Palestine under attack once again as Israeli forces launch a ground offensive in Gaza City, intensifying bombardment and worsening famine among civilians.The ground thunders again in Gaza City. Tanks roll forward, streets that once held schoolchildren and street vendors now echo with the crack of artillery. Israel’s ground incursion has begun, officials say, pushing deeper after weeks of bombardment that shredded apartment blocks and scattered families in every direction. For many Palestinians, there is nowhere left to run—only the thin hope that their loved ones will answer the next call, the next message, the next desperate knock on a basement door.
A city under the weight of war
Recent days brought a new ferocity. Towers collapsed into gray dust; neighbors dug with bare hands; entire blocks vanished in a single noon. People left with what they could carry—documents, a baby’s milk, a photo tucked into a pocket—only to find every road south choked or closed, every safe place already full of grief. Yet hundreds of thousands remain inside Gaza City, trapped between hunger that bites and fear that roars. Aid groups warn that famine isn’t coming—it is here, tightening its grip on exhausted bodies.
An independent United Nations inquiry has said Israel committed genocide against Palestinians in Gaza, calling it the most authoritative UN finding to date. The statistic that follows is unbearable: more than one in ten people in Gaza killed or injured since the war began, according to Israel’s former military chief—a figure that mirrors the toll reported by the Palestinian Health Ministry. Numbers like these should stop the world in its tracks. Instead, the shelling draws closer.
The small voices carry the heaviest truth
UNICEF pleads as the ground assault gathers pace: any intensification will multiply children’s suffering, tearing away the last threads of protection they have left. In Gaza City alone, nearly half a million children are bone-tired and frightened, living with hunger, shock, and the kind of silence that follows relentless explosions. They have known almost two years of unbroken war. The childhood they remember—a kite, a beach, the laughter of cousins—now lives only in stories told by candlelight.
Palestine under attack reflects the growing humanitarian catastrophe.
Hospitals in the north are at a breaking point. The Health Ministry begs for medicine and supplies that never make it through in time. Doctors choose which patient gets the last vial, the final bag, the only functioning bed. The director of Al-Shifa Hospital shares a picture no one should ever have to see: six premature infants crowded into a single incubator. These babies cannot be moved; there is nowhere equipped to take them. Each minute without power, without oxygen, is a minute stolen from a future that has barely begun.
Healers who refuse to leave
Palestine under attack, Despite everything, medical teams and aid organizations keep working. Staff for Medical Aid for Palestinians say they will stay as long as they can, even as the risk grows—airstrikes, collapsing buildings, orders to evacuate. Their colleagues at the Abdel Shafi Community Health Association received a 48-hour demand to flee and move equipment south. Among the machines sitting behind their doors was one of only two CT scanners left in Gaza City—vital for the wounded, priceless for those clinging to life.
These workers are not statistics or symbols. They are mothers spending nights on hospital floors, fathers passing bandages between blasts, students learning to triage by the glow of a phone. Every step, every suture, every whispered prayer is an act of resistance against the pull of despair.
An invasion measured in heartbeats
Officials describe the ground offensive as its early stage, but for those huddled under stairwells or clutching a child’s hand, it feels like year’s end and world’s end all at once. Bombardment rattles the windows; dust fills the lungs; the sky flickers with drones. The language of strategy—strongholds, corridors, clearances—shrinks beside the human scale of this city: a grandmother who hasn’t walked in days, a teenager searching the rubble for a brother’s backpack, a mother tracing her baby’s spine with two trembling fingers to count breaths in the dark.
What remains when everything else is gone
Some say survival becomes a habit. In Gaza today, survival is a series of choices no one should ever face: Do we fetch water or stay hidden? Do we risk the road or wait for an ambulance that may never come? Do we keep the children awake—so the blast doesn’t wake them—or let them sleep and pray the walls hold?, Palestine under attack
Through it all, there is a stubborn tenderness that refuses to die. Neighbors share the last bread. A stranger carries an old man down the stairs. A nurse hums to a newborn who has no name yet. In these fragments of care, a city insists on its right to exist.
A plea that should not be controversial
Cease the fire. Let aid pass. Protect hospitals, patients, and the people who heal them. Safeguard children first, because a war that devours its children devours its future. The world’s arguments can wait; incubators cannot. Food cannot. Water cannot. The living cannot.
Tonight, Gaza City listens for sirens and searches the sky. The offensive moves street by street, hour by unforgiving hour. And still, beneath the rubble and the fear, there is a pulse that will not surrender—a people holding fast to life, to one another, to the simple, unyielding belief that their children deserve a dawn.
