For the last two years, Israel’s US-backed genocide has destroyed every facet of normal life in the Gaza Strip. While Palestinians cling to hope that they will live to see the end of the war, the incalculable trauma inflicted on Gaza’s children will leave permanent scars. “In these two years, we have experienced every kind of oppression,” 13-year-old Abdelrahman Bashir Jundia tells TRNN. “From living in tents, to refugee centers that are not fit for living in at all… We have suffered torture, torture, and more torture.” In this on-the-ground report, TRNN speaks with children in Gaza about how the war has forever changed their lives.
Producers: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographers: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt
Transcript
ABDELRAHMAN BASHIR JUNDIA – 13 YEARS OLD:
In these two years, we have experienced every kind of oppression: From displacement, to living in tents, to refugee centers that are not fit for living in at all. We have endured every form of oppression, from relying on soup kitchens, and depending on water stations, and the water trucks that arrive. We have suffered torture, torture and more torture. I’m Abderahman Bashir Jundiya, I’m 13 years old, in the 8th grade. During the war, I took on the role of an electrical engineer. I started working with electrical appliances that I didn’t know much about before. The war taught me these things. Electrical equipment: we opened a charging station. Electrical equipment, inverters, chargers, [inaudible], fans, batteries, electrical panels, things like that. Before the war, I used to be bigger, but since the war, I’ve lost a lot of weight due to hunger and lack of nutrition. Before the war, my blood was healthy. Now, I have anemia, because of a lack of vitamins and iron. Before the war, we had healthy food, we had buildings and electricity, we had schools—my right to health and education was guaranteed. Now, we’ve been deprived of all of that.
UM ALAA JUNDIYA – ABDELRAHMAN’S MOTHER:
They used to be calm—very calm. Honestly, after the war started, it felt like all the children became aggressive. All of them, including my son, Abderahman. He’s become really aggressive, and it’s the same with all the children. Every time I speak to other moms, they say: “My child wasn’t like this before the war.” “I don’t know what’s happened to my child since the war.” “My child used to be calm and relaxed.” And it’s true—I knew these kids. They were calm kids. Now, they say, “My child is very aggressive.” They cause trouble; if anyone speaks to them outside, they immediately start fighting. What should I do? Even when I try to tell him to come meditate or recite the Quran, he refuses.
ABDELRAHMAN BASHIR JUNDIA – 13 YEARS OLD:
Before, water and food were always in our homes. Water used to come to our doorstep or be stored in tanks above our houses. Now, we have to collect water and go from soup kitchen to soup kitchen. When the water truck arrives, we run to get drinking water. All of this was available before the war, but now it’s gone. This exhausts us physically, and all the kids are suffering the same way I am. Nowadays, when I feel hungry, I try to distract myself sleeping or playing. I feel like I want to escape how I feel, through sleep or play.
UM ALAA JUNDIYA – ABDELRAHMAN’S MOTHER:
Every mom I meet says the same thing about her child: Why? Because all their dreams have been destroyed. Their neighborhoods are in ruins, and they live in tents. Their lives now revolve around soup kitchen—water—soup kitchen—water. It’s either, “I need to get water,” or, “The soup kitchen is here!” Even when we were in the south, there were some tent schools. The kids would go there, but as soon as the soup kitchen arrived, they’d run out of class while the teacher was talking to get food. The teacher would turn around and find the classroom empty. This has become their entire life. They’ll receive a qualification in chasing after water and soup kitchens.
ABDELRAHMAN BASHIR JUNDIA – 13 YEARS OLD:
Before the war, my friends and I used to meet up at the mosque, in our homes, at the playground, at school—but now, all of that has been cut off. We only see each other occasionally while evacuating, getting water, or at the soup kitchens. Some have been killed, and others have survived, but we can’t reach them. I miss them more and more, because I was really attached to them before the war. Now, we’ve lost them suddenly. Some were martyred—may God rest their souls—and for the others, we pray for their safety. My dream is to live in safety—me and the children. To have a home, to live securely. My right to health, my right to education. To live like any other child in the world: and be able to go to school. To have all the rights that every child deserves.
UM ALAA JUNDIYA – ABDELRAHMAN’S MOTHER:
I want to provide everything for my children, but I can’t—I’m out of options, as they say. The grief in my heart—my heart is being torn apart, and my tears never stop falling. My tears say it all. Once, my child Abderahman and I were looking at the phone, and we saw a video of a chef cooking a feast—delicious food, meats, and other dishes. He turned to me and said, “Oh my God, if I die and go to heaven, will I get to eat food like this?” I said, “No, you’ll find even better than this!” Because the wonders of heaven are beyond our imagination. He put his head down and went to sleep. The next day, he woke up and said: “Mom, seriously, will I get food like this in heaven?” We just have to be patient, and we’ll find this in this world and the next, God willing. My heart is breaking—I despair for my child and all the children. You hear all of them saying, “I’m hungry, give me food! I’m hungry, give me food!” But there’s nothing we can do.
