Gaza’s new year begins with a struggle for survival and dignity | Israel-Palestine conflict

Deir el-Balah and Nuseirat, Gaza Strip – In her tent made of fabric sheets with a roof covered in white plastic tarp, Sanaa Issa tries to steal a quiet moment with her daughters.

Sanaa spoke to Al Jazeera as the new year approached, and with a ceasefire officially in place in Gaza. But, lying on a wet blanket in a tent with rain pouring down, Sanaa doesn’t have a huge amount to be positive about.

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“We didn’t know whether to blame the war, the cold, or the hunger. We’re moving from one crisis to another,” Sanaa told Al Jazeera, describing a harsh year she, and other displaced Palestinians like her, have faced in the Gaza Strip.

Amid worsening humanitarian conditions, the once-ambitious hopes of Palestinians in Gaza, dreams of a better future, prosperity, and reconstruction, are gone. In their place are basic human needs: securing flour, food and water, obtaining tents to shield them from the cold, accessing medical care, and simply surviving bombardments.

For Palestinians like Sanaa, hope for the new year has been reduced to a daily struggle for survival.

Sanaa is a 41-year-old mother of seven, who has been solely responsible for raising her children after her husband was killed in an Israeli strike in November 2024, at the end of the first year of Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza.

“Responsibility for the children, displacement, securing food and drink, making tough decisions here and there. Everything was required of me at once,” Sanaa, who fled with her family from al-Bureij to Deir el-Balah, both in central Gaza, said.

Sanaa’s biggest challenge in 2025 was securing “a loaf of bread” and getting her hands on even a kilogram of flour every day for her family.

“During the famine, I slept and woke up with one wish: to get enough bread for the day. I felt I was dying while my children were starving before me, and I could do nothing,” she said bitterly.

The search for flour eventually saw Sanaa decide to go to the US-backed GHF aid distribution points that opened at the end of May across Gaza.

“At first, I was scared and hesitant, but the hunger we live through can force you to do things you never imagined,” Sanaa said, describing her weekly visits to the aid points.

Visiting the sites, which the US and Israel supported as alternatives to long-established aid organisations, was inherently dangerous. More than 2,000 Palestinians were killed in and around GHF sites, according to the United Nations, before the GHF officially ended its mission in late November.

But going to the sites wasn’t just a risk to Sanaa’s life, it was a path that “took away her dignity”, leaving lasting scars.

On one occasion, Sanaa was hit by shrapnel in her arm while waiting for aid at the Netzarim distribution point in central Gaza, and her 17-year-old daughter was injured in the chest at the Morag point east of Rafah.

But her injuries didn’t stop her from trying again, although she began to go alone, leaving her children behind in relative safety.

Desperation

The war in Gaza led to severe interruptions in food and humanitarian aid, the last of which began in late March 2025, eventually leading to the declaration of a famine. It continued until October 2025, gradually easing after the ceasefire announcement.

During this period, the United Nations officially declared a state of famine, confirming that parts of Gaza had entered catastrophic hunger stages, with acute shortages in food, water, and medicine, and high rates of malnutrition among children and pregnant women.

Thousands of residents had to search for food using dangerous methods, including by waiting for long hours at the GHF sites.

“Hunger lasted a long time; it wasn’t a day or two, so I had to find a solution,” Sanaa said. “Each time, people crowded in their hundreds of thousands. Some would spend the night there, hundreds of thousands of displaced people – men, women, children, old and young.”

“The scenes were utterly humiliating. Bombing and heavy gunfire on everyone, not to mention the pushing and fighting among people over aid.”

The crowds meant that Sanaa often returned to her tent empty-handed, but the rare times she brought back a few kilos of flour felt like “a festival”, she recalled.

“One time, I got five kilos [11 pounds] of flour. I cried with joy returning to my children, who hadn’t tasted bread for days,” she added.

Sanaa divided the five kilos over two weeks, sometimes mixing it with ground lentils or pasta dough. “We wanted to recite a spell over the flour so it would multiply,” she said with dark humour.

A heavy silence followed as Sanaa adjusted the plastic tarp over her tent against the strong wind, then said:

“We witnessed humiliation beyond measure? All this for what? For a loaf of bread!” she added with tearful eyes. “If we were animals, perhaps they would have felt more pity for us.”

Despite the hardships she has endured and continues to face, Sanaa has not lost hope or her prayers for Gaza’s future.

“Two years are enough. Each year has been harder than the previous one, and we are still in this spiral,” she added. “We want proper tents to shelter us in winter, a gas cylinder to cook instead of burning wood, we want life and reconstruction.”

