To hope is to fight and to fight is to hope.
Some live in tents, some in a building without heating. The less fortunate find a semi-safe wall along the road, build a wooden structure and place sheets on top as walls. Everyone is without running water, without a bathroom, without food, without enough warm clothes, without the necessary medicines. There are small children, some very small, newborns, pregnant women, elderly people, sick people, men and women of all ages.
No, the situation has not changed compared to this summer, if possible it got worse.
Because, it is true, in August it is absurdly hot in a tent, but in January in a tent made of sheets and with the freezing wind traveling at 20 km/h accompanied by heavy rain, you just can’t stay and you risk being swept away.
Was the entire world shocked by the news of the 4 newborns who died of hypothermia in tents between Christmas and Boxing Day?
Did anyone in the news industry feel bad after hearing about the killing of 5 journalists, burned alive in a van that clearly had the word PRESS written on it?
Did any Italian journalist publicly shout out their outrage? And did the outcry, if there ever was one, reached Gaza?
No, right? None of this happened.
Finally, in early January, timid news began to arrive about the possibility that the agreements, this time, could come to fruition. But you know, Israel has taught us and does so every day, to never believe them. We here hope, they tell me from over there: “until I can return to the north, to return to my home, even if it were to be a pile of rubble, I will not feel at peace, only then will I be able to rest”.
It is Wednesday, January 15, 2025 on YouTube, Al-Jazeera TV marks the time. It’s official, Hamas and Israel have reached an agreement for a ceasefire and the release of dozens of Israeli hostages in exchange for Palestinian hostages.
The news is starting to circulate in the Italian media, which persists in calling those held by Israel prisoners, but they are effectively hostages.
Torture, humiliation, mistreatment of every kind, such as having to remain blindfolded, handcuffed, and on their knees for 45 days. Electric shocks and dogs. Charges that are never clear.
In most cases, they are not allowed to speak with a lawyer, they are not put on trial. They are alone. They are taken, kidnapped, and thrown into the black hole of the final solution machine devised by Israel.
The ceasefire will come into effect on Sunday, January 19. There is no shortage of celebrations, premature, in my opinion, but understandable. They need to let off steam, they want to laugh, to dance, to cry with joy. Three days separate hell from its end, at least that’s what we hope. The first messages begin to arrive after the declaration and they are all the same: “the next few days will be the worst, the most violent”. Israel never disappoints on this, if you think you’ve seen it all, then it manages to push the limit of evil a little further.
Unfortunately, only the numbers, accompanied by photographs, give a clear picture of the situation experienced by the population of Gaza. The data are provided by Romana Rubeo, managing editor for The Palestine Chronicle.
To this day, 61,709 thousand confirmed deaths, 47,487 bodies recovered, 14,222 bodies under the rubble.
Among the victims, 17,881 are children, including 214 newborns. 12,316 are women. 38,000 are orphans, 17,000 of whom have lost both parents. 2,092 families have been wiped out, erased from the registry office. 4,889 families currently have only one living member.
Israel has killed 1,155 medical workers, 205 journalists, 194 civil defense workers, 736 humanitarian workers and 3,500 state employees.
34 hospitals were put out of action by the carpet bombing, 150,000 housing units were damaged.
Our surfers and their families still live scattered in southern Gaza, some in the area of Al-Mawasi Khan Yunis, some in Deir Al-Balah, others have remained in the area of Al-Zawaida.
Like all the rest of Gazans, they live in tents or makeshift shelters and suffer from the lack of basic necessities. They hope to return to the north soon, but they want to wait a few days after the ceasefire.
It’s Sunday, Rawand sends me a voice message. I don’t hear any reconnaissance planes in the background. I take a deep breath. Despite everything, I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a year.
From here on, feelings start to experience a sort of roller coaster.
But if I feel this way, who have never had warplanes overhead trying to take me out, how can they feel this way?
by Valentina Sala
