The Unseen Battle for Food in Gaza

Um Ayman recalls the desperate search for food and water, filled with fear yet driven to keep her children alive. Just when hope seemed lost, they found a little food on the fourth day after their return from Khan Younis, a small relief amid a heart-wrenching struggle.

Along with hunger, dehydration is also widespread and Nidaa Zaki Abu Toha powerfully articulates the dire struggle for water that displaced Palestinians are facing. With all water wells in UNRWA and Palestinian government schools — now serving as shelters — non-functional, and the Rafah and Karem Abu Salem crossings closed, access to fuel and water remains critically limited. Nidaa’s daily ordeal includes walking to the only operational well in Khan Younis, where she must fill a 20-liter container for her family of 23, a daunting task that requires careful water conservation.

“Under normal circumstances, each family member would need 20 liters a day, but now we must share a meager supply, living in cramped conditions without proper sanitation,” Nidaa tells me with tearful eyes. The lack of clean water exacerbates their vulnerability to disease, a constant threat in their precarious living situation, highlighting the urgent need for humanitarian assistance in addressing their basic survival needs.

Similarly, Yasmin Eid, having been displaced multiple times, describes her family’s fight against hunger and challenging living conditions in overcrowded camps. When we last talked, Yasmin was preparing a meager pot of lentils, which was the sole meal for her family of six that day, which they will eat as they navigate the dire consequences of displacement. Having been uprooted five times from their original home in Jabalia, Yasmin, her husband, and their four daughters now struggle to survive in central Gaza, where aid access is slightly better than in the heavily devastated north.

The Eids, like hundreds of thousands of others seeking refuge in overcrowded and unsanitary tent camps in Deir al-Balah, exemplify the harrowing challenges faced by many in a region grappling with profound suffering and uncertainty.

For Yasmin Eid and her family, hunger has become a daily reality, as they have often gone to bed without food for months. ​“Prices have skyrocketed, and we cannot afford anything,” Yasmin lamented, highlighting the overwhelming financial strain that makes even basic sustenance a luxury beyond their reach.

Yasmin Eid longs for coffee, yet a single sachet of Nescafé now costs approximately $1.30, while basic necessities like a kilogram of onions has surged to $10 and a medium bottle of cooking oil to $15, if they’re even available at all. With meat and chicken having vanished from stores for months, families are left relying on meager supplies of local vegetables.

UN reports indicate a significant drop in supplies entering Gaza, causing prices of everyday items to skyrocket. The predicted arrival of 2,400 trucks — far fewer than needed — highlights the worsening humanitarian crisis and the urgent need for assistance as families fight against depleting resources.

In Gaza, the brutal impact of the genocide has seen more than 44,000 lives lost due to Israel’s relentless bombardment and ground invasions, leaving countless more trapped under rubble, leading to a pervasive state of hunger that has persisted for more than a year. Survival has become the singular focus for many, with the harsh reality of limited food supply serving as a grim reminder of the ongoing strife. Families are reduced to one meal a day, often consisting of options like unappetizing cheese eaten for both breakfast and dinner, which is fostering deep resentment toward their only sustenance amidst fears of an engineered famine engulfing the entire Gaza Strip. The anguish is palpable as the question ​“What can we eat?” echoes frustratingly in our lives, highlighting the stark and painful struggle for survival in these desperate times.

Every morning, my father rises early and heads to the market, desperately searching for any food he can find to feed my younger siblings, but he often returns downcast and empty-handed. Initially, we hoped our neighborhood’s scarcity was an isolated issue, only to discover that friends and relatives shared the same plight, with other markets offering little more than some canned food. When we venture outside, we’re confronted by the somber expressions of vendors, their faces etched with despair, as they too bear the burdens of this hunger crisis, reflecting the deep sense of loss and hopelessness that has gripped our community.

