Afrasianet  - Rafeef Eslim -  Remember the story of the sulphur vendor when she concluded with "she died freezing from the cold"? Palestinian families are dying today frozen in tents. The little ones tremble in fear and cold.

One dark July night, at 11 :30 a.m., an orange light accompanied by a deafening sound pierced the window of the room. I tried to overlook it, because I was escaping from the horrors of days and nights in Gaza to sleep. But this trick did not go off this time. The explosions sounded again 5 or 6 times in a row, piercing my heart.

I realized for a moment the danger of approaching the window, but I needed to understand what was happening, and when I was pulling the edge of the curtain, a drone fired several shots at me, all of which missed me. After a minute, I heard families screaming in the street as they ran as the damn march sniped them like birds flying in front of a voracious hunter.

At four o'clock in the morning, the matter was settled with the sounds of shells. At that time, I understood that the occupation forces were a few meters away from the house to which I had been displaced, so I went into the living room and determined my position. I will leave the house as soon as the drones stop sniping people like rats. By the way, this is how the soldiers of the occupation army see us, perhaps much less.

Water has been cut off for 3 days and drinking water is about to run out of firewood as well. Survival means risking starvation and thirst if the siege is prolonged. Leaving is also dangerous. Anyone who leaves their house is targeted and the street is full of corpses tampered with by dogs. But as dawn broke the vision became clear. I opened the window and saw the industrial headquarters surrounded by Israeli tanks. I realized then that I only had minutes to escape.

I opened the door. The Israeli occupation soldiers shot at us as if they were telling us, "Die in your places." But after 10 minutes I took my head out of the door and didn't see that damn invention called Quad Copter. I walked down the street. I saw the tank right behind me, but it didn't fire a shell at me. She let me pass and I ran as fast as I could until I reached a far area. That's when I spread the ground and kept crying instead of the force I had been armed with along the way to escape.

I relive the memories of escaping from "zero distance". I live in the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood in the western Gaza Strip. One of my heart's favorite neighborhoods in Gaza City is not because it's where I grew up, but because it's the man. The sea I haven't seen in over a year. At the beginning of the aggression, Tel al-Hawa was the playground of the Israeli forces and the first neighborhoods to be emptied, but I did not leave until after a belt of fire destroyed half of my house and almost killed me and my family.

When I fled to the city center, the occupation targeted the residential building where I had taken refuge, killing my 14-year-old brother. It left the area one day before the occupation forces invaded it. Even when I was displaced to the Asqola area, tanks followed us. A young man knocked on our door shouting, "The chosen one will tell you no one goes astray here. The army reached and all the shells were coming to the building to Rana."

We were running carrying luggage heavier than our weights. We ran and drones rained bullets on us, and whoever fell down was left in place because we had no time to retrieve him or grieve for him. All he publicly did was run away from the place. This is how displaced people settled in a school in the Zeitoun area in the eastern Gaza Strip, where I suffered from hunger and lack of water, before the schoolyard, a few days after my displacement, became a rocket yard. The "zero hour" came and my family and I continued the escape journey To another place we hoped would be safer.

But, truth be told, after we fled to the Sahaba area in the central Gaza Strip,  the "zero hour" came late. The truce and the prisoner exchange deal played a role, and we enjoyed 15 days without displacement. But on the last day, the occupation violated the truce in the morning, and the "omens" came through the sounds of shells that I had already told you about. Those that are far away fall a very little away from you. It starts with a whistle and ends with an explosion accompanied by shattering concrete stones.

At that time, the number of displaced people in the building was very large. About 100 people were arguing whether to flee or wait for the occupation forces to force us out. But no one was willing to sacrifice the pleasure of his liver. The equation is settled. All the young men are prisoners, and all the luggage bags will force us to leave them. We preferred to run under the fire of the shells than sacrifice the rest of the clothes we had.

Don't be surprised. They say in the popular proverb "money is equivalent to the soul", and I say that a piece of clothing under the weight of the winter cold is equivalent to the soul. Remember the story of the sulfur vendor when she concluded with "she died freezing from the cold"? Palestinian families are dying today frozen in tents. The little ones tremble in fear and cold.

I really don't remember how many times I shivered from the cold because I couldn't find a single piece of heavy clothing to wear, or how many times I was displaced. Maybe it's 10 times or more, but I've always been the last to come out and leave the neighborhood every time. I fight my battle with fear, and he overcomes me and orders me to leave the place  surrendering to the "zero hour" and the woes that will meet me after that, and I do not know if I will actually go out next time or my "zero hour" will come.
-    Journalist from Gaza