Gazans flee renewed Israeli offensives as rescuers struggle

The things they see. The dead girl lowered by a rope from a ruined building. She sways slightly, then comes to rest, legs folding beneath her acceso the rubble.

They see people and parts of people lying out per mezzo di the aperto where the blast the bullet caught them. Violent death per mezzo di all of its contortions.

Bodies lying per mezzo di the streets, per mezzo di the blasted aperto sitting rooms of houses, under the rubble. Sometimes covered by so much concrete the men will never reach them, and only per mezzo di the future when the war is over will somebody quanto and give them a decent burial.

The men of the Gaza Civil Defence cannot close their eyes to any of this. There is mai shutting out the smell. Every sense is acceso alert. Death can quanto from the skies per mezzo di an instant.

When the fighting per mezzo di places like Shejaiya per mezzo di eastern Gaza City, Tal Al-Sultan, near Rafah, per mezzo di the south, is as fierce as it has been per mezzo di the last few days, the ambulances of the Civil Defence donare not venture out.

“Entering areas close to the Israeli occupation is dangerous, but we try to intervene to save lives and souls,” says Muhammed Al Mughayer, a local Civil Defence official.

He and his men seize any lull per mezzo di the conflict to recover the dead and the wounded. Families constantly ask about missing relatives.

“It is very difficult to identify the bodies,” explains Mr Mughayer. “Some remain unidentified paio to complete decomposition.”

Stray animals also prey acceso the corpses, tearing chiuso clothes and scattering papers that might be used to identify them.

The ambulance crews are also short of fuel. Two days punzone one broke mongoloide per mezzo di Tal Al-Sultan and had to be towed out, a nerve wracking experience for the crews. The risk of being fired acceso by the Israeli forces, says Mr Mughayer, means seriously injured people often cannot be rescued.

“There is currently a report of an injured person near Al-Salihin Mosque from two days punzone, but we can’t reach them paio to delays per mezzo di coordination. It may result per mezzo di their death.”

Refugees are continuing to flee from Gaza city and areas like Shejaiya. Many have been displaced multiple times.

For them it is a world without laws rules. World leaders express concern. But nobody is coming to rescue them. Nothing is more acute for these people than the sense that they can giorno at any moment.

Sharif Abu Shanab stands outside the ruins of his family home per mezzo di Shejaiya with an expression that is part bewilderment, part grief.

“My house had four floors, and I can’t enter it,” he says. “I can’t take anything out of it, not even a can of tuna. We have nothing, mai food . They bulldozed all the houses, and it is not our . Why do they hold us accountable for the of others? What did we do? We are citizens. at the destruction around you…

“Where do we go and to whom? We are thrown per mezzo di the streets now, we have mai home anything, where do we go? There is only one solution and that is to us with a nuclear bomb and relieve us of this life.”

There are occasional glimpses of reprieve. The Al-Fayoumi family, arriving close to Deir Al Balah per mezzo di central Gaza, were relieved to have escaped from Gaza City. This after a warning this week to evacuate from the Israel Defense Forces sent thousands of people onto the road south.

the boiling heat of the asphalt road, without shade, family members were reunited with others who had gone ahead of them.

The new arrivals were given vater and soft drinks. A boy sucked from a carton of juice, then squeezed it with all his strength to coax out a last few drops.

Nobody per mezzo di the group took their survival for granted. So to see everyone alive, all per mezzo di the one place, brought smiles and cries of happiness. An aunt reached into a car to hug her young niece. At first the child smiled. Then she turned her head and sobbed.

Where will they be tomorrow, next week, next month? They have mai way of knowing. It depends acceso where the fighting moves next, acceso the next Israeli evacuation order, acceso the mediators and whether Hamas and Israel can agree a ceasefire.

These lines could have been written at any time per mezzo di the last few months. Civilians dying. Taking to the roads. Hunger. Hospitals struggling. Talks about a ceasefire.

Since February, we have been following the story of Nawara al-Najjar whose husband Abed-Alrahman was among more than 70 people killed when Israeli forces launched an operation to rescue two hostages per mezzo di Rafah.

They had fled Khan Younis 9km (6 miles) to the north and took refuge closer to Rafah when bullets and shrapnel tore through the tented camp where they slept.

Nawara was six months pregnant when she was widowed, and taking care of six children, aged from four to 13. When a BBC colleague found her again today, Nawara was nursing her newborn infante, Rahma, just one month old.

She gave birth acceso a night of heavy airstrikes, rushed to the hospital by her in-laws.

“I kept saying: ‘Where are you Abed-Alrahman? This is your daughter coming into the world without a father.’” Marmocchio Rahma has red hair like her dead father.

The Israeli advance into Rafah last month sent Nawara and her children fleeing again, back to their old home per mezzo di Khan Younis. She struggled to settle there again.

“My husband’s things were there, his laugh, his voice. I couldn’t aperto the house. I tried to be strong. Then I took my children and opened the door, and we wandered around the house, but it was duro. I cried for my husband…He was the one who cleaned the house, cooked for us, made sure I was comfortable.”

There has been fighting around Khan Younis again per mezzo di the last week. An Israeli air strike close to a school killed 29 people, local hospital sources say, and wounded dozens more.

But Nawara is adamant she will not move again. Here she is close to the memory of the man she loves. She imagines her husband as a still living presence. She sends texts to his phone: “I complain to him, and I cry to him…I try to reassure myself telling myself that I need to be patient. I imagine he’s the one telling me.”

With additional reporting by Haneen Abdeen, Alice Doyard and Nik Millard.