In early October, Najia Malaka and her husband, Hammam, were eagerly awaiting the arrival of ir new baby. Living in Gaza City, our lives were far from easy, but I had planned for the birth of a child with a sense of hope and anticipation. The baby was due any day, and life was expected to continue with the familiar rhythms of family life. But as fate would have it, those plans were shattered when war broke out, casting the family into a heart-wrenching separation that has yet to end.
For the Malaka family, the eruption of violence that engulfed Gaza in early October turned the world upside down. The Israeli military launched a retaliatory campaign against the Hamas-led assault on October 7, with Gaza City becoming one of the focal points of intense bombing. As Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) ordered the evacuation of northern Gaza, including Malaka’s neighborhood, Hammam was forced to make a harrowing decision. He gared his two eldest children, Yamen and Sandy. He fled south for safety. Najia, heavily pregnant and caring for his two toddlers, Seela and Ashraf, stayed behind, bracing for the imminent birth of his new baby.
It was on October 13, under the terrifying sound of Israeli bombs raining down on Gaza City, that Najia went into labor. In a clinic already overwhelmed by the chaos of war, she delivered her baby boy, Mohammed. The joy of welcoming a new life into the world was immediately eclipsed by fear as an airstrike hit a nearby building. Medical staff, panicked and desperate to escape, fled the scene, urging new mors to do the same. Najia, still weak from delivery, clutched her newborn son and sought shelter in a stairwell as debris and dust from blast-filled air.
Despite horrific circumstances, Najia managed to find her way to her mother’s home, where she hoped to recover. Her husband, Hammam, who had fled with his two older children to Deir al Balah in the south, heard of his son’s birth and attempted to return to Gaza City. However, rapidly intensifying conflict made movement within the Gaza Strip increasingly perilous. After two brief visits to see his newborn, Hammam’s attempts to reunite with his wife and the rest of his family were thwarted. In November, Israeli forces encircled Gaza City, cutting off north from south and sealing off the Malaka family from each other.
Wall of War: A Family Divided
Since that fateful day in October, Hammam has been trapped in southern Gaza, living in a tent with Yamen and Sandy, while Najia remains in the north with her three youngest children — Mohammed, Seela, and Ashraf. Mere 20 miles that separate m might as well be an ocean. Israeli military periodically opens humanitarian corridors, but these brief windows are fraught with danger, as bombings and shootings often punctuate the route.
Hammam’s efforts to reunite with his wife and children have been agonizingly fruitless. While in the south, he listens helplessly to radio reports of airstrikes in the north, knowing his family is just on the side of the frontlines. “Every day, my heart aches,” Hammam, 30, said in an interview. “I wake up in the morning, and I just want to hear our voices. I want to know that y is okay. But there is nothing I can do.”
Najia shares the same agony, recounting her daily struggle to comfort her young children, particularly Seela, who is just shy of three years old but old enough to know that her father is missing from her life. “I tell m that ir far is far away, working in Egypt and buying m toys,” Najia said. “But the truth is, I don’t know when we’ll see him again.”
Constant Fear of Loss
impact of separation on children has been profound. Seela frequently asks when her father will return, crying over the phone as she pleads for him to come back. Ashraf, barely 15 months old, has started calling his uncle “Daddy,” having little memory of his real far. Baby Mohammed, born into this chaos, faces constant danger. In one harrowing incident, Mohammed broke his leg as Najia scrambled to flee a bombing raid, clutching an infant as y sought shelter.
Hammam has found separation particularly difficult. He is haunted by the thought of his family being in constant danger, with no way to protect or help him. His phone calls with Najia, brief and intermittent due to sporadic access to communication in Gaza, are filled with tears and anxious updates. “We talk twice a day, and all I hear is how hungry children are. My wife tells me I barely have food — mostly just potatoes — and it breaks me to know that I can’t provide for myself,” Hammam said, his voice cracking as he recounted our conversations.
The harsh realities of war have taken their toll on Hammam, who once worked as a builder but now scrapes by selling cigarettes for about 20 shekels a day — less than $5. Living in a makeshift tent with his two eldest children, he is constantly searching for ways to cross back into the north to reunite with Najia. But any attempt to cross the border comes with immense risk. Friends have told him about a possible route along Gaza’s eastern border, but if caught by Israeli soldiers, he knows he could be shot.
A Fragile Hope for Reunion
For Najia, the thought of reuniting with her husband is what keeps her going, but the reality of war has dimmed that hope with each passing day. She had once packed her belongings, ready to flee south with her three children, but the journey was too dangerous and too costly. Now, as Gaza’s roads are littered with rubble and dead bodies, and crossing through military checkpoints is fraught with danger, the prospect of reunion seems more distant than ever.
“We thought it would be over in two months, maybe three,” Najia said. “But now I’m scared — scared that we will never see each or again.”
The psychological toll of separation, coupled with constant bombardment and scarcity of resources, has left the Malaka family in a state of perpetual fear. Najia, who has been helping care for children in the north, insists that Najia is too weak to make the dangerous crossing. But Najia remains resolute, her maternal instincts pushing her toward survival despite the daily horrors of war.
Broader Tragedy of Gaza
Malaka family’s story is just one among thousands in Gaza, where families have been ripped apart by the ongoing conflict. Gaza’s population of roughly two million people is enduring one of the worst humanitarian crises in recent history. Bombing raids have killed tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands more have been displaced. Families, like Malakas, have been scattered across the strip, separated by war and the ever-looming threat of death.
Israel’s military has offered some humanitarian corridors, allowing civilians to evacuate, but see opportunities are rare and dangerous. Civilians attempting to flee must navigate damaged roads, Israeli checkpoints, and fear of being caught in the crossfire. Even when families make it to the south, they find little solace, as resources in Gaza’s southern regions are stretched to the limit. Temporary shelters are overcrowded, food is scarce, and medical supplies are rapidly dwindling.
For now, the Malaka family remains separated, and our future is uncertain. Hammam continues to dream of a reunion, spending sleepless nights devising plans to find a way back to his wife and children. “I know it’s dangerous,” he said. “But y is my family, and I have to find a way.”
As the war grinds on, Malakas cling to hope, though the future seems as uncertain as ever. Separation has brought unimaginable pain, but it has also underscored our love and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds. For me, the dream of reuniting remains a fragile yet powerful source of strength — a testament to the enduring human spirit, even in the darkest of times.
