DayofPal– Gazan residents who were lucky to survive Israel’s northern Gaza incursion recount harrowing tales of drones attacks, missiles targeting schools, relentless hunger, desperate shortages of medicine, and the constant terror of dodging bullets. Al-Masri family was among dozens who lived the horrors like “doomsday” in Beit Lahiya.
Jacqueline Almasri cradled her two young children in the corner of a makeshift shelter—once a schoolyard—in Beit Lahia, where desperation and exhaustion had become familiar companions. Above her, the mechanical hum of Israeli quadcopter drones sliced through the heavy December air.
It had been over a year since her world was upended. In October 2023, her family home in Beit Hanoun crumbled under the weight of an airstrike, forcing her and her children to flee. Shelter after shelter became their reality and the sense of permanence lost amidst the chaos.
Her husband, Mohammed, had clung to hope longer than most. Determined to salvage food and a shred of their former life, he returned to the ruins of their home with his father. But a second strike sealed their fate. Mohammed was killed instantly, and his father barely escaped, grievously injured.
“My son Amir was just 25 days old when his father was killed. His sister, Mira, was only one-and-a-half years old,” Almasri told Middle East Eye. “It’s unbearable to look after the two children without their father.”
On December 4, 2024, as Jacqueline sought to shield her children from the sting of hunger and the chill of displacement, the drones descended again. This time, they rained down sound bombs—blinding flashes and deafening blasts designed to terrorize, sending waves of panic rippling through the crowded shelter. Fear gripped the families around her, but Jacqueline clung tightly to her children, while her heart was beating louder than the explosions around.
Only days after the Israeli army stormed into Beit Lahia in October, Jacqueline Almasri faced a grim reality: her family had run out of food and water.
“I gave my children everything I could, but it was never enough. They were always crying, always hungry. The salty water they drank to stave off thirst only made things worse,” Jacqueline recounted. Her young daughter, Mira, grew dangerously dehydrated and Jacqueline could do nothing but watch, powerless against the siege that suffocated their town.
Despite the relentless bombardment, the shortage of food and medicine, and the ever-present threat of death, Jacqueline refused to abandon Beit Lahia. There was nowhere safer to go—just more uncertainty, more danger.
But last week, everything changed. When Israeli forces issued evacuation orders, she was forced to leave yet another fragile refuge, clutching her children with empty hands. The school that had been their latest shelter was no longer safe. As they fled, uncertainty unfolded around them.
“Many people were injured by quadcopter bullets,” Jacqueline said. “There were no ambulances, no proper medical care—just desperate attempts at first aid. People wrapped their wounds as best they could and ran.”
Their escape took them through Israeli checkpoints near the Indonesian Hospital, where soldiers abducted men from their families to unknown destination. Jacqueline kept her children close and her heart was pounding as they pressed onward.
Though only 15 kilometers separated Beit Lahia from Gaza City, the journey took five grueling hours. Worn-out shoes and the harsh, uneven roads slowed their steps. Fear weighed heavier than exhaustion.
“I thought of resting along Salah Al-Deen Street, but the snipers were firing so close,” she said. “I couldn’t risk my children’s lives.”
Now, Jacqueline and her children share a cramped tent with five relatives on Al-Wihda Street. It’s far from a home, but for now, it’s all they have—a fragile shelter against an unrelenting storm.
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