The so -called “Netzarim Corridor” has been in the news lately, because his “opening” has introduced to the long -awaited return of the Palestinians to the northern part of Gaza’s belt. Half a million Palestinians headed back to their homes – most found only ruins. Then on January 29, the envoy of the United States of Middle East, Steve Witkoff, visited the “Netzarim corridor”, becoming the first US official to step on the Gazan soil in more than a decade.
Foreign media discussed this “strategic corridor” or “tampon zone” in detail, as they call it, and its usefulness for the Israeli “military operation” and for “control” of Palestinians. But for us, people living on his periphery, Netzarim was a living nightmare. He inflicted unbearable pain and trauma to me and my family and thousands of other Palestinians.
Netzarim is not a hallway; It is a big lands spent through the murder of Palestinian people and destroying their homes in refugee campsites Nuseiirat and Bureij, and the neighborhood of Al-Mughrake, AZ-Zahra, Zeitoun, Juhor Ad-Dik and others. It is not some smart military strategy; It was and continues to be another way of terrorizing the people of Gaza.
In the first days of the war, we were not aware that areas near our house were chosen to establish this “corridor”. The air attacks were constantly, breaking everything in their way – homes, schools and gardens – whether people were inside or not. The Israeli army destroyed everything in its own way, either stone or man.
Most air attacks occurred at night, leaving us incapable of sleeping, Constant waiting for the next explosion. The sky would be illuminated white or red, and we would cover the ears and hide, knowing that the explosion was coming, but never certainly how close it would be. Based on the sound of the explosion, we would try to hit the type of rocket or weapon – drones, F16, F35, Apache helicopter or tank – and the location hit, a house or agricultural land.
This is how the war attacked and took control of our nights. Darkness would start in fear and anxiety; Children would run into the hands of their mothers, fearing the sounds of explosions.
As part of the preparation for the establishment of a “corridor”, the Israeli army bombed all the tall buildings around us. One of them was a house with five floors of our neighbor, who was hit in the middle of the day. The explosion was so powerful that it completely destroyed two houses, partially damaged two others, and demolished the front of our house, where our “safe room” was located.
We chose him as “safe” because he was farthest from another building whose owners received a warning from the Israelis from Israel that they would be targeted. So this room became a place where we thought we were “safe” until the striking wave of that explosion broke the outer wall on us, leaving us with different degrees of injury. I pulled out with bruises and cuts on my head, but my brother was badly wounded and bleeding inside, while some of my nieces and nephews had brown skulls and broken bones.
When we realized that the day became as dangerous as the night, we decided to leave. We sought refuge at Al-Aqs Hospital at Deir El-Balah, waiting for the situation to improve or end the war. But we left our hearts at home. Even safety has meant nothing to us compared to being home.
After a month, we returned to our house, hoping to regain the sense of normality. But there were no. The Israeli army worked hard by extending its “corridor” to the north of the Nuseirat camp, such as AZ-Zahra and Al-Mughraq.
As part of this effort, the Israeli troops would regularly attack the northern area of Nuseiirat. The famous sound of air attacks was accompanied by a roar of tanks and unknown military vehicles. With every little progress, the shooting broke out wildly and randomly, while drones were hovering near the window, listening to any sound. We did not understand the purpose of all this, but we knew we were in danger. We would lie on the ground, turn off the lights to avoid being noticed and prayed endlessly to all wake up in the morning, live.
As our daily life collapsed under the weight of constant fear, even the simplest routine even disappeared. My family and I enjoyed drinking coffee on our roof, watching children playing on the street. Every time we try to sit on the roof, drones would get closer to us from above, and artillery shelling would step up, forcing us to rush into a house for fear.
In the end, we had to stop sitting on the roof. The roof itself has become a dangerous place, even for basic tasks such as filling the water tank. We were forced to use pots and pans for storing water for our daily needs.
Just after we started adjusting to the situation, in December 2023, The Israeli army issued an order evacuate the whole area. Initially, we thought things couldn’t get worse, so we decided, along with the displaced families that stay with us – my aunt’s family, my uncle and my sisters – to stay in the house and hold themselves.
But things just got worse. Going out during the day became just as dangerous as the night, and drones constantly fall bombs on the main streets and markets. Our neighbors began to go one by one, and Nuseiirat began to turn into a ghost town.
At night, the tanks moved to the main streets, shooting shells at home. Apache helicopters flew above the head, shooting everywhere. The families who stayed with us fled, leaving us to face this nightmare.
Finally, we decided to take shelter at the school driven by UNRWA near our home, thinking it would be safe, but not. Soon Israeli tanks progressed and surrounded the area, leaving us trapped.
We had to choose: staying in school, which was no longer protected or escaped to the south to Rafah or Deir El-Balah as everyone else. We were four women, an 11-year-old girl, a 15-year-old boy who still suffered from his injury, and an older man-to-father-which was exhausted by trying to protect us all and feed us; We had no choice but headed for Rafah.
After spending the whole month in Rafah, we decided to return to our home; We heard the situation improve. But not. “Netzarim’s corridor” was even greater than before, devoured more Palestinian homes. The Israeli army destroyed the houses on the northern borders of Nuseiirati to ensure the path for its forces to enter and exit the camp whenever they wanted.
The incursions have become a daily reality. Suddenly we would hear the sound of tanks becoming louder and louder, followed by all types of weapons and aircraft followed. They would cracked rockets above our homes to illuminate the area, observing any movement. We would sit in constant fear, trying to guess how much he would make this time. We relied on the sounds of the vehicle to understand their positions. Then we would hear the scary sound of the shell fired from the tank, waiting to hit one of the homes. Every time we were afraid that it could be ours.
In the neighborhood, the families called on the help of a red crescent to evacuate the injured, as leaving the house was almost impossible. Ambulances are rarely allowed to enter, and the injured are left to bleed until death, because they begged the world to save them. People would die while trying to bring bread and water for their children; They would be targeted without mercy.
We would sit for hours in this nightmare, we’re not sure when the raid would end. When the forces finally began to withdraw, Apache helicopters would circulate over their heads, shoot randomly to cover their retreat. It seemed that all this had no other purpose except to terrorize us, to ensure that fear caught us and clearly that it is clear that it moves north.
The situation remained the same one year. The secondary fire, announced on January 15, was supposed to end this horror, but it wasn’t. Even after it came into force, shelling and bombing continue and demolition is not stopped. Quadcopters at night still hover around our homes.
Just last week, the Israeli army bombed the bulldozer, trying to remove the car stuck on the road in Nuseiirat. Her driver was killed. The Israelis also aimed at the cart, killing a five -year -old girl and injuring others in the western part of the camp.
Two weeks in a tribute, we still live in fear. We still do not know when and whether the Israelis will fully withdraw from their “corridor”. But the pictures of people returning home to the north we saw gave us hope that Netzarim would be over the night’s nights soon and that we would also feel relief.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s and do not reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeere.
