"The besieged Strip echoes with groans of oppression and pain Hunger dwells deep in the bellies of Gazans

They left their homes, carrying nothing but stale bread, a bit of lentils, and scarce oil in a trembling plastic bottle. Women dragged their children—overcome by waves of hunger and tears—while men looked back in agony, as if torn from the very soil that once raised them.

This was not departure—it was a silent fracture of the soul, like ripping your heart out with your own hands and leaving it behind to beat alone.

In makeshift camps, no fire was lit except to warm some water, and the only sounds were mothers’ groans and the growling of empty stomachs. Food had become a wish, bread a dream swaying between memory and deprivation. And with every night the moon passed over Gaza, hope shrank—but resolve never broke. Those who left their homes did not forget; they carried their rage deep within, like the earth holds seeds of wheat.

Tel Aviv… a city emptied of spirit In contrast, Tel Aviv—once loud with music and bathed in light—had become a ghost town, haunted by silence and unease. No cafés, no crowded beaches, no laughing faces. Its people fled under the hail of rockets, running to shelters only to discover the fragility of their false sense of security. There, in the heart of cities built upon the ruins of others, emptiness prevailed, and fear spoke louder than anything else.

Gaza does not bow… it blooms from the ashes Despite everything, Gaza does not break. It is a city made of unquenchable fire, indomitable motherhood, and dignity that knows its path through the dark. Its people walk not just with food in hand, but with hearts full of memory, with a past they carry more than belongings, and dreams no occupation can confiscate. With every step they take, they leave behind a message etched into the walls of time: “We will return—not because we wish to, but because we deserve to.”