The Electronic Intifada 14 January 2025
Israel has continued its bombing apace, despite potential for a ceasefire breakthrough. Here, people gather to inspect the damage in Deir al-Balah on 14 January.
APA imagesMore than 15 months have passed. We live on the rhythm of repeated rounds of negotiations.
Each time, we are told that an agreement on ending the Israeli genocide in Gaza is near.
We imagined everything in our minds: how we would return to our homes, how we would reunite with our loved ones, and how life would go back to what it was.
But with every failure, a part of us was shattered.
Through four displacements, my family and I – four souls in total – have tried to rebuild our lives in whatever place we’ve ended up. We’ve tried to create a sense of stability for the children. However, each displacement have made these efforts harder as we were forced to start over again every time.
In the evenings, I would sit with my husband, Abu al-Abed, listening to updates about “technical details” that need more time.
My husband once asked me: “Do you think we’ll return to our home soon?”
I replied quietly, “I don’t want to think too much. I’m afraid our hearts will break again.”
Perhaps we wouldn’t have been able to endure without these various rounds of negotiations. At least they bring with them a flicker of hope. But they also became a source of great fear. We were terrified to cling too tightly to hope, knowing hope always left us more broken than before.
The latest negotiations have felt different, at least according to what we are told. They began over a month ago, and we still hear news of significant progress.
Hamas has submitted a positive response to the draft agreement presented by the mediators. This news alone was enough to ignite cautious joy in the hearts of people in both north and south Gaza.
Even Abdul Kareem, 3, is now waiting for the truce. Yes, our youngest is following the news. He understands what is happening around him, grasping the hope that comes with each word.
Delayed joy
Every small piece of news has been enough to ignite optimism.
“They say things are now in the final stages!” one neighbor exclaimed. Children ran out clapping and singing as if the agreement had already been reached.
In our current shelter, a storage room that belongs to relatives in al-Nasr, a neighborhood of Gaza City, I have tried to create a peaceful atmosphere for my children. Yumna, 5, who dreams of her pink room, and Abdul Kareem, who talks about the toys we had to leave behind.
But as the days stretch on without concrete results, our fears grow –- fears that this round of talks will be like all the others, just another unfulfilled hope.
Over these 15 months, our lives have completely changed.
Some of my family is in the south, and I haven’t seen them since we fled. I try to stay in touch with them through a phone we can barely charge using a solar power panel.
My mother tells me, “Be patient, my daughter; this round is different. We’ll meet soon.”
But her voice betrays her own fears.
Our neighbors in the area where we’ve been displaced to share the same anxiety. Every time we meet, the negotiations dominate our conversations as if they are the most important event in the world.
“Have you heard any updates?” someone asks. “They said they’re very close to an agreement!” another replies.
But the wait drags on. Each passing day without an official announcement only deepens our fears.
A final test
As a possible truce approaches, I feel the Israeli occupation has lost its mind. In a final attempt to destroy what remains, the attacks have increased drastically. It is as if the occupier is trying to answer all the questions in an exam before time runs out.
At least 61 Palestinians were killed on 14 January in Israeli attacks. If ceasefire negotiations succeed, there people will have lived through the entire genocide except its end.
This is what worries me the most. I made my husband promise me that he would not go out until a ceasefire is announced. I asked the same thing of my father and brother in the south. I want us all to reunite as one family, without fear, without worry.
I pray that this round is the last one, that this nightmare we’ve been living through ends and life returns to normal
Our hearts can no longer bear any more breaks. These negotiations are not just news: They are our only hope. We must believe they will succeed, not because we are optimists, but because we no longer have any other choice.
If the agreement is reached, this will be the final sorrow. We will have plenty of time to weep and grieve for the many things we never had the time to grieve for before.
Nour Abu Dan is a writer in Gaza.
