I work for the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), a Quaker organization that has existed in Gaza for over 77 years. AFSC began its work in 1948 when the United Nations asked it to organize relief efforts for Palestinian refugees forced from their land by the Zionist regime.
For two years, AFSC’s Gaza staff supported the establishment and operation of 10 refugee camps in Al Fallujah, Braeij, Deir El Bala, Gaza City, Jabalia, Maghazi, Nuseyrat, Khan Younis, and Rafah. They not only set up educational programs for children, but also worked to provide food, shelter, and sanitation.
In the decades since, AFSC’s programs have provided support for agricultural development, preschools, midwifery training, humanitarian assistance, and trauma healing. Since the start of Israel’s genocide in 2023, AFSC personnel in the Gaza Strip have provided more than one million meals, food parcels, fresh vegetables, hygiene kits and other essentials.
Now, for the first time since 1948, AFSC, along with dozens of other international organizations, is under threat of ban from the Israeli government, putting its lifesaving humanitarian work at risk. This will have a devastating impact on the people of Gaza. And it couldn’t come at a worse time.
Continued genocide
The mass killings in Gaza will not stop. Despite the ceasefire, Israeli forces continue to carry out raids, airstrikes and massive destruction across Gaza. These attacks have killed more than 420 Palestinians and injured more than 1,150 since the ceasefire began on October 10.
And it’s not just bombs. Floods in Gaza have destroyed tens of thousands of tents, and residents continue to collapse in severely damaged homes. People are also dying due to lack of medicines and proper medical care. Approximately 600 kidney patients died as a result of lack of treatment.
Meanwhile, Israel continues to block the flow of temporary shelter, medicine and other desperately needed supplies.
These actions reinforced long-standing Israeli policies aimed at depopulating Gaza and annexing the land. Israel’s prohibitively restrictive new registration policies and efforts to prohibit or restrict international aid are part of this effort. Silencing independent humanitarian voices and dismantling humanitarian infrastructure are helping to create conditions on the ground that make life in Gaza impossible. Gaza cannot recover or prosper without comprehensive reconstruction that restores its health system, education sector, and critical infrastructure.
Just two weeks before the ceasefire began, an Israeli airstrike hit my family home, killing nine members of my immediate family, including two brothers, their spouses, and children.
When I spoke to the family soon after, they said, “Right now, the responsibility is light.” This is the word they used to describe the reduction in the number of people they cared for.
Since that phone call, I haven’t stopped thinking about what responsibility really means. In my case it didn’t get lighter. It’s getting heavy. Nine children were orphaned. With each death taken from a family member, the burden of responsibility only increased. It is our responsibility to remember, to take care of those left behind and to bear witness to what has been done.
However, this responsibility does not rest solely on me. It belongs to all the countries, institutions and individuals who stood idly by while Gaza burned, and especially those who sent in the bombs that continued to kill and destroy.
From 1948 to 2026
I first learned about the history of AFSC in 1948, when I was a young refugee and benefited from its work from my friend Ahmad Alhaji.
Mr. Ahmad died in Gaza City in January 2024. It is heartbreaking that he spent his entire life as a refugee, telling the story of the 1948 Israeli massacre, and spending his final days enduring genocide. He died under siege and shelling, and ultimately lost his life due to lack of access to the necessary medical supplies.
Ahmad’s story in Gaza in 2024 is tragically similar to his story in 1948. At the time, he was 16 years old and a barefoot refugee from the village of al-Sawafir who was ordered to evacuate to Gaza. What changed was the years. What was not was the condition of land deprivation, expulsion, and abandonment.
But Ahmad’s story is not just about evacuation. Ahmad’s story is a story of love – love for his village. Never to forget his village or the home his parents were forced to leave behind, he refused to own a home and lived his entire life as a refugee in a rented house in Gaza. For Ahmad, ownership elsewhere risked erasing memory. Remaining a renter was an act of loyalty.
This same love has been embodied by the many Palestinians who chose Gaza, even under fire. It is a dedication to a place that defies siege, exile, and death. Ahmad’s love reminds me of the dedication of my teacher and friend Refaat Alalil. He became Gaza’s great storyteller, giving voice to its people and their pain. On December 6, 2023, Israel targeted Refaat’s apartment, killing him along with his brother, sister, and nephew.
Like Ahmad, Refaat paid for this love, an unbreakable connection to land and memory, with his life.
His poem “If I Must Die” became a testament to this love and eternal hope, and its message traveled beyond Gaza, turning it into a global story. Born out of siege and resistance, this poem asserts life, memory, and dignity in the face of death, conveying Gaza’s humanity to the world.
The rise of Gaza
In 1948, there were 34 villages in the Greater Gaza Strip. One of them belonged to Ahmad. For our grandparents, Gaza was understood as much larger than the area that would later become smaller. Their sense of place was vast and rooted in villages, fields, and contiguous geography.
But our parents saw Gaza steadily shrink. Once one of the largest districts in historic Palestine, it was reduced to approximately 555 square kilometers (215 square miles) in 1948. The area subsequently shrank further to about 365 square kilometers (140 square miles) after Israel established a so-called demilitarized zone, but the land was eventually annexed at the direct expense of Gaza residents.
Israel currently occupies more than half of the Gaza Strip. The country continues to expand, imposing a so-called “yellow line” that serves as a new de facto border and annexing new territory. Palestinians who cross the line will be executed. Even Fadi and Jumaa, ages 8 and 10, could not be saved. Gaza is not just under siege. It is physically erased meter by meter, generation by generation.
The Gaza we love has crossed boundaries. Although the majority of Palestinians in Gaza are refugees from towns currently located within Israel, Gaza is a place we call home.
Today, Gaza has liberated the imagination and conscience of people around the world. It goes beyond geography and artificial lines like yellow and green on maps.
Israel can ban international organizations and journalists, arrest medical workers, and bomb poets. It can destroy lives and families and cause untold suffering. But we cannot prohibit our struggle for justice or our innate human desire to help each other survive. Despite the many obstacles and challenges we face, our work to support people in Gaza and across the occupied Palestinian territories will continue.
Gaza means freedom, sacrifice and love, even in tents and rubble. And as it has throughout history, it will rise again from the ruins.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Al Jazeera.
