He Fled His Gaza Home. Now He Feeds His Fellow Displaced.

Because of the complex sociopolitical realities present in wartime Gaza, we are using protective pseudonyms for “Ayman” and other Gazans.

Read Christianity Today’s Tuesday piece on a Gaza Christian.

The toll of war is particularly evident in Jabalia, a city in northern Gaza under double siege: The east-west Netzarim Corridor of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) cuts Jabalia off from the south, and a military operation that began in October cuts it off from Gaza City. 

As the IDF pursues Hamas operatives in Jabalia, explosions blow up entire residential blocks. A Jabalia resident, Ayman, has small children who sleep fitfully and run to him, terrified and shaken, when bombs fall. The smell of gunpowder causes their eyes to swell and makes breathing difficult. Ayman reported that people shot in the street bleed to death because others are afraid to venture out to help. Dogs gnaw on the corpses left behind.

Ayman’s family could move south, as the IDF commanded at the beginning of their operation—and Ayman said they will if soldiers get close to their apartment. Until then, he believes that staying in their home—already damaged by shelling—is the safest alternative. At the end of November, the Hamas-run Gazan health ministry claimed that 1,410 families in Gaza have been wiped from the Palestinian civil registry. They died in their homes and in shelters in designated “safe zones.” Israeli media note that the ministry does not distinguish between civilians and fighters. 

In general, southern Gaza is quieter, though Palestinians there also face conditions that Husam, a Palestinian living in Khan Younis, describes as famine. Right before speaking with Christianity Today, he organized a meal distribution for an aid organization he has worked for this year. People crammed and jostled around enormous pots to receive portions of lentils prepared over wood fires. All around Gaza, people prepare meals this way, Husam said, using wood salvaged from smashed furniture and uprooted trees.

The number of aid deliveries entering Gaza plummeted in October, according to data published by Israel’s Coordination of Government Activities in the Territories. While Israel blames international aid agencies for not delivering resources lined up at the border crossings, the agencies said armed gangs and ruined roads make deliveries near-impossible.

Husam and his family fled Khan Younis in January. They first spent four days in a school near their home amid sounds of tank shells, quadcopters, and machine guns. Next, they fled about seven miles south to Rafah, which was then a designated humanitarian safe zone, where they lived on the sandy Egyptian border in a plastic tent. In the winter, rainwater soaked their mattresses, and in the heat, Husam felt as if they were living in a greenhouse. 

In Rafah, Husam began to partner with several organizations to distribute aid to fellow displaced Palestinians. Once, he was able to provide his neighbors with a chicken. Through the tent walls, he could hear them enjoying the first meat they’d eaten in a long time.  

When he distributes aid, Husam said, “I’m at the peak of happiness. I forget the suffering of war, the scarcity of food and absence of security, and danger in every place. I get tears of joy helping people—I live like I’m on a mission for the Lord.” 

In May, when the IDF began an offensive in Rafah, Husam’s family returned to Khan Younis, where they now live in a relative’s home. His days are mostly occupied with following the news and trying to find food for his family, searching social media groups to learn where food distributions will happen. His children, who have not been in school since the war began, stand in lines to get meals and clean drinking water and to power the family’s phones at a charging station. A 55-pound bag of flour, which used to cost $9.75, now runs more than $275. 

After living under Hamas’s governance for 17 years, Husam’s opinions about the group are cool and distrustful. He said their policies don’t benefit the average Gazan, just those in their party. Under current conditions, he sees them take more than their fair share when aid is distributed. They use civilians as human shields. He even sees a correlation between concentrations of Hamas fighters and the locations of food distributions—a pairing that sometimes leads to IDF attacks on distribution sites. 

Some accuse Israel of carrying out genocide—a charge Israel considers spurious considering the magnitude and intentionality of the Holocaust. Israel maintains that Hamas started the war and has used hospitals, schools, and apartments to shield its military bases, contributing to civilian casualties. Husam sees validity in both of these views: “If the question is whether genocide is being carried out, the answer is yes—but it is in partnership with Hamas.”

Still, Husam said his spirits run high, and he believes God is with him. Sometimes, he sits near his destroyed home and reflects. “When you see death with your own eyes and survive it, everything becomes easy after that,” he said. “One starts to say, ‘Thank God, we came out alive.’”

Meanwhile, in Gaza City, Fadi said he does not feel that he’s leading his own life. He said God gives him and Gaza’s other believers patience to endure. He is convinced that once a ceasefire is made, every Gazan will have mental illness, and a new kind of war will begin: one against unemployment, inflation, food scarcity, and severe housing shortages.  

“There is nothing in our hands to do but pray, honestly, and live with the situation we’re in.”

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