Gaza City – In a sweltering tent at Gaza’s port, 45-year-old Iman al-Rahel readies her family for lunchtime.
She sends her 13-year-old son, Yazen, to fetch food from the nearby takiyya, or community kitchen.
“I think they’re serving rice today,” she whispers to her daughter, a faint smile easing across her tired face.
But that brief smile vanishes when the conversation turns to another possible wave of displacement after Israel’s latest announcement that it plans to seize Gaza City.
“God forbid,” she says, pressing her hand against her chest. “I only pray that this won’t happen, that we won’t be forced to leave for the south.”
Still, Iman says, if Israel were to officially order an evacuation, she would be among the first to go to southern Gaza, “without hesitation”.
The mother of five stayed in Beit Lahiya in northern Gaza during the Israeli invasion in the early stages of the war after it began in October 2023, moving her family from one shelter to another as tanks advanced and the bombardment intensified.
“I can’t forget a moment of that time,” Iman says quietly. “In Beit Lahiya, the school we were sheltering in was besieged by tanks and snipers last December. My 23-year-old son [Abdullah] was shot in the neck at the time, as was my husband. They barely survived before we were finally allowed to move to western Gaza City.
“I saw killings, executions, sniping, arrests, body parts, bombardment, and targeted attacks,” she adds bitterly. “There are things that I can describe, and others that I cannot.”
Survival was not just about avoiding Israeli bombs and snipers, but also about finding enough to eat as Israel made it increasingly difficult for humanitarian aid to enter Gaza.
“We used to collect weeds, herbs, and khubeiza [mallow] leaves from the fields and cook them for the children. That was our only food, along with ground animal fodder or barley as a substitute for [wheat] flour when available,” she recalls.
It’s a position Iman never wants to be in again.
“I felt overwhelming regret and guilt toward my children and husband because I insisted on staying in the north instead of evacuating south,” Iman says with a sad smile.
“I could never repeat that experience. If there’s another displacement, I will leave immediately without hesitation.”
Impossible to go south
But not everyone in the al-Rahel family agrees.
Iman’s eldest daughter, 24-year-old Ghadeer al-Rahel, interrupts.
“I will never go south again. Impossible,” she says adamantly. “You can go, but I will stay here in the north, no matter what.”
Ghadeer had evacuated to the south with her husband and infant daughter in early November 2023.
Her words touch on an ongoing debate between Palestinians in Gaza, even within families. For some, the best chance of survival is leaving areas Israel is conducting military operations in, while others point out that moving to other areas does not necessarily assure safety, and also makes it more difficult to find proper shelter, food and water.
Each family member speaks from their own experience, which has formed their perspective.
“You haven’t lived through the horrors of staying in the north. If you had, you wouldn’t even think of remaining,” Iman tells her daughter.
Ghadeer retorts immediately: “And you, my mother, father, and brothers, you haven’t experienced the hardship of displacement either: moving from place to place, living in camps and unknown areas of the south without water or food, in unbearable conditions.”
Ghadeer continues, trying to convince the rest of her family.
“We fled my husband’s family home in the north of Gaza under bombardment. We passed through the Israeli checkpoint on Salah al-Din road with our hands raised, tanks in front of us. We went to Khan Younis, then it was evacuated. Then to Rafah, then that, too, was declared evacuated. Then to al-Mawasi in Khan Younis.”
“It was humiliation and suffering beyond words,” she adds. “In Rafah, the overcrowding of the displaced was unbearable. My tent was in the middle of the street because there was no space. On top of that came the rain, the cold, and the lack of food and water.”
Ghadeer bursts into tears as she speaks of feeling isolated, cut off from her family in the north for more than three months between December 2023 and February 2024, when the communications networks collapsed.
“My baby, just six months old at the time – she’s two years old now – got so sick, hospitalised with intestinal problems,” Ghadeer sobs, as she tells the story of her daughter Ayloul.
“I needed my mother and my family beside me, but I was alone and didn’t even know how they were doing.
“For so long, I prayed just to hear their voices, to see them again, to know they were alive. I can never forget the suffering I endured alone during displacement,” she adds, tears streaming down her face, while her mother, sitting silently with the rest of the family, also begins to cry.
“That is why I will never go south again, no matter what. I want to stay here,” Ghadeer declares defiantly.
The family debate reaches no conclusion. Ghadeer insists on staying, while her family insists on evacuating.
“This isn’t about what you feel like. We won’t leave you, no matter what. You’re coming with us,” says her brother Abdullah.
Ghadeer does not reply, while her mother responds only with prayers and pleas that they never face displacement again.
“We’ve had enough. Where are people supposed to go? How can they bear the torment of displacement south again? Just thinking about it is maddening,” says Iman.
“We’ve grown accustomed to disasters, and to the idea that what’s coming is always worse. But we pray to God to let us remain here in the north,” she says. “But if we are forced under bombardment and death, what can we do?”
Families divided
This divide between Iman and Ghadeer is present among many Gaza families, torn between staying and leaving.
Abdul Hamid Abu Awda, 71, and his 50-year-old wife, Reem, are also locked in debate with their children, who evacuated south during the first phase of the war.
Abdul Hamid and Reem insisted on staying in their home in Jabalia refugee camp, near Gaza City, although they urged their six children and their families to head south.
“My thinking was that my grandchildren are young, and my sons and daughters still have responsibilities. But I am an old man, with only my wife. Why should I flee south?” Abdul Hamid tells Al Jazeera, leaning on a mattress outside his tent facing the sea.
But now, he has changed his mind, aligning himself with his children’s decision to evacuate south if official orders come.
“My health is not good. My wife and I need care, and we want to stay near our children. I’ve left the decision to them. If they go, I’ll go with them,” he says.
Staying in the north was never easy, Abdul Hamid recounts, telling of the difficult experience of moving with his wife from shelter centres to United Nations schools.
“[It was] terrifying, and we barely survived it. Tanks, ground invasion, starvation, sniping, arrests. Repeating it is not easy. This time, if it happens, it will be even more violent and brutal.”
His 41-year-old son, Hussein, who went south with his family and siblings in October 2023, agrees.
“If they say evacuate, I’ll evacuate again. We’re unarmed civilians. We have no power, no weapons, no tanks to stay and fight with,” he shrugs.
“Yes, displacement is the harshest option of all. I’ve lived it and know its bitterness. But what else can I do? I don’t want to die.”
Still, Hussein’s sister, 38-year-old Manal, disagrees.
“As for me, I want to die here,” she says.
Manal recounts to Al Jazeera her dream of leaving Gaza and emigrating before the war.
“Life in Gaza was already hard, and I wanted to leave,” she explains. “I, too, evacuated with my siblings to the south, and it was a bitter experience.”
It was so bitter that she now insists on staying.
“I want to leave if and when I choose. I want to decide for myself whether to stay in Gaza or leave. I am sick of being forced to go where they dictate,” she says.
The family falls silent at her words, but her father interrupts.
“Alright then, we’ll just send you off to Switzerland now?” Everyone bursts into laughter.
“You talk as if Israel asks our opinion or cares about our wishes. I’m sure if you saw a tank at the end of the street, you’d change your mind immediately,” Abdul Hamid says.
The laughter at his dark humour continues.
“All we hope for is that we won’t face displacement again. We thought the bombardment was the worst thing. Then came hunger, and we thought that was the worst. Now comes displacement,” Abdul Hamid adds. “But now we say, we’d rather starve than be displaced again.”
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