An Israeli bomb killed my grandfather and destroyed his home where I was sheltering. Now I am homeless and grieving again.
By Eman Murtaja
Journalism and English media student from Gaza.
In Gaza, death seems easier than the endless suffering of displacement. Death ends pain; displacement only makes it worse, opening a wound that never heals.
In Gaza City, people face two bitter choices: stay and risk being killed or imprisoned, or flee southward to an impossible life in a camp. Displacement is not simply a relocation—it is a slow death. It is embarking on a journey not knowing whether there will be shelter, food, or water at the end. It means exhaustion, homelessness, and fear. Even reaching a shelter offers no real safety because death can still follow you there.
