Gaza’s Voices: Two Years of War Through the Eyes of Those Who Lived It

Hundreds of Stories, One Collective Tragedy: Bearing Witness to Gaza’s Ongoing Crisis

In the two years since the Israel-Hamas conflict erupted, we’ve spoken with more than 700 Palestinians in Gaza, documenting their experiences through a devastating war that has reshaped their lives in unimaginable ways. Their stories have stayed with us, prompting questions that haunt our reporting team: Did they find their missing relatives? Are their homes still standing? Were they forced to flee again? Are they even still alive?

To answer these questions, we embarked on a mission to reconnect with those whose testimonies had moved us. Of the nearly 100 people we successfully reached, the unanimous response was heartbreaking – everyone had lost something or someone: family members, friends, homes, and most devastatingly, hope itself. Their collective experiences paint a comprehensive portrait of a society on the brink of collapse, offering crucial insights into the human cost of this protracted conflict.

“No single experience can fully contain the agony of Gaza, the near-obliteration of a society and a place,” notes our reporting team. Yet through these individual accounts, we’ve witnessed how war has systematically crushed those caught in its path. From the raw wounds of grief to the fear of the next airstrike, from multiple displacements to the daily struggle for basic necessities, these stories collectively reveal the devastating humanitarian toll on Gaza’s civilian population.

Displacement and Loss: Families Torn Apart by Endless Evacuation Orders

“If, God forbid, an evacuation happens to my family, it would be the 10th time so far since the start of this war,” Nour Barda told us, reflecting a reality shared by nearly everyone we interviewed. Multiple displacements have become the norm, with some families forced to relocate as many as ten times within Gaza’s 141 square miles.

The story of Samar al-Jaja and her nephews Mohammed, Mahmoud, Ahmed, and Abdullah Akeila exemplifies the profound grief that follows such displacement. Ten months after an airstrike killed the boys’ parents and baby sister, the family held out hope of seeing them again when they could return to Gaza City. But when they finally reached home earlier this year, they found only the parents’ bedroom standing.

“The kids said sadly, ‘We wish we were buried with them,'” Ms. al-Jaja, 32, told us recently. What compounds their grief is the inability to properly mourn. Traditional mourning rituals have become impossible – the sweets typically distributed on the anniversary of a death were unaffordable due to wartime prices, and they couldn’t even pray at their parents’ graves because they don’t know where they are buried.

“Even that closure has been taken from us,” she said.

Days after speaking with us from a partially destroyed building in Gaza City, Israeli forces launched another operation in the area. The family paid nearly $4,000 to a truck driver to transport half their belongings – “pay or risk death,” he told them. After a 14-hour journey, they ended up back at the same charity camp they had lived in previously, but this time without even a tent for shelter.

Reunification and Renewed Tragedy: Finding Family Only to Face New Horrors

Hammam Malaka and his wife Najia’s story highlights the cruel irony of hope in wartime. When we first wrote about them last October, they had been separated for almost the entire war after Israeli troops cut off northern Gaza from the south. He was trapped in the south with two of their children, while she remained in the north with their three other children.

Mr. Malaka described their emotional January reunion during a brief ceasefire: “I switched on the flashlight of my old Nokia phone and began shouting into the dark — ‘Ashraf! Mohammed!’ — hoping she could hear me and find me more easily. I ran and hugged her and our children with everything in me.”

But their reunion was painfully incomplete. Their 3-year-old daughter Seela had been killed while they were apart. After briefly returning home to Gaza City, the family was forced to flee south again when Israel broke the ceasefire in March. Since then, their days have been consumed by what Mr. Malaka describes as “endless waves crashing over us” – the perpetual struggle against hunger and danger.

Without work, he takes daily risks to feed his family, grabbing supplies from passing aid trucks or standing in line at distribution points – activities that aid officials say have cost hundreds of Palestinian lives as people desperately search for food.

Hunger as a Weapon: The Fight for Basic Survival

“I lost 20 kilograms during the time of famine,” Naseem Hassan told us, his experience reflecting a widespread crisis. “There were times when I just collapsed and could not carry injured people and run for 100 meters to reach the ambulance.”

Food insecurity has reached catastrophic levels throughout Gaza, with interviewees consistently reporting severe weight loss, malnutrition, and days without adequate food despite desperate efforts to find it. The psychological toll of hunger weighs heavily on parents.

“As a mother, all I think about is how to save one meal for tomorrow, how to bring water without quarrels in the long lines,” explained Yasmin al-Attar, capturing the daily anxiety shared by countless Gazan parents.

Aaed Abu Karsh, who once managed a shawarma restaurant in Deir al Balah, now spends his days scrounging for food, clean water, and cash to pay the astronomical prices at markets. Many days, all he can provide his family is bread with cheese and thyme.

