Will life return in Gaza in the new year? News about the Israel-Palestine conflict

Gaza City—In the last two years, we have stopped counting the seasons, days, and passing time.

Days are no longer days; life as we knew it before the outbreak of Israel’s genocidal war is gone.

Instead, the days dissolve as we taste every shade of suffering and drink every bitter cup, except the one that will give us our life back.

We observe the world marking the end of 2025, commemorating accomplishments, and embracing a fresh start to usher in the new year.

But the new year in Gaza means we are entering the third year of the war and its consequences.

It’s as if Gaza has had its own calendar since the genocide began.

with tears and disbelief

Those who survived this year are physically intact, but their souls are gone, as seen in the faces of any displaced person.

We were hopeful at the beginning of 2025 when we returned with our tears and disbelief to northern Gaza.

to our destroyed homes, where we lived our entire lives.

In that ceasefire in January 2025, we thought the war was over and we could start afresh.

But we were wrong. Just six weeks later, as people were trying to absorb life in northern Gaza after the war, it became even more brutal.

In mid-March, we woke up to the sound of bombs – a sound that had never left us. This time, Israel added the weapon of starvation.

blocking the entry of everything, even aid.

And so it went on: war, bombing, blood, hunger, and a constant race to secure one meal at a time.

The season of abundance passed, the days of Eid and feast days, while the tables were empty. No holiday cookies, no coffee, no chocolate. Nothing.

People made do by offering water and some, hiding their poverty, stopped welcoming visitors.

On this year’s Eid, supermarket shelves remained empty for months.

A vendor decorated a table with thin fingers filled with sweets made at home by his wife from sugar, sesame seeds, and flour.

A small piece sold for 10 shekels (about $3).

I was not surprised. Sugar and flour were priceless, sold by the gram like gold.

That day, I wandered from place to place with my children trying to locate any sign of celebration.

I was surprised at my own feelings because I harboured a subconscious hope that celebrating Eid might change things and that perhaps food would help improve the situation.

But I said to myself, ‘What will be the significance of Eid in Gaza?’

Nothing changes. It’s just another day, same reality. A day in Gaza means bombs in the sky and hunger and joylessness on the ground.

I decided not to go to meet my family in the north for Eid and came back home.

This was not only because I stood on the side of the road for more than an hour and a half looking for a car or even an animal-drawn cart to take us north,

but also because I felt that happiness was dead, no matter how hard I tried. So I returned, broken, with my children following me.

I had enough money to buy him new clothes, but all my money couldn’t even buy him a cookie.

I collapsed on a sofa at home and thought about how much anger has been heaped upon us in Gaza, while the rest of the planet continues to celebrate Eid, while famine consumes us.

days are passing by

As days passed, they finished us off.

Day by day, my desire to work, to write, and to listen to people’s stories began to fade away.

What’s the point of hearing stories of the hungry when the world has become accustomed to our exposed bones?

What’s the point of covering a never-ending genocide?

I had no energy left. I’ll think of a story, but my brain will tell me to conserve what energy I have left.

My days were spent counting how much flour, rice and sugar we had left. I cooked dal for my children on an open, smoking fire.

I worried about the last of the yeast, about how to find more firewood, craved a cup of coffee like it was a dream, and scrolled through photos of the once abundant tables.

We were seeing people dying for a bag of flour or a food parcel, and crowds gathering at night to get to the aid distribution centres.

Throughout the war I never stopped contemplating leaving Gaza, but as the thoughts became more intense, my motivation changed.

I dreamed of taking my kids to a place where they could eat whatever they wanted.

I want to entitle all this humiliation and suffering in my memory: “So that we do not forget.”

How could I forget this when even now, whenever I pass by a shop full of fruits and vegetables, I gasp and stare, my heart pounding with prayers that this blessing will not disappear again?

How could I forget when I still remember my shock and emotion at the end of September when I went to a supermarket and saw the shelves of food? I entered a frenzy of shopping.

I had a small amount of everything: canned goods, chocolate, chips, cream cheese, flour, and beans. I felt like I was walking away with a treasure, even at double the price.

Since then, anxiety, fear, and exhaustion overwhelm me every time I go to a grocery store. I buy only what I need and what I don’t need.

Food is more available, yet my mind tells me that this abundance will not last. We are accustomed to scarcity, empty shelves and cut supply lines.

It is a deep trauma, a constant feeling that food will disappear. I can’t say I hate food, but I hate the terror and fear surrounding it.

That feeling comes back with every door slam, every carpet movement, every sound of a passing truck or the sound of gunfire. All this puts us in a state of emergency, waiting for the missile to sound.

‘Achievements’

The other night, just before the end of the year, I was joking with my father and my siblings, who have been sheltering with us since September, when Israel forced people out of the north.

We wanted to emulate the social media “achievements” trend, where friends and family gather around a cake, and each person lights a candle and details an accomplishment for the year.

We started – without cake – under dim LED lights, as the power had been cut for months.

When it was my turn, I said that my biggest achievement this year was maintaining my mental and psychological abilities.

I had not even finished my sentence when everyone started laughing loudly.

“Who told you that you still have mental and psychological abilities?” My sister’s laughter choked her.

I fell silent, stunned by his reaction, then laughed with him when I realised the weight of what I had said.

What is this, idiot? What is the mind, and what is the conscience? May God forgive you, Maram.

After everything you mentioned above, and everything you didn’t mention, and everything you’ll never mention, is there still room to talk about mental and emotional stability?

It was the most honest ending this year.

It was an ending where I fully realised the limits of my strength and had reached the end of it, yet somehow I managed to move forward.

This is neither defiance nor strength. Surviving in this state for long consumes the soul and mind.

Day by day, our humanity diminishes until we are no longer fit for life, no matter how many years pass.