a day in the life of Jabalia.
what's it like to be under siege from the 'Most moral army in the world.'
The sky over Jabalia hums with an endless drone. To 10-year-old Noura, the noise is one of the few constants in her life—never quiet, never too close but never too far away. Just there, always, watching. She can’t remember what silence even feels like anymore. It’s been weeks since the siege began, and every day is a new struggle to survive the next.
She presses her small hand against the cold wall, the faint rumble of explosions somewhere in the distance vibrating through the building. Her family is crammed into what used to be the back room of her uncle’s shop. Now, it’s mostly rubble like everything else. But they are lucky—at least they have the ruins of a building, while many are forced to face the bombs in tents. Her younger brother lies curled up on a thin blanket beside her, shivering despite the heat.
The power went out days ago, and the water they once used to splash on their faces to cool down is now a distant memory. Noura can’t even remember the taste of fresh water. The last bottle was shared sparingly—her mother, putting her children first as always, taking only a sip, saving the rest for her and her brother.
Her stomach growls, the hollow ache now a familiar companion. "Mama," she whispers, "when will the trucks come?"
Her mother looks out from the small gap between the rubble and sky, her eyes red and hollow. "Soon," she lies. Noura knows it’s a lie because she heard it yesterday and the day before that. There are no trucks. No food. No water. No medication for her brother, Mo. Nothing gets through the iron wall of tanks and soldiers that intend to starve them.
They haven’t left the shelter for days. The last time they did, Noura saw the streets littered with bodies, covered in so much dust that they almost blend into the crumbled infrastructure around them. She saw the school where, not so long ago, she sat with her friends playing and singing, turned into a pile of ash and broken concrete. But there’s no time for memories while the hum of the drones circles above, always watching. For Noura and her mother, every step feels like a gamble—one wrong move, and they know a soldier sitting in a comfortable chair, staring at a screen, might just decide to kill them.
She misses her Baba. He went out to search for food, for water, for anything he could get his hands on, really. But that was days ago, and he’s still not home. Noura doesn’t ask anymore. She’s scared, and she knows that asking just makes her mother’s silence heavier.
"Mama, are the planes still up there?" Her brother’s voice breaks through, small. He doesn’t like to ask questions, either.
"Yes, habibi," her mother replies, smoothing his hair. "But don’t worry. Just rest. Tomorrow will be better."
the reality of Jabalia
Noura is every child in Jabalia.
For weeks now, the people of this city turned refugee camp have endured a relentless, bloody siege by Israeli forces, trapped in a cycle of violence with no end in sight. The Jabalia refugee camp, probably the most densely populated area in Gaza, has been under constant bombardment, leaving destruction and death in its wake.
According to reports from humanitarian agencies and local sources, over 50,000 homes in Jabalia and nearby areas have been destroyed. Just take that number in for a second, 50,000.
Food, water, and medical supplies have all but disappeared, as the area remains cut off from aid. Civilians are left to search the rubble for scraps to survive on.
The UN Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) has reported that many of its schools and facilities, which served as shelters for displaced families, have been destroyed by Israeli airstrikes. Hundreds of civilians, including women and children, have been killed while seeking refuge in these shelters. One UNRWA official described the conditions in Jabalia as “apocalyptic,” with bodies lying in the streets, buried under debris, and not enough resources to properly bury the dead.
Efforts to bring humanitarian aid into Jabalia have been consistently blocked by the Israeli Genocide Forces (IGF). Oxfam reported that members of its team, who were attempting to deliver water to the besieged camp, were killed by Israeli forces. The Palestinian Red Crescent has also been overwhelmed, with hospitals unable to keep up with the influx of wounded civilians. The Kamal Adwan Hospital, one of the last functioning medical facilities in northern Gaza, has reported critical shortages of fuel, food, and water, leaving doctors and nurses working in impossible conditions.
Despite repeated calls for a ceasefire, Israel continues its offensive, claiming it is targeting Hamas fighters. But the reality on the ground tells a different story—entire families have been wiped out, homes turned to dust, and the infrastructure of Jabalia decimated.
The international community has largely stood by, issuing statements of concern but failing to intervene meaningfully. As the siege drags on, the people of Jabalia, like Noura and her family, are left to fend for themselves, waiting for the trucks that never come.
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