“Daily life is another kind of war,” he said. “This is what life has been reduced to: moving from one danger to another, trying to feed my children, trying simply to survive.”

The Psychological Toll: Living Under Constant Bombardment

Beyond the physical destruction and deprivation, our interviews revealed the profound psychological damage inflicted by two years of war. The constant fear of bombardment, the trauma of witnessing violence, and the uncertainty about the future have created a mental health emergency.

“Even animals, if they were subjected to what we’ve lived through, couldn’t become accustomed to it. We are living through a catastrophe,” said Fatma Edaama, articulating the psychological breaking point many have reached.

Parents described children traumatized by the sounds of war. “My daughter Batoul wakes up screaming day and night from the bombings or the sound of warplanes, suffering from severe terror,” Safaa Zyadah told us, highlighting the generational trauma being inflicted.

The psychological strain has driven some to contemplate death as a release from suffering. “I wish for a missile at any moment. It would strike us all together, so that it would be better than this life,” said Ahmed al-Nems, expressing a sentiment echoed by many who see no end to their suffering.

Some stories ended tragically during our reporting. Mohamed Kilani, a lawyer we interviewed in October 2024, told us he was barely able to feed his twin 2-year-old daughters. “We have been given one option only: that is to die,” he said at the time. Later, we learned from social media posts that he had disappeared while searching for food. Family members reported seeing photos of stray dogs eating corpses in northern Gaza, believing they recognized his body among them.

Exile and Guilt: The Complex Reality of Escape

For a fortunate few, escape from Gaza became possible – through evacuation for medical treatment, foreign passports, or paying their way out. Yet even physical safety brings its own psychological burden.

Niveen Foad was evacuated to Italy in February 2024 while caring for her 6-year-old cousin Sarah Yusuf, who was badly injured in an airstrike. Since our first conversation, two more of her children have joined her in Bologna, and Sarah is recovering after intensive medical treatment.

While learning Italian and training to become an assistant chef, Ms. Foad is haunted by thoughts of those left behind. “I feel like I betrayed my own country by leaving, but sometimes I also think that I deserve a chance in life,” she said. “It’s a confusing and constant fight with myself.”

Simple everyday experiences trigger overwhelming guilt. “My tears poured down, thinking I can afford to buy food and eat, but they can barely get anything,” she said after purchasing fish, thinking of her father in Gaza who loves it.

Though currently building a life in Italy, she sees it as temporary. “Whatever happens, I’ll end up in Gaza,” she insisted. “Staying in Italy is just a temporary solution.”

This sentiment of displacement and survivor’s guilt was echoed by others who escaped. “I try to stay away from people and sit alone all the time because I am constantly thinking about my mother, my sister, and my two brothers who are still in Gaza,” said Ruba Abu Jibba, describing the isolation that comes with safety.

A Future Denied: The Generation That Lost Everything

Perhaps most heartbreaking is the loss of future prospects for Gaza’s population, especially its youth. Education has been severely disrupted, career paths destroyed, and dreams shattered.

Maher Ghanem, whose wife died from cancer after being prevented from leaving Gaza for treatment, has remarried to help care for his seven children. In September, he attended a nominal middle school graduation ceremony for one of his daughters, though he acknowledged the absurdity of the situation – his children have had almost no schooling for two years.

His youngest son, who was in first grade when the war began, now talks about trying to earn money by ferrying passengers on a donkey cart. “There isn’t a school for him to attend, anyway,” Mr. Ghanem said.

The erosion of hope pervades all generations. “The future has gone, the shop has gone, my sons’ and daughters’ future has gone, the feeling of happiness has gone,” said Mohammed El-Sabti, expressing a sentiment shared by many adults.

Yet amid this despair, some young people still cling to fragments of hope. “I dream of this war ending so I can finally sit for my high school exams — exams I’ve been preparing for over two years,” said Shahd Jweifel. Another youth, Mohamed Abu Rteinah, told us: “I don’t want to die. I still want to grow up, become an architect, rebuild Gaza, become a football player in Palestine’s national team, and win the World Cup.”

As negotiations between Israel and Hamas resumed in Cairo this week regarding a potential exchange of Israeli hostages for Palestinians in Israeli prisons, the future remains uncertain for Gaza’s population. Even if a ceasefire is achieved, many we interviewed see no future for themselves in Gaza. “We don’t have a present or a future,” said Ehab Fasfous. “The only hope we’re living with is to be able to leave. That is the only way we will give our kids a normal life.”

These testimonies, collected over two years of conflict, offer a crucial window into the human experience of war in Gaza. They remind us that behind the statistics and geopolitical analyses are real people struggling to survive, to protect their loved ones, and to preserve some sense of dignity amid unimaginable hardship. Their stories demand to be heard.