes upon seem to crumble before our eyes. So, to whom do we appeal for a ceasefire?
After narrowly escaping death in Gaza City and Al-Maghazi, I’m unsure if I’ll survive in Rafah. If we are to avoid total catastrophe, Biden and the international community must act immediately to prevent a full-scale Israeli invasion of Rafah and to allow desperately needed humanitarian aid to enter.
