Writer from Gaza.
The so-called “Netzarim Corridor” has been in the news a lot lately,
as its “opening” ushered in the much-awaited return of Palestinians to
the northern part of the Gaza Strip. Half a million Palestinians headed
back to their homes – most finding only rubble. Then on January 29,
United States Middle East envoy Steve Witkoff visited the “Netzarim
Corridor”, becoming the first US official to step on Gazan soil in more
than a decade.
Foreign media has talked at length about this “strategic corridor” or
“buffer zone”, as they call it, and its utility for Israeli “military
operations” and for “controlling” Palestinians. But for us, the people
living on its outskirts, Netzarim has been a living nightmare. It has
inflicted unbearable pain and trauma on me and my family and on
thousands of other Palestinians.
Netzarim is not a corridor; it is a large land grab carried out
through the killing of Palestinian people and the destruction of their
homes in Nuseirat and Bureij refugee camps, and the neighbourhoods of
al-Mughraqa, az-Zahra, Zeitoun, Juhor ad-Dik, and others. It is not some
smart military strategy; it was and continues to be another way of
terrorising the people of Gaza.
In the first days of the war, we were unaware that areas in the
vicinity of our home were selected for establishing this “corridor”. The
air strikes were incessant, demolishing everything in their path –
homes, schools, and gardens – without regard for whether people were
inside or not. The Israeli army was annihilating everything in its way,
whether stone or human.
Most of the air attacks occurred at night, leaving us unable to sleep, constantly waiting
for the next explosion. The sky would light up in white or red, and we
would cover our ears and hide, knowing an explosion was coming, but
never sure how close it would be. Based on the sound of the blast, we
would try to guess the type of missile or weapon used – drone, F16, F35,
Apache helicopter, or tank – and the location it hit, a house or
farmland.
This is how the war invaded and took control of our nights. The
darkness would usher in fear and anxiety; the children would run into
their mothers’ arms, fearing the sounds of explosions.
As part of the preparation for establishing the “corridor”, the
Israeli army bombed all the tall buildings around us. One of those was
our neighbour’s five-storey house, which was hit in the middle of the
day. The explosion was so powerful that it completely destroyed two
houses, partially damaged two others, and demolished the front part of
our house, where our “safe room” was located.
We had chosen it as “safe” because it was farthest away from another
building whose owners received a warning from the Israelis that it would
be targeted. So this room became the place where we thought we were
“safe” until the shock wave from that explosion collapsed its outside
wall onto us, leaving us with varying degrees of injury. I got away with
bruises and cuts on my head, but my brother was severely wounded and
bled internally, while some of my nieces and nephews had fractured
skulls and broken bones.
When we realised that daytime had become as dangerous as the night,
we decided to leave. We sought refuge at Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir
el-Balah, waiting for the situation to improve or the war to end. But we
left our hearts at home. For us, even safety meant nothing compared to
being at home.
After one month, we returned to our house, hoping to regain some
sense of normalcy. But there was none. The Israeli army was hard at work
expanding its “corridor” into the areas north of the Nuseirat camp,
such as az-Zahra and al-Mughraqa.
As part of this effort, Israeli troops would regularly raid the
northern area of Nuseirat. The familiar sound of air raids was
accompanied by the roar of tanks and unfamiliar military vehicles....READ MORE
https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2025/2/4/the-netzarim-corridor-is-not-a-corridor-it-is-a-nightmare
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