“Our basic rights have become distant wishes at year’s end.”

The only survivor

Sanaa’s husband was one of the more than 71,250 Palestinians killed by Israel during the war.

Twenty-year-old Batoul Abu Shawish can count her father, mother, two brothers and two sisters – her whole immediate family – among that number.

Batoul comes into the new year wishing for only one thing: to be with her family.

Her heartbreaking loss came just a month before the end of the year, on November 22.

Despite the ceasefire, an Israeli bomb struck the home her family had fled to in central Gaza’s Nuseirat refugee camp.

“I was sitting with my two sisters. My brothers were in their room, my father had just returned from outside, and my mother was preparing food in the kitchen,” she recalled, eyes vacant, describing the day.

“In an instant, everything turned to darkness and thick dust. I didn’t realise what was happening around me, not even that it was bombing, due to the shock,” Batoul added, as she stood next to the ruins of her destroyed home.

She was trapped under the debris of the destroyed home for about an hour, unable to move, calling for help from anyone nearby.

“I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wished I were dead, unaware, trying to escape the thought of what had happened to my family,” Batoul said.

“I called for them one by one, and there was no sound. My mother, father, siblings, no one.”

After being rescued, she was found to have severe injuries to her hand and was immediately transferred to hospital.

“I was placed on a stretcher above extracted bodies, covered in sheets. I panicked and asked my uncle who was with me: ‘Who are these people?’ He said they were from the house next to ours,” she recalled.

As soon as Batoul arrived at the hospital, she was rushed into emergency surgery on her hand before she could learn about what had happened to her family.

“I kept asking everyone, ‘Where is my mom? Where is my dad?’ They told me they were fine, just injured in other departments.”

“I didn’t believe them,” Batoul added, “but I was also afraid to call them liars.”

The following day, her uncles broke the news to Batoul that she had lost her mother and siblings. Her father, they told her, was still in critical condition in the intensive care unit.

“They gathered around me, and they were all crying. I understood on my own,” she said.

“I broke down, crying in disbelief, then said goodbye to them one by one before the funeral.”

Batoul’s father later succumbed to his injuries three days after the incident, leaving her alone to face her grief.

“I used to go to the ICU every day and whisper in my father’s ear, asking him to wake up again, for me and for himself, but he was completely unconscious,” Batoul said as she scrolled through photos of her father on her mobile phone.

“When he died, it felt as if the world had gone completely dark before my eyes.”

‘Where is the ceasefire?’

Israel said that it conducted the strikes in Nuseirat in response to an alleged gunman crossing into Israel-held territory in Gaza, although it is unclear why civilian homes in Nuseirat were therefore targeted.

According to Gaza’s Government Media Office and the Ministry of Health, around 2,613 Palestinian families were completely wiped out during the war on the Gaza Strip up until the announcement of the ceasefire in October 2025.

Those families had all of their members killed, and their names erased from the civil registry.

The same figures indicate that approximately 5,943 families were left with only a single surviving member after the rest were killed, an agonising reflection of the scale of social and human loss caused by the war.

These figures may change as documentation continues and bodies are recovered from beneath the rubble.

For Batoul, her family was anything but ordinary; they were known for their deep bond and love for one another.

“My father was deeply attached to my mother and never hid his love for her in front of anyone, and that reflected on all of us.”

“My mother was my closest friend, and my siblings loved each other beyond words. Our home was full of pleasant surprises and warmth,” she added.

“Even during the war, we used to sit together, hold family gatherings, and help one another endure so much of what we were going through.”

The understandable grief that has overtaken Batoul leaves no room for wishes for a new year or talk of a near future, at least for now.

One question, however, weighs heavily on her: why was her peaceful family targeted, especially during a ceasefire?

“Where is the ceasefire they talk about? It’s just a lie,” she said.

“My family and I survived bombardment, two years of war. An apartment next to our home in eastern Nuseirat was hit, and we fled together to here. We lived through hunger, food shortages, and fear together. Then we thought we had survived, that the war was over.”

“But sadly, they’re gone, and they left me alone.”

Batoul holds onto one wish from the depths of her heart: to join her family as soon as possible.

At the same time, she carries an inner resignation that perhaps it is her fate to live this way, like so many others in Gaza who have lost their families.

“If life is written for me, I will try to fulfil my mother’s dream that I be outstanding in my field and generous to others,” said Batoul, a second-year university student studying multimedia, who is currently living with her uncle and his family.

“Life without family,” she said, “is living with an amputated heart, in darkness for the rest of your life, and there are so many like that now in Gaza.”