I was raised in Gaza, where my parents were employed by the Baptist nursing school between 1989 and 1995.
The recent months have been distressing as I witness the destruction of my childhood residence. Amid the daily coverage of the ongoing war, there is a growing chorus advocating for an end to violence and the liberation of Gazans from oppression.
I echo these sentiments and earnestly desire that our current engagement in the region could contribute to achieving these goals. To effectively work towards peace and dignity in Gaza and beyond, it is essential to grasp certain aspects of life in Gaza.
Let’s start with a brief overview. Hamas was established in 1987 as the militant arm of a religious charity that offered humanitarian aid to the Gazans residing under Israeli military rule.
The Hamas charter, formulated in 1988 and revised in 2017, calls for the formation of an Islamic state encompassing all of Palestine and contests the legitimacy of the Israeli state. Initially, Hamas directed its violence towards Palestinians sympathetic to Israel and those perceived to oppose its moral principles.
In 1994, a tragic incident involving an American-Israeli settler led to the massacre of Palestinians. Subsequently, Hamas resorted to violent acts, including suicide bombings, followed by rocket attacks on Israel in the 2000s. The militarization and political transformation of Hamas have been extensively documented.
The group’s popularity among Gazans has fluctuated over time. A survey conducted by the Washington Institute in July 2023 revealed that 70 percent of Gazans support transferring administrative authority to the Palestinian Authority and dismantling Hamas’ armed factions.
When I was five years old, preparing to relocate to Gaza, my siblings and I practiced pronouncing Arabic words and singing songs learned by our parents in language classes. We spent several months in Maryland while our parents attended language school.
Our parents described our new home to us, mentioning that it was a place referenced in some of our biblical stories, renowned for its citrus fruits, skilled goldsmiths, poetry, and embroiled in a conflict.
As I drifted off to sleep, my mind conjured images of dimly lit streets, unfamiliar faces, and imminent dangers.
Upon our arrival in the Rimal neighborhood of Gaza City in September 1989, none of my apprehensions materialized. The clear skies, melodious bird songs, and fresh air made me question whether our parents had made an error.
Amidst my fixation on anticipated perils, I had overlooked the allure of the citrus orchards, craftsmanship, and literary heritage. Over the ensuing six years, both the delights and the horrors of Gaza would unfold vividly.
The Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) patrolled Gaza streets, issuing directives through loudspeakers. A “strike” announcement signified a ban on vehicular movement, while a “curfew” mandated that residents remain indoors. On certain occasions, these restrictions lasted for days, with the longest curfew lasting two weeks.
One summer, during a prolonged curfew, our kitchen supplies dwindled, leaving us with an abundance of eggplants—a culinary nadir for me.
IDF presence in Gaza entailed door-to-door inspections, aerial surveillance, intermittent access to essential services, and rotating checkpoints. Our parents kept white paint handy to cover any graffiti on our front wall under army supervision. The electricity supply was subject to arbitrary shutdowns, with water availability also being unreliable.
Initially, we consumed tap water like everyone else, inadvertently toughening our digestive systems. Despite contracting various parasites, our exposure to different microbes likely bolstered our immunity.
After a few years, the tap water became contaminated, necessitating trips across town for safe drinking water. Despite precautions, we still fell ill with dysentery, enduring the discomforts of high fevers and medication.
My father, responsible for managing payroll at the nursing school, made regular trips to Israel to collect salaries and retrieve mail from the Ashkelon post office. Occasionally, these trips were undertaken as a family.
Crossing the border into and out of Gaza was fraught with uncertainty and tension, with closures and prolonged waits being common occurrences. Despite the anxiety, we learned to maintain a friendly demeanor during these encounters.
Even today, I instinctively smile at security personnel, a habit ingrained from those experiences. The trips to Ashkelon provided a respite, offering access to well-stocked grocery stores and vibrant shopping districts, especially during festive occasions like Purim.
Public celebrations were subdued in Gaza, as both IDF patrols and Hamas directives discouraged outward displays of joy during times of mourning. Weddings, holidays, and graduations were often held indoors, with a constant vigilance for signs of unrest.
In the images, you can see me with my sister on our first day of school in Gaza and with my first-grade teacher and older sister.
During a wedding we attended, armed men barged in, disrupting the festivities. While we reached home safely, the groom was not as fortunate.
In another instance of Hamas’ strict control, a neighbor was subjected to a brutal beating for selling prohibited pornography.
These grim realities intertwined with our daily lives, shaping our perceptions and behaviors. Our attempts to evade unpalatable meals were quelled by the fear of reprisals, prompting us to stick to our mother’s cooking.
The sense of danger prompted us to tread cautiously, especially around a colleague’s aggressive dog, a consequence of his defiance against treating certain individuals linked to Hamas despite warnings. The retaliatory poisoning of his dog underscored the risks he faced.
Contrary to expectations, we experienced a sense of communal security in Gaza, owing partly to the positive reputation of the Baptist nursing school. Even strangers, unaware of our background, extended invitations for meals and tea.
We spent countless hours in Gazan households, while the adults conversed, allowing us children to engage in games and explore freely. Despite the prevailing tensions, my sisters and I roamed the neighborhood independently from a young age.
At ten years old, my sister and I traversed Gaza weekly to attend classes at the French cultural center without encountering any disturbances.
As Americans, we uphold the belief that every individual is entitled to basic rights—representation, freedom of movement, and access to essential services for a stable economy and infrastructure.
I firmly believe that the security of Israel cannot be secured by marginalizing or displacing the Palestinian populace. History has shown that depriving people of their rights and basic necessities can breed resentment and fuel extremist movements.
The plight of Gazans underscores the urgency of granting them fundamental freedoms as a crucial step towards peace and stability.
Rebecca Peterson Zeccola, a physical therapist, resides in Denver, CO with her husband and two sons. The opinions expressed in this narrative are solely those of the author.