When we approach the vendors, they often reply in hushed tones, their voices heavy with resignation as they repeat, ​“The crossing hasn’t opened yet,” highlighting the bleak reality of our situation. In our neighborhood, there’s a vegetable vendor we have grown close to; he has been a reliable source for us since the onset of this war, sharing in our struggles through the pressing shortages of food and skyrocketing prices. But now, his stand is nearly bare, offering only a few peppers, eggplants, and a scant supply of lemons, and he stands there, visibly ashamed and unable to provide us with the answers we hope for, mirroring the despair that weighs heavily on all our hearts.

As we face starvation in silence, the Israeli army’s actions have left us in a desperate state, compounded by the closure of the Karem Abu Salem (Kerem Shalom) crossing for more than a month, initially attributed to the Jewish holidays but never reopened since. We held onto hope that the end of the holiday would bring renewed access to aid, only to be met with continued deprivation. This prolonged suffering has stripped us of our dignity, leaving me seething with anger at the indifference of the world to the horrors we endure. My family and I, with our pale faces bearing the weight of exhaustion, are a haunting reminder of the tragedy unfolding around us, a plight that seems to escape the notice of a silent world.

Everyday activities have become a struggle for us as we survive on a mere single meal a day, leaving little room for nutrition or satisfaction. My younger siblings, in their innocence, constantly ask for food, yearning for the simple pleasures of chicken, red meat, French fries, biscuits, and juice that they once knew. Faced with their longing, I’ve begun to tell them the harsh truth about the closed crossing, but to my 8-year-old brother, the reality is too overwhelming to grasp; he naively insists that he will open the crossing himself, highlighting the innocence that clings to hope even in such bleak circumstances, as we grapple with an impossibly painful situation.

My younger sister, seeing food online, innocently questions why we can’t eat like that, why we can’t just buy a chicken, highlighting the stark contrast between our dire reality and the abundance she glimpses elsewhere. Meanwhile, when my younger brother accompanies my father to the market, he earnestly inquires with the vendors, ​“Do you have chicken? I want to eat rice, chicken, and potatoes,” reflecting both his longing for familiar meals and his inability to understand the severity of our situation. Their questions are reminders of the normalcy and comfort we once took for granted, now overshadowed by our struggle to provide even the most basic sustenance.

The reality of these times is stark: you cannot ration a child, and conversations about food have become a grim norm, underscoring just how desperate our situation has become. Recently, when we visited a relative, the visible decline in her health struck me; she has lost so much weight. As we spoke, the discussion lingered on what we each managed to eat that day, revealing a shared struggle for basic sustenance. She shared that her daily intake consists only of a modest amount of zaatar, lamenting that she can no longer afford tomatoes, which now cost an outrageous 55 shekels ($20) per kilo — if you can even find them, a stark reflection of the harsh economic realities we all face.

Since the onset of the war, we’ve been living in a relentless state of famine, marked by a struggle for sustenance that has become our harsh reality. I vividly recall our desperate quests for food in Rafah before the ground operation, a time when obtaining even the barest essentials felt miraculous as the Israeli army seized control of the crossings. I never imagined I would face such constant hunger, scavenging for food in every possible place. Despite our attempts to store provisions, they inevitably dwindle, and it’s impossible to ration a child who instinctively seeks nourishment whenever it’s available. The weight of having a completely empty home is indescribable; it drains your spirit daily, leaving you in a constant state of exhaustion as you grapple with the loss of hope and the basics of survival.

Those memories encapsulate a time when we still held onto our human dignity and self-esteem, cherishing the joy of simple luxuries like sharing meals in vibrant restaurants and enjoying carefree outings. The images serve as poignant reminders of a life where we felt whole and valued, highlighting the stark contrast to our present struggles, where even basic needs feel out of reach, and our sense of worth has been challenged amid relentless hardship.

I often find myself in a bleak moment, having completely lost my appetite and devoid of any cravings, leaving me to ponder whether this is a symptom of starvation. It feels as though my passion for life is dimming, and to cope, we cling to memories — looking through old photos of beloved meals, reminiscing about the restaurants we used to frequent, and recalling the simple pleasure of shopping at the mall.

Those memories now seem like remnants of a life filled with abundance and luxury that feels unreachable, amplifying the stark contrast with our current reality, where even the most basic pleasures have become distant dreams.