Every morning since October 2023, Palestinians in Gaza and those with families there have faced a grim ritual: waking up to a deluge of devastating news, often involving the deaths of friends, neighbors, or even loved ones. According to firsthand accounts published by In These Times, the cycle of violence and tragedy has become so routine that it shapes the rhythm of daily life, both for those inside Gaza and for Palestinians living abroad. The trauma is palpable, and the sense of helplessness is overwhelming.
“I grab my phone and open social media groups I have from Gaza. I read the breaking news from the night before. The news is filled with horror: reports of families being killed in Gaza, tents being targeted, carpet bombardments, sometimes accompanied by graphic images and video,” writes Yousef Aljamal, Gaza Coordinator at the Palestine Activism Program at the American Friends Service Committee, in In These Times. The names of familiar streets, buildings, and even faces in the news serve as constant reminders of what’s at stake.
Since October 7, 2023, Israeli airstrikes and bombardments have been a daily occurrence in Gaza, causing untold civilian casualties. The numbers are staggering. In August 2025 alone, 2,615 Palestinians were killed across the Gaza Strip, with a shocking 1,117 of those deaths occurring while people were lining up for aid, according to the Ministry of Health in Gaza. The situation at aid distribution sites—run by the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, an American organization funded by both Israel and the United States—has become especially dire. These locations are now referred to as “kill zones” by locals, places where Israeli soldiers or contractors use loudspeakers or quadcopters to direct the crowds, only for gunfire to erupt almost daily. “When I learn anyone in my family goes to one, my heart freezes again, until they return,” Aljamal recounts. The fear is ever-present, and for many, the outcome is tragic.
The Israeli military, as reported by In These Times, is planning to establish even more of these distribution sites in southern Gaza, despite the deadly risks. The rationale and strategy behind these sites have become a point of contention in international discussions, with some governments and organizations questioning the methods and intentions behind such operations.
The humanitarian crisis extends far beyond the violence. The cost of basic necessities has soared to unimaginable levels. Diesel gas, for example, was priced at $36 a liter in late July 2025—up from less than $2 before October 7, 2023. The cost of 40 diapers ballooned to nearly $150, compared to $8.61 before the conflict intensified, as detailed by In These Times. These exorbitant prices mean that even those who wish to flee or relocate within Gaza face nearly insurmountable financial hurdles. “The prices for everything needed to move and settle in the central area of Gaza or the western part of Khan Younis and survive—a car, a tent, food—have skyrocketed and fluctuated,” Aljamal explains.
Electricity is another casualty of the ongoing blockade and bombardment. Gaza has been without a steady power supply for 22 months as of October 2025. The region once relied on electricity from Egypt, Israel, and its own Gaza Power Plant, which has been bombed repeatedly by Israeli forces. On October 7, 2023, Israel’s energy minister, Israel Katz, ordered an end to fuel shipments into Gaza, effectively shutting down the power plant. Now, Palestinians depend on solar cells for what little electricity they can muster. In a recent phone call to his brother Ismail, Aljamal describes the darkness and exhaustion that have become part of daily life: “The area around him was dark; there has been no electricity in Gaza for 22 months.”
The psychological toll is immense. The trauma, as Aljamal describes, is “too heavy to explain.” Every family in Gaza, it seems, is waiting in line for their own death. The destruction is so widespread that Gaza is described as “a graveyard without the luxury of graves.” The region’s infrastructure, memories, and hopes are being systematically erased. The sea, once a place of solace and joy, has become a painful reminder of what has been lost.
Personal tragedies, such as the death of Aljamal’s sister and her family in an explosion on August 7, 2025, underscore the human cost of the conflict. The only surviving child, Noor, 14, suffered fractures in her hand from the blast that killed her parents and siblings. A photograph of Noor with her family at the beach, taken before the tragedy, now serves as a haunting relic of a life that no longer exists. “Her life, like the lives of everyone in Gaza, has changed forever,” Aljamal writes.
Internationally, the crisis in Gaza continues to generate heated debate and political maneuvering. On October 1, 2025, the Spanish Senate became a focal point of this discourse. According to The Diplomat in Spain, the PSOE party introduced a motion to officially describe the situation in Gaza as “genocide.” The motion was met with sharp opposition and ultimately rejected by the PP party, highlighting the ongoing divisions within the international community over how to characterize and respond to the humanitarian catastrophe unfolding in Gaza. This debate reflects a broader struggle among governments, NGOs, and international bodies to grapple with the scale and severity of the crisis, as well as the language used to describe it.
While the world continues to argue over terminology and policy, the reality on the ground remains unchanged for most Gazans. The destruction of homes, the loss of loved ones, the scarcity of food and fuel, and the constant threat of violence have become fixtures of daily existence. As Aljamal poignantly observes, “Every international humanitarian law and institution is failing. It seems as if every family in Gaza is waiting in line for their own death. We believe everyone in Gaza will lose their lives and that every home will be reduced to rubble. For two years, we have screamed.”
Despite the darkness, there are moments of resilience and even laughter. Aljamal recounts how, in a recent call with his brother, he tried to make him laugh despite the exhaustion and fear. “Despite the horrible conditions, it is still easy to make him laugh. If he, like my other siblings, disappears, then our last memory will be laughter.” It’s a small, bittersweet comfort in the face of overwhelming loss.
As the international community continues to debate and the crisis drags on, the people of Gaza endure—carrying trauma, grief, and memories that may never heal, but also moments of connection that defy despair.
