We are so afraid.
Saturday was the worst night. Ground troops and fighting came within yards of where we are staying. All of us spent a harrowing night in the corridor, the only protection we could find.
The children screamed for four hours straight.
We are trying to decide whether or not we should spend another night here — but where else would we go?
There is a lot of confusion. Wherever we go will be a nightmare. My wife’s parents have so many people already jammed into their house. They have no generator or water. We do not know what to do.
We are doing the best we can, we are surviving. But I miss home, with all the meaning of the word.
The powerlessness is terrible. The other day Zaina, who is three, became completely distraught because she had forgotten her lollipop at home when she and her parents fled. She was inconsolable when we told her she could not go back to get it. We could not comfort her.
A former colleague was killed last Thursday in his house. His wife — who does not have any other family members in Gaza — is injured and their baby is in intensive care. She is alone.
I never really understood the issues brought about by forced displacement. Now I know. Nothing in life is as valuable as home.