One Family’s Perilous Escape from Gaza City

At the start of the war, when Israel told more than a million Gaza residents to leave the densely populated north, Mashharawi’s family reluctantly fled to the southern town of Khan Younis. Mashharawi sent me a string of photos and videos from the start of the conflict, including his journey south:

The Mashharawis made it as far as the border with Egypt, but they couldn’t get through. “When the bombardments became more intense in the south, we decided to return to Gaza City—which was a big mistake,” he told me. “We naïvely brought ourselves back into the war.”

I started to message Mashharawi almost every day, but our conversations were constantly interrupted.

I found myself repeating “ana assif,” the Arabic phrase for “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. I sent him a voice note asking him what he was feeling.

Between the time difference and Gaza’s sporadic Internet connection, I never know when Mashharawi will next be able to speak. We end up interacting at all hours. I might be biking or eating breakfast or working on another story when his messages appear on my phone.

The next day, Mashharawi sent me screenshots of a conversation he was having with his sister Kariman when an explosion tore through the area.

By early November, the Israeli Army had encircled Gaza City and was battling Hamas fighters in Mashharawi’s neighborhood. Israeli officials argued that Hamas had embedded with civilians and said that their invasion aimed to kill Hamas leaders and make future attacks impossible.

I sent Mashharawi a voice note, asking him how his family was getting through each day.

A couple days later, while I was waiting for Mashharawi to respond to a message, I watched videos on Instagram showing the long walk from Gaza City to southern Gaza. Tens of thousands of people were marching south, carrying children and belongings. There were no cars in sight. Then I heard an Al Jazeera TV reporter say that he had spoken to someone who said that they were a member of the Mashharawi family and that they had been targeted on the street by the Israeli army.

Anxiety washed over me. I looked back at my conversation with Kamal. WhatsApp showed a single check mark, meaning that the message hadn’t reached him. I knew that hundreds or thousands of people probably share Mashharawi’s surname, but I couldn’t help but worry that something had happened to him.

On the night of November 13th, I sent Mashharawi a series of messages before I went to sleep, expecting to hear from him in the morning. When I woke up, however, there was nothing. I saw a single check mark on WhatsApp.

News reports said that soldiers were pushing toward Al-Shifa Hospital, just across town from Mashharawi. I saw videos of gun battles between Israeli soldiers and Hamas fighters. I was scared that Mashharawi’s most recent message to me would be his last.

Then a notification appeared on my phone.

On November 19th, Mashharawi told me that his family had moved on to another house in Khan Younis, where more than a hundred people were sharing one bathroom. “There’s basically no water and there’s no electricity,” he said. “We’re trying to get by with the simple things.”

The Israeli military had dropped leaflets in the Khan Younis area, telling residents to evacuate for their own safety. Still, Mashharawi’s next video seemed hopeful. In the background, people were baking bread on a makeshift wood-burning stove. In the foreground was his mother, wearing a black hijab decorated with red flowers. She was making a peace sign with her right hand, and she was smiling.  ♦