My family’s dreams for the new year amid the Gaza genocide 

A couple of days ago, on one of December’s cold nights, my family and I decided to light a fire to warm ourselves since there has been no electricity in Gaza for more than a year to turn on the heater. We gathered together, prepared the teapot, and brought out the last of our bread crumbs to eat as we huddled around the fire. During our time together, we engaged in deep conversations, with our main concern revolving around whether a truce could finally be reached. Would the new American administration support Gaza and take steps to end the war? Could this nightmare come to an end before the new year, offering us a chance for a fresh start without further bloodshed?

I took a few moments to escape reality and let my imagination wander. I envisioned a night where I could sleep peacefully, free from the constant noise of buzzing Israeli drones and the terror of waking up to artillery shells exploding nearby. I would no longer have to live in relentless fear of losing my dad or my brothers whenever they went out to the mosque or the market. I would finally find some peace, even if it may be too late. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of water boiling. I poured six cups of tea and added sugar, even though I don’t usually prefer it. As my father always says, “Isn’t the bitterness of life enough for us? Do we really need to drink bitter tea too?” 

As we sipped the warm black tea, I asked them, “If a ceasefire occurs, what will you do? What is your plan for a new year free from bloodshed?” My 11-year-old sister eagerly responded, “I want to go to school and catch up with my friends. I want to meet my teachers and return to my classroom.” 

My sister’s aspirations for the next year align with what the Ministry of Education has announced: the educational system will resume in January 2025. However, students will have to continue their studies online rather than in person, as they all hope and desire, due to the significant destruction of educational institutions. Other schools are filled with displaced families who lost their homes or were forcibly evicted, and have sought refuge in a safe place. These schools, once centers of learning, have now become shelters for those who have nowhere else to go, delaying the hopes of students longing to return to their classrooms and normal lives.

My brother Hassan, who is now 18 years old, has always dreamed from a very young age of traveling abroad to study engineering and explore the world. His dreams and ambitions, however, are now entirely dependent on the opening of the border crossing. Hassan’s hopes for 2025 are to pursue his education overseas, and ensure not to waste another year.

Despite the harsh reality we face, Hassan’s determination remains unwavering. He often speaks about how education is the key to rebuilding not only our lives but also our country. His words inspire me to remain hopeful, even when hope feels like a distant luxury.

As we sat around the fire, each of us shared their dreams for the coming year, small as they may seem to the outside world but monumental to us. When it came to my parents, their dreams were simple yet deeply moving. My mother said she only wished for the ability to prepare a delicious meal for us, to see us eat until we are full, and to watch the joy on our faces as we enjoyed every bite. My father nodded in agreement, adding, “I dream of a year where no one in this family has to sleep on an empty stomach ever again.”

During the war, it has become incredibly difficult to provide food. The shortages, skyrocketing prices, and the dangers of even venturing outside to search for basic necessities has turned securing a meal into a daily struggle. There were countless nights when we went to bed hungry, the emptiness in our stomachs a cruel reminder of the hardships we endured. 

On the other side, there are other burdens and shattered dreams that weigh heavily on our hearts. My grandmother, for instance, has now been displaced from her home in Rafah for over seven months. Her only wish is to return to her house, even if it’s in ruins, just to feel the familiarity of her own space again. Her deepest longing, however, is to reunite with her daughters—my aunts—under one roof. They spent the entirety of the war scattered, each of them displaced in different locations, unable to come together. My grandmother dreams of hearing their laughter echo through the house once more, of watching them gathered around her, sharing stories and bringing life back into what was once their home.

Amid all these dreams and aspirations I was hearing from my family, I found myself drifting into thoughts about what I want for the new year. There are so many plans and goals I had hoped to achieve in 2024, but they have all been postponed. I dream of returning to my university—or even its ruins—just to feel a sense of academic life again, even if just a little. I dream of wandering the streets of Gaza with my friends, just as I used to. I had started learning to drive and wanted to get my driver’s license as well. Even though there aren’t many intact streets left, I still long for that too. But perhaps more than anything else, what I want now is simply safety! To live my life peacefully and calmly with my family, free from constant fear. I want all the hopes of my little family to come true, and I wish for us not to endure another year like this one.