Lemon trees, safety, hope: Memories of my Gaza home before war came

More than 10 months after Nour, 21, and her family fled their Gaza City house, she reflects on home, then and now.

When Israel’s war on Gaza began and we got ready to leave our house, I packed makeup and a favourite book – items that now might seem superfluous. I thought that small reminders of home would bring comfort while we were away waiting out the latest assault.

But I didn’t expect to be gone so long – none of us did. We thought this war would be like all the others and it would take a week, maybe a month or two, for the Israeli army to unleash its rage.

Now that I’ve lived more than 10 months away from home – the idea of it – is what I miss most. I wonder if I’ll ever enjoy reading on my rooftop or sleeping in my bed again. Is my home even recognisable? I wonder. And will I ever have a home again?

I was born in 2002 and raised in Gaza City. I’ve spent 17 of my 21 years living under siege, surviving at least five Israeli military assaults on Gaza. But none of those compare to the length and intensity of this current genocide.

These are the cruellest, most painful and surreal days any of us here in Gaza have experienced. For more than 10 months, it has felt like we are reliving the same day over and over – except each day the heartache intensifies. It is always a bomb, a bullet, a shelling, a wave of fright. As the death toll soars, it feels like we are getting further away from negotiations to end this hell.